Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0026 /moa/harp/harp0026/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Note on Digital Production 0026 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Issue 151 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0026 /moa/harp/harp0026/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Issue 151 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December 1862 0026 151
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Issue 151, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HAR~PERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME XXVI. DECEMBER, 1862, TO MAY, 1863. HARPER & 327 NEW YORK: BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, to 335 PEARL STREET, FEANELIN SQUARE 1863. A. t~~~ ~~3I ill CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXVI. AFTER VICKSBURG. Laura C. Redden 518 ALONE 162 ANOTHER AFRICAN HUNTER A. H. Guernsey 577 CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND J. Ross Browne 145, 289, 448 CAMP-MEETING IN TENNESSEE Dennar Stuart 97 CARDS AND DICE Charles Nordhoff 163 CARLYLES TABLE-TALK A. H. Guernsey 221 CARTES DE VISITE, A FEW 717 CAUCASUS, A TRIP TO Joseph E. Miller 792 CONTINENTAL MONEY B. J. Lossing 433 DEAD Clifford Sticleney 556 DEAD DRUMMER BOY, THE 430 DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOWS George Jacques 240 DOCTOR HAWLEY J. W De Forest 312, 468 DRIFT OF AMERICAN SOCIETY Samuel Osgood 809 EDITORS DRAWER. DRAWER FOR DECEMBER 139 DRAWER FOR MARCH 568 DRAWER FOR JANUARY 282 DRAWER FOR APRIL 712 DRAWER FOR FEBRUARY 424 DRAWER FOR MAY . 854 EDITORS EASY CHAIR. CHAIR FOR DECEMBER 134 CHAIR FOR MARCH .. 562 CHAIR FOR JANUARY 277 CHAIR FOR APRIL 706 CHAIR FOR FEBRUARY .. 418 CHAIR FOR MAY 849 EDITORS TABLE. INSTITUTIONS AND MEN 273 INDIVISIBILITY OF THE NATION 413 ELSIE VANE N. G. Shepherd 543 ESSEX THE GUN-BOAT C. E. Lester 397 EUROPEAN SOUVENIRS J. IL Siddons 511 FAIRY IN SEARCH OF A PLACE Louise Furniss 116 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 FIFTH AVENUE N. G. Shepherd 645 FOR BETTER, FOR WOI~SE Caroline Chesebro 501, 647, 747 FRUlT, INSECTS INJ1JRIOUS TO 827 GAS AND GAS-MAKING J W. Watson 14 iv CONTENTS. GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS S. R. Fiske 361 GRAND IDEA, THE J. W. Watson 685 HOLE-IN-THE-DAY J. G. Nicolay 186 HOME AND THE FLAG, THE Samuel Osgood 664 HOUSELESS Egbert P. Watson 789 HULLS CAMPAIGN B. J. Lossing 721 ICELAND, A CALIFORNIAN IN 145, 289, 448 INDIVISIBILITY OF THE NATION A. H. Guernsey 413 IN LOUISIANA .J. IF. De Forest 791 INSECTS INJURIOUS TO FRUIT C~harlotte Taylor 827 INSTITUTIONS AND MEN Samuel Osgood 273 JUMPING JACKS DAUGHTER D. R. Castleton 367 KEY, THE MASTER John J. Piatt 699 KITTEN Louise C~handler Moulton 696 LEAGUE OF STATES B. J. Lossing 197 LEMORNE VERSUS HUELL Elizabeth D. B. Stoddard 537 LITERARY NOTICES. Memoirs of Nicholas Murray, 131. Miriam; Stu- parcqs Military Art; Hunts Union Foundations; Rus. dents History of France, 1112. Stocktons Poems; sells Diary; The New American Cyclopssdia, 703. No Crummells Future of Africa; Haraszthys Wine-Mak- Name; Orley Farm; Chronicles of Carlingford; Bar- ing; Hookers First Book in Chemistry; Butterfields rington; Mistress and Maid; Employment& of Women; Camp and Outpost Duty, 133. Szabads Modern War, Ma~sctts Drifting About; Baldwins African Hunting, 134. Kinglakes Invasion of the Crimea, 702. Do- 704. LITTLE JENNY 525 LOST LOVE: ITS RESURRECTION Louise Chandler Moulton 176 LOUIS NAPOLEON William Alexander Kinglake 677 LOVE BY MISHAP Edward H. House 42 MANS LIFE, A C~aroline ~5heseboro 28 MISTRESS AND MAID Dinah Maria Mulock 102, 227 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STATEsThe Army of the Potomac, 129. lief for English Operatives, 412. Repulse at Vicksburg, Advance into Virginia, 129. Removal of General 557. Capture of Port Arkane e, 557. Recapture of Gal- MClellan, 129. General Hallecks Statement, 129. Sto- veston, 5117. Battle at Springfield, Missouri, 557. Skir- arts Raid, 129. The Invasion of Kentucky, 130. Braggs mish at Suffolk, Virginia, 557. Monitors and Forts, Proclamation, 130. His Retreat, 130. Battle of Perry- 557. Fort Doneloon, 557. Second attempt to cross the yule, 130. Removal of General Buell, 130. Battle of Rappahannock, 5117. ResIgnation of General Burnelde, Corinth, 130. Battle of Pea Ridge, 130, 409. Skirmish 55S. Appointment of General Hooker, 558. Sortie from at Pocotaligo, 130. Death of General Mitchell, 130. Charleston, 558. Trial of General Porter, 559. Legie. Occupation of Galveston, 130, 557. Depredations of lature of New York, 559. New Senators, 559. Message the Alabama, 130, 410, 557, 700, 846. Autumn Elec- of Jefferson Davis, 559. Confederate Finances, 559, tions, 131. The next Congress, 131. Position in Vir- Project to seize Cotton, 560. Intercepted Confederate ginia, 266. The Banks Expedition, 266, 410. Occapa- Dispatches, 560. Engagements at Strasburg and Spring. tion of Grenada, 266. Battle of Fayetteville, 266. Dis- field, 699. Queen of the West and Indianola, 700, 846. aster at Huntsville, 266. Meeting of Congress, 266. Southern Privateere, 700. Destruction of the Nashville, Principal Business, 267. TIse Preoldents Message, 267. 700. Close of Congress, 700. Financial and Bank Bills, Scheme for Compensated Emancipation, 267. Report of 70). Speculation in Gold, 700. The Conscription Law, the Secretary of the 1reasury, 268. Of the Secretary of 7(11. Resolutions on Foreign Mediation, 701. Battle at War, 269. Of General Halleck, 269. Of Captain Debt. Port Hudson, 845. Loss of Ram Lancaster, 845. Engage. gren, 271. Of the Secretary of the Navy, 271. Strength ments at Newbern, Millon, and Somerset, 845. Capture of our Navy, 271. Harbor Defenses, 271. The Case of of Blockade Runners, 846. The Alabama, 846. Distress the Alahama, 271. Report of the Secretary of the lute- at the South, 846. Report of Committee on the War, 847. nor, 272. Of the Indian Commissioner, 272. Massa- SOUTHERN AaszmcA.The French in Mexico, 131,560, cres in Minnesota, 272, 411. The Defeat at Fredericks- 561, 848. llombarfiment of Acapulco, 560. Hostilities burg, 409. Battle of Kinston, 409. Of Prairie Grove, between Guatemala and Salvador, 847. 409. Of Murfreesboro, 409. Carters Expedition, 410. EuaorLEuropean Statesmen on Recognition, 131, Vickshurg, 410, 557, 700, 846. Supersedure of General 272,561, 847. Cobdens Commercial League, 131. The Butler, 410. Results of his Administration, 410. Cap- Atlantic Telegraph, 131. Revolution in Greece, 131, lure of the Ariel by the Alabama, 410. Loss of the Mon. 412. Distress in England, 272, 412. Napoleon III. upon itor, 411. Execution of Indians, 411. Cabinet Cd- Mexico, 561. The Queens Speech, 701. Allowance to sis, 411. State of sVestern Virginia, 411. Financial the Prince of Wales 701. Mr. Mason at the Lord Scheme, 411, 558, 100. The Presidents Emancipation Mayors Banquet, 701. The Relief Ship, 701. The Proclamation, 411. Davi~s Counter-Proclamation, 411. Polieb Insurrection, 701, 848. Marriage of the Prince Message of Governor Seymour, of New York, 412. Re- of Wales, 847. English Diplomatic Correspondence, 848. MOSCOW, A FEW DAYS IN I. Ross Browne 596 MRS. HENDERSONS ANNIVERSARY Mary E. Bradley 518 MUSICIANS OF FIELD AND MEADOW Charlotte Taylor 495 MY MYSTERIOUS FOE ...M. E. Dodqe 659 MY THANKSGIVING Rose Terry 636 NETTlES SHELLS .H. ill. Alden 737 NOVELS, A GOSSIP ABOUT M C. Snow 690 ORLEY FARM Anthony Trollope 80 OUR PROPHETS Samuel Osgood 526 OUTWARD BOUND Dinah Maria Mulock 844 PAST AND PRESENT N. C. Shepherd 184 PHILIP RAYNORS SACRIFICE Louise Palmer 342 PIGGS PICTURE GALLERY John MLenau 861 POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND J. Ross Browne 4 POLICEMANS CHRISTMAS TRAMP Eghert P. Watson 406 PRESS, GENTLEMEN OF THE 361 QUAM Jane C. Fuller 532 QUEENS DAY, A J. II. Siddons 657 RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE J. H. Siddons 71 RAREY METHOD, THE Katherine F. JVilliams 377 REST N. C. Shepherd 836 ROBBERY AS A SCIENCE A. H. Guernsey 738 ROLL-CALL N. G. Shepherd 49 ROMOLA Akerian U. Evans 50, 206, 322, 478, 621, 758 ROSEMARY Harriet E. Prescott 803 SCENES IN THE WAR OF 1812 721 SERMON BEFORE THE MAYOR, MY T. S. Arthur 670 SERMON, MY FIRST T. S. Arthur 126 SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON, THE Anthony Trollope 117, 248, 385, 544, 775 SOCIETY, DRIFT OF AMERICAN 809 SOME SECESSION LEADERS ... George M. Towle 673 STAMP ACT CONGRESS, THE B. J. Lossing 34 SUMMER NIGHT, A N. J. Shepherd 736 TALK WITH J1~FFERSON A D. P. Thompson 833 THEORY WORKED OUT Louise Palmer 822 THOMAS ELLIOTTS SPECULATIONS Fred. B. Perkins 356 THROUGH SUFFERING Louise Furniss 816 TILT AT THE WOMANS QUESTION Charles Nordhoff 350 TOWER, THE REVOLVING, AND ITS INVENTOR A. H. Guernsey 241 TUBEROSES Elizabeth D. B. Stoddard 191 UP TO THE HILLS 354 VICTOR HUGO IN EXILE Theodore Johnson 682 WAITING FOR THE CHILDREN Louise Chandler Moulton 1 WHITE CHRYSANTHEMUMS Mary E. Bradley 836 WIDOW THORNS FIRST MARRIAGE N. G. Shepherd 615 WITHERED FLOWER, A Mary E. Bradley 13 WOMANS QUESTION, TILT AT 350 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Thanksgiving Mo~ing. 2. Bringing Home the Bride 3. Waiting for the Children 4. Fdte in a Polish Salt Mine 5. Descending the Shaft 6. Lamp-Carriers 7. Getting out Salt S. The Lablache of the Mines 9. Foot-Path in the Mines 10. Salt Columns 11. Ghick-Auf 12. Subterranean Stables 13. The Old Commissioner 14. The Manhattan Gas-Works 15. Gasholders 16. Making Gas 17. The Laboratory 18. The Photometer Room 19. The Retort House 20. Filling a Retort 21. Drawing a Charge 22. Wetting Coke 23. The Condenser 24. The Purifier 25. The Valve Room 26. The Governor 27. The Register 28. The Station Meter 29. The Wet Meter 30. The Dry Meter 31. A Shilling Stamp 32. Reverse of Stamp 33. The Snake Device 34. San Marco, Florence 35. The Dying Message 36. A Florentine Joke 37. Mrs. Ormes Farewell 38. Sir Peregrines Farewell 39. Gruddocks Gate 40. The Fault of the Partridges 41. Faithful, but DisagrQeable 42. Unappreciated Devotion 43. Morning Negligtie and Boys Costume 44. Sortie de ]3a1 45. The Great Geyser in Iceland 46. Hans Christian Andersseu 1 2 3 4 S 6 7 8 8 9 10 11 12 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 21 22 23 24 25 25 26 27 27 38 38 39 50 53 60 90 92 117 120 141 142 143 144 145 149 47. Anderssens Last Work 149 .48. A Dandy Tourist 152 49. Thorshava 153 50. View in the Faroe Islands 154 51. Faroese Children 155 52. Faroese Islanders 156 53. Kirk G~iboe 158 54. Farm-House and Ruins 159 55. Faroese on Horseback 160 56. Natural Bridge 160 57. Coast of Iceland 161 58. The Meal-Sack 162 59. The Chevalier Card 163 60. Woe to Drunkards 163 61. Jacquemin Gringouneurs Card 164 62. Swords as Trumps 165 63. Hindoostani Cards 166 64. Hindoo Court-Cards 167 65. Chinese Cards ... 167 66. More Chinese Cards 168 67. Chinese Cards, Tseen-wnng-che-pae 168 68. Nine of Paroquets 169 69. Card Party of the Fifteenth Century... 169 70. Old German Seven of Clubs 170 71. Old German Seven of Diamonds 170 72. The Sun Card of 1454 171 73. Circular Court-Card of 1480 172 74. Thomas Murners Logic Card 172 75. Circular Card of 1480 173 76. Circular Court-Card of 1480 173 77. Valet of French Cards.~ 174 78. Court-Card of 1511 174 79. English Knave of Clubs of 1613 175 80. English Knave of Hearts of 1610 175 81. Portrait of Hole-in-the-Day 186 82. Ia the Via Larga, Florence 206 83. The Escaped Prisoner 212 84. Niccohi at Work 220 85.. First Model of the Revolving Tower... 241 86. Portrait of Theodore R. Timby 241 87. Vertical Section of Revolving Tower... 244 88. Cordon of Towers and Chains 246 89. Section of Hull and Naval Tower 247 90. Mr. Cradell, your Hand 252 91. Johnny Eamess Letters 254 92. An Awful Little Cockney 285 93. The Currency Question 286 94. Ball Dress 287 ILLUSTRATIONS. vii 95. Under-Sleeve 288 96. Childrens Costumes 288 97. Reykjavik, the Capital of Iceland 289 98. Church at Reykjavik 290 99. Governors Residence, Reykjavik 291 100. Icelandic Houses 291 101. Icelauders at Work 292 102. Geir Z6ega, Icelandic Guide 293 103. Icelandic Horses 294 104. English Party at Reykjav~k 295 105. A Rough Road in Iceland 297 106. Icelanders taking Snuff 298 107. An Icelandic Bog 300 108. Geir Z6ega and his Dog 301 109. Entrance to the Almannajan 302 110. The Almannajan 303 111. Skeleton View of the Almaunajan.... 304 112. Outline View of Thingvnlla 304 113. Fall of the Alnmannajau 305 114. Icelandic Shepherd Girl 306 115. Church at Thingvalla 307 116. The Pastors House, Thingvalla 308 117. The Pastor of Thingvalla 310 118. Thingvalla, Liigberg, Almannnjau .... 311 119. Skeleton View of the Lbgberg 311 120. Diagram of the L6gberg 311 121. Doctor Hawley and his Daughter 312 122. Uncle and Nephew 315 123. Husband and Wife 318 124. Zedekiah in Full Costume 320 125. Romola Waiting 322 126. Tito Coming Home 333 127. The Painted Record 335 128. Hobbies 385 129~ Why, its Young Eames 1 391 130. On the Pond . 429 131. The Dead Drummer Boy 430 132. Lady and Childs Street Dress 431 133. Negligee Robe 432 134. Reverse of Mass. Treasury Note 433 135. Device of South Carolina Bills 434 136. Device of Maryland Bill 434 137. Georgia Certificate 434 138. New York Five Pound Bill 435 139. Backs of New York Bills 435 140. Fac-Similes of Continental Bills 436 141. Back of Continental Bill 437 142. Device of One Dollar Note 438 143. Device of Two Dollar Note 438 144. Device of Three Dollar Note 438 145. Device of Four Dollar Note. 438 146. Device of Five Dollar Note 439 147. Device of Six Dollar Note 439 148. Device of Seven Dollar Note 439 149 Device of Eight Dollar Note 439 150. Device of Twenty Dollar Note 439 151. Device of Shilling Bill 440 152. Back of Shilling Bill 440 153. Device of Half-Dollar Note 441 154. Device of Thirty Dollar Bill 441 155. Device of Thirty-Five Dollar Bill 441 156. Device of Forty Dollar Bill 441 157. Device of Fifty Dollar Bill 442 158. Device of Fifty-Five Dollar Bill 442 159. Device of Sixty Dollar Bile 442 160. Device of Sixty-Five Dollar Bill 442 161. Device of Seventy Dollar Bill 442 162. Device of Eighty Dollar Bill 443 163. Georgia Continental Lottery Ticket... 443 164. Genuine Continental Bill 445 165. Counterfeit Continental Bill 445 166. Group of Continental Money 447 167. The Hrafnajau, Iceland 448 168. An Artist at Home 449 169. Effigy inLava 449 170. Lava Fjelds 450 171. The Tiatron Rock 451 172. Bridge River 452 173. Icelandic Shepherd and Family 454 174. The Strokhr 457 175. Icelandic Side-Saddle 458 176. The Great Geyser and Receiver 460 177. The Strokhr and Receiver 460 178. Oh-o-o-ah 462 179. The English Party 463 180. Interior of Icelandic Hut 464 181. An Awkward Predicament 466 182. Return to Reykjavik 467 183. Miss Hawley and her Friend 468 184. You Shant Kiss Me! 471 185. Charley and Zedekiah 474 186. Zedekiahs Resignation 476 187. Ia Florence 478 188. You didnt think it was so Pretty!.... 481 189. Escaped 492 190. In hrchester Cathedral 544 191. Painting a Battle-Piece 573 192. Hard on Simson Borer 574 193. Carriage Dress and Girls Toilet 575 194. Home Toilet 576 195. Portrait of William Charles Baldwin 577 196. An African River Scene 578 197. Fast Asleep 579 198. Dead Alligator dragged into Water... 579 199. A Forced Return 580 200. Knocked over by a Lioness 581 201. Going Down Hill 581 202. An African Serenade 582 203. Night Shooting in Africa 583 204. Leaped by a Buffalo 584 U viii ILLUSTRATIONS. 205. A Giraffe in a Tree 585 206. Baldwins Beard 585 207. Giraffe HuntBuffaloes Chasing 586 208. A LonelyNight 587 209. Treking by Night 587 210. Dining with a Kaffir Chief 588 211. A Pass by a savage Elephant 589 212. Rhinoceros and Dogs 589 213. Chase of an Ostrich 590 214. Baldwinhased by an Elephant 591 215. AZebra Hunt 592 216. Treed by Buffaloes 592 217. A Narrow Escape 593 218. Inyala, Dogs, and Hyenas 594 219. A Ducking 595 220. Forest on Fire 595 221. Frozen Animals in Market at Moscow 596 222. Prisoners for Siberia 598 223. .Mnjiks.at Tea 600 224. A Russian Theatre 602 225. The Peterskoi Gardens, Moscow 603 226. Old Clothes Market, Moscow 605 227. Pigs, Pups, and Pans 608 228. A Passage of Politeness 609 229. An Imperial Nosegay 610 230. Skinned and Stuffed Man 613 231. Mujikand Cats 614 232. To Rome .. 621 233. A Supper in the Rucellai Gardens,... 625 234. Father, I will be guided 634 235259. A Jlew Cartes de Visite 717 260. Bridal Toilet .... 719 261. Street Costume 720 262. Portrait of William Hull ...... 721 263. Portrait of Lewis Cass 721 264. Hulls Place of Rendezvous, Dayton... 722 265. Bloody Run 725 266. Colonel Babys House 725 267. View at Rivi~re aux Canards 726 268. View of Mackinack 727 269. Fort Mackinack * 728 270. Barracks at Sandwich 729 271. Fort Niagara, from Fort George 730 272. Maguaga Battle-Ground 731 273. Map of Detroit River and Vicinity.... 732 274. Portrait of Tecumtha. 733 275. Portrait of Col. Duncan MArthur.... 735 276. Netties Shells 737 277. Nettie enslaved 737 278. Nettie enfranchised 737 279. Garroting in London 738 280. False Key and Picklock 741 281. Jack-in-the-Box 741 282. The Original Safe-Drill 742 283. The improved Safe-Drill 743 284. The Panel-Cutter 743 285. The Door-Forcer 744 286. The Key-Nipper 744 287. The Florentine Galley 759 288. The Visible Madonna 766 289. A Dangerous Colleague 773 290. John Eamess Meditations 775 291. Mr. Harding at the Deanery 776 292. And have I not really loved you?.... 780 293. Mr. Pigg as an Infant 861 294. Mr. Pigg at the Age of Seven 861 295. A Pig Chase 861 296. Mr. and Mrs. Pigg 861 297. Mr. Pigg as a Roman Senator 861 298. A Drawing by Mrs. Pigg 861 299. The House where Mr. Pigg was born 861 300. The Pigg Washington 861 301. Churchs Rainbow 862 302. Taits Young Chickens 862 303. Bierstadts Rocky Mountains 862 304. Fishers Sweet Child 862 305. Thorpes Water Fall 862 306. MEntees Indian Summer 862 307. Hayess Animals 862 308. Street Dress 863 309. Home Toilet 864

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler Waiting for the Children 1-4

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CLIDECEMBER, 1862VOL. XXVI. WAITING FOR THE CHILDREN :A POEM FOR ThANKSGIVING. IT is Thanksgiving morning, And, near and far away, The glad church hells nrc ringing To hail Thanksgiving day. With their silvery entreaty They call the heart to prayer, From traffic and from labor From merriment or care. When from Lexington to Concord A thrilling message ran, And behind each hedge and tree-hole There lurked an earnest man: A man whose life was ready, held in unshrinking hand, To he offered up for Liherty, For God, an(l Native Land And in one ancient dwelling In that time-honored dwelling Whose walls, time-stained and gray, An ancient couple wait, Reruemher in their silence To hear their childrens voices The bullets of that day, ___________-, Make music at the gate. Entered according to Act ef Congress, in the year iSOt, by Harper and I3rothero, in the Clerks Office of the Dis- trict Coart for the Southern District ef New York. VOL. XXVI.No. 151.A / / 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It was Thanksgiving morning, Just fifty years ago, When oer that ancient threshold, In raiment white as snow, With cheeks rose-red with hiushes, And eyes as violets hiuc, And face so fresh and innocent, And heart so leal and true, A fragile little hiossom, That hrightened at his side, She came there first heside him He hrought her home his hride. All things are ready, Richard, She said; and then she thought Of their fifty years together, And the changes they had hronght. She rememhered how her hahies Ilad played ahout her there, With the sunshiues shifting splendor in their curling, goldeu hair And when they tired of playing, And slept upon her hreast, What prayers she said ahove them. While she lulled them to their rest. Where are those childrens faces ? She almost thought to see Blue eyes and golden ringlets Still glinting at her knee. The years have wrought strange marvels The children are no more No more their frolic footsteps Fly through the open door. Five men, toil-worn and weary, Five women, howed with care Are these the merry children, With the sunshine in their hair? She tries to smile. Thanksgiving Is the time for joyous cheer And the old man does not see her As she wipes away a tear. had you thought ahout it, Richard, How the children have grown 01(1; How theyve left their youth hehind them, Like a story that is told ? Are all things ready, Mary ? rho old mans eyes are dim, And the face he sees is lovely With girlhoods flush to him. WAITING FOR THE CHILDREN. 3 Last time I saw our Martha her hair was gray as mine; Wills chestnut curls are turning, And Ralph is forty-nine. Its all the better, Richard, We shant be long apart. In the land where we are going I sometimes think my heart Will miss the childrens voices, And be lonely till they come; But we shant have long to wait, dear, For the children coming home. They sat a little longer, In a silence like a prayer, Waiting together, hand in hand Gods angel found them there. In the bright Thanksgiving morning, Fifty changeful years ago, She had crossed that ancient threshold, In her raiment white as snow. Now her husband lcd her onward, As in youthtime, hand in hand, Till they crossed, another threshold Entered on that other land, Where the fountains flov forever, Where the uianv mansions be, And the fruit of life hangs glowing Frotn the boughs of every tree. In the cold November sunshine, In the middle of the day, Sons and daughters stood in silence, Gathered there from far away, Neath the old familiar roof-tree; But they dared not mourn nor weep For the two they found together Those dead faces calm as sleep. Silently they kissed each other, Silently they knelt to pray, Lifring up their hearts to heaven On the blest Thanksgiving day. Years are short and cares are heavy Soon theyll lay their burden down lie who helps the cross to carry Shall be first to wear the crown. They shall keep their best Thanksgiving, \Vhen their tired feet cease to roam, \Vbere the l)aremlts still are waiting For the children coming home. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. arc closed, and now the descent commences. It 11.UNDER-GROUNI). was not without an unpressive feeling of the un AST mon th I left myself standing on the certainty of human athiirs that I glanced around Ii brink of the shaft, prepared to bid farewell me at the ribbed walls of the shaft, as we went for a time to Poland Over-Ground, and ready whirling down through this gloom)- abyss. ~o- for a peep at the UnderGround world of the thing was more natural than to cling with con famous saltmines of Wieliczka. The prelimi- vulsive tenacity to the slender cords by which I neries for the journey had all l)een arranged. was supIJorted, and ask for the second time, Is The supply of fireworks, by the aid of which I the rope strong ? was to see what I should see, had been ordered The sensation of being thus lowered into the on a scale of such magnificence as to \variant e~rtls was startling and peenliar. Overhead the the stern herr Inspector of Workmen in vouch- wheel over which the rope ran was whirling safing to me expressions of his most distin- rapidly; htst the sonnd of the machinery was guished consideration. I was the first Califor quickly lost, and the silence was complete. nian who had visited the mines; and I trnst that Not the slightest jar or evidence of life broke the the dignity of the Golden State did not suffer intense stillness. from ray representation of it. Down, lower and lower, we floated with en When all is ready the lamp - bearers take appalling steadiness. The sides of the shaft their seats and are lowered down below the 1ev- presented nothing but an obsenre wall of mass- ~l. The trap-door is then closed over them, ive tiusbers. Above, all was darkness; below, and the main party arrange themselves for the the dim rays of the lamps cast a strange and descent. The doors are again opened, and at a ghastly light upon every object. The effect was given signal the whole party disappear from the indescribablees if we were descending through sr?rface of the earth. Once more the trap-doors chaos ia a nightmare. The world seemed to he SE EE [N TIlE OiIANn hALL iN TIlE SALT-MINE.

