Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0020 /moa/harp/harp0020/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Note on Digital Production 0020 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Issue 115 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0020 /moa/harp/harp0020/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Issue 115 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December 1859 0020 115
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Issue 115, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME XX. DECEMBER, 1859, TO MAY, 1860. NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327 to 335 PEAIIL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1860. A. k6~4 41~ k COKTI~NTS OF VOLUME XX. AFTER THE FUNERAL R~ H. Stoddard 812 ALEXANDRIANS, THE J. W. Draper 636 ANCIENT MONUMENTS IN THE UNITED STATES E. C. Squier 737 ANGLING, A BIT OF Edward H. House 110 ARABS IN SPAIN, THE J. TV. Draper 370 ARMISTICE, AN Alice B. Haven 53 ARTIST-LIFE IN THE HIGHLANDS OF NEW JERSEY John R~ Chapin 577 ART-STUDENT, THE LITTLE Mrs. T. Addison Richards 661 ATOMS OF CHLADNI, THE J. D. Whelpley 195 BALLAD OF VALLEY FORGE, THE B. H. Stoddard 433 BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS, A BALLAD OF LOUISIANA... Thomas Dunn English 240 BEHAVE YOURSELF Charles Nordhoff 222 CAPTAIN GAYLORDS WILL Ruth Harper 341 CAPTAIN TOM: A RESURRECTION Charles Nordhoff 620 CARLSBAD ON CRUTCHES IL A. Wise 206, 353 CEMETERIES, OUR A. A. Lipscomb 831 CHARLOTTE BRONTES LAST SKETCH 824 CHRISTMAS HYMN Airs. H. B. Smith 255 COIN IN AMERICA TV. C. Prime 468 COINS AND COINAGE TV. C. Prime 326 COOS AND THE MAGALLOWAY Joseph C. Abbott 289 COSTA RICA, HOLIDAYS IN Thomas Francis Meagher 18, 145, 304 DISAPPEARED Alice B. Haven 479 DS REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE C. E. Billington 659 EDITORS DRAWER. DRAWER FOR DECEMBER 133 DRAWER FOR JANUARY 276 DRAWER FOR FEBRUARY . 419 EDITORS EASY CHAIR. CHAIR FOR DECEMBER 126 CHAIR FOR JANUARY 267 ChAIR FOR FEBRUARY 410 EDITORS FOREIGN BUREAU. BUREAU FOR DECEMBER 129 BUREAU FOR JANUARY 272 BUREAU FOR FEBRUARY 414 EDITORS TABLE. HOUSEHOLD NAMES AND DATES 121 YOUTH AND AGE ~ AMERICA 263 HOUSEHOLD SERVICE 405 DRAWER FOR MARCH 565 DRAWER FOR APRIL 708 DRAWER FOR MAY 852 CHAIR FOR MARCH 555 ChAIR FOR APRIL 700 CHAIR FOR MAY 844 BUREAU FOR MARCH 559 BUREAU FOR APRIL 704 BUREAU FOR MAY 848 OUR SCHOOLS 550 DUTIES OF THE CITIZEN 695 OUR DOCTORS 839 ELEPHANT, PEEP AT Charles Nordhoff 455 ENCHANTED TITAN, THE Fitz James OBrien 52 iv CONTENTS. FASHIONS, THE. FASHIONS FOR DECEMBER 143 FASHIONS FOR MARCH 575 FASHIONS FOR JANUARY 287 FASHIONS FOR APRIL 719 FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY 431 FASHIONS FOR MAY 863 FIGHT AT LEXINGTON Thomas Dunn English 617 4 FIRST COLONISTS OF FLORIDA J. T. HeadleN 503 FISH STORY, A Arthur M. Edwards 487 FORTUNE-TELLER, THE 58 GOLD IN CALIFORNIA, HOW WE GET Win. V. Wells 598 GREAT LIBRARY AT STONEBURGH Caroline Cheseboro 59 HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA 18, 145, 304 HOW A FRENCH KING OVERTHREW THE PAPACY J. W. Draper 793 HOW THE SNOW MELTED ON MOUNT WASHINGTON Edward H. House 227 HOW WE GET GOLD IN CALIFORNIA 598 ICY FLAME AN Edward H. House 667 INEBRIOMETER, THE 286 INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO WHEAT Charlotte Taglor 38 KATHIE MORRIS T. B. Aldrich 628 LAMB, CHARLES, NOTES TO THOMAS ALLSOP George Win. Curtis 88 LAY OF THE DANUBE Mrs. George P. Marsh 164 LIBRARY AT STONEBURGH, THE GREAT 59 LIFE AMONG THE LOGGERS Charles Hallock 437 LITERARY NOTICES. Women Artists in all Ages, 118. Saxes Poems; Pal- Species; Life and Times of Sam Dale; The Gospel in ace of the Great King; The Wheat Plant, 119. Clar. Burruah; Compensation; Owens Footfalls on the once Mangans Poems; Gold Foil, Hammered from Boundary of Another World; Tylers Apology and Popular Proverbs, 120. Reminiscences of Rufus Choate, Crito of Plato; Moultons Analysis of American Law, 2159. Haynes Avollo; Bayard Taylora At Home and 549. Thornburys Life in Spain, 691. Worcesters Dic- Abroad; True Womanhood; Howitts History of the tionary of the English Language, 692. Oliphants Nar- IJuited States, 261. Abbotts Rainbow and Lucky; rative of Lord Elgins Mission, 698. Edgar Poe and his Partons Life of Jackson; Murrays Preachers and Critics; Harpers Classical Libraries; Greenes Blo- Preaching; Women of Worth; Men who have Risen; graphical Studies; Florence Nightingales Notes on The Queen of Hearts, 262. Life of John Collins War- Nursing; Stories from Famous Ballads; Lucy Crofton; ren, 402. Self-Help; Christian Believing and Living, Daviess Answer to Hugh Miller; Marshs Lectures on 403. Poems by Henry Timrod; Evenings with the Mi- the English Language, 694. Parke Godwins History croscope; Great Facts; Miss Beechers Appeal; Alisons of France, 835. Life of Daniel Wilson, Bishop of Cal- History of Europe; Misrepresentation; Harrys Sum. cutta, 836. Bells Knowledge of LivingThings; Primes mar in Ashcroft, 404. MClintoeks Narrative of the Letters from Switzerland; Timbss Stories of Inventors; Fate of Sir John Franklin, 548. Darwins Origin of Squiers Nicaragua; The Caxtons, 838. LITTLE ART-STUDENT, THE 661 LITTLE BROTHER Fitz Hugh Ludlow 377, 491, 630 LOST ON THE PRAIRIE Bose Terry 467 LOST STEAMSHIP, THE Fitz James OBrien 678 LOUNGINGS IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE PIONEERS Edward C. Bruce 721 LOVEL THE WIDOWER W. M. Thackeray 383, 525, 680, 813 MARY REYNOLDS: CASE OF DOUBLE CONSCIOUSNESS Win. S. Plumer 807 MASTER CHARLEY IN THE SNOW 429 MASTER CHARLEYS FIRST PANTALOONS 717 MASTER CHARLEYS PRIZE-FIGHT 861 MILTON A. A. Lipscomb 771 MISS 1W(J7FFET AND THE SPIDER Rose Terry 764 MISS VINTON OF TALLAHASSEE 0. H. Dutton 214 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS - UNITED STATES. -The Harpers Ferry Raid, 115. sachusetts, and New Jersey, 250. Governor Wise on Names of the Prisoners, 116. Trial of John Brown, 116. the Harpers Ferry Raid, 256. Incendiary Papers at Execution of Prisoners, 255, 402, 834. Elections in the South, 256. Indian Hostilities, 256, 690. General Iowa, Minnesota, Pennsylvania, and Maryland, 116. Scotts Settlement of the San Juan Difficulty, 257. Mr. Ward at Pekin, 116, 258. Execution of Brown and Wreck of the indian, 257. Death of Irving, 257. The ethers, 255. Meeting of Congress, 256. Congressional Presidents Message, 400. Reports of the Heads of Be- Proeeediugs, 256, 399, 545, 688, 832. Harpers Ferry partments, 401. Election of Speaker of the House, 545. Committee, 256, 400, 546, 833. Ballots for Speaker of Mr. Douglass Protection Bill, 545. Mr. Fessendens the House, 256, 399, 545. Elections in New York, Mas- Reply, 546. Mr. Hunters Speech, 546. Destruction of CONTENTS. v MONTHLY RECORD OF CURREaT EvENTSUontinued. the Pemberton Mills, 546. Casualties in New York, fication of the Argentine Republic, 54T. Miramon~ 546. Resolutions of the Democratic Senatorial Caucus, Attack upon Vera Cruz, 834. Capture of his Steamers, 688. Mr. Browns Speech, 688. Mr. Sewards Speech 834. on Capital and Labor States, 689. Mr. Douglaes Re- EuaoxE.The Treaty of Zurich, liT, 257. The Pa- ply, 689. The Mexican Treaty, 690. The African pal States and Sardinia, 117. Napoleon and the Pope, Slave Trade, 690. Loss of the Jdussgarken, 690. The 117, 257, 547, 690. The King of Sardinia, 117, 834. Shoemakers Strike, 690. The Southern Conference Speech of Garibaldi, 117. Spain and btorocco, 117, 547. Commissioners, 690. Governor Houston on the Border The Great Eastern~ 117, 258. The English in China, War, 690. Congressional Rowdyism, 832. Polygamy 117. The Builders Strike, 117. Napoleon on the Peace, in Utah, 833. The Investigating Committee, and the 257. French Diplomatic Circular, 257. France and P esidents Protest, 833. Hyatt and Sanborn, 833. Mr. Great Britain, 258. Naval volunteers, 258. Wreck of Batess Views, 833. Elections in New Hampshire, Con- the Royal Charter, 258. The European Congress, 547, necticut, New Jersey, and Nebraska, 834. 690, 834. The Pamphlet The Pope and the Congress, SOUTHERN AIEERIcA.Affairs in Mexico, 116,257,547. 547. French Free Trade Policy, 547. Death of Macau- Position of the Parties, 116. Miramons Treaty with lay, 547. Opening of Parliament, 690. The Queen Spain, 117. Juarezs Treaty with the United States, Speech, 690. The British Budget, 690. Suppression of 117, 690. Conspiracy in Hayti, 257. Defeat of Insur- V Univers, 690. Discontent in Austria, 690. Sardinia rectionists in Venezuela, 257. Pages Paraguay Ex- and the Italian States, 834. Annexation in Italy, 834. plorin, Expedition, 257. Battle in Mexico, 547. Pad- Union of Savoy and France, 835. MOTHER OF PEARL Fitz James OBrien 392 MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT Rose Terry 186 NIGHT IN A SNOW-STORM Mary E. Bradley 514 NIL NISI BONUM: IRVING AND MACAULAY W. M. Thackeray 542 NOTES OF CHARLES LAMB TO THcYMAS ALLSOP 88 OCONORS OF CASTLE CONOR Anthony Trollope 799 ODE ON THE BIRTHDAY OF CHARLES WESLEY Win. Ross Wallace 302 ORIANA INN: A DISPUTED POSSESSION Caroline Cheseboro 672 OUR CEMETERIES 831 OUR CHRISTMAS TREE Fitz James OBrien 513 OUR OLD PEW Samuel Osgood 66 PEEP AT THE ELEPHANT PICTURE, A Rose Terry 325 PIPE OF TOBACCO 180 POETS SECRET, THE Airs. R. H. Stoddard 194 REGULAR HABITS Fitz Hugh Ludlow 72 RELICS OF GENERAL CHASS~E.A TALE OF ANTWERP Anthony Trollope 363 ROSALIND NEWCOMB Nora Perry 778 RURAL PICTURES D. H. Strother 166 SEARCH FOR A NORTHWEST PASSAGE Charles Nordhoff 535 SHADOWS OVER THE WAY 285 SILK-WORM, THE Charlotte Taylor 753 SNOW-STORM, NIGHT IN 514 SPRIGGINSS VOYAGE OF LIFE 141 THREE GREAT VOYAGES, THE .J. W. Draper 234 TITAN, THE ENCHANTED 52 TITIIONUS Alfred Tennyson 534 TOBACCO AND ITS USERS 573 TOBACCO, PIPE OF 150 TURY; OR, THREE STORIES IN ONE D. R. Castleton 242 TWO CHILDREN IN BLACK, ON W. ill. Thacleeray 670 VENI, VIDI, VICI Mary E. Bradley 97 VOYAGES, THE THREE GREAT 234 WASHINGTON IN 1859 W. D. Haley 1 WASHINGTONS PORTRAIT John Savage 361 WESLEY, CHARLES, ODE ON THE BIRTHDAY OF 302 WHEAT, INSECTS DESTRUCTIVE TO 38 WISDOM AND GOODNESS R. H. Stoddard 71 YETS CHRISTMAS-BOX Lfarriet B. Prescott 644 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Washington, View from Capitol 1 2. View fromtheDome of the Capitol 4 3. The Capitol 6 4. Pediment of North Wing 7 5. Statue of America 8 6. Treasury Extension, S. and W. Fronts 10 7. AmericanCapital,TreasuryDepartment 11 8. General Post-Office, N. and E. Fronts 12 9. Patent Office 14 10. Costa Rica, Forest with Coffee Carts... 18 11. Los Frailes 19 12. Punta Arenas 20 13. Inner Harbor, Punta Arenas 21 14. Testimonial to General Caaas 22 15. Marketing in Punta Arenas 23 16. Belles of Esparza 26 17. Pleasant Night at Esparza 27 18. Our Guide in the Rear 28 19. Caballero and Seaorita 30 20. Volcano of San Pablo 31 21. The House of Pericles 32 22. Garita on the Rio Grande 33 23. Parent Coffee-Tree of Costa Rica 35 24. Our Hostess at La Asun9ion 36 25. Adios to Anselmo 37 26. Wheat Midge 38 27. Cocoons of Wheat Midge 38 28. Germination of Wheat Grain 39 29. Larva of Wheat Midge 39 30. Thrips Tritici Ambulatum 40 31. Mow Fly 40 32. Larva of Thrips 41 33. Eaplocanus Granella 41 34. Wheat Crane Fly 42 35. Parts of Grain Moth 42 36. Awn Moth 43 37. Hessian Fly 43 38. Parts of Hessian Fly 44 39. Parts of Mow Fly 44 40. Parts of Tipula Destructor 45 41. Parts of Wheat Insects 45 42. Parts of Tipula Destructor 46 43. Wheat Kernels 46 44. Grain Moth 47 45. Larva and Cocoons 47 46. Wings of Flies 47 47. Hessian Fly 48 48. Larva~ of Hessian Fly 49 49. The Fortune Hunter 58 50. Launch of the Spriggins 141 51. Outward Bound 141 52. Admiration of the Populace 141 53. A Squall 141 54. Piracy 141 55. A Heavy Blow 141 ~6. First Pants 141 57. A Convoy 141 58. The Marriage 141 59. High Tide 142 60. Spriggins an Alderman 142 61. On a Lee Shore 142 62. On the Rocks 142 63. A Wreck 142 64. Destruction of the Hulk 142 65. Last Nail 142 66. Sun Set 142 67. Fashions for December 143 68. Opera Cloak . 144 69. Costa Rica, Easter Procession 145 70. San J056 146 71. The Bootmakers 147 ~2. The Cock-Fight 148 73. Street View in San Jose 149 74. The Cathedral 151 75. Mater Dolorosa 153 76. Hanging Judas 154 77. Palace of the Government 155 78. Monsieur Belly at the Ball 157 79. The Artillery Barracks 158 80. The Labyrinth 159 81. Before the Presidents House 160 82. Lunatics 163 83. Rockston, in Virginia 166 84. The Barn 167 85. At the D~p~t 167 86. Country Store 168 87. The Politician 169 88. Evening 169 89. Blowing the Fire 170 90. The Pet 170 91. Bed-Time 171 92. Morning 171 93. The Flock 172 94. Bias 173 95. Twin Lambs 174 96. The Overseer 174 97. The Hen House 175 98. The Grandchild 176 99. The Prisoner 177 100. Mischief 178 101. The Condign 178 102. The Proof of the Pudding 179 103. Hispaniolan Cigarro 180 104. The First Pipe 180 105. Brazilians Smoking 181 106. Ancient Mexican Pipe 181 107. Raleighs Tobacco Box 181 108. Tobacco-Drinkers 181 109. Early Tobacco Symposium 182 110. Sir Walter Raleigh Smoking 182 111. Tobacconists Interior 183 112. Lady Smoking 183 ILLUSTRATIONS. vii 113. Tobacconists Label, 1730 184 114. Snuff-Taker, 1720 185 115. French Table Snuff-Box 185 116. An Early Chewer 185 117. Burnss Snuff-Box 186 118. Box from Shakspeares Mulberry 186 119. Scotch Mull 186 120. For Mr. Gun 279 121. For Mr. Roach 279 122. Shadows :Laying it down 285 123. Taking a Sight 285 124. Philoprogenitiveness 285 125. Amativeness 285 126. Combativeness 285 127. Alimentiveness 285 128. The Inebriometer 286 129. Fashions for January 287 130. Under-Sleeve ~88 131. Collar 288 132. Valley of the Androscoggin 289 133. Come to see the Circus 290 134. Owner of a Meadow Farm 291 135. Good-by to Lancaster 291 136. Dixville Notch 293 137. Going up the Androscoggin . 294 138. Settlement on the Magalloway 295 139. In Camp 296 140. The Carry 297 141. Lumbermans Camp 298 142. Parmachene Lake 298 143. On Camels Rump 299 144. Camp on Camels Rump 300 145. In Three Dominsons 301 146. Civilization 302 147. Costa Rica, Volcano of Turrialba .... 304 148. The Diligence 306 149. Valley of Cartago 307 150. Church of our Lady of the Angels 309 151. Plaza of Cartago 311 152. Remains of Old Cartago 313 153. Ascent of Irazu 314 154. Crater of Irazu 316 155. Shooting Fish 317 156. Hammock Bridge 318 157. Primitive Plow 318 158. Pounding Coffee 319 159. Coffee-Mill 320 160. Hacienda of Navarro 322 161. The Quezal 323 162. Sugar-Mill 324 163220. Classic and English Coins... 326341 221. Lovel the Widower.Muffs 383 222. I am referred to Cecilia 391 223. Master Charley in the Snow 429 224. Invites Friends into the Back Yard... 429 225. Charley and the Doctor 430 226. A Snow-Ball Party 430 227. Fashions for February 431 228. Closed Sleeve 432 229. Fichu 432 230. Under-Sleeve 432 231. Collar 432 232. Dress Cap 432 233. The Old Continentaler 433 234. Chopping Trees 437 235. Bangor, Maine 438 236. Up the Penobscot 439 237. Lumbermen 440 238. Hauling Logs 445 239. Timber Raft 449 240. A Jam 450 241. The Boom 451 242. Old Town 452 243. Saw-Mills near Old Town 453 244. Shipping Lumber 454 245. The Elephant loses his Temper 455 246. Father Adams Jumping-off Place.... 456 247. The Elephant dont like it 457 248. Elephant in the Corral 458 249. Elephant tied up 459 250. Corral Fence 460 251. Form of Corral 460 252. An Obstinate Brute 462 253. Elephant sliding down Hill 464 254. Goads 465 255. A little Head-Work 466 256290. American Coins 468478 291. Lovel the Widower.Time Waits.... 526 292. Bessys Spectacles 533 293. An Old-Fashioned pair of Snuffers... 573 294. New Styles of Smoking Apparatus.... 573 295. Taking Turns 573 296. Force of Habit 573 297. Offensive Weapons 573 298. Defensive Weapons 573 299. My Dog and Pipe 574 300. Effect on the Dog 574 301. Before Marriage 574 302. After Marriage 574 303. Practical Lesson 574 304. Democracy and Aristocracy 574 305. Fashions for March 575 306. Street Dress 576 307. The highlands of New Jersey 577 308. On the Road 578 309. Upper Fall, Clinton 579 310. Lower Fall, Clinton 580 311. Hank 581 312. Bog-Trotters 581 313. Showering 582 314. Dripping 582 315. Green Pond 582 316. The King of the Pollywogs 583 317. Lord Stirlings Forge 584 318. Entrance to Hibernia Mine 585 319. Interior of Hibernia Mine 586 320. Mouth of Adit, Sweeds Mine 587 321. Interior of Adit, Sweeds Mine 587 322. Surface Works, Byram Mine 588 323. Pursuit of Knowledge 589 324. Diagram of Mine 590 325. A Miner 591 326. Pushing Ore-Car 591 327. Gallery in Byram Mine 592 328. Surface Works, Dickerson Mine 593 329. Offsets 594 330. Driving a Breast 596 331. A Turn-Table 596 332. Camp on the Stanislaus 598 333. The First Gold.Hunters 599 viii ILLUSTRATIONS. 334. Panning on the Mokelumne 600 335. Winnowing Gold 600 336. Cradle-Rocking 601 337. Washing with the Long Tom 602 338. River Operations at Murderers Bar... & 03 339. Hows Diggins ? 604 340. Packing Earth 604 341. Quicksilver Machine 605 342. Flutter-Wheel 606 343. Frdmont Mill, Mariposa 607 344 Helvetia Quartz Mill 608 345. El Rastra 609 346. Ocean Beach Mining 610 347. Ground Sluicing 611 348. Tunneling 612 349. Interior of Tunnel 613 350. Hydraulic Mining 614 351. Flume, on Shady Creek Canal 615 352. The Fight at Lexington 617 353. The Battle-Ground at Concord 619 354. Lovel the Widower.The Omnibus... 650 355. Master Charleys First Pants 717 356. Cooks Admiration 71.7 357. At Night 717 358. In his Glory 717 359. Master Charleys Pockets 717 360. Contents of Pockets 717 361. Vanity 718 362. A Tumble 718 363. Consequences 718 364. Reduced again to Frocks.... 718 365. Fashions for April 719 366. Home Dress 720 367. Medallion Under-Sleeve 720 368. Lace Under-Sleeve 720 369. Sir Walter Raleigh 721 370. Repose 722 371. A Bad Investment 722 372. The Relay 723 373. Great Bridge 724 374. Dismal Swamp Canal 725 375. Gretna Green 725 376. Elizabeth City 726 377. An Impracticable 727 378. Grand Trunk Railway 728 379. Live Oak 729 380. The Beach 729 381. Roanoke Island 730 382. Hope 732 383. Charity 732 354. An Eminent Banker 733 385. Site of Roanoke 734 386. Retreat of the Expedition 736 387. After Dinner 736 388. Mound on Tonnewanda Island 737 389. Ancient Work in New Hampshire.... 740 390. Ancient Work, MontgomeryCo., N.Y. 741 391. Ancient Work, near Buffalo 742 392. Ancient Work, near Auburn 743 393. View of Work near Auburn 744 394. Ancient Work, Genessee Co., N. Y... 744 395. View of Work, Genessee Co., N.Y... 745 396. Ancient Work, Erie Co., N.Y 745 397. Ancient Work, Ontario Co., N.Y 746 398. Ancient Work, near Geneva, N.Y.... 747 399. Castle Comb, England .. 749 400. Map of Monuments, Scioto Valley... 750 401. Great Mound, near Miamisburg, Ohio. 751 402. Great Mound of Cahokia, Illinois 752 403. Mound near Blennerhassetts Island.. 753 404. Silk-Worm Butterfly 754 405. Egg of Silk-Worm 754 406. Silk-Worm Moulting 755 407. Cast-off Skin of Mouth and Head 755 408. Silk-Worm at Maturity 756 409. Scales and Hairs 756 410. Fore-leg and Hook 756 411. Head of Silk-Worm 757 412. Heart, or Nervous System 757 413. Perfect Cocoon . i57 414. Interior of Silk-Worm, No. I 758 415. Interior of Silk-Worm, No. 2 758 416. Small Bag and Artery of Head 758 417. Parts of Stomach 759 418. Body of Silk-Worm 759 419. The Embryo 760 420. Cocoon begun 760 421. Manner ofLaying Silk 760 422. Interior of Cocoon 761 423. The Chrysalis 761 424. Cast-off Skin of Caterpillar 761 425. Lovel the Widower.A Black Sheep 813 426. Where the Sugar goes. 814 427. Bessys Reflections 823 428438. MasterCharleys Prize-Fight 861, 862 439. Fashions for May 863 440. Promenade Dress 864

W. D. Haley Haley, W. D. Washington In 1859 1-18

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

Thomas Francis Meagher Meagher, Thomas Francis Holidays In Costa Rica 18-38

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.

Charlotte Taylor Taylor, Charlotte Insects Destructive To Wheat 38-52

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!

Fitz James O'Brien O'Brien, Fitz James The Enchanted Titan 52-53

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

Alice B. Haven Haven, Alice B. An Armistice 53-58

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?

The Fortune-Teller 58-59

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

Caroline Chesebro Chesebro, Caroline Great Library At Stoneburgh 59-66

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

Samuel Osgood Osgood, Samuel Our Old Pew 66-71

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!

R. H. Stoddard Stoddard, R. H. Wisdom And Goodness 71-72

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

Fitz Hugh Ludlow Ludlow, Fitz Hugh Regular Habits 72-88

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

George Wm. Curtis Curtis, George Wm. Notes Of Charles Lamb To Thomas Allsop 88-97

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

Mary E. Bradley Bradley, Mary E. Veni, Vidi, Vici 97-110

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 leaving her aunt too utterly astonished to be able to make any reply, Madelaine Hayward passed swiftly out of the room, crossed the mat- ted hall, and mounted the stairs once more to her own chamber. There she shut the door and locked it, then sat down in the little chair she had left, crossed her hands upon a table before her, laid her head upon it, and cried passionate ly. But only for a minute. The proud head sprang up soon, and the tears were dashed away with resolute scorn. Thats enough! she said, bitterly. I shall not waste any more tears upon her petty taunt; only revenge myself for it! She shall see that I am not one to be insulted with im- punity; they shall all see that I am not a pup- pet to be pulled with a string, nor yet a child to be coaxed or frightened into their will. He may consent to be his fathers tool, and pay his court according to his fathers orders the coward! but he will not find me so compliant. Let him come, and I will show him howl despise him weak, tame-spirited, mercenary creature that he is! And Miss Haywards red lips curled, and her dark eyes flashed with the loftiest scorn as she reached this climax of contempt. She certainly looked very prettily heroic; but it must be con- fessed that it was a waste of heroism, for her epithets were as unjust as her indignation was uncalled-for. In this world, however, nothing and every thing are real: whatever we fancy is fact for the time being; and many a light straw of im- aginary grievance becomes a camels load of actual trouble by merely believing that it is so already. And so with our heroine: fresh from boarding- school, and romantic accordingly; proud, sensi- tive, self-willed, utterly unsubdued by any expe- rience of sorrow or disappointment, she chose now to fancy herself the victim of a terrible in- dignityan intolerable wrongwhich must be resented and resisted with all her might. And unreasonable as the fancy was, it affected her as really as if it had been an earnest truth. Late in the afternoon of the same day a light curricle with a span of handsome grays rolled swiftly up the long chestnut avenue in front of Madame Havenels mansion. Madelaine had seen its approach from the window of her room, which she had not left since morning, and a sud- den suspicion made her linger there and watch for the appearance of its occupant. It was not lessened when she saw a tall, gentlemanly figure spring out and bound up the steps of the portico; and it was doubly confirmed when her quick ears caught the rustle of her aunts silken dress in the hall, and heard her eager welcome My dear Sidney! How glad I am to see you! It was not like Madame Ravenel, hospitable and courteous as she ever was, to hasten out so 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. eagerly to meet a guest, even before he had cross- ed the threshold. That in itself was enough for the young girls quick intelligence, even if the name had not been spoken. So, Sidney Gil- christ bad actually come; and now her resolve was to be put to its proof! She had not expected it so soon, and her cour- age wavered for a moment at the thought of the coming contest. Her aunt would be sure to send for her, and what possible excuse could she make for not going down? Excuse, indeed! The word which she had unconsciously used re- stored her courage, by again arousing her indig- nation. I shall make no excuse, she said, proudly, to herself. I dont care how rude he thinks me. I mean to insult him, and the sooner he feels it the better. It was a hard, unlovely facein spite of all its beauty of form and colorthat was reflected just then in the mirror hanging opposite Made- lames chair. An expression of bitter, unwo- manly pride, mingled with another less easy to define. Only one able to read the hidden work- ings of the heart below would have seen that it was a secret, unacknowledged consciousness of wrongan inward warning that she was persist- ing in a purpose which must some day be repent- ed ofa faint, ineffectual struggle between the best and worst impulses of her nature. She glanced up suddenly and saw the picture in the mirror, and with an impatient expression turned her back to it, her face to the door. She expected a message momently, and waited for it with a sort of feverish restlessness which she was quite unable to control. But an hour pass- ed before it came, and the restlessness changed to wonder, and then to a strange feeling of pique and vexation. They were not so very anxious for her company after all! So much the better, then. She would be at least as tardy in bestow- ing it upon them as they were in seeking it! Th.ere was a shuffle and scramble outside the door at lastsure signal of Lucindas approach and presently the woolly head and saucy eyes made themselves apparent. Miss Madlaine! s mos supper-time, an mistis she said I wor to ax you to cum down to de parlor fore de bell rings. Da s a young gem- man in dar wid herwerry nice young gemman, Miss Madlaine, Cindy added, thinking to in- terest her hearer. To her surprise, Miss Mad- lame answered, coolly, Tell your mistress that she must excuse me. I do not wish any supper, and shall not come down at all to-night. Oh laws! Miss Madlainede young gem- man ! began Lucinda, in eager remonstrance; but an imperious Go down stairs; not another word! made the woolly head pop back quickly, for the little negro, with all her pertness, knew well enough when her young mistress was in earnest. She scampered off to give the message, chuckling to herself, Whas the matter now, I wonder! Miss Madlaines so high an mighty. Spec shes aw ful mad wid someboo~y. Glad it aint dis chile ha! ha! ha! No more messages came for Madelaine that evening. Neither did M~. Gilchrist go away. She knew that, for she could have seen his car- riage, if it had been brought up, from her seat in the front window, which she never left all through the long summer evening. The rosy twilight tints in the sky melted away into shad- owy hues of gray and pearl; the silver horn of the new moon rose slowly above the pines; the long shadows of the trees upon the sward grew more darkly defined in its pallid light; the vines about the window shook and swayed in the cool night-breeze, and cast delicate leaf-traceries upon the chamber floor, fantastic, quivering shadows over Madelaines unquiet face. But she did not see or heed any thing around her. Her mind was in a whirl of wild thoughts, and reckless re- solves, and passionate, unreasoning anger. The whole day had been full of bitterness, none the less bitter because almost entirely of her own making and imagining; and she cried herself to sleep when at last she went to bed, in the late, dark night, believing honestly that she was per- secuted and insulted, and had as good right to be miserable as any heroine of them all! She woke up next morning, after a night of restless dreams, not at all shaken in her convic- tions, but rather impatient for her breakfast, and somewhat dismayed at the prospect of being a prisoner in her room another day; for she had a presentiment that Mr. Gilchrist did not intend to leave immediately. A presentiment which was confirmed by the servant who brought her breakfast in obedience to her orders, and who informed her gratuitously that Mr. Gilchrist was to stay a week. He thinks he will compel surrender by the length of his siege, thought Madelaine, grand- ly, as she sipped her coffee and buttered her muf- fins; but he will discover that surrender is a word unknown in this fortress Nevertheless it was dull work sitting in her room all the morning, with nothing that she cared to do, and not even a new book for com- pany. She had been accustomed to spend a part of the morning always in active, out-of-door ex- ercise, and she found herself more bored by this voluntary confinement than she could have be- lieved possible. Nobody came near her, not even pert little Cindy; and as the hours dragged slow- ly on she grew more and more chafed and indig- nant, and more and more in temper for the warm remonstrance which Madame Ravenelherself thoroughly provoked and impatient was pre- paring for her. It was near noon before she had an opportu- nity to administer it, for she was too courteous a hostess to leave her guest quite alone in so early a stage of his visit, and Mr. Gilebrist seem- ed inclined to linger in the drawing-room. He ordered his horse, finally, and went off for a ride; and Madame Ravenel repaired to her private sit- ting-room immediately, and sent for her niece to come to her. Madelaine obeyed the summons VENT, VIDI, VICI. 101 with alacrity. She had seen the horseman can- tering down the avenne, and knew that she was safe from surprises, even if such little traps had been in her annts line, which they were not. She opened the low mahogany door and met the old lady, who wore her stateliest look, with an undaunted front. The clouded brow and lumin- ous eyes were signs of war, and Madelaine was prepared for war. What is the meaning of this conduct, Miss Hayward? began Madame iRavenel, too incensed for preliminaries. What excuse have you for insulting a guest in my house, and me through him, in this open manner? Have the goodness to explain. Certainly, madame; it is easily explained, replied the young lady, with composure. Mr. Gilchrists presence is disagreeable to me, there- fore I avoid it by the only method in my power. And why, pray, is it disagreeable to you ? asked Madame Ravenel, hotly. You know best, Madelaine answered, cool ly. Her aunts anger gave her an advantage which she was not slow to improve. I told you yesterday, before he came, that I would not see Mr. Gilchrist, and you know whether I had not sufficient reason for my determination. It is a determination, then, and you mean to persist in it ? Certainly; I mean nothing less. You will not dare to do it! exclaimed Ma- dame Ravenel, passionately. Sidney Gilchrist is here for a weeks visit, and other company will be invited whom you dare not refuse to see. If you have neither fear nor regard for me, you will have some regard for your reputation in the county. On the contrary, I am perfectly indifferent to whatever may be said on this subject. The opinions or remarks of the whole county would have no effect to make me change my purpose. If you wish to have the matter publicly discussed, I have no objection. I will be as polite to the expected company as I can bein my own room. She said this as calmly as if she were truly as unconcerned as she profe~sed herself; but in se- cret she trembled for fear lest her aunt should fulfill her threat, and invite guests to whom she could not deny herself without creating public scandal. She had a womanly dread of such ex- posures, and yet her obstinacy was such that she would have braved any thing rather than yield now. Her aunts reply reassured her, however: I have no such wish, as you know too well, disobedient child! she exclaimed, angrily. Your mad folly and obstinacy would be equal to that, or any thing else, doubtless, but I do not choose to have my household affairs the theme for idle talk. You can return to your room, since you find it so pleasant, but take this assur- ance with youthat unless you make up your mind to appear in the drawing-room this even- lug, you may prepare yourself to go back to school before the week is over. A young lady and Madame Ravenel emphasized the phrase scornfully who is ignorant of the first princi- ple of politeness, courtesy to a guest in her own home, needs schools and schoolmasters to mould her manners. You can go A haughty motion of her hand toward the door silenced reply, even if the young girl had been inclined to make any, and Madelaine went out of the room feeling somewhat crest-fallen and not quite so heroic as when she entered. She knew her aunt too well to doubt that she would fulfill her threat if obedience were still refused; and the idea of being sent back to school like a child in disgrace after she had bloomed in so- ciety for three months, and considered herself free forever from such petty trammels, was mor- tifying enough, certainly. The humiliation was only second to that of owning herself conquered, and consenting to see, and let herself be seen, by her odious suitor. She could not shut herself again in the narrow limits of her room with this new excitement in her mind. Mr. Gilebrist would not be likely to cross her path in the course of his ride, and in her restlessness she longed to be out of doors. Her garden hat hung in the hall: she tied it on hastily, and ran down through the shrubbery to a corn-field that skirted the lower edge of the lawn. There was a path through this which made a short cut to the pine-woods, and the tall corn screened her from observation. She was soon treading the smooth, brown woodland car- pet, and wandering undisturbed in the shady sol- itude of the grand old trees. The summer wind whispered through the swaying boughs, and the pine leaves answered with the same soft, mourn- ful song which they have sung ever of old, even as the sea-waves surge to the same sad, wild har- mony forever and forever. Birds twittered and sang, waking blither melodies, and wild-flowers, fragile and brilliant, brightened the green moss- beds, or waved over the brown, translucent wa- ters of a little winding stream beside which Niad- elaine walked heedlessly, with little thought for bird or flower or rippling brook. She had quick senses usually for all forms of woodland beauty, but they were overpowered to-day by a tumult of jarring thoughts, which neither the murmur of the pines nor the sound of falling waters, which, as the proverb saith, make the heart glad, could avail to soothe. The longer she dwelt upon her brief interview with her aunt, the more irritated and indignant she grew; and her contempt for Mr. Gilchrist rapidly changed into a passionate hatred, now that he was the means of subjecting her to an alternative so galling to her proud and sensitive spirit. The picture that her fancy drew of her new school life was intol- erable: all her old class-mates and dear especial friends would be gone, of course, and the youn- ger pupils, upon whom she had looked down con- descendingly before, might wonder and sneer and laugh at her now! The story would leak out in some distorted or ridiculous form; she would be whispered about, perhaps gravely remonstrated with by her teachers, perhaps by her aunts or- ders placed under some new and mortifying re 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. straint by way of punishment! A thousand wild impulses chased themselves through her mind as one and another exaggerated image pre- sented itself to her: she would see Mr. Gilchrist yes, truly! but it would only be to tell him to his face how she hated and scorned him, and would rather go into a convent than ever, ever marry him; and she would go away, too, but not to school; no, indeed! she would be no lon- ger a dependent upon her cruel aunts bounty and protection; she would go out into the world alone and work, or die. Oh! they would be sor- ry then, but it would be too late! All her wild plans and fancies ended at last in a burst of stormy tearsthe only outlet for a womans passion. She sobbed and cried, in reck- less abandonment, and hurled her face in the green moss with a feeling of despair, ludicrous enough when its utter unreasonableness is con- sidered, but really sincere and heart-felt in her morbid state of mind. The place where slre was lying was a little sheltered nook, looking only like a clump of trees and undergrowth from the broad path which ran close by, but proving a perfect little bower when one drew near enough for investiga- tion. It was one of Madelaines favorite re- treats, and she had taken a world of pains to make it even more beautiful than nature had done; carrying away all unsightly dead leaves and twigs from the soft mossy carpet, trans- planting the loveliest wild flowers she could find in the woods, and training the luxuriant vines that wreathed among the trees so as to make a perfect screen of foliage for the more entire se- clusion of the spot. She had dreamed away hours and days here, listening to the plash and ripple of the merry brook at her feet, and weav- ing delicious romancesfairy webs, full of love und passion and adventure, beautiful, shadowy, impossiblesuch as thousands like her love to imagine, and none ever realize. The little bower was haunted with such visions, and every leaf might have told a separate story. To-day they might have rustled together in sympathetic wonder at a revelation so strange and new as this wild grief of the fair young dreamer. Cer- tain it is they had never seen the like before; and perhaps it was their soft, pitiful sighing at the sight, together with the plaintive murmur of the water, which to-day had a melancholy fall, as if it, too, sympathized with her sorrows, that soothed Madelaine into a temporary forget- fulness of them. Whatever was the cause, she certainly fell asleep, like a child, in the midst of her sobbing, and lay there, with her fair cheek pressing the cool green moss, her dark hair picturesquely disheveled and clustering in soft rings about her face, her white hands clasp- ed despairinglyas pretty apicture of the Sleep- ing Beauty as Mr. Sidney Gilchrist ever had seen. Perhaps it was very rude, extremely uncour- teous, and highly improper in himwe dont pretend to excuse his conduct any more than to express our belief that any other man would have done the same thing. Mr. Sidney Gil- christ peeped through those very vines that poor Madelaine had twisted and twined so carefully; he knelt upon the ground for the sake of more convenient observation, and with cunning fin- gers parted the thick leaves until he was able to obtain a full view of the fair, unconscious face before him. A mere accident had revealed her to him. A ribbon, dropped from her dress, lay in the wood-path as he rode slowly along, and by one of those sudden intuitions which come to all of us he divined that it was hers, and that she was somewhere near him. I suppose he ought to have turned his horses head in an opposite direction immediately; but I know that he did not do any such thing. He dismounted at once, tied the red-roan steed of steeds to a pine-tree, and left him to champ the bit at his leisure, while he departed on an ex- ploring expedition. What malicious fairy led his feet to the very spot I can not tell; but led they were without doubt, and Madelaines fate was sealed from that hour. Veni, vidi, murmured Sidney Gilchrist, as he walked noiselessly away from the bower, aft- er a last, lingering look at the sweet sleeptug face which it inclosed. Come what may, I will complete that sentence before this year is dead 1 It was almost sunset when Madelaine awoke. Deep shadows lay all around her, with only here and there strange red streak~ glowing upon the tree-trunks, or lying long and level in the open spaces beyond. She sprang up, bewildered and half-frightened, to find herself in this dusky gloom, and hurried homeward as fast as possi- ble. The most romantic young ladies, I have observed, have as little fancy for solitary places, in the dark, as the least; and Madelaine was no exception to the rule. She was very glad to es- cape from the deepening shadows, where every one of those sombre pines seemed stretching out ghastly giant arms to impede her progress, and come out upon inhabited ground once more. The sun was quite down when she reached the corn-field; a soft, rosy twilight was stretching its sweet vail over the sky, and the evening was so still that she could hear every sound from the neighborhood of the house as she made her way through the tall, tasseled grain. But she heard only the lowing of the cattle, and the clear, loud whistle of the negro boy as he drove them home from the pasture; only far- away strains of a camp-meeting hymn sung by old Aunt Cressy, milking the cows; and distant shouts from Cindy and Sam, penning the geese and turkeys. There was nothing in any thing she saw or heard to excite suspicion or reveal to her what had happened in the woods; no bird whispered the secret in her ear, and the breeze told no tales of Mr. Gilchrists audacious inva- sion of her privacy, and still more audacious resolution concerning her. So, happily uncon- scious, she kept on through the corn-field, reach- ed the hedge which divided it from the lawn, VENT, VIDI, YICL 103 and having satisfied herself that neither her aunt nor her visitor were in sight, hnrried swiftly to the house. The door of the huge fire-lighted kitchen stood wide open, as usual, and offered a safe entrance. She darted through it unseen, glided up a back stairway, and was soon secure from observation in her own chamber. She was rather a forlorn-looking figure, how- ever, by the time she got there; dress and hair were in unpicturesque disorder, and she herself chilled, wearied, and utterly miserable in body ~~ud mind. She could hardly have summoned physical strength to make atoilet and go down into the drawing-room, even if she had been inclined to obey her aunts will; so, not being at all in- clined that way, she only enveloped herself in a loose wrapper, and lay down upon a sofa to en- tertain herself with the old bitter meditations made more bitter still by physical exhaustion and discomfort. A knock at the door interrupt- ed them, and in answer to Madelaines impa- tient Come in I Madame Ravenel made her appearance. Madelaine could not keep her re- clining position before her aunt; but she raised herself with a jerk almost as disrespectful, and waited irritably for her to speak. You refuse to come down this evening? said Madame Ravenel, in a tone of interroga- tion. You can judge for yourself, was the flip- pant, almost impertinent answer. I do, Madame iRavenel returned, quietly, though her delicate cheek reddened even in the twilight. But have you considered the al- ternative? You know I do not pass my word lightly. Neither do I, exclaimed Madelaine, angri- ly. I shall keep mineevery letter of it; and you may do the same as soon as you please. You little know what you are trifling with, said Madame Ravenel, still quietly, almost sad- ly. I can bear with this perverseness, though I might claim a right to something different from you; I can wait patiently, in hope that time will open your eyesbut will others? Is it wise to choose pity and contempt when you might have esteem and affectionto throw away happiness, and accept discontent and regret (as you surely will hereafter, whatever you may think now)all for the sake of a pride so silly that a child should be ashamed of it? I warn you, Madelaine, I even entreat you, not for my sake, but for your own, my child. Her last words were eailsest even to tender- ness, but Madelaine was in no mood to profit by them. At another time, when she was less irri- tated and unhappy, they might have taken ef- fect, but now her pride was stung by them, and she was all the more willfully perverse because she could not help feeling that her words and behavior were both utterly unbecoming and un- dutiful. She answered haughtily, and passion- ately, If by others you mean Mr. Sidney Gilchrist, let me tell you that I care as little for his con- tempt as for his esteem. I despise them both; and as for happiness, I would rather be miserable forever than accept it at his hands. That is all I have to say to him now or ever, or to you about him; and you may send me to school just as soon as you like, Aunt iRavenel. I shall be glad when I am away from every body here, for the place is hateful to me! She flung herself down upon the sofa again, and hid her face in her hands, but not before she had caught the look of mingled pain and pity and reproach which her aunt gave her as she silently left the room. She remembered it many a time afterward: even now it stirred up the bet- ter impulses of her nature into passionate shame and remorse, and she would already have gladly recalled the wicked and ungrateful words. But it was too late; and she could only vent her ret. grets and self-reproaches in vehement and im- potent rage against Mr. Gilchristthat grand disturber of her peace, and source of all her troubles! III. It was a dull and dreary journey that Made- lame took to New York the next week. There was but one alleviation to her miserythe fact that she was going to a new school where no one would know any thing about her, and she would not have to bear the curiosity and impertinence of old school-mates. She found it almost as hard, though, to endure the stares and com- ments to which her position as a new scholar entitled her; to fall into the routine, different from and more irksome than at the old estab- lishment; and to submit readily always to the rigid discipline exacted at the Inchkyl Insti- tute. The first few weeks were dismal in the ex- treme. She walked apart in stately melancholy through the day, and at night persistently wept herself to sleep, until her room-mate, a sensible, kindly, warm-hearted girl, who had vainly offered consolation in every shape she could devise, from sugar-plums upward, began to be quite disgust- ed with her. She had taken a fancy to the pretty face, howeverperhaps because her own was not pretty at alland notwithstanding many rebuffs, persevered in her friendly overtures till at last Madelaine, in spite of herself, could not help being interested, and pleased, and finally sympathetic. Emily Nesbitt had such a cheer- ful, sunshiny disposition that no one could re- sist its influence long; and though Madelaines highly-toned sensibilities were frequently shock- ed by some of her commonplace, matter-of-fact tendencies, there was still a charm about her which made itself felt even in the midst of the others morbid discontent. The end was that the two girls became friends, and in course of time Emily was made the recipient of all her companions secret sorrows. Of course, with her prosaic views of life, she could not be as deeply appreciative of them as she should have been; but she was a very patient listener, and never laughed, al 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. though she was sorely tempted sometimes. More than that, she exerted herself to obtain allevia- tion of the weary school confinement, and suc- ceeded so well that Madelaine found herself one Friday evening the centre of attraction in a gay little party out of school-bounds, almost without knowing how she came there. It was a privi- lege accorded to some of the older pupils who bad friends in the city, to spend with them the time between Friday afternoon and Monday morning once in every month. Emily had a married cousin, who considerately extended her invitations to Madelaine also; and after this the two girls regularly passed the monthly holiday together at Mrs. Maxwells pretty home. She was a young wife, herself not very long emanci- pated from the Inchkyl dominion; and she per- fectly understood how to entertain her young visitors at such times. There was always some- thing pleasant planned for thema little excur- sion of some kind, a drive, concert, or a par- ty at home; and there were always gentlemen enough in attendance, too. Some of them were stupid, and some were cleverthe usual sprin- kle; but at any rate they were all polite, atten- tive, admiring, and none of them Sidney Gil- christs, as Madelaine bitterly observed. No, and its a great pity, Emily retorted, maliciously, on one occasion. If he only knew how quietly somebody else was appropriating his peculiar property, he would be one of them soon enough, I am thinking! At which Madelaine said, Nonsense ! very emphatically, but with a very red cheek at the same time; and, by way of diversion, launched forth into some scornful speeches concerning her valiant suitor, as she contemptuously styled Mr. Gilebrist. But the truth was that Mr. Gilebrist filled a very small space in her thoughts in these days. She was piqued, indeed, at his total neglect of her; for in spite of her rudeness to him, she had scarcely expected to be so completely resigned hy him. Some further demonstration she had certainly looked for; yet she had been utterly unmolested by word or visit from him since she had left Hazelhurst, and that was four months ago. But she merely indulged herself in various biting speeches and sarcastic allusions when the subject was brought up, and at other times for- got him almost entirely in a new and far more agreeable excitement. There was one of Mrs. Maxwells gentleman friends who was always on hand when the young ladies were with her. He had been one of the first to whom Madelaine was introduced, and the most assiduous ever since in attentions to her. Not at all flattering or lover-like atten- tions, however; for though he continually sought her conversation, he as continually disputed, contradicted, and even laughed at her most cher- ished opinions and sentiments. He talked to her with a quiet boldness, a manly self-asser- tion, which attracted her strangely, notwith- standing she was so often provoked by his fear- less disapproval, his straight-forward and whole- sale condemnation of much that she believed in and clung to. He was so candid, so right-mind- ed, so clear and discriminating in every thing, that, in spite of her frequent vexation, she was obliged always to feel that he was right and she wrong wherever they differed; and feeling it, her natural ingenuousness compelled her to con- fess as much. He never paid her compliments, and seldom praised her; but when he did, his few words made her cheek burn and her heart thrill, not with pride, but with a deep humility, a yearning desire to be more worthy of such ap- proval, a passionate pleasure in having won the simplest token of it. Under his influence she was changing very much, growing gentle where she had been proud and willful, self-distrustful where she had been self-assured and obstinate. There even came into her mind certain vague convictions that she had acted foolishly and wrongly toward Mr. Gilebrist, and a very pos- itive consciousness that she had been most un- grateful and undutiful to her aunt. This change in the young girls temper was very evident to the Maxwells and to Emily Nes- bitt, and the cause of it equally so; but they took very little notice apparently of what was going on. Only Emily could not help occasion- ally making some sly allusion to Mr. Hayne, and with all her fastidious delicacy Madelaine was secretly pleased whenever she did so. It seemed an assurance of what she longed yet scarcely dared to believea confirmation of her trembling, inward hopeto have others notice that he cared for her. And yet she would not acknowledge to herself that she loved him; when the question came up in her own mind, as it did continually, she denied it, with vehement scorn at the idea of giving away her love unsought, and made many a haughty resolve to care no longer for what he thought of her, and no longer to de- fer to him, like a child., in every thing. There were others who courted her smiles, while he did not at all dread her frowns; and why should she be so solicitous to please him, so humble be- fore him, so full of tremulous gladness at a kind word or look from him? It was a waste of reso- lution, however, for as soon as she came under the spell of those dark, bright eyes, so full of kindliness, but so full of conscious power, all her pride melted, and she was gentle and docile as ever. Christmas came, and the girls had a fortnights holiday, the whole of which they were invited to spend with Mrs. Maxwell; and they were both very willing to accept. Emily from private rea- sons of her own, Madelaine because she knew that Mr. Hayne would be there as usual, and that she should live in the sunshine of his pres- ence for a longer time than ever before. There was a Christmas-tree and a childrens partygiven for Mrs. Maxwells little brothers and sistersthe night before Christmas. A suf- ficient sprinkling of older people made it attract- ive for others as well, and Mr. Hayne being there of course, Madelaine of course was happy. VEKI, VIDI, VICI. 105 Not that he had much to say to her, for he paid far more attention to the little people thaa to their seniors to-night. He was the good genius who distributed the gifts (many of which had been his own contribution) from the treethe exhibitor of the wonderful Magic Lanternthe director of the dancesthe most efficient aid at the supper-tableand the chief actor in all the mysterious exhibitions of Chinese dolls, slim- witches, Egyptian hieroglyphics, etc., which kept the children in a sort of intoxication of en- joyment till nearly midnight. Madelaine ad- mired him more than ever as she saw this new direction of his talents, and, if the truth must be told, loved him in the same proportion. No one else is like him ! she thought, proud- ly. The very children love him and cling to him, and how generous and kind he is to them all! Who but he would take so much trouble to make them happy ? And her heart swelled till the tears filled her eyes, and for the twentieth time she drew back into the shade of a friendly curtain to hide her too vivid emotions, and to press once again to her lips a pretty gift which the Christmas-tree had borne for her. It was a little vinaigrette, exquisitely ornamented, but only precious to her because she knew from a single glancing look as he handed it to her that it was his gift. A queens coronet could not have bought it from her after that look. She was still in the shadow of the curtain, half-hidden from the merry, moving throng around her, when she felt herself touched sud- denly, and he was there beside her. I have a request to make, Miss Hayward, he said, as he bent down to her; and for fear of lacking an- other opportunity, I must improve this. I want you to go to church with me to-morrow: will you go? Speak quickly, for some one is calling me. Yes, answered Madeleine, promptly, caring little for the peremptory manner of his invita- tion; I will go. And the next minute a troop of children had found him out, and he was away in the midst of them, without another word for her. She did not speak with him again through the evening, except to say good-night, bitt she needed nothing more to give her happy dreams. She was early awake next morning, and stole softly to the window to see if the weather was propitious. To her dismay she found every thing covered deeply with snow: every twig and branch of the leafless trees bore a soft white bur- den, the street was carpeted in white, and the sky overhead looked ominously gray as if the feathery shower might float downward again at any moment. Madelaine felt sorely disappointed, but Emily waked up just in time to comfort her. It doesnt make the slightest difference, she asserted, cheerfully; nobody minds snow, and I shouldnt wonder if it was very fortunate after all, because you may get a sleigh-ride, you see. In fact I am quite sure you will, and that will be ever so much nicer than a long walk to church. But I want to go to church, said Made- lame. Well, and cant you go in a sleigh, I won- der? or do you want to prolong the happiness of your tite-& tfre? Hold your tongue, Emily, Madelaine re- turned, unceremoniously; but the light came back to her eyes, and, in spite of gray sky and white pavements, she went gayly down to break- fast. And Emily proved a true prophet, for Mr. Hayne made his appearance in uncommon- ly good season, with the gayest little establish- ment of bells, buffalo-robes, etc., laughed at the threatening storm, and had Madelaine snugly tucked in among the furs before she had time to feign an objection. The drive to church was delightful enough, certainly; but she was happier still when she sat quietly beside him in his own pewthey two the only occupantslistening to the beautiful service which he loved so, and joining heart and soul in the joyous Christmas chants and hymns. There was a strong religious element in her nature, developed more in sympathetic feeling than in practical earnestness hitherto, but to-day something deeper and truer seemed to reach her heart and touch it with a sense of penitent hu- mility such as she had never felt before. The sermon was simple enough, for few new or strik- ing things can be said in a Christmas sermon, beautiful and dear as the theme ever is; but the lack of originality mattered little to Madelaine. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed them more thnn once, and her cheek glowed with a mingling of strange but heart-felt emotions. She felt tear- fully happy, humble, and thankful; and strong, too, as if she could do and bear lifes duty and burden with a faith unknown before. They were both silent when they were in the sleigh again; Mr. Hayne gave his attention to the horse, and Madelaine, absorbed in her own thoughts, did not see in what direction they were going. She looked out by-and-by, and found herself in an unfamiliar street, with strange- looking houses scattered more widely apart than usual, while a reach of open country stretched away in the distance. Well, what of it ? Mr. Hayne asked with a smile, as he read the question in her eyes. Dont be afraid, I am only going to give you a longer ride than I promised. Thats all. I am not afraid, said Madeleine, a little proudly, for she did not quite understand the caution; but is it not late? Will not Emily and Mrs. Maxwell think me rude to leave them so long ? No, I told them of my intentions before we started. You need not mind them. The only question is whether you would like the ride, or would rather go back at once. Which is it ? I would like the ride, then, said Madelaine, frankly, and she was rewarded with a look and smile which sent a quick gladness to her heart. What did you think of the sermon ? he asked, presently. Oh, I liked it, she answered, eagerly, her HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. log eyes filling; for she was in that softened mood tify myself, whatever you may say. I will ac- when tears come as fast as words. It is a wo- knowledge, in the first place, that it was not fair manly mood, and very incomprehensible to most to come to you as I did, having a previous ac- masculine minds; but I think Mr. Hayne under- quaintance with your character, and with cer- stood it for once. tam important incidents in your life, that you So did I, he returned, gently. It touched did not know I possessed. It was not fair to me more nearly than many a more brilliant one seek your confidence, even though I did it by could have done. I remembered more of my speaking unwelcome truths, without telling you own sins, and felt more charitable to my neigh- what I already knew of you. But I had a mo- bors than for a long time since. tive. There was a risk which I did not dare to I did not know you were ever uncharitable, run. If you had known all, you would have said Madelaine, simply. I have never found looked upon me with dislike and suspicion, and you so. my friendship would have been rejected entirely. No? he exclaimed, eagerly. It is very Will you blame me, then, so much for my want kind of you to say that, when I have found fault of candor toward you ? with you so ofteneven to censoriousness and He stopped, looking for an answer, but Made- rudeness. Indeed, my hardness to you some- lame was confused and bewildered, perfectly un- times was one of the very things with which my comprehending. I do not understand, she conscience reproached me this morning. began, falteringly; but she had hardly spoken It need not, then, for you never said a word before a sudden light broke upon her. The that I did not deserve; and you might have said blood rushed to her cheeks and brow, and tin- a great deal more, was the earnest answer. gled to her very finger-tips with a fiery sense of Your candor with my follies, my faults, was shame. Do you meancan you meanthat one of the things for which I had to be thankful you know about Sidney Cilclzrist, she would this morning. have added; but she broke down utterly at the Mr. Haynelookedsurprisedandgreatlypli2ased. name, and hid her burning face in her hands as Do you really mean all this ? he asked. the conviction forced itself upon her that this That you were thankful for my fault-finding, was indeed what he meant, and that he knew never angry with it ? the whole story. There had been times when I mean it all, and more, she answered, she had longed to tell it to himshe meant to steadily. I dont say that I was never pro- tell it, if ever he gave her a right to bestow all yoked. I was at first very often, but it was only her confidence upon him: but to think that he hecause I could not bear to have the truth told had known it all along! Oh, what must he me about myself. I was very foolish and wrong have thought of her, what must he be thinking in a great many of my thoughts and ways. You now! first convinced me of it, and you have helped me He touched, her hand gently as a hundred to overcome these faults. Ikuow I have enough rapid thoughts like these were whirling through left still, she added, with real humility; but her mind. What is the matter, Madelaine? I could not help feeling to-day that I had gained he asked. Look up and scold me as much as something since my last Christmas service, and you like, but dont cover your face in that way, being thankful for the friend who had done so or I shall feel that you think me perfectly un- much toward the gain. pardonable. Will you look up? There was no mistaking the sincerity and sim- And in spite of her shame, Madelaine could plicity of this acknowledgment. It had been not resist his wish. The crimson face was un- perfectly involuntary and heart-felt, and Mr. covered, the drooping eyes even raised to his for Hayne, at least, was not likely to find fault with a moment, and then he went on again: its lack of conventional reserve, its too frank I do mean that I know about Sidney Gil- though unconscious exposure of her true feeling christ. You have guessed right. I have known for himself. A momentary look of joy and tri- it from the heginning, and that was the reason umph flashed from his eyes as she turned away that I wanted to know you. Before I ever met her blushing face; then he answered, gravely, you at Mrs. Maxwells I had heard the story I thank you for saying so much more than from Sidney Gilchrist himself, and I was curious I had a right to expect; so much more than I (forgive me, Madelaine, for now comes my con- deserve, truly; for my candor was not half so fession) to study at my leisure the character of a disinterested as you think. It is my turn to girl who was capable of persisting in a determ- make a confession, Madelaine. Look at me ination like that. I see you are angry now; while you listen to it. say what you will. His voice trembled a little as he spoke her I have nothing to say, Madelaine exclaim- flamehe had never called her so beforeand ed, bitterly, for she was angry now, except she trembled too, with a strange thrill of wonder, that it was in keeping with Mr. Gilchrists char- and hope, and fear as she looked up to him. acter to send another person to make discoveries His eyes searched hers with a look she had never which he had not the courage to attempt him- seen in them before, as he continued deliberate- self. ly: In keeping with Mr. Gilchrists character, I can not pretend to foresee what you will repeated Mr. Hayne, slowly, while a curious think of my confession, neither will I try to jus- smile flitted over his lips. Passing by the VENI, VIDI, VICI. 107 imputation upon his courage, may I ask, Miss Hayward, what opportunities you had for judg- ing of his character? According to his state- ment you never met him, and no communication whatever passed between you. I do not care, said Madelaine, promptly, giving way in her annoyance to the old pride and prejudice so much subdued of late. It is enough for me to know that he was a mere tool in his fathers hands, in a matter where no man should accept anothers dictation. I have no re- spect for a man who would marry simply for con- venience. Such a man will never marry me / No, not even if Mr. Gilchrist marries you, said Mr. Hayne, laughingly. He is the last man in the worldI believe it as firmly as I be- lieve the creedwho would enter into such rela- tions with the unworthy motives you ascribe to him. It is true that his father and your aunt would have arranged the match with very few preliminaries; but it does not follow that he yielded so implicitly to their plans. He was a tool in so far as that he was willing to please his father by going to see you; but he openly avowed that all future results must be determ- ined wholly by the mutual impressions formed upon acquaintance. And if his wishes had been followed, you would never have known that such a plan had been projected by any one. Indeed, Miss Hayward, you wrong him greatly by such prejudices. I speak from intimate knowledge, and do only simple justice to Sidney Gilchrist in this defense of one who has never been allowed to defend himself. He spoke simply and quietly, and his words would have carried conviction of.their truth even if Madelaine had really doubted it, which she did not. She had been coming gradually, for a long time, to the same assurance concerning Mr. Gilchrist, and she had only spoken so bitterly from a momentary vexation. Proud as she was, it was not in her nature to be sullen, or to refuse acknowledgment when she felt herself wrong; so she answered, frankly, I am very sorry, then, and I beg his pardon for past and present injustice. More than that, she added, with an effort, I will give you leave to tell him that I said so. The same triumphant look flashed over Mr. Haynes face at this unexpected permission; but it was checked before Madelaine could observe it, and he answered, readily, I will do that with very great pleasure, Miss Hayward; but may I say nothing more to him? What more should be said, she asked, hastily, when I have humbled myself to beg his pardon ? Is common justice humiliation ? returned Mr. Hayne, with a smile. And is there no- thing that you can do to prove the sincerity of such an acknowledgment ? I do not understand you, she said, coldly. I could explain, but I am afraid that I should be considered both officious and imperti- nent. I do not think I will risk it, Miss Hay- ward. And he touched the horse with his whip, startled him into a gallop, and gave his whole attention for a few minutes to bringing him back into a proper rate of speed. Madelaine sat silent, tormented with curiosity, eager to know what he meant to say, yet dread- ing it with a strange suspicion of its real im- port. W1~at can I do? she asked, at last. I wish you to tell me. Really ? he returned. And will you promise not to be offended ? Yes, I promise. Thea I think that the least you can do, in mere justice, is to give Mr. Gilchrist now the opportunity that you denied him at Hazel- hurst. She colored violently, although she had half- expected this, and asked, What do you mean in a tone by no means gentle. Simply, he answered, with composure, that you should signify to himof course, in no way that would compromise your delicacy that you are willing now to receive his visits. He happens to be in town at this very time (Madelaine started, and turned pale), and I am ready to give him any message, any hint or suggestion, that you may charge me with. You need not be afraid that your dignity will suffer. The whole matter can be most naturally and easily arranged if you will accept of my inter- vention. She turned to him with flashing eyes. Mr. Gilchrist has one zealous friend, at least! Pray, may I ask if you have taken coun- sel together, and if this plan is of his arrang- ing? Now it was Mr. Haynes turn to color, but he answered, calmly still, I have taken counsel with myself only, and you are the only person to whom the plan has been even hinted. I am indebted to you for so much consider- ation, she began, haughtily; then passionately and suddenly, I can not do it! I will not do it! I never can humble myself so to Sidney Gilchristnever! There is nothing more to be said, then, Mr. Hayne replied, with quiet dignity. Only remember, Miss Hayward, that you asked for my opinion. I did not intrude it, but I was com- pelled to speak candidly. They rode on in silence. There was a aloud upon Mr. Haynes brow, and his lips were com- pressed with some firm, hard determination. Madelaines vail was drawn over her face, and her tears were dropping fast. The day which had begun so hopefully, so gladly, was closing in sore disappointment and sorrow. She could no longer hide from herself that she loved this man no longer deny the secret hope that had pos- sessed her soul from the time when he asked her to take this ride; and it was bitterness inde- scribable to hear him pleading anothers cause rather than his ownto have him planning opportunities for Sidney Gilchrist, of all oth 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ers, instead of improving such a golden one for himself. Surely he had shown her more than once that he loved her! His look, his tone, his manner had proved it, even though he had never said it in actual words. She could not be so egregiously self-deluded she could not have given up her love, unsought, unrequited, to any man! Her cheek glowed with fiery shame at the bare thought, and yet it seemed now almost certain. All his sympathies were enlisted for Mr. Gilchrist; all his anxiety was that lie should have the opportunity that had been denied him at Hazelhurst; in other words, that he should be allowed to woo, win, and marry her! He is tired of me, I suppose. He wants to see me fairly married to somebody else, and then his conscience will be clear! But this thought had hardly been born before she strangled it. No, he is too noble, too high-minded, for any thing like that. He does not dream that a silly school-girl would dare to love him. And yet after allperhapsit may be only because he is so honorable that he will not say any thing for himself as long as another has even the shadow of a claim. Mr. Gilebrist is his friend, and it would not seem right for him to supplant him, and never say a word in his favor. Oh! and here the sweet hope thrilled back again, and a yearning regret sprung up that she had grieved and perhaps offended so true a friend. She stole a shy glance at him from under her vail. He was looking straightforward, with the same close-shut, resolute lips, the same clouded brow; and the poor girl thought, Oh! he is angry very angry, I am sure. I never saw him look so before. What can I do ? And her distress in- creased as mile after mile passed, and he still did not speak. It had begun to snow some time back. The air was thick now with flying white feathers, and her own cloak and hat were powdered with the light, clinging flakes. But Mr. Hayne took no manner of notice, except that he turned the horses head homeward when the first flurry came, and once tucked the robes a little more carefully around her. They were rapidly near- ing home now; familiar landmarks came in sight, well-known buildings loomed up through the snowy mist as the sleigh-bells jingled once more through the city streets. Poor Madelaine was in despair. In a few minutes more they would be separated, and if she left him in anger when would she have an opportunity for recon- ciliation? Perhaps never! and any thing else could be better borne than, that they should no longer be friends. She struggled with her pride and timidity, and summoned up courage to make a great effort. But just as she was about to speak Mr. Hayne himself broke the long silence. You have had a very dull ride, Miss Hay- ward, he said. I hoped to make it pleasant for you, but I have failed, I see, totally. I can only say that I am very sorry, and beg your pardon sincerely for having unintentionally of- fended you. Oh ! she exclaimed, eagerly, do not say that. It is I who should beg your pardon, for I did not keep my word. I was vexed when I bad promised not to be. But I am very sorry now. You are right, and I was wrong. I will do any thing you wish me. I have no right to wish any thing, said Mr. Ilayne, coldly, but his eyes sparkled neverthe- less, and his lip quivered with a repressed smile. You are angry with me, then ! and her voice grew tremulous. I am very sorry, but I could not help it. It was so sudden, and I am so proudI could not bear it at first. But now indeed I am willing, indeed I wish to do what- ever you think is right. Are you really in earnest? do you mean all you say ? he questioned, with ill-subdued eagerness. Yes, reallyevery thing. And you will be guided by me entirely in this thing ? Entirely, she answered, half trustfully, half desperately, determined at least to regain his favor, whatever else happened. Then I accept your promise, he exclaimed, joyfully. Remember that I hold you bound. And you must accept my heartiest thanks, Made- lame. Yoti do not know how much you have given me in making this promise; but I pledge you my word, my sacred honor, that you shall never regret it. His face was radiant now, a perfect sunbeam, and Madelaine, poor child, could not help taking some of its glow and brightness into her own aching heart. It did not occur to her, as it may to the sagacious reader, that for a man who bad just disclaimed ~he right to have any wish con- cerning her, he was usurping a rather remark- able control of her actions: she was only con- scioas that he was no longer displeased or disap- pointed, and she revived again with a new sense of hope and comfort. When may Gilchrist come ? he asked, as they drew up at Mrs. Maxwells door. Whenever you please, was the unhesitating reply. What messi~ge may I give him from you ? as be lifted her out of the sleigh. Whatever you think right, again, although her voice faltered a little. May I say that any friend of mine will be welcome to you ? Yes, she returned hastily, and ran up the steps of the portico to escape further questioning. He followed her and made his adieux as a servant came to admit them. I can not come in. I have a dinner engage- ment, and no time to spare. You will make my excuses to Mrs. Maxwell, and I shall see you again this evening, as early as I can get away. Good-by! He gave her hand a squeeze and ran down the steps. Madelaine hurried up stairs in a flutter of wonder, apprehension, delight, and despair. She had to see Sidney Gilebrist at last; she had to let him make love to her if he chose; perhaps she would have to marry him after all! for she VENI, VILDI, VICI. 109 had given her promise to be guided entirely by Mr. Haynes wishes. But oh, what did he mean by that last, earnest whisper about any friend of his beiug welcome to her ? Emily was up stairs, and she had not a min- utes time to compose her fluttered spirits before she was assailed with a volley of saucy questions and sly insinuations which she tried vainly to escape or to answer unconcernedly. Her only resource was to go to work vigorously to dress for dinner, and turn a deaf ear to her mischievous tormentor. If she only knew how cruel she was, thought poor Madelaine, she would have some mercy. Wherein she was mistaken, for it so happened that Miss Emily knew a good deal more than her friend, and her conduct was therefore all the more malicious and inexcus- able. But there was a respite after dinner. Mrs. Maxwell had only a family party, and Madelaine was allowed to slip away unnoticed while the young motLers and aunts were discussing family topics, and the gentlemen cigars in the library. Emily was a relation and bound to remain, though she had a wicked desire to follow the fugitive, and torment her skillfully a little longer. Once alone in her own room, with nobody to see her, and no light even but the soft red glow of the coals in the grate, Madelaine first took a comfortable little cry, and then feeling some- what relieved, settled herself to think over all the strange history of the day, and to wonder what would happen when Mr. Hayne came again. It ~vns a roundabout road that her thoughts travel- ed, however, and before she had arrived at any satisfactory terminus, Emilys mischievous eyes peered through the red gloom, discovered Made- lame cowering in a deep chair in a vain endeavor to elude her vigilance, and pounced npon her viciously. Well, Miss Hayward, you are truly enter- taining and companionable to-day. You go to church in the morning before church-time, and stay till five in the afternoon. Then as soon as you have had your dinnerselfish thing! you steal off up stairs and leave all the company, never caring who wants you! I suppose I am no judge of politenessnot being a native of the chivalrous Southbut according to my uncul- tivated Northern notions this isnt it, any way. Oh, Emily! Madelaine began, deprecating- ly. You know they didnt want me down stairs. You were all talking family matters; I knew I was in the way, and so I left you. Very generous indeed! Considerate to the last degree! Emily retorted, provokingly; and going to crown your magnanimity by keeping out of the drawing-room all the evening, I sup- pose. No, indeed; I will go down at once, cried Madelaine, eager to escape. Let us go di- rectly. Oh, I dare say! You are in a great hurry to go down now that you know Mr. Hayne is there. Madelaine could not help starting, but she an- VOL. XX.No. 115.H swered, coolly, No such thing. How should I know that Mr. Hayne was there ? By my telling you, of course. Havent you just heard me say it? And he is waiting for you now. So you can came down if you choose or I will tell him that you dont choose, shall I? Just as you please, was the affectedly in- different answer; but the gas flared up suddenly, and there was a hurried smoothing of hair, and adjusting of ribbons and flounces for a minute or two. And then the two girls went down togeth- er. At the foot of the stairs Madelaine could not resist a question that had been burning on her tongue. Emily, did he bring any body with him any other gentleman? Yes, I believe he did, said Emily, with the greatest simplicity, knowing all the while that it was an unblushing falsehood, but unable to re- frain from the wicked satisfaction of seeing her friends cheeks whiten at her words. Not there ! she exclaimed, spitefully, as Madelaine, in the calmness of desperation, was turning the handle of the drawing-room door. Do you suppose I would send him among all those chattering women? He is therein the little parlor. Go in, you goose! and with a shove toward the door indicated Miss Emily rus- tled away and left the poor girl standing alone in her agony of distress and apprehension. For a moment she had a wild impulse to rush up stairs, lock herself in, and refuse to see them at all. But then pride came to prevent that, shame too, and something else as well. She determined to meet the enemy as a heroine should; so carrying her head like a queen or Madame Ravenelshe sailed into the little parlor with level fronting eyelids, prepared to show Messrs. Hayne and Gilchrist that she was not appalled even by their united presence. Greatly to her surprise, a little to her disap- pointment, and finally wonderfully to her relief, heroics notwithstanding, she saw at once that Mr. Hayne was alone. The room was fully lighted, and too small to conceal any body for a moment. He sat quietly upon a ti3te-a-t~te, the only occupant of the little parlor. He rose politely as she entered, and offered her the seat, which she accepted confusedly. Then he made a place for himself beside her, and the close proximity did not tend to lessen her embarrassment. She felt strangely awkward and ill at ease, and could not for her life have found a word to say. Mr. Hayne himself did not seem as usual. He was agitated and nerv- ous, fidgeted with his hands, twirled his mus- tache, and made some incoherent excuse for coming late; which, considering he had come remarkably early, was rather uncalled-for. There was a distressing silence for a few moments. Finally, Mr. Hayne plunged into the subject with which both minds were engrossed. I have taken a liberty, Miss Hayward, which I am afraid you will not like, even after your generous promise to me to-day. 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Miss Haywards eyes expressed inquiry, but she did not speak. I dined with Sidney Gilebrist this evening, be continued, and gave him the message with which you intrusted me. Still no answer, but the color wavered on her face, and her lips grew tremulous. You remember wbat it wasthat any friend of mine would be welcome to you? Upon the strength of it be expressed a wish to call imme- diatelythis very evening. I did not forbid him; and, to tell you the trutb, Miss Hayward, he came with mebe is here now The large eyes grew strangely luminous, the wavering color faded altogether, and the tremu- lous lips seemed hardly able to frame the reply that was expected. lhThere is he P she falter- ed out at last, for no effort of pride or will could steady her voice. In this room, was the answer, low, but clear and unhesitating. It was like an electric shock: Madelaine sprang to her feet and stared around the small, well- lighted room as if she expected to see Mr. Gil- christ rise through the floor or drop from the ceiling. But she could see nothin and she turned again to Mr. Hayne with a look half-re- proachful, half-frightened, and wholly bewil- dered. I do not see him, she began, with childish simplicity, but stopped short, for she saw an cx- l)ression on his face which startled her. It was white with excitement; his eyes glittered, every feature was agitated with some strong emotion. Must I tell you in so many words? can not you see P he asked. I see nothing, she said, faintly, but even as she spoke a terrible light flashed into her brain. He saw the gradual intelligence in her eyes, the wonder, dismay, incredulity that suc- ceeded each other upon her speaking counte- nance; and he knew that now was the time to strike a bold stroke for victory. I see you understand, he said, quietly and resolutely. Sit down again, and he drew her back unresisting to the sofa. Sidney Gilchrist is here, in his own person, to plead his own cause. He throws himself upon your mercy, Madelaine, and believes that you will forgive him because he loves you, and because you love him ! Unparalleled audacity! and yet Madelaine survived it! for the last assertion was but too true, and the first thrilled her with such a cer- tainty of bliss that it overpowered, for the mo- ment, every other remembrance. You made me a promise to-day, Madelaine, he continued, with bold and increasing confi- dence when he saw how mutely his first insolence was borne. You said that you would do any thing I wished; and now I wish you to lift your head, to uncover your face, to look into my eyes and say, I forgive you every thing, for I love you ~ He extended his hands as he spoke and touched hers, which were closed over her face and almost as crimson as the burning cheeks they covered. At his touch they sprang apart, her head lifted itself proudly and her eyes flashed anger at him. But only a lightning flash, brief as bright. The next instant it was quenched in a rain of pas- sionate tears, and her face was hidden again not in her hands, but upon Sidney Gilchrists shoulder. His arms were around her in a strong, loving embrace, his lips showered kisses upon her hair, whispered words of fire in her ear, and nothing in past, present, or future had power now to disturb the unspeakable joy and love which possessed and absorbed every faculty of her being. Faint heart never won fair lady, and if impu- dence deserves to be crowned with success, cer- tainly Sidney Gilchrist merited all he had won. He did not escape so easily, however, as appear at first sight; for after his fair lady had some- what recovered command of her faculties, he had to stand a pretty fire of feminine reproach and invective. Emily, and Mrs. Maxwell tooper- fidious creatures !came in for a fair share of Madelaines indignation; for it turned out that they had aided and abetted Mr. Sidney Hayne Gilebrist from the very beginning of his nefarious plot, and she had been the unsuspecting dupe of all three! Nothing in the world but the fact that she loved this said gentlemanwhatever the name he chose to assume better than pride, better than obstinacy, or any other womanly besetting sin, would have saved any of them from the ex- treme of her wrath. As it was, she forgave them all, out of the fullness of a happy heart. Mr. Gilchrist wrote a letter to Madame Ray- enel: so did Madelaine. The last was full of womanly penitence, confessions, and confidences. The first contained only three words: VENT, Vms, Vici! A BIT OF ANGLING. I FISH. The reason is, I like it. There is great joy for me in this fine sport. My rod and I are the best of friends. Having for many years been trained and educated in all the anglers arts, I look upon myself as equal to the proper bringing up of any of the finny family. One afternoon last summer I enticed trout from a brook that ran and reveled along a cool Franconia valley. A mossy cushion mitigated the asperities of the rock on which I reclined, and I was happy. A canopy of waving branches overhead shut off the fiercest beams of the sun, while softer rays, trickling through the foliage, diffused a tender warmth around. The delicate perfumes of forest flowers filled the air, and the music of the rippling waters echoed ceaselessly. Beside me lay an ample basket, half filled with speckled luxuries. Before me was the prospect of its speedy repletion. The trembling undulations of my line an- nounced another victim. A breathless moment of suspense, a few skillful allurements, a bit 9f