J. Ross Browne Browne, J. Ross Poland Over-Ground and Under-Ground 4-13

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. arc closed, and now the descent commences. It 11.UNDER-GROUNI). was not without an unpressive feeling of the un AST mon th I left myself standing on the certainty of human athiirs that I glanced around Ii brink of the shaft, prepared to bid farewell me at the ribbed walls of the shaft, as we went for a time to Poland Over-Ground, and ready whirling down through this gloom)- abyss. ~o- for a peep at the UnderGround world of the thing was more natural than to cling with con famous saltmines of Wieliczka. The prelimi- vulsive tenacity to the slender cords by which I neries for the journey had all l)een arranged. was supIJorted, and ask for the second time, Is The supply of fireworks, by the aid of which I the rope strong ? was to see what I should see, had been ordered The sensation of being thus lowered into the on a scale of such magnificence as to \variant e~rtls was startling and peenliar. Overhead the the stern herr Inspector of Workmen in vouch- wheel over which the rope ran was whirling safing to me expressions of his most distin- rapidly; htst the sonnd of the machinery was guished consideration. I was the first Califor quickly lost, and the silence was complete. nian who had visited the mines; and I trnst that Not the slightest jar or evidence of life broke the the dignity of the Golden State did not suffer intense stillness. from ray representation of it. Down, lower and lower, we floated with en When all is ready the lamp - bearers take appalling steadiness. The sides of the shaft their seats and are lowered down below the 1ev- presented nothing but an obsenre wall of mass- ~l. The trap-door is then closed over them, ive tiusbers. Above, all was darkness; below, and the main party arrange themselves for the the dim rays of the lamps cast a strange and descent. The doors are again opened, and at a ghastly light upon every object. The effect was given signal the whole party disappear from the indescribablees if we were descending through sr?rface of the earth. Once more the trap-doors chaos ia a nightmare. The world seemed to he SE EE [N TIlE OiIANn hALL iN TIlE SALT-MINE. POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. broken up, and we, a remnant of its inhnbit- ants, sinking down through an everlasting ob- scurity among its fragments. In a few minutes we touched bottom; or rather, hy something like instinct, the machine stopl)e(l just as we reached the base of the shaft, and allowed us to glide off gently on the firm earth. We were now at the first stage of our journey, having descended something over two hundred feet. The ramifications of the various tunnels are so intricate and extensive that they may be sai(l to resenable more the streets of a large city than a series of excavations made in the bowels of the earth. These subterranean passages are named after various kings an(1 em- perors, an(l diverge in every direction, opening at intervals into spacious caverns and apart- ments, and undermining the country for a dis- tance of several miles. Some of them pass en- tirely nuder the town of Wieliczka. In general they are supported by massive beams of wood, and where the overhanging masses of salt re- quire a still stronger support they are sustained by immense columns of tlae original stratum. In former times almost all the passages were up- held by pillars of salt, but wherever it bat been pi~ictic~ible these have been removed and beams of timber substituted. The first stratum consists of an amalgam of salt and tlarkcolored clay.- Deeper down come al- ternate strata of niarl, pebbles, sand, ano blocks of crystal salt. The inferior or green salt is neaicst to the surface; the crystal, called schilil:o, lies in the deeper l)arts. From the subordin- ate~fficer sent by the Inspector - General to icompany us I learn- eel many interesting ptrticulars in refer- ence to the manner of procuring the salt. [Jo also told some amusing legends of ~he prominent places, and furnished me with some statistics which. if true, are certainly wonderful. For in stance, to traverse the various passages and chambers embraced within the four dis- tiuct stories of which the mines consist, and see every object of in- terest, would require three weeks. The aggregate leugth of the whole is four bundreel English miles the greatest depth yet reached is two thousand three hundred feet. The number of workmen employed in the vari- ous operations under-ground, exclusive of those above, is upward of a thousand. The amount of salt ann~allv elug out is two hunelred millions of pounds, which, at the average market value, would be worth ten millions of gulelen. Im- mense as this yield is it is inconsiderable, taking into view the unlimited capacity of the mines. With proPer machinery and a judicious invest- ment of labor the quantitY of salt that might be excavated is almost hey end conjecture. It is natural to suppose that the air in these vast subterranean passages must be impure, and consequently deleterious to health. Such, how- ever, eloes not appear to be the case. It is both dry and pure, atiel, so far as I could judge b breathing it, not in the least oppressive. The miners are said to be remarkable for longevity. Several of them, accOr(ling to the guide, have worked in the mines for forty years aud have never been side a day. The equanimity of the temperature is probably conelucive to health; DE5OEN1)VNO TILE ShAFT. C HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Only a few degrees of variation are shown by the thermometer between summer and winter. It is true that in some of the deepest recesses, which are not sufficiently ventilated, hydrogen gas occasionally collects. In one instance it caught fire and caused the loss of many lives; but precautions have since been taken to prevent similar accideuL. I was greatly impressed by the profound si- lence of these vast caverns. When we stood still, the litter absence of sound ~vas appalling. The falling of a pin would have been a relief. Not even the faintest vibration in the air was perceptible. No desert could be more silent no solitude more awful. I stood apart from the guides and lamp-hearers in a separate vault, at the distance of a few hundred feet, in order that I might fully appreciate this profound inertion, and it really seemed as if the world were no more. From some of these tunnels we emerged into open caverns, where a few workmen were em- ployed at their dreary labors. I was surprised that there were not more to be seen, b lit was informed that they are scattered in small par ties through miles of eardi, so that the num- ber is not apparent to the casual visitor. As we approached the places where they were at work the dull clicking of the picks and hammers pi0 duced a singular ef- fect through the vast solitudes; as if the gnomes, supl)osed to inhabit gloomy pits, were busily engaged at their diabolical arts. We came suddenly upon one group of worl~-ien, under a shelving ledge, who were occupied in de- taching masses of crys- tallized salt from a cleft in which they worked. They were naked to the middle; having nothing on but coarse trowsers and boots, and wrotught with their crmV-bars and picks by th~ light of a few grease-lamps held by grimy little boys, with shaggy heads members no doubt of the same subterranean family. Some of the men were lying on their backs punching away with trementlous toil at the rugged masses of salt overhead their heads, faces, and bodies glittering with the showers of salt-grit that fell upon them; while others stood up to their armpits in dark holes delving into the lower crevices. Seeing our lights they stopped to gaze at us. Was it possible they were hti- man bein~s these bearded, shaggy, grimy-look- ing monsters ? Surely, if so, they well repre- sented the infernal character of the place. Never upon earth (the surface of it, I mean) had I seen such a monstrous group: shocks of hair all pow- dered with salt; glaring eyeballs overhung by white lashes flashing in the fitful blaze of lamps; brawny forms glittering with crystal powder and marked by tiark currents of sweat! No wonder I stared at them with something akin to distrust. They might be monsters in reality. and take a sudden notion to hurl me into one of their infernal pits by way of pastime; in which ease the only consolation would be, that, whero there was such an abundance of salt, there wotili be no difficulty about the preservation of my me- mains. After all there was something sad in the con- LAMP-CAi;aimu.5. POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. 7 dition of these poor wretchesshut out from the glorious light of day, immured in deep dark pits hundreds of feet un(ler-grouud; rooting, as it were, for life, in the bowels of the earth. Surely the salt with which other men flavor their food is gathered with infinite toil and mingled with hitter sweat! Yet, strange as it may seem, I was informed hy the guide that these workmen are so accus- tomed to this kind of life that they prefer it to any other. By the rules of the Directory they are divided into gangs as on hoard a ship. The working gang is not permitted to remhin under- ground more than eight hours it is then re- lieved. The current belief that some of them live in the mines is not sustained by the facts. In former times it is quite probable such was the case. At present the administration of af; fairs is more humane than it was at an early period in the history of the mines. The opera- tives are free to quit whenever they please, as in any private establishment. Plenty of others are always ready to take their places. The pay is good, averaging from thirty krentzers to a form a day. Wherever it is practicable the work is done by the piece. Each man receives so much for a specified result. Good workmen can make two or three hundred florins a year. The salt is gotten out in various forms, according to the depth of the stratum. Where it is mixed with an amalgam of hard earth it is cut into cylin- drical blocks, and exported in that form to Russia. The liner qualities are crushed and packed in barrels for exportation to various parts of Prussia and Austria. 14w little do we reflect upon the tremendous aggregate of toil by which the commonest article of human food is procured Thus, as we sit at our pleasant breakfast tablethe sunshine shed- ding its cheerful glow through the curtains upon the social circle the white cloth, the clean knives, the buttered toast and boiled eggs, so invitingly spread before uswith what charm- ing unconsciousness of labor we dip tip a little salt and sprinkle it upon our eggs and butter: how merrily we chat over the topics of the times! To be sure there is no good reason why we should make ourselves miserable because what we relish so highly cost labor; but would it not be instructive to dwell a moment even upon a pinch of salt? Not to go into a history of the silver-mines, which have served to garnish our table; the iron-mines, which have furnished us with knives and forks ; or the coalmines, which afford us fuel with which to cook our food what a world of salt seas, and brine- springs, and crystal cavernswhat an aggre- gate of human toil, commerce, and enterprise that pinch of salt suggests! Yet so common is the use of this minemal that, like the air we breathe, we are scarcely conscious of its exist- ence. Our bread, our meat, our vegetables would be flat and unpalatable without it: even to health it is indispensable. Such reflections were naturally suggested by every thimig around methe grimy workmen, the prodigious masses of salt, the colossal beams of timber, the gloomy caverns and wonderful la- byrinth of passages. Earth and salt every where! Yet, prodigious as this aggregate of labor is, and vast as are the products, the salt mines of Wieliczka supply but an infinitesimal __ -~ ~ eETTiNo OUT SALT. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY M~AZINE. fraction of the human race. A thousand men are daily occupied in digging it out of the earth; millions of pounds are annually scattered over Poland, Prussia, and Russia: yet the whole is but a pinch of salt. Something akin to pity stole over me as I turned away from the~e poor men. It seemed scarcely credible that human heings could thus drearily struggle to preserve so gloomy an exist- ence. Immured in these deep, dark dungeons day after day, and year after year, relieved only hy intervals necessarily devoted to rest, how lit- tle they cogld know of The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and the garniture of fields Wherever we stopped in our rambles these poor creatures gathered. around us and hegged for alms. Afraid to trust to my own discretion I directed the Commissioner to give them what- ever was custoniavv. lie was a kind-hearted old man, and tlcal t the kreutzers out freely; so that many prayers were offer~9d up to the patron saints of the mines for the salvation of my soul. After a long and interesting journey through various suhterranean streets and caverns we emerged into the chamher of Michelawic, which is of such vast proportions that it is difficult for the eye to penetrate its mysterious gloom. A magnificent chandelier, cut out of the crystal salt, hangs from the ceiling. On grand oem- sions this is hrilliantly lighted, and rich strains of music reverherate through the chamber. No- thing can equal the stupendous effects of a full band of hrass instruments performirn in this vast cavern. The sounds are flung hack from wall to wall, and float upward, whirling from lodge to ledge, till the ear loses them in the dis- tance ; then clown they fall again with a fullness au(l volume almost supernatural. It is hupossi hie to deterutine from what quarter they euja- nate, whether from above or helow; so rich, varied, and confusing is the reverheration. Our guide, in a fine mellow voice, sang us a mining song to test the effects, and I must say I never heard such music hefore. Indeed so inspiring was it that I could not refrain from a snatch of uty owli favorite melody, Oh~ California! youre the land for me And when I heard it repeated hy a thousand mysterious spirits of the air, and hurled hack at me from each crystallized point of the cavern, the effect was so fine that I was struck perfectly dnlnh with astonishment. Lablache never made such music in his life, and no other siliger of my acquaintance would be worthy of attempting it. Soon after leaving the Chamber of Michelawic we passed over a series of wooden foot-ways and corridors, extending a distance of fifteen hun- dred feet, through a great variety of apaitments and rugged passages, named after the royal families of iPoland and Austria. There were courts, and imperial roon-is, and obelioks; chap- els, shrines, saints, and martyrs ; long rows of niches, containing statues of the 01(1 Kings of Polandall cut out of the soli(l salt. The de- sign and execution of sonic of these were ad- mirable, and the effect was gratifying a~ well from the artistic skill displayed as the peculiar- ity of the material. Descending to a second stage by means of a FOOT-PATiI. K Tile LAinAeu - OF rue euxes. POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. 9 rough wooden stairway which winds around the walls ot an im- mense cavern of irregu- lar shape, we ~vandered through a series of tun- nels, opening occasion- ally into chambers of prodigious height and dimensions, till our gni(le annonuced that we were approaching the Infernal Lake. The Iamj)-bearers in front held up their lamps and, peering througb the fitful gloom, Icould discern, some distance in ativance, a sheet of water the surface of which glistened with a supernatural light. Ar- rived at the e(lge of this mysterious lake, which might well ~ for the river Styx, a boat approached from the opposite shore drawn by means of a rope. Numerous dark-look- ing imps were at work dragging it through the water. The sides rip- pled in the sluggish pool, and a hollow reverberation sounded from the dark walls of the cavern. A gatewaywas thrown SALT cOLUMN5. open and we descend- ed some steps and entered the boat. It was a labyrinth of shafts and crevices far in the distance. square flat-bottomed craft, decorated with fancy Around and above us were innumerible rugged colors, containing seats on each side, and capa pointsjntting out from the solid stratum, and arch. ble of accommodating a large party. We took ways teaching across dccl) fissures, and beams of our places, and at a signal from the guide the timber braced against overhanging masses of rock. boat moved slowly and silently over the dark The sombre line of the toppling canopy and depths, which seemed almost of inky hlackness rugged ~valls was relieved only by the points of in the gloom. crystal sa It upon which the lights glistened; As we thus floated on the infernal pool the mysterious shadows flitted in the air; and pale, solitnde was awful. I could not but shadder at greenish scintillations shot out of the gloom. It the thought that we were nearly five hundred ~vas, in truth, a subterranean universe of dask- feet beneath the surface of the earth. The dis- ness, made visible by torches of grease aiid stars mal black ~valls, roughly hewn from the solid of salt, with nit infernal sea in its midst, an(1 stratum of salt an(l marl; the tremendons heights inhabited by a very doubtful set of people, half overhead, and the al)parent great depth ander- earthly and wholly Satanic in their appearance. neath; the fitful glare of the torches, the rough Continuing our voyage, after some minutes grimy faces of the attendants, and their wild we approached a point beyond which all was an costumes, gave a peculiarly infernal aspect to unfathomable ~vil~lerness of jagged walls and the scene. It was weird and sombre beyond yawning caverns. Suddenly a blaze of blue fire conception. burst from the gloom, throwing a ghastly hue We stoppe(l a while in the middle of the lake I over the crystal pinnacles, then faded slowly to notice the strange effeet of the plashing of the away. The guides now covered their lights, waters, when disturbed by a rocking motion of and we were left in utter darkness. Groans the boat, against the massive walls on either side. and cries were heard in the air, and plashing Thc reverberation vas fearfully deep-rolling and sounds echoed from the shores of the infernal sivelling, from point to point, till lost in the lake. As these ceased a terrific report broke 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. upon the stillness, and out of th gloom arose a blaze of red re, gradually assuming shape till it stood before us in the form of a magnificent triumphal arch, bearing upon its front the illu- minated motto, lii ~aut. signifying Good-luck to you! or, literally, Luck upon it ! the famous greeting of the miners~ Under this triumphal arch we passed slowly into an immense chamber, of such vast. proportions and rugged outline that the eye fail- ed to penetrate its profound depths. Thea from various corridors, high among the conglomerate crags, descended mysterious voices, crying, one after another, Gldck-auf! Gliick-auf! GlOck- auf! till the reverberation united them all in a grand choru~, so deep, so rich, varied, and pow- erful that mortal ears could encompass no more. Was it real? Cool these be human voices and earthly sounds. or were the the distem- pered fantasy of a dream, At a signal from our guide the horns ce~ sed, and shooting res broke out from the toppling height, and the whole grand chamber, in all its majesty, was illuminated with showers of color- ed stars. The inverted arches of fire in the wa- terthe reflected images of rocks, corridors, and precipicesthe sudden contrasts of light and gloom the scintillations of the crystal salt- pointsformed a scene of miraculous and inde- scribable grandeur. Unable to control my entht - siasm, I shouted, at the top of my voice, GlOck- auf! Gliick-auf! The cry was caught up by the guides and torch-hearers; it arose and was echoed from rock to rock by the chorus-singers, till, like the live thunder, it le pod the r~ ttliug crags ameu~. Our guide v~ s evidently ccustomed to thes g an si~hts~ TI ore was a magisterial in iffer eaUcK-AuF, POLAND OVER-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. 11 ence about him that was very imposing. I rath- er suspected he was in league with some of the infernal spirits of the place, and knew exactly when and where they would display their dia- bolical rts. That he had some command over them was evident from the fact that they under- stood e -ery rap of his stick; and fires flashed ont of the darkness aud voices were heard in the distance just as it suited him. For all I know he was the Prince of Darkness himself. Guided by the torches, we ~t length reached the end of the lake, where a numerous retinue of attendants awaited our landing. The ferry- men gathered around us, as usual, and demand- ed compensation for their labors. They were a voracious, poverty-stricken set, horribly dark and leathery, and their eyes glared with a greedy lust for geld when I pulled out my purse. Fortunately I was well provided with Austrian paperthe most al~ominable trash ever a man carried, but possessing this rare advantage that it goes a great way. A gulden divided into ten paper notes looks like a great deal of money; yet each note is really worth only four or five American cents. I counted it out freelytwenty kreutzers to each ferryman. Little did I know what I was doing! When they looked at their fees they set up a general howl and begged for more, protesting, in their rude jargon, that they always got double the amount. I appealed to the Commissioner, who assured me, confiden- tially, they never got half as much, At this they attacked him with reproaches and violent gesticulations, all of which he took very quietly; thea they rushed to me and renewed their ap- peals; then to the Chief, who maintained a pro- found neutrality; and then clamored among themselves, their rage increasing each mo- ment. I was appre- hensive they would di~ g us back into the boat, and pitch us into the infernal pool, and walked awaynot much relishing the idea. The last I saw of them they were sitting on the side of the boat counting over their money, and chuckling devils may be sup- posed to chuckle when they meet with an ex- traordinary piece of good luck. We next visited the stables in which the horses are kept for hauling the salt on the subterranean rail- ways Many of these horses, it is said, never see daylight from the time they enter the mines. In the course of a few weeks they lose their sight. A film gradually grows over the eyesfrom what cause I could not ascertain. It may he the effects of the salt or long-continued darknessthough it does not appear that the miners suffer any in- convenience in this respect. I remember read- ing of some fish without any eyes at all found in the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. Possibly ha ing but little use for sight the horses of Wieliczka go blind from~ natural disposition to accommo- date themselves to circumstances. After visiting runny chapels and shrines,cut out of the solid salt we emerged into the Chain- her of Letow, the magnificent Saloon of Enter- tainment, where, on grand occasions, such as the visit of the Emperor or a y member of the Im- perial family, the whole of this vast chamber is brilliantly illuminated, Six splendid chan ~e- hers, carved front the crystal salt, bang frot the ceiling. An alcove at the upper end, ap- proached by a series of steps, contains a throne of green and ruby-colored salt upon which the Emperor sits. Transparent pictures and devices are arranged in the bagk-ground to give addi- tional splendor to the Imperial boudoir, and the crystallizations with which the walls glitter re- flect the many-colored lights with a dazzling effect, The door-ways, statues, and columns are decorated with flux ~ers and evergreens; the floors are sprinkled with salts of various hues: the galleries are festooned with flags; and the whole chamber is aglow with transparencies and brilliant lights, Although I was not favored with a similar display in honor of my sovereignty as a citizen of the United States, yet, by the aid of the rockets and other re-works furnished by the Herr In- seaTER A RAN STABLES. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spector-General of Workmen, and the natural J We next descended by a series of stairways grandeur of the Chamber. hewn as it is out of to the third story. This differs but little from the solid rock of salt, I was e~ab1ed to form a those already described, except that the deeper vivid idea of the magnificence of the display on one goes the wilder and more rugged become the royal occasions. . ramifications of the mines. At one point in our At sucb times the operatives and their fami- journey we entered a spacious ~hamber some lies, numbering not less than fifteen hundred, 80 or 100 feet high. Here the guide paused, are invited to a festival, given by His Majesty and in an impressive manner struck his stick the Emperor as a token of his friendly regard. against the floor. When the reverberation bad A band of two hundred musicians perform in a (eased he announced the important circumstance special gallery set apart for their use. The that we now stood directly under the Infernal Royal Visitor sits enthroned at the upper end Lake! Ya! mein Herr, said he, that won- of the saloon surrounded by his retinue. The deiful lake, over which we sailed in a boat not massiv~ chandeliers are lighted, and the walls half an hour ago, is over our heads; and if it are decorated with innumerable transparencies should break through it would drown every one and colored lights. Galleries extending all of us ! Rather an unpleasant pickle, I around are filled with spectators, and the guests thought, but could not translate the pun into crowd the floor. The music strikes up, filliug German, and so let it pass. the whole vast chamber with a flood of harmony It appears that the waters of this lake found indescribably rich and powerful. The inspired a vent at one time, and deluged a large portion miners break out into their favorite cry of greet- of the mines. The hole was eventually stoJ)])ed, ingGhick-auf! Glihek-auf! and all start and the water carried out through the shafts. off in a general dance and such a dance! In 1815 a fire broke out owing to the careless- The savagery of motion, the sudden jumps, ness of some workman, and several hundred lives the fierce energy and intense individuality of were lost. The smoke extended all through every figure can only be seen in the Polish na- the mines, and those of the panic- stricken op- tional dance. It is the very impersonation of eratives who were distant from the main shafts Sclavonic wildness. The effect is heightened communicating with the surface of the earth in tberesent instance by the colored lights and were suffocated while attempting to escape. 0th- sumptuous decorations of the ball, and the holi- ers in their fright fled at random, and falling day costumes of the dancers, which arc siugu- into deep pits ~vere dashed to atoms. In l(i44 larly picturesque; and the whole scene is won- another destructive fire took place. All the derfully brilliant and characteristic. It is of wood-work was seized by the devouring flames. course greatly enjoyed by the Imperial specta- Men and horses ~vere roasted to death, and many tor, who sits enthroned in the illuminated grotto. of the workmen who escaped subsequently died Mingled ~vith these festivities, however, is the depressing element of military despotism. Guards are stationed at every point; sabres and bayonets flash in the glowing lights; the chat- / ter of swords resounds from the floors; and ev-, cry motion of the dancers is watched with a jeal- I ens vigilance. None knosv better than the Aims- trians in Poland how hatefid their presence is to the people. Although the mass of the stratum of which this grand chamber is composed is of a darkish I color, yet the very darkness of the ground-work serves all the better to show by contrast the glit- tering points of salt. The effect is inconceiva- bly rich. The arched roof; the high rugged walls, hewn out of the solid rock; the maiks of the pick and chisel visible in furrows all over, all sparkling with saline gems, give the whole cavern the appearance of being studded with diamonds. It reminds one of the grottoes un- der the sea described by Gulnare in the Ara- bian Nights. When it is considered, too, that all this splendor and these festivitiesthe il- luminated galleries and alcoves, the ch ndeliers and decorations, the vast concourse of guests, the music, the dancing, the wild and fanciful costumesare 500 feet below the surface of the enuth, it is no exaggeration to say that the spec- tacle is unparalleled. Nothing to equal it in a similar way can be seen in any other part of the world. TII CLI) COMMISSIONER. A WIThERED FLOWER. 13 of their injuries. This was one of the most fear- judge by the sounds I should say the boards ful conflagrations on record. It lasted an en- must be going down yet. tire year. The chambers and tunnels, deprived The salt-mines of Wieliczka are interesting of their support, fell together in many places, not only in themselves but in a historical point causing immense destruction to the ~vorks. Even of vie~v. They have been worked for more than a considerable portion of the town ef Wieliczka seven hundred years. In the tenth century salt sank into the earth, and was engulfed in the gen. was dug out of them; and in the year 1240, Un. eral ruin. der the government of Boleslaus, they became I asked the old Commissioner, whose portrait an important source of revenue. For several I give for the benefit of future travelers, if acci- centuries they were held and worked by the Po- dents of any kind were frequent at l)resent. His lish kings. In 1815 they were assigned to the answer was that very fe~v accidents had occurred Emperor of Austria by the treaty of Vienna, and for many years past. It was almost impossible since that period have contributed largely to keel) that a fire could now take place, owing to the the Poles in subjection. strict police regulations and the facilities for cx- In concluding this hurried sketch I am un- tinguishing flames at any point. Casualties to willing to take leave of the reader without cx. the workmen by the caving of banks, decay of pressing my regret that it has not been in my platforms, or falling into pits were also of very power to muake it more perfect. Want of time rare occurrence. and data must be my excuse. Let us, however, The deepest point yet reached is 620 feet be- with a retrospective glance at the gloomy depths low the level of the sea. We did not descend out of which we have just emerged, shake hands into this shaft; but our guide, in order to con- before we part, and mutually thank Providence ymca us of its great depth, caused the attend- we are not compelled to labor for a subsistence ants to throw some boards into it. If I were to in the salt-mines of Wieliczka. A WITHERED FLOWER. H, soft and sweet this sumuw wind Sighs through the lean- arches, And overhead the summer clouds Troop on in stately marches; And with a cool and ceaseless flow The woodland water rushes, In many a swirling eddy, rotund The dipping alder bushes. Beyond them, where the pool is still, The lilies, tall and slender, Lie dreamily among the leaves In white and golden splendor.. Oh, beautiful the place is yet, Though many a summers glory has come and gone since here I heard That sweet, delusive storx-. No change on tree, or cloud, or wave, Has left its blighting traces: The very violets seem to smile From out the very places; And lo within this sheltered nook, here stands a fair white blossom half-sister to the one he placed Tl~ot day UpOfl my bosom. I have it treasured somewhere still, Poor, fragile little token! Fit emblem of the plighued faith So soon despised and broken. And though my heart through all these years Too cold has grown to cover One loving memory of him I once believed my lover, Yet sometimes from those withered leaves The subtle s~veetness stealing, Stirs up to passion and to grief Long-hidden deeps of feeling. 0 The old rebellion and despair, The old heart-breaking sorrow The desolation that could find No hope in any morrow, All break in bitter waves again Upon my soul forsaken, And leave me moaning, 1 00) bft, And all amy idols taken! Ab, ~vell! what foolish words are these, When summer suns are shining, And bird and flower, and brook and breeze, All sweetnesses combining! When One above knows all our needs, And makes provision duly, And loves with more than human love So tenderly, so truly! My Father! help me still to lean Upon Thy love unshaken, And so, for all my withered flowers, I shall not be forsaken!

Bradley Bradley A Withered Flower 13-14

A WIThERED FLOWER. 13 of their injuries. This was one of the most fear- judge by the sounds I should say the boards ful conflagrations on record. It lasted an en- must be going down yet. tire year. The chambers and tunnels, deprived The salt-mines of Wieliczka are interesting of their support, fell together in many places, not only in themselves but in a historical point causing immense destruction to the ~vorks. Even of vie~v. They have been worked for more than a considerable portion of the town ef Wieliczka seven hundred years. In the tenth century salt sank into the earth, and was engulfed in the gen. was dug out of them; and in the year 1240, Un. eral ruin. der the government of Boleslaus, they became I asked the old Commissioner, whose portrait an important source of revenue. For several I give for the benefit of future travelers, if acci- centuries they were held and worked by the Po- dents of any kind were frequent at l)resent. His lish kings. In 1815 they were assigned to the answer was that very fe~v accidents had occurred Emperor of Austria by the treaty of Vienna, and for many years past. It was almost impossible since that period have contributed largely to keel) that a fire could now take place, owing to the the Poles in subjection. strict police regulations and the facilities for cx- In concluding this hurried sketch I am un- tinguishing flames at any point. Casualties to willing to take leave of the reader without cx. the workmen by the caving of banks, decay of pressing my regret that it has not been in my platforms, or falling into pits were also of very power to muake it more perfect. Want of time rare occurrence. and data must be my excuse. Let us, however, The deepest point yet reached is 620 feet be- with a retrospective glance at the gloomy depths low the level of the sea. We did not descend out of which we have just emerged, shake hands into this shaft; but our guide, in order to con- before we part, and mutually thank Providence ymca us of its great depth, caused the attend- we are not compelled to labor for a subsistence ants to throw some boards into it. If I were to in the salt-mines of Wieliczka. A WITHERED FLOWER. H, soft and sweet this sumuw wind Sighs through the lean- arches, And overhead the summer clouds Troop on in stately marches; And with a cool and ceaseless flow The woodland water rushes, In many a swirling eddy, rotund The dipping alder bushes. Beyond them, where the pool is still, The lilies, tall and slender, Lie dreamily among the leaves In white and golden splendor.. Oh, beautiful the place is yet, Though many a summers glory has come and gone since here I heard That sweet, delusive storx-. No change on tree, or cloud, or wave, Has left its blighting traces: The very violets seem to smile From out the very places; And lo within this sheltered nook, here stands a fair white blossom half-sister to the one he placed Tl~ot day UpOfl my bosom. I have it treasured somewhere still, Poor, fragile little token! Fit emblem of the plighued faith So soon despised and broken. And though my heart through all these years Too cold has grown to cover One loving memory of him I once believed my lover, Yet sometimes from those withered leaves The subtle s~veetness stealing, Stirs up to passion and to grief Long-hidden deeps of feeling. 0 The old rebellion and despair, The old heart-breaking sorrow The desolation that could find No hope in any morrow, All break in bitter waves again Upon my soul forsaken, And leave me moaning, 1 00) bft, And all amy idols taken! Ab, ~vell! what foolish words are these, When summer suns are shining, And bird and flower, and brook and breeze, All sweetnesses combining! When One above knows all our needs, And makes provision duly, And loves with more than human love So tenderly, so truly! My Father! help me still to lean Upon Thy love unshaken, And so, for all my withered flowers, I shall not be forsaken! 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. jNJ Y name is DAVID Binosthe Mr. Biggs, in fact, of whom the readers of this Mag- azine have before heard, and not altogether, I mnst acknowledge, to my advantage. When, a few months ago, my young friend Septimas Witherspoonnow my nephew by marriage pnblished his account of our excursion along the wharves of Neiv York I was naturally mor- tified. He nov owns that his representation of me was somevhat overdra~vn, though he insists that it is correct in the main features. At the time when it was ~vrittensome mouths before it appeared in printI was on a visit to him at his home in Herkimer County, and having as- certained that the value of the farm and railroad stocks held by his resl)ected aunt, Deborah Jane Witherspoon, was every way satisfactory, I was paying my addresses to that estimable lady with every prospect of success. Septimus was op- posed to the match, and consequently exagger- ated the little aberrations which he ol)served in my conduct. When the article appeared in print that lady was Mrs. David Biggs. I ac- knowledge that I was at first attracted to her by mercenary considerations, little kno~ving the sterling qualities of the woman herself. If I now present myself in a more favorable charac ter than formerly it is all owing to the influ- ence of that noble woman. When she gave me her hand she made no paltry reservation of her estate. She put that wholly in my charge, and I am proud to say that her confidence has not been misplaced. The l)ossession of proper- ty and the confidence of a true woman made a new man of mc. The knowledge which I had acquired, especially of articles of food, came in good stead; my wifes property enabled me to turn that knowledge to account. I entered upon the business of manufacturing prel)ared meats, and secured a large Govcrmnent contract for the supply of our army. That it has been a lucra- tive one is true; and there were few ladies at Rockbranch, where we passed the summer, who made a finer display thnn my wife. Her posi- tion as a fashionable lady was a little embar- rassing at first, but that soon ~vore oW and I do not know when I have been more gratified than I was in reading in a New York paper a notice of the magnificent dress and high-bred man- ners of Mrs. David Biggs. As for myselg I am pronil to say that my credit in Wall Street is as good as that of any other man; and no one can look with more contempt than I do upon the former David Biggs, who used to wear my old boots and frequent OSullivan hall. I am happy to say that my young friend Sep TUE MANHATTAN CAS-WOluiS.

J. W. Watson Watson, J. W. Gas and Gas-Making 14-28

14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. jNJ Y name is DAVID Binosthe Mr. Biggs, in fact, of whom the readers of this Mag- azine have before heard, and not altogether, I mnst acknowledge, to my advantage. When, a few months ago, my young friend Septimas Witherspoonnow my nephew by marriage pnblished his account of our excursion along the wharves of Neiv York I was naturally mor- tified. He nov owns that his representation of me was somevhat overdra~vn, though he insists that it is correct in the main features. At the time when it was ~vrittensome mouths before it appeared in printI was on a visit to him at his home in Herkimer County, and having as- certained that the value of the farm and railroad stocks held by his resl)ected aunt, Deborah Jane Witherspoon, was every way satisfactory, I was paying my addresses to that estimable lady with every prospect of success. Septimus was op- posed to the match, and consequently exagger- ated the little aberrations which he ol)served in my conduct. When the article appeared in print that lady was Mrs. David Biggs. I ac- knowledge that I was at first attracted to her by mercenary considerations, little kno~ving the sterling qualities of the woman herself. If I now present myself in a more favorable charac ter than formerly it is all owing to the influ- ence of that noble woman. When she gave me her hand she made no paltry reservation of her estate. She put that wholly in my charge, and I am proud to say that her confidence has not been misplaced. The l)ossession of proper- ty and the confidence of a true woman made a new man of mc. The knowledge which I had acquired, especially of articles of food, came in good stead; my wifes property enabled me to turn that knowledge to account. I entered upon the business of manufacturing prel)ared meats, and secured a large Govcrmnent contract for the supply of our army. That it has been a lucra- tive one is true; and there were few ladies at Rockbranch, where we passed the summer, who made a finer display thnn my wife. Her posi- tion as a fashionable lady was a little embar- rassing at first, but that soon ~vore oW and I do not know when I have been more gratified than I was in reading in a New York paper a notice of the magnificent dress and high-bred man- ners of Mrs. David Biggs. As for myselg I am pronil to say that my credit in Wall Street is as good as that of any other man; and no one can look with more contempt than I do upon the former David Biggs, who used to wear my old boots and frequent OSullivan hall. I am happy to say that my young friend Sep TUE MANHATTAN CAS-WOluiS. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 15 timus is thoroughly rec- onciled to our connec- tion, and does me the fa- vor to make my house his home when he happens to be in New York. He is a clever youth, though still a little green, and I make it an object to post him up a little on matters and things in general, when occasion serves. Such an occasion happened not long since. A few evenings ngo we were sitting in my parlor quietly s~piug a cup of excellent coffee. I ought to have mentioned that, by the advice of Mrs. B., I have given up the use of hrandy and other stim- ulants of that class. Mv excellent wife makes ad- mirable coffee, after a method which I taught her, and I find it much hetter than my old bev- erages. We were sitting over our coffee when, all at once, the gas went out without a moments warning, and left us in to- tal darkness. What a humbug your gas is, after all, in spite of the hig pots that von called gasholders, which you showed me when we took that walk along the wharves! They hold your gas no~v, I should think, and do not seem inclined to let von have the benefit of it, exclaimed Septimus. I would sue the Gas Company for damages. Do you know any thing about gas ? I in- quired. Certainly, he replied. Gas, according to ~Vorcester, is an aeriform fluida term ap- plied to all permanently elastic fluids or airs differing from atmospheric air. Wehsters defi- nition is to about the same purpose: A l)erma- nently elastic aeriform fluid, or a substance re- duced to the state of an aeriform fluid by its permanent combination with caloric. That is very well, I replied; but do you know any thing about the particular form of gas which is used in lighting our city; how it is pro- duced, and how distrihuted through our streets and houses ? He acknowledged his ignorance; whereupon I inquired if he would like to learn about it. He expressed an ardent desire for in- formation. I thereupon promised on the follow- ing day to take him through the gas-works, and to explain to him the whole process of the manu- facture, adding that in the mean while I would give him a little preliminary information. I went on to explain to him that the original gases were those contained in the air we breatheto wit oxygen, nitrogen, and hydrogen. Farther, that oxygen and nitrogen, in a state of mechanical mixture, made atmosphere, which also contained aqueous vapor, and carbonic acid in small quan- tities, and near large cities certain amounts of ammonia. rhe more impure air is, the more the oxygen diminishes and sulphureted hydrogen and carbonic acid increase. All this, of course, was going over old matter; but still it was nec- essary that he might fairly understand what I was about to say farther, as I perceived he was becoming interested in the matter. I wished to make him understand the import- ance of that unsecable, smellable article, genet- ally denominated gas, which we daily and hourly consume for the purposes of light and heat. I therefore dilated upon the immense im- portance of the article, and of light generally. I asked him what would the world be without light, even after sunset? I spoke of the discom- fort of poking ahout in darkness, or going to hed at 3 P.u. All animal and vegetable substances in com- bustion, I went on to say, give out light and heat. All substances of a fatty or oleaginous nature are composed of carbon and hydrogen, and when exposedto a certain heat, resolve into carbureted and bi-carhureted hydrogen or ole- fiant gas, which~s inflammable, giving out a fine white light. All this, I said, was the simple and entire theory of gas. What improvements time will make, based upon those first principles, time ~~ill show. Pneumatic chemistry has already shown that gas can be made from water by separating the hydrogen. Some l)ractical at- tempts have been made within the last two years, but without arriving as ~ et at any great results. eAsnoanEas. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It was proposed by this method to produce gas at a cost of 4S cents per 1000 feetrather a say- ing, when it is considered that we have to. pay two dollars or more per 1000 feet. It was very plain that Septiinus was interested, and consequently I was determined, while my hand was in, to give him a general lesson on the subject. Under this resolve I thought it would not be a had idea to trace the history of gas from the earliest record. To do this I did not have to go far back; for though something new turns up every day about those stern forefathers of ours, the Greeks, the Romans, and the Egyp- tians, yet so far it would be pretty hard to prove theni the first discoverers of gas. The Chinese claim to have understood the properties of in- flammable gas for centuries, and to have prac- tically used it. The cepturies I will not in dorse but that they have 1 iad natural gas in the neighborhood of 1~ekin, and possibly in other parts of the kingdom, for many years, is certain- lv a fact. This gas flows from the coal beds, and they claim that its use first taught them to produce the same article by art. The flowing of natural gas is no novelty, the circumstance occurring in many places in England and on the continent of Europe. In this country the most marked instances are the lighting of the town of Fredonia, in the State of Ne~v York, and of the lighthouse and other buildings at Port land, on Lake Erie. In the record of the tramis- actions of the Royal Society for 1667, this flo~v- in g and burning of natural gas is mentioned as occurring at Wigan, in Lancashire. It has long ceased to be a novelty, being a case of constant occurrence in any coal district while boring for wells. But your gas, interrupted Septimus, I mean that ~vhich left us in darkness a few min- utes ago, isnt natural gas. I happened the other day into a big building where a lot of stout fel- lows were shoveling coals into a row of ovens. I asked them what they were doing, and they said they were making gas. 1 took a sketch of the l)lacO, an(l here it is. Very good, I replied; you saw only one part of the l)roce55 of making gas; avery com- plicated operation it is too, as you will find to- morrow, when you come to see it. Now while I am posting yot up a little beforehand about the history of gas and gas-making, dont you go to sleep, as you (lid when I ~sas telling you about the commercial history of New York. I dont like people to go to sleep when I ama talking to them. Septimus laughed, for that little episode in our former journey has got to be a standing joke between us. Mrs. Biggs looked a little sour, for that excellent woman is somewhat tender upon the subject of may former way of life. MAKING GAS. GAS ANI) GAS-MAKING. 1 In 1 726, I continued, referring to a memo- random, which I happened to have in my pocket, Dr. halos f)nblished a work on Vegetable Statics in which he gives the result of some experiments in prodncing coal gas. lie states that he made 180 cubic inches of gas. from 158 grains of coal. Tn 1733 the 11ev. John Clayton first bronght the matter into tangible shape hy exI)erilnents, and hy sending bladders containing specimens of gas to the Royal Society. In 1739 there is entered npon the records of the Society his account of the first discovery. lie says, after putting some coal in the retort.: At first there came over only phlegm, afterward a black oil, and then likewise a spirit arose which I could nowise condense. I observed that the spirit which is- sued out caught fire at the tlame of a candle, and continued burning with violence as it issued out in a stream, which I blow out and lighted again several times. XVeighin~ all this, I gave it as my opinion that the Rev. John Clayton was the first real discoverer of inflammable gas. After this I told my young friend of the prac- tical adaptation of it. how Mr. Murdoch, of Redruth, in Cormvall, exhibited it publicly, and afterward lighted the foundry of Messrs. Boulton and Wattfamous as connected with the origin of steam-engineswith it in 1802. From that time the march was rather rapid. In 1804 the Lyceum Theatre of London was lighted with it. [a 1813 Westminster Bridge used it with great success, and the following year the entire of Westminster adopted the new light. Two years later the city of London fell into the line, and Tuc IAuOaATomnJ. VOL. XXX LKNo. 151.B its streets blazed with the wickless lamps. Up to this time the ignorance of the properties of gas did not lie alone with the vulgar. It ex- tended into high l)laces, even to the makinm~ of scientific men O~~O5O its introduction. It i5 told that, in the year 1813, when the first at- tempt was made to light the I-houses of Parlia- ment, the noble lords and gentlemen common- ers would put their hands timidly on the pipes and express their astonishment that they wer( not hot. Tho architect of the building also insisted that five inches space should be left between the wood-work and the supposed fiery pipes. And now, to show that our own land was not imehind in the struggle for light, I went on to say how, in 1815, Mr. James MMurtrie moved in the Pltiladclphia city councils for the a~)pointment of a committee to inquire into the expediency of lighting tltat place with gas. Tlme rtcxt veam Baltimore commenced the experiment, sIte being tlte first city in the United States making and using t Ito article. Boston followed suit in 1822. and in 1823 several otltor cities did the same. includimmg New York, wltich commenced by in- corporating the New York Gas Company with a capital of J,000,000, though the actual lighting did not occnr until 1825. In 1830 tlte Man- hattan Gas Company was incorporated with a capital of ~500,0O0, witich has since been in- creased to $4,000,000. At tlte present day the gas stock of the United States represents the total sum of ~50, 000,000, embraced in over tltree Itun- dred comal)anies. The price of gas to the cot 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sumer varies according to the nearness of a city to the coal districts, as well as by the quantity they manufacture, the largest makers, of course, affording it at a more reduced rate than the small towns. Pittshurg is undoubtedly the lowest, charging but $1 80 per 1000 feet, while Auburn and Watertown, New York, Belfast, Maine, and Charlotte, North Carolina, are the dearest; all these places charging $7 00 per 1000 feet. New York, Boston, and Cincinnati give the consumer the pure thing for $2 50 per 1000 feet. Phila- delphia charges $2 13; Chicago, $3 50; Troy, $3 60; St. Louis, $3 50, and Richmond, Vir- ginia, $2 85. The city of London charges six shillings ($1 40) per 1000 feet. I read these statistics from a memorandum which I had made a year or two before, hut I thought the figures were about the same now. There are, I continued, two gas-houses in the city, or rather two companies, one of which, the Manhattan, has three places of manufacture~ the first at Sixty-fifth Street, North River, the second at Eighteenth Street, North River, and the third at Fourteenth Street, East River. This company has for its district all the city from the north side of Grand Street to the south side of Seventy-ninth Street. Within this territory they have 230 miles of cast-iron main laid, employ 1500 men, and serve 30,000 customers. The other companythe New Yorkhas one place of manufacture at the foot of Twenty-first and Twenty-second streets, their district being all the city south of Grand Street. They have 130 miles of cast-iron main laid, and serve 11,000 customers. Besides these, there is a company in harlem, which supplies the gas for the part of the city above Seventy-ninth Street. This preliminary information having been given, I told my nephew that I was the fortu- nate owner of a number of shares in the Man- hattan, bought with a part of his excellent aunts money. And a most capital investment too, my dear, I added to my wife, if this foolish movement for increasing the price of the gas on account of the war-tax does not lead the Legis- lature to annul our privileges. We were mak- ing money enough to enable us to submit to the tax ourselves, and furnish gas at the old price. Better left well enough alone. But we shall see what we shall see. As I knew ~)ersonally the chief engineer, I was sure he would show us over the works; and so next day we would pay them a visit. Thither we proceeded on the following morning, and found my friend the engineer at leisure to con- duct us over the works. He seemed to think we had done him a personal favor by the visit. I-he is sure of my vote for his continuance in the place. The first room into which we were introduced was the draughting-roomthe spot where all the plans, elevations, maps, and general work of an architectural or topographical nature is executed. This room, though entirely essential to the works, not corning strictly under the head of gas, did not elicit my young friends admiration. Through this to what the engineer terms The Laboratoryan apartment of ahout twen TilE PIIOTelEfail EOOE. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 19 ty-five feet square, scrupulously clean and sol- paper, oiled all but a small circular spot in the emnly in order, wherein all the experiments are centre, which is left plain. When this fnme is made of testing, improving, altering, aud mix- midway be~ieen gas and candle, the plain spot ing. Shelves with numberless glass-stoppered is easily seen on the candle side, the gas being vials fill one side of it, and well-polished and the stronger light. As it is brought along the painted bits of gas machinery loom up through slide nearer the candle this clear spot disap- the floor. From this room, like a passage from pears, until at a certain point both sides of the life to death, we enter upon the Photometer paper will look alike, the light being equalized. Rooma tomb-like, dismal apartment, dedi- This slide is marked into certain divisions and. cated to the purpose of testing the strength of numbered, by which the actual strength of the gas by candle-power. The walls and ceiling gas is known, as compared with the candle. were, as a Milesian gentleman would express it, With this instrument the engineer is enabled to whitewashed black, that effect being produced tell to a nicety the article he is giving the pub- with lampblack and turpentine to prevent any lie, and to give it them at a uniform strength of reflection of light. The shutters closed without fifteen candles for each burner when consuming a seam to admit even a twinkle, and there in the at the rate of 5 cubic feet per hour. It is, as blackest of darkness we were. Out of this dark- Septimus very nicely observed, the Tasting ness came the voice of the engineer laying down Room, where, after the company has cooked up the rules by which the strength of gas is judged a nice potful of their favorite fluid, they help as compared with a candle of sperm or wax, themselves to a spoonful or two to see how it The practical portion was shown by lighting a will suit the palate. gas jet at one end of a frame standing in the Just below the Photometer Room, on th centre of the room, and a candle on the other ground-floor, is another pleasant little play- end of the same frame. The gas coming through house, where a perfect machine for the mann- this jet is made, by means of a regulator, to facture of gas is set up, on a miniature scale, for burn at the uniform rate of 5 cubic feet per the purpose of testing coal, or completing any hour. On a slide, running exactly in a line be- experiments for which the great works would tween candle and gas jet, which are 100 inches not be suitable. It is in this room that all gas- apart, is a round frame on which is stretched making products are tried, especially such coal Lila RETORT HOUSE. HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as maw be offered to the company, and its relative value found out. Once snore, and again, Isesides this miniature gas-house is another of a like style, but of larger dimensions, also for test- ing coal, and for rougher and larger exlserimental purposes. This is mere- ly the great works on a reduced scale, the ma- chinery being identical, and the retort exactly the same as that used for or- dinary manufacturing. This small gas-works ha~ a capacity for turning out 4500 feet per twen- ty four hours, almost enough in itself to ligtmi up a small town. At the moment that we were ahont to emerge from the infantine into the parent works, I saw a look of indecision upon the face of Septimus and a halting movement. I saw him take the arm of the chief engineer, and draw him gently aside as he whispered a word or two in his ear. I saw the engineer raise his eves with a slightly-astonished look, and I felt morally certain that my young friend had been saying something ridiculous. Danger! Why, my dear Sir, says the engineer, we never have any accidents hap- pen here. You are quite as safe as you would he in your own house. Septimus looked rather foolish, and imme- diately said to the engineer that the danger he apprehended was not so much to life and limb as a desire to know whether the inhalation of gas was not calculated to destroy the sanitory equilibrium. A slight smile from the en~iueer, anil a search through some documents which he drew from an inside pocket, I think, settled that matter to my companions satisfaction. The clencher was the Extract of a Report of the State Medical Society of Pennsylvania, held at Philadelphia May 29, 1851: Reports frem the varieus districts of the city were read, but they presented nethtug new except the follow- ing: The Gas Manufacturing Cempany ef the Dtstrict ef the Northern Ltberttes has greatly improved the health or the neighborhood in which it ts located, which was the lowest ud most unhealthy part of the dtotrict. Tise resi- dents there had previously been unusually subject to dys- entery and autunsual fevers; and during the cholera season of 1S33, previous to the erection of the gas-works, the disease was mere prevalent and fatal titan in any oth- er part of the district. Daring tlse last epidemic not a case of cisolera occurred in time neighborhood, and dysen- tery and autumnal fever have entirely disappeared. The Superintendent farther states that several persons afflicted witlo pulmonary complaints Imave been employed at the dos-works, antI have become perfectly uccil. There was of course nothing to be said now by Septimus about entering on the main works. and the engineer consequently ushered us into the Retort House. In this building were 1000 retorts, the company using in all 2900 retorts. Tlsis retort is similar to one half a pipe, cut lengthwise, and shut up at one end. It is made of clay, the experience of the last few years proving tlsis article superior to iron in wear as well as in other minor requisites. These retorts have heretofore been manufactured at Ghent (in Belgium) and iu England; but we are now getting them up at several places in thi. country in a satisfactory way, the most perfeci of which is the Ohio and Jersey City make. A properly made retort will last two ygars. After the coal has been thoroughly tested and become dry it is mixed in equal quantities of American and Euglisla for use. These retorts are set in a frame-work of brick, with the open end outward, pretty much like the montla of an old-fashioned oven. The fire, which is lighted below, burns entirely around them with a fierce heat. Into these retorts the coal is put by gangs of stalwart men, wlso play about in the fire like salamanders, seeneing really to enjoy the burn- ing. Three men are assigned to each hench of retortsa bench consisting of fifteenwhid bench they are expected to manage entirely, hut not to sit down on. The charging, or filling. of tlaese retorts is a piece of work that must noi only be done skillfully, but it must be execute(I ~vith great rapidity, that no more gas may es- cape and be wasted than is absolutely necessary. To work this quickly a shovel, or scoop, is mads wlsich holds 110 pounds of coal: t~vo of thes~ FILLINO A RETORT. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 21 scoops stand ready filled, and as soon as the retort is cleared from the coke it contains the scoops are inn in, emptied, and the lid again clapped on, and fastened so tightly that no gas can find its way out. These charges remain in five hours, and the time consumed in changing and charging a heuch of retorts is fifteen minutes. After all the gas is extracted the coke, which remains in the form of carhon, is an ex- cellent feel. One half the quantity produced is used in the works for heating the retorts, or other purposes; the oth- er half is sold. The in- crease in hulk, in the change from coal to coke, is ahout 100 per cent., i)ut, of colirsa, with a great diminution in weight. Septimus was delight- ed with the simplicity of the operation, and seemed to incline to the he- dwelling heautifully, and he no longer depend- lief that, with a stone jar and a charcoal fur erit on the company. I think ahont this time nacesuch as he felt sure I could furnish him that the ewineer took him down a foot or two from the household stockisa could light up my hy saying, Wi~T[NO COhR. DRAWING A ChARGE. 94) HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Now we have the gas, to be sure, but in a ver crude, bad state, and unfit for burning. As it is, it would not flow through the pipes; and if it did, would burn black and smoky, keeping the air continually full of flying specks. We must work it up a little yetcondense it and purify itwash it, and make it generally fit to offer an intelligent and cleanly public. To do this, the gas is led away by pipes to the Con- densers. The object is to rid it of the tar; and to do this we must pass it through pipes sur- rounded by water. Through the pipes it travels almost an endless road, up one pipe and down another, until, disgusted with its tarry condi- tion, it gives up that portion of its impurity, and dodges out of the condenser. I thought by this time, looking at my young friend, that he did not seem so anxious to enter upon experimental gas-making; his ardor cooled nuder the condenser. The engineer resumed: Not so fast, though! were not done with the article yet. It is not so clean that it may show its face unblushingly to the public. The more ignorant portion of the people still have their prejudices alive about their good friend Gas; and for that reason it would be as well to make him as presentable as possible. It has been a hard fight to give him position in the face of prejudice and error, and it is only within a few years that the most fearful stories of gas have ceased to be retailed. In England the in- troduction was attended with determined oppo- sition, and nothing but the most positive evi- dence of its wonderful effect could have prevailed against the loads of ignorance that sought to crush it. In 1823 forty witnesses were exam- ined before a committee of the House of Com- mons, every one of whom testified against gas. Some declared that it had affected their throats and those of their family; others that it had produced disease of different forms; some that it had spoiled their clothes and ruined their fur- niture; and, in fact, no charge that could be thought of, having the slightest semblance to possibility, but was brought. In spite of all this the report was in its favor, and our useful friend forced his way against all slander. In 1814, on the occasion of the illuminations and festivities for the declaration of peace, a most unfortunate affair occurred for the character of gas. Mr. Clegg, the great gas engineer, had put up a magnificent pagoda in Hyde Park to illuminate, when Sir William Congreve, of rocket celebrity, undertook to set off fire-works Loin the top, just previous to the illumination, by which he set th pagoda on fire and destroyed it. The accident, of course, was laid to the gas. It has been the same in this country even as late as within ten years, though if we go back a quarter of a century we can inmember many of the most terrible stories that ever were told to a scape-grace child put forth as actual facts in the battle against gas. In 1833 Mr. S. V. Mer- rick, of Philadelphia, one of the originators and stoutest advocates of the new light, opened a cor- respondence with the Mayors of the different cit- ies where gas-works were in operation, and with the presidents of different insurance companies, ru cox ENSER, GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 23 as well as with such persons as had become any way experienced in its use, for the purpose of showing by the publication that gas was more healthy, more economical, safer, and in every way better than oil. He certainly succeeded as far as common-sense can sncceed against preju- dice and interested ignorance. In this very year the city gas-lighting movement had made so strong a head that the oil-men began to feel it in a vital spotthe pocket. As a sort of coun- ter actiona Mrs. Partington effort to brush back the sea with a broomthe great dealers in oil at New Bedford and other places to the east- ward sent out agents offering to light various cities, where gas had already been introduced, with oil, charging at the rate of 80 cents per gal- lon when the market price ruled at $1 04. In spite of all this new companies were organized in various parts of the United States, and every day added to the new improvements and to the profits. Septimus here broke in to ask about explo- sionsa question that showed in a moment a lingering memory of those past days when we were entertained by old women with stories of the terrible effects that would ensue should the gas-house take fire. Nothing less was foretold in such case than the entire destruction of the city by an indiscriminate bursting of pipes ev- ery where. The engineer soon set all that right by showing that such a thing as an explosion could not occur unless by an escape of gas and an equal admixture with oxygen. When this occurs, and the gas has no chance to escape into open space, the contact with a light will cause an explosion. Fatal accidents have oc- curred from this cause, as fatal accidents will always occur where ignorant or careless people are. There can be no doubt whatever that the occurrence of accidents from lamps and candles far exceeded those that have arisen from gas. The stationary light must certainly he an im- mense point gained over those that could be car- ried into dangerous places, when the mere ques- tion of accidents from fire is taken into consid- eration. To go back to the condenserthe merit of which invention belongs, as I went on to explain to my nephew, aided now and then by a hint from the engineer, to Dr. Watson, Bishop of Llandaff, who was the first to discover and make public the fact that gas retained its inflammable quality after passing through water. He gave the world the benefit of his discovery in his Chemical Essays, published in 1769. We follow the gas after its purification from tar. The next move upon the board is to take from our friend the elements that do not tend to his improvement as an inflammable article. The first of these separations necessary to be made is a divorce from ammoniaan article that ex- ists in considerable quantities, diminishing the illuminating power and injuring the pipes and meters. To accomplish this Mr. Gas is conduct- ed gently into a vessel denominated a Wash- er, where he passes through water, under wa- ter, over water, and has water thrown on him by a fountain-like stream that continually plays ~uz PuluriEx. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. through the vessel. This washer is a circular ted from each other, and held hy a proicetion On tank constructed with reference to the nction of the inside of the box or tank. In each of these the water upon every particle of gas. The am trays is spread powdered lime slightly damped. monia having an aflinity for water hecoines The gas is introduced at the hottom of the tank, easily separated, and flows out in the ferns of anti is forced upward through this powdered ammoniacal liquor, lime, which has the effect of seizing open the By this plan from eight to ten gallons of this sulphur and turning out the gas as pure as hu strong-smelling tlnid are extracted from the gas man ingenuity has so far heen enahled to make produced from one ton of coal, which, with the it; while the refuse lime, when no longer fit for same quantity of tar gathered from the same gas purifying, is sold for the purposes of manure. hy the efforts of the condenser, goes somewhat The component parts of she gas now are, olefi- toward the expense of making our friend clean ant gas, vapor, light car Isydrocarhon hydrogen, mud l)resentahle. This process of seJ)arating the hureted hydrogen, carhonic oxide, and a small unmuonia is the invention of Mr. Croll, an En portion of nitrogen. gush gas engineer of great reputation. The tar And now, says Septimus, the gas is is used for various niechanical purposes of value, made, lots go home and get something to cat. such as the making of naphtha, carhonaphtha, I could not help expressing a slight symptom earholine oil, hurning fluid, tar oil, an(1 asphalte; of (lisguist at my young friend. how could 1 mud the anunoniacal liquor goes into the hands when the circumstances of our visit were taken of manufacturing chemists, who extract ahout into consideration ? It was for his instruction fourteen ounecs of sulphate of ammonia froum that I had come, antI now he allowed some- each gallon of tIme liquor. Chloride of ammo- thing to eat a place of greater importance mimim, or salamunmoumiac, which formimerly was only than mental food. I was glad, however to to he ohtaimmed from tIme excrement of the camel, see that time engineer did not mind it, merely is now made from this same hi(jumid. smiling upon tIme therehiet Herkimerian, and Time gas having now heen disclmarged from the saying: washer, munch, as I tlmink, to tIme satisfaction of Yes, the gas is now made, hut tlmeme is vet Sel)timmms, wlmo was, I am inclined to helieve, tIme hahor of keeping it and of distrihmmting it. fearful lest it simould l)ecome mixed ~vith the wa Experience has taught us that it is as necessary br, is forced to find its way to time Purifier. that we should keep a stock on hand as tlmat a Ilmis is an iron l)Ox or tank intended to remove shop-keeper should have goods to sell. Our time sull)lmmmr still remaining in the gas, and inter- sixteen gasholders are not a hit too much for foring with its good properties. The purifier our stock on imand. though the largest are 95 ontains several tiers of trays or sieves, separa- feet in diameter hy 60 feet in Imeight; these gas- mmmc VALVE loOM. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 25 TIlE OQvi~NOP.. holders are capable of containing from 250,000 to 500,000 feet. This is now the ordinary capaci- ty of the gasholder, though in the year 1814 a deputation of the Royal Society, headed by the great Sir Joseph Banks, after visiting the works of the Westminster Company, advised Govern- ment to restrict them to 6000 feet in capacity, as an increase on that size would be attended with great danger. There is now one at Phila- delphia capable of containing 1,000,000 feet. The gasholder is a large inverted iron pot slung from a frame-work of iron. The inver- sion is made in a tank built of brick and kept filled witb water. It is in fact only our child- hoods trick of the tumbler inverted on a saucer of water and filled with smoke. This holder is constructed of plates of iron, riveted together, the seams at the time of riveting being filled with a composition rendering them infallibly gas-tight. They have of course no bottom, the gas being introduced by a pipe leading up above the surface of the water, while the outlet is similar. This great iron pot is suspended to the frame by chains, which run over wheels, having attached to the other end sufficient weight to balance the holder and allow it to rise gently as the gas enters, or fall as the gas goes out. The pressure requisite to raise this huge mass of iron is equal to the raising of water five inches in the tube. In the midst of the group of gas- holders stands a small building, the Valve Room, where at a glance can be seen the quan- tity that has gone into each holder, and as soon as sufficient has entered the valve is closed and the supply directed to another holder. In win- ter it is necessary to prevent the water in these tanks from freezing: this end is achieved by pouring tar into the space hetween the inner side of the tank and the outer side of the holder to the depth of a couple of inches. The gas, said our guide, is now ready for delivery to customers; hut there is still a question as to how it shall reach them in such a way that one will be as well served as another. In a city lying as flat as New York this is not so much of a difficulty; hut where there is great variation in the elevation of certain streets or districts a governor to the pressure becomes absolute, or those living in high spots would he crowded with gas, even to leakage, while those living on low ground would be almost lightless. To rectify this the governor was made to in- tervene between the gasholders and the mains. The governor is simply a gasbolder on a small scale suspended like a bell, with a balance weight, and having an inlet and outlet pipe, the first having suspended over it a conical piston which regulates the admission of the gas in the inverse ratio of its pressure. To do this the piston is so constructed that it ~vorks on the principle of a bellows-valve, shutting the inlet pipe partially when the pressure is greatest. When once the gas is admitted to the cylinder or gasholder above the inlet pipe there is no farther trouble, it passes at a uniform rate into the mains. And now, gentlemen, says the engineer, the gas is ready for customers, and, without taking any misehances into account, will be de- livered at their doors, or even in the most private and tabooed apartment of their houses, in quan- tities to suit. Then the engineer rubbed his hands, and looking straight at Septimus, said: If we were like the sewers of Paris with our mains, gentle- men, I might take you through and show you that even after the l)roduce of our retorts, con- densers, and washers, is consigned to the bowels of the earth our care for it does not cease. As we can not, however, go physically, we will men- TUE lUOIISTEE. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tally. here the engineer unrolled a mass of drawings to act as a guide in our dark passage, and proceeded: You will perceive, gentlemen, before we enter, that it is necessary to keep up within the works a certain amount of pressure that the gas may find its way to the customer. The regula- tion of this pressure is a very nice thing, and must be attended to with great care. Through the day a uniform rate is kept on of -~~ths of an inch; or, in plain words, such pressure as will raise water in a tube that distance. At night the pressure is increased according to the hour and the season as, for instance, in winter, double the quantity of gas is burned than in summer: the pressure consequently is increased, and the same rule must he followed during dif- ferent hours of the night. More gas is burning at 9 m~m. than at 12 s~. i~t., and more at the latter hour than at 3 oclock in the morning. That all this may be attended to properly a reliable man is kept at the pressure-gauge day and night, acting under instructions as to proper force. That the faithfulness of this watchman may be secured, a silent watchman is put over him in the shape of a register in the office within, which marks through the still hours of the night the rate of pressure kept up. This pressurein- (liOator is a cylinder covered with paper and re- volving by clock-work. Against it rests the point of a pencil, which pencil is acted upon by the pressure of the gas in the mains, and records in a rising or falling line as perfect a tell-tale of rIte doings of the watchman as would that famous speaking-bird of Arabian Nights fame. The variation of pressure is from -1~ths of an inch to 3 inches. And now, gentlemen, continued our friend. waving his hand toward the drawings of pipes, as though he expected us to perform the feat of crawling bodily through them, into the mains we go. The first pipe, as you see, is 3() inches in diameter, that being the largest size used, from that down to nothing. These pipes are of the invariable length of 12 feet. As we go on you will see that these mains are nut laid exactly horizontal, hut all run down hill a little, which is the inclination of the mains to the drips. You have no doubt observed fre- quently when passing through the streets a cast- iron phmte, on which the letters Gas drip stand out. To exl)lain this it is necessary to show that after the gas goes into the mains it is sub- ject to condensation in some degree. Carhu- reted hydrogeus, our friend being of that family, condense into oil, and as it would not he good to remain in the pipes, provision is made to have it run off into these drips or receptacles by the gradual inclination of the pipes. You will also perceive as you go on spots here and there, where your passage is barred by a closed door, without crack or crevice. These are the valves. We use two kinds of valves, the hydraulic and the slide or spring valve. The hydraulic valve is used only in the works while the other is used through the streets. The object is to shut off the gas from any certain dis- trict when it becomes necessary, through any TIlE STATION METER. GAS AND GAS-MAKING. 2 its passage, the turning of which acts U~Ofl the works of the meter clock, and registcrs exactly the amount of gas consumed or leaking out of the pipes beyond the meter. The dry meter differs from the wet entire- lx~. They use no water, and are acted hy valves instead of wheels. The host illustration that can he used is that of the bellows. Let us take the hellows-valve and attach clock-work to it, th, t an account may be had of the number of times it rises and falls, and we have the entire principle of the dry meter. Another illustra- tion would be, that it is precisely on the princi l)le of the cylinder of the steamengine, the gas working on alternate valves, and moving a pis- ton in the same way. Meters can he made of every size, even up to the power of measuring 60,000 feet or over per hour; that is the capac TIlE WET METER. ity of the station meter in these works: it is 15 feet in diameter, and will register one and a half accident or leakagethe last of which is a mat- million feet in twenty-four hours. ter of so much huportance to a gas company I could see by the expression of my young that every precaution must be taken to combat friends face that he did not fully comprehend it. Our average loss from leakage, condensa- this elaborate explanation. He was not perfect- tion, etc., is 12 per cent. of all the gas mann- ly satisfied that the movements of the index factured. The hydraulic valve works much on across the face of the dial were a sure measure tile same principle as the gasholder, being an of the quantity of gas which has passed through inverted cup covering the top of a pipe, the the meter. For my own part I had no doubt in edges of the cup immersedin water. The slide tile matter. The theory of the oper~tion of the valve shuts like the sliding cover of a hox, being meter is unquestionably correct. It ought to accurately fitted to leave no aperture. Now, measure the gas accurately, and if properly con- gentlemen, you have no farther interruption structed and kept in good working order, I think through the mains until you reach your own it must do so. At all events, until I have bet homes, if you can only manage to squeeze ter grounds for doubting its accuracy than mere through the pipes. reports that Mr. A. and Mrs. B. found their I took this little sally of the engineers for a monthly gas-bills the same, whether they burned gentle hint that he bad been bored long enough with us and should have acted on it, but my young friend from 1-lerkimer, gatherhig himself up sud denlv with a-search-of-knowledge-un- derdifficulties air, says to the eugi tieer, how about the meters ? The meters, Sir? What about them? Do you want to know how they work? Come along, Sir, you shall see, and the engineer good-na- turedly led us away to a meter. This little instrument, which is in reality one of the simplest things in the world, is made by gas consumers one of the most mysterious, on the l)ril~ciple that men must have some- thing to grumble at, and perhaps it is better for them to grumble at a gas- meter than at any thing else. Of meters there are two kindsthe wet and the dry meter. The wet meter, which is the most used, though being slowly superseded by the dry meter, acts by a valve governed by a ball- float. When the water is kept up in the meter the valve is kept raised, the gas passes through into a chamber wuerein a wheel or screw is turned by THE DRY METER. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ten or twenty lights, I shall hold fast to my be- long curls sweep the desk, and the light rests lief in the accuracy of the meter. However, as upon and lingers among them as if it admired I am of a statistical turn of mind, I intend to them and loved to set off their beauty. She has make a fair trial in my business establishment, large eyes, blue, biight, and proudtoo proud I shall for the months of December and Janna- indeed to serve their mistress well. She will ry keep an accurate account of the burners light- never behold life as it is through them. Not at ed and the number of hours in which each is least as it is to the heroes and the martyrs. The used. If the meter fails to give an accurate ac- long lashes are not called upon to veil them, the count of the comparative quantity of gas con- lids are drawn up straight. She looks out eager- sumed, my own interest as a stockholder in the ly upon the worldshe will see all that can be Manhattan will not prevent me from making seen by her. the result known through the columns of the The boys at the academy are in a flutter on daily press. her account; gentlemen and ladies in society ________________________________________ all know her by name and fortune. Sabrina Spring the name is, and as for the fortune it is enough to stagger a poor body only to think of. Many prophets prophesy proud things of her coming womanhood, which prophecies will verify themselves as surely as she lives. Of all her mates Sabrina is best known. Her beauty and position have consl~ired to her conspicuity. It can hardly follow, therefore, that she is thinking much of arithmetic and grammar. Who is she that walks beside her? For her name, it is Helen Kyle; for her person, it is such as makes no show when contrasted with that of her companion. She is merely quiet, and mod- est, and pretty. The influence of Sabrina has not been lost upon h~. It induces the younger girl to make the most of herself, and that is not a great dealat least as it meets the eye. She is receptive, not original; good, not showy. She wears her hair as Sabrina wears hers, but the effect is not the same; the peacock and the oriole may bring themselves with equal care up to their best appearing, but there will still be a difference; and if the eye can not perceive it by treason of blindness, the ear will detect it, and fill the soul with light that it also shall discern and make the needful distinction. Helens dress is plain to coarseness; but the way in which it is put on and worn testifies to the little maidens niceness and purity of sense. Helen is the daughter of Kyle the potter; Sabrina was born under another star, but they have been friends these five years. Now, how- ever, as I said, the friendship is drawing to a close. They do not hint this to each other. They anticipate no such result. When Sabrina slips the circlet of gold from her hand upon Helens neither of them think that the token is not so much a pledge of what shall be, as a me- morial of what has been. It is not exclusively, nor chiefly, perhaps in reality not at all, because of a noble disregard for the things prized as above all price at home, that Sabrina chooses to while away these last hours of her last day with Helen Kyle. Not be- cause the parade and vanity and worldliness at home weary, shame, disgust her; she has, in sufficient measure, the spirit by no means rare among yonng people of every station, the proud rashness that mistakes shows for things, and greatly plumes itself on the mistaking. In some way, not the best wayin some degree, not the most generous and certainshe despises her A MANS LIFE. I THINK it is a soft warm morning in the early part of May instead of this stern month of December. As if by magic the snow that covers the ground vanishes. The grass is almost long enough for the garden scythethe flower-beds are laden with budsthe tree-branches rattle no longer frostily in the wind, they rustle and wave and float on the balmy air. Those are not snow-birds that I see, but bright-winged creatures whose nests are among the rustling fields of corn, in fruit and forest trees. The earth has arrived at the joy of the transitionits discomforts, its uncertainties are over. Lovely are the peach and apple orchards in their bloom, and there is rejoicing in them not for the prom~ ise that shall be redeemed, but for the present glory. Two young girls are walking in a long, shady lane that leads into the pasture-lands beyond the streets; to the level pasture-lands, not to any great height that commands a prospect of the country, nor to any depth from whence stars may be seen at noon. It is over a level coun- try that they go, rich and fair in meadow-lands. Often they have walked together through such paths; but on this evening it is for the last time in their life. Their long chats are being brought to a final conclusion, their confidences to an end; for to-morrow the elder of the girls is go- ing away, and when she returns all things will he changed to both of themwithin them and without them will be changed. For between the career of a fashionable lady and a seam- stress there is an earth-wide dissimilarity and distance. Under almost any circumstances she who will depart on the morrow would present a noticeable figure. Already she has lovers, though she is but a school-girl; already she has become accus- tomed to admiration, for she is pretty, and gay, adventurous, untrammeled in speech and mood she does not stop at trifles. She sweeps through her books, and such duties as it pleases her to recognize, with a somewhat pretentious grace, even as through the quiet path where she and Helen Kyle are walking: with a pride thatmay not be quite justifiable she goes, and all forgive her for itnay, rather estimate her according to her own valuation. When she lingers over her school-books her