Edward H. House House, Edward H. A Bit Of Angling 110-115

110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Miss Haywards eyes expressed inquiry, but she did not speak. I dined with Sidney Gilebrist this evening, be continued, and gave him the message with which you intrusted me. Still no answer, but the color wavered on her face, and her lips grew tremulous. You remember wbat it wasthat any friend of mine would be welcome to you? Upon the strength of it be expressed a wish to call imme- diatelythis very evening. I did not forbid him; and, to tell you the trutb, Miss Hayward, he came with mebe is here now The large eyes grew strangely luminous, the wavering color faded altogether, and the tremu- lous lips seemed hardly able to frame the reply that was expected. lhThere is he P she falter- ed out at last, for no effort of pride or will could steady her voice. In this room, was the answer, low, but clear and unhesitating. It was like an electric shock: Madelaine sprang to her feet and stared around the small, well- lighted room as if she expected to see Mr. Gil- christ rise through the floor or drop from the ceiling. But she could see nothin and she turned again to Mr. Hayne with a look half-re- proachful, half-frightened, and wholly bewil- dered. I do not see him, she began, with childish simplicity, but stopped short, for she saw an cx- l)ression on his face which startled her. It was white with excitement; his eyes glittered, every feature was agitated with some strong emotion. Must I tell you in so many words? can not you see P he asked. I see nothing, she said, faintly, but even as she spoke a terrible light flashed into her brain. He saw the gradual intelligence in her eyes, the wonder, dismay, incredulity that suc- ceeded each other upon her speaking counte- nance; and he knew that now was the time to strike a bold stroke for victory. I see you understand, he said, quietly and resolutely. Sit down again, and he drew her back unresisting to the sofa. Sidney Gilchrist is here, in his own person, to plead his own cause. He throws himself upon your mercy, Madelaine, and believes that you will forgive him because he loves you, and because you love him ! Unparalleled audacity! and yet Madelaine survived it! for the last assertion was but too true, and the first thrilled her with such a cer- tainty of bliss that it overpowered, for the mo- ment, every other remembrance. You made me a promise to-day, Madelaine, he continued, with bold and increasing confi- dence when he saw how mutely his first insolence was borne. You said that you would do any thing I wished; and now I wish you to lift your head, to uncover your face, to look into my eyes and say, I forgive you every thing, for I love you ~ He extended his hands as he spoke and touched hers, which were closed over her face and almost as crimson as the burning cheeks they covered. At his touch they sprang apart, her head lifted itself proudly and her eyes flashed anger at him. But only a lightning flash, brief as bright. The next instant it was quenched in a rain of pas- sionate tears, and her face was hidden again not in her hands, but upon Sidney Gilchrists shoulder. His arms were around her in a strong, loving embrace, his lips showered kisses upon her hair, whispered words of fire in her ear, and nothing in past, present, or future had power now to disturb the unspeakable joy and love which possessed and absorbed every faculty of her being. Faint heart never won fair lady, and if impu- dence deserves to be crowned with success, cer- tainly Sidney Gilchrist merited all he had won. He did not escape so easily, however, as appear at first sight; for after his fair lady had some- what recovered command of her faculties, he had to stand a pretty fire of feminine reproach and invective. Emily, and Mrs. Maxwell tooper- fidious creatures !came in for a fair share of Madelaines indignation; for it turned out that they had aided and abetted Mr. Sidney Hayne Gilebrist from the very beginning of his nefarious plot, and she had been the unsuspecting dupe of all three! Nothing in the world but the fact that she loved this said gentlemanwhatever the name he chose to assume better than pride, better than obstinacy, or any other womanly besetting sin, would have saved any of them from the ex- treme of her wrath. As it was, she forgave them all, out of the fullness of a happy heart. Mr. Gilchrist wrote a letter to Madame Ray- enel: so did Madelaine. The last was full of womanly penitence, confessions, and confidences. The first contained only three words: VENT, Vms, Vici! A BIT OF ANGLING. I FISH. The reason is, I like it. There is great joy for me in this fine sport. My rod and I are the best of friends. Having for many years been trained and educated in all the anglers arts, I look upon myself as equal to the proper bringing up of any of the finny family. One afternoon last summer I enticed trout from a brook that ran and reveled along a cool Franconia valley. A mossy cushion mitigated the asperities of the rock on which I reclined, and I was happy. A canopy of waving branches overhead shut off the fiercest beams of the sun, while softer rays, trickling through the foliage, diffused a tender warmth around. The delicate perfumes of forest flowers filled the air, and the music of the rippling waters echoed ceaselessly. Beside me lay an ample basket, half filled with speckled luxuries. Before me was the prospect of its speedy repletion. The trembling undulations of my line an- nounced another victim. A breathless moment of suspense, a few skillful allurements, a bit 9f A BIT OF ANGLING. hi scientific fascination, and the sharp hook, enter- ing his innocent gill, whirled him quivering through the air, to my ready hand. Rustling twigs and footsteps crushing the dry leaves distracted my attention. The boughs parted, and my seclusion was disturhed by a lovely apparition. Indistinct notions of white flowing robes, a pinkish shawl, shiny slippers afflictingly diminutive, a jaunty wide hat of the order known as fiats, and other appurtenances of feminine attractiveness, came upon me; hut I was mainly absorhed by two lustrous eyes, ex- travagantly distended with horror as they rested npon the struggling captive from whose lacerated nose I extracted steel. It was sweet seventy-six that stood and gazed. I thus numerically designate her, not from any knowledge that I possessed of her age, which I hasten to announce as apparently eighteen, or seventeen plus, hut hecause at that early period I was able to distinguish her only by the num- ber of her room in the hotel the second floor of which we both inhabited. Her door was oppo- site mine, and open at most times; and every morning for a week I had taken in her image with my boots, and cherished it. Circumstances had not entitled me to advance a claim upon her attention. Our relations had been rigidly formal. I had, one~ unlucky even- ing, stepped upon her dress, and made a hole in it, but I did not consider this a suitahle opening for intimacy between us. Twice at table I had enjoyed opportunities of offering her mustard, but I could not bring myself to look upon mus- tard as the propor medium through which to es- tablish a durable acquaintance with so exquisite a being. If it had been the cream, or honey, or even pudding, the case would have heen differ- ent; hut mustard lacked delicacy, and I recoiled from its intercession. And now, unlooked-for chance had brought us strangely together. Releasing myself from the enthrallment of the augmented eyes, I rose and, courteously, I think, explained my occupa- tion. Dear me, said she, how horrihie ! That is just what she said. Sweet seventy- six said it was horrible. I thought this sort of heginning inauspicious, hut I believed the point susceptible of argument, and ventured a contrary opinion. Oh, it is horrible, she persisted; how can you bear to do it? So cruel, so heartless; poor little dears, all shiny and speckled, too, and she bent over the basket, much moved. Excuse me, how can you say so? People will eat trout; you eat them yourself; I think von breakfasted with two and a half this morn- ing. Now if trout were not caught, trout could not be eaten. Therefore trout must be caught. Else how would you breakfast? This elaborate reasoning was ineffectual. Pity for suffering nature had overflowed this tender little heart, and left no room for logic any where about her. A series of compassionate remon- strances assailed me. How could I resist them? I, too, began to look upon myself in the light of a barbarian, and admitted disagreeable doubts re- spective of my recent sport. Oh, pray, concluded sweet seventy-six, pray dont do it any more! I think I never can eat fish again. I didnt know it was so dreadful. Please, Sir, give it up. Be merci- ful! Of course there was no denying such appeals, and so I promised, and ruefully gave over. One gleam of satisfaction alleviated my regrets. Con- ventional ice was broken, and we floated upon the waves of comparative familiarity. At tea that evening smoking pyramids of savory trout rose before me. Sweet seventy- sixs plate was near. I timidly dared to fill it. There was no remonstrance. She had, then, forgotten; but I shuddered to think of the con- sequences, should the recollection too suddenly break upon her. There, she exclaimed, flushed with a tardy consciousness, as she opened her fair lips to re- ceive the last morsel that her plate afforded, now if that skoeld have been the poor darling that I saw you catch, Sir. I wonder, now, if it was. Do you think it could have been, Sir ? I believe it was, I answered gravely, and not without apprehensions. But how do you know? I recognize it by the size, said I; it was the largest of them all. Why, how nice! Do you know, now, I had no idea it could have been so nice. There is a great deal in cookery. Ill take another, if you please, Sir. I mused. That this incident affected me unpleasantly, I will not attempt to conceal. I could not con- ceal it even then. It seemed as if fair seventy- six were not animated by that rectitude of senti- ment which young women ought always to pos- sess. In the matter of fish she appeased fickle. She was incapable of hardening herself against an appeal of appetite, though the original means of gratifying it were abhorrent to her. Reflect- ing thus, I went with her to the drawing-room. We talked. Trout were referred to. With timid confusion she admitted her weakness, and spoke in slightly opprobrious terms regarding it. But on the question of the enormity of angling she remained obdurate. Then with feminine rapidity observing my concern, she deployed smiles and comforting murmurs, and playful agitations of curls, and other expressions of art- ful artlessness, known only to maidenhood, ob- literating, as the evening faded, all thought of severity in my mind. We walked a little on the piazza. I spoke, not coherently I am afraid, of the scenery and the lakes, and the mountain streams and the echoes, and undertook imbecile figures of speech, and occasionally obtruded feeble flatteries, sug- gested by the splendors of the firmament, and consequently moonshiny. She gave me to know that her name was Laura. Something was said about a surname, 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which conventional forms required me to take note of. It was Larcher, and I thought it a bore. When we parted, between our respective doors, she lighted her candle by mine, and beamed upon me with her eyes. The hot spermaceti fell upon my fingers, but I uttered no cry. She turned at last to go, and said in a manner that betok- ened final decision, Well, good-night; good-night! The next thing was, she came round upon me, and said she would shake hands, if I would promise sacredly never to massacre th3se sweet littlefish any more. What could a man do? From that moment I resigned myself to in- fatuation. I caused my seat at table to be fixed beside Miss Larcher. At every regular meal I devoured her with my eyes. I avoided the woods and mountains, except when she chose to visit them, and cultivated brilliancy of boots and pol- ish of manner. At the end of three days I was as inextricably fettered, metaphorically, as some time ago were Mars and Venus, by Vulcanized process. And yet I am fastidious. At least I think so. Experiences within a few short weeks had taught me to believe that I was very fastidious. I had been at Saratoga. My friend Dixford had shown me his sister and some attentions. I was attracted toward Miss Dixford. Her style of beauty was determined and imperious; black hair, dark eyes heavily shaded, implacable nose, and mouth delicately firm. I was at first rather awe-struck by her general yegality, but in time we became fine friends, and I experienced devo- tion toward her. We rode together incessantly for two days, regardless of the dust and the com- ments of society. We had souls above both. On the third morning I gave a violent proof of my interest in her. I rose before the customary hour for breakfast to join her in an early ramble. We approached the springs, hitherto an untrav- eled region for me. Miss Dixford called for water. She handed me a glass. By unwonted exercise of fortitude I gradually absorbed the fraction of a gill. Before I had accomplished this, Miss Dixford had introduced the entire contents of her glass into her system, and had called for more. To record the details would be to occasion myself unnecessary pain. The remembrance is odious. Five distinct successive draughts, large draughts, five large goblets full, that resolute young lady disposed of. I stood aghast. Come, she said, in a voice which seemed to bubble up from some troubled deep, come, let us go back. Certainly, said I, by all means. You do not like the waters, I am afraid, she said, in tones still moist and effervescent. Not to drink, said I, gloomily. Dear me, said she, I adore them. I am not up to my ordinary mark this morning, she added, with a bibulous sort of smile; I shall have no appetite all day. Oh, said I, faintly, not up to the ordi- nary mark? No, she answered, I usually take seven. I have taken eight. (Here a burst of heroic pride.) I admire your courage, Miss Dixford. I think you are a Joan of Arc, so far as conquer- ing delicate and sensitive instincts goes. Miss Dixford was pleased at the comjAiment, and appeared to regret that she had not given better ground for it by straining a point and achieving a few extra glasses that morning. The same day I left Saratoga. I did not con- sider that it was proper for me to become the satellite of a luminary whose lustre was liable at any time to be quenched by excessive medicinal fluid. I could not reconcile myself to the idea of intimacy with a young lady who made a daily cataract of her esophagus. For myself, I re- solved to look at once for waters of oblivion, which I could har.dly hope to find near Congress Hall. As I was about starting, Dixford came to me. Why do you go so unexpectedly ? he asked. The troth is, my dear fellow, said I, there is no fishing. It is charming here, in every re- spect, except that it is hot, and the roads arc dusty, and Well, never mind; but there is no profitable fishing. I must have fishing. I am going to Newport. We shall be sorry. Julia will be sorry. She was pleased with you, and for her to he pleasedthat is something. How do you like my sister, Plimkins ? She is most amiable, and I respect very much her decision and dauntlessness, if I may say so. Ah, theres where her strength lies, said Dixford. Intellectually she is strong. She astonishes me, sometimes, in that direction. She does astonish one, sometimes, said I. Oh yes, said he, she will do something yet. I think it will be Greek, or geometry. She has much to learn, she says, to reach her own ideal standard, but she will reach it. Her receptive faculties are very great. Perhaps you have noticed that. Very, said I. I went to Newport. The second morning after my arrival (I pass over all inferior inci- dents), a medieval lady of good-natured mien begged my pardon and asked if I were a Plim- kins of Boston. Learning that I was, she fur- thermore hoped I would excuse her, and was curious to know if my mother had been a Hyd- well. This bit of curiosity having been affirma- tively assuaged, the good-natured lady claimed me as a friend, on the strength of her former boarding-school affection for my mother, whom she had not seen for forty years, and presented me to her daughter, in whom I took immediate satisfaction. Lina Pinkerby afforded a thorough contrast to the dark lady whose picture had recently been washed from my breast by five glasses of Congress water. She was fair, and full of daintiest draw- ing-room refinement. Her liquid eyes seemed A BIT OF ANGLING. 113 calculated to furnish the oblivious element I needed; and I could not help anchoring my re- gard iu them. The weather, which blustered much about this time, produced such peculiar effects upon vagrant crinoline that crinoline staid mostly within doors. Thus the accomplishments of Miss Pinkerby developed themselves. She sang sweet little ballads, and played languishing waltzes all day long; and all the evening she floated like a soft white cloud held together sash- wise by a yard of rainbow, on aromatic airs com- pounded of Labitzky and Lubin. She was kind to me, and it was very com- fortable; and my anxieties, caused by annoying recollections, wore away. Congress water grad- ually evaporated from my mind. I was, in a measure, myself again, excepting that I never thought of fishing. One day, however, I yielded to the persuasions of an ardent amateur, and took advantage of the first luxurious weather Newport had known dur- ing my visit. We fished. Good fortune fell upon my companion; but as for me, I felt that the sport had lost its charm. I lost first my reputation as an angler, and subsequently my apparatus. Then I went away. I strode toward the hotel. I passed the beach. Bathers disported in strange attire. The sea was dotted with heads, variously bobbing. A figure emerged, dripping and diffuse. It ran by me. It screamed an aqueous salutation. It in- vited me to wait and see it home. I gazed with a full heart and a vacant face. It was she. I saw Lina Pinkerby in red flannel. Not only red, but wet. She seemed to need squeez- ing, not to say wringing out. As she skipped away to her dressing-house, I thought of fresh boiled lobsters of magnified proportions. Per- haps I could have borne it, but for the wet and the legs. The trowsers overwhelmed me, and the presence of palpable bifurcation made me swell with grief. And swathed in wet red flan- nel! She left a sinuous rivulet in her path. Was this the stream of oblivion I had hoped for? It was the second time within two weeks that my spirits had been dashed and weakened with water. Presently Miss Pinkerby came forth, dry, and neatly costumed, and handed me a damp bundle to carry. She was lively, and glowed with more than usual animation, but her smile had lost its savor, and the glistening of her eye was salt. iDo you swim, Mr. Plimkins ? she asked. Not for pleasure, said I. Are you not fond of the water ? To fish from, I am, said I. Now I like nothing so well, said she. We bathe here every day when it is warm. Sometimes I bathe twice a day, I am so fond of it. I keep two dresses. The other one is yel- low. Do you like my dress, Mr. Plimkins ? Infinitely, said I; it would be nice in a comic pantomime. Yes, it is generally thought pretty, she said. Then I became stolid, and spoke no more, ex- cept with pointed brevity. Miss Pinkerby offer- ed an opinion on the weather, with which I dis- agreed. She afterward hinted at the advantages of riding on so lovely a daya turn of conversa- tion which I did not encourage. The next day I tnrned my face in the direc- tion of Franconia. I had yet three weeks for summer recreations, and I craved a brief season of undisturbed happiness. Very well, then. My friend who reads will be likely to understand that I am somewhat given to fastidiousness. But in the case of Miss Larcher, all afflicting doubts vanished one by one. Her sensitiveness on points of pure femi- nine taste was very affecting. I gradually melt- ed beneath her influence, and gave myself up to absorption. Sometimes I obtruded a remonstrance in the matter of trout fishing. Oh dont, please dont, Mr. Plimkins, she would say, you distress me when you speak of it. But consider Now you know I never consider; dont ask me to consider. Besides, I cant spare you. To-morrow we must see the Flume again. Some other day, perhaps. Next day we do Lafayette. Now tell me, Mr. Plimkins, do I trouble you so much ? Trouble? How can you say such things ? Well, it seems to medont you think, now, that you are tired of running on these foolish expeditions with me Dear Miss Larcher I think you want to get back to that horrid brook, with your naughty rod and line, and hurt and kill those sweet little fish that taste so good at tea. I want to catch them for your tea. No, it is not right, Im sure. Yet you eat them. I know, dear Mr. Plimkins, I am very in- consistent; truly I am very bad, but dont scold, please. Bless my heart 1to scold her. The notion was too wretchedly ridiculous. And so she had every thing her own way. Ah, those days of sunshine at Franconia! What never-ending delights came crowding along! There was joy in every thing; in the fair lake of echoes, reposing in serene and tran- quil beauty, hugged round by giant mountain arms; in the Indians on its shores, who chat- tered gibberish incomprehensible to themselves, and who sold us, at high prices, untrustworthy baskets and impracticable fans; in the tin horn, at one end of which I used to distort my face and bring on pains of ague, awakening the voices of the everlasting crags nearby; in the eccentric cascade, in the neighborhood of which no water had been seen within the memory of residents; in the infantile tame bears, which ate raspberries freely, and tore the garments of those who prof- fered them; in the hot and weary paths of Can- non Mountain; in the dizzy acclivities and hard- 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. backed ponies of Lafayette; in all that caine within the sphere of our consideration. I was never happier, and I intimated some such idea, in a quiet way, to Miss Larcher. She said she was glad. I remember perfectly well that she said she was glad, and it was on the evening of my sixth blissful day that she told me so. Six days there were, during which my sun of delight was undimmed. On the seventh there appeared a spot. It was nearly six feet high, and well whiskered; and it displeased me. It came from New York, and its name was Copsey. Copsey had personal attractions, and a note of introduction to the Larcher family. For these reasons he was permitted to attach himself to the Larcher party. Consequently I reviled him. Laura was amiable and kind-hearted, I said to myself. I said so because she took this Cop- sey, who was twice as big as she, under her pro- tection, as it were, and assisted him to enjoy the scenery, and showed him all the lions, including the hears, for an entire day. I did not see her ten minutes, excepting at dinner, and then she cutraged my feelings by asking me to help Mr. Copsey to butter. By the time the gong sounded for tea I was greatly discomfited. I entertained vicious thoughts respecting Copsey. I observed that he was treated with solicitude. As we all turned parlorward I assumed desperation and announced a determination to fish on the morrow. What! Oh no, Mr. Plimkins, said Laura, ~you will not leave us ? No, said I, but I shall fish. Now that is a paradox, said she. Can you think it so ? said I. But you will not forget your promise, urged she. We many of us are apt to be too forgetful, said I. That is very true, she answered, penitently, as it seemedand then, confidingly, have I done any thing wrong, Mr. Plimkins ? What an odd question,I said; I thinkl am interrupting yougood-night! Mr. Plimkins, said Laura, pathetically, this time, beyond a doubt, good-night! if you will say it. I shall breakfast early to-morrow morningvery early as soon as the gong sounds. You will sit hy me? Of course there was nothing to he said in re- turn but a full acquiescence. And so I left, and went, not wholly at ease, to newspapers, and finally to bed. Why need I recall too vividly the alternations of rapture and despair which followed? One day the thermometer of my hope would rise to fever heat; the next, it would sink into the tube out of sight. I longed to vituperate Copsey, who had embittered my existence, but pride restrain- ed me. One day he attempted familiarity with me. I think you spoke of fishing ? said he. Well, Sir, said I. I fish a little, said he; I should like to join you some day. I generally fish in solitude, said I; and besides, I would not draw you from more refresh- ing in-door entertainment. He laughed a little, and pulled the ends of hi. mustache. I burned with wrath, almost to blaz- ing, and left him for fear I should get put out. One evening Laura and I stood watching the newly arrived as they descended from the stage- coach. Suddenly she cried out queerly, and dart- ed away. The next instant she was shaking vig- orous hands with a male, whose appearance was unprepossessing by reason of dust. She accom- panied him within doors, and for an hour was unseen in her accustomed evening resorts. At length she entered the parlor with the stranger, made him known to every one as Mr. Murvison, from New York, and withdrew to a distant corner, shutting herself out from all the world but him. I felt more kindly toward Copsey, and inter- changed some observations with him on the state of the atmosphere. That night I went to bed in a dismal frame of mind. It was a wonder, now I think of it, I did not go in my hat and boots. I dreamed thus I had grown a fin or two, wore scales, and had a flappy tail; yet I retaihed my individual consciousness. There were others like me. One was whiskered, and I recognized in him the Cop- sey genus. Another, which I avoided with as- siduous care, was of the nature of Murvison. We floated in pellucid waters. We acknowl- edged an inclination for worms, and yearned for grasshoppers. We were prone to much opening and shutting of the mouth, and other singular- ities. We saw appear above us a well-known face surmounted by a well-known hat, and supported by a well-known body, clad in a well-known garb. We were alarmed, but a fascination pre- vented us from hastening away. Our fins shook with emotion. Presently we saw a line descend among ns. From it depended a hook on which hung bait. Such bait! It was a smile and a sweet word deftly twisted together. I had no power of re- sistance. I dashed forward and suffered. I felt myself torn from my proper way of life. As I dangled helpless in the air I saw my beautiful capturess smiling unconcerned at my agony. Shame and sorrow overcame me. I was trifled with for a while, then disentangled, and cast carelessly aside. I writhed in blind mortification until a sharp shock roused me. Alas! it was the Copsey gasping and struggling vainly by my side. I wriggled about with some difficulty, and ob- tained a view of her who had deluded and de- stroyed us. Her face was mildly radiant as ever, and intent upon the waves below. Then I was reckless. With one impetuous throb of my tail I flung myself in the air, and fell with a dull splash into my element. I was free again. I woke and found myself on the floor, amidst MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 115 the shattered fragments of the wash-basin. My dream was over, and the scales had fallen. I was no longer a foolish fish. The next morning I sought Mr. Copsey and opened the subject of angling. He lifted his eyebrows. Are you going ? asked he. I am, said I, with energy. But, said he, do you not fish in solitude? Not when I know a companion in distress, said I. Then you do not care for more refreshing in-door entertainment ? said be. My heart ached, but with a degree of self- command that surprised myself; I winked. Do you know about Murvison ? he asked. Not I, I answered. I have just heard, he continued, that it has long been understood that he is to mars~ Miss Larcher. They are near neighbors in New York. Yes. Let us go fish. As we stepped from the door we encountered Miss Larcher and Mr. Murvison. I displayed my rod defiantly. Going to fisb, gentlemen ? sbe asked, airily. We are going to fish, Miss Larcher, I said- going to fish for trout. Well, together, I think you will get many, she said. Do try, for Mr. Murvisou is very fond of them, and so am I, too, you know, Mr. Plimkins. Now see if you can bring home ever so many. From that time I caught trout incessantly while I remained in Franconia. I supplied all that the hotel needed, every day, and at the end of a week I wound up my visit with a very large string. I think that iu future I shall fish more than ever. ~*1nnt~dij ~nv~ uf ~urr~nt @n~nt~. UNITED STATES. THE usual quiet of our domestic affairs has been interrupted by a singular attempt to excite a servile insurrection in Virginia. Among those who bore a prominent part in the disturbances in Kansas, on the anti-slavery side, were John Brown and his seven sons. Two of the sons lost their lives, and the remaiuder of the family appear to have imbibed a monomaniacal hatred against slavery and slave- holders. The father was the leader of his party in several of the later contests in Kansas, and from his part in one which took place at Ossawatomie he received the sobriquet of Ossawatomie Brown. After the pacification of Kansas he visited various parts of the country for the purpose of organizing a scheme to aid in the escape of fugitive slaves. He appears to have come in contact with many promi- sient abolitionists, who regarded him as a harmless monomaniac, and gave little attention to his pro- jects. In May, 1858, a meeting of himself and his confederates was held at Chatham, Canada, where a plan for a Provisional Government of the United States was formed. All residents of the country, whether slave or free, might become members of the association by promising allegiance to the Provis- ional Constitution. Brown was named Command- er-in-Chief; with almost dictatorial powers. Short- ly afterward Brown, with two of his sons, appeared in the vicinity of Harpers Ferry, in Virginia, and under the assumed name of Smith rented a small farm in Maryland, a few miles from the Ferry. Here were gradually collected a considerable quantity of arms and ammunition rifles, pistols, pikes, cart- ridges, and the like; and a body of 22 men, of whom 17 were whites and 5 colored, joined him from vari- ous parts of the country. With these, on the night of October 16, he made a descent upon the town of Harpers Ferrya place containing about 5000 in- habitants, with a United States arsenal in which more than 100,000 stand of arms are usually stored. The arsenal was left wholly unguarded. The insur- gents took possession of the buildings without oppo- sition; and at 10fr oclock in the evening they ar rested the watchman on the railroad bridge, and made arrangements to stop the train about to pass. A part of them then proceeded to the residences of Messrs. Lewis Washington and John Alstadt, wealthy farmers residing within a few miles of the Ferry made them prisoners, with such of their slaves n.e they could secure, and brought them to the arsenal. These operations were performed so quietly that no general alarm was aroused during the night. In the morning, the parsons connected with the arsenal proceeded to their places of labor, and were one by one captured and secured in the buildings. About 30 persons were thus made prisoners. The alarm became general when it was found that the public edifices were guarded by the armed sentinels of the insurgents. The most exaggerated reports of their force were put in circulation. It was stated that they numbered many hundreds of men fully armed, and that the slaves had risen to support them. It seemed incredible that any such enterprise should be undertaken except by a large force. In the early morning some random firing took place, by which several lives were lost. Military companies from the neighborhood began to arrive about noon of the 17th, and the insurgents were gradually driven within the arsenal grounds, two of their number having been captured. Desultory shots were fired during the course of the day on both sides. One of these, discharged by a son of Brown, killed Mr. Beckham, the Mayor of the town; young Brown was at the same moment shot, and mortally wound- ed; a rush was then made for the room in which the two insurgent prisoners were confined; one of them, named Thompson, was dragged out, shot upon the bridge, and flung into the river beneath. A suc- cessful attack was made upon one of the arsenal buildings, in which most of the prisoners were se- cured; these were liberated. Some of the more im- portant prisoners were, however, shut up in the en- gine-house, where the insurgents had been forced te intrench themselves. At 11 P.M. the United States marines, under command of Colonel Lee, arrived, and were posted so as to command the engine-house,