Caroline Chesebro Chesebro, Caroline A Man's Life 28-34

28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ten or twenty lights, I shall hold fast to my be- long curls sweep the desk, and the light rests lief in the accuracy of the meter. However, as upon and lingers among them as if it admired I am of a statistical turn of mind, I intend to them and loved to set off their beauty. She has make a fair trial in my business establishment, large eyes, blue, biight, and proudtoo proud I shall for the months of December and Janna- indeed to serve their mistress well. She will ry keep an accurate account of the burners light- never behold life as it is through them. Not at ed and the number of hours in which each is least as it is to the heroes and the martyrs. The used. If the meter fails to give an accurate ac- long lashes are not called upon to veil them, the count of the comparative quantity of gas con- lids are drawn up straight. She looks out eager- sumed, my own interest as a stockholder in the ly upon the worldshe will see all that can be Manhattan will not prevent me from making seen by her. the result known through the columns of the The boys at the academy are in a flutter on daily press. her account; gentlemen and ladies in society ________________________________________ all know her by name and fortune. Sabrina Spring the name is, and as for the fortune it is enough to stagger a poor body only to think of. Many prophets prophesy proud things of her coming womanhood, which prophecies will verify themselves as surely as she lives. Of all her mates Sabrina is best known. Her beauty and position have consl~ired to her conspicuity. It can hardly follow, therefore, that she is thinking much of arithmetic and grammar. Who is she that walks beside her? For her name, it is Helen Kyle; for her person, it is such as makes no show when contrasted with that of her companion. She is merely quiet, and mod- est, and pretty. The influence of Sabrina has not been lost upon h~. It induces the younger girl to make the most of herself, and that is not a great dealat least as it meets the eye. She is receptive, not original; good, not showy. She wears her hair as Sabrina wears hers, but the effect is not the same; the peacock and the oriole may bring themselves with equal care up to their best appearing, but there will still be a difference; and if the eye can not perceive it by treason of blindness, the ear will detect it, and fill the soul with light that it also shall discern and make the needful distinction. Helens dress is plain to coarseness; but the way in which it is put on and worn testifies to the little maidens niceness and purity of sense. Helen is the daughter of Kyle the potter; Sabrina was born under another star, but they have been friends these five years. Now, how- ever, as I said, the friendship is drawing to a close. They do not hint this to each other. They anticipate no such result. When Sabrina slips the circlet of gold from her hand upon Helens neither of them think that the token is not so much a pledge of what shall be, as a me- morial of what has been. It is not exclusively, nor chiefly, perhaps in reality not at all, because of a noble disregard for the things prized as above all price at home, that Sabrina chooses to while away these last hours of her last day with Helen Kyle. Not be- cause the parade and vanity and worldliness at home weary, shame, disgust her; she has, in sufficient measure, the spirit by no means rare among yonng people of every station, the proud rashness that mistakes shows for things, and greatly plumes itself on the mistaking. In some way, not the best wayin some degree, not the most generous and certainshe despises her A MANS LIFE. I THINK it is a soft warm morning in the early part of May instead of this stern month of December. As if by magic the snow that covers the ground vanishes. The grass is almost long enough for the garden scythethe flower-beds are laden with budsthe tree-branches rattle no longer frostily in the wind, they rustle and wave and float on the balmy air. Those are not snow-birds that I see, but bright-winged creatures whose nests are among the rustling fields of corn, in fruit and forest trees. The earth has arrived at the joy of the transitionits discomforts, its uncertainties are over. Lovely are the peach and apple orchards in their bloom, and there is rejoicing in them not for the prom~ ise that shall be redeemed, but for the present glory. Two young girls are walking in a long, shady lane that leads into the pasture-lands beyond the streets; to the level pasture-lands, not to any great height that commands a prospect of the country, nor to any depth from whence stars may be seen at noon. It is over a level coun- try that they go, rich and fair in meadow-lands. Often they have walked together through such paths; but on this evening it is for the last time in their life. Their long chats are being brought to a final conclusion, their confidences to an end; for to-morrow the elder of the girls is go- ing away, and when she returns all things will he changed to both of themwithin them and without them will be changed. For between the career of a fashionable lady and a seam- stress there is an earth-wide dissimilarity and distance. Under almost any circumstances she who will depart on the morrow would present a noticeable figure. Already she has lovers, though she is but a school-girl; already she has become accus- tomed to admiration, for she is pretty, and gay, adventurous, untrammeled in speech and mood she does not stop at trifles. She sweeps through her books, and such duties as it pleases her to recognize, with a somewhat pretentious grace, even as through the quiet path where she and Helen Kyle are walking: with a pride thatmay not be quite justifiable she goes, and all forgive her for itnay, rather estimate her according to her own valuation. When she lingers over her school-books her A MANS LIFE. 29 daily life, and feels its fetters, and sees some- thing to covet in the peaceful nature of Helen Kyle, in its freedom from bondage to the world; but she does not understand that it is not so much a love of freedom as a willful youths dis- like to government that prompts her. She may envy Helen Kyle, but no worse thing could be- fall her, nor any thing more opposed to the de- sire of her heart, than occupancy of such station as Helen holds. It is not Helens lot as she supposes, but Helens acceptance of it, that she ignorantly applauds and envies. She has a free and noble bearing. Occasion- ally, not habitually, therefore not with reliable sincerity, she utters sentiments worthy the ex- pression of a saint. Even Helen, unlearned, unwise as she is, makes an application of those sentiments sometimes of which Sahrina had not so much as imagined them capable. She is a showy girla girl of brilliant promise, so they saybut Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damas- cus, are quite as good as the waters of Israel for her cleansing. She will probably not go down to the Jordan. I would not wrong nor slander her, nor dwell upon her, inasmuch as it would not mend the matter any; but even in so slight a tale as this she comes up in experiences a formi- dable obstruction, and it behooves me to say that she is committed, and has herself ratified the disposition by recommitting herselg young though she is, to a life of miserable falsityif Christ portrayed the true life. And moved though she may be from time to time to lofty impulses and heavenly demonstrations, she is surrendered, first by birth, secondly by culture, thirdly by choice, to a life of essential falsehood, to a being of untruth. Untruththough she be altogether innocent of the depraved taste that leads men and women on in gossiping exaggera- tion of speech and doing, betraying thereby so low a sense of honor, so thorough a self-betrayal, such gross self-abandonment; a being of untruth because guilty of that more fatal, because eter- nal, surrender of soul, which involves the men- dacious external demonstration; the lying unto God, since He alone can thoroughly discern it, which a clear perception of the enormity will confess is best avenged, as in the case of Ananias and Sapphira, by instant smiting unto death. For the reasons now indicated, though neither of the young girls anticipate the result of this parting, it must be an everlasting one. Before they meet again they will have grown beyond each others reach. It is a parting of the ways, as well as of the persons, that will admit no further reunion. But their words are now sincere, their promises are true; and when Helen laments the loneliness that she shall feel, Sn- brina echoes the lament, and their separation is a tearful one. was not the oldest inhabitant, nor was this his ancestral domain. The oldest house !its sunken moss-grown roof hinted broadly at the fact; so did the great willow that sprung from the switch wherewith the pioneer had urged on his horse in his travel through the wilderness. In a comparatively deserted portion of the town the House and the Tree stood, faithful companions, cliu~ing to the old ground long aft- er the wealth and fashion of the place had taken up their bed and board in other quarters. The~ hand of improvement, not always the most gen- tle and considerate, had spared them, though not at the instigation of thosc who might have been supposed to take the deepest interest in the tree and cot: the descendants of the pioneer, among whom was the father of Sabrina, made no stipu- lation when they sold the place that it should remain inviolate. The memorials stood, there- fore, because it was not yet the interest of the owner to tear them down. The sons of the pioneer were not the enter- prise, but they were the wealth of the town. They stood in the place their father had made possible to them, but not by any means in his place, nor even in his path. They were thor- oughly respectable menmore worthy of the worlds esteem, it would appear, from the con- sideration in which they were held than their brave, hard-working sire; but they were de- generate sons, riotous spendthrifts, irreproach- able though they appeared in their style of in- tegrity. It was long ago that they disposed of the lit- tle red house under the willow. And the wil- low itself, under.which their father and mother sat resting from their labors in the cool of the day while their children played around them, 1 think they would not have cared much if it had been cut down or torn up by the roots. They would not have accused themselves of robbing or despoiling either the past, or the earth, or the air, or birds, or the hearts of reverent men. As to the house, it had passed through many hands, and now the potter lived there. The pot- ter had one son, and an only daughter, Helen, whom I have named, and Emanuel, who of the t~vo was elder. It was of course an obscure family, but at the same time an extraordinary family every way. Quite removed from the cares which attend on little or large fortunes, for fortune they had none. Daily bread and toil, that seemed to be their portion. More sincere contentment, I believe, was never found in any domestic circle. Pro- found contentment you might not call it, since it was not drawn from a deep knowledge of life, but contentment more sincere you must search far to find. Kyle the potter was an easy man, and an easy woman was his wife; but neither was the discomfort or renovation of the other. Under the branches of a willow-tree, branch- The potter went out every morning except Sun- es which spread broadly to the four points of the day to his labor; year in and year out he had compass, and in their sweep described a magnifi- the same wages, for he was constant as the sun, cent circle, stood the house of Kyle the potter. and his health had no variations, no fiuctun- It was the oldest house in the town; but Kyle tions, which may account for his having so lit- 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tie serious thought. On the busiest days his son or daughter carried his dinner to the pot- tery that he might lose no time, and he worked from morning until night, and was glad of the opportunity. In the evenings the family was always together. On pleasant summer nights under the willow-tree, and when the weather forbade the outdoor gathering, they made a hap- py circle round the kitchen fire. Of simple so- cial enjoyments they had no lack. I think I see 4you smiling, but this is all true. A mans life consisteth not in the abundance of things that he possesseth. Oh, that the world would give any worthy evidence of belief in Christs assurance! They were all children together, good-hu- mored and happy. The potter had his dreams, of coursefor he was not a total animal, not a brutebut the dreams were ineffectual as they were insubstantial; they admitted not of coin- ing, neither did they serve him to the uttermost as inspirtitions. But, in spite of his dreams, there was no hatred or malice in his heart. It would as soon have occurred to him, or any of his house, to envy the birds their nests in the willow-tree, as the rich men of the town their palaces. The one stage and manner of life was as inaccessible, therefore, according to the law of their being, as undesirable to them as the other. Neither the potter nor his wife could read. Thereby they were to some extent losers; hut to be deprived of books is not to be deprived of life. They were thus left free of potent aids, it is true; but even in their obscurity and ignorance they had the spirit that sweetens, dignifies, and purifies existence. If they knew not the names and progress of the constellations, and could not open their lips on the subject of the plurality of worlds, and only thought about them, when at all they thought of them, in connection with the inspired words that these lights were given to enlighten the earth; if they never could abstract them from the azure wall they seemed to gem, and send them rolling through space, world upon world, until they shrunk aghast before the magnitude and splendor of their own vision, they missed the unrest and the bafflement and disappoint- ment which such royal speculators feel. If they were in no way prepared to reason about life, and did not understand it, and were not crushed by a sense of its responsibilities and limitations to a childlike humility and faith, still they had a sweet and satisfying perception of its unanalyzed beauty and comforts. They had in their own way the humility and faith; their daily lives confessed it, though they never knew to tell it. They had no room, no com- pany, no learning, money, leisure; they had nothing but the spirit to enjoy all things that were in their possession, and the instinct to make the most and best of what they had. The faith of childhood, much of its purity, all its freedom from emulation, evil ambition, lust of aggrandizement, and of other things. Emanuel and Helen Kyle passed serenely through their infancy; aimlessly, it would almost seem, as the green leaf that floats up and down the lake on whose bosom it has fallen. One wcmdered to see them, and even grieved to see them. So idle their infancy was, such meagre provision did it seem prepared to make in their spirits for reception of the future that would surely come. It could be but a hard and grind- ing future. If they awakened, or if they slept through the ordinary term of human life, in either case their lot seemed a hard, a deplora- ble one. You felt almost justified in wishing them swiftly out of the world, or, in the as idle wish, that they had never entered it. But here they were on this earth, and what was to become of them? Somehow it had happened in the course of time that Kyles children, Emanuel and Helen, were sent to school. With Emanuel, more full of spirit and activity than his sister, the effect of this movement was correspondingly sudden and apparent. From the moment of his en- trance within the school-room doors and sub- jection to school discipline, it was as if he were caught bodily in the resistless arms of a.machine, which held him with an ever-tightening grasp till the garment of his childhoods mortality was torn away. He was of the age, and pre-eminently of the temperament, to be acted upon by all exciting influences. It seemed as if he must have in- herited his spirit from his unknown ancestors, if an inheritance it was: so marked and decided was it in its bearings, so essentially different from that of his parents, so unlike that of Helen in its manifestations, from the moment when circumstances drew from him the first direct un- biased expression of himself. What the fair young princess is to the eyes of the boy-courtier, was Sabrina Spring to the eyes of Emanuel Kyle. If he should live a thou- sand years, and behold the most peerless beau- ties of artistic or natural creation, never would so radiant a vision burst upon his sight, or lin- ger in his contemplation, as that which found its way into the school-room and his heart on his first day at the Academy. The friendly relations between Sabrina and his sister were formed a short time after the potters children entered the school, and were brought about by the love of domination in the former, which found expression of itself every hour of her life: in Helens case it was exhibit- ed in her favor, by defending the timid young stranger from the foraging attacks of older, and stronger, and bolder scholars, to whom the child seemed a proper subject of tyranny. In this friendship Emanuel had no acknowledged part. He had nothing to do with it, except in its in- evitable results. When day after day he came within sound of her voice, within sight of her beauty, and listened to the report which Helen, captivated by her companion and defender, brought of the conversations they had together, of the home in which Sabrina lived, of the gar A MANS LIFE. 31 den, and the young girls authority within the house and without itwhere more and more Emanuel became abstracted and confounded and perplexed as he questioned and continued to questionor as he wistfully gazed, at times when none could see him, through the gateway of the handsome house, or watched the proud and graceful figure of Sabrina in her comings and her goings, and contrasted the predestined lady with Helen, her station, prospects, fortune, with his sistersall these points, these motions, curiosities, conclusions, were significant of some- thing. No one that had to do with him could tell what. He was not what he had beenthat, they could perceive; but they could not inter- pret the change by its indications. They knew not the meaning of his impatience, discontent, unrest. They could not comprehend that some- thing like envy, something like love, something like the frenzy of an unascertained ambition, had arisen in his soul from a long contempla- tion of beauty, and riches, and worldly dis- play. That Helen shared not, and could not share, in such feelings as grew in fatal haste, as evil plants do always, in his heart, Emanuel knew instinctively, and he shrunk from exposing them to her; and he kept them in his heartthat was the mischief of it that he kept them there. He sat in his corner in the gallery at church and watched the people as they came in. He saw Sabrina when she entered with the others, and she seemed to his eyes, she alone, to make the place glorious. He went there to worship, as other people do, but to worship earth, not heaven. He watched her in the street; he was observant of her bearing, the greetings she received. When Helen would repeat to him some words Sahrina had spoken, some argu- ment that passed between them, his heart ever inclined him to side against his sister; it never occurred to him as a possible thing that she might be the wiser of the two. When now Sabrina was gone, and he had not her to watch and consider, deprived of the joy he had found in that occupation, he fell into a mysterious mood quite beyond the comprehension of his friends. Out of this mood there came at length a purpose full-armed and resolute. There was a battle to be fought, and something to be won. Fortune to be acquired, knowledge, station, equality! So he went to his father one day, and he signi- fied to Kyle his wish to work with him in the factory. But the school ? said Kyle, who had been better pleased than he knew with his sons devo- tion to his books. I can study them at home in the evenings, answered Emanuel; it is quite time that I should help you and mother. This saying overjoyed the heart of Kyle the potter, and he blessed his dutiful son, and the mother did the same, and so Emanuel left school. In the pottery Emanuel worked. He was a stout, strong fellow, and as his years increased he was being finely developed in physical beauty. He was a young Hercules contrasted with the puny young men who flourished their delicate walking switches in the streets of the town. He considered himself equal to any exertion: so he worked by day in a way that was exhaustive to himself but praiseworthy in his masters eyes, and he made nothing of robbing himself of three or four or five hours of sleep at night for pur- poses of study; for he was developing into a studious, ambitious man. So month after month, full of excitements and joys to others of his fellows, but of mighty spiritual conflicts with him, went on until the year had ended, and Sabrina Spring had re- turned from the boarding-school and made her entrance into society, and Helen had learned her trade as a seamstress, and had besides entered irrevocably into an engagement of marriage with a young man of her own station. The years work had tested Emanuel to the utmost. He did not regard it as having fulfilled this office. He had been impatient of its linger- ing, while he made the most of it as it went by. The very energy with which he pushed his labors defeated his purpose. The constant excitements into which his own strivings and ambitions hur- ried him wore upon his strength, and so upon his spirit, and with ill health he fell into a con- tinual despondency. Emanuel beheld, and to behold was to, as he was prepared, love the fair image of the lady who had been the first to take his imagination captivewho had incited him to action with vague hopes which, from the manner of his holding them, could but fill him with despair and shame at his own folly the instant that he stayed himself to look resolutely upon them. He did so stay himself at lengthdid thus look and his life, which had been for a little time the richer, for a longer time became the poorer be- cause of her. He was thinking now too much; for he had no ability to guide his thoughts, he could not right himself: so he began to arraign Providence, and to harbor wicked fancies and designs, became dissatisfied, disgusted, skeptical, unhappy; even while Helen, before his eyes, was following in the pleasant path of love, cheerful- ness, contentment, and holiness which their pa- rents had trod before them. Thenfor his spirit must have free exercise in some directionhe ran headlong into divers temptations and loose irregular habits that reflected dishonor on him- self, and added nothing to the peacefulness of his life. In this condition of mindwhile maintaining this attitude toward life, a continual reproach to himself, whatever he might be to others: he was a man whom the world would judge more kindly than he would judge himself if he went astray in this condition it came to pass that there was one whose heart could understand something of the struggle by what met his eyes, and with seri- ous anxiety he was mindful of Emanuel. He 32 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was not a persou who coald befriend another by advancing his worldly fortunesalluring thus from evilbut merely the humble keeper of a paltry shop, whose trade caused him to have fre- quent dealings with the workmen at the pottery, as he procured thence the most of the goods re- tailed by him. Emanuel had often occasion to take the shop in his way on his return home at night for pur- poses of trading, and so had frequently ex- changed a word or two with the nearly blind old man who sold the small wares and groceries for a living. But they had not advanced as yet far in the acquaintance, and it did not seem proba- ble that they ever would. One rainy day, toward nightfall, he went in with some goods which had been ordered from the pottery in the morning. It had been a long dull day to the shop-keeper, and not less so to Emanuel; the old man stood prepared by a va- riety of circumstances, which had all conduced to this result, to take to his heart any worthy thing that presented itself; and a piece of special good luck he deemed it when this gloomy youth crossed his threshold; and by one device and another he managed to detain Emanuel until they had fairly entered into a conversation. Emanuel stood by the stove and warmed him- self; and they talked in a rambling, quiet way, quite in keeping with the dull night and the dull spirits which oppressed them. It was not an hour for demonstration, hardly for conversa- tion; but for any approach, even the slightest, to communication between himself and this life, which had for weeks been more or less a study to him, the old man was on the alert; and when, by-and-by, some murmuring expression escaped Emanuel, quick as thought the old man took hold of it, and essayed to draw that to which it was attached forth from the youth. It was some complaint, some querulous expression in regard to his experience, that escaped him, and the shop-keeper hastened to respond to it seriously, yet with hearty sympathy and kind- ness. Well, young man, how would you have it if you might have your way ? Im sure I dont know, answered Emanuel, rather taken aback by the question; then blunt- ly he added, I would have a change at all haz- ards. Nothing goes right. Perhaps youve got some wrong notions about that, said the shopman, answering after Emanuels style, yet with a friendliness of voice that made an impression on the youth; and when he asked, Why, what has happened ? he was answered, Nothing has happened. I wish there would. Its because nothing happens that I begin to give up all expectation that any thing ever will, for me. How old are you, Kyle, if one may ask ? Twenty-two, Sir. Too young to be discouraged, said the old man, stooping down under a pretense of hunting something under the counter, for he would not that this talk should in any degree assume the aspect of deliberation. You have only begun yet. I am sixty, and I dont know but I am as hopeful as ever I wasthough Im not looking for quite the same things I was once. Not quite in the same way that you are, or have been, I dare say. You have been working too hard, for one thing. I have noticed you at the pottery this long time, and tried to make your acquaint- ance, as you must have seen, for you have done every thing you could to prevent it, and have pretty fairly succeeded. Will you tell me what you are working for? or is that no concern of mine? Dont take me for an old gossip, poking into whats none of my business. Dont answer me unless it pleases you to do so; and be sure that I dont want to put myself on you. I dont know, Sir, what I was working for. Im pretty sure, though, that just now Im work- ing for nothing, said Emanuel, frankly. You were not thinking of going into any profession, then ? Havent any particular bent toward any one thing? No genius, as they call it, for any par- ticular work ? I can not tell. I think notdecidedly not, Sir. I dont seem to have anywhat dye call it ?genius, or giftsnone! Then, if youll allow me, I dont see why you should be downhearted. All you have to do is. to keep on soberly and honestly, and youll prosper as sure as your life is spared. What advice was this for the young man to hear? He had lost his ambition, or renounced it, because of its madness or folly; but he was not now intending to stoop to any such striving as this. His face gave evidence against him; he looked angrily at the old man. The shop-keep- er, however, seemed too much absorbed in his benevolent purpose to observe the indications so apparent before him. But observe he did, nev- ertheless; and he said, cheerily, I have been young myselfwait a bit, and you shall hear. It is quite as peaceable here as any where, and you may as well keep me company a little while. Youve been disappointed. Your heart aches for some reason. Never mind about telling me the occasion; maybe I couldnt understand you if you did. But hear now, and I think youll understand me. If you can, youll go home a richer man than you are now; I say that, Sir, knowing what Im talking about. Will you stay ? Emanuel bowed; he sat down in the chair by the stove and removed his cap. He was ready to listen, but he looked depressed rather than curious. Leaning against his counter, gradual- ly shading his face with his hand, the old man spoke: When I was of your age I was a painter an artist ! He drew himself up as he said this. It was a proud word he had used, and it had a sweet sound to the old shop-keeperthe sweet- est of all sounds that indicate the capabilities of men. I had struggled along, and had a A MANS LIFE. 33 pretty difficult time of it, wanting experience, and having no one that cared enough about me to advise in the choice of a profession. I chose that because I liked it best. I had always liked it, and my sisteAi had two sistersbelieved that I was born to be an artist. We were poor enough, but never wretchednot in those days. They had great confidence in me, and I had not yet put myself so severely to the test as to lose my own confidence. Well, we had struggled along and managed to support ourselves, and I had started at last on a picture which was to test my ~kill before the Academy. I had al- ready finished a good many small sketch~s, and had met with considerable success in selling them; but my heart was in the landscape I was going to send to the Exhibition. I thought if it met with favor that my fortune was made. I was thinking of fortune and reputation, you see, which you may put down as the prime article in the list of my mistakes. It was A. No. 1; and if you are working with any such object in view, think seriously before you go further on that road. Dont work for wages or reputation so much as to be that which sometimes-not al- ways, and not by any means necessarily.is re- warded in this way. I think that none of our young people have higher hopes than I had, nor any nobler of the kind. But I did not know much in those days. [the good Lord taught me, howeverjust as he would teach you now if you would have him for a teacher. Behold, if any man will open unto me, I will come in. Can you hear that? Before I finished my pic- ture, long beforeindeed it was not half d~ne I was taken sick of a fever, which I barely lived through; it left me blind for years. In all that time, young man, my sisters supported me. I had been full of great designs on their account as well as mine, you will bear in mind, but was thrown on their hands for a living after all. Think of that! You are a young man of spiritimagine how I felt. They are both dead now long since dead. Here th~ speaker paused suddenly. And the picturewasnt it finished ? asked Kyle, who had listened with a constantly-deep- ening interest to the story of the shop-keeper; not so absorbed in it, however, as to prevent his noticing each point of the story, drawing an in- ference from it, and making an application. No. I was blind for years, as I said; and Ive never got back my sight yet as I had it once, and never shall. It was a great disap- J)ointment to my sistersI dont know but it was greater than to mewhen it was decided that I should never be able to finish what I had begun. I never thought, in those days of anxi- ety and heartache, that I should ever come to thank God for what he had done to me. But I have done that again and again; and every day I thank him. He knew what was best. I have been saved a life of heart-burning and anxiety. I thank my God for His mercy This was a sort of speech and a spirit to which Emanuel Kyle was so wholly a stranger that he Yos~. XXVI.No. 151.C could but listen in utter wonderment; but he did listen, and not merely with idle curiosity. It is not likely, the old man went on, that I should ever have accomplished much in the ~profession if I had done my utmost. Sometimes when I go to the Exhibition, as I have done a few times in my life, and I see the different works of the artists, an indescribable sadness seizes me. I know what hopes those men have cherished, and I can seefor I have learned to judge the merits of the works with some certaintyI can see the life-long disap- pointment and heart-breaking that waits omi some of them. And when I come back home again I think of what Milton said, and comfort myself so: God doth not need Either mans work or his own gifts; who heat Bear his mild yoke, they serve him heat: his state Is kingly; thonoande at his bidding speed, And pest oer land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait. As it is, I can enjoy whatever is beautiful; and I think I can see it more clearly now than I did when I feverishly made it my chief study, strange as that may seem. Come, I will show you the last work that I did. This intention, the de- velopment of the extent and thoroughness of service he would do the young man, was as sud- den as its utterance. The shop-keeper was fair- ly committed to his enterprise. With a quick step he led the way into the little back-roona where he lived, and revealed the half-completed work where it hung upon the wall in his daily sight. And now something yet further he had to say; for as he looked into Emanuels face he knew it was his hour, and if he had any thing on earth to do besides the retailing of small goods he had it here before him to accomplish. Hetreating into the ~hadows of the room, as if to look upon his work from the best point, he said: There may be something you will better un- derstand in what I have yet. to say, Kyle, than in any thing that I have said, when I tell ~on that while I was at work on this there was a young lady, a friend of my sisters, who often came with them to watch the progress of my work, whose praise, generous as she was in giving it, was precious to me as treasure to a misers heart. I thought that even better than my sisters she appreciated my power; and I used to dream that when my picture was fin- ished, and the praise of the Academy was be- stowed upon it, I would tell her how much more I valued her praise. But that was not to be. Afterward I was happy! I thank God for that too, that I had never said any thing about it to her. She is living yet, and married. I always see her when I go to the Exhibition, and her old- est boy is named for me. She thinks that he will be a painter. So you see, my dear fellow, the moral of all this tale is that, as Scripture says, its not so much a matter for rejoicing that power over the spirits is given you as that your name shall be written in heaven. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Sir! exclaimed Emanuel, in the sincerity and suddenness and earnestness of his convic- tion, as he turned from the canvas that had failed of its ostensible purpose to the mgn who had so triumphed iu his highest vocation Sir, I believe you! And what shall your belief do for you? Will you live by it? If I may dare to say it, you are having your trial as I had mine. Meet it like a man. I know youve had ambitious desires; where is the noble youth that has not? But if now you will have holier ones and see what your life is, and what these allotments of Providence really are, and what they mean, I know the course that you will take. Weeping such tears as made that hour sacred forever in the memory of both, Emanuel listened to these last-spoken words. The hour and the man were there, and, as unto God, he an- swered the old half-blind shop-keeper: You have said enoughyou have shown me myself. I renounce it. It is utterly unworthy of a man. But let me go. I must get into the air. The wind and rain will do me good. I do believe ~vhat you say. I have been envious and infidel; but you shall see. Now was there in very truth a man born into the world: and I think the knowledge of this fact, which sent a rejoicing thrill through heav- en, was in his mothers heart when again Eman- uel stood before her. I think he did not fail when he set out in the proving that there was room and work and beauty for him in this world, as ~vell as for the principalities and powers with which he had come early into such harsh col- lision. THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. ?[1 AXATION and Representation are insep- arable. Taxation without Represent- ation is Tyranny. These were the sententious forms in which our fathers, a hundred years ago, expressed their republican ideas of trug govern- ment; and upon the doctrine and principles therein involved they grounded their faith and hope and justification when, a little later, they (Irew the sword and defied the armies of Great Britain. When the First Colonial Congressheld at Albany in the summer of l754was summoned, Massachusetts, ever jealous of her rights, in- structed her representatives in that body to op- pose any scheme for taxing the colonies by the Imperial Government without the sanction of the Colonial Assemblies. For a century almost the English Governmentcontrolled by selfish shop-keepers, and whose politics, as Montesquieu says, were ever subservient to cornnercehad been endeavoring to make the prosperous Amer- ican colonies not only to bear burdens at home in support of their own existence and Englands honor against European and native foes, but to convert them into mere commercial vassalsin- dustrious bees, hoarding honey for the pam- pered appetites of the British owncrs of the hive. I With some respect for the opinions of mankind and the admonitions of a feeble conscience, the Government and publicists defended the policy with the false plea that the etablishment and prosperity of the colonies were due to Englands power and generosity. But there were English statesmen to be found bold and honest enough to expose the falsehood. When, at the period we are considering, an advocate of taxation in the British Parliament complained that the Americans were ungrateful, being, as he said, children planted by our care and nou.rished by our indulgence, he was rebuked by an honest colleague, who exclaimed, They planted by yosr care! No! your oppression planted them in America; they fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable wilderness, exposed to all the hardships to which human nature is liable. They nourished by your indul- gence! No! they grew by your neglect of them. Your care of them was displayed, as soon as you began to care about them, in sending persons to rule over them ~vho were the deputies of depu- ties of Ministersmen whose behavior, on many occasions, has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within themmen who have been promoted to the highest seats of justice in that country, in order to escape being brought to the bar of a court of justice in their own Georgia alone, which was settled by paupers from the debtors jails of England, had received Parliamentary aid. The other colonies, unaid- ed and alone, had struggled up, during long years of gloom, from feebleness to strength. Of the vast sums which had been expended in fit- ting out expeditions, pnichasing the soil of the Indians, and sustaining the settlers, neither the Crown nor Parliament ever contributed a far- thing; while the former, with the vulgar rapaci- ty of the vulture, had seized upon several of them, setting the proprietors adrift, with that peculiar gratitude that a victim feels toward a robber w~o has taken his purse but spared his life. They had built fortifications, raised ar- mies, and fought battles for Englands glory and their own preservation, without Englands aid, and often without even her sympathy. And it was not until the growing huportance of the French settlements in America excited the jeal- ousy and fears of Englahd, that her Ministers perceived the expediency of exercising some justice and liberality toward her colonies, in order to secure their loyalty and efficient co- operation. When that First Colonial Congress was held the French and Indian War was kindling. It was a long and exhausting one. Parent and children suffered exceedingly. The latter (the colonists) gave to the cause the lives of twenty- five thousand of their robust young men, ex- clusive of mol~e than two thousand ~ailors. They gave in treasure at least twenty millions of dol- lars, and received from parliamentary appropri- ations only five millions. And while they were so generously supporting the power and dignity of the realmeven before the war-clouds were