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 115-118

MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 115 the shattered fragments of the wash-basin. My dream was over, and the scales had fallen. I was no longer a foolish fish. The next morning I sought Mr. Copsey and opened the subject of angling. He lifted his eyebrows. Are you going ? asked he. I am, said I, with energy. But, said he, do you not fish in solitude? Not when I know a companion in distress, said I. Then you do not care for more refreshing in-door entertainment ? said be. My heart ached, but with a degree of self- command that surprised myself; I winked. Do you know about Murvison ? he asked. Not I, I answered. I have just heard, he continued, that it has long been understood that he is to mars~ Miss Larcher. They are near neighbors in New York. Yes. Let us go fish. As we stepped from the door we encountered Miss Larcher and Mr. Murvison. I displayed my rod defiantly. Going to fisb, gentlemen ? sbe asked, airily. We are going to fish, Miss Larcher, I said- going to fish for trout. Well, together, I think you will get many, she said. Do try, for Mr. Murvisou is very fond of them, and so am I, too, you know, Mr. Plimkins. Now see if you can bring home ever so many. From that time I caught trout incessantly while I remained in Franconia. I supplied all that the hotel needed, every day, and at the end of a week I wound up my visit with a very large string. I think that iu future I shall fish more than ever. ~*1nnt~dij ~nv~ uf ~urr~nt @n~nt~. UNITED STATES. THE usual quiet of our domestic affairs has been interrupted by a singular attempt to excite a servile insurrection in Virginia. Among those who bore a prominent part in the disturbances in Kansas, on the anti-slavery side, were John Brown and his seven sons. Two of the sons lost their lives, and the remaiuder of the family appear to have imbibed a monomaniacal hatred against slavery and slave- holders. The father was the leader of his party in several of the later contests in Kansas, and from his part in one which took place at Ossawatomie he received the sobriquet of Ossawatomie Brown. After the pacification of Kansas he visited various parts of the country for the purpose of organizing a scheme to aid in the escape of fugitive slaves. He appears to have come in contact with many promi- sient abolitionists, who regarded him as a harmless monomaniac, and gave little attention to his pro- jects. In May, 1858, a meeting of himself and his confederates was held at Chatham, Canada, where a plan for a Provisional Government of the United States was formed. All residents of the country, whether slave or free, might become members of the association by promising allegiance to the Provis- ional Constitution. Brown was named Command- er-in-Chief; with almost dictatorial powers. Short- ly afterward Brown, with two of his sons, appeared in the vicinity of Harpers Ferry, in Virginia, and under the assumed name of Smith rented a small farm in Maryland, a few miles from the Ferry. Here were gradually collected a considerable quantity of arms and ammunition rifles, pistols, pikes, cart- ridges, and the like; and a body of 22 men, of whom 17 were whites and 5 colored, joined him from vari- ous parts of the country. With these, on the night of October 16, he made a descent upon the town of Harpers Ferrya place containing about 5000 in- habitants, with a United States arsenal in which more than 100,000 stand of arms are usually stored. The arsenal was left wholly unguarded. The insur- gents took possession of the buildings without oppo- sition; and at 10fr oclock in the evening they ar rested the watchman on the railroad bridge, and made arrangements to stop the train about to pass. A part of them then proceeded to the residences of Messrs. Lewis Washington and John Alstadt, wealthy farmers residing within a few miles of the Ferry made them prisoners, with such of their slaves n.e they could secure, and brought them to the arsenal. These operations were performed so quietly that no general alarm was aroused during the night. In the morning, the parsons connected with the arsenal proceeded to their places of labor, and were one by one captured and secured in the buildings. About 30 persons were thus made prisoners. The alarm became general when it was found that the public edifices were guarded by the armed sentinels of the insurgents. The most exaggerated reports of their force were put in circulation. It was stated that they numbered many hundreds of men fully armed, and that the slaves had risen to support them. It seemed incredible that any such enterprise should be undertaken except by a large force. In the early morning some random firing took place, by which several lives were lost. Military companies from the neighborhood began to arrive about noon of the 17th, and the insurgents were gradually driven within the arsenal grounds, two of their number having been captured. Desultory shots were fired during the course of the day on both sides. One of these, discharged by a son of Brown, killed Mr. Beckham, the Mayor of the town; young Brown was at the same moment shot, and mortally wound- ed; a rush was then made for the room in which the two insurgent prisoners were confined; one of them, named Thompson, was dragged out, shot upon the bridge, and flung into the river beneath. A suc- cessful attack was made upon one of the arsenal buildings, in which most of the prisoners were se- cured; these were liberated. Some of the more im- portant prisoners were, however, shut up in the en- gine-house, where the insurgents had been forced te intrench themselves. At 11 P.M. the United States marines, under command of Colonel Lee, arrived, and were posted so as to command the engine-house, 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which was closely invested during the night. Ear- ly in the morning Brown sent out a flag of trnce, proposing terms of capitulation. He demanded that his men should be allowed to march ont, with their prisoners, unmolested, to a certain point, when the prisoners were to be liberated, and his men should then shift for themselves as they best could. The terms were refused, and preparations were made to storm the engine-house. Cannon could not be used without endangering the safety of the prison- ers, and an unsuccessful attempt was made to break down the doors with sledge-hammers. A heavy ladder was then brought up, and used as a batter- ing-ram; the door gave way, and the marines rush-. ad in, in the face of a heavy fire. Brown, who was severely wounded, and Coppic, with two negroes, Green and Copeland, were the only survivors in the engine-house; Stephens had been previously cap- tured. Four men had been sent away the previous day with the slaves who had been seized by the in- surgents. Two of these, Cooke and Hazlett, were subsequently taken in Pennsylvania, and surrender- ed to the authorities of Virginia. The citizens whom they had taken prisoners were released unharmed; they had suffered no ill-treatment beyond their forced detention. The following list contains the names and fate of the persons engaged in this mad undertaking: 1. John Brown, of Essex County, New York, wounded and prisoner. 2. Ottawa Brown, his son, of New York, killed. 3. Watson Brown, ditto ditto killed. 4. Aaron C. Stephens, of Connecticut, mortally wounded. 5. Edwin Coppic, of Iowa, prisoner. 6. Albert Hazlett, of Pennsylvania, killed. 7. William H. Leeman, of Maine, killed. S. Stewart Taylor, of Canada, killed. 9. Charles P. Tidd, of Maine, killed. 10. William Thompson, of New York, killed. 11. Doiph Thompson, of New York, killed. 12. John H. Kage, of Ohio, killed. 13. Jerry Anderson, of Indiana, killed. 14. Dangerfield Newby, negro, of Ohio, killed. 15. 0. P. Anderson, negro, of Pennsylvania, killed. 16. Lewis Leary, negro, of Ohio, killed. 17. Shields Green, alias Emperor, negro, of Pennsylvania, prisoner. 18. Copeland, negro, of Ohio, prisoner. 19. J. E. Cooke, white man, of Connecticut, prisoner. 2-0. William Hazlett, alias Harrison, prisoner. 21, 22. Two men, names unknown, escaped. Of the citizens and soldiers seven were killed and a number wounded. The Grand Jnry of Jefferson County being in ses- sion, bills of indictment were found against the pris- oners, charging them with inciting slaves to insur- rection, with treason, and murder. They demand- ed to be tried separately, and the Commonwealth elected to try Brown first. He asked for a delay, on account of his severe wounds; this was refused by the Court, and the trial commenced on the 26th of October. The prisoner, who was unable to sit, lay upon a mattress. The trial lasted three days, and Brown was found guilty upon all the counts in the indictment, and sentenced to be executed on the 2d of December. In reply to the formal question why sentence should not be pronounced, Brown said that his sole object was to free slaves; but that he had no intention to incite them to revolt or to com- mit murder. He justified this action. Had he in- terfered, he said, thus in behalf of the rich and pow- erful, he would have been applauded; and if it was necessary for the ends of justice that his life should be taken, he was content. As to the treatment he had received on his trial, it had been more generous than he could have expected. Elections during the month of October were held in Iowa and Minnesota, where the Republicans were successful; in Pennsylvania, for State officers and members of the Legislature, resulting in favor of the Opposition; in Maryland, for members of Congress and of the Legislature; the Congressional represent- ation stands as beforethree Democrats and three Americans; in the State Legislature the Democrats have a majority; last year they were in a decided minority. In Baltimore the election was character- ized by more than the usual amount of riots and dis- turbance; organized bands of ruffians belonging to the dominant American party surrounded the polls and prevented their opponents from depositing their ballots. Several persons were killed, and many oth- ers severely injured. A correspondence, which has not been publishi~d, but which is represented to be of somewhat threat- ening character, has taken place between our Gov- ernment and that of Great Britain in relation to the San Juan affair.Mr. Ward, our Minister to China, had an interview, by appointment, on the 8th July, with the Government of the Chinese province of Chihll. The Governor seemed anxious to explain the conduct of the Chinese at the battle of the Pel- ho, and to learn the intentions of the French and English embassadors; Mr. Ward replied that he came to attend to the business of his country, and knew nothing of the purposes of the other Powers; the difficulties between them and the Chinese must be settled by themselves. He was pursuing the course marked out by the treaty with the Ameri- cans, and hoped that the Chinese Government would abide by the stipulations of that treaty, and furnish him with the means of going to Pekin. The Gov- ernor replied that the treaty was to be ratified at Pekin; but Mr. Ward could not be allowed to pro- ceed thither until the arrival of the Chinese Com- missioners from Shanghai, who had been appointed to be his escort. Mr. Ward said that it was not re- spectful to his Government that he should be kept waiting for more than a month the arrival of the Commissioners. The Governor finally consented that if the Commissioners did not make their appear- ance in ten days Mr. Ward might then proceed to the capital. Permission to this effsct was received from Pekin; and on the 20th Mr. Ward and suite set out. Indirect accounts of his arrival and courte- ous reception have been received, but they contain no particulars. SOUTHERN AMERICA. Although no decisive measures have been under- taken in Mexico, every thing indicates that the con- test between the parties must soon be settled. We therefore present a general view of the present posi- tion of the belligerents: Mexico now consists of 28 States and Departments, containing 115,000 square leagues, with an estimated population of 8,550,000 inhabitants. Of these the party of Juarez, known as Constitutionalists or Liberals, hold 23 States, comprising six-sevenths of the territory, and a little more than half of the population. They hold all the ports of the republic, with the single exception of San Blas, on the Pacific. The States held by the adherents of Miramonthe Church or Conserv- ative partyare those lying immediately around the capital, and are by far the richest and most densely-populated parts of the republic. Strictly speaking, however, only the principal towns even in these States are in the possession of the Conserva- tives, the intervening country being overrun by guerrilla bands of the other party. There is little MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 117 harmony between the various Liberal chiefs, while those of theChurch party are more united. The com- mand of the wealth and influence of the clergy also gives them a considerable advantage over their op- ponents. The seat of government of the Liberals is at Vera Cruz, that of the Conservatives being at Mexico. Each party, at the latest dates, was snaking preparations to attack the other at its seat of government. In the absence of foreign interven- tion, the greater wealth, unity, and concentration of the Church party renders its position the most ad- vantageous. The Government of Miramon has just concluded a treaty with Spain, by which the former promises full indemnity for losses sustained by Span- ish subjects owing to the non-fulfillment of former treaties; in case of differences arising respecting the amount, the question to be referred to the Emperor of the French or the Queen of England. Our Min- ister, Mr. MLane, has returned to Mexico with assurances which are supposed to render certain the conclusion of a treaty with the liberal Govern- ment. EUROPE. The text of the treaty arranged at Zurich between France, Austria, and Sardinia has not yet been offi- cially made known. According to abstracts which appear to be reliable, it merely re-affirms the agree- ment entered into at Villafranca, but leaves the question of the future condition of Italy to be de- cided by a European Congress. Austria gives up Lombardy, with the exception of Mautna and Pes- chiera, to France, who transfers it to Sardinia. Of the Lombard debt 250,000,000 francs are to be trans- ferred to Sardinia. France and Austria are to en- deavor to bring about a reform in the administration of the States of the Church. The rights of the Dukes of Tuscany, Modena, and Parma are to be reserved for the special consideration of the two Em- perors, who are, moreover, to endeavor to bring about an Italian Confederation, of which Venetia, under Austrian supremacy, is to form a member. The great Italian question thus remains undecided and a collision may at any moment take place, which will again throw Europe into a state of war. The internal affairs of the Papal States, and the relations between them and Sardinia appear to present the most immediate points of danger. The Emperor Napoleon, in reply to a speech from the Archbishop of Bordeaux, extolling the Pope, expressed himself with great caution. He hoped that the whole world would soon share his convic- tion that the temporal power of the Holy Father was not opposed to the liberty and independence of Italy. The Government which replaced the Pope on his throne could only interfere in his administra- tion by respectful counseL The Holy Father looked with anxiety to the day when Rome should be evac- siated by the French troops. That day must soon come, for Europe could not consent that this occu- pation, which had already lasted for ten years, should he indefinitely prolonged. But when the army with- drew, what would succeed it? Would it be anar- chy, terror, or peace? To this significant question the Emperor ventured to give no definite reply; but the fact that military and naval preparations are pushed forward in France with uninterrupted vigor indicates that, in the opinion of the Emperor, the peace of Europe is by no means placed upon a firm basis. In the mean time the Sardinian Government is making preparations which look to the renewal of hostilities. The new army will consist of 100,000 men and the National Guards will number 600,000. The King, in reply to a deputation from the muni- cipality of Genoa, affirmed his determination to de- fend the cause of Italian independence to the utmost of his power, and expressed a hope that the wishes of Italy would be granted by the European powers. The deputies of Parma and Tuscany have been ad- mitted to interviews with the Emperor Napoleon. They assure their constituents that the Emperor re- mains faithful to his promise to protect the Italian cause, and are assured that the principle upon which the whole hangsthat of non-intervention by arms will receive no injury from any quarter whatever. Garibaldi has made a speech in which he sets forth his view of Italian prospects. lie says: Events are progressing favorably, but there is yet much to be done. The day is come in which Italy must re- gain its independence. This time it must be ac- complished, and from the Alps to Sicily she must be free. Providence has given us the man we need- ed to re-knit us together. It is around Victor Eman- uel that we must rally to repulse the stranger from our soil. Let him but retire, and leave us to enjoy our possessions in peace, and we will at once wel- come him as a friend; but so long as he desires to subject us to his dominion he has nothing to expect from us but the fire of our artillery. Before every thing it is imperative that we should all be soldiers. Our entire nation must form one army; and if do- mestic duties detain a few round the family hearth, let them remain there like soldiers, musket or sword in hand. Fifteen days are enough to render a brave Italian a brave soldier. But we want arms; and that this want may exist no longer, I have proposed that ItAly should form a subscription to purchase a million of muskets. Subscriptions to purchase these muskets pour in; the mun ipality of Milan has furnished 100,000 francs for this object. D culties have for some time existed between Spain and Morocco, growing out of attacks made by the Barbary pirates upon the Spanish possessions. After a series of unsatisfactory negotiations, the Spanish Government has announced its intention of commencing hostilities against Morocco. This step, it is reported, meets with the approbation of the French Government, which has also some dispute with the Moors. The English papers see in this movement a hostile demonstration against Great Britain, thinking that it looks to new acquisitions of territory in Africa by France. From Greet Britain there is no intelligence of special importance. It is not probable that the steamer Great Eas!erms will be sent across the Atlan- tic before springThe official correspondence be- tween the Government and its officials in China in respect to the battle of the Pei-ho has been publish- ed. Mr. Bruce, the English Commissioner, says that there was no doubt felt either by himself or on board the fleet that the force sent against the forts was amply sufficient for their reduction, and that he is willing to accept the responsibility of the meas- ures taken by the Admiral. Lord John Russells re- ply virtually approves of the course taken, notwith- standing its disastrous result, and says that active preparations are being made, in conjunction with the French Government, to bring the Chinese to terms.The strike of the London builders still continues, and there begins to be great distress among the workmen; resolutions have been adopt- ed appealing to the public for subscriptions for their support. Women Artists in all Ages and Countries, by Mrs. ELLET. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) Al- though neither in art nor in poetry have the most splendid honors been accorded to the genius of wo- man, yet in each department she has won that em- inence which makes the record of her achievements a worthy theme of biographical description. In the present volume Mrs. Ellet has collected the memo- rials of the most distinguished female artists in every period of history, furnishing a mass of curious in- formation which has never before been given to the world in a compact form. Her materials have been sought, with patient assiduity, from a wide range of authorities, and have been wrought up into the at- tractive shape in which they are found with the lit- erary tact and skill which usually mark the produc- tions of the author. The reader will be surprised to meet with so many names, of which he had probably never heard before, that have attained distinction in art. The record commences with Callirhoe the daughter of the Grecian Dibutades, and closes with the promising young American, Harriet Hosmer, of Massachusetts. The first sculptress of whom history has preserved an account was the daughter of Erwin von Stien- bach, of Strasburg, who has left a glorious monu- ment to his genius in the cathedral of that city. She aided in the ornamentation of that noble building, and her sculptured groups have been admired by visitors during the lapse of ages. Toward the close of the fifteenth century Italy produced the first wo- man whogained reputation as a sculptor in that land of beauty and art. This was Propertia di Rossi, born in Bologna in 1490, who added to rare loveliness of person and brilliant female accomplishments the artistic uifts which made her the object of admira- tion and pride among all her contemporaries. She began with the minute carving of peach-stones; and, among other specimens of her skill, executed a crucifixion of Christ, comprising a number of figures executioners, disciples, women, and soldiers equally remarkable for its effective grouping and its delicate finish. She next undertook the decoration of the Church of San Petronlo, in Bologna, for which she completed some exquisite works; but falling a victim to unrequited love, she died in the early blos- soming of her fame. Another Italian female artist of this period was Marietta Robusti, the daughter of the great painter Tintoretto, who, cherishing the most enthusiastic affection for her father, inherited no small share of his talent. Her person was beau- tiful; her soft, musical voice was a fit accompani- ment to the lute and other instruments, on which she was an accomplished performer; and her devo- tion to art was exceeded only by her filial attach- ment. It was no wonder that she was the joy and pride of her father. She followed him, dressed as a boy, wherever he went; his pictures fed her young imagination with forms of beauty; whether he la- bored at his models, or studied the antique statues or casts from Michael Angelo, the coloring of Titian or the nude figure, she was by his side, noting his first sketch in the moment of creation, and watch- ing the progress of its execution. She soon attained his wonderful freedom in handling the brush, his strength and precision in drawing, and his richness of coloring. Devoting herself chiefly to portraits, she astonished even her father by her success; and it soon became the rage among the Venetian aristoc- racy to be painted by Marietta. The family of Anguisciola, in the sixteenth cen- tury, was celebrated for six daughters, all gifted in music and painting. Of these the best known was Sofonisba, born in Cremona, between 1530 and 1540. Her artistic talent was developed at an early a,~e. While yet in her girlhood she attracted the notice of princes. She ~ as received with honor at courts, and was rewarded with high honors and profitable appointments from her royal patrons. Her paint- in~,s were remarkable for boldness and freedom. In some of her pieces the figures seemed almost to breathe. She attained great success in comic, as well as in more serious productions. In the latter years of her life she was deprived of sight, but re- tained her intellectual faculties, her love of art, and her relish for the society of its professors. The r& - unions in her house were attended to the last by dis- tinguished painters from every quarter. Vandyke was frequently her guest, and was accustomed to say that he had received more light from this blind old woman than from all his studies of the great masters. One of the most celebrated women of the sixteenth century was Lavinia Fontana, who was born in Bo- logna in 1552. She painted in the style of Carracci, and some of her pictures, in softness, sweetness, and tenderness have even been compared to those of Guido Reni. To delicacy of touch she united rare skill in taking likenesses. The first ladies in Rome sought to become her sitters, and the greatest Cardinals were ambitious to have their portraits executed by her hand. Her portraits were displayed in the galleries of the nobility and the most cultivated persons in the land. She also produced several compositions on sacred subjects, some of which are now in Bologna. In her later works she acquired a softness and warmth of coloring that remind one of the masters of the Venetian school. About a century later (1640) was born Elisabetta Sirani, one of the most gifted women who, in any age or nation, have devoted themselves to the fine arts. She was a pupil of Guido Reni, from whom she imbibed an exquisite sense of the b autiful, and a peculiar gift of reproducing it. To this she addrd a vigor and energy rare in a woman. With the gift of genius she combined singular personal loveliness. She was admired for her gracious and cheerful spirit, her prompt judgment, and enthusiastic attachment to her art. Her devoted filial affection, her femi- nine grace, and the charming kindliness of her man- ners, completed a character which her friends re- garded as an ideal of perfection. This fascinating artist was snatched from her friends in the flush of early womanhood by a cruel and mysterious fate. It is supposed by some that her sudden death was a base murder, and that she was the victim of professional jealousy. No clear light, however, has been thrown on the unhappy event. Passing rapidly over the intervening period, we find the nineteenth century signalized by several living female artists of eminent distinction. Among these one of the most remarkable is Felicie de Fan- veau, who was born in Tuscany, hut taken when an infant to Paris, where her education commenced. She was brought up in devout loyalty to the an- cient monarchy and the Roman Catholic Church. Her studies were varied and profound. Ancient his- tory, the classics, modern languages, heraldry, and archmology, by turns, received her attention. She had the faculty of coloring with skill, and might have been a great painter had she not resolved to be

Literary Notices Literary Notices 118-121

Women Artists in all Ages and Countries, by Mrs. ELLET. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) Al- though neither in art nor in poetry have the most splendid honors been accorded to the genius of wo- man, yet in each department she has won that em- inence which makes the record of her achievements a worthy theme of biographical description. In the present volume Mrs. Ellet has collected the memo- rials of the most distinguished female artists in every period of history, furnishing a mass of curious in- formation which has never before been given to the world in a compact form. Her materials have been sought, with patient assiduity, from a wide range of authorities, and have been wrought up into the at- tractive shape in which they are found with the lit- erary tact and skill which usually mark the produc- tions of the author. The reader will be surprised to meet with so many names, of which he had probably never heard before, that have attained distinction in art. The record commences with Callirhoe the daughter of the Grecian Dibutades, and closes with the promising young American, Harriet Hosmer, of Massachusetts. The first sculptress of whom history has preserved an account was the daughter of Erwin von Stien- bach, of Strasburg, who has left a glorious monu- ment to his genius in the cathedral of that city. She aided in the ornamentation of that noble building, and her sculptured groups have been admired by visitors during the lapse of ages. Toward the close of the fifteenth century Italy produced the first wo- man whogained reputation as a sculptor in that land of beauty and art. This was Propertia di Rossi, born in Bologna in 1490, who added to rare loveliness of person and brilliant female accomplishments the artistic uifts which made her the object of admira- tion and pride among all her contemporaries. She began with the minute carving of peach-stones; and, among other specimens of her skill, executed a crucifixion of Christ, comprising a number of figures executioners, disciples, women, and soldiers equally remarkable for its effective grouping and its delicate finish. She next undertook the decoration of the Church of San Petronlo, in Bologna, for which she completed some exquisite works; but falling a victim to unrequited love, she died in the early blos- soming of her fame. Another Italian female artist of this period was Marietta Robusti, the daughter of the great painter Tintoretto, who, cherishing the most enthusiastic affection for her father, inherited no small share of his talent. Her person was beau- tiful; her soft, musical voice was a fit accompani- ment to the lute and other instruments, on which she was an accomplished performer; and her devo- tion to art was exceeded only by her filial attach- ment. It was no wonder that she was the joy and pride of her father. She followed him, dressed as a boy, wherever he went; his pictures fed her young imagination with forms of beauty; whether he la- bored at his models, or studied the antique statues or casts from Michael Angelo, the coloring of Titian or the nude figure, she was by his side, noting his first sketch in the moment of creation, and watch- ing the progress of its execution. She soon attained his wonderful freedom in handling the brush, his strength and precision in drawing, and his richness of coloring. Devoting herself chiefly to portraits, she astonished even her father by her success; and it soon became the rage among the Venetian aristoc- racy to be painted by Marietta. The family of Anguisciola, in the sixteenth cen- tury, was celebrated for six daughters, all gifted in music and painting. Of these the best known was Sofonisba, born in Cremona, between 1530 and 1540. Her artistic talent was developed at an early a,~e. While yet in her girlhood she attracted the notice of princes. She ~ as received with honor at courts, and was rewarded with high honors and profitable appointments from her royal patrons. Her paint- in~,s were remarkable for boldness and freedom. In some of her pieces the figures seemed almost to breathe. She attained great success in comic, as well as in more serious productions. In the latter years of her life she was deprived of sight, but re- tained her intellectual faculties, her love of art, and her relish for the society of its professors. The r& - unions in her house were attended to the last by dis- tinguished painters from every quarter. Vandyke was frequently her guest, and was accustomed to say that he had received more light from this blind old woman than from all his studies of the great masters. One of the most celebrated women of the sixteenth century was Lavinia Fontana, who was born in Bo- logna in 1552. She painted in the style of Carracci, and some of her pictures, in softness, sweetness, and tenderness have even been compared to those of Guido Reni. To delicacy of touch she united rare skill in taking likenesses. The first ladies in Rome sought to become her sitters, and the greatest Cardinals were ambitious to have their portraits executed by her hand. Her portraits were displayed in the galleries of the nobility and the most cultivated persons in the land. She also produced several compositions on sacred subjects, some of which are now in Bologna. In her later works she acquired a softness and warmth of coloring that remind one of the masters of the Venetian school. About a century later (1640) was born Elisabetta Sirani, one of the most gifted women who, in any age or nation, have devoted themselves to the fine arts. She was a pupil of Guido Reni, from whom she imbibed an exquisite sense of the b autiful, and a peculiar gift of reproducing it. To this she addrd a vigor and energy rare in a woman. With the gift of genius she combined singular personal loveliness. She was admired for her gracious and cheerful spirit, her prompt judgment, and enthusiastic attachment to her art. Her devoted filial affection, her femi- nine grace, and the charming kindliness of her man- ners, completed a character which her friends re- garded as an ideal of perfection. This fascinating artist was snatched from her friends in the flush of early womanhood by a cruel and mysterious fate. It is supposed by some that her sudden death was a base murder, and that she was the victim of professional jealousy. No clear light, however, has been thrown on the unhappy event. Passing rapidly over the intervening period, we find the nineteenth century signalized by several living female artists of eminent distinction. Among these one of the most remarkable is Felicie de Fan- veau, who was born in Tuscany, hut taken when an infant to Paris, where her education commenced. She was brought up in devout loyalty to the an- cient monarchy and the Roman Catholic Church. Her studies were varied and profound. Ancient his- tory, the classics, modern languages, heraldry, and archmology, by turns, received her attention. She had the faculty of coloring with skill, and might have been a great painter had she not resolved to be LITERARY NOTICES. 119 a sculptor. Her taste led her to adopt the medieval manner, and she took Benevenuto Cellini for her prototype, occupying herself with art in both its monumental and decorative character. The first work she exhibited was a group from Scotts novel, The Abbot. This was followed hy a group of six figures in has-relief, consisting of Christina of Sweden and Monaldiechi in the fatal gallery of Fon- taineblean. It at once challenged universal ad- miration, and was hailed as the brightest promise of future excellence. She was hut a girl in the bloom of early youth when she won this triumph, and the appreciation she met with confirmed her unchan,,eable devotion to her chosen career. Fe- ucla remained with her family in Paris until 1830. Her mothers house was the centre of a delightful circle of persons of high rank, of cultivated women, and of accomplished artists. The friends assembled of an evenin~, in their drawing-room would gather round a large centre-table, and improvise drawings in pencil, chalk, and pen and ink; or would model in clay or wax, brooches and ornaments, sword han- dles and scabbards, dagger-hilts, etc. The young artist wished to revive the days when sculpture lent its aid to the gold and silver smith, the jeweler, the clock-maker, and the armorer. A great impulse was thus given to the taste for reviving medieval fashions for ornaments, and also medieval feelings and aspirations, which at last found expression in Puscyism in religion, and Pre-Raphaelitism in art. In the midst of her brilliant career the Revolution of 1830 broke out, establishing Louis Philippe on the throne of France. With her ardent devotion to the Bourbon cause, this was to her a personal calamity. She was at length induced to take part in a con- spiracy for the restoration of the fallen house, and, after an imprisonment of several months, was forced to leave Paris. She first took refuge in Switzer- land, and finally went to Florence, where she fixed her permanent abode with her mother and brother. Here for a long time she suffered from extreme pov- erty, until, by her great success as a sculptor, she achieved a modest independence. At present she is pursuing her art with indefatigable zeal, scarcely allowing herself a moments relaxation. Her prin- cipal associates are a few of the higher church dig- nitaries, and two or three distinguished Italian or foreign families. Retirement is agreeable to her, and her political opinions have drawn around her a line of demarkation. Still she is beloved by many, and admired and appreciated by all, leading an hon- ored life, which seems a realized dream of work, progress, and success. Not a little romantic interest is attached to the career of Harriet Hosmer, the distinguished Amer- ican sculptress. She was born in Watertown, near Boston, Massachusetts, in 1831. Her father was a physician in that place, who, having lost wife and child by consumption, was determined to guard his surviving daughter by a vigorous physical training. He gave her horse, dog, gun, and boat, and insisted upon an out-door life as indispensable to health. She early manifested a taste for modeling and col- lecting curious specimens of the animal creation. Her love of practical jokes was so great that the schools in the vicinity of Boston found her an in- convenient pupiL She was then placed under the care of Mrs. Sedgwick in Lenox, who was requested to make the health of the rapid damsel the first con- sideration, and permit her to ride and walk, shoot and swim to her hearts content. Here she formed an intimacy with Mrs. Fanny Kemble, whose infin ence tended to confirm her already decided tastes and habits. It was mainly her encouragement which induced her to adopt sculpture as a profession, and devote her life to the pursuit of art. At the age of nineteen she left Lenox, and returned to her fathers house in Watertown, where she commenced in earnest the preparation for her career. ,Vith a cousin, who was studying medicine with her father, she spent many hours in dissecting legs and arms, and in making acquaintance with the human frame. Lessons in drawing and modeling, and her anatom- ical studies, were alternated with the rides and boat- ing on which her father wisely insisted. She wes now sent to St. Louis for the purpose of goin~ through a regular course of instruction under Dr. MDowell, professor of anatomy in the college, who was an old friend of her fathers. Here she remain- ed for several months, pursuing her studies with un- flinching diligence; and at the close was presented with a diploma, testifying to her anatomical pro- ficiency. After leaving St. Louis in 1851 she com- menced modeling an ideal bust of Hesper, which she finished with complete success within a year. Now, said she to her father, I am ready to go to Rome. And you shall go, my child, this very autumn, was the reply. The father and daughter were soon on their way to Europe, and arrived in Rome in the autumn of 1852. Since that time the career of Miss Hosmer has been a series of successes. Her productions evince a remarkable versatility of talent and are no less admirable in execution than felicitous in conception.Tbe lover of art can not fail to give a cordial welcome to the volume, in which the authoress has associated her own name with so many noble examples of female genius, re~ fleeting equal honor on womanly character and the claims of art. Ticknor and Fields have issued a new volume of poems by JOHN G. SAxE, entitled The Money-King, and Other Poems, containing the greater part of the productions of the author since the publication of his previous popular collection. The principal poems in the volume have already attained a wide celebrity from their recitation on different public occasions. Of the remainder some of the most striking are: Im Growing Old, Mv Castle in Spain, A Reflective Retrospect, How the Money Goes, Town and Country. They all evince the satir- ical keenness, playful humor, variety of diction, and ease of versification for which the author is noted. The Palace of the Greet King, by the Rev. HOL- LIS READ. (Published by Charles Scribner.) In this volume the discoveries of natural science are applied to the illustration of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator. The author has availed himself of the results of modern research to give nov- elty and interest to his theme, end the study of his work is equally adapted to enlarge the sphere of knowledge and to quicken the religious sentiments. The Wheat Plant, by JOHN H. KLIPPART (publish- ed by A. 0. Moore and Co.), is an exhaustive mono- graph on the important cereal to which it is de- voted. It gives a complete view of the origin and history of the wheat plant, describes its structure and composition, and explains the conditions of its successful cultivation. Several facts of interest with regard to the production of wheat in the United States are furnished in the course of the volume. While the wheat crop of England has increased at least fifty per cent, in the last century, that of the United States has fallen off in nearly the same pro- portion. Within a hundred years wheat was raised 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in New England, Delaware, and Yirginia, as an or- of the streets. No purer and more benignant dinary crop; now a wheat-field is a rarity in those spirit ever alighted upon earth; no more abandoned States, and they may be considered as no longer wretch ever found earth a purgatory and a hell. wheat-growing regions. Portions of New York that With all his misery he had no malignity, sought no formerly produced thirty bushels to the acre now revenge, never wrought sorrow and suffering to any seldom average over eight bushels; and even Ohio, human being but bimself. In his struggle with the with her comparatively unexhausted soil, does not world he wore no air of defiance; but was always average over thirteen bushels to the acre. Illinois humble, affectionate, almost prayerfuL He contin- is behind Tennessee and Kentucky in the production ned his contributions to various periodicals, became of heat the former State growing less than seven deeply interested in the political struggles of Ire- bushels to each inhabitant while Tennessee pro- land, though without taking an active part in them, duces nine bushels, and Kentucky seven and a half, until his life was wasted and gone, his intellect The remedy for this deterioration in the celebrated drugged in the lethargy of opium, and his whole soils of the West is to be found in an improved sys- soul weighed down by the wretched body to which tem of scientific culture, the principles of which are it was chained. Some friends he still had, who discussed at length by the writer, regarded him with a reverential compassion and Poe , by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. (Pub- wonder, and would have felt pride in giving him a lished by P. M. ilaverty.) In the biographical in- shelter and a home. But sometimes he could not troduction to this volume, by Mr. John Mitchel, we be found for weeks, and then he would reappear, like find an interestin~, sketch of the author, one of the a ghost or a ghoul, with a wildness in his blue, ,,lit- wayward sons of genius whose imagination outruns tering eye, as of one who has seen spectres; and no- their discretion, and whose poetry is better than thing gives so ghastly an idea of his condition of their life. Clarence Mangan was born in Dublin, mind as the fact that the insane orgies of this rarely- about the year 1803. He was of humble parentage, gifted creature were transacted in the lowest and oh- and after picking up the rudiments of an imperfect scurest taverns, and in company with the offal of education in a boys school in his native city, was the human species. But the sad tragedy was near employed for several years as a copyist in the office its close. After an attack of cholera, brought on by of a scrivener. He subsequently gained a scanty a lack of proper nourishment~ his friends found him livelihood by toiling as an attorneys clerkthough at a hospital, utterly destitute, and nearly at the last of this period of his life little is known, except that stage. He lingered foe a few days, and died June he was accustomed to speak of it with loathing and 20, 1849.The selections from his writings in this horror. He was a shy and sensitive youth, keenly volume consist principally of translations from the susceptible to external impressions, and of a gentle celebrated master-pieces of German poetry, inter- and unexaeting disposition. An early disappoint- spersed with original compositions of a striking meat in love, by which he became the victim of a character. He evidently possessed the soul of the fair deceitful tyranness, seems to have made his sub- poet, his imagination was fired by t.he glow of pas- sequent life bitter and desperate. The brightness of sion, and his most characteristic effusions were in- the universe was clouded by this event; and from spired by the bitterness of experience rather than that time the natural impulses of his heart were the promptings of a superficial fancy. According to chilled. When Mr. Mitchel first made his acquaint- Mr. Mitchel, they possess that marvelous charm ance he had the air of a stricken and withered man, which makes him the household and heart-enshrined lie never loved, and hardly looked upon any woman darling of many an Irish home. I have never yet forever more. True, he did not gnash his teeth and met, he tells us, a cultivated Irish man or woman, beat his breast before the public, nor make himself of genuine Irish nature, who did not prize Clarence and his sorrows the burden of his song; but life was Mangan above all the poets that their island of song henceforth a dreary and painful passage to the ever nursed. grave. He was wretched in his home; betrayed at Gold-Foil, Ifam red fiom Popular Proverlus, by his need by a friend; and then baffled, mocked, and Tneoresv TITCOMB. (Published by Charles Scrib- alone amidst the wrecks of his world, it is certainly ncr.) The author of this volume, a distinguished not wonderful, however pitiable, that he sought at journalist in Massachusetts, and who has recently times to escape from consciousness by taking for won an enviable reputation as a poet by the brilliant bread opium, and for water brandy. In the year and original production entitled Bitter-Sweet, here 1830, when he was about twenty-seven years of age, assumes the functions of a popular moralist. He ex- he began to contribute short poemsusually trans- hibits many qualities which admirably fit him for lations from the German or Irishto a small weekly this important but ungrateful office. With a de- periodical in Dublin. In spite of his faults he made cidedlv contemplative turn of mind, a love of look- friends with some of the literary men of that metrop- lug at the different aspects of a subject in vanous ohs, and through their influence obtained employ- lights, he combin s a keen, though not unkindly, meat in the University Library in the preparation observation of human nature, a confirmed habit of of a new catalogue. As seen one day by his biog- reflecting on social phenomena, and a practical com- rapher, perched on the top of a ladder, in that vast mon-sense view of the duties and purposes of life. repository, he was an unearthly and ghostly figure, He places himself on a level with the generality of in a brown garment; the same garment (to all ap- readers, without aiming at philosophic depth or ideal pearance) which lasted till the day of his death; the elevation. His remarks are often original, though blanched hair was totally unkempt; the corpse-like seldom startling, and never tainted with the love of features still as marble; a large hook was in his paradoxthat frequent bane of popular essayists. arms, and all his soul w in the book. Here he In the expression of his opinions he is often positive labored mechanically, and dreamedroosting on a even to dogmatism, and in many cases calls forth the ladderfor months, perhaps years; combining two opposition of the reader instead of producing convic- lives in his own personone well known to the tion. The volume, in the main, is of a wholesome Muses, the other to the policeone soaring to the tendency, and will doubtless command a large circu- empyrean, the other too often lying in the gutters lation. HOUSEHOLD NAMES AND DATESThe names of our kindred and friends seem to be as much a part of themselves as their features or their skin. In fact, so close is the connection between their names and themselves that it is bard to con- ceive of them apart; and it needs no little amount of effort to realize the unquestionable truth not only that most of us had existence before we had our present names, but that not many centuries ago the present mode of naming people began, and before the tenth century surnames were unknown among our European ancestors. Thus, if our Washington had flourished in the England of the tenth century, in- stead of the America of the eighteenth century, he would have been called simplyby his baptismal name, with, perhaps, the addition of his residence; and, ac- cording to ancient usage, he would now be known as George, of Mount Vernon, instead of George Wash- ington. Mr. Buckle is probably right in ascribing the general introduction of family or surnames, after the tenth century, to the rise of that secular liberty that afterward so mightily confronted the Church, and thus early began to question its exclusive pre- rogative, by adding the name of the family to that given in baptism. It is clear, as he remarks, that the habit of classing relatives together thus by a common family name must tend strongly to band them together, and often make the affinities of blood tell a~,ainst the pretensions of the priesthood. The history of England for ages certainly illustrates the power of such surnames; and very often the feuds both of politics and war have turned upon family in- terests, and so lifted certain family names into rally- ing words and war-cries. The tables are now so turned as to reverse the ancient custom, and our conspicuous men are far better known by their sur- names than by their baptismal or Christian names. We call the father of our country Washin,ton, and never use the George by itself; and no audience would know what a speaker meant if he were, in describing our two great statesmen and orators, to speak of Henry and Daniel, instead of adding the Clay and Webster. Whether we like them or not, we are all born to the inheritance of our surnames, and the tribus of Finns, Goslings, Slys, Shirts, and Slaughters, and the like, have their unromantic names from birth by the same hereditary title that hands down the euphonious appellatives of the Courtenays and Moutmorencies the Fitawilliams and De Veres. In given (or Christian) names the choice is left to us; and there is now, moreover, greater latitude than in old times, when the Romish Church claimed to name each child from the saints day nearest its birth; or when the Puritan confessors looked with equal reverence and exclusiveness to the worthies of Scripture, and thought no words inharmonious that repeated the virtues of the Gideons, Lots, Ebenezers, Obadiahs, Hannahs, Abigails, and Mehetabels in their households. Great liberty of choice is now given us; and we do most heartily urge upon our readers the duty of using this liberty wisely and conscientiously, quite well satisfied that not a few of those who bear through life some odd or discord- ant proof of their parents caprice or folly will say Amen to our words, and think of this article grate- fully every time they are spoken to by name. The mischief that has been done by ugly or pretentious appellatives can not be done away without the des- perate resort of an appeal to the Legislature; yet a little common sense can easily prevent the repetition of the mischief in time to come. What nnme shall we give to our child? is a ques- tion that is asked about as often as the fact of a birth, and very often answered very strangely by quite sensible people. We have not a long catalogue of pet names to propose, but we have a few practical principles to present, that maybe none the less serv- iceable because somewhat obvious. It must he re- membered, first of all, that a name is not for an hour nor a day, nor for a romance nor an epic poem, but for a lifetime, and probably a lifetime of com- niouplace tenor, without startling incident or heroic achievement. Now what is to be constantly upon the lips ought to be free from all disagreeable pecu- liarities and exacting associations. To cell a boy Job, or Zerubbabel, or Nebuchadnezzar once to il- lustrate some passing freak of his conduct or hap of his fortune, may do well enough; but to fix such a name upon him for life is exposing him to mortifica- tion as frequent as the word. To go to the opposite extreme is equally unwise, and we invite ridicule quite as much by sonorous pretension as by harsh homeliness. Thus the names of Julius Cusar, Pompey, Cato, Brutus, and the like, are generally dismissed from household use among us on account of their being over-ambitious, and are more frequent- ly given in satire than in seriousness. The names of our great modern heroes and sages are liable to the same. objection, unless they have become so coin- mon as to fell to suggest any direct association with the originals. Thus it may be that Calvin and Lu- ther, Milton, Franklin, and Washington have ceased to suggest the characters that first bore them, and are therefore as meaningless as James or John, Thomas or Peter. Yet, in marked cases, even these familiar names become embarrassing; and if the new Martin Luther is found making friends with the Pope, or John Calvin preaches universal salvation, or John Milton grinds scissors, or Benjamin Frank- lin or George Washington turns monarchist or de- faulter, the association of ideas becomes somewhat embarrassing. The names of less familiar notables may be sometimes more objectionable; and when- ever they suggest characters that are the reverse of the new namesakes they are offensive. To name a boy Napoleon or Wellington, when there is not the most distant expectation of his being a great soldier; or to call some little baby Dickens or Thackeray, when it is doubtful whether any grain of humor or pathos will ever go with the word, is almost cruel; and, in fact, a peculiarly sober face would be made, in spite of ltself amusing, if stamped with the let- ters of one of those great humorists. Sometimes, indeed, a name may do something to mould the char- acter, by creating a definite anticipation and cherish- ing a congenial purpose, as in the case of many of the Old Testament worthies, who were born under providential auspices, and so named as to declare their mission. But not to insist upon the prophetic or miraculous marks of their future career, such per- sons were generally more noted for moral and relig- ious traits than intellectual gifts; and it is very clear that whatever encourages the young to cultivate certain moral qualities must do much to shape the character so that names of moral and religious promise may have the effect which they suggest. But such effects belong to a peculiar people and age, and we do not see any very decided proofs that the girls and boys who bear the most saintly names in

Editor's Table Editor's Table 121-126

HOUSEHOLD NAMES AND DATESThe names of our kindred and friends seem to be as much a part of themselves as their features or their skin. In fact, so close is the connection between their names and themselves that it is bard to con- ceive of them apart; and it needs no little amount of effort to realize the unquestionable truth not only that most of us had existence before we had our present names, but that not many centuries ago the present mode of naming people began, and before the tenth century surnames were unknown among our European ancestors. Thus, if our Washington had flourished in the England of the tenth century, in- stead of the America of the eighteenth century, he would have been called simplyby his baptismal name, with, perhaps, the addition of his residence; and, ac- cording to ancient usage, he would now be known as George, of Mount Vernon, instead of George Wash- ington. Mr. Buckle is probably right in ascribing the general introduction of family or surnames, after the tenth century, to the rise of that secular liberty that afterward so mightily confronted the Church, and thus early began to question its exclusive pre- rogative, by adding the name of the family to that given in baptism. It is clear, as he remarks, that the habit of classing relatives together thus by a common family name must tend strongly to band them together, and often make the affinities of blood tell a~,ainst the pretensions of the priesthood. The history of England for ages certainly illustrates the power of such surnames; and very often the feuds both of politics and war have turned upon family in- terests, and so lifted certain family names into rally- ing words and war-cries. The tables are now so turned as to reverse the ancient custom, and our conspicuous men are far better known by their sur- names than by their baptismal or Christian names. We call the father of our country Washin,ton, and never use the George by itself; and no audience would know what a speaker meant if he were, in describing our two great statesmen and orators, to speak of Henry and Daniel, instead of adding the Clay and Webster. Whether we like them or not, we are all born to the inheritance of our surnames, and the tribus of Finns, Goslings, Slys, Shirts, and Slaughters, and the like, have their unromantic names from birth by the same hereditary title that hands down the euphonious appellatives of the Courtenays and Moutmorencies the Fitawilliams and De Veres. In given (or Christian) names the choice is left to us; and there is now, moreover, greater latitude than in old times, when the Romish Church claimed to name each child from the saints day nearest its birth; or when the Puritan confessors looked with equal reverence and exclusiveness to the worthies of Scripture, and thought no words inharmonious that repeated the virtues of the Gideons, Lots, Ebenezers, Obadiahs, Hannahs, Abigails, and Mehetabels in their households. Great liberty of choice is now given us; and we do most heartily urge upon our readers the duty of using this liberty wisely and conscientiously, quite well satisfied that not a few of those who bear through life some odd or discord- ant proof of their parents caprice or folly will say Amen to our words, and think of this article grate- fully every time they are spoken to by name. The mischief that has been done by ugly or pretentious appellatives can not be done away without the des- perate resort of an appeal to the Legislature; yet a little common sense can easily prevent the repetition of the mischief in time to come. What nnme shall we give to our child? is a ques- tion that is asked about as often as the fact of a birth, and very often answered very strangely by quite sensible people. We have not a long catalogue of pet names to propose, but we have a few practical principles to present, that maybe none the less serv- iceable because somewhat obvious. It must he re- membered, first of all, that a name is not for an hour nor a day, nor for a romance nor an epic poem, but for a lifetime, and probably a lifetime of com- niouplace tenor, without startling incident or heroic achievement. Now what is to be constantly upon the lips ought to be free from all disagreeable pecu- liarities and exacting associations. To cell a boy Job, or Zerubbabel, or Nebuchadnezzar once to il- lustrate some passing freak of his conduct or hap of his fortune, may do well enough; but to fix such a name upon him for life is exposing him to mortifica- tion as frequent as the word. To go to the opposite extreme is equally unwise, and we invite ridicule quite as much by sonorous pretension as by harsh homeliness. Thus the names of Julius Cusar, Pompey, Cato, Brutus, and the like, are generally dismissed from household use among us on account of their being over-ambitious, and are more frequent- ly given in satire than in seriousness. The names of our great modern heroes and sages are liable to the same. objection, unless they have become so coin- mon as to fell to suggest any direct association with the originals. Thus it may be that Calvin and Lu- ther, Milton, Franklin, and Washington have ceased to suggest the characters that first bore them, and are therefore as meaningless as James or John, Thomas or Peter. Yet, in marked cases, even these familiar names become embarrassing; and if the new Martin Luther is found making friends with the Pope, or John Calvin preaches universal salvation, or John Milton grinds scissors, or Benjamin Frank- lin or George Washington turns monarchist or de- faulter, the association of ideas becomes somewhat embarrassing. The names of less familiar notables may be sometimes more objectionable; and when- ever they suggest characters that are the reverse of the new namesakes they are offensive. To name a boy Napoleon or Wellington, when there is not the most distant expectation of his being a great soldier; or to call some little baby Dickens or Thackeray, when it is doubtful whether any grain of humor or pathos will ever go with the word, is almost cruel; and, in fact, a peculiarly sober face would be made, in spite of ltself amusing, if stamped with the let- ters of one of those great humorists. Sometimes, indeed, a name may do something to mould the char- acter, by creating a definite anticipation and cherish- ing a congenial purpose, as in the case of many of the Old Testament worthies, who were born under providential auspices, and so named as to declare their mission. But not to insist upon the prophetic or miraculous marks of their future career, such per- sons were generally more noted for moral and relig- ious traits than intellectual gifts; and it is very clear that whatever encourages the young to cultivate certain moral qualities must do much to shape the character so that names of moral and religious promise may have the effect which they suggest. But such effects belong to a peculiar people and age, and we do not see any very decided proofs that the girls and boys who bear the most saintly names in 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the calendar are, on that account, any nearer the saintly graces. Intellectual gifts, moreover, follow a still more occult law of descent; and if hereditary blood can not transmit genius the baptismal font ~vill not be likely to do it; so that if our poets and orators often have prosy children, we do not think that pa- rents who are not poets or orators can make Shaks peares or Miltons of their children hy giving them those illustrious names as incentives. Decided thus in our principle that a name should be neither homely nor ambitious, but at once simple and agreeahle, so as to slip pleasantly from the tongue and agree with the general tone of our cur- rent human life, we are ready to give a few hints upon the application of the principle. Clearly ev- ery child, as heing a distinct personality, is entitled to a distinct name; and the main point is to choose what his distinctive name shall be. The parents may run through the list of aposti a, prophets, patri- archs, and saints, and choose by the ear, or hy some family association, according to their taste; or they may look over the records of their own ancestry, and see what names are most noted or worthy, and be especially careful to perpetuate such ancestral names as are in danger of becoming extinct; or they may follow out some choice line of affinity, whether local or national, and perhaps secure originality without oddity. It is well for us, who are mainly of the Anglo-Saxon or Germanic races, to think more of the desirableness of our own simple and beautiful ances- tral appellatives, and to resist the recent passion for the florid words of France and Italy. We wish to see more Alfreds and Harolds, Edwins and Hermanus, Berthas, Ediths, and the like, althou~h it may lose us some Marie Antoinettes and Eugenias, Alphonsos and Ferdinands. The best names, however, seem to have the freedom of all civilized nations; and, with somemodifications, ourJames, John, Henry,William, Mary, Ellen, etc., are known the world over. It is well to add as many as possible to the number; and we do not quarrel with the new candidates for favor that carry a little touch of romance with them, with- out drawing too much upon our tongue or our fancy. To this class belong Harold and Ernest, Maude, Ma- bel, Blanche, and many others. One, ho~~ever, is sure to be in good taste by choosing one of the sim- ple common names; and the parents who call their child William or Henry or Mary or Ellen can not go astray. Far better be content with this simplic- ity than follow the too frequent American habit of consulting the last romance or the Biographical Dic- tionary for out-of-the-way words. Girls suffer most in this way; and ones ear sickens at the surfeit of sweets in the catalogues of our female schools and academies, which abound in superfine appellatives, in comparison with which the old-school euphuisms, such as Angelina Seraphina and Laura Matilda, are commonplace words. If a parent wishes an original name for a child, it can readily be secured by making a Christian name of some family surname or some ancestral seat or association. Camden mentions an instance of a knight in Cheshire, each of whose sons took different surnames; while their sons, in turn also took names different from their fathers. They altered their names, he says, in respect to habita- tion, to Egerton, Cotgrove, and Overton; in respect to color, to Gough (which is red); in respect to learn- ing, to Ken-clarke (a knowing clerk, or learned man); in respect to quality, to Goodman; in re- spect to stature, to Richard Little; and in respect to the Christian name of the father of one of them, to Richardson, although all of them were descended from one person, William Belevard. Our surnames can not be thus changed; but our proper names can be chosen at will, and a great number of suitable proper names might at once be added to our stock, by making proper names of the most desirable sur- names on the ancestral roll. Thus, if John Smith marries Mary Vernon, how easy it is to pay a trib- ute to the good mother by calling the eldest boy Vernon Smith, instead of adding one more to the thousands of John Smiths who are dunned for each others debts, and pestered with each others letters. This variety, however, may be as well secured by a judicious choice of middle names, such as was common among the Romans, and is now coming into wide use. The Romans gave each child a proper name (pmvenoinen), and also the family name (nomeesm), frequently with the addition of a second family name referring to the gemss (or clan) to which the family belonged (cogeonmee); while, in case of marked persons, a fourth name (ageomen) was added, corresponding somewhat to our habit of calling dis- tinguished men by their characteristic trait or their most conspicuous achievement. We might very easily, and perhaps wisely, revive this Roman usage, and give children, besides their one proper name and that of the family, a middle name, taken from t.he most important ancestor or the most char- acteristic branch that has been grafted into the fam- ily tree. No harm would be done if several, or even all the children bad the same middle name. The mothers own family name may furnish the needed co~ omen; and if variety is needed, it may be, ac- cording to a frequent classic usage, found in the name of the fathers mother or the mothers mother, so as to perpetuate in the children the ancestral sur- names on the paternal and maternal side. Such a custom does good by cherishing a proper family feel- in~, and suggestiug the important truth that a mans blood is a fact significant enough to be looked after, whether to correct failings or to encourage virtues that run in its arteries. For no idea can be more false than the frequent notion that each person is a separate individuality, with no antecedent history and no inherited dispositions of body or mind. Each person is the growth of his own family or combina- tion of families; and to neglect the study of pedi- gree, is to be more negligent of the welfare of men than we are negligent of horses, cows, sheep, and even of swine. Our blood, indeed , so far as it is a fact of the past, we can not help, hut we must make the best of it; and in order to make the best of it, we most know what it is. We do not blame families of noble lineage for thinking well of their ancestry, but let them think well in thinking wise- ly; and it is wise to use an honored ancestry not to pamper an idle pride, that could never have made them honored, but to encourage the worthy traits that perpetuate honor and put away shame. We must remember, however, that noble things have been done in our day as well as in William the Con- querors time or in the Crusades; and that it is far better for a family to build its name upon some recent or present fact of heroism or usefulness than to pay the Heralds College for inventing a coat-of-arms by stealing the quarterings of some bloody old warrior whose bones were dust before the parvenu s name was heard of. In our own country it would please us to see more willingness to own up what we really are, instead of pretending to be somebody else. Why not take the family crest or seal from some brave thing done in our day? Let our Astors take the beaver as tlmeir device, if the family name rests upon EDITORS TABLE. 123 the fur trade; and let the Fultons take the steam- boat; and the Franklins the electric kite; and the Morses the magnetic telegraph. Nay, if a family owes its position to a stout ship-carpenter or a brave sea-captain, let the sons and daughters put on their seal and their carriageif they put any thing ona broad axe or a rudder, to show that, if they have never done much of any thing themselves, they come of good blood, and the old man was at work in earnest, and left them and the world better off by his pluck. It is to be hoped that the present revival of gene- alogical studies, the frequency of family histories and conventions, will do something to enrich our hOusehold nomenclature. They who are called the old families have always known their titular wealth, and have tried to keep alive the memory of the chief notables of their blood by the baptismal register. In some cases the names of half a dozen children em- body the family history for the centuries since Amer- ica was known, representing at once the Colonial and Revolutionary worthies, and those also who in trade or the professions have won for themselves a position since the National Independence. Yet most of us Americans, if we would only know it, belong to families quite as old, and we have ancestors who did their part alike in the Colonial, Revolutionary, and National times, although their part may not be matter of public note. To us their history is none the less interestin~ from their comparative obscuri- tv; and a good account of their traits, manners, pursuits, connections, and fortunes, might not otdy amuse but instruct and warn and encourage us. Some stout old citizen or faithful matron might re- appear, in spirit as in word, among our own sons and daughters; and so our family record, by a ju- dicious choice, might be a chronicle of the old times as well as a promise of the new. Yet we would by no means favor the custom of continuing precisely the same names in a family, so as to make it neces- sary to say Junior or Senior to distinguish between father and son, or use numerals to prevent confusion between neighbors; but we would endeavor to make every childs name in some respect unique, so as to prevent all confusion between different members of the same family, or members of different families. The most ludicrous and often the most annoying mistakes arise from identity of names, and John Smith is by no means the only form in which the old comedy of the two Dromios is repeated. A friend of ours, who has a name by no means very common, complains of being dunned, sued, made love to, and condoled with, by being confounded with two or three persons of the same name. In some cases, where no such practical mistakes can occur, the home affections are sadly disturbed by giviug the name of a deceased child to the next-born, so as quite to do away the idea of the continuance of personal identity and regard after deathsuch as is so sweetly embodied in Wordsworths charming 1)0cm, We are Seven, which numbers the dead as one with the living. We have known three broth- ers to bear precisely the same name; so tbat the survivor reads on the family tomb the deaths of two brothers who bore his name before his birth, and whose record there differs from ~what his own will he only in date and age. There are names enough for all; and if one middle name does not suffice to make a distinction, then use two or three, as is the custom of the old world. The recording angel may know the difference between all the John Smiths and Tom Browns on his book, and the trumpet of judgment may proclaim each one with such emphasis that its rightful owner may answer at the call. But here, in this world, for our every- day affections and uses, we like a distinct word for every distinct thing or person, and we trust that Heaven itself will make distinctions clearer instead of darker; so that names which are the best part of the hearts vocabulary, and waken so many echoes of old times and hopes of new joys, will there have more instead of lest of their old variety. When Burns writes to Mary in Heaven, he probably knew which Mary he meant; but if there are many Marys there to be addressed, it might be important for them to know which is called for. But whatever a name may be, it is not its sound but its bearer that gives it expression. If a rose by any other name might smell as sweet, it is the sweetness that sweetens whatever name it bears and makes the rose to be the rose. We must re- member, then, that each name carries with it a meaning growing out of the hearers character; and thus, while we all have our bleed name from family, and our nutei name from baptism, so we have our spirit name from our leading traits of character or con- duct. In looking over the Family Record in the Bi- ble, the thoughtful father or mother sees far more than the dateswrittenupon those leaves, andthe name of each child suggests at once a character as marked as each face. Often the pet words of endearment that are applied to little children foretoken future character or reputation, and stick to the little ones through life. A large class of our common sur- names probably originated thus; and all those that sprung from personal traits that appear from child- hood carry with them something like a hint of the ruling temperament and disposition. At school and college the habit of giving nicknames often runs quite in the classic line, and a dozen boys have their oguonsems from their comrades before they know it. Thus one is called the Slow, another the Fast, an- other the Fat, another the Noisy; and who shall exhaust the colle~e words that designate various charactersas the dig, squirt, dash, beau, bully, fish, etc.? In business circles the same te~ndency appears; and nothing would be more amusing than a directory with the nicknames of leading merchants and professional men interlined. We treat our pub- lic men in the same way; and our Hickory, Rough- and-Ready, Old Bullion, and the like, are words familiar as the heads of our Presidents, and are made the ready catch-words of party times. Every work- shop and every ship is fertile in its own class of ep- ithets, and divides honors and rebukes with a free hand. Our universities carry up the custom in stately form, and their D.D.s, LL.D.s, and the like, show the passion for enlarging the old name by an appended title. We like the disposition just in ac- cordance with its justice, and are in favor of having every man called by lila true character, whether the epithet expresses his skill in his trade or profession, or the extent of his learning, or the worth of his character. tt is far better to designate men by their calling than by wholly artificial titles; and if a list of worthy citizens is appended to some petition or circular, it is far more sensible to append their trades or business than to dub them all as esquires. An honest carpenter or shoemaker is quite respectable when claiming to be what he is, but is put into an equivocal position the moment he takes or receives titles that do not belong to him. The character-names that are most important within the family are those that mark personal dis 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. positions and habits. It is less important to note the son, for example, as lawyer or physician or mer- chant, or clergyman or colonel or honorable than as a good and true man; and if household honors were embodied in diplomas, it would he found that the traits that the world knows least of in its love of ob- trusive talents have been most cherished and loved in the family. It may be that the highest name ever given on earthand one, too, which keeps its glory in heaven belongs to the character least known by the worldthe name of Blessed. The blessed ones of the householdthey who are most open to Gods grace by gentle affections and spiritis- al faith, and most earnest to do Gods will in a round of constant and loving serviceare not likely to be the men most fond of military or civil titles; or the women most ambitions of shining in hall-rooms, or making golden marriages, or figuring on anniversary platforms. So it is that the passion for appending titles of honor to the name leads us to consider the traits that give the name its true quality or worth. We have no quarrel with the true respect for people of quali- ty; but in a very straightforward way we would try to enlarge this respect by deciding who are the peo- ple of quality, by deciding upon the quality of the people, and endeavorin~ to educate the true quality. In the old world, we are aware, qualityin the con- ventional sensegoes with the blood, and a lord who is a sot takes social precedence of any of Natures no- blemen, however wise or worthy, who has no cor- onet. Yet, even in monarchical countries, public opinion distinguishes between the gentility that is in the name and that which is in the heart; and probably the lineal aristocracy, alike from personal tastes and public opinion, are led to guard their titled honors by the gentle quality that is respected in all circles. Of late years, especially, the English nobil- ity have looked to education as much as to blood to keep up the honors of their pedigree; and we repub- licans, who are so often tempted to look upon wealth and ostentation as the means of building up a family name, may learn many a sober lesson for ourselves and our children from the good sense and industry of the dukes and earls, who are bent on retaining, by genuine usefulness, the position won centuries ago by the accident of battle or of royal favor. We are not ashamed to say that a good name is very desira- ble, alike for its present comfort and as a future leg- acy; nor can we be blind to the fact that vast num- bers of families are seriously striving for a name that shall live after them. There is a growing passion for rummaging old archives to find out whether we are not actually heirs to buried dignities; and many a new crest and motto has been disinterred from the oblivious dust and consigned to a shining position upon silver spoons and carriage doors. They that are less fortunate in their hunt among the dead are the more eager to push their way to eminence among the living by accumulating wealth, by ambitious marriages, and by conspicuous establishments. But we make monstrous mistakes, and often our very ambition overleaps the mark and falls over into the dust. We too often forget that, by our laws, great establishments are sure to break down from the ab- sence of the right of primogeniture; and he who builds an extravagant house to keep up the honor of the family, may be quite sure that when the grave closes over him, if not before, his palace or his villa will be under the auctioneers hammer; and instead of being occupied by his favored heirs, will figure in the newspapers as a boarding-house or a water-cure. We do not profess to despise wealth; but we are quite sure that, with it or without it., a good education, with habits of determined industry, is the best guar- antee of the quality of a family. The daughters, we are aware, need money more than the sons to estab- lish them in life; yet good manners, with a fair share of accomplishments, go as far in giving a girl a good position as coarse wealth without these re- finements; and very rich girls, from the very fact of their riches, run great risks in being sought for their money, and throwing themselves away upon idlers or libertines. The families that in this coun- try have kept the best quality through several gen- erations have been those who did not despise the common lot, with its frugal habits, modest arts, and sterling virtues. Some country clergymen, who have had salaries that would not support one of our fast young men a single week, have reared families who have been enrolled from generation to genera- tion among our most honored names, and for a qual- itv which, instead of exhausting itself by its extrav- agance, ever renews itself by its fresh life and active service. It will be well for us to think more of this matter, and to cherish a distinction that rests not upon accidents, but upon principles; not upon chance, but upon character. Many a father might keep his health and integrity if he were more certain that a modest competence, with high character, gives a better quality than bloated wealth with coarse manners and equivocal expedients. Many a mother might save her daughters many a pang if she would measure society more by the intent of its spirit than by the extent of its display; and so, by true woman- ly wisdom and grace, give the blood of her offspring her own true quality, although our usages do not al- low her to transmit with it her name. We some- times wish, indeed, that mothers could give their children their names; and have shown how, in part, it can be done without changing the family sur- names. But perhaps the present custom is not so unjust as may at first seem; and the mother, while unable to give her own name as the surname of her children, is at full liberty to give them their character-name (egnomen), that indicates the quality of their lives. Sure we are that the sons and daugh- ters who are called great or good or blessed, in histo- ry and society, owe their name in the main to their mothers; and if it is a poor rule that does not work both ways, it may be that the scape-graces and tyrants of mankind have drunk in no small share of their bad quality with their mothers milk and word. The mothers spirit, however, is usually on the right side; and our good boys and girls, and men and women, are more indebted to it for their quality than the world knows or is ready to confess. The heart goes with the mother, and the mothers heart is near God. We have thus far spoken of household names, un- der their chief forms, as concerning the individual and the family and the character. A few words upon the conspicuous dates in home life, which give these names their chief emphasis. The old family record is a good guide, and we may reflect with profit upon its items. The first date in a childs career is his birth, and this generally coincides with his nam- ing, for each little comer usually finds a name wait- ing for him; and, by general usage, the Church stands rady to add her benediction, and to speak the given name with solemn consecration. This is a beautiful and impressive custom; and if any per- sonsas is the case with our Baptist friendshave scruples in using thus early the baptismal rite, let EDITORS TABLE. 125 the service be called Dedication in their instance; while, for ourselves, we heartily would comply with the old way of Christendom, and thus solemnly wel- come our little ones, as children of God, to the cov- enant promise with the parents. Great impression is made by the sacred recognition of children as with- in the Divine kingdom and under the blessing of the Church. In fact, the childs name has a sweet savor from the fragrance of such benediction, and when thus spoken it is marked with a new quality, and the prepossession is esLablished on the side of faith aad virtue. The fact is remembered, or should be be remembered, in after-years, if the childs life is spared; and if the little one is early taken away, there is something in the rite that lifts him above neglect, and declares that these little ones are im- mortal creatures, and our humanity is essentially as great in an infant of a year as a sage of three-score and ten. We believe that our common social life would gain in interest and dignity if more account were made of birth and baptism, and the name were sacredly marked upon the threshold of existence. Home affections would thus more easily open into spiritual faith; and they who are thus early claimed by the Church would be led, by association and grat- itude, as well as conviction, to take a stand for themselves upon religious ground. The next conspicuous date in the household is marriagea date which, unlike tbat of birth, is not an event of nature but of choice. Generally they who are born and who live to be thirty years old are expected to marry, and unless new manners change old habits the expectation will mostly be fulfilled. It is well to give marriage a religious so- lemnity, and save it from the too frequent frivolity that desecrates its momentous character. We have spoken already so fully of this subject as to prevent any further discussion here. We will only say that no words spoken under heaven have so much signif- icance us those which join two names in one in a tie that only death can sever. It would be well if that tie itself were made more conspicuous and sacredly beautiful in the wedding festival, and less account were made of the table and the jewels, and more were made of the solemn and blessed relation en- tered into. A beautiful and impressive marriage- service is not only good for the principal parties, but for all the guests, by reminding them of what they are or ought to be. Its remembrance should be sa- credly kept up in the household, without waiting for the lapse of twenty-five years to raise it to the con- ventional title of the silver or gold or diamond wed- ding. Perhaps our new practical life may multiply sacred occasions in the family, and borrow from the Church or from the old Chivalry the custom of sol- emnly setting apart each child to his or her calling. We ordain preachers; and of old every knight watched his arms in church, an& received a devout blessing upon his fidelity. We are not sticklers for this or that form; but we think that a more serious recognition of the dignity of every childs vocation would be useful, and a solemn entry of the name might fitly be made in the record of the family. A good name in business is surely a treasure great enough to be earnestly cherished; and as things now are, we believe that our best business men have a regard for their good name that is serious enough to be devoutly acknowledged. The sacrifices that are made to keep the name good would be incredible if not proved beyond question; and we feel quite sure of the approbation of oir mercantile friends in declaring that the first time a young man puts his name to a business obligation should be a season of serious thought and devout consecration. That odd philosopher, AugusteComt6, has sketched the outlines of a new order of sacraments, in which he goes beyond the old Catholicism; and in nine dif- ferent ceremonials marks the course of each child from birth to death, and even to a name after death, when such name is won. But death, even in his calendar, writes the most decisive date; and it is only after its hand closes the earthly record that the claim to immortality can be decided. It is a thought always startling, the mere thought that we must all die; and the household record and the tomb-stone must some day testify that we have lived, and now live no more on earths. In some ages, and with some nations, death was the most prominent fact in life; and the people of Egypt thought apparently less of their houses than of their tombs. Until lately, with us Americans, the tomb was put out of sight; and before the rise of rural cemeteries he who would meditate among the dead must traverse some ne- glected pasture or grope in subterranean vaults. We are glad that the last date in man s career is now saved from forgetfulness, and we look upon the new order of burial-places as most important and effective institutions in educating and perpetuating true household affections. The movement probably began with the culture of more beautiful rural taste and the growth of more cheerful views of religion; but it has much of its permanence and power from the interest of families in perpetuating its names and associations. We probably have more beautiful cemeteries than any nation in the world; and each new village sets apart its most picturesque ground or forest for the memory of the dead. This is well, and it must do much to keep alive family feelings, and check the worldliness and irreverence too char- acteristic of our busy and excitable people. But those places may be perverted from their true use and made to pamper a feeble sentimentalism or poor ostentation, inste~d of favoring true affections or de- vout sentiment. Too many monuments are tawdry show-boxes, that make no more moral or religions impression than a showy villa or a gilded saloon. Many of the ornaments and inscriptions, moreover, are either unmeaning or objectionable, and indicate family pride or fashionable conceit rather than faitls and humanity. We do not complain of the money thus spent, but of the manner of spending it; and we are decided in the opinion that people of wealth should so adorn their burial-grounds as to educate and spiritualize the comnion eye, and make every poor man whose lost child rests in its narrow bed within the same cemetery more submissive, and de- vout, and wise by the teaching of that stately mau- soleum. Then the beautiful will exercise, even on the brink of the grave, the blessed ministry of mercy which it has received from the ordaining hand of God; and it will there, as every where else, in its purity, share the high prerobative of bestow- ing freely its riches without exhausting them. The arts that are truly beautiful, like Gods mercies, are not wasted by diffusion; and every new recipient finds more instead of less good in their presence be- cause of the many who have been comforted there before. Wiser and better will every household be when its children are taught to read, in such a true and lovely temper, the names and dates of its histo- ry from the sod and the marble over the dust that returns to dust, that it may restore the spirit to the God who gave it. 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. W TH the present number of the Magazine be- gins the twentieth volume. Every cordial friend and reader has, of course, read the outside of the cover of the last numberthe one hundred and fourteenth consecutive numberand has there seen the fact amply and truly stated that the volumes of the Magazine from the commencement compose a library of more than a hundred volumes of the most various and entertaining literature. For a family in the country, removed from access to great libra- ries, there is probably no publication in the world which comprises within the same space so much valuable and interesting matter, for all ages and classes and tastes. It is a common error in newspapers and period- icals of all kinds to blazon their own value, but the Easy Chair sits as a calm spectator even of the whirl in which it has its own position, and speaks of the Magazine platform, upon which it stands, as if of a stranger. It would not be becoming for it to state the comparative claims of this Magazine with those of other periodicals; but it may, certainly, re- mark one characteristic of IIa?per, and that is, its constant adaptation to the demand of the time. Designed to entertain, enlighten, and genially criti- cisebut not to roll up its sleeves as a polemical debater in any department of differenceit has ad- hered to its intention with unequaled fidelity. It has sought to be a welcome friend every whereto secure its reception by the knowledge that it had a good and useful and amusing word for every body; and that it would rather talk about matters agreed upon than those involving sharp differences. There is, certainly, always room for sucts a ma~- azine. Whether there has been for this particular one may be inferred from the fact that it has se- cured and maintained from year to year a much lar- ger circulation than any magazine in the world. All hands are now piped to weigh anchor for a fresh voyage. Passengers may be very sure that if they have liked the ship hitherto they ~vill like her none the less hereafter. May she long sail before favoring gales upon calm seasthe fortunate and triumpbant Great Eastern of magazines! Tna finest American days are in the autumnin the clear, cool, bright season when tbick clothes and early fires at evening are agreeablewhen the woods are russet and sere, and the yellow leaves are gor- geous in the sunlight. That is really our season for travel. Our sum- mers are so intensethe heat is so furious and trop- icalthat the part of wisdom is to sit in the shade in a white coat and hear the locust sing that dry, creaking, fervent song, as if there were never a drop of juice in any locust since the creation. Why do we bundle off in cars and steamers to see the country, to travel for pleasure, at such a season? What pleasure is there in itwhat can there be? It is all dust, noise, cinders, glare, and vexation of spirit. But wait until the autumn wait until the sun is tempered and the air is soft, and sweet, and invigorating; and then, if you trav- el through the very same regiomi, you will see an en- tirely new country. For the philosophers say that we carry with us the beauty that we see. If a man be ill in body or in mind, the landscape is always sick. If he be hurried or fretful, the land- scape sulks. If he be calm and cheerful, the health- ful daylight touches the hills, and woods, and wa- ters into a profound and refreshing beauty. There is that kind of lofty pride and reserve, both in nature and art, that they will not be seen merely because they are stared at. It is perfectly true of manyperhaps of most peoplethat they are real- ly disappointed by Niagara, by Mont Blanc, by the ocean, by any great natural object. For they go to see it with the same vulgar curiosity that leads fool- ish people to dog the steps and haunt the house of famous men; and they do not see nor feel the great- ness. There is a very plain story told of the poet Pope which forcibly illustrates this impossibility of seeing if you have merely eyes, and not a mind and reverential heart, to see with. Well, said an ad- mirer, at last I have seen the great Mr. Pope Happy man ! returned the other. And what was he doing ? The great Mr. Pope was picking his nose, was the melancholy reply. So it is with pictures. The impudent people who course through the Vatican with a red guide-bock in their hands, as sportsmen scour the fields, gun in hand, for game, stand before the famous works, and discover when they were painted, and read all their history, and peep at them through their closed hands, and chatter about the chiaro-oscuro, and the tone, and the rest of it; but for all that they do not see the picture. Pictures and real greatness in persons are an invisible writing, which seems a blank surface to the spectator unless behave in his heart and there- fore in his eye, that warmth of reverence, and humil- ity, and sympathy which makes the writing legible. Long ago, in Rome, when the Easy Chair was upon his travels, he used to pass lon~ days in the great galleries, watching the people as well as the pictures. In some quiet cornerbut all corners are quiet in Rome sat some patient artist, working upon his slowly advancing canvas with an air of such profound satisfaction that it was inspiring to look at him. His clothes were poor and picturesque; his hair long; his whole appearance careless; but a merry forester in the great wood of the world is the young artist in Rome. It is the dream of long, doubtful years come true at last. Probably the art- ists pinch themselves at intervals, and say, Rome! Rome ! to themselves. At least, other people who are not artists, but whose dreams come true in the same way, say so. Then, as they sat, half humming old songs from all parts of the world, and their careful, dashing fingers flying or fluttering or painfully lingering upon their work, some traveler came in, with plen- ty of money and confidence, and rushed up to the famous works. He read, and conned, and com- pared. The artist saw the new-coinersaw that he owned the golden boat in which one sails round the worldsaw that he ate and drank well, and followed his whims, and had nothing to do but to enjoy. But still the busy artist hummed and sketched with a glittering light of triumph in his eyefor he knew that there was one port into which the golden boat could not penetrateone thing mon- ey could not buy; no, not though the eager traveler purchased the very pride of the gallery and carried it off to England or America. Yes, he may carry it off hqms the artist in his fancy, as Pluto carried off Pros- erpine, as Arethusa was ravished. He may give it the post of honor as the bridegroom places at the head of his table the bride he has bought with mon- ey; but as the brides heart is anothers, who loves her and whom she loves, so the beauty of the pic- ture is his who feels its power.

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 126-129

126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. W TH the present number of the Magazine be- gins the twentieth volume. Every cordial friend and reader has, of course, read the outside of the cover of the last numberthe one hundred and fourteenth consecutive numberand has there seen the fact amply and truly stated that the volumes of the Magazine from the commencement compose a library of more than a hundred volumes of the most various and entertaining literature. For a family in the country, removed from access to great libra- ries, there is probably no publication in the world which comprises within the same space so much valuable and interesting matter, for all ages and classes and tastes. It is a common error in newspapers and period- icals of all kinds to blazon their own value, but the Easy Chair sits as a calm spectator even of the whirl in which it has its own position, and speaks of the Magazine platform, upon which it stands, as if of a stranger. It would not be becoming for it to state the comparative claims of this Magazine with those of other periodicals; but it may, certainly, re- mark one characteristic of IIa?per, and that is, its constant adaptation to the demand of the time. Designed to entertain, enlighten, and genially criti- cisebut not to roll up its sleeves as a polemical debater in any department of differenceit has ad- hered to its intention with unequaled fidelity. It has sought to be a welcome friend every whereto secure its reception by the knowledge that it had a good and useful and amusing word for every body; and that it would rather talk about matters agreed upon than those involving sharp differences. There is, certainly, always room for sucts a ma~- azine. Whether there has been for this particular one may be inferred from the fact that it has se- cured and maintained from year to year a much lar- ger circulation than any magazine in the world. All hands are now piped to weigh anchor for a fresh voyage. Passengers may be very sure that if they have liked the ship hitherto they ~vill like her none the less hereafter. May she long sail before favoring gales upon calm seasthe fortunate and triumpbant Great Eastern of magazines! Tna finest American days are in the autumnin the clear, cool, bright season when tbick clothes and early fires at evening are agreeablewhen the woods are russet and sere, and the yellow leaves are gor- geous in the sunlight. That is really our season for travel. Our sum- mers are so intensethe heat is so furious and trop- icalthat the part of wisdom is to sit in the shade in a white coat and hear the locust sing that dry, creaking, fervent song, as if there were never a drop of juice in any locust since the creation. Why do we bundle off in cars and steamers to see the country, to travel for pleasure, at such a season? What pleasure is there in itwhat can there be? It is all dust, noise, cinders, glare, and vexation of spirit. But wait until the autumn wait until the sun is tempered and the air is soft, and sweet, and invigorating; and then, if you trav- el through the very same regiomi, you will see an en- tirely new country. For the philosophers say that we carry with us the beauty that we see. If a man be ill in body or in mind, the landscape is always sick. If he be hurried or fretful, the land- scape sulks. If he be calm and cheerful, the health- ful daylight touches the hills, and woods, and wa- ters into a profound and refreshing beauty. There is that kind of lofty pride and reserve, both in nature and art, that they will not be seen merely because they are stared at. It is perfectly true of manyperhaps of most peoplethat they are real- ly disappointed by Niagara, by Mont Blanc, by the ocean, by any great natural object. For they go to see it with the same vulgar curiosity that leads fool- ish people to dog the steps and haunt the house of famous men; and they do not see nor feel the great- ness. There is a very plain story told of the poet Pope which forcibly illustrates this impossibility of seeing if you have merely eyes, and not a mind and reverential heart, to see with. Well, said an ad- mirer, at last I have seen the great Mr. Pope Happy man ! returned the other. And what was he doing ? The great Mr. Pope was picking his nose, was the melancholy reply. So it is with pictures. The impudent people who course through the Vatican with a red guide-bock in their hands, as sportsmen scour the fields, gun in hand, for game, stand before the famous works, and discover when they were painted, and read all their history, and peep at them through their closed hands, and chatter about the chiaro-oscuro, and the tone, and the rest of it; but for all that they do not see the picture. Pictures and real greatness in persons are an invisible writing, which seems a blank surface to the spectator unless behave in his heart and there- fore in his eye, that warmth of reverence, and humil- ity, and sympathy which makes the writing legible. Long ago, in Rome, when the Easy Chair was upon his travels, he used to pass lon~ days in the great galleries, watching the people as well as the pictures. In some quiet cornerbut all corners are quiet in Rome sat some patient artist, working upon his slowly advancing canvas with an air of such profound satisfaction that it was inspiring to look at him. His clothes were poor and picturesque; his hair long; his whole appearance careless; but a merry forester in the great wood of the world is the young artist in Rome. It is the dream of long, doubtful years come true at last. Probably the art- ists pinch themselves at intervals, and say, Rome! Rome ! to themselves. At least, other people who are not artists, but whose dreams come true in the same way, say so. Then, as they sat, half humming old songs from all parts of the world, and their careful, dashing fingers flying or fluttering or painfully lingering upon their work, some traveler came in, with plen- ty of money and confidence, and rushed up to the famous works. He read, and conned, and com- pared. The artist saw the new-coinersaw that he owned the golden boat in which one sails round the worldsaw that he ate and drank well, and followed his whims, and had nothing to do but to enjoy. But still the busy artist hummed and sketched with a glittering light of triumph in his eyefor he knew that there was one port into which the golden boat could not penetrateone thing mon- ey could not buy; no, not though the eager traveler purchased the very pride of the gallery and carried it off to England or America. Yes, he may carry it off hqms the artist in his fancy, as Pluto carried off Pros- erpine, as Arethusa was ravished. He may give it the post of honor as the bridegroom places at the head of his table the bride he has bought with mon- ey; but as the brides heart is anothers, who loves her and whom she loves, so the beauty of the pic- ture is his who feels its power. EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 127 It is the same thing in travel in the observation words, like lines of Shakespeare; and it is Words of nature. The pleasure of a fine scene does not do- worth who has written one of the great English po- pend upon your having money enough to get to it, emsthe Ode upon Intimations of Immortality. but mind enough to enjoy it. There was a book For sustained splendor of imagination, deep, solemn, published nearly twenty years ago intended to show and progressive thought, and exquisite variety of people how to look at nature. But what is the use music, that poem is unsurpassed. Since Miltons of the most perfect glass eye to the blind? People Ode upon the Nativity there is nothing so fine, whose lives revolve in narrow circles around mean not forgett.ing Dryden, Pope, Collins, and the rest, ideaswho are afraid of generous sympathies lest who have written odes. they shall lead to the spending of moneyand of There was a curious debate some years since in heroic thoughts lest they should involve sacrifice Londonnor does the Easy Chair know if it were and loss of esteem, had better stay at home and ever finally decidedupon the question, what six look into their gloomy back-yards, and call them English poets were entitled to statues in Westmin- Italy and Switzerlandprairies and cataracts. In ster Abbey? or, in other words, who are the six vain they will travel and stare. Let them stay at great English poets? home and save money. It was very easy to begin: Chaucer, Spenser, But if a man would really enjoy, let him discover Shakespeare, and Milton. So far the journey was whether he be cheerful, patient; in fact, whether very smooth. Then who? Should it be Dryden he have that quiet eye which can alone harvest or Pope, in the eighteenth century; and who in the the beauties of nature, and then he may go bravely nineteenth? Byron! cried the men who were ma- and confidently. There is a little poem of Words- ture in 1825. Wordsworth! replied their children. worths, one of the sweetest of all his songs A Of the four there can be little doubt that Words- Poets Epitaphwhich contains the necessary di- worth is best entitled to the honor. If the great rections for enjoying travel as well as for profitable poet be the man who conveys the most profound and meditation upon the departed: universal thought in the most simple and adequate mannerwhose imagination is creative and sustain- edwhose sympathies are as broad as nature and mankindthere is no question that Wordsworth bet- ter satisfies the conditions than any since Milton. And what a droll idea it gives of the state of the English mind forty and fifty years ago, to know that reviews which laughed at Wordsworth as an old wo- man were feared and respected as literary authori- ties. In fact nobody who has lived long enough to see a great name built up amidst ridicule and scoff- ing will ever regard any opinion of any review or critic upon any book or person except as the view of a fallible individual. But who is he, with modest looks, And clad in homely russet brown? He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own. He is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noonday grove; And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love. The outward shows of sky and earth, Of hill and valley, he has viewed; And impulses of deeper birth Have come to him in solitude. In common things that round us lie Some random truths he can impart The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sieeps on his own heart. But he is weak; both man and boy, Hath been an idler in the land; Contented if he might enjoy The things that others understand. Do people read Wordsworth now? A dozen years ago he was the favorite of thoughtful students of poetryvery much as Byron wes the idol of young and passionate readers. And he will always stand in our literary history as the poet who effected the great change from the artificial to the natural style in poetry. Byron conquered Wordsworth in super- ficial public regard, as he did all his contemporaries; but he is being gradually displaced by a sincerer schooL It is curious to see how the same thing shows it- self throughout the development of every age. The Pre-Raphaslite school in paintingthe Thackeray vein in novel-writingare illustrations of the same spirit as that of Wordsworths appeals to the com- mon sentiment of common life. And they are all in turn modifications of the great Protestant princi- plo which controls modem civilization, and which asserts the essential worth and dignity of men as equal children of God. There was a time, within the memory of living men, when Wordsworth was as little known as Shel- ley, but he is now canonized in eight volumes, among Moxons greater gods. His poetry has become a part of En~,lish literature. Lines of his are household THAT last sentence lands us gently upon another thought, which is, the extreme absurdity of the re- spect paid to the modern press. The great difference between newspapers now and when they began is, that then they were chiefly rec- ords of news read by very few; now they are chiefly records of opinions read by a great many. And if we look closely, it is not so much the opinion we fear as the fact that it is read by a great many. An author is perfectly willing t.hat the editor should not like his book, for instance; but when the editor tells a hundred thousand people who have never seen the book that it is drearily stupid, they henceforward associate only stupidity with the book, and will probably never take it up to read, but rather select something else. It therefore requires a great deal of common sense to read a newspaper properly, and to understand that it expresses only one of two things: first, the sincere opinion of the man who writes the article; or, sec- ond, what he conceives to be the public opinion. This last, of course, is a method by which you arrive at a knowledge of public opinion, provided the man who undertakes to express that opinion is really sa- gacious enough to know what it is. If he is not, then his article means nothing at all but a bad guess of the authors. Consequently there are two ways of being a suc- cessful editor: one is, when your own honest, pri- vate opinion happens to coincide with that of many in the community; the other is, when you suppress your own views altogether, and merely repeat what you see to be the general sentiment. The first is an 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. honest, the second is a dishonest, editor. The first is a respectable and valuable citizen; the second is a pander. He consults and gratifies the prejndices of the public, as a courtier panders to the gratifica- tion of his sovereign. And in both cases he is used, rewarded, and despised. It is hard for a man or a cause to make head against a swift current of falsehood and abuse. An adroit writer will so easily and naturally and inten- tionally misrepresent the fact, and what he knows to be the fact, that the reader will accept the mis- representation as fact, and raise eyes and hands of horror at the offender. The Easy Chair lately witnessed an illustration of thisnot in a political paperwhere the coldest Jesuitical malignity misinterpreted a perfectly sim- ple and intelligible phrase, for the purpose of casting personal odium upon the author under review. A man who would do such a thing would pick your pocket, if he were sure of not being caught. He would kick his mother, if there were nobody near; and the moment his name was known among gen- tlemeu he would be despised by them as a sneak- thief; crawling about to filch a little piece of honest reputation from an honest man. It is a public mis- fortune when such men are allowed to write as if they spoke sincerely or with any intention of public instruction. These are the considerations which should con- stantly check the tendency to look upon what the newspapers say as of any more consequence, in re- ality, than what any body says in private conversa- tion. The difficulty of course is, that it is public conversation, and it acts to your prejudice if it de- fame you. But what are you going to do? Will you say and do what you do not believe that the l)apers may praise you? Or will you understand that your judgment is a safer rule for you than the opinion of any editor, or of any of the single individ- uals who altogether make up the public ? If a man holds his comfort at the mercy of the newspa- pers, he is as happy as Sinbad carrying the old man of the sea. Of course he will not be so foolish as to fight with them. If you walk among snakes the only way is to wear thick boots, and let them dart and sting as they wilL Dont try to knock off the head of each one. But when you have on the stout boots of an actual, not an affected, faith in the pro- priety of your own position, though the serpents were hydra-headed their tongues shall not harm you. The French have a sensible proverb, On dit eat snenteur, which, being interpreted, means that They say is a liar; or Mrs. Grundy is a liar. The wind is not more whimsical than the public ; and the best advice that religion and experience can give any young man is, Dont try to please others; try to please yourself. Now a sneak-thief would lay hold of that last sentence, and say that the Easy Chair recommended young men to be selfish, self-indulgent, self-seeking, luxurious, and lazy. And yet the sneak-thief would know perfectly well while he was saying so, that the Easy Chair says Try to please yourself in pre- cisely the same sense that in the parable of the Prodigal it is related that when he came to him- self; he arose, etc. Dear Sneak, does that mean that when he became selfish he repented of his wrong-doing? It is fortunate that Sneak has no chance of inter- preting the beautiful parables of the New Testament for us. It is too late. Even he can not wrest them from their simple and profound significance. Yet he doubtless tries to; and if he thought public opin- ion would support him in saying it, he would not hesitate to declare that there was no meaning in them at alL This is one kind of editor, and of successful edi- tor. But is this the kind of man whose word shall trouble your peace of mind? If he were honest, his censure would be an honest differeuce of opinion. But as it iswhy, only keep your hand on your pockets. Ix the autumn there are some preternaturally still, shadowed days, when the vapor is not a cloud but only a vail; when single leaves, at intervals, drop quietly to the ground, like tears that fall with- out sobbing; and the landscape seems to be utterly self-involved, meditating its own decay. There is a more conscious sadness in such days than in all others of the year. The trees make no effort to hold their leaves; the warm, rich softness of the air seems a mockery over the brown meadows, like a sweet south wind, full of life, and hope, and joy, blowing over the face of one who lies dying of con- sumption; the brook audibly trickles under the el- ders, and the sassafras, and the weeping willows. But the willow is the mute mourner of the whole. The eye steals away to the fields and sees the great haystack roofed for snowsees the last stooks of corustalks removedthe yellow pumpkins and crook- necks coming in upon the cart, the apple-trees stripped, the pasture short, and although the sun shines and the air is warm, and a late fly buzzes upon the window, there is a foreshadowing silence the sweetness of placid and resigned decay. In the feeling of these days is one of perfect resig- nation. They are as efibrtless as the outline of a flower. The whole landscape is so strangely still that you see it as if drowned in a deep sea of yellow light. They are like the last serene hours of a good man, who passes from life to life as a king from chamber to chamber of his palace; who lies, sweet and silent, remembering the early days, the old friends, the tender ties, the sympathies, joys, and sorrows, that have made the world dear and sacred. So seems the falling year to be inly beholding its buds and blossoms, its flowers and fruit, its mani- fold experience. Where are the roses now? Where the gusty days of larch? the tears of April? the fervor of July? There is a poem of Keatsswhich was never pub- lished in any collected edition of his works, but which originally appeared in Leigh Hunts Indicator, and is reprinted, with subsequent alterations, in Milness Life and Remains of the poetwhich per- fectly expresses the weird, dreamy romance of these ghostly days. As many a lover of Keats has prob- al)lv not seen the poem, the Easy Chair will copy it, to share a pleasure with his readers: LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. A aALLAD, 1519. O what can ail thee, Knight-at.armns! Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake, And no birds sing. o what can all thee, Knight-at-arms So haggard and so woc-begone? The squirrels granary is full, And the harvests done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. OUR FOREIGN BUREAU. 129 I met a lady in the meads, Full beautifula faerys child. Her hair was longher foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fra~ant zone; She lookd at me, as she did love, And made sweet moan. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A facrys song. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in langua~e strange she said I love thee true. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighd full sore, And there I shut her wild sad eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dreamdah, woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamd On the cold hills side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all: They cried, La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in tisrall. I s w their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide; And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hills side. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is witherd from the lake, And no birds sing. d~nv 5~ut~igu ~13nr~trn. WE begin with the East; not China, but the Caucasus. Schamyl, the great, wild, free loader and the sworn foe of Russia, has at length fallen into the hands of the Emperor Alexander. On the Koran he had given oath that he would nev- er treat and never yield; but turban, Koran, and cimeter are weaker than the sword of the West. For months past he has been hemmed in upon his mount- ain fastnesses; only three hundred and fifty follow- ers with him in the final struggle, of whom two hundred and fifty fell before the capture was made. And now the archenemy of Russia is journeying westward toward a palace prison in St. Petersburg. The reader will remember, perhaps, that a son of this redoubtable chieftain, who fell into Russian hands years ago, had been educated at St. Peters- burg, and held rank in the military establishment of the capital; a brave, noble-hearted fellowso his Western friends describe him growing up with thorough attachment to the civilization of Europe, and lamenting the impotent hostility of his father. Two years ago Schamyl made seizure of a couple of Russian princesses (Orboliani by name), and bore them off to the mountains. The conditions of their release were, a heavy ransom and the restoration to him of his son. The Emperor accorded the ransom, and in respect to the latter condition, left the son free to act for himself. The son yielded, at lesfgth, to the fathers demand; and turning his back upon the friends and the luxuries of the capital, traveled back into the rich wildernesses of the East. To the father he was still a son; but the chieftains, who swore by the Koran, looked doubtfully upon the Christian. The prince lived under espionage, brood- ed over the losses of Western civilization, and fell, at length, into a decline, which all the nostrums of the imaums could not stay. Schamyl appealed to Alexander for a physician of European faith, and the Emperor dispatched one for his service; too late, however; the change had broken him forever. His story has a melancholy interest just now. But the Caucasus is not subdued, although Scha- myl is taken; we are wearied, as before, with cease- less bulletins of Caucasian battles. Moving westward, we find some shrewd skipper gathering bones upon the heights of Balakiava which he carries by ship-load to the port of Odessa, whereat some British news-writer excites the horror of England by declaring that the skeletons of our brave soldiers are being transmuted into ivory black. Of course there comes protest, and inquiry, and examination under the eye of Russian natural- ists, who find the bones to be those of mules and horses only. We see the Yankee craftsmen still toiling at the submerged ships, and the blight of the war linger- lug on the fields and the houses. Odessa is busy once more, and the harbor is whitened with the sails of the Mediterranean vessels that are coining in for grain. In the cafds (for there are cafds in Odessa) they are talking over the lsrilliant f& es which have welcomed the heir-apparent to his majority. The programme of ceremonial (too long for rehearsal here), under twenty-six magniloquent orders of the Court Chamberlain, are in all the journals. The date of the fdte is the 8th of September (Russian style), and the title of the Prince Sea A ltesse Ins- piriale 2Ifesssezgneus~ le Cisarivit:ls grass-duc /e~rities- Ni colas A lexassdrovitcls. A great event, and a great man (possibly) for Russia; but to our West not so much as a steam- plow, whose cost would be covered by the embroid- ery on the coat of the Prince. A little sail brings us before Constantinople. There are bad times here. The old Turks, full of Mohammedan pride and energy, are questioning if the Western influences are not working too strongly upon the susceptible heart of the Sultan. There is conspiracy to stay the insidious spread of Christian opinions. The fierce, proud Oriental- ism is stiffening for its last struggle (on these shores) against the trade-civilization of the West. Of course the revolver will beat the cimeter, and the black hat will overtop the turban. Some hun- dreds of conspirators are just now in prison; but in the streets are thousands of fiery sympathizers with those who lie in prison. Worst of all, money is fail- ing the appointed Father of the Faithful, and his sol- diers are growing clamorous. The troops in the capital have been for months without pay; others, at a distance, have received nothing for a year past. In the neighborhood of Erzeroum the soldiers of the Prophet are in rags, having little food, and no prom- ise of better days to come. Such naen furnish cap- ital material for conspirators to work upon. Yet more: the head of the War Department, Rizi Pacha, declares with bitteraess that all power is vir- tually taken from him; that troops are ordered from point to point without his cognizance; that fortifi- cations along the western boundary and on the front- iers of Dalmatia had been abandoned in obedience to the suggestions of forei~n esubassadors; that all his applications for redress are treated with con

Editor's Foreign Bureau Editor's Foreign Bureau 129-133

OUR FOREIGN BUREAU. 129 I met a lady in the meads, Full beautifula faerys child. Her hair was longher foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fra~ant zone; She lookd at me, as she did love, And made sweet moan. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A facrys song. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in langua~e strange she said I love thee true. She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighd full sore, And there I shut her wild sad eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dreamdah, woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamd On the cold hills side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all: They cried, La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in tisrall. I s w their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide; And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hills side. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is witherd from the lake, And no birds sing. d~nv 5~ut~igu ~13nr~trn. WE begin with the East; not China, but the Caucasus. Schamyl, the great, wild, free loader and the sworn foe of Russia, has at length fallen into the hands of the Emperor Alexander. On the Koran he had given oath that he would nev- er treat and never yield; but turban, Koran, and cimeter are weaker than the sword of the West. For months past he has been hemmed in upon his mount- ain fastnesses; only three hundred and fifty follow- ers with him in the final struggle, of whom two hundred and fifty fell before the capture was made. And now the archenemy of Russia is journeying westward toward a palace prison in St. Petersburg. The reader will remember, perhaps, that a son of this redoubtable chieftain, who fell into Russian hands years ago, had been educated at St. Peters- burg, and held rank in the military establishment of the capital; a brave, noble-hearted fellowso his Western friends describe him growing up with thorough attachment to the civilization of Europe, and lamenting the impotent hostility of his father. Two years ago Schamyl made seizure of a couple of Russian princesses (Orboliani by name), and bore them off to the mountains. The conditions of their release were, a heavy ransom and the restoration to him of his son. The Emperor accorded the ransom, and in respect to the latter condition, left the son free to act for himself. The son yielded, at lesfgth, to the fathers demand; and turning his back upon the friends and the luxuries of the capital, traveled back into the rich wildernesses of the East. To the father he was still a son; but the chieftains, who swore by the Koran, looked doubtfully upon the Christian. The prince lived under espionage, brood- ed over the losses of Western civilization, and fell, at length, into a decline, which all the nostrums of the imaums could not stay. Schamyl appealed to Alexander for a physician of European faith, and the Emperor dispatched one for his service; too late, however; the change had broken him forever. His story has a melancholy interest just now. But the Caucasus is not subdued, although Scha- myl is taken; we are wearied, as before, with cease- less bulletins of Caucasian battles. Moving westward, we find some shrewd skipper gathering bones upon the heights of Balakiava which he carries by ship-load to the port of Odessa, whereat some British news-writer excites the horror of England by declaring that the skeletons of our brave soldiers are being transmuted into ivory black. Of course there comes protest, and inquiry, and examination under the eye of Russian natural- ists, who find the bones to be those of mules and horses only. We see the Yankee craftsmen still toiling at the submerged ships, and the blight of the war linger- lug on the fields and the houses. Odessa is busy once more, and the harbor is whitened with the sails of the Mediterranean vessels that are coining in for grain. In the cafds (for there are cafds in Odessa) they are talking over the lsrilliant f& es which have welcomed the heir-apparent to his majority. The programme of ceremonial (too long for rehearsal here), under twenty-six magniloquent orders of the Court Chamberlain, are in all the journals. The date of the fdte is the 8th of September (Russian style), and the title of the Prince Sea A ltesse Ins- piriale 2Ifesssezgneus~ le Cisarivit:ls grass-duc /e~rities- Ni colas A lexassdrovitcls. A great event, and a great man (possibly) for Russia; but to our West not so much as a steam- plow, whose cost would be covered by the embroid- ery on the coat of the Prince. A little sail brings us before Constantinople. There are bad times here. The old Turks, full of Mohammedan pride and energy, are questioning if the Western influences are not working too strongly upon the susceptible heart of the Sultan. There is conspiracy to stay the insidious spread of Christian opinions. The fierce, proud Oriental- ism is stiffening for its last struggle (on these shores) against the trade-civilization of the West. Of course the revolver will beat the cimeter, and the black hat will overtop the turban. Some hun- dreds of conspirators are just now in prison; but in the streets are thousands of fiery sympathizers with those who lie in prison. Worst of all, money is fail- ing the appointed Father of the Faithful, and his sol- diers are growing clamorous. The troops in the capital have been for months without pay; others, at a distance, have received nothing for a year past. In the neighborhood of Erzeroum the soldiers of the Prophet are in rags, having little food, and no prom- ise of better days to come. Such naen furnish cap- ital material for conspirators to work upon. Yet more: the head of the War Department, Rizi Pacha, declares with bitteraess that all power is vir- tually taken from him; that troops are ordered from point to point without his cognizance; that fortifi- cations along the western boundary and on the front- iers of Dalmatia had been abandoned in obedience to the suggestions of forei~n esubassadors; that all his applications for redress are treated with con 130 HARPERS N1~W MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tempt. It was not for personal advantage that he had consented to assume the hudget of war. Allah forbid! Ho had sacrificed, indeed, his private for tune to the exigencies of the service; but private fortunes have an end. He had appealed to the Min- ister of Finance, setting hefore him the beggarly condition of the army; hut the Minister of Finance declares the treasury to be empty, and no hope of revenue, since Fuad Pacha, Au Pacha, and the Minister of the Interior had collected, on their own authority, for two years to come the taxes of the empire. How long shall Turkey stagger on under such weight of corruption? It would seem, too, that Turkish nifairs are he- coming yet farther complicated by division in the Christian sentiment of the country. Hitherto we have counted all anti-Mohammedan interests united under the wing of the Greek Church; but we hear now of rebellion against the bishops, and in the isl- and of Salonica thousands of Christians have re- nounced allegiance and declared for the Pope and the Church of the West. It would he odd indeed if at the time when the Holy Father is losing his best supporters in Italy he should find his last suc- cor under the hanner of the Crescent. In Viennaif we come westward hy the Danube we find no cheer. Brilliant court display, and brilliant equipages; fine wines at the Archduke Charles, and good music on the Glacis; but withal a pinched exchequer, and no glory from the last war to boast of; no amnesty for consolation; no new friends among the governments of Europe to bolster the weak splendor of Hapshurg. Yet to the credit of the Emperor it must he said that he has just now inaugurated a new scheme for the financial relief of the country, in appointing a commission of landholders, merchants, and manu- facturers for a full investigation of existing sources of revenue, and for the arrangement of some effect- ive plan hy which opposing interests may, so far as possible, he conciliated, and the offensive features in the present system of taxation done away. That merchants and manufacturers should be so far rec- ognized by an Austrian monarch as to be put upon a high court commission is certainly a promising sign. Trieste, which through the summer was oppressed with dullness, has begun now to revive, and its little harhor is full of merchautmen; but in Venice there is dreadful stagnation. Business still; and hearts that are more fearfully still. Now it is some mo- ther of earnest, hopeful sons, who have found their way westward, saddened by their absence, dreading risk of their betrayal, enduring espionage cf the po- lice, and perhaps her house seized, and herself driven out desolate, to wander after those sons who are en- rolled in the army of Garibaldi. Again, it is some father of young children who are horn into that Austrian thraildom; he, too hopeful while the dream of liberty was brightest, has compromised himself by open expression of his hopes and by contributions in moneydeteoted at last, and torn away from his home, to linger (no one knows how long) in the prisons of Bohemia. These are not fancy pictures: such events are of weekly occurrence. The iron glaive of despotism felt every where along the green streets of water; their winters delight, the Venice Opera, abandoned, because funds are lacking, or kept in reserve for some harsh trial of strength, which they hope may come specdily. And it may come before we Westerners are look- ing for it. Mazzini has at length given in his ad- hesion to the King; his example xviii carry the action of thousands with him who have thus far stood alooS and these the most desperate and daring of alL The Pope has only to march his Swiss across the Alps and the battle will begin. Louis Napoleon and the Cardinal Antonelli (who is virtually Pope) are no longer friends. A French army, if it appears at all, will appear as umpire, and not as combatantex- cept, indeed, the Croats cross again their Villafranca border. No Swiss and no Parsnesan hirelings can cope with Garibaldi and his men. So far all looks well for Central Italy. The bad bargain about the Dukes (made at Villafranca) falls through by reason of its own rottenness. We strongly suspect that the French Emperor knew it must; we strongly suspect that Francis-Joseph is beginning to feel himself over- reached in the bargain; we fear greatly that his pet- ulance may wreak itself upon all Venetian sympa- thizers with King Emanuel. All accounts from Venice go to show this; and unless the indi,,,nation of the Austrian may send him again southward, to restore order in Bologna, there seems only faint hope of Venetian relief. Will Ise make the venture? Will the whining appeal of the sick Pope call out battle again? Will the liberty and nationality of Italy go down before the Vicar of Christ? In the south there are signs of commotion; the comparatively lib ral ministry with which the new Neapolitan kin,, commenced his reign has retired. The reactionists, who are hearty sympathizers with the Pope and with Austria, are managing matters for the present in their own way. Yet all accounts agree in assuring us that there is great fermentation in the body politic, which, if Central Italy remains free, must shortly have its outburst. A Murat conspiracy is not improbable, as drawing out the support of a large middle-class, who equally detest the imperialism of Austria and the agrarian tendencies of the Mazzini followers. It is perfectly clear that his Catholic Majesty, now that the Swiss are gone, can do nothing in aid of time Pope. He will have quite enough employment for his trusty retainers in keeping the peace in Na- ples and Messina. Indeed nothing is more plain than that the present system of rule in both the south kingdom of Italy and in the Austrian prov- inces (where 100,000 men at least are necessary to man the fortifications) is entailing an expenditure upon the two despots that must ultimately break them down with bankruptcy. How Tuscany and good Tuscans stand just now is evident enough from this spirited and dignified letter of the Prime Minister of Tuscany, addressed to a friend: Snm,I thank you for the advice you give me in your yesterdays note. I am happy to assure you that, from the moment I was put at the head of the Tuscan Govern- ment, I never had one moment either of uncertainty or weakness. Uncertainty can not abide with a man wise proposes to himself a complete political design, and fulfills it upon a persevering system, every part of which tends to the fulfillment of the whole. Weakness finds no room in the heart of one who asks for and accepts nothing from his country in return for the sacrifices he is ready fear- lessly to make for its sake. I think I am not mistaken if I say that the cause of Italy owes the present height it has reached to the clear political programme, to the uprigist- ness and strsngth of mind by which the Tuscan Govern- ment has so far distinguished itself. I feel assured, nd all may feel assured, that neither this Geverument nor OUR FOREIGN BUREAU. 131 those of Modena and Bologna, nor that of the King-elect, nor the Italian people, will fail in their intent to consti- I tute that strong kingdom which is a universal want, and which alone may enable all of us to call ourselves Italians, as Italy may only in that event be said to exist. This, which is our wish, must needs also be the wish of Europe, for Europe may never hope for peace till it becomes an ecimowledged fact that there is an Italy. RIcASoLL Again, tho lato funeral obsequies in honor of Manin, at Milan, show how staunchly the Lombards are holding by their faith. There was no great splendor of ceremony, hut an earnest expression of sympathy on the part of the thousands who listened to the good abbd as he pronounced the eulogy, which augured well for Italy. Freer and bolder and more hopeful this month than last; and freer and holder last month than the month before; for the next months we wait, saying, Bravo! and a Dieu! Ir is singular how little touched the French war- seekers are by the reported battles in China. Do they love to see their good allies across the Channel meet with military reverses? Are they seriously indifferent to an opening of Pekin and free opium ventures? Is it that they love coffee so much bet ter than tea? Is it that they look to European ground for their career in arms and empire? Whatever the reason, it is certain that they have listened to that sad tale of the mud forts, and the ditches, and the shores reeking with mud, and the gun-boats stranded, with very tame ears. Yet they propose to aid England with a considerable force. There are those, indeed, who say that the Mandarins should have been listened tothat the north branch of the Pei-ho should have been enteredthat a householder has a right to direct by what door his invited guests shall come inthat he must ware the man-traps if he climbs over the walL But, on the other hand, there are those who maintain that civ- ilization has a ri~,ht to push its interviews with bar- barism in its own style; the icing of wild men must not say to his guests, Eat this human steak, and you shall live in our town; civilization must assume something; it must carry consciousness of dignity and power, and sustain the consciousness by direct- ness and intrepidity and resolution. Of course if civilization sinks in the barbarian mud ditches, the affair becomes awkward; but once nnd3rtaken, the road must be made free. Give up the Pei-ho and the ditches now, and there would result a moral loss that no array of gun-ships could balance. We talk little, however, of these things; we are busy with nearer topics. Victor Hugo (who will not come back to France till liberty comes hack) sends hither a poempublished simultaneously in Paris and Brussels on the 28th of September La L~geede des Si~cles. It opens with the Biblical period, and under Le- gend of Conscience he gives us, first, the flight and harassments of Cain. Gods eye is his terror; and the first pages (we have read no more) show the poor skin-clad murderer shrinking and trembling under the gaze that pierces every concealment. Surely Cain never opened a poem before! Its manner and measure we give in the first twen- ty lines: Loreque, avec sos enfants vatue de peaux de bittes, Echeveld, livide an milieu des tempitee, Can se fut enful de devant Jdhovah, Comme le soir tombait, ihomme sombre arrive Au bas dune montague en une grands plaine; ISa femme fatigu6e et ees ills hors dhaleine Lul dirent: Couchons-nous eur Ia terre, et dormone. CaIn, ne dormant pas, songecit eu pied des monte. Ayant levd la titte, en fond des cleux funitbres, Il vit no coil, tout grand ouvert dans les t6n~hres, Et qul le regardait dens lombre fixement. Je mule trop prits, dit-il evec un tremblement. II ritveilla ses ills dormant, se femme lesse, Et se remit it fuir sinistre, dens lespace. 11 marcha trente jours, II marcha trente nuits. Ii shalt, muet, pale et frdmissant aux bruits, iturtif, sens regarder derriisre ml, sans tritve, Sans repos, sans sommeil; ii atteignit la grit-s Des mers dens le pays qul fut depuis Assur. Arrittons-nous, ut-il, car cet asile est ear. Ilestons-y. Nous evens do moncie atteint lee bornee. Et, comme ii saseeyait, il vit dens leo cioux morass Lcoil it is mitme place ass fond de ihorizon. Alors ii tressaillit en proie au noir friseon. Cachez-moi I crie-t-il; et, le doigt sur is boucbe. Tous see file regardaleut trembler laleul farouche. Cain ut it Jabel, pitre de ceux qul vent Sons des tentes de poll dens le ddsert profond: Etende de ce c6td la toils de is tente. Et ion ditveloppa is muraille flottante; Et, quand on leut fixite avec des poids de p10mb, Vous us voyez plus rien 1 dit Teilla, lenfant blond, La fills do see file, deuce comme laurors; Et Cain rdpondit: Je vole cet coil encore! M. Villemain has just now appeared in the Sun- day Courrier of Paris, discussing the old question of Press freedom; his title is, La Press Periodique devant le Suffrage Universal, and the base of his argument (in favor of free speech, of course) is this: that universal suffrage demands, as absolute condi- tions of its success, that reliable information have the utmost possible diffusion; in short, that the people receive such education from an unfettered press as shall fit them for an intelligent exercise of their power. We need not say that this view is urged with a rare force and precision of language. The Imperialists, who sustain existing stringency of enactment, reply, more adroitly than soundly: What you say is well; what you propose is, in- deed, the ideal toward which, under a democratic monarchy like that of France, all effort should tend. But in order to make our progress sore, and our ef- fort consistent, we must begin by admitting the va- lidity of the present democratic sovereignty, and ac- cepting the decree of universal suffrage for the ex- isting establishment. Another newspaper article up~n the same topic, which popular rumor assigns to the pen of Guizot, has also attracted much attention to the colunsos of the Deilsets. IT is not often that the loss of a child startles Paris; yet we have such a story to tell. Every day the garden of the Tuileries has its crowd of prat- tiersits nurses in Breton caps. Among these the nurse and child of M. Hua, a well-known magis- trate of Paris. A stranger asked to see the child (only a few months old), took the babe in her arms, and an accomplice having called the nurses atten- tion away the strange woman and child disappeared. The nurse is of oourse distracted; the desolate mother is affected to such a degree that fears are en- tertained for her life. NI. Hue describes, so far as possible, the infant and the person of the kidnap- per, and offers ten thousand francs for its return. The police are all charged with the search; but, strange to say, a day os~ more passes, and no tidings 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. are had. The affair assumes an air of mystery, and all manner of stories are current. Somnambulists apply for portions of the childs dress, and promise, for a reward, to discover the place of concealment. M. ilna even receives a letter which makes offer of the childs return provided certain important con- ditions of silence and concealment are complied with. He is asked to communicate his determination through the advertising columns of the Droit news- paper. This he does; and the Paris world is still fur- ther mystified by the announcement that M. Ilna vouches compliance with the conditions named, and entreats instant communication. Meantime, however, the police of Paris have in- formation of a strange child in a retired street of the city of Orleans; it has been placed by an unknown party with a woman whose business it is to take in- fants in charge. An agent of the prefecture goes down to Orleans, identifies the child (so far as he can), and communi- cates with the father. All Paris hears the grate- ful news by the evening jonruals; and before they are issued the infant is restored to its parents. A girl of seventeen, with her mother, are the guilty parties, and now wait their trial. The matter is to be noted as having engrossed in such large degree the attention of the Paris jour- nals. The suspense of the father and the agoniz- ing grief of the mother have touched the French heart deeply. In quick sympathy of this sort hearty and full expression is very characteristic. Some years ago, we remember, when a poor well- digger was buried alive near to Lyons, and while a company of sappers and miners, which had hurried to his relief, were prosecuting their labors, bulletins of their progress were published every two or three hours in the capitaL Madame de Girardin made most successful appeal to this French trait in her Joie fait Peur, of which we had occasion to speak in its time. Apropos, this play has just now been revived at Nantes; a certain Madame Larmet personated the afflicted mother lamenting a lost son. Scarcely had Madame Larmet begun her lament than she burst into tears, and was so much overcome with apparent grief as to he incapable of going on. The curtain fell, and the manager made his ex- planations, which were but indistinctly heard. A friend of the actress, however~ soon made it known that Madame Larmet had only the day before re- ceived intelligence of the death of her son, and the dramatic situation of the piece revived so pointedly her own grief that she was compelled to give way in a tumult of feeling. Instantly this became known, the audience, which had been clamorous for a renew- al of the play, excused the actress and insisted that no recall should be made. Mademoiselle Yestvali (while we are upon mat- ters theatric) has just npw won conquest as a pretty Romeo, in pretty armor, with pretty voice, in Bel- linis Montagues and Capulets, at the French Op- era. An operetta at the C ique, under borrowed title of Mid-summer Nights Dream (with Titania and Bottom and Puck left out), has had its share of admirers; while La Croix at the Porte St. Mar- tin has given new version to the old story of Louis XI. and his superstitions and perfidies. Leverrier has made discovery of new planetstoo small to interest outsiders greatlyand M. Fournet has addressed a paper on the recent aurora borealis, and its cortdge of storms, to the Academy of Sciences. It is of interest, and its main facts worthy of rec- ord: His object is to compare the phenomena which accompanied it in different parts of Europe, on or about the 29th of August last, with those which were remarked during the fine aurora of Nov. 17, 1848. In the former ease its influence would seem to have been felt several days before its apparition. Thus, on the 24th, a violent storm broke over Gro~tz, in Styria; on the following night, Port Louis, in the department of Morbihan, was visited by westerly winds with thunder, while squalls were general on the French Atlantic coast. On the 25th strong winds from the south and southwest prevailed at Lyons, carrying with them the heavy clouds which were to close the hot season by their rains. Storms ravaged the Pyrenean regions of Miranda, Tarbes, Mont-de-Marsan, and Auch on the 26th; on tIme same day a water-spout from the southwest spread devastation around St. Andn~ (Eure). On the 27th the wind had subsided, but the rain fell in torrents at Lyons, and there was stormy weather at Bayonne, with lightning. On the 28th M. Fournet, being at Montrotier, near Lyons, was unable to take the bear- ings of certain peaks in the neighborlmood with his pocket-compass, and in the evening the sky was charged with electricity. During the night there was a terrible hurricane at London, the lightning having the violet hue which characterized the north and northwest border of the aurora. Storums cent in- ned to rage on that and the following day in the re- gion of the Pyrenees, at Luz, and St. Sauveur. On the 29th there were sudden showers, with long flashes of lightning, near Lyons; there was a furious storm at Avignon; the first snows appeared on the Alps of the Grisons, and there was incessant lightning at Algiers. On the 30th it rained at Lyons; a north wester caused a hailstorm at Ficamp, the hailstoncs being of the size of hazel-nuts; the 31st was squally, and the 1st of September was ushered in at Ouistre bern (Calvados) with a furious sea. All these phe nomena,it must be remarked, coincided with the ef- fects of electricity remarked on the telegraphic lines. Another circumstance of note was that the aurora seemed to shift its position in the direction of the wind, from west to east. Comparing all these phe- nomena with those of the aurora of Nov. 17, 1848, it appears that on the day before the general direc- tion of the wind was west, occasionally inclining south or north. On the 17th there was rather a calm; rain and snow, however, falling incessantly at Berlin. The 18th was about the same, but winds, generally blowing from the west, and squalls com- menced on the 19th and 20th, at Lyons, Havre, Mar- gate, and Portsmouth. Violent storms raged in the Channel on the 21st, 22d, and 23d; aiso at Lyons, Cette, Montpellier, Toulon, and Marseilles. Over the Channel, the British Association of Sci- ence has had its meeting at Aberdeen. Professor Owen, the retiring president, having made his little speech, gave place to Prince Albert, who had been requested to act as presiding officer for the years meeting. British peopleeven to men of science love rank very dearly, and never lose occasion to testify their admiration for it. As if such men as Sir Benjamin Brodie, and Murchison, and Professor Owen ought to be proud of having a Prince-consort to preside over them! As if Biot, and Leverrier, and Dnmas were to make Prince Plon Plon chairman of their Academy of Sciences! But Prince Albert is both prudent and shrewd; and while telling them he was in no sense a scien EDITORS DRAWER. 133 tific man, he added, that, as husband of their queen i that there is no nook or corner in the wide land he thought he might be of some service to them: where it does not make its way; nud that every Whereat there was warm applause. I body who is any body reads harper, if he can read In return for this attention to the Prince-consort at all. But this is not the Drawers way of saying the Queen graciously invited some two hundred of thin~s. He prefers to intimate, as he now does the savans to come and breakfast at Balmoral. most gentlythat the pleasantest mode of express- Now as Balmoral is accessible only by some thirty- ing appreciation of the work is to aid in enlarging five miles of coaching after leaving the railway, it the area of its circulation. The readers of the Drawer made rather a serious thing of the breakfast; partic- are in good humor, and therefore are the people to- ularly for the plethoric and asthmatic. Howbeit ward whom one looks when lie asks a favor. They they went; and the Court chronicler tells us that are the friends on whom the publishers rely to form tents wore spread upon the lawn before the castle, clubs in the towns and villages all over the Union. wherein the savans regaled themselves, and her A club of three gets the Magazine for two dollars Majesty was pleased graciously to recognize Pro- apiece; and when the club is enlarged to ten, the fessor Owen. getter-up of it gets his eleventh copy free gratis Of course they had a good breakfast, and thought for nothing. And the publishers hope that the it a pretty place, and coached back to Aberdeen and good-natured Drawer readers will, before the month to business, of January begins, send on hundreds and thousands Any thing more? Shall we say how many brace of such clubs, that the world may be the wiser, bet- of partridges the Honorable Fitz Ride has slaught r ter, and merrier, for the sake of the good things sent ed since the 12th of Augusthow the grouse lie broadcast from thcse fair pages. how the salmon fishing is overany thing of Good- ______ wood? Any thing of poor Smethurst (of whom the A LEARNED mem r of the bar is introduced to story last month); granted a reprieve, but lyin~ in the readers of the Drawer with the following a~- prison, doubtful if it be death or life for hhn, suspi- umirable stories of the court-room: cions of other crime astir that are takin, off the The rotund and learned Judge G , of New edge of sympathy? How Sir John Coleridge has York, who, for his rapid dispatch of business, oh- made a good speech on education, in which he boast- tamed the sobriquet of Steam Judge, sitting a lon,~ ed of being de. ended from a line of schoolmasters, time on one occasion at Chambers, hearing an elab which was better than a line of Lord Mayors. How orate argument, indicated some impatience, in his Derby, late Tory premier, has evicted all his Irish usual way, by turning his scratch rapidly around tenants of Doon, because among them they conceal on his head at intervals; finally, wearied out, or otl~- a murderer and defeat the law (which, if there must erwise en. ious, he jumped up, exclaiming, Gen- needs be great hereditary privilege, seems legitimate tlemen, gentlemen! you meet excuse me one mm enough exercise of it). How Mr. Scott Russell and nte ! He rushed out of the room, and in going the Greet Eastern Directors are making lively quar- down stairs slipped, and with considerable noise rel about the funnel casing and accident (in which bumped incontinently several steps. The alarmed Mr. Scott Russell seems to us to have rather the counsel started out, and, peering over at him, ex- weaker side of the quarrel). How the Strike is claimed, I hope your Honor is not hurt I No, trailing to wearisome lengthin the papers, in the no, he rcplied, somewhat testily; my honor is inclosures of unfinished buildings, and in the homes safe enough, but the seat is bruised confoundedly of the workmen. Meantime, China and Italy are ______ the centres about which the heavier political talk Teams able Jndge presided at the remarkable and is ,ravitating. celebrated trial of MLeod. One or two anecdotes I At Brnssels they have just closed their national remember of that trial, which depend somewhat on fhte; at Strasburg they are building a peace-maker, mimicry and tone for effect. in the shape of a bridge across the Rhine; in the An alibi was proven for MLeod by two officers of Bois de Boulogne they are inclosing a new Jardin the British armyone an aged half-pay officer, the des Plantes; in the Bordelais they are making their other a young lieutenant. The half-pay was a wine; in Spain they are preparing for battle with silver-headed old gentleman, with sharp, tetchy the hey of Morocco; in the colleges the autumn face and shrill voice. having clearly proved that lectures have begun; and in the Tuileries garden MLeod was at his house and spent the night on the scarlet geraniums are in bloom, which the Garoline was burned, it became important for the State to rile him, and, if possible, destroy the weight of his testimony. Mr. Blank, for the State, commenced the cross-examination: You are an officer of the Britieb army ? IT is hard to belieye it, but the publishers state it Yes, Sira retired officer. as a factand have requested us to~ say so, with The effect of the following questions was irresist- some suitable moral redections on the occasionthat ably comic: with this Number begins the TWENTIETH Volume How did you get into the army ? of Harpers New Monthly Magazine. How did I get in! he replied, in a tone and Nineteen volumes have been issued already, each look of astonishment and rage. How did I get volume containin,, as much reading matter as is nan- in ! an octave higher. flow did I get in! with ally found in six ordinary octavo volumes of four a still sharper and prolonged tone. hundred pages eacha complete library of literature Yes, said Counsel. How did you get in? and art. Was you drafted ? If any other than the man who tends the Drawer Drafted/drafted! shrieked the old man, at had been called upon to make this announcement, the very top note of rage. I throw myself on the he would speak of the unparalleled circulation which protection of your Lordship! turning to the Court. the Magazine has obtained, exceeding that of all No, Sir! I paid for my commission, like a gentle- other monthlies in the country and in the world; man I