B. J. Lossing Lossing, B. J. The Stamp Act Congress 34-42

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Sir! exclaimed Emanuel, in the sincerity and suddenness and earnestness of his convic- tion, as he turned from the canvas that had failed of its ostensible purpose to the mgn who had so triumphed iu his highest vocation Sir, I believe you! And what shall your belief do for you? Will you live by it? If I may dare to say it, you are having your trial as I had mine. Meet it like a man. I know youve had ambitious desires; where is the noble youth that has not? But if now you will have holier ones and see what your life is, and what these allotments of Providence really are, and what they mean, I know the course that you will take. Weeping such tears as made that hour sacred forever in the memory of both, Emanuel listened to these last-spoken words. The hour and the man were there, and, as unto God, he an- swered the old half-blind shop-keeper: You have said enoughyou have shown me myself. I renounce it. It is utterly unworthy of a man. But let me go. I must get into the air. The wind and rain will do me good. I do believe ~vhat you say. I have been envious and infidel; but you shall see. Now was there in very truth a man born into the world: and I think the knowledge of this fact, which sent a rejoicing thrill through heav- en, was in his mothers heart when again Eman- uel stood before her. I think he did not fail when he set out in the proving that there was room and work and beauty for him in this world, as ~vell as for the principalities and powers with which he had come early into such harsh col- lision. THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. ?[1 AXATION and Representation are insep- arable. Taxation without Represent- ation is Tyranny. These were the sententious forms in which our fathers, a hundred years ago, expressed their republican ideas of trug govern- ment; and upon the doctrine and principles therein involved they grounded their faith and hope and justification when, a little later, they (Irew the sword and defied the armies of Great Britain. When the First Colonial Congressheld at Albany in the summer of l754was summoned, Massachusetts, ever jealous of her rights, in- structed her representatives in that body to op- pose any scheme for taxing the colonies by the Imperial Government without the sanction of the Colonial Assemblies. For a century almost the English Governmentcontrolled by selfish shop-keepers, and whose politics, as Montesquieu says, were ever subservient to cornnercehad been endeavoring to make the prosperous Amer- ican colonies not only to bear burdens at home in support of their own existence and Englands honor against European and native foes, but to convert them into mere commercial vassalsin- dustrious bees, hoarding honey for the pam- pered appetites of the British owncrs of the hive. I With some respect for the opinions of mankind and the admonitions of a feeble conscience, the Government and publicists defended the policy with the false plea that the etablishment and prosperity of the colonies were due to Englands power and generosity. But there were English statesmen to be found bold and honest enough to expose the falsehood. When, at the period we are considering, an advocate of taxation in the British Parliament complained that the Americans were ungrateful, being, as he said, children planted by our care and nou.rished by our indulgence, he was rebuked by an honest colleague, who exclaimed, They planted by yosr care! No! your oppression planted them in America; they fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable wilderness, exposed to all the hardships to which human nature is liable. They nourished by your indul- gence! No! they grew by your neglect of them. Your care of them was displayed, as soon as you began to care about them, in sending persons to rule over them ~vho were the deputies of depu- ties of Ministersmen whose behavior, on many occasions, has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within themmen who have been promoted to the highest seats of justice in that country, in order to escape being brought to the bar of a court of justice in their own Georgia alone, which was settled by paupers from the debtors jails of England, had received Parliamentary aid. The other colonies, unaid- ed and alone, had struggled up, during long years of gloom, from feebleness to strength. Of the vast sums which had been expended in fit- ting out expeditions, pnichasing the soil of the Indians, and sustaining the settlers, neither the Crown nor Parliament ever contributed a far- thing; while the former, with the vulgar rapaci- ty of the vulture, had seized upon several of them, setting the proprietors adrift, with that peculiar gratitude that a victim feels toward a robber w~o has taken his purse but spared his life. They had built fortifications, raised ar- mies, and fought battles for Englands glory and their own preservation, without Englands aid, and often without even her sympathy. And it was not until the growing huportance of the French settlements in America excited the jeal- ousy and fears of Englahd, that her Ministers perceived the expediency of exercising some justice and liberality toward her colonies, in order to secure their loyalty and efficient co- operation. When that First Colonial Congress was held the French and Indian War was kindling. It was a long and exhausting one. Parent and children suffered exceedingly. The latter (the colonists) gave to the cause the lives of twenty- five thousand of their robust young men, ex- clusive of mol~e than two thousand ~ailors. They gave in treasure at least twenty millions of dol- lars, and received from parliamentary appropri- ations only five millions. And while they were so generously supporting the power and dignity of the realmeven before the war-clouds were THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. 35 sufficiently broken to admit more than occasion- al gleams of the sunshine of peacethe British Ministry, regarding all their toils and sacrifices for Englands glory in increasing her dominions as the mere exercise of duty by loyal vassals, declared that England expected every farthing of money granted to the colonies during the ~var would be paid hack in the form of taxes imposed upon colonial industry! This policy, selfish and ungenerous in the extreme, was defended by the absolutely false plea that the war and subsequent military expenditures in America were for the defense, protection, and security of the British colonies and plantations in that country. The dishonesty of this plea may be discovered by the light of the fact that the colonists were able to help themselves without foreign aid; that they never asked for British soldiers or ships for their protection after the Peace of Paris, in 1763; and that they soon protested most vehemently against the presence of British troops in the colonies well knowing, as subsequent events manifested, that they were sent and kept here only as instru- ments of oppression. The colonists had learned the important lesson of power in UNION. They had discovered their real moral, political, and physical strength; and having acquired a mas- tery over the savages of the wilderness, and as- sisted in breaking the French power on their frontiers into atoms, they felt their manhood stirring within them, and they tacitly agreed no longer to submit to the narro~v and oppressive power of Great Britain. With the faith ex- pressed in Connecticuts armorial motto, Qui transtulit sustinet He who transplanted still sustainsthey boldly: faced the Future. The Seven Years War ended favorably to England, but it had exhansted her exchequer, and laid a heavy burden of taxation upon her people. Her funded debt had been increased to the enormous sum of almost $700,000,000. The old King had lately died, his grandson had as- cended the throne ~vith the title of George the Third, and new men, some of them weak and some of them wicked, were at the helm of State. His tutor (who was his mothers favorite and some said paramour), the pauper Scotch Earl of Bute, was made Prime Minister; and the great William Pitt, ~vhose genius during the few pre- ceding years had placed England at the head of the nations, disgusted with the ignorance and narrowness of the favorite, refused to be his col- league in the cabinet, and retired to private life. The colonial policy immediately adopted hy the new cabinet was exceedingly un~vise, nar- row, and injurious. With the spirit of the Scotch King James the Second, the Scotch Prime Minister determined to meddle with, if not destroy, the American charters. He sought to reform them, as he said; in other words, to crush all vitality out of them as the guaranties of freedom to the possessors, and to bring the colonies into a total subserviency, politically, religiously, and commercially, to the will of the King and Parliament. Secret agents were sent to America to prepare the way for the unbounded rule of lords temporal and lords spiritual ; for it appeared possible, if the Americans should be allowed to go on much longer in their own way, especially after they had shown such an abund- ance of wonderful self-help as they had e~chibit- ed in the late war, they might soon present the sad condition of a people suffering the evils of A Church without a bishop, A State without a king.. The first attempted reform was in aid of the exhausted treasury. Money was needed and must be had; and it was determined to revive long neglected navigation laws concerning the Americans, and to enforce the collection of the revenue with a vigorous hand. The right to tax the colonists, directly or indirectly, was as- sumed without question; for the idea of colonial subserviency was almost universal in England. Even the chimney-sweepers of the streets, said Pitt, in one of his speeches, talk boasting- ly of oor sol4ects in America. Commanders of vessels and custom-house officers and their deputies were furnished with warrants called Writs of Assistance, by which, as James Otis said, the meanest deputy of a deputys deputy might cuter any mans house or store where it was suspected contraband goods were concealed a privilege in direct opposition to the cherished maxim that an Englishmans house is his cas- tle and inviolate. This arbitrary measure was stoutly resisted, especially in Massach~isetts, where it was boldly denounced, and was not even favored by the royal governor. Otis pub- lished a pamphlet against it, in which he said, If we are not represented, we are slaves. Thatcher of Boston, Dulaney of Maryland, Bland of Virginia, and an anonymous writer by au- thority in Rhode Island, also wrote strongly against it. The result was, not many additional pounds sterling in the Imperial treasury, and the cost of great alienation of the American heart. George Grenville succeeded Bute in the cab- inet. Not doubting the ability of the Americans to pay, nor the right of Parliament to levy a tax, nor the righteousness of the act itself, he pro- posed the laying of new,duties upon articles im- ported from the Spanish West Indies and other foreign countries into America. A bill to this effect passed the House of Commons in March, 1764. In May following he submitted to that body a bill providing for a stamp tax in the colonies. He informed the colonial agents in England that he would not press the matter at that time, but that he must have a million of dollars a year from the colonies, and that if they could devise any better scheme to raise it than a stamp tax, he would accept it. Instead of ask- ing this tribute as a favor, and requesting the colonial assemblies to levy the taxes themselves and make the contributions freely, he demanded it as a A stamp tax was not a novel measure in theory at this time. It had been a favorite scheme for raising a local revenue in New York and Pennsylvania for many years. It was pro- posed in 1734 l)y Cosby, Governor of New York, I 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and in 1739 by Keith, Governor of Pennsylvania. It was suggested by Clarke, Lieutenant-Governor of New York, in 1744, by Dr. Franklin in the Ftrst Colonial Congress in 1754, and by Lieu- tenant-Governor Delancey in 1755. The Amer- icans would listen to propositions for taxation by their local governments, but would not brook such imposition from abroad. It was proposed to Sir Robert Walpole in 1732, when that saga- cious statesman said, No, no; I will leave the taxation of America to some of my successors who have more courage than I have ; and when it was proposed to Pitt in 1759, he said, em- phatically, I Will never burn my fingers with an American Stamp Act. But Grenville, hon- est hut utterly unable to look beyond the routine of official duty, took the step boldly, because he could not perceive the danger, and illustrated the assertion that Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. He wholly mistook the temper of the Americans at that time. It had heen sorely tried by earlier offensive measures; and a consciousness of latent power made the colonists restive under petty op- pressions. They had resolved not to be taxed without their own consent. A great principle was involved in their resolution, and they were firm. When intelligence of these taxmeasures reach- ed America it produced wide-spread discontents among the people. The right of Parliament to tax them without their consent was generally denied; and they asserted a present inability to pay increased taxes because of the depression in business produced by the late war. They plead- ed justly that the operations of the new revenue laws would work disastrously upon their trade with the Spanish Main and the West Indies, from which alone they derived the means of paying taxes in coin. But the Imperial Gov- ernment was deaf to all petitions and remon- strances, several of which were presented. The assurances of Dr. Franklin, who was sent to England as the agent for Pennsylvania, that the taxes would never be paid, and that an attempt to collect thene by force might endanger the unity of the British empire, were unheeded. The Ministry openly declared that it was in- tended to establish now the power of Great Brit- ain to tax the colonies at all hazards; and the King, in his speech at the opening of 1~arlia- ment early in January, 1765, alluded to the ex- citement in America, recommended the adop- tion of a Stamp Act, and declared his intention to use every means in his power to enforce obedience in the colonies. The Actthe fa- mous STAMP ACT which figures so conspicuously in the events immediately preceding the old war for independence that gave birth to our republic was passed after some opposition in Parlia- ment, and on the 22d of March became a law by receiving the signature of the King. The Act was to go into effect on the 1st of Novem- ber following. For almost a year the colonists had been in expectation of the passage of a Stamp Act, and their feelings were at fever heat. When news of its having actually become a law reached them the whole country was aglow with in- tense excitement. In every colony the people expressed their determination to resist its en- forcement. Massachusetts and Virginia were loudest in their denunciations of it, while New Yotk and Pennsylvania were not much behind them in active zeal. Indeed New York had led in the matter. As early as October the previous year the Assembly of that Province appointed a Committee, with Robert R. Livingston as chairman, to correspond with their agent in Great Britain, and with the other Colonial Leg- islatures,. on the subject of this Act and kin- dred oppressive measures adopted by Parliament. That Committee, early in 1765, urged upon the Colonial Assemblies the necessity for holding a General Congress of delegates to remonstrate and protest against th continued violation of their rights and liberties. rrhe idea was popular. Massachusetts was the first to take public ac- tion on the subject. That action originated in a conversation one evening at the house of James Warren, of Plymouth, when James Otis the eld- er, father of Mrs. Warren, and James Otis the younger, her brother, were guests there. The recommendation of the New York Committee was the topic; and it was agreed that, at the next meeting of the General Assembly of the Prov- ince, the proposition should be presented by the younger Otis, who was a member of that body. Accordingly, on the 6th of June he moved in the Assembly, that It is highly expedient there should be a meeting, as soon as may be, of Com- mittees from the Houses of Representatives, or Burgesses, in the several colonies, to consult on the present circumstances of the colonies, and the difficulties to which they are, and must be, reduced, and to consider of a General Address to be held at the city of New York the first Tues- day of October. The resolution, and a circular letter to the other Assemblies, were adopted, and the Speaker was instructed to send a copy to the Speaker of each of those Assemblies. The following is a copy of the letter: BosToN, June, 1765. Sni,The House of Representatlves of this Province, in the present session of the General Court, have unani- mously agreed to propose a meeting, as soon as may be, of COMMITTEEs from the Houses of Representatives or Bur- gesses of the several British colonies on this continent, to consult together on the present circumstan~e~ of the colo- nies, and the difficulties to which they are, and must be, reduced by the operation of the acts of Parliament for levy- ing duties and taxes on the colonies; and to consider of a general, and united, dutiful, loyal, and humble representa- tion of their condition to his Majesty and the Parliament, and to implore rejiof. The house of Representatives of this Province havssalso voted to propose that such meeting be at the city of New York, in the Province of New York, on the first Tuesday in October next; and have appointed Committee of three of their members to attend that serv- ice, with such as the other lioness of Representatives, or Burgesses, in the several colonies may think fit to appoint to meet them. And the Committee of the House of Rep- resentatives of this Province are directed to repair to New York on said first Tuesday in October next accordingly. If, therefore, your honorable House should agree to this proposal, it would be acceptable that as early notice of it THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. 37 as possible might be transmitted to the Speaker of the House of Representatives of this Province. Sis~mza WHITE, Speaker. This letter was received with joy in all the colonies. More than ten years before Dr. Franklin had printed in his paper a rude pic- ture of a disjointed snake, with the initials of a colony on each part, and the significant words, JOIN OR DIE. That symbol of weakness in separationthat hint of life and strength in union, had been pondered by the people all that time. The idea of a national confederation had become a sentiment and a hope in the hearts of thoughtful men; and now, when a way for Union seemed wide open and inviting, the peo- ple accepted the opportunity with thankfulness. The Congress assenibled in the city of New York on Monday the 7th day of October, 1765. Nine of the thirteen colonies were represented.* There had been serious obstacles in the way of a full delegation. The time selected for the meeting was earlier than that of some of the sdonial Assemblies, and prevented their ap- pointing delegates; while in Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia the royal Governors, op- posed to this republican movement, refused to convene the Assemblies for the purpose. The Lieutenant-Governor of New York (Cadwalla- der Colden) prorogued the Assembly from time to time, so that the House had not an opportu- nity to appoint members with full power; but the Committee of Correspondence, appointed at a previous session of that House, were admitted and took their seats as delegates. The Assem- blies of South Carolina and Connecticut did not give their deputies full power, but required them to return their proceedings to them for consider- ation. The Assembly of New Hampshire wrote that the present condition of their government- al affairs would not permit them to appoint a committee to attend such meeting, but that they were ready to join in an address to his Ma- jesty and Parliament. It was well understood in the Congress that the people in all the colo- nies were in sympathy with the movement. The Congress was organized by the election by ballot of Timothy Ruggles, of Massachusetts, President, and the appointment of John Cotton, * The following are the names of the colonies, and their respective representatives who were present: Massachusetts.James Otis, Oliver Partridge, Timothy Ruggles. Rhode IolnndMetcalfe Bowler, Henry Ward. Coaaecticut.Eliphalet Dyer, David Rowlan4, William Samuel Johnson. New YorkRobert L. Livingston, John Cruger, Philip Living4on, William Bayard, Leonard Lispenard. Ne~ss Jerscy.Robert Ogden, Hendrick Fisher, Joseph Borden. Pensssylvaaia.John Dickenson, John Morton, George Bryan. Ddaware.Csesar Rodney, Thomas MKean. Maryland. William Murdock, Edward Tilghman, Thomas Ringgold. Soseth Carolina. Thomas Lynch, Christopher (fads- den, John Rutledge. It will be observed that six of the twenty-seven dele- g,stes were signers of the Declaration of independence, eleven years afterward. Clerk. How dignified that assemblage appears to our comprehension in the light of subsequent history! There they sat, a most august spect~.. do, when estimated by the importance of their mission. They were the chosen representatives of THE PEOPLE, the true source of sovereignty. They had been elected by the people in separate and politically distinct provinces, yet they met as oneas equalsand formed, in reality, a National Union, for they were to act collectively for the general welfare. While no formal com- pact of words, spoken or written, committed their individual provinces to any affirmative or negative action of the majority, so independent was the delegation of each colony, yet in pur- pose, and aspiration, and faith in the future they formed a solemn Continental League, stron- ger in cohesive power than all the written con- stitutions which have since made their appear- ance on the pages of our national annals. Theirs was the higher law of Faith, Liberty, and Jus- tice. Such an assemblage, sitting within call of the government-house in New York, was offensive to the venerable Lieutenant-Governor, the rep- resentative of the Crown, and h~ said to the Massachusetts delegation, Such a Congress, called without due form of law, and unauthor- ized by Isis Majestys representatives, is uncon- stitutional and unlawful, and I shall give them no countenance. They smiled at the old mans impotent opposition, which was like a feather defying the gale. The Congress, unmoved by thoughts of pres- ent consequences, entered upon their duties by first endeavoring to determine the nature of the foundation upon which, in their actions, they might securely stand. Shall we be governed by the finite and limited power of royal or proprie- tory charters, or by the infinite puissance of eter- nal justice? Sisall we take the Experience of History or the Revelations of Reason for our guide? were the great questions to be settled. They did not hesitate long in reaching a conclu- sion. The bold and noble utterances of Chris- topher Gadsden, of South Carolinaa patriot without reproachgave instant form to the cha- os of opinions. A confirmation of our essen- tial and common rights as Englishmen, he said, may be pleaded from charters safely enough, hut any further dependence upon them may be fatal. We slsould stand upon the broad com- snon ground of those natural rights that we all feel and know as men, and as descendants of Englishmen. I wish the charters may not en- snare us at last, by drawing different colonies to act differently in this great cause. Whenever that is the case all will be over with the whole. There ought to be no New Englandinan, no New Yorker known on the continent, but all of us as Americans.* Such were the views of a South Carolinian, a hundred years ago, of the weak- ness and dangers of Independent State Sovereign- ty, and the strength and safety of National Uni- ty. What a contrast does that honest, disinter- * Manuscript letter quoted by Ilancroft, v. 335. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ested, and enlightened statesman, who guided 1)tahliC opinion in South Carolina then, present in comparison with the selfish and vulgar char- latans who rule in the councils of that State in our day! Hyperion to a Satyr Gadsdens views were adopted, and in the di- rection of final independence and nationality, the Congress turned their forces in desires and to-guments. For almost a fortnight they de- l)ated with zeal and great latitude. The dis- (ussion took a wide range, while all held to the topic of defining~the rights which the Americans might claim as sacred and inalienahle. The spirit of democracy was the prevailing sentiment and most of the delegates leaned to the opinion that the Colonies ought not to he longer suh jected even to the legislative power of Great Britain. They discussed the Stamp Act, not as to its expediency, hut as to the right of Great Britain to enforce it. The views of each differ- ing much sometimes, were pressed with zeal, hut not with emharrassing persistence, for they all agreed with Gadsden, who said, as he nohly yielded his own views in a degree to those of others, UNION is, most certainl~,, all in all. On Saturday, the 19th of Octoher, the Con- gress having concluded their discussions, adopt- ed the following Declaration of Rights and Griev- ances: I. That his Majestys subjects in these colonies owe the same allegiance to the Crown of Great Britain that is owing from his sobjects born within the realm, and all due eubordination to gmat august body, the Parliament of Great Britain. II. That his Majestys liege subjects in these colonies are entitled to all the iuherent rights and liberties of his natural-born subjects within the kingder~ of Great Britain. III. That it is inseparably eseential to the freedom of a people, and the undoubted right of Englishmen, that no to -es be imposed en them but with their seen consent, given persessall.y, or by t1se~r repsvsesstetives. IV. That the people of the~e colonies are not, and, from their local circumstances, can not be, represented in the House of Commons in Great Britain. V. That the only representatives of the people of these colonies are the persons cisooca therein by themselves, and that no taxes ever hove been, or con be, censtitsetiossolty insposed en them but by their respective Lvgislotures. VI. That all sopplies to time Crown being free gifts of the people, it is unreasonable and incoasiotent witim else principles and spirit of tim British Constitution for the people of Great Britain to grant to his Majesty the proper- ty of the colonists. VIL That trial by jury is the inherent and invaluable right of every British snbject in these colonies. VIII. That the late act of Parliament, entitled An oc~ for yrentissg end applying certain stemp-dseties, end otis- er duties, in the British Colonies end Plentationsin Ames-- ice, by imposing taxes on the inhabitants of these colonies, and the said act, and several other acts, by extending the jurisdiction of the Court of Admiralty beyond its ancient limits, have a manifest tendency to subvert the rights and liberties of the colonists. IX. That the duties imposed by several late acts of Parliament, from Cite peculiar circumstances of these colo- nice, will be extremely burdensome and grievous; and ft-em the scarcity of specie, the payment of them absolute- ly inmlsracticable. X. That as the psofits of the trade of these colonies ultimately centre in Great Britain, to pay for the manu- factures which they are obliged to take from thence, they eventually contribute very largely to all supplies granted them to the Crown. XI. That the restrictions imposed by several late acts of Parliament on the trade of these colonies, will render them unable to purchase time manufactures of Great Brit- ain. XIL That the increase, prosperity, and happiness ot these colonies depend on the full and ftee enjoyment of their rights and liberties, and an intercourse with Great Britain mutually affectionate and advantageons. XIII. That it is the right of the Britisim subjects in these colonies to petition the King or either house of Parliament. Lastly, That it is time indispensable duty of these colo- nies, to Cite best of sovereigns, to Cite mother country, and to thensoelves, to endeavor, by a loyal and dutiful Address to itis Mtsjesty, and hunshie applicatiots to both Houses of Parliament, to procure Cite repeal of Cite Act for granting and applyin0 certain stamp duties, of all clauses of any other acts of Parliament, - ltereb~ the jurtodiction of the Admiralty is extended as aforesaid, and of Cite other late acts for the restriction of American commerce.5 When the ahove Declaration (which was writ- ten hy John Cruger, timen Speaker of time Assem- hly and Mayor of the city of New York) was adopted, it was resolved to appoint coatmittees to prepare an Address to the King, the Lords, and time Comnmons. Rohert R. Livingston, William Samuel Johnson, and William Mur- dock were appointed to prepare the Address to time King. John Rutledge, Edw~rd Tiighman, and Philip Livingston were appointed to draw up an Address to the house of Lords; and to Thomas Lynch, James Otis, and Thomas MKean was assigned time task of preparing an Address to the House of Coummons. Each Com- mittee was instrmmcted to lay its Address hefore the Congress on Monday following. They did so, and on the 21st, 22d, and 23d the three Ad- dresses were consecutively discussed, anseuded, and adopted. They had heen most carefully considered. Every word ansi senliment had The Stamp Act, referred to itt Section VIII. of this Declaration, provided titat every skits, or piece of velimmm, or psmrclmment, or sheet or piece of paper stood for legal pur- poses, sucim as bills, bonds, notes, leases, policies of insur- ance, umarriage licenses, and a great many other dove- uments, in order to be held valid in courts of law, was to be statmmped (or have stossep attacimed to emtem), and sold by public officers appointed for that put-pose, at prices witich levied a stated tax on every such document, varying frons three pence to ten pounds, or six cents to fifty dollars. The act named time price for every document respectively. Time stamps sent to Amer- ica, under time act, were im- pressed on dark-blue paper, similar to timat known as tobacco-paper, to whicim was attached a narrow strip of tin-foil, represented by time small oblong wimite spot in the engraving. Time ends A STAMP. of the foil were passed tisrongim time peper orparch- ument to ivimicim the stamp was to be attacimed, flat- tened on the opposite side, and a piece of paper with the rongh device and num- ber of time stamp, as seen in time annexed cut, pasted ovem- it to securs it. - Time device of the stamp was a domible Tudor rose, inclosed by time royal garter surmenat- ed by a crown, and the vtmlue of the stmsmp given below. 38 9 THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. 39 been well weighed before they were adopted, for they were proceeding in a great experiment with explosive materials without formulary or prece- dents. In the Address to the King, the most loyal attachment to his person, family, and office was avowed. They alluded to vested rights and liberties found in their charters; and they ex- pressed their belief that if His Majesty should fix the pillars of liberty and justice, and se ~ure the rights and privileges of his subjeAs in America, upon the principles of the British Con- stitution (which is simply the body of the laws), a foundation would be laid for rendering the British empire the most extensive and powerful of any recorded in history. To this Constitu- tion these two principles are essential, they said the right of your faithful subjects freely to grant to your Majesty such aids as are reqt?ired. for the support of your govern- ment over them and other public exigencies, and trial by their peers. By the one they are se- cured from unreasonable impo- sitions; and by the other from arbitrary decisions of the execu- tive power. They reminded him that the continuation of those liberties to the Americans, which the obnoxious acts of Parliament were likely to destroy, might be essential, and even absolutely necessary, to unite in harmony the several parts of his widely extended empire. They then touched a most sensitive chord in his Majestys bosom by hinting at the bound- less wealth and naval strength which Great Brit- ain was likely to secure by allowing the Ameri- cans unrestricted trade in all things except what the shops of England would supply, and the dan- ger of losing all by such legislation as that which had elicited their Address. The invaluable rights of taxing ourselves, they said, and trial by our peers, of which we implore your Majestys protection, are not, we humbly conceive, uncon- stitutional, but conferred by the GREAT CHAR- TER of English liberty. In their Address to the House of Lords simi- lar sentiments were expressed, and they were implored to listen to the counsel whom the col- onists had employed to support the memorial~ while to the Commonsthe more immediate representatives of the English peoplewho could better understand the operations of restrictions upon commerce, they spoke in a different style. Io them they said little of abstract rights, but talked soberly of material interests in England and in the colonies which were likely to be dis- turbed by Grenvilles unwise financial scheme. 1hey disclaimed all idea of sending representa- tives to Parliament, because it would be imprac- ticable. They acknowled0ed all due obedience to th~t body; spoke of the English Constitution as the most perfect form of government, and the source of all their civil and religious liberties; pleaded against the assumption of the right of Parliament to tax the colonies, and begged the Commons to hear their chosen counsel in sup- port of their petition. Such was the result of the labors of Congress up to the night of the 23d of October, when the city of New York ~vas in an uproar on account of the opposition to the Stamp Act. The first of November, when it was to go-into operation, was near. All the summer and antumn the Sons of Liberty, as an organization of patriotic citizenrs in New York and elsewhere, was called, had been active in making the people a unit against the Act. They harangued the popu- lace, and ma~le the Stamp Distributers resign their offices. Franklins figure of the disjointed Snake, with its significant injunction and warn- ing, was placed before the people at the head of a widely-circulated incendiary paper, in which suggestions of Independence were boldly made. Processions sometimes filled the streets of cities; local governments were overawed by the popular demonstrations; and when the day arrived for the Act to go into effect, the people throughout the colonies presented an unbroken ftont of op- position to the measure. On the night in ques- tion an excited throng in the city of New York, who had listened to stirring harangues in The Fields (the present City Hall Park), marched through the streets, shouted Huzza for the Congress and Liberty I in front of the p~ce where that body held their sessions, and ed the air with the New Song for the Sons of Liberty, in which were the stirring words A strange Scheme of late has been formed in the State By a knot of Political Knaves, Who in secret rejoice that the Parliaments voice has condemned us by law to be SLAvEs: Brace Boys! Has condemned us by law to be SLAvEs. With the Beasts of the Wood we will ramble for Food, And lodge in wild Deserts and Caves, And live poor as Job on the skirts of the Globe Before well submit to be SLAvEs: Brace Boys! Before well submit to be SLAvEs. The Congress met on the morning of the 24th to complete the business of the session. General Huggles, the President, and Mr. Ogden, a dele- gate from Ne~v Jersey, who had shown disaffec- tion to the popular cause from the opening of L~NITEORD1E~ 5~O-5nuLE OF THE SNARE DEYIOE. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the Congress, refused to sign the proceedings. They had argued vehemently in favor of the claim of Parliament to supreme control over the colonies in all things. They were opposed to Union, and insisted that each province should take care of its own grievances and petition Par- liament each for itself. They had denounced the proceedings against the Stamp Act in Con- gress and out of it, as treasonable; and in every way exhibited hostility to the object for which t.hat Congress had assembled. Ruggles, true to his proclivities, became a violent Tory in the great Revolution that followed. He had heen a.. Massachusetts Brigadier under Sir William Xohnson, and now entered the xoyal military service against his countrymen. When the Brit- ish were driven from Boston in the spring of 1776, he fled with them to Halifax, hut soon afterward appeared on Long Island at the head of three hundred Tories of Kings and Suffolk counties. He was a refugee at the close of the war, and settled in Nova Scotia, where he died in 1798, at the age of eighty-seven years. The more timid Ogden quailed before the indigna- tion of his countrymen. He tried to conceal or Palliate his defection in the Congress, hut failed. He was hurned in effigy in several places in New Jersey, and was removed from the office of Speaker of the Assembly at their next meeting. All the other members of the Congress were true to the cause which they professed to represent. Of the twenty-seven members only one was a knave, and one a coward. Owing to the factious conduct of Ruggles and Ogden, the 24th was spent in wrangling; but on the following day the labors of the Congress were satisfactorily closed. The delegates from six of the nine provinces represented, namely, Massachusetts (except Ruggles), Rhode Island, New Jersey (except Ogden), Pennsylvania (ex- cept Dickenson, who was absent), Delaware, and Mai~iland, affixed their signatures to the pro- ceedings. Those of the other colonies assented, hut were not authorized to sign their names. The four unrepresented colonies, namely, New Hamp- shire, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia, were known to he in sympathy with their sisters; an~ the proceedings of that Congress, burdened wUs potential ideas concerning the rights of man, went forth to the world with the solemn sanc- tion of the continent, proclaiming to every hu- man being on the face of the earth, in the spirit of John Adamss declaration: You have rights antecedent to all earthly government; rights that can not he repealed or restrained hy human laws; rights derived from the great Legislator of the Universe. The colonies then became, as it was expressed, a bundle of sticks which could neither he heat nor broken. Then and there the visible form of the great AMERICAN UNION was fashioned and proclaimed; and from that hour, during the ten dreary years of strife and tumult, of hope and doubt, of petition and remonstrance, of consultation and preceding the final armed resistance to unnatu- ral oppression, the colonies acted as a unit. The crude elements of republicanism tending to po- litical aggregation, which the American colo- nists had exhibited since the attempt to confed- erate in 1643, were now crystallized into tangi- ble form. The UNION which we so much love, and for which we have poured out hlood like water and treasure like sand, was formed long before the Declaration of Independence, or the promulgation of the Constitution which changed the confederation of States into a cONSOLIDATED NAAON. The 1st of Novemher arrived. It was Fri- daygloomy hangman-day. All over the country muffled bells were tolled, muffled drums were beaten, and minute-guns were fired. There were indications every where of a national fu- neral. DIED, reported a New York news- paper more than fifty days before, on the 7th of ~ehruary, 1765, of a cruel Std~np on her Vitals, Lady Nth Amcan Liberty [North American Liberty]. She was descended from the ancient and honorable family of Bulls. Her Father, John Bull, Esq., married her, agreeable to her own desire, to a worthy Gentleman of noble Blood, tho of no large Fortune, whose name was TOLERATION, and gave her in Dower a certain Tract of uncultivated Land, which she called after her name, Ntb Amca, which she with her Husband came and took Possession of, with this additional Grant, that she, her Children and dependents, should enjoy all the Liberties and Immunities of Natural-born Sub- jects of him, the said John Bull Thus died the most amiable of Women, the best Wife, the most dutiful Child, and the tenderest Mo- ther. Happy for her family, she has left one son, who was the Child of her Bosom and her only Hope. Him she often said she prophetic- ally named Idpdce [Independence], and in him the Hopes of all her disconsolate Serv- ants are placed for relief under their Afflictions, when he shall come of age.* Business was suspended, the courts of justice were closed, marriages ceased, and legal con- tracts of every kind were kept in abeyance, for no man would use the stamps. But the pall of gloom that covered the people was soon lifted. The voice of the General Congress was like the trumpet of the resurrection. Through it a na- tion spoke, and its own words gave life and lib- erty to thought and action in a11 its borders. The clouds broke; the sunlight came bursting through with floods of radiance; and the cheer- fulness that follows the culmination of sorrow, when Faith and Hope light the way, was seen in every countenance. The flat went forth spontaneously from every heart and lip that Americans should never be slaves; that the gyves of the Stamp Act should never encumber the limbs of an American freeman. Men felt the power of that resolution with the force of a demonstration; and even the children, as one of our historians has said, though hardly able * Quoted by DawBon, in We Sons of Liberty in Nets York, page 77. THE STAMP ACT CONGRESS. 41 to speak, caught up the general chorus, and went along the streets merrily caroling, Liberty, Property, and no Stamps! i It is the joy of thousands, said a patriotic divine of Connec- ticut, that there is union and concurrence in a General Congress. We trust they will lay the foundation for another Congress. The newspaper press first hurled defiance by appearing without stamps. The merchants act- ed simultaneously, and agreed to import nothing from England until the obnoxious Act should he repealed. All classes utterly disregarded the law. The stamps were seized and destroyed, and the stamp-distrihuters were roughly handled by the populace. Royal Governors and Royal troops were powerless; and imperative demands for the repeal of the law, in the action of an in- dignant people, accompanied the loyal Addresses to the King and Parliament sent over by thq Congress. The stupid King could not comprehend the matter. The conceited Ministers were not much wiser than he; and King and Ministers gabbled ahont chastising a rebellious people. But there were men in the I3ritish Parliament who did comprehend the whole matter, and were not afraid to speak out plainly. The chief of them vere Pitt, Burke, and Barrd. The first had es- tablished his right to the claim 6f his friends of being the first Commoner in England. The second then commenced his brilliant career as an orator; and the third was already known as a keen, sagacious, and brilliant debater. On this occasion Pitts powers ~vere developed in magnificent proportions; and Burkes speeches against the Stamp Act, Dr. Johnson said, filled the town with wonder. Grenville used all his powers in defense of his scheme, and attacked Pitt with the insinuation that he ~vas a promoter of sedition in the colonies. The scene that followed, as described by Johnson, was one of remarkable interest. When Grenville ceased speaking there was a loud call for 1\Ir. Pitt! Mr. Pitt ! Gout had fastened its instruments of torture upon him, and he had entered the house with crutches under his arms and his feet swathed in flannel. He slowly arose to his feet, supported by his props, cast a glance over the audience, and then fixing his keen eye upon Grenville, said, You have challenged me to the field, & nd I will fight yen on every foot of it. His eloquent sentences then fell thick and fast upon the quailing Minister like hot thunder- bolts. At the conclusion of his speech he pro- posed an absolute and immediate repeal of the Stamp Act, as an unwise, unnecessary, and un- just measure, at the same time recommending an Act to accompany the repeal, which declared, in the most unqualified terms, the sovereign au- thority of Great Britain over her colonies. This vas intended as a sort of salve to the national pride, which would be somewhat wounded by this concession; a salve which Pitt well knew would be necessary to insure the repeal of the * B ncreft, v. ee. Act. Yet the eloquent speeches of Pitt, Burke, Conway, Barrd, and others could not alone have induced the Commons to consent to a repeal of the Act. Nor would the knowledge of disturb- ances in America, or the Addresses of the Con- gress have had the slightest effect in bringing about a repeal, for the Ministers refused to even receive the Addresses, because that Congress had not been legally summoned to meet by the su- preme power. It was the importunities of Lon- don merchants and tradesmen, suffering severe- ly from the effects of the non-importation agree- ments, that caused a change in the views of the National Legislature. Their trade with the col- onies had been suddenly suspended, and nothing but bankruptcy and ruin stared them in the face. Their voice was potential; and on the 18th of March, 1766, an Act to repeal the Stamp Act, accompanied by Pitts Declaratory Act, so called, was passed, and became a law on the same day by receiving the signature of the King. He sigued~he Stamp Act cheerfully, but affixed his signature to the Act for its repeal most reluc- tantly. It was carried in the Commons by a vote of two hundred and scventy-five to one hun- dred and sixteen. It met strenuous opposition in the house of Lords, where it had a majority of thirty-four. Thirty-three peers entered a strong protest against it, embodying ten argu- mentative reasons, the most forcible of which that seemed to operate on their minds being that such a submission of King, Lords, and Com- mons, under such circumstances, in so strange and unheard-of a contest, would in effect surren- der their ancient, unalienable rights of supreme jurisdiction, and give them exclusively to the subordinate Provincial Legislatures. Precise- ly what the people demanded, and what the Congress had declared to be the inalienable right of the people. The news of the repeal of the Stamp Act was received with unbounded joy by the Americans, and the shackles upon commerce were immedi- ately loosened. London had already been il- luminated, and the shipping in the Thames decorated with flags in honor of the event. In Boston the intelligence was received at noon on a bright May day. The bells were rung; can- nons roared; the Seas of Liberty drank toasts; all the debtors in jail were set free; John Han- cock treated the l)opulace to a pipe of wine, and the capital of New England was jubilant until midnight. Philadelphia was made equally mer- ry Maryland voted a portrait of Lord Camden for the State-house, for he had said in the House of Peers that Taxation and representation are inseparable. Virginia resolved to decorate her old capitalWilliamsburgwith a statue of the King; South Carolina ordered a statue of the author of the repealing Act for her only city; and New Yorks joy aud loyalty were displayed by voting to erect within the borders of the city a statue of both Pitt and the King. The former, wrought in marble, was placed at the intersection of streets, and was reduced to a torso by rude British soldiery during the Revolution; thb lat 42 hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. LOVE BY MISHAP. ter (equestrian) was set up in the Bowling Green Their figures justified the compact riding-dress, at the foot of Broadway. It was made of lead, which is a serious test. Their complexions de- and gilded. When the storm of the Revolution noted uncompromising health, and risked no- broke over the land, and the King had been de- thing by contact with the sunshine. Their faces nonnced as a tyrant unfit to be the ruler of a were partly shaded by round hats with curling free people, his statue was pulled down and rims, beside which the monstrous masculine tur- cast into bullets, and the ministerial troops rets, witht which some ladies had rashly (lisfig soon afterward had melted Majesty fired at ured themselves, shone in resplendent deformi- them. When that statue fall royal power was ty. Their dark blue dresses were piquant, yet at an end in the colonies. They had just de- not too eccentric. Double rows of buttons, from dared themselves free and independent States, the throat downward, made brigadier-generals and were fighting manfully under the banner of of them. Their hair was massed in nets, after that Union which was formed in the Stamp Act the English style. They were in uniform, even Congress. to the pink gloves; and feminine uniforms, though execrable for the street, or at an assem- bly, are ever charming in the saddle. The taller, and apparently the older, was all I. fair. The other was neither fair nor dark, but had many of the advantages of each quality. The one was serious and self-possessed; the other playful and a little nervous. They are alone, said Mr. harry Stafford, speaking softly to his companion. Why not ? said Mr. Fred Timmerton. ~ not? They know a bridle from a bunch of radishes, take my word for it. ~o fear of them Radishes have nothing to do with it, Fred. Of course they can ride; but ladies dont come out alone, you know. We ought to thank them for setting the example, then. Look at that tall girl. She sits as if she were at the piano. But the little one is the beauty. I)ont speak so loud. As you say, the tall one is the beauty. No, the little one. Fred, dont provoke me! I say the tail ONE Saturday afternoon in June a group of cavaliers had assembled on the Concourse at the Central Park. The musicians were tak- ing their places, and crowds were gathering about them. The terrace was a picture of grace and animation. There had been no finer day during the season. There were no threaten- ing clouds, and so the bonnets were ravishing. There was no dust, so coats and collars were undimmed. There was dazzling sunshine, so parasols flashed like large butterflies, or like feathers plucked from the peacock in the Ram- ble. The cavaliers had stationed themselves upon the most commanding spot accessible to horse- men. They watched the carriages as they swept past below, and criticised with freedom. Grad- ually other visitors ascended to the Concourse. Our group broke into parties of two and three, and conversed less audibly. Theres a beauty for von! said one, direct- ing attention to the foremost of two young la- dies, who, apparently unattended, advanced rum- bly from the lower road. Where? Oh, yes. What action! Just look at that step. Tis a beauty, to be sure Heres a fellow who has no eye for any thing but horses. I mean the rider, Fred; look at her. Yes, she does sit well. Nobody could have a better seat. That girl can ride, Harry. I should think so! There are two of them, and they are coming up here. So much the better. As the ladies moved leisurely up the ascent each of the gentlemen shrugged himself into an attitude, after the manner of the youthful male under anticipation of being inspected. Each gave a glance at the rose in his button-hole, and pulled his gloves tighter over his hands. But the ladies passed by them wholly uncon- scious, and took a position nearer the unfinished bank. They were, however, in full view of the gen- tlemen, who straightway commenced inventories of their exterior. They bore a subdued resemblance to one an- other. Both were pretty, one a little more. one. Now, just observe that profile. Do you mind the nose? Its a great nose. Not iuu size, man! What arc you laughing at? liii not a fool! rho other nose is better. Nonsense !and examine that dress. Did you ever see such taste ? The dresses are precisely alike. So they are, to be sure. But that doesnt alter my conviction that the little one is the real beauty. The gentlemen regarded one atuother with coml)assion, each at his neighbors failing in fine appreciation. The inspection was not, how- ever, interrupted. The tall one is the better horsewoman, said Iharry Stafford. Im afraid she is, answered Timmerton. reluctantly. But you cant have every thing. The little one rides well enough. And has the best horse too, he added, with sudden inspira- tion, as if the modern equestrienne were a spe- cies of centaur, to be considered only as the su- perior part of the animal which sustains her. The ladies turned, and their faces were more openly. revealed. I tell you, Iharry, resumed Mr. Timmer