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 133-141

EDITORS DRAWER. 133 tific man, he added, that, as husband of their queen i that there is no nook or corner in the wide land he thought he might be of some service to them: where it does not make its way; nud that every Whereat there was warm applause. I body who is any body reads harper, if he can read In return for this attention to the Prince-consort at all. But this is not the Drawers way of saying the Queen graciously invited some two hundred of thin~s. He prefers to intimate, as he now does the savans to come and breakfast at Balmoral. most gentlythat the pleasantest mode of express- Now as Balmoral is accessible only by some thirty- ing appreciation of the work is to aid in enlarging five miles of coaching after leaving the railway, it the area of its circulation. The readers of the Drawer made rather a serious thing of the breakfast; partic- are in good humor, and therefore are the people to- ularly for the plethoric and asthmatic. Howbeit ward whom one looks when lie asks a favor. They they went; and the Court chronicler tells us that are the friends on whom the publishers rely to form tents wore spread upon the lawn before the castle, clubs in the towns and villages all over the Union. wherein the savans regaled themselves, and her A club of three gets the Magazine for two dollars Majesty was pleased graciously to recognize Pro- apiece; and when the club is enlarged to ten, the fessor Owen. getter-up of it gets his eleventh copy free gratis Of course they had a good breakfast, and thought for nothing. And the publishers hope that the it a pretty place, and coached back to Aberdeen and good-natured Drawer readers will, before the month to business, of January begins, send on hundreds and thousands Any thing more? Shall we say how many brace of such clubs, that the world may be the wiser, bet- of partridges the Honorable Fitz Ride has slaught r ter, and merrier, for the sake of the good things sent ed since the 12th of Augusthow the grouse lie broadcast from thcse fair pages. how the salmon fishing is overany thing of Good- ______ wood? Any thing of poor Smethurst (of whom the A LEARNED mem r of the bar is introduced to story last month); granted a reprieve, but lyin~ in the readers of the Drawer with the following a~- prison, doubtful if it be death or life for hhn, suspi- umirable stories of the court-room: cions of other crime astir that are takin, off the The rotund and learned Judge G , of New edge of sympathy? How Sir John Coleridge has York, who, for his rapid dispatch of business, oh- made a good speech on education, in which he boast- tamed the sobriquet of Steam Judge, sitting a lon,~ ed of being de. ended from a line of schoolmasters, time on one occasion at Chambers, hearing an elab which was better than a line of Lord Mayors. How orate argument, indicated some impatience, in his Derby, late Tory premier, has evicted all his Irish usual way, by turning his scratch rapidly around tenants of Doon, because among them they conceal on his head at intervals; finally, wearied out, or otl~- a murderer and defeat the law (which, if there must erwise en. ious, he jumped up, exclaiming, Gen- needs be great hereditary privilege, seems legitimate tlemen, gentlemen! you meet excuse me one mm enough exercise of it). How Mr. Scott Russell and nte ! He rushed out of the room, and in going the Greet Eastern Directors are making lively quar- down stairs slipped, and with considerable noise rel about the funnel casing and accident (in which bumped incontinently several steps. The alarmed Mr. Scott Russell seems to us to have rather the counsel started out, and, peering over at him, ex- weaker side of the quarrel). How the Strike is claimed, I hope your Honor is not hurt I No, trailing to wearisome lengthin the papers, in the no, he rcplied, somewhat testily; my honor is inclosures of unfinished buildings, and in the homes safe enough, but the seat is bruised confoundedly of the workmen. Meantime, China and Italy are ______ the centres about which the heavier political talk Teams able Jndge presided at the remarkable and is ,ravitating. celebrated trial of MLeod. One or two anecdotes I At Brnssels they have just closed their national remember of that trial, which depend somewhat on fhte; at Strasburg they are building a peace-maker, mimicry and tone for effect. in the shape of a bridge across the Rhine; in the An alibi was proven for MLeod by two officers of Bois de Boulogne they are inclosing a new Jardin the British armyone an aged half-pay officer, the des Plantes; in the Bordelais they are making their other a young lieutenant. The half-pay was a wine; in Spain they are preparing for battle with silver-headed old gentleman, with sharp, tetchy the hey of Morocco; in the colleges the autumn face and shrill voice. having clearly proved that lectures have begun; and in the Tuileries garden MLeod was at his house and spent the night on the scarlet geraniums are in bloom, which the Garoline was burned, it became important for the State to rile him, and, if possible, destroy the weight of his testimony. Mr. Blank, for the State, commenced the cross-examination: You are an officer of the Britieb army ? IT is hard to belieye it, but the publishers state it Yes, Sira retired officer. as a factand have requested us to~ say so, with The effect of the following questions was irresist- some suitable moral redections on the occasionthat ably comic: with this Number begins the TWENTIETH Volume How did you get into the army ? of Harpers New Monthly Magazine. How did I get in! he replied, in a tone and Nineteen volumes have been issued already, each look of astonishment and rage. How did I get volume containin,, as much reading matter as is nan- in ! an octave higher. flow did I get in! with ally found in six ordinary octavo volumes of four a still sharper and prolonged tone. hundred pages eacha complete library of literature Yes, said Counsel. How did you get in? and art. Was you drafted ? If any other than the man who tends the Drawer Drafted/drafted! shrieked the old man, at had been called upon to make this announcement, the very top note of rage. I throw myself on the he would speak of the unparalleled circulation which protection of your Lordship! turning to the Court. the Magazine has obtained, exceeding that of all No, Sir! I paid for my commission, like a gentle- other monthlies in the country and in the world; man I 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When the laughter following this burst subsided, Judge G addressed tbe questioniug counsel the most caustic and bitter reproof I have ever heard from the lips of a Judge, and Mr. Blank asked no more questions, leaviug the witness with the elo- quent Willis 1-lall. The Lieutenant was next put on the stand. lie was a complete cockney in manners and voice. A nice frock-coat was buttoned tight around the part- ridge fullness of his pawson ; his face was re- markably freckled, and his red hair accumulated in bushy luxuriance on one side of his head. He proved that Mr. MacLcwd had spent the night of the burning of the fiaroli e with him, at the house of the half-pay officer; and in the sucw-niaq Mr. MacLewd and mi-self took orse and rode d-o-wn on the bee-cA aw-po-site Ne-vy 1-sland; the rebels low-n/id their bae-teries, and fi-ewd they fi-ewd bawls; a bawl struck the sand isnme-git-ly aw-posite Mr. MacLaw-d and mi-self. I imnie-git-ly su~gest- ed the pro-prie-ty of re-ti-ring I An uncontrollable burst of laughter followed this drawling suggestion of the iia-me-git pro-prie-ty of re-ti-ring, and the Judge ordered the hailiffs to arrest the first man that should laugh again. Speaking of Judge G, this same case illus- trated his remarkably rapid manner of doing husi- ness. It had occupied many days, and drawn from nil parts of the country a large concourse, so that it was necessary to post a placard indicating the pre- cedence of access to the court-roomfirst, the sher- iff; then the Judge, etc. At the brilliant summing up of Willis Hall and Joshua A. Spencer a large crowd of ladies were also in attendance. It was late in the afternoon of Saturday when Judge G concluded his charge to the Jury. Every one had been intensely interested in the pro- cecdings, and thought of nothing else. As the jury retired in the keeping of a bailiff, Judge G called the next case on the docket. Mr. B, of counsel (afterward Chief Justice), utterly surprised, inform- ed theCourt he had neither papers nor books in court; it was now late I must then call the next case, said the Judge; and proceeded regularly through the docket, to the consternation of the surprised counsel. As he was calling the last case, Mr. Bs clerk appeared with the desired green bag, and the Court returned to the case, swore a jury, and proceeded with busi- ness. DID you ever hear the Georgia crackers explana- tion of thunder and lightning? I was present on an occasion when some gentle- men were discussing, in the piny woods village of C, in Georgia, the phenomena of thunder-storms. A regular wire-grass piny woodsman, who had list- ened attentively to the discussion, finally interrupt- ed: Why, gentlemen, I can explain the whole thing. The lightuin,,, is nothing but the scil; hut when the thunder comes it consecrates the whole matter lie had concluded that the lightning was nothing more than the phenomena produced by throwing hot iron into waterthe ~ seiz hut the thunder eon- ceatrated the whole matter. MANy years ago I went with a friend (we were making a Northern trip) into the gallery of a church in the central city of New York, where an Abolition Convention was assembled. The President was the facetion aud talented Alvan Stewart. The body of the Convention was as ring-streaked and speckled as Labans lambs, containing a strong sprinkling of hlack spirits and white. As we entered they were taking a contribution for the good cause. Each donor went up to the secretarys desk and deposited his dole; and the President, with closed eyes and ludicrous large face, announced very loud, after the secretary, the name of each contributor and the amount subscribed. Presently some one sent up a little pickaninny, black as the ace of spades, and just large enough to tuttle up to the chancel, with a dollar bill in his hand. He could not give his name. The secretary was nouplused about the announce- ment; but the President, glancing down and then shutting his eyes, shouted, One dollar from an un- known A merican infant; kiss him, brother, and let him go ! At which idea the President himself; aft- er a stolid, sober pause, shook his vast sides inconti- nently with laughter, and we vamosed. PHILIP BENsoN, of lower Virginia, a lawyer in embryo, wishing to obtain a license, visit .d the county seat to be examined by one of the judges. The old judge on whom he called was fond of good liquor, and when the young man came in excessive- ly embarrassed, the judge wishing to reassure him, said, Come, Mr. Benson, take a glass of brandy with me. At any other time B.s eyes would have sparkled equal to the brandy; but in his confusion he re. plied, No, thank you, judge; I never drink brandy. Returning the brandy, the judge produced a bot- tle of Champagne and said, Then take a glass of wine with me. B.s embarrassment not lessened, replied, No, thank you, judge, I never drink wine. Not to be defeated, the judge then said, Well, Mr. Benson, you will certainly take a glass of water with me. By t.his time B., who did not know definitely whether he was in the judges room or on Mount Etna, in great confusion replied, No, thank gui, judge, I never drink WATER I The judge gave in. FRoM Alabama an attentive correspondent writes: In the days when the judges of the Court rode their circuits in old-fashioned gigs in South Caroli- na, Judge Burke and Judge Daly, who presided in adjoining districts, met once upon a road that they both had to travel for some miles, and for the pur- pose of having a little talk together, they each gave up their gigs to their servants and got upon the sad- dle horses used by them so as to be nearer to each other. In crossing a mud-hole, Judge Daly, who fell behind, received a severe kick in the ankle from the horse of Judge Burke. The pain was so great that he dismounted for the purpose of rubbing it; but in the act of getting off he saw a light-wood knot on the ground. In the agony and rage of the mo- ment he threw it at Judge Burkes horse, but, being wild with pain, it missed the horse and struck the rider. Judge Burke, who felt the blow on his back, turned round and discovered Daly (who had not no- ticed where his light-wood knot struck) rubbing his shins. Whats the matter ? exclaimed Burke; whats the matter, Judge Daly? Why, said Judge Daly, your rascally beast nearly kicked my leg off. Well, exclaimed Judge Burke, in that expross EDITORS DRAWER. 135 ive manner so peculiar to himself, he kicked me on the back at the very same time ! HERE 15 a specimen of Young America as he is to be found in Tennessee: Hugh, commonly called Hudy for short, is about six years old and has been sent to school some. His progress in letters may be judged of by the fol- lowing conversation between him and his father, the other day: FATHER. Well, my son, how are you getting along at school ? HUGH. Oh! very well. Ive got so I can turn a somersault without putting my head on the ground, and I can stand on my head without putting my feet against a tree. Satisfactoryno complaint against the teacher. LITTLE IRwIN is about two years younger, and though not so far advanced in gymnastics, is well instructed in the doctrine of total depravity for a boy of his age. For some external manifestation of the old Adam within, his mother undertook to exorcise him by the use of the rod. Little Irwin argued the case in this wise: Ma, you ought not to whip me, for its the bad man makes me so bad. Yes, my son, but I am going to whip the bad man out of you. No, ma, that will hurt me a heap worse than it will the old bad man. The boy was sent to play. Ax old man and an eminent divine, at whose side generations have risen and fallen, whose head is whitened by the frosts of many winters, lingering as he yet does between the living and the dead, a me- mento of the past, and, as it were, alone in the pres- ent, in conversation recently with a gentleman, was found quite cast down and dejected. The suggestion was made that it would be well for him to take a respite from his official labors and go among his friends to recruit, in the hope that he would thereby be cheered and his drooping spirits revived. His re- sponse was an impressive one and full of import: Sir, I should have to go into the grave-yards to find them! Ax Indian in the Cherokee nation contributes the following: When ex-Governor Roane was a young man he was at Fayetteville during the sitting of the Circuit Court for the spring term of 1843. A case was called of Dilliugham vs. May, in which the plaintiff sued for an old distillery. The senior counsel for plaintiff was old General Sneed. The General called upon young Roane to pitch in with him, and make the opening speech. He did so. At its conclusion, which was superior to the speeches that Washington County was accustomed to hear, one of the jury, Thomas B, of Arkansas, was so carried away with the eloquence displayed by the young attorney that he sprung to his feet in the middle of the court- room, and exclaimed, Thems my sentiments pro- zactly! You are on the right scent, for I knowed your dad before you was born Dilliugham gained his case. A LOUIsIANA correspondent of the Drawer comes with the following very amusing incident of being blowed up: The steamer S, commanded by Captain 5, exploded several years since on one of our Southern rivers, with terrible effect, and burned to the waters edge. Captain 5 was blown into the air, alight- ing near a floating bale of cotton, upon which he floated uninjured, but much blackened and muddied. Arrived at a village several miles below, to which the news of the disaster had preceded him, he was accosted by the editor of the village paper, with whom he was well acquainted, and eager for an item. I say, boy! is the 8 blowed up ? Yes. Was Captain Skilled? No; I am Captain 5. The thunder you are! How high was you blowed ? High enough to think of every mean thing I ever did in my life before I came down. The editor started on a run for his office; the paper about going to press, and not wishing to omit the item of intelligence for the next issue, two weeks off, wrote as follows: The steamer S has burst her biler, we learn from Captain S , who says he was blown up long enough to think of every mean thing he ever did in his life before he lit. We suppose he was up about three months. The next issue apologized for the above thus: We meant to say the boat was three months old, and not the Captain; who is, of course, worse nor what we said in our last paper. OLD KENTUCKY is always good for good stories; like these, for example, which come to the Drawer from Frankfurt: Some years ago, at a large barbecue, gotten up in honor of a political triumph, the dining-table was adorned with a monster pound-cake, composed of saw-dust, and sufficient flour, and perhaps other things, to give it a proper consistency and color. The company, knowing that it was intended for show only, the cake was untouched durin~ the sumptuous feast. After the crowd had nearly all dispersed, and the table was pretty well cleared of eatables, old Jim- my Jones, who had been delayed, arrived upon the ground late and hungry. Seeing but little else, he pitched boldly and without ceremony into the big cake. He put a large slice in his bosom, and with another in his hand started for home. Just as he had taken his first bite he was met by a friend, who cried out, Halloo! Uncle Jimmy, what have you got there ? Its pound-cake; but, I believe, if wasnt for the name ofthething,Iwouldassoonhaveapieceof good corn bread THERE formerly lived in this place an old negro known by the name of Bull Bob. Ills in.,enious contrivances for obtaining lucre, on a small scale, would rival those of the most celebrated swindlers. Though grave, and very polite in manner and in the forms of speech, yet his wit was marked with malice and sarcasm. One of Bobs arraignments was for theft of a chick- en. lie was defended by his wealthy young master, ~Tinston Jones, in his maiden speech, he having just commenced the practice of law. The effort was a good one; but Bob, perhaps, did not like it, for the reason that it. did not acquit him. JUDGE. The Court sentences the prisoner to re- ceive twenty lashes. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BULL Bon. I thank you, Massa Judge; I thank that I am not one of your customers; I would have you, Sir; I thank you. been one cheerfully, but you wouldnt let me. JUDGE. What are you thanking me for, Bob ? That answer took me. Of course all I could say BULL Bon. Why, I was a-fearing that my char- was, Shirley, open your slip.; the coffee must actor and Massa Williams pleadin would ave hung come me A FRIEND sends us one more incident of the Mex- THE preamble is better than the story tbat fol- ican War, and he vouches for its literal truth: lows. It comes from Texas: Immediately following the capture of the City My rib and I came to Crockett Texas, about of Mexico by the Americans under General Scott, eighteen years ago, at a period of which we now the Mexicans commenced murdering the officers and speak as The Dark Ages. Our county was then soldiers by shooting them from the house-tops as very sparsely populated, but the residents generally they passed along the streets. were about as queer a kettle of fish as can be found To put a stop to this barbarous custom, General any where. There was no money, or almost none, Scott issued orders to enter and sack all houses from among us; any one that was the lucky owner of six which these shots were fired. A day or two after bits was a real whale; but as for eatin~, we lived like this order, an officer, passing along the streets saw lighting-cocks: plenty of & od beef and pork at one a son of the green isle very deliberately walking to two cents a pound; a venison ham 15 to 25 cents; up and down in front of some houses, apparently young wild turkeys (delicious), fixed sip ready for amusing himself by examining the architecture of the cooking, at t2~ cents each; eggs at 5 cents a dozen, Mexicans. When the officer approached, the follow- and butter 6~ to 10 cents a pound; no money asked ing dialogue took place: in exchange, an order on the stoie for dry goods was OFFICER. What are you doing there, Sir? You estimated as a full quid pro quo. Our circulating will be shot from some of these houses. medium was principally notes promising to pay good SOLDIER. Arrah! now be aisy, Lieutenant; second-rate cows and calves on demand. My vo~a- thats jist what Im afther. Theres twinty of the tion was, and still is, selling rags and ot.her odds, boys waiting for thim to shoot me. ends, and variorum; also groceries, which, accord- It is needless to say that it had not occurred to ing to the Texas nomenclature of that day, consisted Pat that his share of the plunder would be very of sugar, coffee, ~unpowder, domestics, nails, and small, or that he was sacrificing himself for the brogans !these were strictly cash articles. During benefit of his friends, as the politicians say. my first business season I sold one and a half pair of ______ blankets and six yards of Kentucky jeans, being the NOT many years since, writes a new corre sum total of woolen goods sold by me in that time. spondent, I happened to be a passenger in a vessel But we did not stand much in need of them, as the bound from the Island of Sumatra to Boston. The winter of 1841 and 42 was remarkably mild, the day we left port we had purchased boat-loads of peach-tree leaves hanging on until the spring, when fruit and vegetables; and finding we could get fowls they were pushed off by the young ones popping out, at a very moderate price, we took as many as we What a change has come over us in this re,,ion! We could put into the coops. We had a negro on board, are becomin0 as luxurious in our habits and tastes as who perfo~ed the double duty of cook and steward, the upper-tendom of the Fifth Avenue. Our gels an ingenious fellow. He could dish up and disguise must have their silks and satins, their hoops and porpoise, with various condiments, till a person of high-heeled kids; and their mothers dip Garretts strong imagination would at once pronounce it hoof Scotch snuW and use store tea and white sugar; 4 le mode. while we their daddies and husbands, indulge in But the hash he manufactured! Ah, that was Champagne and Longworths Catawba, chew silver- hash !a quantity of either salt beef, porpoise, or foil tobacco, and smoke Habanas at sixty dollars a salt pork, with some ships-biscuit well soaked, ,fle- thousand. But what a digression I have made! vored with a little beef-skimmiugs, and seasoned Now for my story: with pepperthe whole finely chopped, and served Coffee is the greatest luxury an old Texan can up hotah! there was richness, genius, talent, in- think of; he drinks it half a dozen times a day; genuity! would not give a fig for either cream or su~ar in it, In the cooks own expressive language, Salt but he wants it strong enough to float an iron wedge! beef is nuthin to cook, salt pork is nuthin, beans is In 1843 I had about half a sackall there was with- nuthin; but when Ifrewes m~ elf into de hash, Im in thirty miles, probablyand I was keeping it re dereyoud better believe Is sum! ligiously for my customersthose by whom I lived. But with all his matchless skill in cookery he I was one day in the act of pouring a dollars- had his little failings. In the graphic language of worth, just wei~hed out of the scale into a pillow- the mate, he could lie the legs off an iron pot, and ship,when in stepped as jovial a broth of a boy as steal the ears off a jackass. We had fowls roasted you would meet in a summer days travel; however, twice a week for the cabin table; and for two weeks he was too fond of red-eye and sitch like decoclioas they had appeared nicely cooked, minus hearts, liv- for me to enroll him on my list of customers. I was ers, and gizzards. Now our worthy Captain had a too poor to indulge in such benevolence. His name weakness for giblets, and when he found there were was, and is, Shirley Goodwinand I am glad to say none with the fowls his an~er was roused. iso is vet with us. He addressed me, as he en Steward steward! wheres the giblets? ha tered, cried. Mr. C, I want a dollars-worth of coffee. Giblets, replied the steward, hesitating and I replied, You cant have it. stammering; why, Capn, dem dem dam are Why? Is not my money as good as any others ? fowls what you bought on the coast didnt have I told him, No; I must keep my coffee for my none! customers. Didnt have any? asked the Captain; are you Bat, Mr. C, he replied, it is not my fault sure? EDITORS DRAWER. 187 Yes, Capu, 1se sartin sure; I done killed em and cooked em m!,seff! This was too much. We had heard of a no- haired horse, of calves with five legs and three heads, of Barnum-mermaids, and many other very curious things; but of a fowl minus heart, liver, and giz- zardnever! Oh, such a shont as we raised! The Captain, who, indignant at the stewards answer, had risen to his feet, now yelled with laughter. He laugh- ed so heartily that his strength gradually left him and he sank down on the transom perfectly exhaust- ed; the rest of us roared till we rolled from our chairs, the tears running down our cheeks. And there stood the negro, evidently saving sonsething, we could not hear whatfor his voice could not he distinguished above the dinhut we saw his lips moving, and his hands in an imploring attitude. After quiet was restored, the Captain, with as serious a face as he could put on, said, Steward, now recollect, from this time henceforth, as long as you are aboard this ship, I wish you to be very care- ful to see that all the fowls that are cooked for this cabin have giblets. And he did. A FEW years ago, in this goodly State (Ohio), there lived on a ensall stream called Duck Creek a local preacher of the Methodist Church, by the name of Jacob Smith. His educational advantages had been somewhat slend~r; so that often in his preach- ing he naurdered the Kings English by wholesale. On one occasion lie was preaching in his own neigh- borhood, in Smiths Meeting-house. Dnrin~ the sermon some of the youn~ Smiths indulged in bad behavior. He paused, drew himself up to his full height, and pointing his long, hard finger at them, exclaimed, What! will you cut up here in Smiths old meetin-house, when there lies your grandmother (pointing through the window to the grave-yard), what is the offspring of us all? turns of this letter E, for nearly an hour, till the patience of the Court was pretty well exhausted. Mr. R, said the Judge, are you net mak- ing this examination rather tedious ? Perhaps so. May it please your Honor, the witness may now pass on to the letter 6. A TERItESSEE correspondent says that William H. Polk, the hrother of the late President, was, un- til a few days prior to our recent elections an inde- pendent candidate for Congress. It seems that Mr. Thomas (the successor of George W. Jones) habit- nally in their discussions charged Polk with incon- sistency. He said on one occasion to Mr. Polk, Sir, in 185051 you were a Compromise man; since that time you have been a fire-eater; and you were again a qunsi American; and then a,ain you were soft on thc nigger question ; and now, Sir, how are you to-day, Mr. Polk? In an instant Polk was on his feet., and, with a bow and his hand extended, re- plied, Pretty well, I thank ycus, Colonel Thomas. How do you do yourself? A GEORGIA contributor says: I believe that the Drawer has, some acquaintance with Judge of County, Georgia. He lives about twenty-five miles south of , in this State, at a quiet country retreat, where his friends always receive a hearty welcome and unbounded hospitality. The Judge is very Democratic, both in politics and religion, and especially so in the latter. Several years ugo he was in attendance on the Su- perior Court. The Presbyterians of the place, head- ed by their zealous and energetic minister, were at that time actively engaged in an effort to build a new house of worship. The Reverend Mr. Collins was zealously enlisted in the good cause, and never let an opportunity slip without presenting his sub- scription-list to all whom lie migrit meet. One day, when court adjourned, as Jud~e was passing out of the court-house door, the reverend gentleman COUNSELOR R, who was afterward appointed touched the Judge on the shoulder and asked him to to the bench of the Supreme Court in the State, step aside with him a moment, when the following is a lawyer of extensive legal attainments, and in colloquy took place: accepting the ermine forsook a very large and lucra- This is Judge , I believe, said Mr. Collins. tive practice. He has, however, the reputation of It is, said the Judge. being the longest winded counsel and most prosy We are engaged, said Mr. C., in endeavoring advocate that ever tried a case in these parts. His to build us a new house of worship. Perhaps this jury ar~uments rarely fell short of seven hours in (handing the Judge his subscription-list) will inform length, and his examinations of witnesses were te- you my object better than I can tell you. dious beyond conception. The following veritable Here the Judge look d very professional, took out fact is told of him as illustrating his style in this his spectacles, examined the heading of the list very behalf: critically, and for a monacut seemed engaged in pro- At court, not long since, Mr. R. was engaged found thought, then turning to the expectant par- in the trial of a cause where the opposite side had son, the Judge, with a sly twinkle of the eye and the attempted to prove the alleged signature of Eben- blaudest smile imaginable, remarked, that will bind ezer Carleton a forgery. An e pert had sworn that then, Sirthat will hind them: no doubt about it in his opinion it was not the handwriting of Eben- that will bind them. ezer Carleton, and was turned over to Counselor This took the reverend gentleman a little aback. 11, who cross-examined him in this wise: But rallying a~ain, he renewed the attack in the Mr. Witness, look at this signature egain; look following style: particularly at the letter F. Now tell the Court But, Judge, you dont understand nec; I want and jury what you see in the first hair-line of this yome to help us. We are going to raise letter that makes you think it is not a genuine sig- Ah ! said the Jud~e. You are going to have nature. a raisinga house raising are you? Well, just let This question having been answered as well as it nee know when it is, and I will send up three or four could be, Mr. R continued, hands with pleasure. Now look at the turn at the top of the F, and Here Mr. C.s countenance exhibited a good deal tell us how that differs from the turn of an F in the of disgust, and he appeared to be perfectly bewilder- genuine si~nature. ad at what seemed the Judges stupidity. Why, And so he went on, examining the witness as to said he, Judge, its a brick house we want. the np-strokes, the downstrokes, the loop, and the A brick house, is it ? said the Judge; a brick 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. house? Wont a log house do as well? Several years ago we built a log house in our community for religious purposessome cut the lobssome hewed themsome split the hoardssome raised the house and some covered itand the Lord has never made any complaint against it yet. If youll build a log house and the Lord complains, Ill head your sub- scription-list for a brick one. The parson gave in, and left. IN Duxhury, Massachusetts, lived Bill Iloeboy, as he was called, the ugliest-looking loafer that the town ever had. Bill got awakened in a time of great religious excitement, and one day, at a crowded meeting, when the people were standing around the windows unable to get in the house, Bill was telling his experience. My friends, said Bill, for fifty years I have carried the devil on my shoulders. At this a voice in the window cried out If he had looked you in the face he would have dropped off in a hurry Bill was bothered, and reserved his speech for an- other occasion. THE Navy is not as liberal in its contributions to the Drawer as the other arm of the service; but this is good: The Ohio lay at anchor in Gibraltar Bay, and a heavy blow comin~ on, we lost one of our anchors. After the gale subsided we raised the anchor but found it broken, one of the flukes being gone. Not having a spare one the Commodore procured one of the British officer in command of the Navy Yard there. We took the old stock and ~vent ashore in the Navy Yard to put it on. Weaver was one of the gang. The sloop of war Wasp, that was captured from us by the Poitiers seventy-four gun ship, lay along- side of the whart; and the English officers were saun- teriub about looking at us Yankees work. Frank Lyons, one of our men, although an Englishman, never missed an opportunity of giving them a rub; in fact, he disliked his countrymen so much that we surmised that he like Barrington, left his country for his countrys good. Frank sings out to Weaver, in a tone loud enough to attract the attention of the British officers, Weaver, do you know what little old craft that is laying alongside the wharf? Weaver saw in an instant what Frank was driving at, and sings out, Why, to be sure I do. Thats our old sloop, the Wasp. It took a British line-of- battle ship to capture her. The officers appreciated the joke and roared with laughter. to have as a room-mate a brother member, who, as he had made at least six speeches during the fore- noon session, I naturally regarded as one of the great men of the House. After dinner he came up to our joint room, and carefully closing the door, pulled out of his pocket an enormous, old-fashioned, bulls-eye watch, and handed it to me with this remark: Uncle Jake told me, just as I was starting, that I ought to hey a watch, and loaned me this, but I dont know how to screw the timing minp; do you? I walked into the legislative hall that afternoon with the most unlimited confidence in my ability to discharge all duties incmsmbent on me as a legislator. PAGE C was pretty extensively known in the olden time as one of the hardest of the hardnot a court passed without half a dozen indictments against him for assault and battery. He had just been tried and fined heavily, and was standing in a meditative mood upon the upper step of the court-house door. One step below him stood a stranger whom Page had never before seen, and who certainly had given him no cause of offense. Without a word Page struck the unsuspecting and astonished individual a sockdollager, and of course tumbled him headlong down the flibht of steps. The grand jury was still in session, and within an hour another indictment was returned, a plea of guilty entered, and a fine assessed and paid. As Page walked up town from the court-house he was asked what motive he had in strileing the man. Well, the fact was, said he, he stood so fair I couldnt help it. A cOERESPONDENT in Savannah says: A legal firm of this city had occasion to write a dems to a countryman, and concluded their letter as follows: Yr. Obt. Svt., BAILEY & LE Roy. In due course of mail came the answer, addressed on the envelope To Messrs. Yr. Obt. Set., Bailey ~ Le Roy. This, however, is hardly equal to another, who, having some business with a Justice of the Peace, addressed his letter to John Doe, A Squire, Box Ville, Ga. If any of your readers have any thing droller than these I hope they will send them to you. WE seldom find so coarse a hit of humor in the Drawer as the following; but its very breadth will excuse it. There lives in Halifax, Virginia, a character whom we shall call John C., who has a remarkable facility in making verses. He calls himself a versatile genius, and asserts that he can conviimce any body, ______ by a three-hours talk, that Burns is nowhere in comparison with himself. As for Shakspeare, By- THE thermometer story in the October number ron, etc., he cant imagine how they came to be so recalls an incident of still earlier date in the annals much augmented (meaning overrated, I suppose) of Indiana legislation. My old friend Johnson by the world. A few nights ago I heard him relate W , then barely of age, had been elected to rep- the following scrape with a good deal of humor, resent the county of D in the Legislature which and with an affectation of propriety of language was about to meet at Vincennes in 1819. But let which should be heard to be appreciated: him tell his own story: Well, you say you never beam tell of that com When I got near Vincennes I began to think position of mine that I call Cooners Funeral Ser- what a sorry figure I, a green country lad, would mon? Well, then, Ill relate it to you; but I must cut in an assembly of the wisdom of the State, and fust give you a pre-face to it by way of explaining it required all my resolution to keep me from turn- of it. mb hack. Somehow or other I managed to get You see there used to be a long, valler, free through the swearing-in process, and sneaked away nigger, named Isaac Cooner, that lived up on Wim- to a seat from which I hardly ventured to look up hushs pond, and I had a right smart debt of venge- until the House adjourned for dinner. On returning ance agin him, which was this: You see I had hired to my hotel I wasrather b atified to find that I was him to ditch out my spring branch, jist to erritate EDITORS DRAWER. 139 the land, which was too mushy and damp-like, and he cheated me bout it, but I didnt say nothing bout it to nobody, but jist nourished it to myself easy and quiet. Well, some time after that I was riding long the road, and I met his mother and a yaller galmust a heen his sister, I reckona cry- in and lookin mighty down in the mouth. They didnt know me and I asked em what was the mat- ter, when they up and told me Isaac Cooner was dead, and theyd jist heen to the Court-house to git a preacher to bury him, but couldnt find none no- whar. Well, thinks I, heres a gooh chance to pay off my debt of vengeance; so I puts on a lonu face, and begins to snuffle, and tells em I reckoned I could do it for em; but I didnt belong to the same sex, for I was a Methodist. You see I knowed they was Methodists, hut I jist put on so to fool em. Well, they said, mighty peart, they was Methodists too, and Id suit em mighty well if Id only do it. Well, at last I lowed Id go and preach the funeral at 11 o clock, and left em. When I got to the house thar was ahout twenty or thirty free niggers thar, and I rode up and tied my horse to an old apple-tree jist outside of the door. They was mighty glad to see me, and had every thing ready, and I made em put the table close by the front door, and then com- menced. Well, I read a chapter in Job, and sung a tune, and looked round to see if my horse was con- venient, and then begun the sermon. Says I: When Death it comes it does net flatter See hew its stretched that long mulatto; There he is, and there he lies; No one laughs, and no one cries. He was a regue and liar from his birth, A useless wretch upon the earth; The sheats and lambs that he has taken, Corn and wheat and good old bacon, Collected together now and sold, Would amount to more than his weight in gold. But now he lies as cold as krout, Its the duty of all of us here to shout That weve got rid of Isaac Cooner, And wish hed a gone a great sight sooner. The neighbors turkeys, ducks, and geese, And hen-roosts now may have some peace. No more well hear the midnight squelling. And the owners running out and bawling; And him a taking to his scrapers, For hes now in a cutting capers; How long hell stay, and how hell fare, Theres none that know, and few that care. Well, soon as I commenced you never see such a wonderfied-looking set of niggers in your life. They was too much astonished to do a thing; and as soon as I got through I busted out o the door, and the way I made that old horse use his pins was just about right. As soon as I cut grit they all started too, and let loose two big hull-dogs they had chain- ed; and the last I heard of them they was all a hol- lerin, Sick him! sick him! siiiick him! Aw attentive correspondent in the South says: I send you the following copy of a will for the Editors Drawer. It may amuse you and your read- ers, as it did me. Be assured it is a faithful copy; hut I hope not a good specimen of our will-writers: [coevj I the undersigneddo hereby certify and desire th upon the demise of the above mentioned undersignedall my goods and chattels, clothes & shoesto gather with my land and negro property, household de kitchen furni- ture, mules & horses and every thing else in my posses- sion I leave to my dearly beloved consort & delightful helpmate and every thing else that she may claim I de sire may be given to her, whether it come out of the es- tate of the said undersigned or of others not mentioned Given under my hand and seal this day 24 Augnst 1855 li. P. S. (scat) FOR GLORY AND FAME. av HENRY CATLEY, U.S.A. Foa glory and famefor glory and fame, Tolling with aching hands and brain; For only a namefor only a name, Risking all a bauble to gain. For station and wealthfor station and wealth, Living a life of strife and pain; Our pleasure and healthour pleasure and health Ventured and lost for worldly gain. For temporal showfor temporal show, Forgetting our Father in heaven above Most surely must knowab! surely must know How little our fellow-men we love. And what do we gain ?oh! what do we gain Ecu though our ends are all attained But envy and pain? for envy and pain Is all that ever the worldly gained. Tb better indeedmuch better indeed, If talent and strength to us are given, With many a deed, the unfortunate need, To scatter the way that leads to heaven. For glory and fame-for glory and fame Harden time heart and rack the brain; And only a nameyes, only a name Has coot the world a world of pain. For glory and famefor glory and fame, Strong men crippled and brave men slain; For only a namefor only a name, Widows and orphans weeping in vein. For station and wealthfor station and wealth, Robbing the poor and crushing the weak; Their pleasure and healththeir pleasure and health Stealing from those who are lowly and meek. Ahi whet shall it profit a man though he gain Titles, and wealth, and honor, and fame, If when in Isis costly tomb hes lain The poor pass by and wail the strain, I-Is bartered his soul for only a name. A GENUINE letter, addressed to a very respectable lady, well known to some of our readers, has been placed in the Drawer for publication. The writer is evidently not a reader, and will never see his epis- tle in print: A long stand of respect Most Dier Madam not only presenting you with my Respects but my love at time same time Sircumetances alters cases dier Madam I am once more plasd in a situation in life to seek the Charms of the fair sex being once rejected is no damp to my feelings being a free born Republican I grant the same liberty to others that is to do as I think best that I take myself Believing as I always have that you are a lady that is willing to Divide the sorrows of life what you think of me is best know to yourself? it is not worth whlle to go thrugh a lengthy Catalogue at thts time as my request is a short one and easy grantd without the ingury of any one I frankly ask the privaliege of your Company if it is for one time only to Converse with you upon whatever Subject we m y deesn suitable as I Can better talk than write so in Conclusion I will say that if it shossid be your good pleasure to grant my request drop me a line to that effect and on the Contrary drop me a line if you should grant my request you will also bye the goodness to state the time and place where I can find you as I am not see- tam where you live if you would permit me to dictate this part of the matter I would prfur Receiving your Company by wating on you to or from some Meeting in the neigh- borhod as I would not like for the world to get wise too fast as I have plasd it in your power to dispose of a letter from me in the wey you thought best please give it a fair 140 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. investigaton and do so again as I garantee to every one the liberty that I take my selfe that is to do as I think best I would say in Conclusion that if my desires and requests are Complyd with I can place any lady iu easy and Comfertable situation but happiness is not joins to give hut Can only say my best indevours to permute both as I fear that ii have aliready said too much I will con- clude by subscribeing my selfe your most sincier friend. A CORRESPONDENT, on whose word we are willing to rely, writes to us of the marvelous intelligence of ono of the good citizens of Boston town, the Athens of America, and the knowingest place in all crea- tion. He says: I was walking with a friend in the old grave- yard on Copps Hill. We passed from grave to grave. I was looking for the old oneshe, for the new. At lenuth I saw an old brown stone, nearly sunk into the ground, and stooped down to decipher its inscription, and, after pulling the grass away,. made out that it was the grave of a woman th died AD. 1623. Without looking up, I made the remark that she must have died at some other place, for I thought Boston was not settled at that time;. for I believed the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth in. 1618 or 20. Which was it? I am not sure, said he. Let me seescratch- ing his head who was it that headed the Pilgrims when they landed at Plymouth? Was it Lord Corn- wallis? No, said I, I think not. Yes, Jam sure it was,said he; for I remem- ber reading all about it. I was fairly struck dumb at hearinn such a re- mark from an American citizen, with Bunker Hill Monument staring us full in the face. There was no excuse for such ignorance. The man had lived in Boston for twenty years, kept a store in a good street, owned a house, in which he lived~ worth at least ten thousand dollars. This was all said in sober earnest; and I have no doubt the gentleman thought himself more intelligent than any man west of New England. IN June, 1856, when Willie was not four years. old, his oldest brother died, whose family pet-name ~as Tip. In the following August Willies mo- ther was confined to her bed by sickness. Ma, asked Willie, standing by her bedside, are you going to die? I do not know, Willie, replied his another; it is hard to answer that question. If you do die, ma, said Willie, please give my lees to Tsp! VIsITING the Alms-house the other day,. in com- pany with a friend, whose son, a bri~ht little fellow of five years old, accompanied us, we discoursed by the way of paupers, and the best mode of treatiun them. Charlev listened attentively for some time, then asked, Papa, what is a pauper ? Why, my son, a pauper is a poor person with- out friends; one who has no papa to take care of him. Charley looked serious for a time, then criedout merrily, Oh, yes, papa, I know; youre a pauper grandpaps dead! I slAvE three boys: Bob, sixteen, Harry, twelve, and Toby, as we call him for short, four years old. Bob not appearing in proper time for breakfast, mo- ther directed Harry to call him forthwith. Not car- inn to climb the stairway, Harry employed his baby brother to call Bob. Trotting down stairs beside his elder brother Toby looks up and says, Bob, hadnt you better give me a penny for bringing you down stairs? Har- ry gave me one for coming up after you. TsIE following is a copy, verbatim et Tites-atim of a letter to a fascinating young lady of this city (Louisville), who spent the previous summer in the country, and added another to her numerous victims. She laughs over the Drawer, and is willing to show her partiality to you by p rmittinn you to read her lovers letter: G Ky. April 14th dear miss. I. adress the eppertilosty to inform you that I am well hoping these few lines will find you enjoying the Same state of health an en married it is actually the fact I love you So well that I cannot reot I am always Studying about you it dos me no good at all I have been studying about you ever sense last July if you aint married ore abet to marry I want you to answer this letter. I dent want you to take it as a insuld for what I say comes from the veary betom of my heart. I love you beter thaa any ether woman in the world non excepted. I dremp the ether night that I an you was married an when I woked an found it ava. a dream it grieved me woss an woss. my love is Round like same golden ring so is my love to you my friend B. W. I. BUT the Kentucky letter is not equal to the fol- lowing, from Tennessee:. ,Fei. 14, 15. Mv DEAREST MATTIE If you but knew the palpita- tions of this heart as it beats fondly for the associations which have so often shown use the delights of being in cultivated society! But, alas! sad indeed is the change which has attended me since I abandoned the numerous blandishments of a happy home, in search of that meet precious of all jewels (an education). I said most precious of all jewels. This I should surely qu lify.. I do net in- clude the being whom God has created as the sole nose- elate in time of grief and sadness (a wife); but I mean of those which he may possess from industry and energetic continuity. Surely Icould net compare anyof mans attain- ments to e most glorious and wonderful of Divine mech- anism! But,. I say, if you but knew for one moment what revolves in this mind (though I confess it weak ml lily stored), you would not have the least disposition to censure me for thus troubling you in your pleasant ova- tion of happiness and joy. The glorieno bird, the pride of godlike Jove, as be sits on his imperial throne, would never have known the de- lights and pleasures of sailing magnificently in heavens ethereal azure vault were he not to risk himself on the powers of his piniens, and firmly meet the raging and convulsions of the elements. So I feel with regard to this venture. If I succeed, I am amply paid; if not, I can, like the gallant Hector, Proclaim kisga is esyal state, That theagh I perish, yet I perish great or, at Is st, in a great pursuit. Dr. Franklin says that we should temper our exertions in proportion to the value of the goal of our desires. Then indeed I should, to do justite in this, rival at least the beauties of Yirgil, and should in no degree fall behind the immortal Shakepeare or Byron. But I have already been too lengthy. I will then wish you an unending chain of happiness, and await an answer with anxiety. Please dont disappoint. Truly yours. Scorr tells a story of a gentleman who, irritated at some misconduct of his servant, said, John, either you or I must quit the house ! Vera wed, Sir, said John; where will your honor be ganging to? VOL. XX.No. 115.~I* / / 6VL~ct Su1~e~ d~AtfS/~cgyut~S

Spriggins's Voyage Of Life 141-143

VOL. XX.No. 115.~I* / / 6VL~ct Su1~e~ d~AtfS/~cgyut~S 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ( N / ) ~ F H I N C V 4iinrt~ fnr A~mni~h~r+ Furnisked by Mr. G. BRODIE, 300 Canal Street, New York, and drawn by VomT from actual articles of Costume. / 7 ~ ~ 7k 3, FIGURES 1 AND 2.HOME TOILET AND CHILDS DRESS.

Fashions For December 143-144

4iinrt~ fnr A~mni~h~r+ Furnisked by Mr. G. BRODIE, 300 Canal Street, New York, and drawn by VomT from actual articles of Costume. / 7 ~ ~ 7k 3, FIGURES 1 AND 2.HOME TOILET AND CHILDS DRESS. 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. H OlVIE TOILET.The dress is of taffeta, of any The Csrn~ns DREss is designed for festive occa- color to suit the wearer. The corsage is close, sions. It is of white muslin, with ranges of loops high, and rounded at the waist, having a tie of and norncZs of pink ribbon. broad ribbon, with long ends. Sleeves, b illonnee The OPERA CLOAK is of white silk, adorned with at top, laid in two rows of partial plaits; they fall elaborate embroidery in green and gold, with cord away from the elbow, and are open in front. and tassels. x FIGURE 3.OPERA CLOAK.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Issue 116 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0020 /moa/harp/harp0020/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 20, Issue 116 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January 1860 0020 116
Thomas Francis Meagher Meagher, Thomas Francis Holidays In Costa Rica 145-164

IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CXVI.JANUARY, 1860.VOL. XX HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. BY THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGIIER. 11.SAN JOSL E ARTHQUAKESare op- posed to lofty pretensions. These occur pretty often in the valley of San Jos6. There were three during our stay one for each mouth. But it is only once or twice in a century, perhaps, they do any mischief. The last of the mischievous earthquakes occurred in 1841, when 961 houses were ruined outright, 1001 damaged considerahly, and 22 people were killed. Were the houses of San J056 taller than they are, however, a fatal fit of the shakes might prove with them an event of more frequent occurrence. They are but one story high. The fewthe half-dozen or so that depart from this rule, are nervous exceptions, and look like awkward intruders. Jogging along in our high-peaked saddles to the Hotel de Costa Rica, Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18b9, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XX.No. 116.K THE EASTER PEOCEsSION. 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the evening of our arrival, we felt ourselves to us, and we, the Gullivers in red flannel-shirts, looking over the roofs, the houses are so pru- riding it down. dently low. It was a Liliputian city, it seemed For the most part built of adobethe brick dried in the sunand, whitewashed from head to foot, San Jos~ looks clean and bright. If it has none of th~ somhre picturesqueness peculiar to most of the Spanish cities of Central and South America, neither has it any of their peen- liar odor, and little of the refuse with which they teem. It is but eighty-five years old. At the intersections of the principal streets, there are handsome lamp- posts of cast iron. These have been imported from England. But, as yet, they burn no gas in San Jose. The Municipali- ty illuminates with wick r and oil, and sparingly with that. The houses have chimneys, more - over, and glass in their windows. This is not usually the case with ~ 1 HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 147 Spanish-American houses. The reason is obvious. No one wants a fire in the Dog-daysno one shuts himself up in a Conserva- tory when he wants a mouthful of air. But San Jos6 stands 4000 feet above the sea, and from the mountains of San Miguel and the volcano of Irazu, between which it lies, there comes many a cold wind even in the bright- ness of the summer. The Municipal Council of San Jos6 consists of three Chief-ma- gistrates, and two Syndic pro- curczdors. These officers are elected annually by the property- holders of the city, and are pre- sided over by the Governor of the Province. They employ a Secretary and a Door-keeper, and hold their meetings once a month. Should circumstances require it, an extraordinary ses- sion may be called at any mo- ment. The duties of the Coun- cii consist in the framing of all necessary local regulations, the designation o~ the citizens liable to serve in the Militia, the col- lection and disbursement of the Municipal taxes, the assessment of the expenses of each canton or district within the Province, the superintendence of the rudiment- ary Public schools, the agricultural interests, trade and manufactures. The Council is, also, empowered to negotiate loans, on the credit of the Municipal revenues, for the promotion of Public works. These revenues are derived from various source from the Tobacco and other Custom-house dutiesprincipally from tbe license-tax imposed upon shopkeepers and traders generally. The Police are picturesque. A little after sunset, they are mustered in the Plaza and told off for duty. With a carbine slung across the shoulder, a short brass-hilted sword and car- touche-box, a torn straw-hat, and an old blank- et, full of holes, as a uniform, they patrol the silent city until daybreak, calling the hours, whistling the alert every half-hour, and, as their dreary vigils terminate, offering up the oracioe del serenoAve Miaria Purissima Iin the most dismal recitative. They are faithful creatures, however, those ragged Policemen of San Josd. They are duti- ful, vigilant and brave, though a stranger now and then may come across one of them snoring on the steps of a door-way, as we did occasion- ally in our surveys of the city by moonlight. The first time this occurred to us, the poor fel- low was bundled up under the heel of an enor- mous boot, the original of which stands eight feet high in Chatham Street. The copy, at the corner of the Calle de la Puebla in San Jos6, was furnished by an accomplished Filibuster to Mons. Eugdnie, the French boot-maker, whose portentous sign it is. The artist was a prisoner of war. But even so, in captivity and defeat he proclaimed his principles. He stuck a spur with an immense rowel into the heel of the gigantic boot, and gave three cheers for General Walker and the Lone Star! But there is no need of the Policenone what- ever. Costa Rica is tbe most temperate and peaceful of countries, and San Josd is the most temperate and peaceful of cities. One might be provoked into saying it was stupidly well-behaved and insipidly sensible. The c/nffounier would have little to do there. The lawyer from the vicinity of the Tombs would fare no better. The entire rascality of the exemplary place is not worth an affidavit. Cock-fighting is the only dissipation the people indulge in, and that on Feasts of Obligation and Sundays exclusively. Being one of the Institutions of the country, it would have never done for Don Ramon and Don Francisco to have overlooked or shunned the Cock-pit. Martyrs to the love of knowledge, they visited it with the purest motives, urged by a curiosity as disinterested as that which might have tempted a perfect stranger an Ancient Briton for instance to drop into the Roman amphitheatre in the days of the Thracian prize- fights. Passing a rude door-way, they came upon an ruz nooTMAJezzs. 148 IIAIIPEIVS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE COCK-FIGHT. elderly gentleman with a rusty mustache. He was sitting in a chair scooped out of a block of mahogany, and held in his left hand a pack of small printed cards, the tickets of admission to the rascally arena. Having paid him two rids, he drew aside a torn pink calico curtain, and with a gracious entree ustedes Se~iores, bowed, stroked his inns- che, and resumed his collection of rials. A second after, the Martyrs found themselves in a windy wooden building, which seemed to them, for all the world, like a cow-shed that had been converted into something resembling a circus. It was Whitsunday. The place was crowd- ed. All classes of Societywere represented there. The merchant and the peddler Colonels with blazing epaulets and half-naked privatesdoc- tors, lawyers, Government clerks, fathers of fam- ilies, genteel gentlemen with ample waistcoats and gray heads, youths of eighteen and lessthe latter peppered with the spiciest pertness, and boiling all over with a maddening avidity for pesos and cuartas. The benches of the theatre rise one above an- other, forming a square, within which, on the moist clay floor, inclosed by a slight wooden bar- rier eighteen inches high, is the fatal ring. In a nook, to the right of the pink calico curtain, stands a small table, upon which the knives, the twine for fastening them, the stone and oil for sharpening them, the fine-toothed saw for cutting the gaffs, and all the other exquisite odds and ends, devised for the deadly equipment of the gladiators, are laid out. The knives used in this butchery, are sharp as lancets and curved like cimeters. While the lists are being arranged, and the armorers are busy lacing on the gyves and weapons of the combatants, and many an ounce of precious metal is risked on their chances of life and death, the gladiators pertinaciously keep crowing with all their might, and in the J~im~- glossiest feather saucily strut about the ring as far as their hempen garters will permit them. Don Ramon and his friend remarked, the mo- ment they entered, that the betting was high and brisk. Gold pieces changed hands with a dazzling rapidity. The Costa Ricans are pro- verbial for their economy and caution. Outside the Cock-pit they never spend a medionot so much as half a dimeif they can help it. In- side this charmed circle, they are the most pro- digal of spendthrifts. One sallow lad particular- ly struck them. He had neither shoes nor stock- ingsnot so much as a scrap of raw ox-hide to the sole of his foot. But had every pimple on his face been a ruhyand his face was a nursery of pimpleshe could not have been more bold and lavish with his purse. It came, however, to a crisis with him. Stretching across Don Ramon to take the bet of another infatuated sportsman in broad-cloth and emhroidered lin- en, he staked a fistful of gold on a red cock of the most seductive points and perfectly irre- sistible spunk. It was all he had in the world. There was a fluttering of cropped wings, a shak- ing of scarlet crests, a cross-fire of murderous glances, a sudden spring, a bitter tussle, fuss and feathers, a pool of blood, and the fistful of goldall that the sallow-skinned pimple-faced prodigal bad in the worldwas gone! A ruthless, senseless, ignoble game, it is fast going out of fashion. There was a time, and that not more than five or six years ago, when the President and the whole of his Cabinet were to be seen in the Cock-pit. But it is seldom, if ever, that a distinguished politician, much less a HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 149 statesman, even on the eve of an election, is dis- covered there now. Neither the mind, nor the manhood, nor the heart of the people xviii suffer when it has been utterly abolished. The morning after our arrival, we called on the Bishop of San Josd. His residence is an humble one. Two workmen, tip-toe on ladders, were repairing the plaster over the door-way just as we reached it. Stepping across a perfect mo- rass of mortar, we entered the zaguan. An aged gentleman softly approached us before we had time to call the Portero and send in our cards. Tall, thin, sharp-featured, with a yellowish hrown skin and long spare fingers, his eye was keen, his step firm, his voice distinct and full. He wore a pectoral gold cross and purple silk cassock. The latter had a waterish look. The purple had been diluted into pink. A velvet cap of the same weak color in great measure concealed his hair, which was short, and fiat, and seemed as though it had been dashed with damp white pepper. It was the venerable An- selmo Lorentd, the Bishop of San Jos6. A door stood open on the left of the zagean. The Bishop pointed to it. He did so with a sweet smile and graciousness. Bowing to him respectfully, we passed into a dull saloon. The walls were covered with a winterish pa- per, and would have been woefully bare were it not for three paintings which hung from the slim cornice opposite the windows looking into the street. One of these paintingsa likeness of Pius the Ninthwas really a treasure. A superb soevenir of Rome, it had all the softness, the calmness, the exquisite minuteness of finish which characterize the works of Carlo Dolce. The likeness of Anselmo Lorent6 looked raw and miserable heside it. The third painting represented the ascension of a devout Prelate in full pontificals from the grave. For so glaring an outrage on canvas, it would have been a just chastisement had the Painter gone down while the Prelate went up. Between the two windows facing these paint- ings, there stood a table of dark mahogany. It was covered with faded red moreen, books, pieces of sealing-wax, quills and papers. An arm-chair stood behind the table. Behind the arm-chair there stood a screen, and from this a canopy pro- jected. Arm-chair, screen and canopy, every STREET VIEW RE SAN JOSE. 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thing was covered with faded red moreen. There was neither carpeting nor matting on the floor. The hoards, however, were warmly coated with dust, the accumulation of months of domestic repose. Having read the letters we had handed him on entering, the Bishop rose from the sofaa sad piece of furniture it wasand cordially wel- coined us to San J05~. The cordiality of the welcome was tempered with dignity. It was the subdued cordiality of age. Just then there was a tap at the door. The Bishop was called out for a moment. During his absence, a monk of the Reformed Order of St. Francis entered the room. He was from Quito. Heavily clothed in a drab gown and cloak, drab hood and trowsers, all cut out of a wool and cotton mixture manufactured in the Andes of Ecuador, with his cropped head, a face the color of pale butter, and a pair of dark- blue spectaclesbehind which his large black eyes rolled incessantlyhe was, in truth, a strange apparition. The Archbishop of Ecua- dor being dead, and the Archbishop of Panama 1)eing absent from that city on a visitation of his diocese, the pious brother of St. Francis had journeyed to Costa Rica to be ordained. The Bishop, resuming his seat on the sofa, presented his case of cigarettosit was a dainty little case made of colored strawand invited us to smoke. The holy hobgoblin from Quito tak- ing the media from the table, where it lay coiled up in the inkstand, succeeded, after a number of failures, in striking a light. Whereupon he knelt and extended the media to the Bishop. The Bishop having lit his cigaretto, the good monk kissed the episcopal ring, and rising with a profound obeisance, solemnly extinguished the fire. Shortly after, having silently glared at us through his purple spectacles, he bent the knee again, kissed the episcopal ring once more, and with head cast down, tucking his drab gown about him, retreated with a confused modesty from the room. In the midst of fragrant clouds, Sefior Lo- renbi pleasantly conversed with us. He spoke about the country, its drawbacks, its resources and its prospects, and in a few bright sentences, enunciated with considerable animation, gave us the principal points of its political history. It was a deep source of regret to him that the churches of San Josi contained little to interest the stranger. They had no works of art, no paintings, no sculpture, and very few ornaments. The few they possessed were of the humblest de- scription. The Spaniards had concentrated in Guatemala the entire wealth of the CentralAmer- lean church, and, up to this, Costa Rica had been too poor to enrich her altars. In Cartago, how- ever, there were some old and valuable paintings, two or three fine images, shrines, reliquaries, and vestments of costly material and curious work- manship. From the churches, Senor LorenPi passed to the Indians of the country. His state- ments and surmises relative to the Guatusos of the valley of Frioa race living absolutely se eluded and permitting no stranger whatever to set foot within their mysterious domainwere deeply interesting. Every syllable he let fall upon this subject was eagerly caught up. In the end, he referred us to the History of Guatemala by the Archbishop, Francisco de Paula Garcia Pelaez. There was a learned and profound chapter in it devoted to the Guatusos. We should read it. He would give us a copy of the work. It would he a pledge to us of his regard, and of his anxiety to aid us in our laud- able researches. He was delighted to find we had been educated by the Jesuits. They were the nobility, the flower, the chivalry of the Church. Her bravest soldiers, they had been her sublimest martyrs. Wherever they were, there was civil- ization, erudition, eloquence, a disciplined socie- ty, an elevated faith, and the loftiest example of magnanimity. It would be well for Costa Rica were they established in the country. But there was an ignorant prejudice against them, and his efforts to obtain admission and a recognized standing for them in the Republic, had proved unavailing so far. As we rose to take leave, the Bishop opened the door leading into the zaquan, and calling to a young student who was reading in the piazza of the court-yard, desired him to take the His- tory of Guatemala from the library, and accom- pany us with it to the Hotel. We begged him not to trouble the young student. We could easily take the books ourselves. But the gra- cious good Bishop would have his own way. His consideration for us was relentless. And so, we returned to our quarters, followed by the History of Guatemala, in three volumes, and a modest youth in a clerical cloak, and a brown felt hat of the California pattern. Anselmo LorenPi is the first Bishop of Costa Rica, the country not having been erected into a separate Diocese until August, 1850. Previous to that, it was subordinate to the Bishopric of Nicaragua. Astaburuaga speaks of Sefior Lo- rent6 as a zealous, prudent, illustrious man, who does honor to the Church. The Roman Catholic religion is declared by law to be the religion of the country. The Constitution guar- antees it the protection of the Government, at the same time it tolerates every other persuasion. By the Concordat ratified with the Court of Rome, October, 1852, tithes were done away with, an allowance to the Diocese of $10,000 per annum being substituted out of the National Treasury. But it was with no affected modesty the Bish- op spoke to us of the impoverished condition of the churches of San Josi. For Spanish-American churches, they are strikingly destitute of orna- ments and treasures. The blank exterior, to say the least of it, is an honest index to the bleak in- terior. That of San Juan de Dios, however, of which Mr. Francis Kurtze, an enterprising and accomplished German, is the architect, will be a grand exception. Thewalls are high and massive. The decorations are chaste and solid. Corinth- ian pillars support the roof inside. Gardens, HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 151 stocked with fragrant shrubs and fruit trees and terialshaving neither gold nor porphyry, nor tastefully laid out, inclose the graceful and im- Byzantine pavements, nor stained glass to help posing edifice. themthe people of San Jos6 have built a tern- The Cathedral of San Jos~ stands on th~ east pie not unworthy of the Faith of which it is the side of the Plaza. It is built of lava-stone, attestation. Branching off into arches, grace- Three lofty door-waystwisted pilasters flank- ful shafts of the hardest wood which the forests ing them and intervening, a series of plain pilas- of Costa Rica yieldwood such as that of the ters springing from a moulding above the door- quiebrahaclia, which signifies the axe-breaker ways and supporting the plainest architrave support the roog dividing the building into three these are the only noticeable features of the fa- broad aisles, the main aisle, or, to speak more fade. The elevation of the tower is little more properly, the nave, being 35 feet in breadth and than thirty feet. A wooden structuresome- 300 feet in length. The walls are white. These thing like a block-housestands upon these thir- lofty shafts of quiebrahacha have white veins ty feet of masonry, and from a beam, close un- running through them. But the arches in which der its pointed roof, there pendulates a mon- they terminate, as well as the steep-slanting roof strous bell, inside, are painted in arabesque, and this gives N B.There is little music in that monstrous to the whole interior a rich and curious aspect. bell. Handsome chandeliers descend from the roof by The same, however, may be said of all the chains of bnrnished metal. Supported on pillars bells, profane and sacred, in San Jos6. At painted in imitation of Sienna marble, stretching timeswhen they ring out all togetherthe tu- across the nave, the organ-gallery rises above the mult is provocative of something the reverse of High-altar, a few feet behind it. A screen of prayer. A city swarming with tinkers, and the lattice-work conceals the organist and choir. It tinkers hard at work, would be quite as melodi- is delicately constructed and painted white. The ous, and just as endurable, as the unaccustomed organ, also, is painted white. But it has silver ear finds San JosS to be at such times. But it pipes in front, and carvings richly gilt. The is harsh to say so. Were the people of San Jose choir for the Dean and Chapter occupies the wealthy enough to have them, there would re- eastern extremity of the nave, the stalls, fash- sound this day, throughout the valley of the Rio ioned of the costliest mahogany by Guatemalian Torres and the Rio Maria Aguilar, bells as so- workmen, being on a level with the platform oi norous as the silver Susanne of Erfurt, or mighty which the High-altar stands. in their tones as those which, thundering forth Besides the Cathedral, there are two other suddenly, saved the Roman-walled city of the churches in San Jos~. There is the church of Yonne from the ravages of Clothair. Our Lady of Mercy, and there is the church of The interior of the Cathedral has a striking Our Lady of Carmel. They are the Penitents and fine appearance. Out of the simplest ma- of Architecture. No structures could possibly TILE CATHEDRAL. 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. look more modest, sorrowfully chaste, and hum- National Flag at half-mast overhung the Palace ble. Walls of adobe, roofs of rough red tiles, of the Government, the Cuartel del Artilleri floors of hardened clay, all cracked and gritty, and the Barracks in the Plaza. The shops, the belfries which seem to be hut the skeletons of billiard-rooms, the cafJs, the public offices, all belfries nothing could be poorer. In Holy were closed. No one was within. Every one Week, however, they wear a hright appearance. was out. Out in the best attire. Out at sun- All their poverty and coldness all their sim- risethe livelong daythe livelong night. The plicity and inane sadnessall their silent mis- livelong nightvisiting the churches, going through cries seem to vanish. They are warm, fin- the devotion of the Stations, carrying lanterns, grant, florid. The nakedness of the walls dis- and humming their Peters and Aces through appears under folds of lace, and silks, and foli- the streets. The next dayGood Fridaythere age. Palm-trees supplant, as it were, the sterile was the same monotonous rolling of the drums, trunks which support the roofs. A pyramid the drums being muffled as on the day preceding appears where the High-altar stood, and over the the same display of drooping flagsthe same crimson cloth, with which this pyramid from passing to and fro of vailed faces, and graceful base to topmost point is draped, net-work and heads enveloped in silken shawls the same needle-work of elaborate contrivance and mel- harsh creaking of wooden rattles instead of bells lowed hue is thrown. The armoires of San Jos~ the same profusion of lights, and flowers, and fly open to the claims of the Mercedes and Car- fruits throughout the churchesthe same per- men at such times as these. The steps of the vading buzz of pietythe same solemn Holiday pyramid sparkle with a thousand wax-lights in all respects as Holy Thursday was, but quiet- burning in silver candlesticks, in translucent er, perhaps, and somewhat more impressive from globes of clouded glass, in plated branches, in the great Sacrifice it recalled, and the mournful- cups of brass and alabaster. Between the libhts ness which in the hush of all profane business, are flowers, shrubs, herbs and flowers herbs, the reversed arms of the soldiers, the deserted shrubs and flowers, such as a soil like that of aspect of the houses, and the deepening shadows Costa Rica alone can yield. Nature in her af- of San Miguel and Irazu seemed specially to fluence here more than compensates for the pov- mark the day. erty of the people, and with overflowing horns When evening came, the procession which assists them in their pious observances, becom- commemorates the interment of Christ, moved ing to them a beautiful and lavish Hand-Maid, slowly and darkly from the great door-way of as she was who poured the ointment of spike- the Cathedral, and, descending into the Plaza, nard on the Divine head in the house at Beth- entered and passed through the adjoining streets. any. Th~ aceras or side-walks of these streets were In the church of the Mercedes there was a planted with wild canes, round which the leaves representation of the Garden of Gethsemane. of the palm and wreaths of flowers were woven, A space, eight feet square, on the left of the the carriage-way being strewn with the seirnprc- nave close to the porch, was marked off with vice, the finer branches of the erece, and the branches of palm bent and woven into fences. wondrous and beauteous meaites of the guere- The flowers of the palm fell in expanding show- me. Curtains of white muslin, festooned with ers, or, fountain - like, displayed their chaste crape or ribbons of black silk and satin, over- splendors in widening and descending circles hung the balconies of the houses along the line within the Garden. Palm-leaves lay thick upon of the procession, and at the intersection of the the ground, interspersed with the berries, the streets were cetefeiqees covered with black em- leaves, and blossoms of the brightest evergreens. broidered cloth, strewn with flowers, laden with All over this were strewn the sweetest flowers fruit, and luminous with colored lamps and cups flowers of the richest tintflowers of the rarest of silver. The pioneers of the procession were formthe lobelia with its crimson and orange Brothers of CharityLos Hermaaos de la Can- petals, the pink lily, and the canary-colored pie- dodclothed in long white woolen garments, meria vases and bowls of china filled with shapeless and loose as bed-gowns, with white or earth in which young shoots of rice had root checkered cotton handkerchiefs, tied with a pig- porcelain dishes in which were ripening grains tail knot, about their heads. These Brothers of corn and aromatic herbsoranges, wild grapes carried the various insignia of the Crucifixion. from the valley of Ujarras, the alligator pear, The two first balanced a pair of green ladders pine-apples, granadillas and sweet lemons. In upon their shoulders. One bore a crown of the midst of all these offeringsin the midst of thorns on a breakfast tray, another a sponge in all this bounteousness and beauty, and all this a stained napkin, the third an iron hammer and wealth and sweetness of the earth against a three nails. Then came a swarm of boys with broken tree there knelt an image of the Christ extinguished candles. After them, three young of Gethsemane, overspread with a purple robe, men in ecclesiastical costume appeared, the one blood oozing from the forehead, and the pale in the middle bearing a tall slender silver cruci- features stamped with an expression of anguish, fixthe crucifix being shrouded in black velvet which none, the most idle or irreverent, could the other two holding aloft the thinnest candle- witness without emotion. Inside the porch of sticks, the yellow tapers in which burned with the little church and outside, soldiers stood on an ashy flame, melting excessively as they feebly guard with arms reversed. All day long, the gleamed. Close behind the candlesticks and HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 153 crucifix there walked four priests abreast, each one in souteine, black cap and sur- plice. There was a black hood drawn over the black cap, while a black train, the dorsal develop- ment of the hood, streamed along the leaf- strewn pave- ment a yard or two behind. They were the heralds of a large black silk banner which had a red cross blazoned on it, and was borne erect by a sickly gentle- man in deep mourn- ing. Then came an- other swarm of boys, clearing the road for afull-length figure of St. John, the Evan- gelist, which, in a complete suit of va- riegated vestments, and with the right hand pressed upon the region of the heart, was shoulder- ed along by four young gentlemen, all bare-headed and in full evening-dress. A figure of Mary Magdalene followed MATER ])OLOROSA. that of the Evangel- i~t. It was radiant with robes of white satin Some of them were young, tenderly graceful, aud and luxuriant tresses of black hair, and th~ noble of a pearly beauteousness. The matrons, though beauty of the face was heightened by an expres- slim and parched, were dignified and saintly. sion of intense contrition. As works of art, All this, however, was but the prelude to the these figures are more than admirable. They absorbing feature of the pageant. This was an are exquisite and wonderful. Guatemala, where immense sarcophagus of glass, upheld by some they have been wrought, has reason to be proud twenty of the most respectable citizens of San of them. J05~, whose step bad all the emphasis and gran But one, loftier far and statelier than those deur of practiced soldiers. Acolytes bearing in- preceding it, approached. Lifted bayonets were verted torches, and smoking censers, and palm- gleaming to the right and left of it, thuribles branches covered with crape, went before, flank- were rolling up their fragrant clouds around it, ed, and followed it. And as it was borne along, pretty children in white frocks, and fresh as rose- the spectators at the door-ways, in the balconies, buds, were throwing flowers in front of it all at the windows, on the side-walks, uncovered over the leafy pavement. It was the Meter Do- their heads and knelt. Within the transparent lorosa. Sumptuously robed, the costliest lace tomb were folds of the finest linensnowy folds and purple velvet, pearls of the largest size, opals strewn with rosesa face streaming with blood, and other precious stones, were lavished on it. a crown of thorns, and the outline of a prostrate From the queenly head there issued rays of sil- image. The image was that of The Crucified ver which flashed as though they were spears of of Calvary. As it passed, no one spoke. There crystal. The black velvet train, descending from was not a whisper even. The swelling and sub- the figure, was borne by a priest. Behind him, siding music of the military bandheading the carrying long wax candles, were many of the column of troops with which, colors furled and first ladies of the city, all dressed in black silk arms reversed, the procession closedalone dis- or satin, their heads concealed in rich ~nentil1es, turbed, at that solemn moment, the peacefulne~s and these, too, black as funeral palls could be. of San Jos~. HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 15t A few hours later, there was a very different conies and windows of the houses converging on scene. It was the dawn of Easter Sunday. The the Plazaall sparkled and rustled with specta- clouds lay full and low upon the mountains. San tors. Every one was excitedevery one was Miguel was a pile of clouds. The dark green chatteringevery one was smokingevery one 1)ase of Irazu alone was visible. The planta- was laughingevery one was on tip-toeevery tions and potreros were overwhelmed with clouds, one was impatient, fidgety and nervous. There It was a chaos of clouds all round. Nothing was something in the wind! else was distinguishable. Nothingunless, in- Iflgh above the crowdin the centre of the deed, the lamp at the corner of the Calle del PlazaWere four lines of gleaming steel. The Artilleria, the light from which sputteredthrongh troops had formed a hollow square, and within the thick smoke with which the glass was blurred. this square, overtopping the lifted bayonets by But in the midst of this chaos of clouds, the bells twenty feet at least, there stood a monstrous of the Cathedral, the Mercedes and the Carmen, gibbet. Fastened together with thongs of raw suddenly broke loose. Briskly, wildly, violently hide and pieces of old rope, the limbs of this they rang out! Again and again rang out! gibbet were gaunt and ghastly enough to scare Again and again, until the riotous air seemed the boldest malefactor. From the cross-beam to flash with the strokes! Again and again, there dangled a foul bundle of old clothes. There until the drowsy earth seemed to reel and quiver! was a red night-capa yellow flannel waistcoat, Then came the rumbling of drums, and the striped with black, the arms outstretcheda pair shrill chorusing of fighting-cocks, and the yelp- of torn brown breeches and musty boots, the lat- ing of dogs, and the moaning of the cattle in ter crumpled at the toes and woefully wasted at the suburbs. In less than twenty minutes ev- the heels. Night-cap, hoots and waistcoat, all cry house in San Josd was pouring out its in- were stuffed with Roman candles, squibs and matespouring them out in poaches and men- crackers, while the breeches were burdened with tides, in shawls, velvet-collared cloaks and shirt- a bomb-shell made of the toughest paste-board sleevesdown upon the Plaza. And there and swollen with combustibles. It was the ef- as the clouds lifted, and the mountains began to figy of Judas Iscariot! Therein the dewy show themselves, and the sun streamed over the dawn, with the faint soft light of the Easter broken crest of Irazua startling spectacle broke morn playing on the night-cap, in the full strain- upon the view. ed view of thousandsthe similecrum of the trai- The Plaza was full of people. The spacious tor dangled, slowly turning, half-way round at esplenede and steps of the Cathedral were throng- times, as a puff from the mountains strayed ed to overflowing. The balconies and windows against and elbowed it ignominiously aside. of the houses overlooking the Plazathe bal- The trumpet having sounded, a barefooted Corporal stepped from the ranks. Erect, emo- tionless, with cold solemnity he approached the gibbet, carrying a long spare sugar-cane, at the end of which was a tuft of lighted tow. As he neared the. gibbet, the hubbub of the multitude subsided. A profound calm set in. The boys themselvesthe gamins of San Josifrenzied with fun and mischief as they werehuddled together and held their breath a moment. Step by step, gravely measuring his way, the Cor- poral still kept on, until, at last, he came ab HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 155 ruptly to a halt right under the cross-beam. The sugar-cane was lifted. It touched the left heel of the scoundrel overhead. In the twink- ling of an eye, there was a terrific explosion! The hoot flew in shredsflames leaped from the stomach the bomb-shell burst and split the brown breeches into a shower of rags and soot rockets whizzed from the ribsthe outstretch- ed arms vanished from their sockets in a gust of sulphurthe red night-cap shot up clean out of sight, and, a few seconds after, ploppeddown in cinders over the sign-board of the Restaurant next door to the Barracksall this in less than two minutes, amidst the crashing of drums, the excruciating screams of the boys, the crowing of cocks and the yelping of dogs, the tittering of the modest sig~ioritas and sifiioras, the gab- bling of parrots, a tempestuous flight of stones, and the hootings, maldiciones and uproarious merriment of soldiers and civilians, priests, pau- pers, and patricians. When the smoke cleared off, the back-bone was all that remained of the exploded ruffian. And thatbeing of ironcontinued to dangle at the end of the rope until the gibbet was low- ered. In half an hour, the Plaza had resumed its decorum, loneliness, and silence. Leaving the Bishops residence, the morning after our arrival in San Jos6, we asked one of the two workmen who were plastering the wall, the way to the building in which the Hall of Congress and the bureaux of the Ministers of State are situated. Wiping the trowel through his apron, he gave us the direction with a grace- ful flourish of the implement. But youre not going there, he said its a great way offan immense distance! Somewhat surprised to hear this, but nowise deterred, we determined to try it. The experi- ment satisfied us that the Ceza del Gioberno was little more than three blocks, or two minutes walk, from the Episcopal residence. Judged, however, by his own estimate of distances, the discouraging plasterer did not exaggerate. Three blocks were to him, in truth, an immense stretch to attempt on foot, and were the votes of the cit- izens of San J056 demanded on the question, an overwhelming majority, no doubt, would be found to concur with him. They take no exercise in San Jos6. Pensive and listlessprofoundly tranquilthey remain burrowed in-doors all day. The twilight fails to bring them out. The moon influences the sea, but San Jos6 sleeps beneath it, insensible to its witchery. Nor has the sun more power. The green sugar-patchesaway up the slopes of San Miguelare glistening in the light long before the doors are opened. People are rather lazy in San Jose, I ven- tured to observe, one morning, to an intelligent young Costa Rican, as we passed through the vacant streets of the Campo de Marts, a beauti- ful broad plain outside the city. No, Seiior, may it please you, they are not lazy, he replied; but not having any thing very particular to do at this hour, they stay in bed. And it is the truth. The people of San Jos6 are not lazy whenever there is the least necessity for them to be active. It is the extreme quietude of their little city, in the mornings especially, which would induce the contrary impression. Passing the wide-arched gate-way of the Palace of the Governmentof which the reader has here PALACE OF THE eovzunuzur. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a correct outline copied from a photographic im- pression taken by Mr. T. C. Rhodes, an Ameri- can resident of San Jonithe visitor finds him- self in a spacious hail. A step or two brings him to a quadrangular court-yard floored with red brick. A gallery, ten feet in width, supported by a series of columns and arches and furnished with a pretty balustrade of bronzed iron, projects ou three sides, fifteen feet above the brick floor- ing. The wall, fi~onting the entrance-hall, is unbroken. The roof of the building extends some twelve feet beyond the walls inclosing the court, and this again is supported by another series of columns and arches, precisely similar to that which supports the gallery. We have, thus, two tiers of picturesque arcades opening on the court-yard. Walls, columns, arches, all are painted white. The flooring of red brick is kept perfectly clean. The exterior is colored in imitation of blue granite, and, though modeled by a German, presents a cheerful Italian aspect in harmony with the serene and glowing sky which canopies the valley of San Jos~. A tran- quil tone of simplicity, good taste, strict order and dignified modesty pervades the whole. A fountain in the centre of the court-yard, soften- ing with its perpetual showers the heated atmos- phere which the walls inclose, would leave no- thing else to be desired. With this, the Palace of the Costa Rican Government, in an architect- ural point of view, would be complete. The glass folding-door of the bereau of the Minister of State opens on the upper arcade. So does that of the Minister of Justice, and that, also, of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Imme- diately off the lower arcade, or corridor, are the offices of the Iatendencia, the tribunal before which all known violators of the Revenue laws are cited to appear. The Secretary of Congress, moreover, has his office in this quarter of the building. Passing along the gallery with the bronzed iron balustrade, from the bureau of the Minister of Justice, we entered one of the two small galleries which overlook the floor of the Hall of Congress. It is a superb apartment. The proportions are imposing. The length is eighty feet, the width thirty, the height forty. The walls are white as cream. Slightly arched, the ceiling is divided by heavy gilt mouldings into panels. These are deeply-set and crusted with golden fili- gree-work. The lofty windows, opening on the court-yard, sixteen feet in height, are curtained with crimson silk-damask. Between them are costly mirrors festooned with silkblue, red, and white-the colors of the Republic. The Presidents chair is solidly gilt and cushioned with crimson velvet. A canopy of crimson satin shadows it, and a little above it appear the Arms of Costa Rica, wrought in gold and silver thread on a field of purple velvet. With their feet bur- ied in a luxurious carpet, the chairs of the Mem- bers of the Costa Rican Congress are ranged against the wall, to the right and left of the canopy and throne, while the stained glass, with which the doors and windows of this hall are set, subdues the glare of the golden ceiling, the white walls, the crimson drapery, and all the splendors of paint and gilding imprisoned in it. Shortly after our arrival at the Capital, this Hall was the scene of a grand entertainment. Returning late one evening to the Hotel, our Dutch servant, Charlemagne, with a smile height- ened and diffused by the grease which pervaded his face, handed us a note in an envelope. Both were of cream-colored paper. Both had narrow crimson borders. The envelope was addressed to S6iores Don 1?amon Paez y Sr. AIar8. This was in writing. Opening the note, we found the following invitation neatly printed in Span- ish The undersigned, et the special desire ef his Excel- lency, the President of the Republic, request the pleasure ef your company et a Bell to be given, in honor of Seuior Don Felix Belly, on Wednesday evening, et eight oclock, in the Palace of the Government. Jicente IlerreraJuan B. Bonilla. P. S.Sigiiora Selvadora Gutierrez de Bonilla and Sigiiora Mercedes Bamirex de Iii will receive the La- dies. Approaching the Palace, we found it all illum- inated. Small colored lamps shone every where. In the niches either side the gate-way, along the window-sills of the fagade, within the court-yard, along the balustrade of the upper corridor, from every projecting scroll and pliath, from the parapets themselves, above, below, in and out, all round, these colored lamps shone every where. There were sentries at the outer gate. There were sentries on the steps of the Hall itself. In compliment to Sefior Don Felix Belly, the Guard was composed exclusively of Sergeants. They appeared in full uniformdark blue coetee, red worsted epaulets, cap with yellow band, trow- sers and pipe-clayed cross-belts. The cut and color of the trowsers in every instance had been determined by the fancy, the negligence, or the fortune of the wearer. Within the walls was a brilliant crowd. Every one of note in San Josd was there. Distinguished foreigners were, also, there. President Moraa dumpy, sleek, dark-feat- ured gentleman, in a canary-colored embroidered waistcoat, his hair brushed stiff up from his fore- headsat the whole of the night in the towering gilt chair, under the crimson silk-damask cano- py. From head to foot, his Excellency was one compact smile, cosily framed. In the gallery, opposite to that in which the Military Band was stationedwith a camp cloak thrown across his shoulders, the broad shirt-collar negligently thrown open at the neck, the swarthy mottled face reddening in the blaze of the chandeliers, his wild black eye flashing upon the rustling scene below was General Maxima Jerez, of Nicaragua. General Joaquin Morn stood near him, his tranquil pale face, shrewd cold eye and staid address, contrasting strongly with the im- petuous and generous nature betrayed in the features of the Nicaraguan soldier. Moping HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 157 about the principal door of the Ball-roomhold- ing his hands before him as though he were hold- iu~, a muffwas Senor Calvo, the Minister of 8tate. Sefior Calvo is an elderly gentleman with very short legs. A yellowish brown face, a very flat mouth and a very flat nose, give him the ap- pearance of a Japanese priest. An impassive Indian from the village of Quirc6t, as Minister of State he is singularly useful. All the mis- takes of the Government are remorselessly sad- dled on him. Reconciled to the weight, and capable of patiently carrying it to the end of his days however much it au~ments, no President ever thinks of removing him. This is the fifth- and-twentieth year in which he has acted as Beast of Burden, and Minister of State. His em- ployers devoutly wish that he and they may live a thousand years! Sliding through the mazes of the dancehaving a pleasant word for every one, smiling through his small compressed eyes, and with ever so many little ingenuities rendering himself universally popularwas Sefior Toledo, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the best educat- ed Member of the Cabinet, by profession an ex- Part physician, and an acute politician by trade. General Cafias, also, was present. And so was General Castro, an ex-President of the Repub- lic, and one of the most genial, liberal, and ac- complished gentlemen in Costa Rica. And there was Colonel George Cautya square-built, sailor- looking, sprightly fellow, with a deep-set cun- ning eye and a sharply-pointed small nose, light of foot, steaming and blossoming all overin an extremely short-skirted blue frock, immense ep aulets and tricolor sash, quadrilling and waltzing with exhaustless agility. And, last of all, there was the closely-shaved head and the finikin fig- ure, the spy-glass and spider-like legs of M. Felix Belly himself, with the Zouave at his elbow, in his prodigious red breeches, prim and smug, looking as though he were planted upon the col- umn in the Place Vend6me, and had all its bronze and brazen glories radiating through him. This Zouave had hired himself for four years to the Government of Costa Rica at the breaking out of the war with the Filibusters, and had fought all through it. He was very ugly, very gorgeous, highly-peppered and pompous. At the time of the Ball he was detailed as interpret- er, outrider, Red-Breeches-in-Waiting to M. Fe- lix Belly, and seemed proud of the business. A long white building, two stories high, with a heavy balcony overlooking the Plaza and a rugged roof of red tiles slanting three or four feet beyond the front wall, the Infantry Barracks flank the Cathedral on the right. The balcony is broken by a broad and lofty gate-way, rudely arched, outside which a disheveled sentinel, care- lessly balancing his musket, night and day saun- ters up and down. Sentinels lounge along the balcony, also, while a small black field-piece looks out from under a shed of iron-work in the centre of the barrack-square, and, with its green wheels furrowing the gravel, ponderously keeps the peace. Inside the walls are dormitories, store-rooms, rows of wooden pegs hung with bats and belts, musket-racks, stretchers, frying- pans, iron-hooped buckets, and the rest of the MONSIEUR uzaav AT THE BALL. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. furniture one usually finds in Barracks the world The Artillery Barracks face the Calle de Ar- over. But every thing looks very faded, very tilleria two blocks above the Casa de Gioberao. dusty, very primitive and cheap. The white They form a quadrangular court, in which two ant has been busy with the wood-work, giving hundred men, perhaps, might be drilled con- it the appearance of incurable decay. Were it veniently. Four square towersone at each not for the Sala des Banderas, the Infantry Bar- angle defend the premises. Nine-pounders racks of San J056 would be destitute of interest, protrude from them, and the walls are perforat- In this apartment are deposited several relics ed for muskets. Uuder a slovenly shed ocen- and trophies of the Filibuster war. A large pying oue side of the barrack-yard, jumbled to- glass-case, handsomely gilt and paneled, ele- gether and scantily covered with matting, are vated a few feet from the floor, contains the toru two eighteen~pounders, two nines, and two sixes. and sooty remnants of the Flag which flew from The cighteens were cast in England, shipped Fort Castillo while the Costa Ricans held it. On round Cape Horn, and dragged up from Punta one of the panels, in golden letters, is this in- Arenas by a herd of bullocks. The morning we scription. visited these Barracks, on being shown to the On the 15th of July, 185~, the National Flag which officers day-room, we found there an emaciated floated above the welts of Fort Castillo during the siege, German on a crutch, tuning a broken harp, and together with the names of the Superior officers who de- one of the Chaplains attached to the Costa Rican fended it so brilliantly, were deposited in this urn, by or- Ar an, the Padre Francisco Calvo, der of his Excellency, the President of the Republic Don my in Nicamag Josi Rafael More. Eternal honor to the Heroes who de- who wore the Cross of Honor pinned to the fended the Castle of San Juan! breast of his soutaine. The Padre is devoted to On the opposite panel is the following in- the Army. He has a soldierly appearance, and scription. his propensities and tastes seem better suited for On the 15th of February, 1857, four hundred Filibus- the camp than the cloister. As we entered, he ters, under the command of the so-called Colonel Titus, had a puro between his rosy lips, and was chat- attacked the Castle of San Carlos, which was in a dilapi- ting to a young officer decorated with a red rib- dated state and garriso d only by thirty-seven men. Bul bon, the inscription in gold letters upon which, animated by the brave Colonel, Don George F. Cauty, announced him one of the Conquerors of Santa and the worthy ComonandanG of the Fort, Livute at Hos f the first, as it was the most Colonel, Faustine Montes de Orca, the little garrsson a, the scene o heroically resisted the enemy until the 19th of the same damaging, defeat incurred by the Filibusters in month, on svhich day, seventy-seven Riflemen, under the their Nicaraguan enterprise. command of Captain Jesus Alvarado, and Don Joaquin Leaving the Artillery Barracks, and galloping Ortix, who had been sent to the relief of the Fort by the for General-in chief, Don Jo& ! Joaquin Miora, fell upon the a mile and a half over a splendid roada Filibusters with so much bravery, that they dispersed broad avenue, solidly constructed, drained by them in an instant, compelling them to throw a ag their deep trenches running parallel with it, and shad- clothes, so that they might fly with greater ease. This ed by lofty fences of cactus and arsibryna, be- brilliantf t of arms, planned so admirably by our Gen- hind eral, decided the happy issue of the Holy War uhich was which thousands of coffee-trees breathe their stained by the Republics of Central America against perfumewe found ourselves at the campo cia their invaders. Jifartei, a perfectly level plain, some hundred mx Alcrmalexy 5JASULAcKs. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 159 acres in extent, carpeted with the softest grass, Between the Labyrinth and the Ca~npo lies intersected with lines of young fig-trees, and in the Protestant Burial-ground. It covers about every feature displaying the studied neatness and a qnarter of an acre, is walled in snugly, and subdued elegance of a Pleasure Park in England. has an iron-barred gate to it. A lozenge-shaped Inclosed by haciendas, orange-groves, plauta- metal plate, screwed to the wicket, bears the fol- tions and potreros, the Mountains of San Miguel lowing inscription shelter it on the South. In the opposite direc- TIlTS CEMETERY tion, the white walls of ileredia glitter against WAS GRANTED BY THE GOVERNMENT IN FEBRUARY the brown slopes of Barba. Beyond that huge 1850 volcano, the fires of which have been extin- AT THE REQUE5T OF guished in a lake of unknown depth, the blue SENOR DON FREDERICK CIIATTFIELD, peaks of Poaz sparkle in the morning and Chartii-d-Affaires of her Britannic Majesty. evening sunlight. There are villas, too, close Far 1 knew that my Redeemer liveth, aml t t he shall at hand, such as the charming one of which we stand at the letter day upo the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy my body, yet in my flesh shall 1 have a penciling here. see God. Whom 1 shall see for myself, and mi eyes It is called the Labyrinth. There is a roomy shall behold, and not another, though my reins be con- house and a luxuriant garden. Behind the gar- sumed within me. den, a sparkling fountain throws its waters into A little nearer to the Campo is the old Catho- three reservoirs faced with brick and fine cement. lic Burial-ground. Bones have been lying there These serve as bathsone for gentlemen, nine for more than two hundred years. The earlier feet deepanother for ladies, seven feet deep inscriptions on the vaults and head-stones have the third for children, three feet deep. Walls been blotted out. The graves themselves have of a moral height surround them, and they have been blotted out. You look through the bars shady corridors in which the bathers lay aside of the gate-wayclumsy bars honey-combed with and renew their toilets. The pathway leading rustand all you see is a green mass of vegeta- to the baths is cool and fragrant, hedged with tion. Listening breathlessly for a while, you rose-trees and sweet lemons. Further back is are sure to hear the rustling of the lizard, or the coffee-mill, and the patio in which they clean some other reptile, in the depths of that dead and dress the coffee. The farm-yard is stocked sea. Four years ago, when the cholera swept with farming implements of the best description, the country, the neighboring victims of the and a stud of handsome horses occupy a range plagueand they were counted by the thousand of open stalls. This house, this garden, these were buried there. Since then the Cemetery baths, these horses, all belong to the Seflora has been closed. It is forbidden ground. And Fernandez, whose wealth is but a tribute to her so undisturbed, the green vegetation deepens, goodness, her gracefulness and beauty. and the nameless graves are blotted out. A THE IABYRu~TH. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. new Burial-5round has been opened for the Cath- olics elsewhere. The Campo de i1fart~ is to San Jos6 what the Bois de Bouloqce is to Paris. It is the scene of the fashionable equestrianism of the Capital, the resort of carriages, and, once or twice a year, the arena in which military encampments and reviews take place. On these occasions the troops appear in nniform. The rest of the year, clean shirts on Sundays and Feasts of Obliga- tion seem to he the only regulation in force, so far as costume is concerned. The officers, how- ever, are handsomely uniformed. In their blue frocks faced with red, their skekos and red pom- pons, they present an appearance not inferior to that of French Lieutenants of the Line, and at the Military Mass, on Sundays, the little garri- son of San Jos~, occupying the nave of the Ca- thedral, forms a striking picture. The double line of hayonets quivers with the light reflected from the Altar, the lamps and chandeliers, the windows of the aisles, and the tall white shafts which support the roof. The Band, stationed in the chancel, accompanies the solemn service with martial hymns. The officers stand beside the menthe epaulets and crimson sashes of the former relieving the ceieasas of the latter and as the Host is elevated, the sacred building vibrates with pealing trumpets and the ring of saluting arms. Every Sunday evening, also, the Band plays in front of the Presidents private residence. Situated in the Ualle dcl Presideahf, a little off the Plaza, this house is a model of Republican modesty. The narrow street darkened with list- ening groupsthe lanterns at the music-desks piercing the shadows with the thinnest rays groups of seiioritas whispering at the door-ways, the faint smoke of their cigerettos gliding dream- ily from their lipsa lean sentinel leaning against the door-post of the Presidents house, No. 12, rubbing one hare foot against the otherthe whi washed hail behind him, with a yellow candle in a glass case, suspended from the ceil lag, winking at the brown balusters of the stair- casean officer in white trowsers and gold-laced cap lifting his spurred heels up the steps of the door-way, and slipping into the street again, having satisfied himself that all was rightthese were the incidents I noticed the first Sunday evening I loitered in the Celle dcl Presideati, arm in arm with Don Ramon, listening to the Band. The Theatre, too, is open on Sunday evening. Adorned with a Grecian front, this pretty edifice occupies an area sixty or seventy feet square. The street-door opens into a vestibule lighted by a large Chinese lantern, underneath which, on the nights of performance, half a dozen bare- footed soldiers are seated on a hench. There are two tiers of boxes. Under the lower tier are three rows of benches, and these are shut off from the parquette hy horizontal bars of iron, which give the inclosure the appearance of a semi-subterranean cage for wild curiosities. The object of this arrangement I was unable to ascer- tain. Probably it is owing to an apprehension that the poorer people might grow savage if J3SFORE THS rUEsmENTS HOUSE. HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 161 brought into contact with the civilization of the parquette. The night we were there the house was crowded. The boxes rustled with silk. There was a profusion of pearls, and clusters of teeth which rivaled them in whiteness, and masses of luxuriant black hair, and a plump array of arms laden with chains and bands of gold, and eyes of sparkling jet, and coronals and festoons of luscious flowers, and the airiest net- work floating about the daintiest heads. It was a Gala-night. The play was El Poeta y la Beneficiadcz. In a box decorated with the Na- tional colors, directly facing the stage, sat Presi- dent Mora. To the right and left of his Excel- lency sat the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Gen- eral Joaquin Morn, Senor Escalante, the Vice- President of the Republic, and M. Felix Belly, the champion, upon paper, of the Latin Race gen- erally. The performers hailing from Cadiz and other parts of Spain, rendered the humor of Don Manuel Breton de los Herreros with a graceful vivacity. But the orchestra was fearful. Eight fiddlers, a drummer, and two trumpeters, all in a row, tortured us mercilessly whenever the cur- tain went down. The scenery was just as un- pleasant. No two wings were alike, and fully one half the performance passed off in a parlor, upon which the sky-light and stairs of a garret obtruded. The drop-scene, however, represent- ing Minerva instructing the Muses, displayed considerable taste, effectiveness of touch, and brilliant coloring. Between the acts, the occu- pants of the boxes promenaded the galinero or lobby of the Theatre, smoking their puros and cigarettes. The Ladies indulged in this refresh- ment as well as the Gentlemen. Lemonades, also, were handed round, and the cigarettos gave way to almond cakes, ices, and other delicacies. The President, mingling unaffectedly with the crowd, was voluble and radiant. M. Felix Belly, exquisitely booted and gloved, bowed himself constantly into profuse perspirations. Having introduced the Presidentan efficient magistrate, aman of clear strong intellect, energy, and enlightenment, under whose administration Costa Rica has been blessed with a social and material development unknown to her before, and has achieved a sound national reputation, which it would be well for her sister Republics to strive for and deservea few words here, ex- planatory of the political system of the country, will not be inappropriate. * The Constitution, under which it was reor- ganized in 1848, declares the Republic of Costa Rica to be a sovereign State, free and independ- ent, and prescribes for it a popular government, representative, elective, and responsible. As- serting the inviolability of property, the liberty of the press, personal security, the equality of all citizens before the law, and vesting the Supreme Power in three distinct bodiesthe Legislative, the Executive, the Judicialit prohibits slavery, privileged classes, prirnogeniture, the violation of correspondence, and rigorously restricts the punishment of death. The Legislative power resides in a Congress of one Chamber of twelve members, over which the Vice-President of the Republic presides. To exercise the electoral franchise, a citizen must be twenty-five years old be the father of a family or the head of a house and own real estate to the value of $1000. Neither the President, Vice-President, nor any Member of the Cabinet can vote. All those offi- cers, as well as the Judgeships of the Supreme Court, are incompatible with a Representative position. To be a Member of Congress, the citizen must be twenty-five years old, own real estate to the value of $3000, or be a Professor of some recognized science. Congress appoints the Judges, prorogues its own sessions, and names for the Recess a permanent Commission, consisting of the Vice-President of the Republic and four of its Members. The passage of a law requires the approval of a Congressional majority aft~er three days discussion, or the lapse of three days, and the sanction of the Executive. The President and Vice-President are elected, for a term of six years, by the electoral assemblies of cantons or counties. To hold either of these offi- ces, the citizen must be thirty years old, own prop- erty to the value of $10,000, and be or have been married. Hospitality is prescribed as a duty by the Constitution, and citizenship is forfeited by ingratitude to parents, the abandonment of wife or children, and the neglect of the obligations due to the family and homestead. The Judicial power is vested in a Supreme Court, and other tribunals created by law. The first consists of a Regent, five Judges, and an Attorney-General. These officerswith the exception of the latter, who is elected for six yearshold their commis- sions during good behavior; but neither the former nor the latter can be suspended unless upon impeachment, nor can they be deposed ex- cept by a formal Judicial sentence. The Re- public is divided into five Provinces. The Prov- inces are subdivided into Cantons, and these again into Districts. The Provinces have their Gov- ernors and Military Commandants. The two last-named divisions have their Political Chiefs and Alcaldes. As to the Educational system, there is a free school in every town. In San Jos~ there is a college for the education of mas- ters, a Lyceum, and a University. Elementary and superior instruction are thus guaranteed by the Government, as well as by private enter- prise; and if; as Astaburuaga remarks, Costa Rica does not as yet exhibit a more flourishing state of public education, she has, at all events, established the basis of a system which will im- prove and extend in proportion as the country materially advances. Considered in an architectural point of view, the University of St. Thomas must be set down as the finest building in San Jos6. But in point of size, the Hospital exceeds it. There is, in truth, very little need of such an institution in the Arcadi~n valley of San Josi. But a chari * Since these pages were given to the printer an unex- pected Revolution has driven President Mora into banish- ment, but the writer sees no reason to modify the opinions above expressed. VOL. XX.No. 116.L 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. table associationEl Junta de Garidadthought and light it out as manfully as he could, lie well of having one, so that no epidemic should would not be eighteen till June, and yet he had suddenly strike the people and find them unpre- been in every battle the Filibusters fought, from pared, or the poor be without a home and kind- the burning of Granada down to the last attempt ly treatment when sickness d~tprived them of of the Allies against Rivas. After the surrender their bread. Hence arose the Hospital of San of General Walker to Captain Davis, of the St. Juan de iDios. The expense of its erection was Marys, he was taken ill at Punta Arenas, on defrayed from a fund in the hands of the Junta, the Pacific, whither he had been brought as pris- and by a trifling percentage on wills. The oner-of-war, with several of his comrades. Struck same means maintain it. The incidental ex- down with fever there, General Cailas gave or~ peuses are few. The Medical Superintendent ,I ders to have him sent to the Hospital at Sun Dr. John Hogan, formerly of Philadelphia, gives Josd. It was a year abo, but he had not becn his valuable services gratuitously, out nor up from the day he entered it. He The situation of the Hospital is unhealthy. would give his life to hear from his poor mother. It is built in a hollow immediately off the road He had not beard from her since be joined the to the Gampo de Miarti. The ground, on which Filibusters. She knew nothing of his leaving, it stands, was a marsh live years ago. The Doc- uor had be written to her all the time he had tor frequently shot snipe there. Consisting of a, been away. This was cruel of him. So he said. centre and two wings, the entire length of the And with this he hid his face in his hands, and building is one hundred and fifty feet. The burst out crying. I did my best to comfort wings each of them are one hundred feet him, telling him I should take steps to let his~ square. The left wing contains the sick and in- mother know where he was, and that he was sane of both sexes. The right wing is tempo- getting on well, and might soon be with her. rarily used as a prison. Of this portion of the This seemed to soothe him, and, stretching out Hospital the inmates are less than a handful, his thin white band, he thanked me with fervent and, generally speaking, their offenses are ye- words. The next mail to the United States nial. The yawning sentinel, in charge of them, brought a notice from me, which appeared in lazily scraping the tiled floor with his bayonet, one of the New York papers, giving the partien- seemed to think he might well be dispensed with. lars I have mentioned. Nothing came of it In my visit to the Hospital, I had the advant- however. No mother appeared to claim the age of being accompanied by Dr. Hogan. In sick boy in the Hospital of San Jos~. the Male Ward there were einht cases under In the Lunatic department of the Hospital treatment. Two of them were cases of severe, there were two women and twQ men. The two gun-shot wounds. The sufferers were Costa Ri- women were crazy on the subject of religion. can soldiers who had fought under General Ca- One of them had covered the walls of the room, fias at San Jorgi, on Lake Nicaragua. Oppo- in which they were confined, with the strangest site them lay three of Walkers men, suffering hierogyiphicswith death-heads and cross-bones acutely from ulcers, the result of bad living, cx- with skeletonswith horned devils and in- posure and neglect. One of them told me he struments of torture. These disordered fancies was from New York. He was fearfully emaci- were portrayed in charcoal, and, as we entered, ated and spoke with a painful effort. The see- the bewildered artist was absorbed in the contem- onda sprightly fellow, full of pluck and hu- plation of her performances. The other woman mor told me he was from Louisville. The was sitting upon a tableher feet bent under third hailed from Quebec. A bright-eyed, fair- herthe stormiest picture of desolation. She skinned, gentle boy, the tears started from my had the one story for every ear th4 hearkened very heart as he whispered the story of his ad- to her. It was that of a beautiful pure child, ventures to me. who, on passing through a dark street one even- His father and mother were Irish-born. He ing, was presented by two abandoned women himself was born in Canada. His father died with an ear of corn. This she took from them while he was at his mothers breast. When she and brought home. The child, the frenzied was strong enough to do so, and had scraped to- creature said, had ever since been under the gether a little money, his mother shifted to Chi- spell of these bad women, and it was this which cago. There she took in washing, and was get- worried her. As she repeated the story to us ting on very well, when, all of a sudden, he took she tells it every day and every hourthe tears it into his head to join the Filibusters, having started from her blood-shot eyes, the clasped heard they were carrying all before them. hands dropped with the weight of death upon Somehow or other he contrived to get to New her knees, her head fell upon her breast, and, York. There he joined the Filibusters as an shaking it from side to side in the vehemence of emigrant. He did so, believing that was all he her grief, the long, black, disordered hair swept had to do to get the best of living and lots of the over her shoulders to her naked feet. richest land. He was not a day in Nicaragua Leaving her, the Keeper opened the door of before he wished he was home again with his another room. It was a wilderness of a room. poor, sick, lonesome mother. But it was too There was no ceiling to it. The cobwebbed latetoo late for him to do otherwise than make rafters were exposed. The tiles, with which it the most of his wild pranktoo late for him to had been floored, were torn up. Many of them do any thing else than rough it good-humoredly, were broken. The clay underneath the tiles HOLIDAYS IN COSTA RICA. 163 was, also, torn np. The plasterin~ on the walls was all in flakes. The window-panes had been smashed. Large splinters of glass lay strewn about the plowed-np floor. Every thing within there was de- faced. Every thing bore the stamp of exhausted riotousness and irreparable ruin. Crouching in a cor- nernaked to the waist the paltry covering he had suf- fered to remain upon his wasted limbs, flap- ping in frowsy rags ~bout himeying us with the timidity of a worried rabbitey- ing us stealthily from behind a heap of earth and broken tileswas a boy with sunken jaws, shudderin~ from head to foot, jabber- ing violently, and frothing at the mouth. This poor wretch was little more than eight- een years of age. TIe had been one of the garrison of Fort Cas- uillo. On the ap- r)roach of Colonel aUNATICs. Frank Anderson, Dc- cember, 1858, he was seized with spasms, and Having seen all that was to be seen in San from that day to this he has been a ghastly lu- Josdhaving lounged often enough through the natic. The shouts of the Filibusters riug inces- billiard-rooms and laqer-lier saloons, of which santly in his ears. Armed to the teethglid- there are half a dozen in the little city, within ing like panthers through the chapperalthey musket-shot of one another, and visited the are ever making toward him. He leaps from Mint, where we learned something of the miii- them, shrieks, writhes, foams, tears his tangled eral resources of the countryhaving made the hair, harrows the walls and floor with his nails, acquaintance of several of the friendliest and digs up the earth, as though he were a hyena brightest people therehaving talked politics by tugging at buried carrion, and so hacks and the hour, over bottles of Bourbon, with a spright- wastes himself to death. ly wise Philadelphian who is fixed there for bet- The fourth case was somewhat an amusing ter or for worse, but rather for the better, his one, and from the agonies of that terror-stricken two-storied house in the Gaile de la Artilleria be- creature it was a relief to follow for a moment ing spacious, and his cacao plantation close to the mild vagaries of one, whose only uneasiness La Muelle being in the most promising condi- was an hapression, that a multitude of turkey- tionhaving breakfasted with the Minister of buzzards were after him, and that all he wanted Foreign Affairs, where we had the pleasure of was a hat. The turkey-buzzards kept him per- meeting at an overflowing table an accomplish- petually busy. He never ceased hooting at ed and genial familyhaving dined in company them, pelting them with bits of plaster, rushing with a large party of Germans at the house of a into them, dispersing them in desperate style, wealthy hospitable representative of the Brod and and, having put them to flight, pursuing them vintage of the Rhinehaving spent more than round and round the room. Had he a hat, he one delightful evening in a generous English would he in glorious humor. It was impossi- home, over the gayety, good-heart, and luxury ble, however, to satisfy him in this respect. He of which a black cloud has lowered since, fur tore up every hat he laid his hand upon. she who was the favored and bounteous mistress HA HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of that home lies in the Serapiqui, lost there on Tropics, having dreamed away many an hour her way to see once more her old home in the that is still a fragrant and radiant vision with oak-crowned islehaving, over and over again, mehaving seen and done all this, we, the dis- ridden out with General Castro, whose graceful tinguished strangers from New York, betook our- attentions to ns were unremitting, and on his selves to Cartago, the ancient Capital of Costa plantation of Pacifica, the finest in the country, Rica, concerning which, the volcano that frowns in the midst of the perfume of 150,000 coffee- above it and the valleys that girdle it with bean- trees, and flower and fruit gardens surfeited with teousness and glory, another paper, the last of sweetness, and all the luxuries of a Farmin the this Holiday series, will appear next month. A LAY OF THE DANUBE. 1.THE WISSEJIRAD. PILGRIM of the imperial Danube, pause neath yonder height, Where a crumbling castle standeth draped in sunset-light, Like a hoary king, stout-hearted, who his throne doth fill, Though with age he tremble, totterclad in shining purple still! Climb those towers, and mark the river rolling calm and wide, Till the frowning mountain-giants dare defy his tide! Mark how he through flinty columns cuts a pathway free, Dashes rightward, leftward, forwardthrobbing, panting, toward the sea! On those banks the angry nations gathered them of old, Northern hordes and southern legions joined their battles bold, Till the dark cold waves were flowing red and warm with blood Hideous Hun and haughty Roman, how they choked the crimson flood! There, the sweet old rhymers tell us, Etzel held his court, When he made, at Chrimbilds suing, feast for high disport, Bidding fair her royal brothers from the distant Rhine Ab, ill-fated Nibelungen! wherefore did ye not divine That an injured, vengeful woman, though her message fell Loving as became a sister, could not mean you well! All in vain the pitying mermaids warned them hence to fly; There betrayed, the homelorn heroes died as heroes still should die! Neath the very towers thou scalest, now the spoil of fate, Once a noble Magyar monarch kept his kingly state, Great Corvinus, who Mohammeds flooding hosts could stem, He by Romes throned bishop counted worthiest Stephens diadem. There below, within the valley, lay his gallant men, Resting from their hard-earned triumphs oer the Saracen; And a strange wild tale is told us from that gray old time, Ever still of love and sorrowwouldst thou learn it, hear my rhyme! 11.THE MAGYAR MAID. Twas a day when autumn-hazes floated soft and still, Lighter than Titanias vesture, over sky and hill; And the sun, flushed as a lover, left the earth so fair, With his golden smiles of promise filling all the rosy air. On the fnrther bank a maiden stood at that sweet hour, Pouring oer the bleaching linen fast the needful sbower; Humbly born this duty proved her, yet if queen might wear On her brow such regal beauty, crown were never wanting there. Now upon the turf she resteth, by the night-wind fanned, Holding still the dripping pitcher with a careless hand, More like some immortal keeper of a fountain-head, Such as antique sculptures show us, than a simple mertal maid.