Edward H. House House, Edward H. Love By Mishap 42-49

42 hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. LOVE BY MISHAP. ter (equestrian) was set up in the Bowling Green Their figures justified the compact riding-dress, at the foot of Broadway. It was made of lead, which is a serious test. Their complexions de- and gilded. When the storm of the Revolution noted uncompromising health, and risked no- broke over the land, and the King had been de- thing by contact with the sunshine. Their faces nonnced as a tyrant unfit to be the ruler of a were partly shaded by round hats with curling free people, his statue was pulled down and rims, beside which the monstrous masculine tur- cast into bullets, and the ministerial troops rets, witht which some ladies had rashly (lisfig soon afterward had melted Majesty fired at ured themselves, shone in resplendent deformi- them. When that statue fall royal power was ty. Their dark blue dresses were piquant, yet at an end in the colonies. They had just de- not too eccentric. Double rows of buttons, from dared themselves free and independent States, the throat downward, made brigadier-generals and were fighting manfully under the banner of of them. Their hair was massed in nets, after that Union which was formed in the Stamp Act the English style. They were in uniform, even Congress. to the pink gloves; and feminine uniforms, though execrable for the street, or at an assem- bly, are ever charming in the saddle. The taller, and apparently the older, was all I. fair. The other was neither fair nor dark, but had many of the advantages of each quality. The one was serious and self-possessed; the other playful and a little nervous. They are alone, said Mr. harry Stafford, speaking softly to his companion. Why not ? said Mr. Fred Timmerton. ~ not? They know a bridle from a bunch of radishes, take my word for it. ~o fear of them Radishes have nothing to do with it, Fred. Of course they can ride; but ladies dont come out alone, you know. We ought to thank them for setting the example, then. Look at that tall girl. She sits as if she were at the piano. But the little one is the beauty. I)ont speak so loud. As you say, the tall one is the beauty. No, the little one. Fred, dont provoke me! I say the tail ONE Saturday afternoon in June a group of cavaliers had assembled on the Concourse at the Central Park. The musicians were tak- ing their places, and crowds were gathering about them. The terrace was a picture of grace and animation. There had been no finer day during the season. There were no threaten- ing clouds, and so the bonnets were ravishing. There was no dust, so coats and collars were undimmed. There was dazzling sunshine, so parasols flashed like large butterflies, or like feathers plucked from the peacock in the Ram- ble. The cavaliers had stationed themselves upon the most commanding spot accessible to horse- men. They watched the carriages as they swept past below, and criticised with freedom. Grad- ually other visitors ascended to the Concourse. Our group broke into parties of two and three, and conversed less audibly. Theres a beauty for von! said one, direct- ing attention to the foremost of two young la- dies, who, apparently unattended, advanced rum- bly from the lower road. Where? Oh, yes. What action! Just look at that step. Tis a beauty, to be sure Heres a fellow who has no eye for any thing but horses. I mean the rider, Fred; look at her. Yes, she does sit well. Nobody could have a better seat. That girl can ride, Harry. I should think so! There are two of them, and they are coming up here. So much the better. As the ladies moved leisurely up the ascent each of the gentlemen shrugged himself into an attitude, after the manner of the youthful male under anticipation of being inspected. Each gave a glance at the rose in his button-hole, and pulled his gloves tighter over his hands. But the ladies passed by them wholly uncon- scious, and took a position nearer the unfinished bank. They were, however, in full view of the gen- tlemen, who straightway commenced inventories of their exterior. They bore a subdued resemblance to one an- other. Both were pretty, one a little more. one. Now, just observe that profile. Do you mind the nose? Its a great nose. Not iuu size, man! What arc you laughing at? liii not a fool! rho other nose is better. Nonsense !and examine that dress. Did you ever see such taste ? The dresses are precisely alike. So they are, to be sure. But that doesnt alter my conviction that the little one is the real beauty. The gentlemen regarded one atuother with coml)assion, each at his neighbors failing in fine appreciation. The inspection was not, how- ever, interrupted. The tall one is the better horsewoman, said Iharry Stafford. Im afraid she is, answered Timmerton. reluctantly. But you cant have every thing. The little one rides well enough. And has the best horse too, he added, with sudden inspira- tion, as if the modern equestrienne were a spe- cies of centaur, to be considered only as the su- perior part of the animal which sustains her. The ladies turned, and their faces were more openly. revealed. I tell you, Iharry, resumed Mr. Timmer LOVE BY MIShAP. 43 ton, youre all wrong. She has fine regular explanations, showing that he had been detaiu- features; but look at the expression! Its pos- ed, that his courser was volatile of temper, and itively stony! Thats a woman to do you a that there had been a disagreement between it cruelty and then laugh. She hasnt a beam of and himself near the Ramble. feeling in her face. Its a splendid eye, but it The grave young lady remonstrated against glitters just like ice ! the loud voice, and gave cautious counsel against Mr. Stafford was shaken. There was some- the risks of inexperienced horse-boys. thing in what Timmerton said. The beauty Oh, Julia, thats always your way! an- was indisputable, but it was accompanied with a swered my young gentleman. You think I certain bearing which, at that moment, he thought cant ride, and try to frighten me. Wait, now, haughty and fo~idding. The severity of her and ill show you by-and-by. features was inconsistent, he imagined, with the So theyre not altogether alone, you see, cheerfulness of the scene asjd the occasion. whispered Mr. Timmerton. She is very statelyhe said to his com- Charley, said the young lady whom he had panion grievously stately. called Julia, you have no need to hold the Undoubtedly, said Timmerton; hut the curb so close. Let it loose; the pony is rest- other is an original package of pure gentleness; less. I sure of it. In fact the little animal had grown qaite I could overlook all but the mouth; but I nervous, and impatiently pelted the Park with am quite uncomfortable about the mouth, its his fore-feet. But Master Charley, with a self- so firm. confidence not inconsistent with the age of thir- I am uncomfortable about my own heart, it teen, persisted in the endeavor to manage every isnt firm at all. thing in Isis own way. From dancing the pony are right, Fred; she is not a woman went on to pranciug, and presently executed shes a statue. She hasnt an emotion about her, movements so eccentric as to alarm his rider, you can be sure. Let us get away. who suddenly dropped theory and curb with one But Mr. Timmerton strongly resisted any accord. Unexpectedly released, the pony fur- such proposition. Not that he cared specially thermore sprang forward full against the stately about the girls, you knownothing of that sort; young ladys horse, disturbiug her balance and because he should never expect to meet them jostling the reins from her handa mishap that again, so what was their pr~sence to him? But would not have occurred but for the anxiety with the music was about to commence, and there which she was watching the adventures of Mas- was no place so well worth occupying as that ter Charles. Now two animals were moved on which they stoodunless, indeed, it ~vere a from their propriety, and peoI)le began to turn certain point which, strangely enough, was a and gaze. The ladys position was awkward, few feet nearer to the fair riders. Mr. Timmer- for, losing the reins, she lost also the power of ton would not hear of going, and it would have control. Mr. Timmerton started to her aid. i)een unfriendly in Mr. Stafford to leave him. But, springing sideways, her horse touched the [t is just to add that Mr. Stafford betrayed on edge of the uncompleted bank. A misstep here this occasion no spirit of unfriendliness. would be perilous. The younger lady whim- Never were ladies mere apparently uncon- pered. Master Charley cried aloud without ~cious of the interest they had so suddenly cx- helping matters. Mr. Stafford took a quick cited. They conversed quietly apart, fixing view of the emer~ency, and with a single me- their attention upon the general vie~v, and giv- tion turned his horse toward the declivity, ing no eye to detailsnot even when details pushed his spur vigorously, and darted beyond hovered ne~ r them in the guise of two well- the limit of the Concourse. As he passed out- favored cavaliers, each with a rose in his button- side the lady her horse was crowded back to a bole. firmer I)osition, aud by a sudden gesture he re- Mr. Dodworth shook his wand, and the obe- stored her reins, liar safety was secured, but (lient tubes sent forth their welcome to the mul- Mr. Stafford was less fortunate. His effort to titude. Every body was quietif not from in- turn abruptly back was unavailing. The loose clination, from necessity ; for good taste is en- stones slid, the horse plunged once or twice, forced at the Central Park by officials clothed in then fell upon his side, rolling half-way down blue authority, and the avenues are not allowed the bank, arel crushing his rider among the to clang with hoofs and wheels while the charms jagged stones. There was a great outcry, then of music are soothing the cultivated breast. a rush and a crowd; and every thought of the pleasures of the day was chilled for all who saw the handsome gentlemans torn and bleeding The overture ceased; the performers reposed frame as they carried him inanimate away. from their benevolent exertions, and the spell of blue authority was broken. The carriages be- Itt. gan to circle in their orbits, and the gay confu- When Mr. Stafford opened his minds eyes sion was every where renewed. or, to put it more formally, when he returned to A pony bearing a lad of thirteen galloped up to consciousnesshe found himself where, under the Concourse. At sight of the ladies of whom the circumstances, he would naturally expect to we have been speaking this lad began to shout he, in his own apartments. For an hour he lay 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with his senses half unclosed, weakly question- ing himself as to why he was at home, and why he was in bed; why his legs and arms hurt him if he stirred 1~hem; why the room was so dark and still; and why the people whom he saw moving softly about did not speak to him. He was too languid to ask aloud for any informa- tion. It was pleasanter to conjecture tranquil- ly, and wait for recollection to shape itself before him. Gradually the outlines of the accident arose in his mind; dimly at first, afterward more clearly. He remembered the two ladies and their opposite characteristics, the impcnding danger and his effort to avert it. having re- memhered this niuch, he felt a little curiosity as to the sequel, hut had not energy enough to make inquiries. He therefore turned about and went to sleep. He awoke presently with a great appetite, and cried out in a voice which he meant to make loud, but which denied his intentions, for food. A gentleman approached him cautiously. Why, Timmerton, glad to see you, said Mr. Stafford, recognizing his friend; but whats the matter? Just look at you. What a guy!. What are you so solemn about ? Hush, Harry, b answered Mr. Timmerton ~ dont talk much. You have been very ill. Ill! Im not ill. Im only sore. I want to get upand he made a futile attempt to lift himself upon an elbow. Lie quiet, harrydo! said Timmerton. You cant get up. You have been sick a fort- night. This is the first time you have known me. Have I been sick a fortnight ? said Mr. Stafford. Well, that is the most ridiculous thing lever heard in my life. I didnt know it. No, indeed. You havent known much since you fell. Oh yes, to be sure, I fell, interrupted Staf- ford. Tell me about it. What happened ? Not now. To-morrow. But I insist on knowing what became of of the tall Hush; if you talk now Ill never tell you. Your doctor says you must keep quiet. A person who had been seated at a little dis- tance rose and moved toward the door. Whos that ? said ,Stafford. Thats your nurse, said Timmerton. Well, send her away. I dont want any nurse. Im ~vel1 enough now. Does he seem better, Mr. Timmerton ? asked the nurse, near the door. I think a great deal better, said Timmer- ton. Not flushed; no signs of much fever, and he knows what hes about, you see. Then I shall go, said the nurse. I will send to inquire this evening. Hallo, said Stafford, as the door was opened, there are two of them. I saw them 1)0th. I distinctly saw a pair. I havent got two nurses, have I ? One is an assistant, said Timmerton, as they went out. An assistant! Why, have I been so bad as thatand for only a fortnight? Well, I shant want them any more. Tell me about the Park. No, you neednt; Im sleepy. lie had forgotten the hunger with which he woke up, and did not consider it until the next morning, when, after a long slumber, he awoke feeble but unmistakably convalescent. Iv. You are a lucky fellow, s*id Mr. Timmer- ton. I should think so, said Mr. Stafford. Mv legs and arms are & nstantly reminding me of it. Nevertheless, continued Mr. Timmerton. I would care less for the chances of getting an occasional pitch-or if I could feel sure of such capital treatment as you have had. My doctor is a clever fellow, acknowledged Mr. Stafford. Its not the doctor. He says himself that he could have done very little without the con- stant and patient care your nurse gave to you. The case was serious, amy boy. Few men ever get a second rap on the skull like that of yours. You dont tell me so. Theres nothing the matter with my skull. Its over now; and you feel the lighter bruises the most. Do you know, harry, that you talked stuff for ~ week. What sort of stuff? Oh, the worst; poetry, and politics, and ev- ery thing. Why, then, I was out of my head. Milesleagues. You havent been in it or near it for two weeks. Bless me! Its too late to be frightened now. Do no good. It was very bad, then. Monstrous! You needed uninterrupted at- tention, and that of the most delicate kind. And you had it. Oh, thats my luck, is it ? Thats your luck; and now about the nurse. What about her ? What will you do ? Why, hasnt she been paid? Send he~ something extra to buy pipes with or snuff. harry, one thing is sure. She saved your life. Thats her trade, Fred; at least one-half of it. Saving or losing it makes no difference to her, I suppose. Well, it didnt seem so to me. I have been here every day, mind, and seen the whole. Thank you., Fred,; I know you have done every thing for me. Will you go and thank your nurse when you get better? That would be more to the purpose. I have done nothing. A man is of no use when you are sick. What should I go and thank a nurse for? Well, have her brought here some day and Ill thank her. She cant come any more, she says, now that you are nearly recovered. LOVE BY MISHAP. 45 Dear me; whats the matter? she has an- I hoped yon had forgotten her. Well, for the other place, perhaps. sake of peace, let iis go and have it all over with. Possibly. Will you go ? Take me where you please. I snppose I must, since you make a point The carriage rolled through Fifth Avenue. of it. Fred, what ever became of the beautiful Turning a corner it stopped before a mansion teicle ? too elegant to appear the lit abode of nurses. Which one ? Why, Fred, is the creature in attendance The one that up~t me.~ upon somebody? I cant go into a strangers The little one? house to see a nurse. No, she upset you; moreover, she was not Come along, said Mr. Timmerton Ive an icicle. 1he grand one I mean. The Mi- fixed every thing. She rather expects you.~~ nerva. Mr. Stafford languidly suffered himself to be Oh yes! I dont wonder she is in your conducted up the steps, his countenance ex- mind. You had a good deal to say about her pressing some ~vonder and more impatience. last week. In fact you talked about very little They entered, and cards ~vere given by Mr. Tim- else. merton. Impatience gradually faded from Mr. Good gracious! Did I devote my precious Staffords features, and ~vonder grew as they delirium to her? stood within one of the most charming dra~ving- Exclusively. rooms he had ever entered. lie ~vas about to Now, Fred, she isnt worthy of it. But you question his friend with some eagerness when said I talked l)olitics. She is not a politic. steps resounded in the hall. The door opened. I said poetry and politics. I do not know whether it was Angels and True, so you did. I ~vonder what the devil ministers of grace defend us ! that Mr. Stafford she thought of me spinning over those sharp exclaimed, or some more familiar phrase of as- stones. I dare say she laughed. tonishment and awe. Probably it was some- Perhaps she did; I was too busy about you thing more modern and less classical. But to notice. whatever it might have been it indicated a. state No; I dont believe she laughed. That of feeling at least as acute as that of hamlet would be too extravagant an emotion for her to when confronted by the late respected. l)etray. I have no doubt she thought it was a For, look you, hamlet had been warned of the highly indecorous caper of mine. apparition, tind had steeled his senses before- What, to preserve her life? Oh, do her hand. At least lie had the o~)portunity of doing justice, Harry. so. But here, without a si~n of premonition, Was I her life-preserver? Come, thats was poor Harry Stafford thrust into the I)iesence good. Minerva and her life-preserver. Thats of the very woman upon whom his thoughts had poetry; but dont be afraid, Ini not delirious rested, in sickness and health, since the first again. moment he beheld herinto the presence of the Day after to-morrow, Harry, we may get frigid beauty, of the lady he had saved from an out and see your nurse a minute. ugly danger, taking the catastrophe upon him- Bother tlte nurse. self. So you did, abundantly, when she had you It was really too bad of Mr. Fred Timmerton; in charge. Shesyoar life-preserver, remember. and yet that gentleman stood smilingyes., al- Thats all very well; but when I am recall- most laughingfor at least forty seconds with- ing the vision of the t~ost beautiful woman in omit vouchsafing a word of elucidation. Mr. Staf- the world why conjure snuffy nurses and all ford, nervous and weak from his illness, turned sorts of abominations? Let me alone, I want to to him beseechingly. his first idea had been think. that one of the young ladies had been injured as Mr. Timmerton went away laughing. well as himself, and that the same nurse mtiight have been called to attend U~Ofl both. Next a V. crowd of thoughts hustled upon his mind until A day or two later, on a Saturday, Mr. Staf- he felt quite faint and uneasy. ford was able to creep into a carriage. Mr. Timmerton stepped forivard to relieve the We will ride up to the Park, Fred, and look embarrassment. The younger lady of the Park at the Concourse, he said to his faithful escort, bad also entered the drawing-room. They stood Mr. Timmnerton. together awaitimig a presentation. Why the Concourse ? asked Mr. Tim- Mr. Stafford, said Mr. Timamerton, I am me~ton. rejoiced to make you acquainted with your nurse, I am curious to see the spot ef my accident. Miss Daisley. Th~re is one stone especially to which I desire to I would wish readers af a vigorous imagina- apologize. I almost broke it with my head. tion to picture to themselves Mr. Staffords feel- Besides, we might ings. No others can. As for describing them. Might what ? I am ashamed to say bow many pens have been No matter. broken by the present utirrator in the attempt. I tell you what, harry, we will stop on the Tremulously rising, and su~)ported by his com way and give your nurse a little call. panioii, he glanced timidly at the stately beauty, Can I never get rid of that eternal nurse? remembered all lie had conceived of her hard- V() xX\h.No. 151.D 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ness and coldness, dashed away a kindling hope, must tell you. When you fell I was inex- and turned to the glowing anti sympathetic lit- pressihly shocked and grioved, and as Mr. Tim- tie maiden by her side. merton was lifting you I begged him to give me I can never thank you enough, Miss Dais- von r name and your address. After I reached ley, he hegan. home I sent papa to learn how serious your in- No, Ilarry, not that Miss Daisley, inter- jury was, lie ~vas very fully sensible of what rupted Timmerton the other one. we owed you, and felt as much anxiety as any Ah, this is too much, said Mr. Stafford; of usas I did. He brought back word that and feeling quite unable to stand, he sat down your head was affected, an~ the fever was so vio- very abruptly among the cushions of an easy- lent that the physician had very little hope for chair. you unless he could secure the attendance of We were at first afraid it was too much, some person vho would cater thoroughly and said Miss Daisley, sitting near him; but we heartily into his plans for your restoration. lie presently found the danger could be averted, wanted a more considerate and thoughtful nurse But oh, Mr. Stafford, how you have suffered, than any he could call upon. Was it presump- and for usforfor me ! tuous in me, Mr. Stafford, to think that I might I did met mean the hurt was too much, do? I had never seen much illness; hut this said Stafford; that was nothing. I beg you was a case where I could not but feel that my not to think of it. sense of gratitude ought to teach me many things I can not help thinking of it. Remember, that I wanted in experience. At any rate, I felt I have been your nurse for more than a week, it a serious duty to make the trial. Mamma and I know what befell you better, perhaps, than was astonished, as she will tell you presently, you can. ~ but she did not refuse. She only ~vent about the harry Stafford thought he had never heard so next day and made inquiries; and as she found beautiful a voice in his life. But at the last re- friends of her own who knew good things of you, mark Iso became suddenly confused, and grew red. she was quite at ease. There it is, Mr. Staf- What ails von? said Miss Daisley; have forda long story, to be sure, but I felt it right you come out too soon ? that you should know precisely how it came Oh no, said Harry no, indeed. And about. he secretly thought that if he could have known Mr. Stafford was much agitated. I am very the truth he would not have waited till that late deeply moved, he said, by your generosity and day to meet his nurse. He conceived at the your courage. I can not even attempt to tell moment a wrathful sentiment toward Mr. Tim- you how much. merton, and resolved to have it out with him at Do not speak of it, she answered. The the earliest opportunity for being so reticent. doctor tried me, and did not find me wanting, His confusion came from remembering that his and I am. proud enough of the praises he gave friend had told him the burden of his long do- me. He (lid not seem to think I had a motive lirium was nothing else but Miss Daisley. and that if you had not saved my life, perhaps Did I say many foolish things while I was I should have had less resolution and determin- sick, Miss Daisley ? he asked. ation to help you back to health. And now it was the young ladys turn to be- here is mamma, said the younger Miss tray uneasiness. No, she said at least I Daisley. do not remember. No, I think not. Mrs. Daisley entered, an ample, beaming ma- Whatever I may have said, urged Mr. Staf tron, with a bearing w l~ch betrayed the origin ford, I wish you would believeand it is the of her older daughters dignity, and a ripe beauty truththat within a few minutes I have learned which warranted the comeliness of both of them. that I made the wildest mistake of my life when To her the invalid was presented, and the con- I first saw you. sersation was general for half an hour. Mrs. Ols, Mr. Stafford ! Daisley admitted that her daughters suggestion Indeed I did. I thought of you of s~ssuming a sanitary commission in favor of a No matter, do not tell me now; tell me strange gentleman had amazed her, but added some other time. that the case seemed too urgent and too imme- Stafford felt convinced that she at least part- diate in its claims upon them to justify refusal. ly divined what he womsld say; and as it was an Many pleasant things were said, especially be- awkward confession at the best, he was glad tween Mr. Timmerton and the younger sister, enough to be relieved. Timmerton amid the who seemed to act upon tIme best understanding younger lady, who had until now conversed in the world. apart, drew near. But we ~vere going up to the Park, said You wish to know how I came to be your Timmerton, suddenly; at which a disagreeable nurse, as Mr. Timmnerton calls me, resumed sensation slsot across Mr. Staffords mind. Bad Miss Daisley. taste that fellow Timmerton shows sometimes, No; like the blessings of the fairies, you do thought he. not need to be accounted for. No, I accept the Perisaps Miss Daisley will go with us, add- fact tlsankfmslly, and that is enough. ad Tiasmerton; whereupon Mr. Stafford recon- Thats very pretty, but nevertheless I must sidered Isis reflection, and tlsought there was a tell you, else you would think Well, I spark of sense in Timmerton after all. LOVE BY MISHAP. 47 But Miss Laura and I, continued Timmer- ton, iudicatiug the little sister, have almost decided to go on horseback, if 1\Irs. Daisley will permit, and if Miss Paisley ~vill consent to be burdened with Mr. Stafford an hour or two longer. Stafford utterly reversed his hasty judgment, and decided that no other man was gifted with so keen a perception, so kind a heart, so culti- vated a style, and so brilliant a rhetoric as Tim- merton. I see no objection, said Mrs. Daisley, with an air of imperial concession. Miss Paisley simply rose and said she would l)e ready in one minute, thcn disappeared with her sister and ~vas gone half an hour. She returned refulgent. The time had not been wasted. She was a work of ingenuity and art. Her bonnet could not be viewed without emotion. It seemed to float like a fairy shell on the waves of her rich hair. The summer bon- nets of 1862 deser.ve a lyric. They are all beau- tiful. Looking at them, you can not believe there is war in the land. Miss Paisleys was one of the fairest of the fair. To describe it adequate- ly would consume an episodical page at least, so I reluctantly forsake it. Mr. Timmertons was one of those natures that stops at no half-way point of friendliness. You can start now, if you please, he said, and Miss Laura and I will overtake you. Mr. Stafford looked his gratitude. lie knew that if there were one thing on earth that Tim- merton would not do, that thing was to overtake them. Then, gently aided by the fair young girl to whom he now felt he owed a devotion that he would pay with all the integrity of his heart, he replaced himself in the carriage. As be was taking leave of Mrs. Paisley at the door, Mr. Timmerton said, his eyes twinkling, Well catch yoa presently, Harry. olution, and in the simplest way she brought both mother and father to her way of thinking. I believe he saved my life, she said, and I am a poor thing if I can not risk a little discom- fort to help save his. Laura will go with me. Oh, mamma, I wish to do it; I ought to do it. I saw him all maimed and bleeding, and for me. Would you have me so ungrateful ? So, although there was no precedent, Miss Paisley was suffered to be human. The phy- sician applauded her zeal. Oh, I am only giving him his own again, she said, smiling sweetly. Of course she grew fond of her pa- tient; I shall make no mystery of that. It is just a womans nature to love (more or l~ss) whatever she is kind to. The best expedient for an unfavored suitor would be to break not his heart, but his leg, or his arm. Thus he would gain pity, and perhaps care and anxious thought. Having the head of his adored, he might speedily count on her heart; and then be could afford a wooden leg, if need be. Then Mr. Stafford was certainly a man worth thinking of more than a little, lie was a hand- some fellow; and, though his reason was astray, he said things that did not displease the lady. He talked much of the cold and stately beauty of the Park, and wondered if his will could ever melt her. Then she redoubled her care, for she could not bear to think be should not some day see his error. There is nothing in the world like the beau- tiful devotion of a ~voman to the sick. She feels no toil, nor pain, nor timid terrors. If she have grief she hides it, lest it add one feathers weight to the afflictions of her charge. her courage rises as her hopes recede. The grim spectre that hovers and threatens may appall her, but she gives no sign. Her eye is clear and gsntle; her voice soft and sweet as the breath of sum- mer; her touch so tender that the simplest kind- ly office soothes like a caress. The dawn of her smile chases away suffering as light dispels the VI. mists of the universe. There is balm in her All had passed as Miss Paisley had related; very presence. 11cr delicate instinct teaches a only her version was but the cold ontline of facts. thousand arts of comfort and consolation which The warm coloring of incident and feeling was experience might study in vain. There is a afterward revealed to the invalid by Timmerton. wisdom above science in her. loving heart. She She had witnessed the accident with real an- knows no sacrificewomiders if you speak of guish. It was a mishap accepted for her sake, any. She is calmest at times when men yield and she was one to appreciate a chivalrous deed, to a turbulent sorrow. She chains her emotions Her first impulse was to dismount and proffer with her sense of vigilant duty. In her weak- aid and comfort; but she saw that prompt at- ness she is stronger than the strong. This mas- tention was given, and felt how useless any in- tery of selfthis purity of devotionthis eager tervention of hers would be. As for the little and unsleeping watchfulnessthis radiant re- Laura she burst into tears. Miss Paisley only flection of hope and trustthis outpouring of waited to ask the sufferers address from Mr. Tim- all that nature, lofty and true, can lavishdo merton, and then rode home without speaking they not mark the nohlest heroism of humanity? a word. From woman life comes; she feels that it i~ Her mother took fright at the notion of her hers to guard it. how well will she not guard ministering to a stranger, even to one who had it! And when she has restored it to youwhen pot forth so eloquent a claim to tenderest con- the peril is past and yomm meet with no ill of sideration. There was no precedent for such a yours to bind her sympathytake care, for she proceeding. It was rash, undignified, unfemi- will plagmie you to the brink of the grave again, nine, and all that. What would people say? if you give her the chance. But Miss Julia Paisley was a young lady of res- Miss Laura came daily with her sister, and 48 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her anxiety for Staffords recovery was quite as lively, if not as deep, as Julias. 11cr nature, however, was not so intense; and then it was not her safety that had been imperiled; so she had leisure to think of other things. Mr. Tim- merton succeeded in making himself one of these. He was an active thing, and a very pres- ent thing, and it would have been difficult to overlook hint under any circumstances. As af- fairs stood it was impossible. The day nfter the accident Mr. Timmerton and Miss Laura Daisley sat together at a win- dow of Mr. Staffords parlor. Miss Julia was seeking counsel from the physician, in the sick- room. Timmerton was much excited. Staf- fords condition was precarious, nnd in his de- lirium he had refused to recognize his friend. As Timinerton spoke of it his voice broke, and great tears caine running from his eyes. Poor Mr. Tiinmerton ! said Laura, softly, woman-like, overlooking the sad cause for a mo- ment, in her sympathy with the nearer distress beside her. And she put her little hand upon his with a momentary soft touch, and then hur- ried it a~vay, and hid it from human view in the folds of her handkerchief. Timmerton brightened directly. J-Ie said he thought, oh he was sure, Harry would soon get better. I am afraid it ivas no very logical l)ro- cess of reasoning that brought this result to his mind. Why should a tremulous touch of Laura Daisleys hand restore his confidence? But it surely did. And poor Mr. Stafford! said Laura, self- reproachful for her tardiness. Oh! that terri- ble, terrible fall A dextrous idea possessed Mr. Timmerton. And to think, he said, it might have been your sister! It was now the young girls turn to ~vhimper. Poor Miss Laura! said heand he mussed the handkerchief and squeezed her little hand. He was a sly wretch, was Mr. Timmerton. S vit. The carriage entered the Park. Miss Daisley and Mr. Timmerton had not appeared, and yet no remark had been made upon their absence. It is a question whether it had beers even no- ticed. In the midst of all Harry Staffords happiness and his happiness was of that kind which is never told in words, nor ever can be, however we may trythere was a weight which bitterly oppressed him. lie longed to throw it off, but hardly dared. Mi. Stafford. Yes, Miss Dai~ley. We are close in sight ofof what I can hardly bear to speak of. To be sure. There it is. Why, it is nearly finished now. There can be no more accidents. Yott make so light of it I wish I could tell you what cause I have for feeling light about it. Toll mc. It was a cheap price to pay for what Ifor what 1 Ab! Mr. Stafford, I meant to say some- thing when we came in sight of that l)lace. roll me. I never can! Let me seecan I? I meant to say [timidly] that you might finish about what you had thotight of me. I interrupted you at home. This was the very opportunity Stafford had yearned for, yet knew not how to improve. So lie began, not very courageously: I am ashamed to own it to you, Miss Daisley. I only tell you that I may also say how wrong, and foolish, and cruelly unjust I was. Oh, Mr. Stafford! Yes, indeed. When I first saw you, riding here, and waiting on the Concourseforgive me; I did not know you then. But you havent told me. Ab! true. I thought you were cold and unfeeling. That you were severe and forbidding. Oh! That you could be unkind and heartless. Oh! oh! Mr. Stafford, did you think all that of me? It was detestable of me, was it not? You never can forgive nine. You did think that? I am afraid I didonly for the moment. Well, there, Mr. Stafford, I knew it. What! you knew it ? I did. Oh, I told you when I was ill, and uncon- scious of what I did say. No. I heard you at the time. At the time! You sIJoke softly, but not softly enough. I heard von. And what could you have thought ? I thoughtI thought it was iiot quite true or just; and I thought it was a pity I should never have the opportunity of proving that I was better than I seemed; for I do not like to be thought too badly of. Dear, kind Miss Daisley And, Mr. St afibrd, if I felt one shade less of regret than I otherwise should at your mis- fortune, it was because I saw how I might try to make you know you had done me a little wrong. ~ Miss Julia, I should he a brute if I did not love you for what y~omm say mind for what you have done; you know that. But you do not know that now I love you better than any thing and every thing else ime the whole world. Oh! Mr. Stafford! You nine willing to let me say this, Julia; you are not angry with me, good Julia, kind little Julia, dear Julia. What, Mr. Stafford, a cold, harsh thing like me? Ohm, spare me that. ROLL-CALL. 49 Not a woman, but a statue? My very words! Not a heart about her? Be good to me again. But that last is true, murmured the young girl, mysteriously. Julia! To err is hiiman. And to forgive, divine. Wait, let me think a moment, and she leaned back and closed her eyes. She had played at coquetry a thousand times, but she could not do it now. She tried, as th~ half dozen preceding sentences show, but failed. I know you saved my life, she presently said, smiling gently, and I did the little I could to hell) save yours. I do believe that perhaps we belong to one another. My darling; now telV me, what do you think they will say at home ? At my home? Certainly, yours. I think papa knows that I love you. And your mother ? I am sure she does. After that they sat and rode quietly, and no word passed between them until, nearing the Concourse again, Miss Daisley said, I see Laura. And there is Fred, said harry, on the Concourse. They see us. And they are coming to us. They may come now, but had they come earlier- and Mr. Stafford made a mock threat- ening gesture. Miss Daisley positively did not blush, only laughed. Salutations passed as the equestrians drew near. Mr. Timmerton was beckoned to receive a ~vhisper frotn Mr. Stafford. Fred, I never can thank you enough. What for? (so/to coce.) Why, for keeping away for an hour. Oh, my boy, you neednt thank me, I did it for myself. For yourself? Un be sure. What ? Yes!! I too!! Any body that chooses may guess what those last three mystic utterances implied, but I shall not explain them. The handsome four looked very knowingly at one~inother. Now not a word had passed with the sisters, yet I verily believe there was no secret bbtween them at that moment. There exists among women a telegraph system too fine to be ever mastered by the masculine under- standing. The orchestra stood up. At Mr. Dodworths tap came this: -.- -.- -~ 3 3 .3 ~ ~ 114114 3 It is the Wedding March, said Mr. Tim- to glorify the present, to gild the future, to turn merton. the thorny ways of life to paths of bounteous Nobody else spoke. But was it the sunlight promise, to lift the earth to patadise. If its that suddenly flashed across those four young spell could only last! We have been liberal faces, or the full tide of hope, and joy, and faith with our partysmoothed their way and lent hounding ruddy from their hearts, and, as it their wishes everx comfort from the beginning. glowed and beamed, openly telling the secret of There they are, the four of them. Let us give their dearest thoughts in that happy hour? Ah, them the last favor, and say goodby while the that happy hour! There is none other like it, radiant influence still enfolds thcm. ROLL-CALL. (1 GIIPORAL GREEN ! the Orderly cried; U) Here! was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of a soldier who stood near; And Here ! was the word the next rel)lied. Cyrus Dre~v !then a silence fell This time no ans~ver followed the call Only his rear-man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, Those men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night.