Mrs. George P. Marsh Marsh, George P., Mrs. Lay Of The Danube 164-166

HA HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of that home lies in the Serapiqui, lost there on Tropics, having dreamed away many an hour her way to see once more her old home in the that is still a fragrant and radiant vision with oak-crowned islehaving, over and over again, mehaving seen and done all this, we, the dis- ridden out with General Castro, whose graceful tinguished strangers from New York, betook our- attentions to ns were unremitting, and on his selves to Cartago, the ancient Capital of Costa plantation of Pacifica, the finest in the country, Rica, concerning which, the volcano that frowns in the midst of the perfume of 150,000 coffee- above it and the valleys that girdle it with bean- trees, and flower and fruit gardens surfeited with teousness and glory, another paper, the last of sweetness, and all the luxuries of a Farmin the this Holiday series, will appear next month. A LAY OF THE DANUBE. 1.THE WISSEJIRAD. PILGRIM of the imperial Danube, pause neath yonder height, Where a crumbling castle standeth draped in sunset-light, Like a hoary king, stout-hearted, who his throne doth fill, Though with age he tremble, totterclad in shining purple still! Climb those towers, and mark the river rolling calm and wide, Till the frowning mountain-giants dare defy his tide! Mark how he through flinty columns cuts a pathway free, Dashes rightward, leftward, forwardthrobbing, panting, toward the sea! On those banks the angry nations gathered them of old, Northern hordes and southern legions joined their battles bold, Till the dark cold waves were flowing red and warm with blood Hideous Hun and haughty Roman, how they choked the crimson flood! There, the sweet old rhymers tell us, Etzel held his court, When he made, at Chrimbilds suing, feast for high disport, Bidding fair her royal brothers from the distant Rhine Ab, ill-fated Nibelungen! wherefore did ye not divine That an injured, vengeful woman, though her message fell Loving as became a sister, could not mean you well! All in vain the pitying mermaids warned them hence to fly; There betrayed, the homelorn heroes died as heroes still should die! Neath the very towers thou scalest, now the spoil of fate, Once a noble Magyar monarch kept his kingly state, Great Corvinus, who Mohammeds flooding hosts could stem, He by Romes throned bishop counted worthiest Stephens diadem. There below, within the valley, lay his gallant men, Resting from their hard-earned triumphs oer the Saracen; And a strange wild tale is told us from that gray old time, Ever still of love and sorrowwouldst thou learn it, hear my rhyme! 11.THE MAGYAR MAID. Twas a day when autumn-hazes floated soft and still, Lighter than Titanias vesture, over sky and hill; And the sun, flushed as a lover, left the earth so fair, With his golden smiles of promise filling all the rosy air. On the fnrther bank a maiden stood at that sweet hour, Pouring oer the bleaching linen fast the needful sbower; Humbly born this duty proved her, yet if queen might wear On her brow such regal beauty, crown were never wanting there. Now upon the turf she resteth, by the night-wind fanned, Holding still the dripping pitcher with a careless hand, More like some immortal keeper of a fountain-head, Such as antique sculptures show us, than a simple mertal maid. A LAY OF THE DANUBE. Yet the fires of shifting passion burn in her dark eye, And her lip now smiles, now trembles, all too humanly; Toward the camp her face still turneth through that changeful cheer, And the anxious glance she sendeth now is longing, now is fear. So she leaned till twilight faded, and the moons broad beam, Slanting oer the hills, with silver bridged the quivering stream; Yet she leaned, all breathless watching, till a shadow ran, Swifter than the winged arrow, full across that shining span. Sudden oer those pallid features shot a passing glow, Faint as Borealis-flashes cast on Northern snow, Then a cold and stiffening tremor shook the lovely form, And her head fell like the lily neath the chariot of the storm. Noiseless as the downy-breasted swan might touch the hank Came a lightly-burdened shallop gainst the rushes dank; To her feet the maiden started as a soldier sprung From the bark, in warrior-mantle, and his arms about her flung! One bright smile of love, all trusting, on her lips there lay Like a sunbeam, then grew colder till it died away, And a cloud of doubt spread slowly oer her forehead wide, While beneath, from lids uplifted, shot the lightning-flash of pride. Nights thin curtain from the lover could not hide such change: Low he questioned, My beloved, wherefore art thou strange? Hath false friend or envious rival whispered cause of fear? By Saint Stephen, but the traitor shall aby his rashness dear! Silent, and as one who gathers strength for utmost need, For a moment stood the maiden, till her drooping head Rested meek upon his shoulderthen with rapid gest Back she threw the shrouding mantleand the monarch stood confessed! Swift as ever slid the wild bird from the fowlers hand, Through his clasping arms she glided, darted toward the strand, And ere he, abashed, bewildered, of her thought was ware, Deep beneath the rolling river plunged her shame and her despair! Headlong the remorseful lover follows down the wave, Catches at the floating raiment, but he can not save! For the hero, conscience-stricken, weakens to a child; On the bank once more he standeth, pale and anguish-wild! Well, oh king, thy heart might fail thee! never, from that night, Cold and mute a spectral shadow ceased to haunt thy sight! Blood of Paynim, tears repentant, all in vain they flowed! Still the dread, reproachful vision, unappeased, before thee stood! Even yet, the reapers tell us, may that maid be seen, When the tender autumn cometh, folding mists between; From the parting flood she rises ere the stars are bright, And her phantom-web outstret~hes far, to bleach beneath their light. Then a tall and helmed soldier draweth to her side, And the trembling shade doth speed her neath the wave to hide! When the lingering years, they tell us, to a thousand run, Only shall the lovers rest tiem from the long, long penance done! I C%3 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. RURAL PlOT IJRES. DRAWN BY PORTE CRAYON. Vivite contenti casulis at collibus istis, 0 pueri Marcus dicebat et Hernicus slim Vestinusque senex; panem quaramus aratro, Qoi satis est mensis: laudant hoc numina runs, Quorum ape at auxilis grat~ post munus aristn Contingunt homini veteris fastidia quercus. Nil vetitum fecisee valet, quem non pudet alto Per glaciem perone ~egi, qul susumovet Nuras Pellibus inversis. JUVENAL. A LETTER from the countryan invitation from my old friend, Colonel Manley. He wishes me to spend a month with him six monthsa year; in short, to take up my abode with him for life, if Ii could consent to so great a sacrifice. Sacrifice! He must be poking fun at me. Does he imagine it is a sacrifice to leave the city with the opening of spring? to miss the dawd- hugs at the club-house, the yawnings at the opera, the dinings out, the evening parties? Faugh! Has he forgotten that I am no longer a boy? Well, never mind that. The old Hall is roomy, I know, but not so large as the heart of its owner. I will accept the invitation as freely as it was given. I will be with him too, sooner than he has bargained for. I will start to-morrow. And I was as good as my word. The next morning I was in the cars sweeping westward toward the blue mountains of Virginia, my mind occupied with mingling thoughts of the past and future. At thirty-five a man has accom- plished half the journey of life, and begins to look back as frequently as he looks forward. I was thinking of mysclfwhat else has a bachelor to think of? Besides, the country I was about to visit was the land of my birthmy boyhoods home the theatre of youthful joys and follies. Under such circumstances it is quite natural that one s reflections should take an egotistical turn. At the very outset of life I was left to my own guidance with a fair education, a good constitu- tion, and a moderate competence. Since thea I have followed the devices and desires of my own heart ; or, to use a more accurate expression, of my own head. I gave myself to books and travel; coquetted with all the Muses; sometimes with a success that might have flattered another to more persevering effort. But it was contrary to my theory as well as my nature to devote my- self to a specielitsf, so that I have been content to pass in society for a very accomplished person LOCNSTON.

D. H. Strother Strother, D. H. Rural Pictures 166-180

I C%3 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. RURAL PlOT IJRES. DRAWN BY PORTE CRAYON. Vivite contenti casulis at collibus istis, 0 pueri Marcus dicebat et Hernicus slim Vestinusque senex; panem quaramus aratro, Qoi satis est mensis: laudant hoc numina runs, Quorum ape at auxilis grat~ post munus aristn Contingunt homini veteris fastidia quercus. Nil vetitum fecisee valet, quem non pudet alto Per glaciem perone ~egi, qul susumovet Nuras Pellibus inversis. JUVENAL. A LETTER from the countryan invitation from my old friend, Colonel Manley. He wishes me to spend a month with him six monthsa year; in short, to take up my abode with him for life, if Ii could consent to so great a sacrifice. Sacrifice! He must be poking fun at me. Does he imagine it is a sacrifice to leave the city with the opening of spring? to miss the dawd- hugs at the club-house, the yawnings at the opera, the dinings out, the evening parties? Faugh! Has he forgotten that I am no longer a boy? Well, never mind that. The old Hall is roomy, I know, but not so large as the heart of its owner. I will accept the invitation as freely as it was given. I will be with him too, sooner than he has bargained for. I will start to-morrow. And I was as good as my word. The next morning I was in the cars sweeping westward toward the blue mountains of Virginia, my mind occupied with mingling thoughts of the past and future. At thirty-five a man has accom- plished half the journey of life, and begins to look back as frequently as he looks forward. I was thinking of mysclfwhat else has a bachelor to think of? Besides, the country I was about to visit was the land of my birthmy boyhoods home the theatre of youthful joys and follies. Under such circumstances it is quite natural that one s reflections should take an egotistical turn. At the very outset of life I was left to my own guidance with a fair education, a good constitu- tion, and a moderate competence. Since thea I have followed the devices and desires of my own heart ; or, to use a more accurate expression, of my own head. I gave myself to books and travel; coquetted with all the Muses; sometimes with a success that might have flattered another to more persevering effort. But it was contrary to my theory as well as my nature to devote my- self to a specielitsf, so that I have been content to pass in society for a very accomplished person LOCNSTON. RURAL PICTURES. 167 without attempting to scratch my autograph upon the rolls of Fame. If I have never fob lowed any produefive business, I have eschewed extravagance, so that my estate is unimpaired. If I have devoted myself at times to social life, I have carefully avoided excess, so that my con- stitution is sound, and, when not too closely oc- cupied in literary pursuits, even robust. I have fixed my residence in a city, because one finds there ampler opportunity for the cultivation of elegant tastes, and, to be frank, a larger theatre for the display of accomplishment. I have shunned matrimonywhy, it is nobodys busi- ness to know; yet one whose daily walk leads him through two or three miles of dry-goods and fancy stores may well be prudent. I have sometimes flattered myself that I had mastered the art of living. Perhaps I have. When we feel satisfied that we have solved a problem, it possesses no further interest for us. This may account for the dull shadows of ennui that of late have so frequently darkened my sun- shinefor the gradual drying up of the springs of enjoyment within and around me. Within the last year, too, I have lost a front tooth, and the hair about my temples has b~gun to grizzle. Ah me! There may yet be something more in life than my experience has taught; and I have begun even to hope that there may be some flaw in my theory, for with the first mild breath of spring I have been yearning continually for the country, and dreaming of those pleasant days AT Ta naPuT. when the true and tender impulses of the heart withered not under the cold tyranny of Reason. Five hours of railway travel brought us to the mountains, and on landing from the train I had my luggage transferred immediately to the coach that was to carry me to the village of Hard- scrabblethe seat of justice and chief town of my native county. The team was slow, the roads rough, and the driver a loutish negro, as spirit- less as his horses. But as the distance was only eight miles, and I was the only passenger, I bore it all philosophically. About midway of our journey my Jehu turned the horses heads into a fence corner, and, without leaving his box, com- menced hallooing at a dilapidated barn that stood at a considerable distance from the road. Hav- ing used his voice to no purpose for some time, he concluded to get down and go over to the barn himself. After a while he came back, accom- panied by a hatless companion of his own race, who had, apparently, been just rousqd from his siesta in a straw-rick, as his eyes looked swelled and his wool well dredged with chaffi Each of these worthies was loaded with a dozen ears of corn, which were presently deposited under the noses of the horses. The four-legged brutes commenced munching their bait with an appe- tite, while the bipeds retired to a seat on the top rail of the next panel, lit their pipes, and dis- cussed the affairs of the neighborhood at their leisure. This performance lasted for an hour by the watch, when we again got under way, and in the course of thne hauled up in front of the village tavern and stage-office. Although I was still five miles from the place of my destination, I did not re- gret to learn that this was the terminus of the stage line. I knew the road to Rockston when I was a boy, had often walked it, and could do it again. So leaving my baggage at the tavern, I start- ed off, right glad of an opportunity to stretch my cramped legs. As I trudgedalong manyfamiliarsoenes met my eye, just as I had known them in boyhood. At some points I was bewil- dered with changes~: a forest cleared out, a thicket grown up, an alteration in the location of the road. Once I thought I had lost my way, but was soon reas- sured by the aPpearance of an nuwbite ~az uARN. 165 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. washed, untidy, weather-boarded building which I recognized as the country store, at the cross roads, not more than a mile from Cob- nel Manleys. A couple of sleepy horses at the venerable rack, half a dozen coatless loafers ~on the dry-goods boxes at the door, in- dicated the character of the place without a sign-board. Notwithstanding my vivacity at the outset I had begun to feel leg weary, and was glad of an apology to rest. A mingled odor of dry goods and groceries saluted my nose on entering; near the stove that of whisky and tobacco pre- dominated. The civil clerk of- fered a seat, and then turned to wait on a rustic customer, whom he adroitly plied with induce- meats to purchase certain ten-cent calicoes of lively patterns. Fifteen yards ? says old Homespun, thoughtfully. It takes a sight of truck to reach round wimmen nowadays. But think of the price! Only ten cents for such goods as this! Less than cost, I assure you. A dollar fifty, said Home- spun, soliloquizing. Whats a dollar fifty to spend on such a wife as you have got ? Shes a middlin solid chunk of a woman, replied the farmer; gits stouter every year. Just look at these colors. Itll fade. If you stand as long as these colors youll be a richman, Ill warrant that. Wheat is ninety cents. Ill think of it. Better let me put it up for you now. Sev- eral of the neighbors want it. Mrs. Colonel Manley admired it very muchwants to get it for her daughter. Well, said Homespun, drawing out his leather purse and then putting it back, I reckon Ill take jist a sample of it, to see if the old wo- man likes it, and then she can try if itll wash. The clerk tears off a sample, treats his cus- tomer to a drink of whisky, throws his jug-laden saddle-bags across his horse, and wishes him a good evening. If the daily exercise of tact, self-control under the most trying circumstances, universal polite- ness and good-humor, is calculated to improve the manners, surely a country store is the best school in the world for a young man. Attracted by the click of the glasses, a fellow who had been dawdling about the door ap- proached the counter. His physique resembled that of a dog that had been drowned for a week. Well, Squirms is lected, said he, address- ing himself in a general way to the clerk, my- self, and the bottle, with the apparent hope that tone of us would respond. We had hard work, he continued, but the Dimocracy has carried every thingWigs and Know-nothins haint got no show now.~~ As there was no reply the swelled dog reluc- tantly walked away. I turned to the clerk. Your friend seems to take a deep interest in public affairs.~~ He is excusable, replied the clerk, since he has no business of his own to attend to. Last fall he was sold out by the sheriff; his wife and children are on the county. A week ago he was tried for trading with negroes, and only discharged for want of legal evidence. But hes one of our leading men in primary meetings, nominating conventions, etc. Perhaps youll drink something, Sir ? I thought I would relish a glass of toddymy legs felt a little stiff. The pleasant gurgle of the liquid from the bottle caught the attentive ear of the statesman, and he again approached. Whats youridee of the chances for the next Presidency ? This, addressed directly to myself, was a poser. To acknowledge that I had no idee whatever on the subject might have lowered me in the esteem COUNTRY 5TOEE. RURAL PICTURES. 169 of the questioner. I therefore put my finger solemnly on the side of my nose, elevated my eyebrows, winked, and nodded toward the bottle, Drink something ? This solution of the momentous ques- tion appeared to be satisfactory in the highest degree. The face of the patriot burned with a lurid joy as he filled his tumbler to the brim. Heres luck! and in a twinkling the whisky was not. He made a sham motion toward the water pitcher, which resulted in nothing. Then leaning over as near as he could get to me he said, in an emphatic whisper, The South is in dangerlook out for squalls you mind me. I replied by a look of astonishment bor- dering on terror. Theyre a-scheming and a-conniving to rob us of our property, he went on with increasing emphasis. But never mind. (Here his voice grew familiar, and he made several efforts to put his arm around me, which movements I delicate- lyeluded.) But, he continued, smack- ing his lips and screwing his features into an expression of ineffable diplomacy, never mind, wait till we git Cuby, then itll be all right. It was near sunset when I got to Rocks- ton. The old house with its queer hipped roof and outside chimneys, drawn in sharp outline on the glowing west, presented a picture of unmistakable respectability which the most elaborate modern cottage or costly villa strives in vain to emulate. The very dilapidation visible in its out-buildings and surroundings was more suggestive of easy, self-satisfied consequence than want of thrift or taste; while the sleek and elegant forms of the thorough-bred stock in the barn-yard, the shining faces of the negroes about the quarter, the tall grove that surrounded the dwelling, the huge pear-tree bending under its load of luscious winter fruitagea flock of roosting turkeysall characterized the abode of old-fashioned abund- ance and hospitality. I stood leaning against the gate-post enjoying this scene until the red in the West gave place to the sheen of firelight through the windows of the old mansion. This reminded me that the evening air was frosty, and as the excitement of my walk had worn off I was chilled to the hone. There was a warm hearth within, however, and a warmer welcome. The Colonel and his wife met me at the door, and there was a bsoad and genial sincerity in their greeting which took possession of the heart, as it were, by a coup-de-mainthrowing into the shade the more pretentious and studied courtliness of cities. I was warmed before I approached the fire xvzxxxe. TuE POLITIcIAN. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. at home ere I was seated. The table stood ready set out in the middle of the room; but a sudden movement of the smiling mistress arrest- ed the servant who was bringing in tea: as she bustled ont with jingling keys I easily foresaw that some extra dishes were to be ordered. The wide hearth glowed with hickory coals, yet fresh logs must be heaped on, and fresh chips to ex- pedite the blaze, until the very walls trembled with the roaring fire. For one moderate, mid- dle-sized individual this seemed superlative. There was comfort and supper enough for twenty. The Colonel was fond of politics and moral philosophy. lie was stuffed full of talk, having his whole winters reading undigested, and he evidently hailed me as an object whereon he might wreak him- self. I, reckless of sanitary rules and dietetics, took double venge- ance on the hot batter-cakes and stewed chicken. (Mrs. NI. can, by a culinary process known to her- self, make an old hen as tender as a spring pullet.) Thin~s are getting into a devil of a condition, said the Colonel, throwing himself hack in his chair with the air of a man who has ut- tered an incontrovertible truth. Whats the matter ? replied I, buttering four more hot ones. Whats the matter! why, look at the country, Sir; look at the gov- ernment; look at every thing. Things look very well about here, I answered. Another l)reast of chicken thank you, madam. He continued, I begin to fear our whole system is based upon a fallacy. In the general mankind is I heg leave to differ with you, said I, mankind is cot. The Colonel looked puzzled for a moment; then smiled, and said, I perceiye you dont take much interest in politics. I detected a shade of disap- pointment in his face as he said it. Pardon my levity, Colonel; but good cheer and the sight of old friends have gladdened my heart, and have incapacitated me from taking a grave view of af- fairs, either public, or private. I must acknowledge, however, that of late years I have troubled my- self very little about the govern- ment, believiub that, in ordinary times, that citizen best serves the State who manages his own busi- ness best. Suppose George Washington had held such an opinion ? Ah! those were not ordinary times. When the Union cracks open, for example, and another Quintus Curtius is wanted, just let them call on me. That savors too much of ambition. The true patriot serves his country, oftentimes, even without the hope of glory or reward. Then I certainly met one back here at the cross-roads this evening a fellow that looked like a boiled dog. The Colonel reddened. That worthless TILE PET. BLOWING THE FICE. RURAL PICTURES. 171 scoi~indrel is the person we suspect of stealing Mrs. Manleys turkeys last Christmas. I suspect, said the good dame, that Mr. Berkeley is tired after his long journey, and would like to go to bed. The suggestion chimed in with my feelings precisely; and ere long I had snuffed out my tallow dip and rolled into a high feather-bed with a delicious sense of weariness that I had not enjoyed for years. Dreams, call in the morning. Days of my youth, I will remem- ber you to-morrow. For the pres- ent, good-night! My awakening was greeted with pleasing and familL r sights and sounds. The sun, like a hidden archer, was shooting his levelbeams from behind a pointed hill, glan- cing through the leafless tree-tops; reddening the distant summits, while the shadowed meadows were lightly vailed with a blue trans- parent mist. The whole planta- tion was astir, and I lost no time in getting out to see the fun. The turkeys had come down from their roost, while two rival cocks were strutting and gobblingemulous in puffing and absurdityremind- ing one for all the world of a cou- ple of oratorical demagogues be- fore the people. As in company with some thirty or forty feathered bipeds I stood admiring this droll exhibition, I observed a negroling, accompanied by a brace of dogs, edging up to- ward me, his countenance eviden- cing a mixture of shyness and curiosity. By a sudden movement I cornered him between the porch and the house. Finding there was no escape, he stood for a moment in amazed uncertainty, then mustered pluck to in- quire his fate. You gwine to cut my head off, Sir ? I assured him that I had no such intention at this time. his face shone with satisfaction; and feeling secure of his own safety, he under- took to inform me of the worthy character of his companions. Dese is good dogs, Sir; dey dont suck aigs. I was much gratified to hear it, but intimated that one of them had a bad countenance. Dats Cnsar, Sir. lie did used to suck em, but dey done burnt his mouf wid a hot aig, and he dont do it no more. Upon this I promised that the dogs might go unhanged as long as they behaved themselves, and the party then ran away shouting and yelp- ing for very joy. The delicious freshness of the air induced me to continue my walk toward a large pasture field beyond the barn, where, gath- ered upon a rocky knoll, I observed a fine flock of ewes with their new-born lambs. Although no sentimentalist, I could not but pause to ad- mire this gentle family. To the political econo- MOBNII5G. nw-TIM. 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mist a sight of the South Downs, in their unshorn comeliness, might have suggested good mutton and woolen factories. To the speculative phi- lanthropist, the model of a community opposed to warof a society based on innocence and love. Alas for seraphic philanthropy, and the pret- ty gamboling lambkinsto a certainty you will all be shorn and roasted in the end! I found more entertainment in considering the subject artisticallyin the picturesque beau- ty of the attitudes and groupings; or physiog- nomicallyin thevaried expressions of the sheep- ish faces, ranging from poetic meekness and in- nocence, through every intermediate phase, to the most ludicrous silliness. It is a vulgar er- ror to suppose that one sheeps head is like an- other, yet it is an error into which many of our celebrated animal painters have fallen. In ex- pending their skill upon the anatomy, drawing attitudes, the peculiar texture of the covering of hair, wool, or feathers, they have done much that is essential; but not all, if they have in so doing neglected the individual and character- istic expression of the animals face. To the accurate observer there is nothing mysterious in the readiness with which a lamb recognizes its mother; nor does he find it difficult to believe that the Laplander, who has more rein-deer than be can count, will yet immediately d~tect the 0 a S RURAL PICTURES. 173 absence of one familiar face from the herd. Give a man a microscope, and a motive, and I be- lieve he could seat himself by an ant-hill, and in the conrse of time make the personal acquaint- ance of every individual in the community. A sudden movement among my sheep caused me to turn; and the world thereby lost a lec- ture on bestial physiognomies. At my elbow stood the cause of the disturb- ance the negro whelp and his dogs. I felt vexed at the interruption, and ordered him off. Instead of obeying, he began another eulogy on the character of his playmates, earnestly setting forth their spotless innocence in regard to sheep- killing, and extolling their prowess against eats, pigs, and ground-squirrels. When he had talk- ed himself into a hard knot, I repeated the or- der with a menacing look and gesture. iDeres a sick lamb, quoth he, whats gwine to die. True enough, there stood a ewe with rueful face and distendedndders beside its helpless weak- ling. It was curious to observe the simple arts of the poor creature to attract the lambs atten- tion to its natural food. In vain she bleated and gently pushed it with her foot. Natures first instinct was wanting or dormant, and the little one refused to take hold. I called the at- tention of one of the farm hands to her case. He immediately took her, relieved her swelled teats of their superabundance; and then open- ing the lambs month with his finger, filled it with the fragrant milk. The little creature swal- lowed again and again, and at length revived sufficiently to make a successful effort to help himself. In a few minutes he got upon his legs, and trotted after his joyful mother to rejoin the flock. The jingling of a bell at the mansion an- nounced breakfast, and a cheerful hour in the BIAS. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. frosty air had made the sound a most welcome one. After breakfast the Colonel formally intro- duced me to Bias, his swarthy senesehal, and put the house and estate at my disposal. There was a saddle horse for my especial service; a buggy for a drive; a fowling-piece to shoot black- birds (no other game being in season); and, final- ly, the library, with nothing in it of a later date than Scotts novels, if we except agricultural periodicals and newspapers. Then for the programme of the day. The Colonel was a man of business. Although he kept an overseer he was in person chief manager of the estate. He took breakfast at seven, dined at one, supped at seven r.~s., and went to bed at eight, except when he had company. In addi- tion to his private affairs, he held public offices of trust and dignity that occupied his time. He was a Justice of the Peace and President of the Agricultural Society. To-day he had business on the farm and in town. They were planting corn, and it was law day. Would I ride with him? Remember at Rockston you are in Lib- erty Hall ? I respectfully declined the ride, the buggy, the gun, the library. In short, I determined to pass the day according to a fancy of my own. It should be a day of strolling idleness among scenes that had been familiar in boyhood. I set out, therefore, with a sketch-book in one pocket and a volume of Thomsons Seasons in the other, useful to balance the skirts of my coat. Having fetched a compass, avoiding the barn-yard, I crossed an open field, and entered & romantic forest much broken with ledges of limestone rock and briery thickets. here, in a secluded nook, I seated myself, and gave memory the reins. Vaguely and reluctantly at first the shadows came forth from the great cemetery of the Past, until called and quickened by some fa- miliar sight or sound. The form and color of the ferns and lichens about the rocksthe tap- ping of the woodpecker on the hollow trunk the bark of the squirrelthe very smell of the dried leaves, had its associations. Soon by-gone scenes, time-dimmed and distant, were seen life- like and near, while faces of the dead and for- gotten crowded around me warm with the smiles of by-gone love and friendship. TWIN LAMBS. RURAL PICTURES. 175 Gihian is dead, God rest her bier; how I loved her twenty years eyne! Marion is marriedwhile 1 sit here Alone and merry. Merry ! no, not merry, Mr. Thackeray. Confound those worthless dogs! And yon here again, you imp of Satan! How dare you follow me around in this way? Master, cried the imp, stammering and trembling, I seed you gwine to do woods, and I thought you gwine to hunt ground-squirrels, and I fotch do dogs. Away with you, pestiferous varlet ! cried I, whipping out my penknife and rushing at him. Ill cut you into forty thousand gib- lets The imp fled through the hushes like a rab- bit with the dogs after him. I followed, shout- ing, threatening, and pelting them with stones, until they disappeared over the brow of a hill in the direction of the house. Resuming my walk, I passed through the wood, and on its further border paused to note a group of hen-houses prettily located among the trees. I was the more pleased to perceive that the ten- ants of these rustic dwellings were of the old- fashioned breeds; that the lord of the hamlet had the chivalric bearing and elegant form of the game cock. How his crimson coronet and brilliant plumage recalled the joy and pride of my boyhood! What dauntless courage in his clear eye! what proud defiance in Ills clarion notes! yet with. what knightly courtesy He chncketh when he hathe a corn y-fonnd! The very type of thc ancient gentleman vrhose decadence poets profess to lament, yet which all join to expedite. How much the displacing of this noble bird from his rightful and accustom- ed walks, and his substitution by that nagainly mass of cowardice, greediness, and feathers, the Shanghai, may have had to do with the deteri- oration of society, I will not venture to suppose. But when we remember the men of light and leading who once trod the walks of our Repub- lic, and then consider those who occupy their places, one may be excused for lookinb into the poultry-yard and speculating on the different breeds of chickens. While I was pondering on these things a ne- gro woman, somewhat advanced in years, ap- proached, and saluting me politely went on to look into the hen-houses, opening and shutting the doors and moving the water-pans in a man- ner that convinced me she had come rather upon a errand of curiosity than of business. Indeed I was not sure but that the sight of a stranger loitering about the chicken-yard might have ex- cited some uneasiness in her mind, and, to dis- pel any possible suspicion, I called her to me and questioned her in regard to the modes of raising fowls, the proprietor of the great house that stood near, the estate she belonged to, etc., upon all which subjects her answers were re- speetful but curt. But when I told her my name her quiet manner was changed instantly to one of excited and voluble pleasure. Why, Mass Berkeley, is this you? Laus a-mercy, Sir, Ise Harrys wifeyou members HarryI must run and tell him. And she did run. It was now my turn to be surprised. How does this woman know me? Who is Harry? Whence this flattering wel- come? She possibly mistakes me for another, yet she seems familiar with my name! While I stood thus puzzling my brain the good woman returned with her man, a stout ne- gro with bald forehead and grizzled hair, appar- ently about sixty years of age. As I looked up he exclaimed, Lord be praised, Mass Berkeley. It is you, THE HEN-HOUSE. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sure enough. I didnt believe Melindy. And the good old soul saluted me as if he were a Ro- man bowing before a patron saint. Ab! tbat face shining with gratitudethat voice husky with emotionmade all clear in a moment. I remembered Harry and the circumstances of our first acquaintance. How long has it been, Harry? Four-and-twenty years, Master. I have tooken account of it year by year. Four-and-twenty years! Can it be possible? So we went to their cabin, where presently a doz- en or more children and grandchildren dropped in by twos and threes. These, as they were suc- cessively presented, made obeisance and retreat- ed into nooks and corners, where, with stretched eyes and hanging lips, they stared at me rever- entially, as though I were a tutelary divinity. Twenty-four years ago, I repeated, mental- ly. Since that time how many loves have grown coldhow many friendships perished how many pearls cast before swinehow many hundreds of dollars worse than wastedyet in the ruder soil of this faithful heart my childish hand had planted the seed of gratitude, which, like Jack the Giant-killers bean, grew and grew and grew, until the plant seemed out of all pro- portion to the root from whence it sprung, or to the earth that sustained it. On a cold drizzling morning, twenty-four years ago last Christmas, I was making my waythrough the village of Hardscrabble with a light heart and a Christmas quarter in my pocket, mentally re- joicing in the number of cakes, marbles, and fire- crackers that would presently come into my pos- session. As I passed the county jail I was ar- rested by the sound of a melancholy and not un- musical voice singing a Methodist hymn; and on looking up I saw the face of a negro man at the window peering wistfully through the heavy grating as he sung. When I stopped the music ceased, and the prisoner gave me a cheerful greeting. Merry Christmas! youn~ aster. THz GRANDCHILD. RURAL PICTURES. 177 The same to you, uncle. You seem to be having a good time, though you are locked up. I sings, master, cause Ise so lonesome. Now I thought of all the merry-makings that were going on in the neighborhoodthe fiddling, dancing, fat turkeys, and good things that were in store for white and black; and then I looked at the cold gray stone walls, and the deep in- terior gloom behind the grim grated windows, and thought the poor soul might well feel lone- some. Well, uncle, its best to keep up your spirits any way, and Im sure youll soon be out. But maybe you can play the fiddle, or can read, to pass away the time. I could get you a book, or borrow Nace Colemans fiddle for you. Bless your good little heart, young master, I cant play on nothing, and have no larnin of any kind. I can only sing two tunes I lamed at camp-meeting, and whistle two or three jigs. The most I longs for is a pipe and some tobaccy. I was thrilled with a sudden joy, and hurry- ing as fast as I could walk to the store, I invest- ed my quarter in a pipe and tobacco. Return- ing to the jail immediately, I hallooed to recall my new acquaintance to the window, from which he had retired. VOL. XX.No. 116.M Heres your pipe and tobacco, said I, hold- ing up the package. For me! young master? exclaimed the ne- gro, with grateful surprise. Why, God bless the boy, has he spent his Christmas-money for the poor nigger ? I can get more if I want it, replied I, stur- dily, although I was not so sure of it. I tied the bundle to my little cane, and passed it up to the dusky hand that was stretched out to receive it, then hurried away in confusion to es- cape the thanks and blessings that were showered down from the prisoners window. For many days after I passed and repassed the jail on my way to and from school, never failing to exchange greetings with my grateful prot~g~, who always signaled my appearance by puffing a great cloud of smoke through the bars, to let me see that my present was well enjoyed. I do not remember that I ever iuquired the cause of his imprisonment, or learned why he was re- leased. Missing him from his accustomed place, I took it for granted that he had gone back to his people, and in a few weeks the whole affair had faded from my active memory. Not so with Harry. In the following month of June I was agreeably surprised by a visit from him with a remembrance in the shape of a pair of young squirrels. So it continued, season aft- er season, and year after year. Sometimes it was a dozen apples, a hatful of nuts, a superb water-melon, a brace of partridgesin short, any thing and every thing that his simplicity sug- gested, and that his humble means could com- mand. At length it seemed to me these grateful re- turns had so far exceeded the original obligation thut, on receiving my accustomed present one day, I insisted on his acceptance of some remu- neration. His look of wounded sensibility told me of my error before he spoke. Young master, I did not think you was a gwine to treat me so. You is gettin proud now, since you growin up to be sich a proper young man. I protested against being thought proud, yield- ed my point, and peace was made. The years of study and of travel, of calm thought and stirring adventure, that had passed since then had so nearly obliterated these little incidents from my memory that I recalled them with some difficulty; while in the monotonous and uneventful life of the negro the time when Mass Berkeley spent his Christmas-money to get him pipe and tobacco still loomed up as a prom- inent landmark. Before taking leave, I was anxious to mark this visit by some especial compliment and grat- ification to my ancient friend. It was high noon. The mornings stroll had sharpened my appetite. I had remarked on the hearth a suspicious-look- ing heap of cinders, to which Madam Harry had occasionally paid some attention. Harry, said I, I have not tasted ash-cake and buttermilk for twenty years. I-larry snickered outright. Why, master, THE PEISOEEE. 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ef there is any thing Melinda cant he beat it its ash-cake. The pleased alacrity with which the lunch was served showed that I had hit the nail on the head. I did not fail to point the compliment by doing the ash-cake justice, and then resumed my walk, feeling fresher in mind and body than I had done for many a day. Through field and forest, glade and thicket, I rambled on dreamily, unconscious of the passage of time, until at length I was aroused from my reveries by the sound of a horses hoofs rapidly approaching. I was in the midst of a dense wood, near a private road, which was apparently but little used. The sun was declining in the ~vest. The dinner-hour was long past. My en- tertainers would be vexed. But I had no time to dwell on the subject, for the next moment a spirited black horse dashed by at full gallop. The rider was an uncommonly pretty young girlat least so she appeared to me, as I caught a glimpse of her face beneath the plumed riding- hat. She rode with the grace and confidence of an accomplished horsewoman; her figure, seen to advantage in the close-fitting habit, was strik- ingly elegant; while a profusion of flaxen ring- lets fell upon her shoulders and floated in the breeze. This much I noted during the fifteen seconds she was in sight. The adventure was decidedly emotional, driving the sheep and all the other rnral pictures out of my head. Oh! the vanity of getting wisdom, and the absurdity of consort- ing with owlish Professors, if a man of my age is liable to be thus flustered at the sight of a coun- try lass riding through the woods! She rides wellbut let her go; she looks as if she were fully able to take care of herself. What is she to me? By-the-way, what an admirable sight a fine horse is, especially when excited and moving rapidly! Ah! here comes a woodman with an axe on his shoulder; and, as I live, another old acquaintance.! Hallo, Gabriel ! Sarvnt, master I said Gabriel, lifting his hat. Gabriel, what young ladysvas that who rode by just now? Didnt see her, Sir. I jest been choppin a little wood up here on de hill, and as its nigh sundown Im a gwine home to supper. Look at me, Gabriel: do you know who I am? / Gabriel did as he was ordered; but presently shook his head. Please God, master, your face looks kiuda like somebody I knowed, but I cant member zaetly wha to place you. Dont you remember Robert Berkeley? Dont tell me dis is Mass Robert Berkeley! cried Gabriel, with a grin. The very same, I answered, while fumbling in my pocket for a quarter. Why, master, I never would have knowed you; you begins to look middlin old. The devil I do ! I replied, withdrawing my hand and buttoning up my pocket. As I started up the road I turned and hal- looed, Gabriel, do you remember the time Col- onel Manley caught you in his hen-house ? Go long, Mass Robert! Whod a thought you member dem foolish stories. Look middlin old, do I? you anointed old chicken thief! As the sun was nearing the horizon I quick- ened my pace, and in the course of half an hour the chimneys of Rockston were visible, gilded by the rays of the setting sun. Passing by the quarter I was startled by an outbreak of unearthly yells, accompanied by vo- ciferous scolding, sounding thwacks, barking of dogs, and loud guffaws of Ethiopian laughter; a mingled din, that startled the turkeys on their roost. A single glance sufficed to elucidate the whole matter. A half-drowned kitten escaping from the wash-tub; a stout matron, with the whelps head under her arm, administering the condign with a heavy hand; attendant negroes and dogs laughing and barking their respective sentiments of approbation or disapproval of the proceeding. One deeply versed in the mysteries of the hu- man heart says that men, in spite of a Christian MI seHIaF. riiz coarueN. RURAL PICTURES. 179 education, are very prone to feel a secret satisfac- tion in the misfortunes of others. I regret that candor obliges me to plead guilty to the charge in this instance. I left my youthful friend and follower to the tender mercies of the oppressor, and made my way quietly to the mansion. As I entered the Hall, with the consciousness that my days tramp was concluded, a sense of fatigne took complete possession of me. The parlor-door stood ajar, the room was untenant- cd, and the twilight glow of a sunken hickory- fire diffused an air of comfort through it that was irresistihle. I entered; and throwing my- self upon an inviting lounge, was soon in full en- joyment of the most delightful of sentimental luxuriesthe dreams of evening twilight. Pleasantly I reviewed the events of the day, with alternate smiles and soberness, following up their connections with the olden times; but most of all the fair lady of the forest haunted my thoughts with her weird beauty and dashing horsemanship. Now this unwonted freak of fancy puzzled me, for I had never been a recluse from society, and many a year had passed since the casual view of a pretty face could disturb the regularity of my pulse; whence, then, this vague and dreamy interest in a stran,~er, seen hut for a moment, like a shooting star? Yet in that moment some rusted chord was struck, the sound whereof my dull ear has not caught; some gen- tle memory disturbed, not yet awakened quite to consciousness. Ab, faithless heart ! was it not Ellen Manley she was like? That sweet laughter-loving face, those sunny curls, that form of grace. I have the secret now! Strange that I should have hesitated. Just so she looked when I rode beside her through these same groves, walked with her in these sunny lanes, worshiped her in this old Hall, and onceonce onlyon her red lips pressed the sweet seal of love ye gods and goddesses, I believe it was on this very sofa! But time, and books, and travel, and society; the world, with its reasonings, and theories, and babblings! Has such trash then so nearly oblit- erated the golden dreams of my youth? Ah! sweet Ellen, had pride been less obdurate, or love more steadfast, a different life might have been yours and mine! Ellen and myself were near the same age. When we were about sixteen we loved each oth- er dearly, and were engaged. I sent her bou- quets, wrote verses in her album, and gave her a gold ring with our names engraved on the in- side; and she knitted me a purse of blue silk, and gave me one of her silken tresses tied with a blue ribbon. And when we got to this point, as a matter of course we quarreled. She return- ed my ring, which I pounded into little bits, and sent back to her; she threw them in the fire, and sent me a small paper of ashes, which I was given to understand was the remains of the ring. In a towering fury I took the flaxen tress with the blue love-knot her fairy band had tied, and having frizzled it on a shovel, sent it to her reeking. Back came the tattered leaf from her album, with my tender verses interlined with a ludicrous parody. Who ever had the last word in a quarrel with a woman? I gave it up, and got drunk. In a short time my guardian, fear- ing that I was getting into bad habits, sent me away to college. Ellen went to Washington, caught a handsome beau, a captain in the army, who married her and took her to a post on the Western frontier. I have never seen her since. I hear that she is a happy wife and mother may Heaven bless her !and that her Captain is now a Colonelmay he soon become a Gen- eral for her sake! She was not my first love, by half a dozen at least; nor my last, by a score. Yet now as I recall her she was the sweetest of them all so beautiful, so enthusiastic, so art- less, so sincere. Ah! could those days but come again, and I had the choosing, how gladly would I turn my back on the great world, with its gilded allurements, and seek the better part a life-long companionship with a loving heart like hers! In dreams they say that Reason sleeps, while Fancy, ever watchful to escape her cruel mistress, slips her fetters, spreads her tri- umphant wings, and bears us, unresisting, where she lists. Lightsvoices! I started up in confusion. Good Heaven! is this a vision? My early love come back? Ellen Manley! A burst of laugh- ter was the response my exclamation elicited. The Colonel stepped forward. Youve had a good nap after your walk, Mr. Berkeley. This is lay daughter Alice, the youn- gest-born of our houseour baby, as we still call her. She was an infant when you left us. Mr. Berkeley, exclaimed the old lady, I fear you missed your dinner to-day. To be sure we had but little to tempt you: vegetables are so scarce at this season. Mrs. Manley, quoth the Colonel, Ill THE PECOF OF TEE PUnnfl~O, ETC. j~I 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. guarantee that Bob Berkeley never sat down to Tobacco, this precious stinke, as his yin- a finer dinner than you had to-day. Such a dictive majesty, King James, called it in his ham, such a turkey, such a pudding! Counterbiast, first became known to Europe- Mrs. Manley modestly confessed that the pud- ans shortly after the discovery of the American ding was a success, and remarked that she had Continent. All its present popular uses were put away a piece of it for me. known to the natives of North and South Amer- Cold pudding for supper I cried the Col- ica probably ages before Columbus was born, or onel. Sir Walter Raleigh smoked his silver pipe as he By no means, replied the lady, with spirit, sat to see his friend Essex put to deatb. When I had it kept warm, and the turkey too. If the Spaniards lauded in Paraguay, in 1503, the the gentleman has missed his dinner, it will natives came forth to oppose them, beating probably not be amiss at supper. drums, throwing water, and ckewiag tobacco aud I must have appeared very silly meanwhile; spirtiog the juice from their mouths upon the in- for instead of taking part in the conversation, I vadersthe last a means of offense and defense only rubbed my eyes and stared at the lovely which must have painfully surprised the Span- vision. ish, if the Indians had at all acquired the skill The frolicsome curls were tucked up daintily, of aim which is said to have been attained with- and the riding-habit exchanged for a simple in this century by some of our Western friends. gown of black silk. Dimpled smiles played Columbus, on his second voyage, noticed that amidst the roses in her cheeks as she spoke. the natives of Tobago reduced their leaf to a I think I passed you in the wood this even- powder, which they take through a cane half ing, Sir ? a cubit long, one end of which they place in the Ellen I stammered. Pardon me nose, and the other upon the powder, and so MissMiss draw it up, which purges them very much. Alice, she suggested, with a pretty blush. And Oviedo speaks of smolciaq to- __ Mrs. Manley spoke up: bacco as one of the evil customs ~ Mr. Berkeley forgets that his old flame, El- of the Hispaniolans of that day len, is a fine motherly woman of thirty-five, with very pernicious, and used to pro a son who expects to go to West Point next year. duce insensibility. They set fir This was the bucket of water that brought me to the dried leaves, placed upon th to my senses. We laughed, and went in to sup- ground, and inhaled the smoke per. I then related the adventures of the day, through a hollow forked stick, of not forgetting a description of my dinner, which which the forks were placed in th caused a deal of merriment, nostrils, and the other end held TILE FIRST Ah !said the Colonel, if you are fond of over the burning mass. Thus the PIPE. rambling over the country, either on foot or on smoke was drawn into the lungs, and it is not horseback, this young lady will be your compan- surprising that, as Oviedo says, they pres- ion. It is her delight. ently became stupefied. But our old friend, Mrs. Manley took this opportunity to express Salvation Yeo, as also Mr. Lionel Wafer, sur- a hope that her daughter would lay aside certain geon to Dampier, gives another account, accord- wild, rustic ways she had acquired, and deport ing to which the Indians, when they will de- herself with a dignity and gravity befitting the liberate upon war or policy, sit round in the hut occasion and company. of the chief; where being placed, enter to them Bless the good lady! does she think I am a a small boy with a cigarro of the bigness of a bughear to frighten the girls? Ill take good rolling-pin, and puffs the smoke thereof into the care that Miss Alice shall not find my society a face of each warrior, from the eldest to the youn- restralut. gest; while they, putting their hands funnel-wise We are to ride to-morrow morning, round their mouths, draw into the sinuosities of Good-night, and pleasant dreams! the brain that more than IDelphic vapor of proph- ecy; which boy presently falls down in a swoon, A PIPE OF TOBACCO. and being dragged out by the heels and laid by to sober, enter another to puff at the sacred ci IXTHEN all things were made, none was garro, till he is dragged out likewise; and so on ~~made better than this, said that stout till the tobacco is finished, and the seed of wis- old seaman, Salvation Yeo, handing a roll of dom has sprouted in every soul into the tree of brown leaf to the good knight Sir Amyas Leigh, meditation, bearing the flowers of eloquence, and to be a lone mans companion, a bachelors in due time the fruit of valiant action. Even friend, a hungry mans food, a sad mans cordial, pipes were known to the Brazilians; and of the a wakeful mans sleep, and a chilly mans fire, Mexicans it is related by the chaplain of Cort~z Sir; while for stanching of wounds, purging of that King Montezuma had his pipe brought to rheum, and settling of the stomach, theres no herb like unto it under the canopy of heaven. To the truth of which catalogue of good qualities many ~ a mariner of the present day would, with out hesitation, make oath. THE HISPANIOLIAN ci AEEO.