N. G. Shepherd Shepherd, N. G. Roll-Call 49-50

ROLL-CALL. 49 Not a woman, but a statue? My very words! Not a heart about her? Be good to me again. But that last is true, murmured the young girl, mysteriously. Julia! To err is hiiman. And to forgive, divine. Wait, let me think a moment, and she leaned back and closed her eyes. She had played at coquetry a thousand times, but she could not do it now. She tried, as th~ half dozen preceding sentences show, but failed. I know you saved my life, she presently said, smiling gently, and I did the little I could to hell) save yours. I do believe that perhaps we belong to one another. My darling; now telV me, what do you think they will say at home ? At my home? Certainly, yours. I think papa knows that I love you. And your mother ? I am sure she does. After that they sat and rode quietly, and no word passed between them until, nearing the Concourse again, Miss Daisley said, I see Laura. And there is Fred, said harry, on the Concourse. They see us. And they are coming to us. They may come now, but had they come earlier- and Mr. Stafford made a mock threat- ening gesture. Miss Daisley positively did not blush, only laughed. Salutations passed as the equestrians drew near. Mr. Timmerton was beckoned to receive a ~vhisper frotn Mr. Stafford. Fred, I never can thank you enough. What for? (so/to coce.) Why, for keeping away for an hour. Oh, my boy, you neednt thank me, I did it for myself. For yourself? Un be sure. What ? Yes!! I too!! Any body that chooses may guess what those last three mystic utterances implied, but I shall not explain them. The handsome four looked very knowingly at one~inother. Now not a word had passed with the sisters, yet I verily believe there was no secret bbtween them at that moment. There exists among women a telegraph system too fine to be ever mastered by the masculine under- standing. The orchestra stood up. At Mr. Dodworths tap came this: -.- -.- -~ 3 3 .3 ~ ~ 114114 3 It is the Wedding March, said Mr. Tim- to glorify the present, to gild the future, to turn merton. the thorny ways of life to paths of bounteous Nobody else spoke. But was it the sunlight promise, to lift the earth to patadise. If its that suddenly flashed across those four young spell could only last! We have been liberal faces, or the full tide of hope, and joy, and faith with our partysmoothed their way and lent hounding ruddy from their hearts, and, as it their wishes everx comfort from the beginning. glowed and beamed, openly telling the secret of There they are, the four of them. Let us give their dearest thoughts in that happy hour? Ah, them the last favor, and say goodby while the that happy hour! There is none other like it, radiant influence still enfolds thcm. ROLL-CALL. (1 GIIPORAL GREEN ! the Orderly cried; U) Here! was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of a soldier who stood near; And Here ! was the word the next rel)lied. Cyrus Dre~v !then a silence fell This time no ans~ver followed the call Only his rear-man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, Those men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-dyed was the rivers flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swept them down in its terrible ire; And their life-blood went to color the tide. Herbert Cline At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing hetween them this iUerhert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. Ezra Kerr !and a voice answered here hiram Kerr ! hut no man replied: They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudc~r crept through the corn-field near. Ephraim Deane then a soldier spoke: Deane carried our regiments colors, he said, When our ensign was shot; I left him dead Just after the enemy wavered and broke. Close to the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mothers name, I think; And Death came with it and closed his eyes. Twas a victoryyes; hut it cost us dear: For that companys roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered Here I IROMOLA. b BY TIlE AUTHOR OF ADAM BEDE. CHAPTER XV. THE DYING MESSAGE. 1~1T HEN Romola arrived at the entrance of an Marco she found one of the Frati waiting there in expectation of her arrival. Monna Brigida retired into the adjoining church, and Romola was conducted to the door of the chapter-house in the outer cloister, whither the invalid had been conveyed; no woman being allowed admission beyond this precinct. When the door opened tile subdued external light blending with that of two tapers placed be- hind a truckle-bed showed tile emaciated face of Fra Luca, with the tonsured crown of golden hair above it, and with deep-sunken hazel eyes fixed on a small crucifix which he held before him. He was propped np into nearly a sitting postnre; and Romola was just conscious, as she threw aside her veil, that there was another monk standing by the bed, with the black cowl drawn over his head, and that he moved toward the door as she entered; just conscions that in the back-ground there was a erneifled form rising high and pale on the frescoed wall, and pale faces of sorrow looking out from it below.