Pipe Of Tobacco 180-186

180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. guarantee that Bob Berkeley never sat down to Tobacco, this precious stinke, as his yin- a finer dinner than you had to-day. Such a dictive majesty, King James, called it in his ham, such a turkey, such a pudding! Counterbiast, first became known to Europe- Mrs. Manley modestly confessed that the pud- ans shortly after the discovery of the American ding was a success, and remarked that she had Continent. All its present popular uses were put away a piece of it for me. known to the natives of North and South Amer- Cold pudding for supper I cried the Col- ica probably ages before Columbus was born, or onel. Sir Walter Raleigh smoked his silver pipe as he By no means, replied the lady, with spirit, sat to see his friend Essex put to deatb. When I had it kept warm, and the turkey too. If the Spaniards lauded in Paraguay, in 1503, the the gentleman has missed his dinner, it will natives came forth to oppose them, beating probably not be amiss at supper. drums, throwing water, and ckewiag tobacco aud I must have appeared very silly meanwhile; spirtiog the juice from their mouths upon the in- for instead of taking part in the conversation, I vadersthe last a means of offense and defense only rubbed my eyes and stared at the lovely which must have painfully surprised the Span- vision. ish, if the Indians had at all acquired the skill The frolicsome curls were tucked up daintily, of aim which is said to have been attained with- and the riding-habit exchanged for a simple in this century by some of our Western friends. gown of black silk. Dimpled smiles played Columbus, on his second voyage, noticed that amidst the roses in her cheeks as she spoke. the natives of Tobago reduced their leaf to a I think I passed you in the wood this even- powder, which they take through a cane half ing, Sir ? a cubit long, one end of which they place in the Ellen I stammered. Pardon me nose, and the other upon the powder, and so MissMiss draw it up, which purges them very much. Alice, she suggested, with a pretty blush. And Oviedo speaks of smolciaq to- __ Mrs. Manley spoke up: bacco as one of the evil customs ~ Mr. Berkeley forgets that his old flame, El- of the Hispaniolans of that day len, is a fine motherly woman of thirty-five, with very pernicious, and used to pro a son who expects to go to West Point next year. duce insensibility. They set fir This was the bucket of water that brought me to the dried leaves, placed upon th to my senses. We laughed, and went in to sup- ground, and inhaled the smoke per. I then related the adventures of the day, through a hollow forked stick, of not forgetting a description of my dinner, which which the forks were placed in th caused a deal of merriment, nostrils, and the other end held TILE FIRST Ah !said the Colonel, if you are fond of over the burning mass. Thus the PIPE. rambling over the country, either on foot or on smoke was drawn into the lungs, and it is not horseback, this young lady will be your compan- surprising that, as Oviedo says, they pres- ion. It is her delight. ently became stupefied. But our old friend, Mrs. Manley took this opportunity to express Salvation Yeo, as also Mr. Lionel Wafer, sur- a hope that her daughter would lay aside certain geon to Dampier, gives another account, accord- wild, rustic ways she had acquired, and deport ing to which the Indians, when they will de- herself with a dignity and gravity befitting the liberate upon war or policy, sit round in the hut occasion and company. of the chief; where being placed, enter to them Bless the good lady! does she think I am a a small boy with a cigarro of the bigness of a bughear to frighten the girls? Ill take good rolling-pin, and puffs the smoke thereof into the care that Miss Alice shall not find my society a face of each warrior, from the eldest to the youn- restralut. gest; while they, putting their hands funnel-wise We are to ride to-morrow morning, round their mouths, draw into the sinuosities of Good-night, and pleasant dreams! the brain that more than IDelphic vapor of proph- ecy; which boy presently falls down in a swoon, A PIPE OF TOBACCO. and being dragged out by the heels and laid by to sober, enter another to puff at the sacred ci IXTHEN all things were made, none was garro, till he is dragged out likewise; and so on ~~made better than this, said that stout till the tobacco is finished, and the seed of wis- old seaman, Salvation Yeo, handing a roll of dom has sprouted in every soul into the tree of brown leaf to the good knight Sir Amyas Leigh, meditation, bearing the flowers of eloquence, and to be a lone mans companion, a bachelors in due time the fruit of valiant action. Even friend, a hungry mans food, a sad mans cordial, pipes were known to the Brazilians; and of the a wakeful mans sleep, and a chilly mans fire, Mexicans it is related by the chaplain of Cort~z Sir; while for stanching of wounds, purging of that King Montezuma had his pipe brought to rheum, and settling of the stomach, theres no herb like unto it under the canopy of heaven. To the truth of which catalogue of good qualities many ~ a mariner of the present day would, with out hesitation, make oath. THE HISPANIOLIAN ci AEEO. A PIPE OF TOBACCO. 181 him, with much ceremony, when he had dined and washed his mouth with scented water. One of the rhymsters of those days says of Cort~z and his troop: They, in the palace of great Montezume, Were entertained with this celestial fume. The Indians were so fond of the intoxication of smoking, and so constant in their devotion, that they even reckoned time by the pipeful, and were accustomed to say, I was one pipe (of time) about it. It is to be supposed that their huts were in smell not very savory, and proba- Sly old Giralamo Benzoni exaggerates but little am, notwithstanding a tax of seventeen Cents per pound, amounted in 1851 to over one pound per head for the whole population! Raleighs tobacco-box is yet preserved in the Leeds Museum. It is thirteen inches high, and seven across, and will hold a pound of tobacco. It has the initials W. R. within the lid. But before pipes and tobacco-boxes were invented in England cigars were smoked hy those few who indulged themselves in the fragrant weed. They talked in those days of drinking tobaccoa term which was used for nearly a century, prob- ably because smoking took place generally in public houses. Aubrey relates that in the early days of pipes the gentry had theirs made of sil- ver, which material is still used in Japan, while the common people made use of a walnut-shell and a strawe, which primitive utensil was band- ed from man to man round the table. At that time tobacco was an expensive luxury. It sold for its weight in silver; and when the farm- ers went to town to lay in their stock for smoking, they culled their newest and biggest shillings to lay in the scales against the tobacco, while many of the gentry smoked away one-third of their income. Not only was it long the fashion to swallow the smoke, and then expel it through the nose a pitch of enjoyment now only attained by when he relates: I have entered the house of old soldiers and sailors and tbe Portuguese nation an Indian who had taken this herb, and imme- generallybut there were various exquisite ways diately perceiving the sharp, fetid smell of this of puffing, and the bangers-on of society and truly diabolical and stinking smoke, I was obliged captains of the Bobadil sort made a profession to go away in haste. ef the art of smoking, and publicly inducted Various attempts have heen made to prove country gentlemen into the mysteries of the that the ancients had a knowledge of the tobacco, Cuban ebullition, Euripus, the whiffie, etc. plant, and a tradition of the Greek Church even has it that Noah was overcome by tobacco, and not wine, on his deliverance from the ark; but it is proved conclusive- ly that to onr own America is the Old World indebted for this invaluable weed; of which it may not be amiss here to state that upward of 2,000,000 tons are now grown and consumed annually in the world, which, at the low rate of five cents per pound, equals in value the entire wheat crop of the United States; while, though the plant has been known to the civilized world not yet three centuries, the duties on its importation into Great Brit- ain bring that Government in no less a sum than 28,000,000 per annum, France deriving even a greater revenue from the same source. The city of Vienna alone consumes annuallyno less than 52,000,000 cigars, and the consumption of Great Brit TOMACCO-IJSIINKERS. BRAZILIANS SMOKING. ANCIENT MEXICAN PIPN. 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. If there be any such gen- erous spirit that is truly en- amored of these good facul- ties, may it please him but by a note of his hand to specify the place where he uses to eat and to lie, and the most sweet attendance with tobacco and pipes of the best sort shall be min- istered. I warrant you make chimneys of your faces exclaims an irate lady in one of Beaumont and Fletchers plays ; and a gentleman observes, sneer- ingly, Sheart! he can not put the smoke through his nose! The bucks of those days sallied out to court their sweet-hearts attended by a pipe and a boy to trim it, and said their fine speeches between the whiffs. Like coffee and tea, tobacco was no sooner in~ troduced than the faculty seized upon it as a val- uable addition to their pharmacopceia. Spenser speaks of the cuPative powers of divine tobac- co ; Lilly, the Euphuist, writes, Gather me balms and cooling violets, And of our holy herb nicot ion, to cure a wounded hand; Henry Butler, in a curious little volume, called Dyots Dry Din- ner, treats of its great virtues as a digestive power: Fruit, herbs, flesh, fish, white-meats, spice, sauce, and all, Concoct are by tobaccos cordialL It cureth any griefe, dolour, imposthume, or obstruction, proceeding of colde or winde, es- pecially in the head or breast. The fume taken in a pipe is good against mines, catarrhs, hoarse- ness, ache in the head, stomake, lungs, breast; also in want of meate, drinke, sleepe, or reste. What is a more noble medicine, or more readie at hand, than tobacco ? asks Edmund Gardiner, in his Triall of Tobacco (1610); SIR WALTER RALRIt5H SMOKED TItUS. and in a broadside published 1670, entitled Nicotiaoa3 Encosniem, or the Golden Leaf To- bacco displayed in its sovereignty and singular vertues, the author chants its praises more loudly yet: If the grand bugbear toad, the plague, ye fear, Lo! under God your autidote is here. Ye hot, ye cold, ye rheumatic, draw nigh; In this rich leafe a sovereign dose doth lie. Well cure ye all: physick ye need use want, Hero tis, i th gummy entrails of a plant. But the herbs secr~e (holy herb), herbs propre a toots meux (herb fit for all diseases), panec~e aotarctiqee (southern all-heal), by which and sundry other names tobacco was known in its early and medicinal days, soon gave way to less eulogistic epithets, applied by those who thought its influences pernicious. The battle, which be- gan nearly two centuries ago, rages still, and many eminent hands may be found on either side. Spenser declaims about divine tobac- co; but Stowe speaks of the weed so much abused to Gods dishonor. One old poetaster sings: Much victuals serves for gluttony, to fatten men like swine, But hes a frugal man indeed that with a leaf can dine, And needs no napkins for his hands his fingers ends to wipe, But keeps his kitchen in a box, and roast meat in a pipe. To which another replies: In a tobacco shop (resembling Hell, Fire, stink, and smoke must be where devils dwell) He sits, you can not see his face for vapor, Offering to Pluto with a tallow taper. Bishop Earle says, sarcastically: The tohacco- seller is the only man who finds good in it, which others brag of, but do not; for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. His shop is the rendezvout of spitting, where men dialogue with their noses, and their communication is smoak. Against which one of the wits apostrophized the weed: Natures idea, Physickes rare perfection, Cold rheumes expeller, and the wits direction; 0 had the gods known thy immortal smack, The heavens ere this time had been colored black. EARLY TOBACCO SYMPOSSUM. A PIPE OF TOBACCO. 183 William Penn strongly disliked tobacco, and loudly expressed his annoyance when in com- pany where it was nsed. Stopping at Burling- ton once to see some old friends, they chanced to be smoking when he was announced, and hastily concealed their pipes. Perceiving the smoke as he entered the room, and also that the pipes had been bid, he said, pleasantly, Well, friends, I am glad that you are at last ashamed of your old practice. Not entire- ly, replied Samuel Jennings, a Quaker wit; but we preferred layin~ down our pipes to the danger of offending a weak brother. Charles II. forbade the members of the Uni- versity of Camhridge to wear perriwigs, smoke tobacco, and read the sermons they delivered. liter Camphell, a Derbyshire gentliman, in 1 616, bequeathing his goods to his son Roger, willed that if at any time his brothers or sisters fynd him takeing of tobacco, he shall forfeit all or their full valew. As poor Roger had five brothers and three sisters he must have bad a bard time with his pipe. Aubrey, writing in 1680, says: Within these thirty-five years it was considered scandalous for a divine to take tobacco ; but Lilly, the astrologer, speaks of William Brendon, vicar of Thornton in 1633, as a profound divine, but so given over to tobac- co that when he had none he would cut the bell- ropes of his church and smoke them. Cromwell believed, with James I., that grow- ing tobacco in En~jand was thereby to misuse ~~ud misemploy the soul of the kingdom, and OLD PBINT OF A TOBAccONIsTS INTzzIoz. sent his troopers to trample down the growing crops wherever they found them. But the sol- diers smoked at the Lord Protectors magnificent funeral, and thus wreaked a poetic vengeance on him who had deprived them of a loved pleasure. M. de Rochefort, who traveled in England in 1672, relates that it was then the custom, when the children went to school, to carry in their satchels, with their books, a pipe of tobacco, which the mothers took care to fill early in the morning, it serving them instead of a breakfast; and that at the accustomed hour every one laid aside his book to light his pipe, the master smok- ing with them, and teaching them how to hold their pipes and draw in the tobacco, thus accus- toming them to it from their youths, believ- ing it absolutely necessary for a mans health. To this extreme, at any rate, we have not yet come. V~Te do not propose to take sides in the to- bacco controversy; but can not refrain from the remark that, while the anti-tobacconists have been in general violent and often un- measured in their denunciations as indeed is shown in our quotations, the smokers have replied in temperate language, which con- trasts them favorably with their opponents. Shun these pipe-pageants; for there seldome come TobaccoJactors to Elysium 1 exclaims an ardent tobacco-hater. And an- other: Tobaccos an outlandish weed, Doth in the land strange wonders breed; It taints the breath, the blood it dries, It burns the head, it blinds the eyes; It dries the lungs, scourgeth the lights, It numbs the soni, it dulls the sprites; It brings a man into a maze, And makes him sit for others gaze. Sylvester, the translator of Dc ]3artos, and a favorite poet of James I., sought to gratify that royal tobacco-hater by a poem which has the strange title: Tobacco bat- tered, and the pipes shattered (about their ears that idely idolize so base and barbarous a weed; or, at leaste wise overlove so loath- some a vanitie) by a volley of holy shot thun- dered from Mount Helicon ; in which he thus condemns all smokers to Tophet: Lacy sJMoKIao.[FaoM AN OLD PaINT.] 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. For hell hath smoke Impenitent Tobacconists to choake, Though never dead; there shall they have their fill. In heaven is none, but light and glory still. But bravo old George Wither wrote, in the face of King Jamess Counterbiast: Why should we so much despise So good and wholesome an exercise As, early and late, to meditate? Thus think, and drink tobacco. The earthen pipe, so lily white, Shows that thou art a mortal wight; Even suchand gone with a small touch: Thus think, and drink tobacco. And when the smoke ascends on high, Think on the worldly vanity Of worldly stufftis gone with a puff: Thus think, and drink tobacco. And when the pipe is foul within, Think how the souls defiled with sin To purge with fire it doth require: Thus think, and drink tobacco. Lastly, the ashes left behind May daily shew, to move the mind, That to ashes and dust return we must: Thus think, and drink tobacco. But the smokers enemies did not content themselves with vituperation. Ingenious and arithmetical minds entered into elaborate calcu- lations of the waste of money by tobacco; thus one Lawrence Spooner reckoned that the tobacco used by a thousand families cost per annum no less than 4500. This, he says, if improved thriftily, in twenty years would amount to more than ~600,OO0 to divide among the smokers and their heirs. We remember to have seen some years ago an equally elaborate and interesting computation of the yearly waste accruing from the wearing of useless buttons on the backs of gentlemens coats. Persecutions followed. First came TOnAccONISTS LABEL OF 1730. ranked next to adul- tery, and even so late as the middle of the last century a spe- cial court tried delin- quent puffers; Amu- rath IV. of Turkey, and the great Gehan- Geer joined in the crusade; and final- ly, Innocent XIL, in 1690, solemnly excommunicated all who should take snuff or tobacco in church. Meantime, conscious of their innocence and their rights, the smokers placidlykept theirpipesalight, and at intervals came forth with some such piece of quaint mo- rality as this, supposed to be from the pen of Dr. Henry Aldrich: Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove, Companion still of my retreat, Thou dost my gloomy thoughts rensove, And purge my brain with gentle heat. Tobacco, charmer of my mind, When, like the meteors transient gleam, Thy substance gone to air, I find, I think, alas, my lifes the same! What else but lighted dust am I? Thou showst me what my fate will be; And when thy sinking ashes die, I learn that I must end like thee. Dean Aldrich was a great smoker, and it is re- lated of him that a student of Oxford, knowing his devotion tobaccoward, once made a bet that however early or at whatever time the Doctor was visited in his sanctum, he would he found smoking. The bet was taken, the visit made at a very unseasonable hour, and its cause frank- ly announced. Your friend has lost, said the Dean, good-naturedly; I am not smoking only filling my pipe. But many great names are cited on the side of tobacco. Pope and Swift took snuff; Addison, Con- greve, Prior, Steele, smoked, and were none the worse. Hobbes of Malmesbury kept his pipe alight to the age of ninety-two; Doctor Parr smoked immoderatelyoften twenty pipes in the course of an evening but remained a smoker till the ripe age of seventy-eight; Sir Isaac New- ton was a desperate lover of his pipe, and lost his sweet-heart through ab- sently using her finger as a tobacco stopper; and Frederick the Great was a royal lover of the weed, in which taste, by-the-way, Mr. Car- lyle, his latest and ablest biograph- er, emulates him! Of literary men A 5~UFF-TAI~ER O~ 1720. A gentleman called King James, In quilted doublet and great trunk breeches, Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches. He imposed the first tax on tobacco; in Russia smoking was punished by amputation of the nose; in the Swiss Canton of Berne the offense rr A PIPE OF TOBACCO. 185 some have refrained. Goethe, Heine, and Bal- zac abominated smoke; their subtle spirits could not bear its gross influences. Dumas, who does almost every thing else, if we may believe his own accounts, does not use tobacco. On the other side, however, are found Sir Walter Scott, at one time an immoderate smoker, and always a lover of his cigar; Campbell, Moore, Byron; and of living celebrities, Tennyson, Thackeray, and Bulwer, have all chanted the praises of the Indian weed. Lamb loved his pipe, and was not par- ticular as to the quality of his tobacco. Puffing once the coarsest weed from a long clay pipe in company with Doctor Parr, who used only the finest, the Doctor asked in astonishment how he acquired this prodig- ious power ? By toil- ing after it, replied Elm, as some men toil after virtue. The filthy habit of chewing tobacco numbersfewer great men among its devotees, and we shall mention only as an early chewer General Monk, in whose AN EARLY CHEWER. time itwas customaryfor gentlemen who chewed to carry about with them a small silver hand-spit- toon, used as shown in our illustration taken from a contemporary print. The early tobacco-sellers set off their wares with many quaint conceits and riddles, which, doubtless, amused the tranquil mind of their cus- tomers. On one side of the wrapper of a tobacco parcel was printed: What though I have a nauseous breath, Yet many a one will me commend; I am beloved after death, And serviceabLe unto my friend. Which inscrutable riddle is duly explained on the reverse side: This is tobacco, after being cut and dryd, being dead, becometh serviceable. Another and more ingenious conceit was thus unfolded: To three-fourths of a cross, add a circle complete; Let two semicircies a perpendicular meet; Next add a triangle that stands on two feet; Then two semicircies, and a circle complete. To elucidate which it requires that the name of the herb be written down in Roman capitals. A man named Farr had a tobacco-shop on Fish-Hill, London, and attracted custom from his older rival opposite by this tempting sign: TuE BEST TOBACCO BY FARE. The sailors who patronized that region, and were then, as now, a credulous folk, went over in a body; but were reclaimed by a new sign over the old shop: FAR BETTER TOBACCO TRAX TRE BEST TOBACCO BY FARE. In 1748 a Spanish vessel was captured and brought into New York. Part of her cargo con- sisted of fine paper copies of recent Papal bulls, and this paper was bought by an enterprising Yankee, who, not having the fear of the Pope before his eyes, printed on the backs Choice Pennsylvania tobacco, and used the hulls as wrappers, advertising his willingness to sell at a much cheaper rate than they can be purchased of the French and Spanish priests, and yet ~vill be warranted to be of the same advantage to the possessors. And here is an old American tobacconists conundrum: 0 and P ran a race; Q backed 0, know- ing that P would win. Why was this like go- ing into a shop and asking for shag, and get- ting short-cut? Aaswer: Because it was wrong to beck 0. But the prettiest conceit for a smokers pipe is the following, which will please even non- smokers: Tube, I love thee as my life; By thee I mean to chuse a wife. Tube, thy color let me find, In her skin, and in her mind. Let her have a shape as fine; Let her breath be sweet as thins: Let her, when her lips I kiss, Burn like thee, to give me bliss. Let her in some smoke or ether All my failings kindly smother. Often when my thoughts are low, Send them where they ought to go. When to study I incline, Let her aid be such as Shine; Such as thine her charming powr In the vacant social hour. Let her live to give delight, Ever warm and ever bright: Let her deeds, wheneer she dies, Mount as incense to the skies. The coloring of meerschaums, which is the present amiable weakness of Young America, is an old story among the Turks and the Ger- mans, ~who devoted time, patience, and tobacco to this noble object quite a century ago. We have inherited the coloring mania from our English cousins, among whom this valuable tal- ent has been developed to an extraordinary de- gree. It is related that a young English Guards o icer determined not long since to obtain, by FRENCH SNUFF-BOX FOR THE TABLE. 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BOX, FROM 5uAK5PEARE 5 MU~BEUEY. device worthy the grave importance of the sub- ject, the very ideal of a colored meersehaum. To do this he knew that the pipe, once lighted, must never be permitted to go out. Accord- ingly he arranged that it should be passed from mouth to mouth of the entire regiment, he agree- ing to pay the tobacco bill. After seven months of arduous smoking and patient waiting, the fortunate fellow received a pipe the splendor and perfection of whose colors exceeded even his most sanguine hopes. With it a bill for tobacco used, to the modest tune of nine hundred and seventy- five dollars! But if such pipes are costly, the old snuff- boxes of the days when to be a gentleman was to take snuff elegantly were yet more precious. Pope and Swift, Bolingbrok~, Congreve, Addi- son, and many other great men, were addicted to snuff. Gibbon was a confirmed snuff-taker. Frederick the Great loved snuff so entirely that he car- ried it in his vest pockets, made very large for the pur- pose, and in moments of ex- citement threw it np his nose hy small handfuls. In Spain and Italy snuffs were medicated, and even infused with a subtle poison, so that by the offer of a friendly pinch a man sometimes sent his enemy out of the world. But the most complete and luxurious pharaphernalia for snuff-takers is undoubt- edly the Scotch sneesh- ing mull, with its little hammer to hit the side of the mull should the snuff adhere; bodkin, to pierce sOOTOC MULL, and separate it should it stick together by damp; rake, to collect it into the little shovel; and hares foot to brush loose particles from the nose! It remains to be said that no less than forty different species of tobacco are described by bot- anists, of all of which the leaves are now smoked, chewed, or snuffed in different parts of the world, smokers consuming by far the greater part. MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT. R. PETER ANTHON was a rich New York M merchantone of the old-fashioned kind. Not a parvenu, for he remembered his own great- grandfather, and was himself born in the house in Bleecker Street which that respected old gen- tleman built. Not a speculator either, but a sober, rigid, well-read, well-bred man, who in- creased his large patrimony by steady attention to business, and never invested in railway shares. At an age of discretion Mr. Peter Anthon mar- ried Miss Jane Snydam, a lady equally respect- able, rich, ~vell-bred, and rigid with himself; and in course of time Mrs. Anthon enlivened the mansion in Tenth Street by introducing to its quiet and orderly splendors a very small boy, who was christened Peter, after his papa, and was folly expected to do honor to his parentage. Mrs. Anthon was a quiet, reterved woman naturally, and the straitest style of education had only added new force to the bent of her na- ture. She had no younger sisters. She knew nothing of children; and though all that was tender and feminine in her repressed heart awoke at little Peters advent, she did not know how to express it in any sweet, motherly ways, but al- ways talked to her child in the most correct En- glish, and sighed over its total depravity as that Presbyterian trait developed, day by day, to Mrs. Anthons orthodox horror. For Peter was even a baby like other babies. He paid no regard at all to the fact that he was an Anthon. lie was not in the least respecta- ble or proper. lie kicked, and cried, and laugh- ed, and made faces just when and where he pleased, always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. He would laugh and play peep with Hannah, the old family nurse, till she de- clared he was a perfect angel; and one minute after would just as strenuously rub his eyes, wrinkle up his nose, kick and scream at the Rev. Doctor Sopus, till that upright man retreat- ed in disgust from the attempt at cultivating his acquaintance. Peter was a very pretty baby, and his mother was extremely fond of him; but it was not to be denied that he preferred old Hannah to his mam- mathat, like most babies, and perhaps a few undignified grown people, he liked better to be kissed, and fondled, and rubbed, and cooed over, than to be laid straight out on two knees, or stuck bolt upright on a rectangular arm and ad- dressed grammatically. For, say what you will, my dear brother, babies do like baby-talk, and know its professors with a knowledge that is love, as Mr. Kingsley says. Just let you and I go down on our knees together before that cherub in white cambric on the sofa tLere. You enter into conversation with it as you speak to any body else, and I assail it with those honeyed elisions, and tenderest nonsenses, shorn of labi- als and denuded of harsh consonants, made flu- ent and gracious with the indescribable loving sounds that Sir Thomas Browne meant when BUTaNSS SNUFF-BOX.

Rose Terry Terry, Rose Mrs. Anthon's Christmas Present 186-194

186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BOX, FROM 5uAK5PEARE 5 MU~BEUEY. device worthy the grave importance of the sub- ject, the very ideal of a colored meersehaum. To do this he knew that the pipe, once lighted, must never be permitted to go out. Accord- ingly he arranged that it should be passed from mouth to mouth of the entire regiment, he agree- ing to pay the tobacco bill. After seven months of arduous smoking and patient waiting, the fortunate fellow received a pipe the splendor and perfection of whose colors exceeded even his most sanguine hopes. With it a bill for tobacco used, to the modest tune of nine hundred and seventy- five dollars! But if such pipes are costly, the old snuff- boxes of the days when to be a gentleman was to take snuff elegantly were yet more precious. Pope and Swift, Bolingbrok~, Congreve, Addi- son, and many other great men, were addicted to snuff. Gibbon was a confirmed snuff-taker. Frederick the Great loved snuff so entirely that he car- ried it in his vest pockets, made very large for the pur- pose, and in moments of ex- citement threw it np his nose hy small handfuls. In Spain and Italy snuffs were medicated, and even infused with a subtle poison, so that by the offer of a friendly pinch a man sometimes sent his enemy out of the world. But the most complete and luxurious pharaphernalia for snuff-takers is undoubt- edly the Scotch sneesh- ing mull, with its little hammer to hit the side of the mull should the snuff adhere; bodkin, to pierce sOOTOC MULL, and separate it should it stick together by damp; rake, to collect it into the little shovel; and hares foot to brush loose particles from the nose! It remains to be said that no less than forty different species of tobacco are described by bot- anists, of all of which the leaves are now smoked, chewed, or snuffed in different parts of the world, smokers consuming by far the greater part. MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT. R. PETER ANTHON was a rich New York M merchantone of the old-fashioned kind. Not a parvenu, for he remembered his own great- grandfather, and was himself born in the house in Bleecker Street which that respected old gen- tleman built. Not a speculator either, but a sober, rigid, well-read, well-bred man, who in- creased his large patrimony by steady attention to business, and never invested in railway shares. At an age of discretion Mr. Peter Anthon mar- ried Miss Jane Snydam, a lady equally respect- able, rich, ~vell-bred, and rigid with himself; and in course of time Mrs. Anthon enlivened the mansion in Tenth Street by introducing to its quiet and orderly splendors a very small boy, who was christened Peter, after his papa, and was folly expected to do honor to his parentage. Mrs. Anthon was a quiet, reterved woman naturally, and the straitest style of education had only added new force to the bent of her na- ture. She had no younger sisters. She knew nothing of children; and though all that was tender and feminine in her repressed heart awoke at little Peters advent, she did not know how to express it in any sweet, motherly ways, but al- ways talked to her child in the most correct En- glish, and sighed over its total depravity as that Presbyterian trait developed, day by day, to Mrs. Anthons orthodox horror. For Peter was even a baby like other babies. He paid no regard at all to the fact that he was an Anthon. lie was not in the least respecta- ble or proper. lie kicked, and cried, and laugh- ed, and made faces just when and where he pleased, always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. He would laugh and play peep with Hannah, the old family nurse, till she de- clared he was a perfect angel; and one minute after would just as strenuously rub his eyes, wrinkle up his nose, kick and scream at the Rev. Doctor Sopus, till that upright man retreat- ed in disgust from the attempt at cultivating his acquaintance. Peter was a very pretty baby, and his mother was extremely fond of him; but it was not to be denied that he preferred old Hannah to his mam- mathat, like most babies, and perhaps a few undignified grown people, he liked better to be kissed, and fondled, and rubbed, and cooed over, than to be laid straight out on two knees, or stuck bolt upright on a rectangular arm and ad- dressed grammatically. For, say what you will, my dear brother, babies do like baby-talk, and know its professors with a knowledge that is love, as Mr. Kingsley says. Just let you and I go down on our knees together before that cherub in white cambric on the sofa tLere. You enter into conversation with it as you speak to any body else, and I assail it with those honeyed elisions, and tenderest nonsenses, shorn of labi- als and denuded of harsh consonants, made flu- ent and gracious with the indescribable loving sounds that Sir Thomas Browne meant when BUTaNSS SNUFF-BOX. MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 187 he asked leave to coin the word cordiloquy. learn the ominous column beginning b a, ha, Dont you see who those dreamy eyes turn to- k e r, kerbeker by keeping him on short al- ward and seek for? Is it you those blessed lit- lowance of kisses and molasses candy. For Fe- tle arms reach after? Is it you the soft pink ter had a warm and true heart in his rebellious lips begin to answer with inarticulate tones and little bosom, and actually, like the dreadful En- the pucker of a coming smile? Ah no! you glish child recorded in Miss Brontiis life, loved know better! I have conquered you with the t1ie governess! most irresistible logicwith the babys own in- ~ut the governc~s loved somebody cse more, duction from fairly-stated premises: bless its and one day took leave of her pupil, in a storm heart! of hugs and tears and. kicks, to marry a clerk in So it naturally came about that Hannah had a dry-goods shop; at which bereavement Mr. more to do with baby than Mrs. Anthon herself; Anthon looked more grim than ever,, and forth- and as she possessed fully the true feminine joy with provided a tutor for the seven-year maui- in being tyrannized over, and knew the art of kin. spoiling children by heart, Master Peter, by his If there is any thing particularly funny in the third year, had Hannah completely under his solemn arid necessary institution of teaching, thumb, and regarded his mother with the same it is to see a young man undertake the instruc- calm admiration he felt for the sideboard. Fe- tion of a small boy, except in a Sunday spasm ter was beginning to be troublesome, to tell the of benevolence, or as the temporary didactic truth. Mrs. Anthon had set hours for his re- amusement of a rainy day. There seems to he ception; hut he would secrete scraps of bread a sort of natural antipathy between the two ages and butter under his embroidered frock, and pro- of the same sex; and the same man who holds duce them on mammas satin lap, or daub his in abject submission and awful worship a dozen fingers on her camels hair shawl, or play horse of the wildest girls will be utterly routed by one with a big velvet chair, and bang it up against naughty boy. Mr. Gains Ho~ehoom, however, the sideboard, till glass and plate trembled at the by dint of great natural obstinacy, poverty, and shock, while his lawful governess sat quaking on the diversion of studying theology between his the sofa, all unable to redress her grievances lessons, managed to hold on and keep his place short of using physical force, of which she disap- for nearly three years, by the end of which time proved; and uttering inadequate remonstrances Peter knew some arithmetic, less geography, a and remarks, unheard in the noise of Peters little Latin, and could write intelligiblyall but cavalry charge, and fully convinced that some the spelling. He had also developed a great ca- one had blundered in supposing character to he pacity for slyness, could do more mischief right hereditary; for did not that uproarious, aston- under his tutors nose than any other boy of his ishing, inexplicable child spring from the high- size, and was fast smothering his frank, warm est old respectability? And what was he? Scene heart under the thick selfishness that almost in- and reflection generally ended by ringing vehe- evitably gathers about the only son of rich and n~ently for Hannah, and a grand display of di- over-careful parents. So Mr. Ilogeboom came plomacy on her appearance, to delude Peter hack to the sober conclusion that Peter needed some to his calm obscurity of the third story. more efficient training than he could give, Par- Mr. Anthon was a man of business, and left ticularly as his own course of study was fulfill- home every day before his sons late toilet was ed, and he now expected to be ordained. He accomplished, returning to dinner at night, when strenuously recommended Mr. Anthon to send that infant was served up with the dessert, kept Peter to school, or else procure for him a com- in order by small doses of almonds and raisins, panion at home, in order not merely to stimu- and hustled off to bed when the cloth was finally late his mind by rivalry, but for the moral effect withdrawn, leaving behind him the impression of another to consider and to be considered be- that he was as well-behaved a child as his fa- sides himself. By what Mrs. Anthon, in her thers son ought to he, and carrying away a pri- profane religiosity, called a special providence, vate terror of that fathers cool gray eye and just at this time Mr. Anthons only sister died, straight-set features that was no way akin to and left a son one year younger than Peter; as love, if Providence chastised and bereaved people for But out of this terror, which she adroitly dis- the convenience of somebody else, even though covered, Hannah made her most successful en- that somebody might he Mrs. Peter Anthon! glue of govcrnment. If Peter the second was Mrs. Rivers was the widow of a poor clergy- naughty, his father was to be told at once; nad man, whom she married for the very unwise ren- as he never was told, the boys natural acuteness son that she loved him, though her hand was so- discerned that Hannah herself was afraid of his licited at the time by two other youthsrich, re- father, and from that fact he drew the necessary spectable, and of old families. inference that his father was to be feared, and Nobody ever knew that Mrs. Rivers pined aft- he behaved himself accordingly. er these advantages; probably, with the weak So Peter grew to he ten years old; for a while minds some women have (may their shadows under the nominal teaching of a governessa never he less!), she thought her good and hand- pretty, weak, softhearted little creature, over some husband something more precious than whom her infant charge domineered most per- dollars and position; at any rate, she broke her sistently, and who could only persuade him to heart when he died, and died herself six months 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. afterward, leaving, as a legacy to her brother, a letter that might have drawn tears from a mill- stone, provided that commodity had ears or eyes a letter that did make Mr. Peter Anthon blow his nose twice in the penetralia of the counting- room, and receive its accompanying bequest, the aforesaid child, as warmly as his nature or his habit permitted. Harry Rivers was a frank, honest, fine-tem- pered boy, who despised lying and duplicity from the mere force of a natnre that offered no tempt- ation to those sins. His faults were all the faults of a character essentially noble, and just those that a life under his uncles eye was calcu- lated to repress. He was soon installed in the house, and treated, in all physical aids and ap- pliances, as well as Peter. Mrs. Anthon liked him because he gave no trouble; Hannah, be- cause he was Miss Susans boy ; and Peter liked him more heartily than either, because he couldnt help it for he was naturally gener- ous and affectionate, only till now he had never had any object but Hannah to expend either of these traits upon, and the habit of tyrannizing over her had become stronger than nature. There was no rivalry, no jealousy between these boysnot even when they were sent to a great, noisy boys school together. They had small quarrels, little internecine wars of aggravation; sometimes got extremely tired of each other; but twenty-four hours always composed their differences, and they were friends again after a good nights sleep. In school, of course, Peter had no end of trouble. The boys found out his social ignor- ance long before the master became aware of his deficient education, and they christened him at once as Peter the Seconda style that sent him home full of wrath and covered with bruises, achieved in the effort to punish his tormentors. So Peter and Harry grew to be sixteenHar- ry fulfilling the promise of his youth; Peter still as wild, as willful, and as warm~hearted as he was at three, but infinitely less afraid of punish- ment, and a great deal fonder of his mother, who had softened with time, and sent out every poor groping tendril of her shut-up heart toward the fresh young life of her son. At this time Peter was sent to college, and Harry taken into his uncles counting-room. Ualucky separation for Peter, whose defender as well as friend Harry had been through all their school-days; persuad- ing him into right and beguiling him away from wrong with every good influence, conscious or unconscious, of which he was capable. And much Peter needed such a friend. His gener- ous impulses had no regulation of reason; his quick passions never had been repressed by prin- ciple or discipline; his earnest and ardent heart never stopped to look at sequences or calculate results; he knew neither the worth nor the want of money, for his fathers school allowance to him had been most liberal. And with all these traits he was thrown into college with a herd of boys, few better and most far worse than he, with no restraint of home, and little of author- ity. Just as well might be have been cast head- long into a raging sea, and left to strike out for life! Natural consequences ensued. He grew care- less, lazy, dissipated; he fell into a bad set of companions; he became fast ; bills poured in upon his astonished father, followed by letters from the college authorities, to say the least, rather uncomplimentary to Peter; and many a time Harry bad to stand between his uncles rage and his son, recalling to him how kind and earnest and fatally impulsive was the boys na- ture; how long-patience must at length recall him to his better self and his best friends; how a knowledge of his actions would grieve his aunt; and how his own credit would suffer by refusing to pay his sons debts; till, at length, Peter put an end to intercession and forbearance by appearing suddenly at home, formally ex- pelled from college ; and though cut to the quick by a catastrophe so little expected, and burning with a sense of deserved humiliation, outwardly defiant, careless, and bold. Mr. Peter Anthon, Senior, was enragednot by any means to the point of noise or bluster no human emotion could drive him to that. He was steel at white heat, rigid, concentred, in- tense, and scorching. Mrs. Anthon was scared and grieved to the heart; she would not look at Peter before his father, but grasp his hand when they met in the halls, or in the rare moments they were left together, and say, in piteous tones of appeal and remonstrance, Oh, Peter 1 sole reproach her trembling lips could frame, or her heart compel itself to utter, but far more po- tent with Peter than all his fathers bitter words or poignant accusations. Vainly did Harry Riv- ers try to reconcile father and son. Neither one would take the first step toward it. Its no use, Harry, said Peter, one night, going to his cousins room after an evening spent with his father. I cant stand such a rowing over again. The governor says hell cut me off with sixpence, and leave it all to you. I hope he will. You deserve it, and I dont. I dont want his money; but, confound it! I should like to think the old man was flesh and blood, and cared a curse whether I was alive or dead, before I leave him for good. Youre all out there, Peter, answered Har- ry. If the old gentleman didnt care about you, do you think hed make all this fuss? Not he. Its his way of showing he does care for you; and as for leaving his property to me, he wont do any such thing. He is too true an An- thon for that. It was only a threat. Well, he wont threaten long, interposed Peter, in a gloomy tone. Dont go to doing any thing absurd, Pete, said Harry, earnestly. Just have patience to lie by till the storms blown over, and then come quietly down to the counting-room, and do what he wants of you. Aunt Jane will break her heart over you if you dont. Hm! growled Peter, I guess not; she darent speak to me before father now! Well, MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 189 Harry, youre all right, anyway. Youre a clever fellow, Hal. Shake handswont you? Good-night ! In the morning Peter Anthon, Junior, was missing. A hasty letter informed his father that he had joined the volunteers for the Mex- ican war; and from that hour Mr. Anthon spoke his sons name no more for years; and his wife, having wept herself half hlind, relapsed, after a while, into her old repression and for- mality, and wore steadily the same cool and quiet aspect that nohody but her child had ever dis- turbed or dispelled. When the lists of killed and wounded came home after the battle of Chapultepec, Peter An- thon, private, was reported missing. Harry Rivers wrote to the colonel of his regiment for further particulars, and learned that a party of skirmishing Mexicans had sprung upon a few men detailed for the purpose of fetching water to the wounded after the battle, killed six, and made three prisoners, none of whom had been heard of or seen since, and one of the three was Peter. Harry laid a copy of his letter and the colonels answer on his uncles desk, and knew by his aunts face and eyes at breakfast the next morning that she had seen them. But no words passed about the matter; and as year after year rolled away, and Peter never returned, he was given up for dead, mourned for in proper black- ness, and every body knew that Mr. Anthon had adopted Harry Rivers for his son, in place of that poor, dissipated creature who went to Mexico, as the New York world said. It was no such great blessing, after all, to Harry Rivers to be so adopted; for it bound his fresh, gay, sparkling nature to the form and rou- tine of two dull and formal people, and incarcer- ated him, as it were, in a jail of propriety, where another and a weaker nature would have been altogether crushed and devitalized. But Harry was not to be crushed by any thing less than a real evil; nor did he fly for relief to such pur- suits as many youths would have sought for that end. He disliked wine and spirits too much to know them as temptations; cards were stupid to him; the vulgar rivalry of a race-course dis- gusted him with horses simply as racers. In short, his nature and his training both kept him out of sin, till the time came for religions prin- ciple to become an ally all-potent to both train- ing and nature. So there was no danger that even the stupidness of his life should drive him into being fast. Really Harry Rivers was a very good young man. Not one of the inexpressible noddies who usually pass muster under that synonym, merely too stupid to be any thinga negative of all evil because a negative of every thingnot one of these! No priggish manners asserted his supe- riority to the most trifling boy or girl of his rank in society; no obtrusive preachments of trite moralities bored and disgusted his friends at all times and places. He was simply a healthy, honest, high-spirited young fellow, who found hard work enough to do in fighting his own tem- Vot. XX.No. 116.N per and his own indolence, and took his pleasures after a certain fresh and characteristic fashion, careless of laughter or sneers; for Harry kept a good horse, and every day drove or rode him; but instead of taking with him some pretty girl or stylish dandy, he carried off his uncles old dusty, rusty book-keeper, or a pale, overworked clerk, or a couple of children belonging to some poor widow, who could as easily have compassed the Koh-i-noor as the refreshment of a drive for her white-faced, timid little girls. Just such sort of persons were his companions in the fre- quent sails that were his summer recreations, greatly to the wonder of his higher-life compan- ions, and to the delight of many who laid up against him as a virtue that which was simply a pleasure. For Mr. Rivers held in small esteem the young ladies who made the staple of such gay society as he frequented now and then; and still less was he fond of companionship with most of the young men; and he had a heart full of humanityrarest virtue in these days, when doc- trines, and theories, and speculations outpreach the most living fact of Gods great Gospelthe fact Christ came to illustrate and impressthe very pass-word of heaven: For all ye are brethren. So between one thing and another it was, after all, his pleasure that prompted Harry Rivers to do these things, just as much as it was his pleasure that carried him to the Opera, to the Philharmonic, and to every decent concert that promised musicpromise too often unper- formed to any ear cognizant of music! Besides, Harry was well aware that he was the only thing his aunt cared for now. She had relapsed into her old impassibility after Peters death; but if ever any ray of affection visited her dull blue eye, or any tenderness tempered her cold voice, it was always Harry Rivers who so moved her; partly because she associated him more than any one else with her lost boy, and partly because it was next to impossible for even an Anthon to live in the house with Harry and not love him. Mr. Anthon, too, felt a kind- lier warmth for him than for any thing but bank stock, and began to trust him and lean upon him in his business, in a way that both pleased and touched Harrys generous, loving nature a nature trust and kindness never were wasted on, but one that suspicion and cruelty might have driven to any extentto any excess. One thing only in their nephews conduct trou- bled either uncle or aunt: he had grown to he twenty-six, and never fallen in love or married! Vainly did Mr. Anthon suggest one young lady after another, of the best family, the most un- doubted accomplishments, the securest fortune. Harry laughingly set aside all their claims on any score, and declared he was meant for an old bachelor. One was too pretty ever to think her husband handsome; another too rich to let him keep his independence; another too mutical for a quiet man; and another too expansively flouncedlaughing reasons all, playing harm- less about the fact that none of them moved him a hairs-breadth; none of them stirred hi he~ar1~ 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. or entranced his eye; not a girl of the set could Nelly because she loved every body first. Her wake up any thrill in his dreaming soul, or flut- heart was certainly suffering from enlargement, ter his pulse with a grains vibration, and he for not even a sick cat missed its due pity or could not fall in love, even to Peter Anthon and careful tendance if Kelly knew its need; while Co.s order! the few poor and the more frequent sick in Wa- But Harrys day came at length. On a jour- tertown blessed her daily, if not for real help, ney of business he contracted a Southern fever yet for her bright smile and cheerful words, al- that nearly brought him beyond the reach of love ways ready for sick or poor. At home she was or matrimonyor rather the latter; and on his gay, natural, charming, just like a fresh daily recovery he was sent peremptorily to the sea-side rose that puts out its blossom till the winter and quiet. frosts smite it, and comes first in the spring-time Watertown was a straggling little village on the Connecticut shore, full of white houses with green blinds; marigolds, fennel, and hollyhocks, in the garden; and south doors always open in summer, provided there was any southern, ex- posure whereon to locate such a door. A few scattered houses dotted the beach, and in one of these Mr. Rivers took board and lodging for the month of June. Of course, in his visits to the village post-office he made acquaintance with the doctor, the minister, and the lawyer of Water- town, and was, after a time, invited to drink tea solemnly with each of these dignitaries, ending with the ministerthe Reverend Gideon Ten- nanton which latter occasion Mr. Rivers found his fate. And found it in the prettiest shape! for Nelly Tennant was one of those New England types most like the wild blossoms of her country, deli- cate, sweet, earnest, yet withal so firm in vital- ity that neither time nor trouble do more than bend them for a season. The first sunbeam calls them up from the sod with undimmed eye and fresh perfume. Very pretty indeed was Miss Nelly; a delicate skin, pale except with emotion or exercise; the tiniest rosy mouth; a nose prop- er enough, and not Grecian; two dark eyes that were sad, sweet, bright, naughty, and lovely by turns; plenty of soft dark hair; a pair of useful hands; ditto feet; and a tolerable little figure, rather too aerial for beauty, bein~, as the village dress-maker said, dreadful lean I should havesaid, slight. But if Nelly Tennant had possessed green eyes and gray heir she would still have been a~- tractive. Green and gray may laugh at tint, and shape, and regularity when they are strong in the alliance of such an earnest, tender, true nature as Nelly Tennants, and take to them- selves neither shame nor credit when a bright mind and a sunny temperament abet the nature aforesaid. Every body in the parish loved Kelly, though she was the ministers daughter. All the chil- dren ran to meet her; all the dogs wagged their tails for a pat of her soft little hand; all the old women told her every thing ~tbout the last fit of rheumatiz, or that drefful coughin spell of hisn; all the old men grinned at her benign- ly, and pronounced her real pretty-behaved ~ while vonug men and maidens came to Kelly Tennant with all their plans and all their trou- bles, from the planning of a picnic to the ar- ranging of a knotty love affair, sure of quick sympathy and timely aid. And every body loved to bring news of summer. Of course Harry Rivers liked Miss Helen very well on first acquaintance; better the sec- ond time; far more on a picnic they both went toinstitution most trying to female vanity and self-conceit, where Kelly never showed a bit of either trait, but gave every body else the best places, dressed all the pretty girls hair with gar- lands, whose grace and adaptation made the wearers twice fair; intioduced Mr. Rivers to all the homely girls, and talked to them herself; and at lengthclimax of virtue, as I sorrowful- ly confess !washed up all the dishes and re- packed them herself, giving the right owners their own, and then sat down to enjoy herself as merrily as if she were there only for that end. Its all very well, young ladies, for you to dress, and dance, and be elegantly benevolent, or literary, or accomplished within an inch of your lives, and then go home to snap at your fa- ther, and sniff at your dear old mother, harass the luckless servants who do not suit you, and oppress the poor seamstress, whom you cheat out of her dues between ovenvork and under- pay. But, let me tell you, the real life you live sets its mark on you in the eyes of any man or woman worth knowing; and all your finery, and education, and charity can never cover that fatal seal. Nature will out, as well as murder; in all places the traitor whispers and winks. If you want to be loved, make yourselves lovely. Nei- ther time nor chance shall touch you then, and circumstance itselffatalest of fatesshall only prove you fairer in its test, and attract to you more and more deeply whatever is lovely and loving about you. For that was Nelly Tennants spell; and it worked well indeed, since before June dazzled into July Mr. Rivers thought the day lost that he missed sight of Miss Tennant; and when he went to say good-by, in the middle of that sum- mer-time, he looked so miserable, and Nelly felt so sorry for him, that after he went away her sympathizing little soul overflowed in a great quantity of tears, which made pretty rainbows, no doubt, among themselves at the smile that every now and then shone through them when she remembered how he said to her, at the gate, I shall come back again, Miss Kelly. May I ? The hardest part of the affair to Harry was to tell his uncle of it. Not because he doubted his consent, or cared very much whether he had it or not; hut because it is always hard to drag MRS. ANTHONS CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 191 ones sentiment into the light and offer it for ex- amination like a piece of goods. However, the thing was to be done, and know- ing that, Harry did it; for he was not a man to shrink from any thing that he decided necessary, and in this case he was agreeably disappointed by Mr. Anthons reception of his confidence. It is true the old gentleman would have been better pleased had Harry married a fortune, but he had proved so untractable heretofore on the head of heiresses that his uncle was advised by the recollection that it was an act of grace in the youth to marry at all, though it was only a woman. One battle only followed. Mr. and Mrs. An- thon insisted that Harry should bring his wife home, as they phrased it, to their house; and at this he rebelled long and strenuously, but in vain. At last he was forced to admit their right to ask some concessions from him; and in due season, after a qniet wedding at Watertown, Mrs. Harry Rivers was installed in the pleasant- est room of Mr. Anthons house, and the world went on much as usual, though perhaps that household fancied its old grooves were oiled and its orbit easier to circle. Certainly it was to them; for Nelly Tennant was like a song-spar- row in an owls nest there. The quiet, chilly, dreadfully neat house was quiet and chilly no more. Nelly loved sunshine and heat like a blossom, and the south windows of her room let in streams of sunshine on to the gay carpet and pretty furniture, to Mrs. Anthons great con- sternation; only as Harry had furnished it, she could not interfere further than meekly to ask, Arent von afraid the sun will fade your car- pet, dear? Oh no, aunty! Better fade that than fade me, isnt it ? And Mrs. Anthon was forced to feel as well as say, Yes. Then Nelly had a voice sweet, clear, and round, always running over in some gay or ten- der song. Up and down stairs, through the hall and parlors, in her own room, every where, you tracked her by the little ripples of music that made one think of the good little girl in Dia- monds and Toads, who spoke jewels. Mr. An- thou himself; grave and grim, was melted into a stately and serene politeness by Nellys perfectly natural sweetness and gayety. The only fault either uncle or aunt found with her was an in- veterate propensity she had to visit poor people. Now Mr. and Mrs. Anthon were very good people, after a highly respectable fashion; they subscribed to several societies indorsed by the Reverend Dr. Sopus, whose church they attend- ed. They always put silver into the poor-box, and never gave any to street-beggars. They had a vague idea that poverty and sin were twin-sis- ters, and good to one might nourish the other, unless strict care was taken to define the vir- tuous poor. But the idea that the inhabitants of Cow Bay and the Five Points were really the same flesh and blood and spirit with Anthons, Snydams, Astors, and Livingstones, was an idea they never entertained for a moment, and would have rejected with disgust as a radical, socialist- ic theory, calculated to destroy the whole social system, and bring Red Republicanism into vogue directly. Nay, had one brought before them, as a case of to-day, the child of the carpenter, born in a manger, not the celestial calm of Marys spotless brow, not the far-seeking melancholy of her Sons divine eyes, or the grave dignity of Josephs as- pect, framed in the blue Syrian skies and the low brown outline of the hills of Bethlehem, could have moved one thought of humanity in those frigid souls. The choiring heavens and the adoring Magi, with all their gold and frankin- cense, would scarce have indorsed for this busi- ness man s notice the lofty claims of a homeless mechanicof a man despised, rejected, and poor! They believed in the Bible after Dr. Sopuss teachings, as a book indeed divine, but dealing with historic sinners and publicans of a legend- ary nature; people isolated for examples, types of a class confined to Bible times and theories. The Magdalen of Palestine, breaking her box of ointment with the lavish waste of a gratitude that is too rich for any expression, was by no means an unmentionable woman; but the Magdalen of to-day, flaunting in silken sin, tawdry and un- penitent, was another and a despicable creature, not to be named by the pure; beyond hope, be- low charity! The thief on the cross, raised to Gods paradise, consoled them with hope of a late repentance should death appall at the last, and furnished a text for consolation and edification to Dr. Sopus when his richest pew-holder, Her- man Yan Slyp, died and gave no sign, except asking to have the Bible put under his head by way of easing his position; but the thief in the Tombs was only a scoundrel to be sequestered for the good of other people, as incapable of par- adise as of pietya practical illustration of the doctrine of reprobation. And the idea of Nelly Rivers, their dear, pretty, delicate Nelly, betak- lug herself to holes and corners only fit for poor people in order to help and comfort them! This was a shock not easily endured by the An- thons. Why couldnt she let other people do it? There were plenty of persons of a lower class whose business it was to see to such things: city authorities, police, nuns, old maids, city mission- aries. Why should Mrs. Rivers soil her fingers by contact with such pollution? But argument and displeasure were vain with Nelly. Harry did not attempt to interfere with these pursuits of hers further than to see that a servant always accompanied her into the haunts of sin and misery she threaded day after day, preaching the Gospel in her sweet sniile and kind words, as the Gospel should be preached to the poora living and loving good news to man, through men, from God! And as long as Harry approved Nelly held on her way. Many a rag- ged child clung to her skirt with such smiles as only wretched children knowthe very sun- burst of gratitude and worship. Many a poor woman welcomed her as the only bright thing 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. life had left for herthe only door of hope; and more than one, fallen beyond womans tonch or mans pity, died with her head on Nelly Riverss shoulder, learning Christs pity from Christs child: forgiven of God, and forgiven of women by one woman whose viaticum and extreme unction were but the touch of pure lips to the death-damp brow, and the words of her Master breathed into the dying ear, Go, and sin no more! Strange enough it continued to be to Mrs. Anthon that Nelly should take pleasure in these things rather than in gayety, dress, and amuse- ment. She did not recollect her pastoral training, nor did she see in her heart the ever- fresh and renewing love for Jesus that made His words her dear and sacred commission, Inas- much as ye have done it nato one of the least of these, ye have done it unto Mewords that lin- gered on her lips always, and sounded in her thought whenever she fed, or clothed, or com- forted another, or laid her hands upon the dying head of one out of those myriads He left for us to serve, so serving Him. Something of a separation these different tastes made between Nelly and her aunt; nothing more than a chilly atmosphere clinging to Mrs. An- thou, and a delicate shade of disapproval that clouded her face whenever Mrs. Rivers referred to her work in any way. So Nelly learned to be silent before her aunt; and Mrs. Anthon chose to forget what she could not prevent, and con- tent herself with her usual donations to societies the only proper and respectable means of char- ity! Nearly two years had stolen away since Harry Riverss marriage, and it drew near to winter, finding Nelly in a state of excitement rather un- usual for the little lady; but she meant this year to carry a great point, and was wonderfully in earnest about it. For the year before Nellys soul had been shocked by the stupidest Christ- mas that ever she could remember. Her father, unlike New England clergymen generally, had always made this festival a celebration in his house; and Nellys earliest remembrance was of her biggest stocking crowded full with delight- fully suggestive bumps and lumps, tied to the bed-post in company with Toms, and affording such food for the imagination in the gray dawn, ns she conscientiously lay in bed, making all the noise she could without speaking, since it was forbidden to wake her little brother before due season. Then came later recollections of Toms school and college days, when the pretty German tree stood in stead of the two stockings, and neigh- bors came in to gather its gay fruit and stare at its tinted tapers; when Tom brought home his chum from college, and Nelly had her dearest friend from next door; when there were vast ex- changes of worsted-work, needle-work, and su- gar-plums; bitter sarcasms in the shape of cigars that always burned but never were lighted, and false mustaches manufactured from the spaniels curls; when Tom retorted on these cutting gifts with a present of a spelling-book (for Nelly nev er did spell quite right), and crushed the dearest friend into silence by the irony of a rattle-box! Oh! how different those funny, merry, uproari- ous days, that left them all tired with laughter and sleepy from mere eye-exercisehow alto- gether different from that first Christmas-din- ner at Mr. Anthons! Stately, formal, proper; where the very turkey looked as if it had re- signed itself to the spit in decent fortitude, and the cranberry-jelly never dared to quiver in its exquisite moulding, or the ice-cream to swerve from its uprightness for one slippery moment; where Mrs. Anthon appeared in black velvet and a Honiton cap, and Mr. Anthon in severe broad- cloth of incredible fineness; where Harry insist- ed on his wifes being uncomfortable in a blue brocade, her hair screwed up to the last degree of smoothness and fixture by the hairdresser, and her warm soft hands gloved in immaculate kidsimply because it was Christmas! and Paul Herring, an ancient bachelor of sixty, Mr. An- thous partner, was there to dinner, wherefore the junior partners wife must do honor to the firm. Never would Nelly endure such another Christ- mas! never again would she undergo that dread- ful formal presentation of gifts, however costly they might be, that came on with the dessert like a polite insult! No; her soul was set on a merry Christmas in the very face and eyes of the Anthons, and already, in November, the preparations began. Peysers and Doubets were ransacked for mate- rial and devices; comical German toys hunted up from out-of-the-way shops; tapers and a tree engaged; and in the delightful hurry of such a work Nelly almost forgot some of her poor peo- ple. Not quite! The greatest difficulty in her way was to find some gift for her aunt that should he apt or odd enough to awake her, if only for a moment, from her habitual chilly apathy; and how to do this put Nelly at her wi