Marian C. Evans Evans, Marian C. Romola 50-71

50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew; And crimson-dyed was the rivers flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swept them down in its terrible ire; And their life-blood went to color the tide. Herbert Cline At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing hetween them this iUerhert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. Ezra Kerr !and a voice answered here hiram Kerr ! hut no man replied: They were brothers, these two; the sad wind sighed, And a shudc~r crept through the corn-field near. Ephraim Deane then a soldier spoke: Deane carried our regiments colors, he said, When our ensign was shot; I left him dead Just after the enemy wavered and broke. Close to the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him to drink; He murmured his mothers name, I think; And Death came with it and closed his eyes. Twas a victoryyes; hut it cost us dear: For that companys roll, when called at night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered Here I IROMOLA. b BY TIlE AUTHOR OF ADAM BEDE. CHAPTER XV. THE DYING MESSAGE. 1~1T HEN Romola arrived at the entrance of an Marco she found one of the Frati waiting there in expectation of her arrival. Monna Brigida retired into the adjoining church, and Romola was conducted to the door of the chapter-house in the outer cloister, whither the invalid had been conveyed; no woman being allowed admission beyond this precinct. When the door opened tile subdued external light blending with that of two tapers placed be- hind a truckle-bed showed tile emaciated face of Fra Luca, with the tonsured crown of golden hair above it, and with deep-sunken hazel eyes fixed on a small crucifix which he held before him. He was propped np into nearly a sitting postnre; and Romola was just conscious, as she threw aside her veil, that there was another monk standing by the bed, with the black cowl drawn over his head, and that he moved toward the door as she entered; just conscions that in the back-ground there was a erneifled form rising high and pale on the frescoed wall, and pale faces of sorrow looking out from it below. ROMOLA. 51 The next moment her eyes met Fra Lucas as they looked up at her from the crucifix, and she was absorbed in that pang of recognition which identified this monkish emaciated form ~viththe image of her fair young brother. Dino ! she said, in a voice like a low cry of pain. But she did not bend toward him; she held herself erect, and paused at two yards distance from him. There was an unconquera- ble repulsion forer in that monkish aspect; it seemed to her the hrand of the dastardly Un- dutifulness ~vhich had left her father desolate of the groveling superstition which could give such undutifulness the name of piety. Her father, whose proud sincerity and simplicity of life had made him one of the few frank pagans of his time, had brought her up with a silent ignoring of any claims the Church could have to regulate the belief and action of beings with a cultivated reason; the Church, in her mind, belonged to that actual life of the mixed multi- tude from which they had always lived nl)art, and she had no ideas that could render her brothers Aurse an object of any other feeling than incurious, indignant contempt. Yet the lovinguess of Romolas soul had clung to that image in the past, and while she stood rigidly aloof there was a yearning search in her eyes for something too faintly discernible. But there was no corresponding emotion in the face of the monk. He looked at the little sister returned to him in her full womanly beauty, with the far-off gaze of a revisiting spirit. My sister ! he said, with feeble and inter- rupted hut yet distinct utterance, it is ~vell thou hast not longer delayed to come, for I have a message to deliver to thee, and my time is short. Romola took a step nenrer: the message, she thought, would he one of affectionate penitence to her father, and her heart began to open. No- thing could wipe out the long years of desertion; hut the culprit, looking hack on those years with the sense of irremediable wrong committed, would call forth pity. Now, at the last, there would he understanding and forgiveness. Dino would pour out some natural filial feeling; he would ask questions about his fathers blindness how ral)idlv it had come on? ho~v the long dark days had been filled? what the lite was now in the home where he himself had heen nourished ?and the last message from the dy- ing lips would be one of tenderness and regret. Romola, Fm Lnca began again, I have had a vision concerning thee. Thrice I have had it in the last two months: each time it has been clearer. Therefore I came from Fiesole, deeming it a message from heaven that I was hound to deliver. And I gather a promise of mercy to thee in this, that my breath is pre- served in order to The difficult hreathing which continually in- terrupted him would not let him finish the sen- tence. Romola had fclther heart chilling again. It was a vision, then, this messageone of those visions she had so often heard her father allude to with bitterness. Her indignation rushed to her lips. Dino, I thought you had some words to send to my father. You forsook him when his sight was failing; you made his life very deso- late. Have you never cared about that? never repented? What is this religion of yours, that places visions before natural duties ? The deep-sunken hazel eyes turned slowly toward her, and rested upon her in silence for some moments, as if he ~vcre meditating wheth- er he should answer her. No, he said at lastspeaking, as before, in a low passionless tone, as if his voice were that of some spirit not human, speaking through (lying human organs. No; I have never re- pented fleeing from the stifling poison-breath of sin that was hot and thick around mc, and threatened to steal over my senses like besotting ~vmne. My father could not hear the voice that called me night and day; he knew nothing of the demon-tempters that tried to drag me back from following it. My father has lived amidst humami sin and misery without believing in them: he has been like one busy picking shining stones in a mine, while there was a world dying of plague above him. I spoke, but he listened with scorn. I told him the studies he wished me to live for were either childish triflingdead toysor else they must be made warm and liv- ing by pnlses that beat to worldly ambitions and fleshly lusts : for worldly ambitions and fleshly lusts made all the substance of the poetry and history he wanted me to bend my eyes on con- tinually. has not my father led a pure and noble life, then ? Romola burst forth, unable to hear in silence this implied accusation against her fa- ther. lie has sought no worldly honors; he has been truthful; he has denied himself all luxuries; he has lived like one of the ancient sages. He never wished you to live for worldly ambitions and fleshly lusts; he ~vished you to live as he himself has done, according to the purest maxims of philosophy, in which he brought you up. Homola spoke partly hy rote, as all ardent and sympathetic young creatures do; hut she spoke with intense belief. The pink flush was in her face, and she quivered from head to foot. 11cr brother was again slow to answer, lookin~ at her passionate face with strange passionless eyes. What were the maxims of philosophy to me? They told me to he strong, when I felt myself weak; ~vhen I was ready, like the bless- ed Saint Benedict, to roll myself among thorns, and court smarting wounds as a deliverance from tem~itation. I~or the Divine love had sought me, and penetrated me, and created a great need in me; like a seed that wants room to grow. I had been brought up in carelessness of the true faith; I had not studied the doctrines of our religion; hut it seemed to take possession HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of me like a rising flood. I felt that there was fore listen, and speak not againfor the time is a life of perfect love and l)llrity for the soul, in short. which there would be no uneasy hunger after Romolas mind recoiled strongly from listen- pleasure, no tormenting questions, no fear of ing to this vision. Her indignation had sub stifieriug. Before I knew the history of the sided, but it was only because she had felt the saints I had a foreshadowing of their ecstasy, distance between her brother and herself widen- For the same truth had penetrated even into ing. But while Fra Luca was speaking the fig- ~agau philosophy ; that it is a bliss within the are of another monk had entered, and again reach of man to die to mortal needs, and live in stood on the other side of the bed, with the cowl the life of God as the Unseen Perfectness. But drawn over his head. to attain that I mast forsake the world I must Kneel, my daughter, for the Angel of IJeatli have no affection, no hope, that wedded me to is present, and ~vaits while the message of Heav- that which passeth a~vav I must live with my en is delivered bend thy pride before it is bent fellowbeings only as human souls related to the for thee by a yoke of iron, said a strong rich eternal tmnseen life. That need was urging inc voice, startlingly in contrast with Era Lucas. continually; it came over me in visions when The tone was not that of imperious conimnaud, max- mind fell away weary from the vain ~vomds but of quiet selfpossession and assurance of the which record the passions of dead men; it came right, blended with benignity. Romola, vibrat- over me after I had been temlJted into sin, and ing to the sound, looked round at the figure on turned away with loathing from the scent of the ihe opposite side of the bed. his face was hard emptied cup. And ia visions I saw the macan ly discernible nuder the shadow of the cowl, ing of the Crucifix. and her eyes fell at ence on his hands, which lIe paused, breathing hard for a minute or were folded across his breast and lay iii relief two; but Romola was not prompted to speak on the edge of his black mantle. 11mev had a again. It ~vas useless for her mind to attempt marked physiognomy which enforced tIme imifla- any contact with the mind of this nmmearthly euce of the voice: they were very beautiful and brother: as useless as for her hand to try and almost of transparent delicacy. Romolas dis- grasp a shadow. He went on as soon as his position to rebel against comummand, doubly act- heaving chest was quieter. ive in the presence of amouks, wimom she hind I felt whom I must follow: but I saw that been taught to despise, would Imave fixed itself even among time servants of the Cross who pro- on any rehJtmlsive detail as a poiuit of support. tossed to have renounced tIme ~vomhd, my soul But the fimee was hidden, and tIme hands seemed wotild be stifled with time frimnes of hypocrisy to have an appeal in them against all hardness. arid lu~ and pride. God had not chosen me, The next moment the right hand took time em- as he chose Saint Dominic and Saint Francis, cifix to relieve time fatigued grasp of Era Luca, to wrestle with evil in time chmurchm and in the and tIme heft touched his lips within a wet sponge ~vorld. lie called apon rue to flee: I took time which lay near. In time act of bending the sacred vows amid I fledfled to lands where dan- cowl was pushed back, and time features of the ger and scum-n amid want bore irme continually, monk hind tIme full light of the tapers on them. like angels, to repose on time bosom of God. 1 11mev were very marked feattires, such as lend have lived time life of a Imem-mit; I have minister themselves to popular description. There xmms ed to pilgrims : but mx task has l)een short ; the hmiohm arched nose, time pronmineut tinder lip, the veil has worn very timin that divides me from the corommet of thick dark hair above the biow, my everlasting rest. I caine back to Florence nih seenmiug to tell of eneugy mind passion ; there thmat were the bluegm-ny eyes, shminin.g mildly tinder Dino, you did want to know if my father nabarn eyelashes, seeming, hike time imands, to was alive, iuiteri-mupted Romnoha, time picture of tell of acute semmsitivencss. Romola felt ecu-tam timat suffem-ing life toucimimig her again with the they were time features of Fi-a Girohamo Savona- desime for unioum and fom-giveness. roha, the prior of San Marco, whom she hind that before I die I might tim-ge others of chiefly thought of as more offensive timaum othm- oar brethren to study the Eastern tongues, as I er monks, because lie was more noisy. her hind muot (lotte, and go out to greater emids than I uchelhion was rising uugniust time first impres did, and I find them already h~ent on time work. sioum, which hind almost forced lieu- to bemud her Amid simmee I came, Ronmoha, I have felt that I knees. was sent partly to theenot to renew the bonds Kneel, my daughter, time penetrating voice of earthly affection, buit to deliver the imeaveuly said agmtimi ; the pride of time body is a hairier warning conveyed in a vision. For I have hind against time gifts that purify time soul. that vision thrice. And thiroughi all the years lie was hookiumg at lieu- with mud fixedness simice first the Divine voice caihed me, while I whihe lie shioke, audi agnium sue felt thint snubthe was vet in time world, I have been taught and mystem-hous influmence of a personahity by which guided by visions. For in time paiurfuul linking it hint been given to tommie rare amen to move together of omir waking thoughts we can never their feihows. be sutre that we have not mingleQ our own em-ror Slowly Romola fell on her knees, and in time with time light we have prayed for; buit in vis- very act a tremor came over liner; in time renun- ions and dreams we are passive, and omur souls ciation of lieu- 1)1-end erectness, her mental atri- are as an instrument in time Divine hand. There- tude seemed changed, and she found hem-self in ROMOLA. 53 a new staite of passiveiiess. 11cr brother began and you ~vent all three down the stone steps into to speak again, the streets, the man whose face was a blank to Romola, in the deep night, as I lay awake, me leading the way. And yell stood at the altar I saw my fathers roomthe librarywith all in Santa Croce, and the priest who married you the books and the marbles and the leggio, where had the face of death; and the graves opened, I nsed to stand and read; and I saw youyou and the dead in their shronds rose and followed were revealed to me as I see you now, pale, with you like a bridal train. And you passed on long hair, sitting before my fathers chair. And throogh the streets and the gates into the valley, at the leggio stood a man whose face I conld and it seemed to me that he who led you bar- not seeI looked, and looked, and it was a blank ned yon more than you could bear, and the dead to me, even as a painting effaced; and I saw were weary of following yen, and turned back him move and.take thee, Romola, by the hand; to their graves. And at last you came to a stony and then I saw thee take my father by the hand, place where there was no water, and no trees or 54 HARPERS NEW MO*THLY MAGAZINE. herbage; but instead of water, I saw written parchment unrolling itself every where, and in- stead of trees and herbage I saw men of bronze and marble springing up and crowding ronnd yon; and my father was faint for ~~ant of water and fell to the ground; and the man whose face was a blank loosed thy band and departed; and as he went I could see his f~e; and it was the face of the Great Tempter. And thon, Romola, didst wring thy hands and seek for water, and ~there was none. And the bronze and marble figures seemed to mdck thee and hold out cups of water, and when thou didst grasp them and put them to my fathers lips they turned to parchment. And the bronze and marble figures seemed to turn into denions and snatch my fathers body from thee, and the parchments shriveled up, and blood ran every where instead of them, and fire upon the blood, till they all vanished, and the plain was hare and stony again, and thou wast alone in the midst of it. And then it seemed that the night fell and I saw no more Thrice I have had that vision, Romola. I believe it is a revelation meant for theeto warn thee against marriage as a, tempt- ation of the enemyit calls upon thee to dedi- cate thyself His pauses had gradually become longer arid more frequent, and he was now compelled to cease by a severe fit of gasping, in which his eyes were turned on the crucifix as on a light that was vanishing. Presently he found strength to speak again, but in a feebler, scarcely audible tone. ro renounce the vain philosophy and cor- rupt thoughts of the heathens: for in the hour of sorrow and death their pride ~vill turn to mockery, and the unclean gods will The words died away. In spite of the thought that was at work in Romola, telling her that this vision was no more than a dream, fed by youthful memories and ideal convictions, a strange awe had come over her. Her mind was not apt to be assailed by sickly fancies; she had the vivid intellect and the healthy human passion, which are too keenly alive to the constant relations of things to have any morbid craving after the exceptional. Still the images of the vision she despised jarred and distressed her like painful and cruel cries. And it was the first time she had witnessed the strug- gle with approaching death: her young life had been sombre, but she had known nothing of the utmost human needs; no acute sufferingno heart-cutting sorrow; and this brother, come back to her in his hour of supreme agony, was like a sudden awful apparition from an invisible world. The pale faces of sorrow in the fresco on the opposite wall seemed to have come nearer, and to make one company with the pale face on the bed. Frate, said the dying voice. Fra Girolamo leaned down. But no other word came for some monients. Romola, it said next. She leaned forward too: but again there was silence. The words were struggling in vain. Era Girolamo, give her The crucifix, said the voice of Fra Giro- lattio. No other sound came from the dying lips. Dino! taid Rornola, with a lo~v but pierc- ing cry, as the certainty caine upon her that the silence of misunderstanding could never be broken. rake the crucifix, my daughter, said Era Girolamo, after a few minutes. his eyes be- hold it no inure. Romola stretched out her hand to the crucifix, and this act appeared to relieve the tension of her mind. A great sob burst from her. She bowed her head by the side of her dead brother, and welJt aloud. It seemed to her as if this first vision of death must alter the daylight for her forever more. Era Girolamo moved toward the door, and called in a fcc concerso who was waiting out- side. Then he went up to Romola, and said iii a tone of gentle command, Rise, my daughter, and be comforted. Our brother is with the blessed. He has left you the crucifix in remein- brance of the heavenly warningthat it may be a beacon to you in the darkness. She rose from her knees, tcemhhing, folded her veil over her head, and hid the crucifix un- der her mantle. Era Girohaino then led the way out into the cloistered court, lit now only by the stars and by a lantern ~vhich was held by some one near the entrance. Several other fig- ures in the dress of the dignified laity were grouped about the same spot. They were some of the numerous frequenters of San Marco, who had come to visit the Prior, and having heard that he was in attendance on the dying brother in the chapter-house had awaited him here. Romola ~vas dimly conscious of footsteps and rustling forms moving aside: she heard the voice of Era Girolamo, saying, in a low tone, Our brother is departed ; she felt a hand laid oii her arm. The next moment the door ~vas open- ed, and she was out in the wide piazza of San Marco, with no one but Monna Brigida and the servant carrying the lantern. The fresh sense of space revived her, and help- ed her to recover her self-mastery. The scene which had just closed upon her was terribly dis- tinct and vivid, but it began to narrow under the returning impressions of the life that lay out- side it. She hastened her steps with nervous anxiety to be again with her fatherand with Titofor were they not together in her absence? The images of that vision, while they clung about her like a hideous dream not yet to be shaken off, made her yearn all the more for the beloved faces and voices that would assure her of her waking life. Tito, we know, was not with Bardo; his des- tiny was being shaped by a guilty consciousness, urging on him the despairing belief that by this time Romola Possessed the knowledge which would lead to their final separation. And the lips that could have conveyed that knowledge were forever closed. The prevision ROMOLA. 55 that Fra Lucas words had imparted to Romola had heen such as comes from the shadowy region where human souls seek wisdom apart frpm the human sympathies which are the very life and suhstance of our wisdom; the revelation that might have come from the simple questions of filial and brotherly affection had been carried into irrevocable silence. CHAPTER XVI. A FLORENTINE JOKE. EARLY the next morning Tito was returning from Brattis shop in the narrow thoroughfare of the Ferraveechi. The Genoese stranger had carried away the onyx ring, and Tito was car- rying away fifty forms. It did just cross his mind that if, after all, Fortune, hy one of her able devices, saved him from the necessity of quitting Florence, it would be better for him not to have parted with his ring, since he had been understood to wear it for the sake of peculiar memories and predilections; still it was a slight matter, not worth dwelling on with any empha- sis, and in those moments he had lost his confi- dence in fortune. The feverish excitement of the first alarm which had impelled his mind to travel into the future had given place to a dull, regretful lassitude. He cared so mnch for the pleasures that could only come to him through the good opinion of his fellow-men, that he wish- ed now he had never risked ignominy by shrink- ing from what his fellow-men called obligations. But our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from our own will. Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds nev- er; they have an indestructible life both in and out of our consciousness; and that dreadful vi- tality of deeds was pressing hard on Tito for the first time. He was going back to his lodgings in the Pi- azza di San Giovanni, but he avoided passing through the Mercato Vecchio, which was his nearest way, lest he should see Tessa. He was not in the humor to seek any thing; he could only await the first sign of his altering lot. The piazza ~vith its sights of beauty was lit up by that warm morning sunlight under ~vhich the autumn dew still lingers, and which invites to an idlesse undull~d by fatigue. It was a fes- tival morning too, when the soft warmth seems to steal over one with a special invitation to lounge and gaze. The signs of the fair were present here too; inthe spaces round the octag- onal baptistery stalls were being spread with fruit and flowers, and here and there laden mules were standing quietly absorbed in their nose- bags; while their drivers were perhaps gone through the hospitable sacred doors to kneel before the Blessed Virgin on this morning of her Nativity. On the broad marble steps of the Duomo there were scattered groups of beggars and gossiping talkers; here an old crone with white hair and hard sunburned face encouraging a round-capped baby to try its tiny bare feet on the warmed marble, while a dog sitting near snuffed at the performance suspiciously; there a couple of shaggy-headed boys leaning to watch a small pale cripple who was cutting a face on a cherry-stone; and above them on the wide plat- form men were making changing knots in laugh- ing desultory ciftit, or else were standing in close couples gesticulating eagerly. But the largest and most important company of loungers was that toward which Tito had to direct his steps. It was the busiest time of the day with Nello, and in this warm season and at aa hour when clients were numerous, most men preferred being shaved under the pretty red and white awning ia front of the shop rather than within narro~v walls. It is not a sublime atti- tude for a man to sit with lathered chin thrown backward, and have his nose made a handle of; but to be shaved was a fashThn of Florentine re- spectability, and it is astonishing how gravely men look at each other when they are all in the fashion. Jr ~vas the hour of the day too when yesterdays crop of gossip was freshest, and the harbors tongue was always in its glory when his razor was busy; the deft activity of those two instruments seemed to be set going by a com- mon spring. Tito foresaw that it would be im- possible for him to escape being drawn into the circle; he must smile and retort, and look per- fectly at his ease. Well! it was but the ordeal of swallowing bread and cheese pills after all. The man who let the mere anticipation of dis- covery choke him was simply a man of weak nerves. But just at that time Tito felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and no amount of previous resolution could prevent the very unpleasant sen- sation with which that sudden touch jarred him. His face, as he turned it round, betrayed the in- ward shock; but the owner of the hand that seemed to have such evil magic in it broke into a light laugh. He was a yourrg man about Titos own age, with keen features, small close- clipped head, and close-shaven lip and chin, giving the idea of a mind as little encumbered as possible with material that was not nervous. The keen eyes were bright with hope and friend- liness, as so many other young eyes have been that have afterward closed on the world in bitter- ness and disappointment; for at that time there were none but pleasant predictions about Niccok Macchiavelli, as a young man of promise, who was expected to mend the broken fortunes of his ancient family. Why, Melema, what evil dream did you have last night that von took my light grasp for that of a sbirro or something ~vorse? Ah, Messer Niccolb! said Tito, recovering himself immediately; it must have been an extra amount of dullness in nw veins this morn- ing that shuddered at the approach of your wit. But the fact is, I have had a bad night. That is unlucky, because you will he ex- pected to shine without any obstructing fog to- day in the Rucellai Gardens. I take it for granted you are to be there. 56 HAlIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Messer Bernardo did me the honor to invite me, said Tito; hut I shall he engaged else- where. Ah! I rememher, you are in love, said Macchiavelli, with a shrug, else you would never have such inconvenient engagements. Why, we are to eat a peacock and ortolans un- der the loggia among Bernardo Rucellais rare trees; there are to he the choicest spirits in Florence and the choicest ~vines. Only as Piero de Medici is to he there, the choice spirits may happen to he swamped in the capping of im- proinptu verses. I hate that game; it is a de- vice tbr the triumph of small wits, who are always inspired the most hy the smallest occasions. What is that you are savin~ about Piero de Medici and small wits, Messer Nicco1~ ? said Nelle, whose light figare was at that moment predominating over the Herculean frame of Nic- colb Caparra. That famous worker in iron, whom we saw last with bared muscular arms and leatbern apron in the Mercato Vecchio, was this morning dressed in holiday suit, and as lie sat submissively while Nello skipped round him, lathered him, seized him by the nose, and scraped him with magical quickness, he looked much as a lion might if it had donned linen and tunic and was preparing to go into society. A private secretary will never rise in the world if he couples gveat and small in that way, continued Nello. When great men are not allowed to marry their sons and daughters as they like, small men must not expect to marry their words as they like. H~tve you heard the news Bernardo Cennini here has heen telling as? that Pagolautonio Soderini has given Ser Piero da Bibbiena a hox on the ear for setting on Piero de Medici to interfere with the mar- riage between young Tommaso Soderini and Fiammetta Strozzi, and is to he sent em.bassador to Venice as a punishment ? I dont kno~v which I envy him most, said Macchievelli, the offense or the punishment. The olThnse will make him the most popular man in all Florence, and the punishment will take him among the only people in Italy who have known how to manage their own afihirs. Yes, if Soderini stays long enough at Ven- ice, said Cennini, he may chance to learn the Venetian fashion, and brin~ it home with him. The Soderini have been fast friends of the Medici, but what has happened is likely to open Pago- lantonios eyes to the good of our old Florentine trick of choosing a new harness when the old one galls us ; if we have not quite lost the trick in these last fifty years. Not we, said Niccok Caparra, who was rejoicing in the free use of his lips again. Eat eggs in Lent and the snow will melt. Thats what I say to our people when they get noisy over their cups at San Gallo, and talk of raising a roomor (insurrection): I say, never do you plan a romor; you may as well try to fill Arno with buckets. When theres water enough Arno will be full, and that will not be till the torrent is ready. Caparra, that oracular speech of yours is due to my excellent shaving, said Nello. You could never have made it with that dark rust on your chin. Ecco, Messer Bernardo, I am ready for you now. By-the-way, my bel ereddo, con- tinued Nello, as lie saw Tito moving toward the door, here has been old Maso seeking for you, hut your nest was empty. He ~~ill come again presently. The old man looked mournful, and seemed in haste. I hope there is nothing ~vrong in the Via do Bardi. Doubtless, Messer Tito knows that Bardos son is dead, said Cronaca, who lied just come up. Titos heart gave a leaphad the death hap- pened before Romola saw him? No, I had not heard it, he said, with no more discomposure than the occasion seemed to warrant, turning and leaning against the door- post, as if he had given np his intention of go- ing away. I knew that his sister had gone to see him. Did he die before she arrived ? No, said Cronaca; I was in Sen Marco at the time, and saw her come out from the chapter-house with Fra Girolamo, ~vho told ns that the dying mans breath had been preserved as by a miracle, that he might make a disclos- ure to his sister. Tito felt that his fate was decided. Again his mind rushed over all the circumstances of his departure from Florence, and he conceived a plan of getting beck his money from Cennini before the disclosure had become public. If he once had his money he need not stay long in endurance of scorching looks and biting words. lIe would wait now, and go away with Cennini and get the money from him at once. With that project in his mind he stood motionless his hands in his belt, his eyes fixed absently on the ground. Nehlo, glancing at him, felt sure that he was absorbed in anxiety about Romola, and thought him such a pretty image of self-for- getful sadness that he just perceptibly pointed hi~ razor at him, and gave a challenging look at Piero di Cosimo, whom he had never forgiven for his refusal to see any prognostics of charac- ter in his favorites handsome face. Piero, who was leaning against the other door-post, close to Tito, shrugged his shoulders: the frequent re- currence of such challenges from Nello had changed the painters first declaration of neu- trality into a positive inclination to believe ill of the much-praised Greek. So you have got your Fra Girolemo hack again, Cronaca ? said Nello. I suppose we shall have him preaching jegain this next Ad- vent, said Nello. And not before there is need, said Cronaca, gravely. We have had the best testimony to his words since the lest Quaresima; for even to the wicked wickednes~ has become a plague; and the ripeness of vice is turning to rottenness in the nostrils even of the vicious. There has not been a change since the Quaresima, either in Rome or at Florence, but has put a new seal on the Frates wordsthat the harvest of HOMOLA. 57 sin is ripe, and that God ~vill reap it with a sword. I hope he has had a new vision, however, said Francesco Cci, sneeringly. The old ones are somewhat stale. Cant your Frate get a poet to help out his imagination for him ? lIe has no lack of poets about him, said Cronaca, with quiet contempt, but they are great poets and not little ones; so they are con- tented to be taught by him, and no more think the trnth stale which God has given him to uttei~ than they think the light of the moon is stale. But perhaps certain high prelates and ~rinces who dont like the Frates denunciations might be pleased to hear that, though Giovanni Pico, and Poliziano, and Marsilio Ficino, and most other men of mark in Florence reverence Fra Girolamo, Messer Francesco Cci despises him. Poliziano? said Cci, with a scornful laugh. Yes, donbtless he believes in your new Jonah; witness the fine oration he wrote for the envoys of Sienna, to tell Alexander the Sixth that the world and the church were never so ivell off as since he became Pope. Nay, Francesco, said Macchiavelli, smil- ing, a various scholar must have various opin- ions. And as for the Frate, whatever we may think of his saintliness, you judge his preaching too narrowly. ,The secret of oratory lies not in saying new things, but in saying things with a certain power that moves the hearerswithout which, as old Filelfo has said, your speaker de- serves to be called, non oratorem, sed erato- rem. And, according to that test, Fra Giro- lamo is a great orator. That is true, Niceoki, said Cennini, speak- ing from the shaving chair, but part of the se- cret lies in the l)rophetic visions. Our people no offense to you, Cronacawill run after any thing in the shape of a piophet, especially if he prophesies terrors and tribulations.~~ Rather say, Cennini, answered Cronaea, that the chief secret lies in the Irates pure life and strong faith, which stamp him as a niessenger of God. I admit itI admit it, said Cennini, open- inghis palms, as he rose from the chair. his life is spotless: no man has impeached it. He is satisfied with the pleasant lust of ar- rogance, Cei hiir~t out, bitterly. I can see it in that proud lip and satisfied eye of his. He hears the air filled with his own nameFra Girolamo Savonarola, of Ferrara; the prophet., the saint, the mighty preacher, who frightens the very babies of Florence into laying down their wicke(l baubles. Come, come, Francesco, you are out of I humor with wait ing, said the conciliatory Nello. Let me stop your mouth with a little lather. I must not have my friend Cronaca made angry: I have a regard for his chin; and his chin is in no respect altered since lie became a piegnone. And for my own part, I confess, when the Frate was preaching in the Duomo last Advent, I got into such m~ trick of slipping in to listen to him, that I might have turned piegnone too, if I had not been hindered hv the liberal nature of my artand also by the length of the sermons, which are sometinies a good while befoie they get to the moving point. But as Messer Niccolb here says, the Frate lays hold of the people by some power over and above his prophetic visions. Monks and nuns who prophesy are not of that rareness. For what says Luigi Pulci? Dom- brunos sharp-cutting cimiter had the fame of being enchanted; but, says Messer Liiigi, I am rather of opinion that it cut sharp hecaiise it was of strongly-tempered steel. Yes, yes; pa- ternosters may shave clean, but they must he said over a guod razor. See, Nello! said Macchiavelli, what doc- tor is this advancing on his Bucephalus? I thought your piazza was free from those furred and scarlet-robed lackeys of death. This man looks as if he had had some such night adven- ture as Boccaccies Maestro Simone, and had his bonnet and mantle pickled a little in the gutter; though he himself is as sleek as a mill- ers rat. A-nh! said Nello, with a low, long-drawn intonation, as he looked up toward the advanc- ing figurea round-headed, round-bodied per-. sonage, seated on a raw young horse, which held its nose out with an air of threatening obstinacy, and by a constant effort to back and go off in an oblique line showed free views about authority very much in advance of the age. And I have a few more adventures in pickle for him, continued Nello, in an under-tone, which I hope will drive his inquiring nostrils to another quarter of the city. lies a doctor from Padna; they say he has been at Pinto for three months, and now hes come to Florence to see what he can net. But his great trick is making rounds among the contadini. And do you note those great saddle-bags he carries? They are to hold the fat cah)ons, and eggs, and meal he levies on silly clowns with whom coin is scarce, lie vends his own secret medicines, so lie keeps away from the doors of the speziali (druggists); and for this last week he has taken to sitting in my piazza for two es- three hours every day, and making it a resort for asthmas and squahhing beoibini. It stirs my gall to see the toad-faced quack fingering the greasy quat- trini, or ha ggin g a pigeon in exchange for his pills and powders. But Ill put a few thorns in his saddle, else Im no Florentine. Laudamus! he is coming to he shaved; thats what Ive waited for. Messer Bernardo, go not away wait; you shall see a rare bit of fooling, which I devised two days ago. here, Sandro Nehlo whispered in the ear of Sandro, who rolled his solemn eyes, nodded, and following up these signs of understanding with a slow smile,. took to his heels with surprising rapidity. how is it with you, Maestro Tacco ? said Nello, as the doctor, with difficulty, brought his horses head round toward the barbers shop. That is a fine young horse of yours, but soiiie- thing raw in the mouth, ch ? 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He is an accursed beast, the vamocane seize who do carpentry on broken limbs, and sew up him ! said Maestro Tacco, with a burst of irri- wounds like tailors, and carve away excrescences tation, descending from his saddle and fastening as a butcher trims meat. Via! A manual the old bridle, mended with string, to an iron art, such as any artificer might learn, and which staple in the wall. Nevertheless~ he added, has been practiced by simple barbers like your- recollecting himself a sound beast and a valua- selfon a level with the noble science of Hippo- ble, for one who wanted to purchase, and get a crates, Galen, and Avicenna, which penetrates profit by training him. I had him cheap. into the occult influences of the stars, and plants, Rather too bard riding for a man who car- and gems! a science locked up from the ries your weight of learning: eb, Maestro ? vulgar said Nello. You seem hot. No, in truth, maestro, said Nello, using Truly, I am likely to be hot, said the doe- his lather very deliberately, as if he want~d to tor, taking off his bonnet, and giving to fnll prolong the operation to the utmost I never view a bald low head and flat broad face, with thought of placing them on a level: I know high ears, wide lipless mouth, round ey Cs, and your science comes next to the miracles of Holy deep arched lines above the projecting eyebrows, Church for mystery. But there, you see, is the which altogether made Nellos epithet toad- pity of ithere Nello fell into a tone of re- faced dubiously complimentary to the blame- gretful sympathy your high science is sealed less batrachian. Riding from Peretola, when from the profane and the vulgar, and so you be- the sun is high, is not the same thing as kicking come an object of envy and slander. I grieve your heels on a bench in the shade, like your to say it, hut there are low fellows in this city Florence doctors. Moreover, I have had not a mere sqherri, who go about in night-caps and little pulling to get through the carts and mules lougheards, and make it their business to sprinkle into the Mercato to find out the husband of a gall in every mans broth who is prospering. certain Mouna Ghita who had had a fatal seiz- Let me tell youfor you are a strangerthis is ure before I was called in; and if it had not a city where every man had need carry a large been that I had to demand my fees nail ready to fasten on the wheel of Fortune Monna Ghita! said Nello, as the perspiring when his side happens to be uppermost. Al- doctor interrupted himself to rub his head and ready there are storiesmere fables, doubtless face. Peace be with her angry soul! The beginning to be buzzed about concerning you, Mercato will want a whip the more if her tongue that make me wish I could hear of your being is laid to rest. well on your way to Arezzo. I would not have Tito, who had roused himself from his ab- a man of your metal stoned; for though San straction and was listening to the dialogue, felt Stefano was stoned, he was not great in mcdi- a new rush of the vague half-formed ideas about cine like San Cosmo and San Damiano Tessa, which had passed through his mind the What stories? what fables P stammered evening before: if Monna Ghita were really Maestro Tacco. What do you mean ? taken out of the way it would be easier for him Lasso! I fear me you are come into the to see Tessa again whenever he wanted to trap for your cheese, Maestro. The fact is, see her. there is a company of evil youths who go prowl- Gaeff~, maestro, Nello went on, in a sym- iug about the houses of our citizens carrying pathizing tone, you are the slave of rude mor- sbarp tools in their pockets; no sort of door, or tals, who, hut for you, would die like brutes, window, or shutter but they will pierce it. They without help of pill or powder. It is pitiful to are possessed with a diabolical Iacience to watch see your learned lymph oozing from your pores the doings of people who fancy themselves pri- as if it were mere vulgar moisture. You think vate. It must be they who have done itit my shaving will cool and disencumber you? must he they who have spread the stories about One moment and I have done with Messer Fran- you and your medicines. Have you by chance cesco here. It seems to me a thousand years (letected any small aperture in your door or till I wait upon a man who carries all the science window shutter? No? Ebbene, I advise von to of Arabia in his head and saddle-bags. Ecco ! look for it is now commonly talked of that you Nello held up the shaving cloth with an air have been seen in your dwelling at the Canto di of invitation, and Maestro Tacco advanced and Paglia making your secret specifics by night: seated himself under a preoccupation with his pounding dried toads in a mortar, compounding heat and his self-importance, which made him a salve out of mashed worms, and making your quite deaf to the irony conveyed in Nellos pills from the dried livers of rats which you mix officiously friendly tones. with saliva emitted during the utterance of a It is hut fitting that a great medicos like blasphemous incantationwhich indeed these you, said Nello, adjusting the cloth, should witnesses profess to repeat. be shaved hy the same razor that has shaved the It is a pack of lies ! exclaimed the doctor, illustrious Antonio Benevieni, the greatest mas- struggling to get utterance, and then desisting ter of the ehirurgic art. in alarm at the approaching razor. The chirurgic art ! interrupted the doctor, It is not to me or any of this respectable with an air of contemptuous disgust. Is it company that you need to say that, dottore. your Florentine fashion to put the masters of I We are not the heads to plant such carrots as the science of medicine on a level with men those in. But what of that? What are a hand- HOMOLA. 59 ful of reasonable men against a crowd with stones in their hands? There are those among us who think Cecco dAscoli was an innocent sageand we nil know how he was burned alive for being wiser than his fellows. It is not by living at Padna that you can learn to know Florentines. My belief is, they would stone the holy Father himself if they could find a good excuse for it; and they are persuaded that you are a ni9rooiante, who is trying to raise the pestilence by selling secret medicinesand I am told your specifics have in truth an cvii smell. It is false ! burst ~ the doctor, as Nello moved away his razor. It is false! I will show the pills and the powders to these honor.- able signoriand the salveit has an excellent odoran odor ofof salve. lie started up with the lather on his chin, and the cloth round his neck, to search in his saddle-bag for the be- lied rftedicines, and Nello in an instant adroitly shifted the shaving-chair till it was in the close vicinity of the horses head, while Sandro, who had now returned, at a sign from his master, placed himself near the bridle. Behold utesseri / said the doctor, bringing a small box of medicines and opening it before them. Let any signor apply this box to his nostrils and he will find an honest odor of mcdi- camentsno.t indeed of pounded gems, or rare vegetables from the East, or stones found in the bodies of birds; for I practice on the diseases of the vulgarfor whom Heaven has provided cheap- er and less powerful remedies according to their degree: and there are even remedies known to our science which are entirely free of costas the new tossis may be counteracted in the poor, who can pay for no specifics, by a resolute hold- ing of the breath. And here is a paste which is even of savory odor, and is infallible against melancholia, being concocted under the conjunc- tion of Jupiter and Venusand I have seen it allay spasms. Stay, maestro, said Nello, while the doc- tor had his lathered face turned toward the group near the door, eagerly holding out his box and lifting out one specific after another; here comes a crying contadina with her baby. Doubtless she is in search of you; it is perhaps an opportunity for you to show this honorable company a proof of your skill. Here, intone donna! here is the famous doctor. Why, what is the matter with the sweet barnbino ? This question was addressed to a sturdy-look- ing, broad-shouldered contadina, with her head- drapery folded about her face so that little was to be seen but a bronzed nose and a pair of dark eyes and eyebrows. She carried her child packed up in the stiff mummy-shaped case in which Italian babies have been from time immemorial introduced into society, turiiing its face a little toward her bosom, and making those sorrowful grimaces which women are in the habit of using as a sort of pulleys to draw down reluctant tears. Oh, for the love of the holy Madonna said the woman with a wailing voice, will you look at my poor bembinetto? I know I cant pay you for it, but I took it into the Nunziata last night, and its turned a worse color than before; its the convulsions. But when I was holding it before the Santissima Nuaziata, I re- membered they said there was a new doctor come who cured every thing; and so I thought it might be the ~vill of the Madonna that I should bring it to you. Sit down, maestro, sit down, said Nello. Here is an opportunity for you; here are hon- orable witnesses who will declare before the Magnificent Council of Eight that they have seen you practicing honestly and relieving a poor womans child. And then if your ife is in danger, the Magnificent Eight will put you in prison a little while just to insure your safety, and after that their sbirri will conduct you out of Florence by night, as they did the zealous Frate Minore, who preached against the Jews. What! our people are given to stone-throwing; but we have magistrates. The doctor, unable to refuse, seated himself in the shaving chair, trembling, half with fear and half with rage, and by this time quite un- conscious of the lather which Nello had laid on with such profuseness. He deposited his medi- cine-case on his knees, took out his precious spectacles (wondrous Florentine device!) from his wallet, lodged them carefully above his flat nose and high ears, and lifting up his brows, turned toward the applicant. 0 Santiddie! look at him, said the woman, with a more piteous wail than ever, as she held out the small mummy, which had its head com- pletely concealed by dingy drapery wound round the head of the portable cradle, but seemed to be struggling and crying in a demoniacal fashion under this imprisonment. The fit is on him! 0/tied! I know what a color he is; its the evil eyeoh The doctor, anxiously holding his knees to- gether to support his box, bent his spectacles to- ward the baby, and said, cautiously, It may be a new disease; unwind these rags, Manna The contadina, with sudden energy, snatched off the encircling linen, when out struggled scratching, grinning, and screamingwhat the doctor in his fright fully believed to be a demon, but what Tito recognized as Vainnos monkey, made more formidable by an artificial blackness, such as might have come from a hasty rubbing up the chimney. Up started the unfortunate doctor, letting his medicine box fall, and away jumped the no less terrified and indignant monkey, finding the first resting-place for his claws on the horses mane, which he used as a sort of rope-ladder till he had fairly found his equilibrium, when he con- tinued to clutch it as a bridle. The horse want- ed no spur under such a rider, and, the already loosened bridle offering no resistance, darted off across the piazza with the monkey clutching, grinning, and blinking, on his neck. II (Wolfe! Ii Diocolo ! was now shouted on all sides by the idle rascals who had gathered HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. B from all quarters of the piazza, and was echoed in tones of alarm by the stall-keepers, whose vested interests seemed in some danger; while the doctor, out of his wits with confused terror at the Devil, the possible stoning, and the escape of his horse, took to his heels with spectacles on nose, lathered face, and the shaving-cloth about his neck, crying, Stop him! stop him! for a powdera florinstop him for a form ! while the lads, outstripping him, clapped their hands and shouted encouragement to the funaway. The cerreteao, who had not bargained for tise a flight of his monkey along with the horse, had caught up his petticoats with much celerity, and showed a pair of parti-colored hose above Isis con- tadinas shoes, far in advance of the doctor. And away went the grotesque race up the Corso degli Adimarithe horse with the singular jock- ey, the contadina with the remarkable hose, and the doctor in lather and spectacles, with furred mantle outflyin~. It was a scene such as Florentines loved, from the potent and reverend si~Jaor going to council in his lucco, down to the grinning youngster, 60 I ROMOLA. 61 i~ho felt himself master of all situations when his bag was filled with smooth stones from the convenient dry bed of the torrent. The gray- headed Bernardo Cennini laughed no less hearti- ly than the younger men, and Nello was tri- umphantly secure of the general admiration. Aha ! he exclaimed, snapping his fingers when the first burst of laughter was subsiding. I have cleared my piazza of that unsavory fly- trap, mi pare. Maestro Tacco will no more come hereagnin to sit for patients than he will take to licking marble for his dinner.~~ You are going toward the Piazza della Sig- noria, Messer Bernardo, said Macchiavelli. I will go with you, and we shall perhaps see who has deserved the palio among these racers. Come, Melema, will you go too ? It had been precisely Titos intention to ac- company Ceunini, but before he had gone many steps he was called back by Nello, who saw Maso approaching. Masos message was from Romola. She wished Tito to go to the Via de Bardi as soon as possible. She would see him under the log- gia, at the top of the house, as she wished to speak to him alone. CHAPTER XVII. UNDER THE LOGGIA. THE loggia at the top of Bardos house rose above the buildings on each side of it, and formed a gallery round quadrangular walls. On the side toward the street the roof was supported by columns; but on the remaining sides, by a wall pierced with arched openings, so that at the back, looking over a crowd of irregular, poorly- built dwellings toward the hill of Bogoli, Romola could at all times have a walk sheltered from observation. Near one of those arched open- ings, close to the door by which he had entered the loggia, Tito awaited her, with a sickening sense of the sunlight that slanted before him and mingled itself with the ruin of his hopes. He had never for a moment relied on Romolas passion for him as likely to be too strong for the repulsion created by the discovery of his secret; he had not the presumptuous vanity which might have hindered him from feeling that her love had the same root with her belief in him. But as he imagined her coming toward him in her radiant majesty, made so lovably mortal by her soft hazel eyes, he fell into wishing that she bad been something lower, if it were only that she might let him clasp her and kiss her before they parted. He had had no real caress from her nothing but now and then a long glance, a kiss, a pressure of the hand; and he had so often longed that they should be alone together. They were going to be alone now; but he saw her standing inexorably aloof from him. His heart gave a great throb as he saw the door move: Romola was there. It was all like a flash of lightning: he felt, rather than saw, the glory VOL. XXVI.No. 151 .E about her head, the tearful appealing eyes; he felt, rather than heard, the cry of love with which she said, Tito! And in the same moment she was in his arms, and sobbing with her face against his. How poor Romola had yearned through the watches of the night to see that bright face! The new image of death; the strange bewilder- ing doubt infused into her by the story of a life removed from her understanding and sympathy; the haunting vision, which she seemed not only to hear uttered by the low gasping voice, but to live through, as if it had been her own dream, had made her more conscious than ever that it was Tito who had first brought the warm stream of hope and gladness into her life, and who had first turned away the keen edge of pain in the remembrance of her brother. She would tell Tito every thing; there was no one else to whom she could tell it. She had been restraining her- self in the presence of her father all the morn- ing; but now that long pent-up sob might come forth. Proud and self-controlled to all the world besides, Romola was as simple and unreserved as a child in her love for Tito. She had been quite contented with the days when they had only looked at each other; but now, when she feh the need of clinging to him, there was no thought that hindered her. My Romola! my goddess! Tito murmured with passionate fondness, as he clasped her gen- tly, and kissed the thick golden ripples on her neck. He was in paradise: disgrace, shame, partingthere was no fear of them any longer. This happiness was too strong to be marred by the sense that Romola was deceived in him; nay, he could only rejoice in her delusion; fort after all, concealment had been wisdom. The onlything he could regret was his needless dread if, indeed, the dread had not been worth suffer- ing for the sake of this sudden rapture. The sob had satisfied itself, and Romola raised her head. Neither of them spoke; they stood looking at each others faces with that sweet wonder which belongs to young loveshe with her long white hands on the dark-brown curls~ and he with his dark fingers bathed in the stream- ing gold. Each was so beautiful to the other; each was experiencing that undisturbed mutual consciousness for the first time. The cold press- ure of a new sadness on Romolas heart made her linger the more in that silent soothing sense of nearness and love; and Tito could not even seek to press his lips to hers, because that would be change. Tito, sh~ said, at last, it has been alto.. gether painful. But I must tell you every thing. Your strength will help me to resist the impres- sions that will not be shaken off by reason. I know, RomolaI know he is dead, said Tito; and the long lustrous eyes told nothing of the many wishes that would have brought about that death long ago if there had been such po- tency in mere wishes. Romola only read her own pure thoughts in their dark depths, as we read letters in happy dreams. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. So changed, Tito! It pierced me to think that it was Dino. And so strangely hard: not a word to my fathernothing but a vision that he wanted to tell me. And yet it was so piteous the struggling breath, and the eyes that seemed to look toward the crucifix, and yet not to see it. I shall never forget it; it seems as if it would come between me and every thing I shall look at. Romolas heart swelled again, so that she was forced to break off. But the need she felt to dishurden her mind to Tito urged her to repress the rising anguish. When she began to speak again her thoughts had traveled a little. It was strange, Tito. The vision was about our marriage, and yet he knew nothing of you. What was it, my Romola? Sit down and tell me, said Tito, leading her to the bench that stood near. A fear had come across him lest the vision should somehow or other relate to Baldassarre; and this sudden change of feeling prompted him to seek a change of position. Romola told him all that had passed from her entrance into San Marco, hardly leaving out one of her brothers words which had burned them- selves into her memory as they were spoken. But when she was at the end of the vision she paused; the rest came too vividly before her to be uttered, and she sat looking at the distance almost unconscious for the moment that Tito was near her. his mind was at ease now; that vague vision had passed over him like white mist, and left no mark. But he was silent, expecting her to speak again. I took it, she ivent on, as if Tito had been reading her thoughts; I took the crucifix; it is down below in my bedroom. And now, angiol ~iiio, said Tito, entreat- ingly; you will banish these ghastly thoughts. The vision was an ordinary monkish vision, bred gf fasting and fanatical ideas. It surely has no weight with you. No, Tito; no. But poor Dino, he believed it was a divine message. It is strange, she went on, meditatively, this life of men pos- sessed with fervid beliefs that seem like madness to their fellow-beings. Dm0 was not a vulgar fanatic; and that Fra Girolamo, his very voice seems to have penetrated me with a sense that there is some truth in what moves themsome truth of which I know nothing. It was only because your feelings were high- ly wrought, my Romola. Your brothers state of mind was no more than a form of that theos- ophy which has been the common disease of ex- citable dreamy minds in all ages; the same ideas that your fathers old anta~nist, Marsilio Ficino, pores over in the New Platonists; only your brothers passionate nature dro~ve him to act out what other men write and talk about. And for Fra Girolamo, he is simply a narrow- minded monk, with a gift for preaching and in- fusing terror into the multitude. Any words or any voice would have shaken you at that mo- ment. When your mind has had a little repose, you will judge of such things as you have always done before. Not about poor Dino, said Romola. I was angry with him; my heart seemed to close against him while he was speaking; but since then I have thought less of what was in my own mind, and more of what was in his. Oh, Tito! it was very piteous to see his young life coming to an end in that way.. Thnt yearning look at the crucifix when he ~vas gasping for breathI can never forget it. Last night I looked at the crucifix a long while, and tried to see that it would help him, until at last it seem- ed to me by the lamplight as if the suffering face shed pity. Romola mia, promise me to resist such thoughts; they are fit for sickly nuns, not for my golden-tressed Aurora, who looks made to scatter all such twilight fantasies. Try not to think of them now; we shall not long be alone together. The last words ~iere uttered in a tone of ten- der beseeching, and he turned her face to~vard him with a gentle touch of his right hand. Romola had had her eyes fixed absently on the arched opening, but she had not seen the distant hill; she had all the while been in the chapter-house, looking at the pale images of sor- row and death. Titos touch and beseeching voice recalled her, and now in the warm sunlight she saw that rich dark beauty which seemed to gather round it all images of joypurple vines festooned between the elms, the strong corn perfecting itself under the vibrating heat, bmight-winged creatures hur- rying and resting among the flowers, round limbs beating the earth in gladness, with cymbals held aloft; light melodies chanted to the thrilling rhythm of stringsall objects and all sounds that tell of Nature reveling in her force. Strange, bewildering transition from those pale images of sorrow and death to this bright youthfulness, as of a sun-god who knew nothing of night! What thought could reconcile that worn anguish in her brothers facethat straining after some- thing invisiblewith this satisfied strength and beauty, and make it intelligible that they be- longed to the same world? Or was there nev- er any reconciling of thembut only a blind worship of clashing deities, first in mad joy and then in wailing? Romola for the first time felt this questioning need like a sudden uneasy diz- ziness and want of something to grasp; it was an experience hardly longer than a sigh, for th~ eager theorizing of ages is compressed, as in a seed, in the momentary want of a single mind. But there was no answer to meet the need, and it vanished before the returning rush of young sympathy with the glad loving beauty that beamn- ed upon her in new radiance, like the dawn aft- er we have looked away from it to the gray west. Your mind lingers apart from our love, my Romola, Tito said, with a soft reproachful mur- mar. It seems a forgotten thing to you. She looked at the beseeching eyes in silence till the sadness all melted out of her own. My joy ! she said, in her full clear voice. Do you really care for me enough, then, to ROMOLA. 63 banish those chill fancies, or shall you always be suspecting me as the Great Tempter? said Tito, with his bright smile. How should I not care for you more than for every thing else? Every thing I had felt be- fore in all my lifeabout my father, and about my lonelinesswas a preparation to love you. You would laugh at me, Tito, if you knew what sort of man I used to think I should marrysome scholar with deep lines in his face, like Alaman- no Rinuccini, and with rather gray hair, who would agree with my father in taking the side of the Aristotelians, and be willing to live with him. I used to think about the love I read of in the poets, but I never dreamed that any thing like that could happen to me here in Florence in our old library. And then you came, Tito, and were so much to my father, and I began to be- lieve that life could be happy for me too. My goddess! is there any woman like you ? said Tito, with a mixture of fondness and won- dering admiration at the blended majesty and simplicity in her. But, dearest, he went on, rather timidly, if you minded more about our marriage you would persuade your father and Messer Ber- nardo not to think of any more delays. But you seem not to mind about it. Yes, Tito, I will, I do mind. But I am sure my godfather will urge more delay now be- cause of Dinos death. He has never agreed ~vith my father about disowning Dino, and you know he has always said that we ought to wait until you have been at least a year in Florence. Do not think hardly of my godfather. I know he is prejudiced and narrow, but yet he is very noble. He has often said that it is folly in my father to want to keep his library apart, that it may bear his name; yet he would try to get my fathers wish carried out. That seems to me very great and noblethat power of respecting a feeling which he does not share or understand. I have no rancor against Messer Bernurdo for thinking you too precious for me, my Romo.. la, said Tito; and that was true. But your father, then, knows of his sons death ? Yes, I told himI could not help itI told him where I had been, and that I had seen Dino die; but nothing else; and he has commanded me not to speak of it again. But he has been very silent this morning, and has had those rest- less movements which always go to my heart; they look as if he were trying to get outside the prison of his blindness. Let us go to him now. I had persuaded him to try to sleep, because he slept little in the night. Your voice will soothe him, Tito; it always does. And not one kiss? I have not had ~ said Tito, in his gentle reproachful tone, which gave him an air of dependence very charming in a creature with those rare gifts that seem to ex- cuse presumption. The sweet pink flush spread itself with the quickness of light over Romolas face and neck as she bent toward him. It seemed impossible that their kisses could ever become common things. Let us ~valk once round the loggia, said Romola, before we go down. There is something grim and grave to me always about Florence, said Tito, as they paused in the front of the house, where they could see over the opposite roofs to the other side of the river, and even in its merriment there is some- thing shrill and hardbiting rather than gay. I wish we lived in Southern Italy, where thought is broken not by weariness, but by delicious lan- guors such as never seem to come over the in- genia acerrima Florentina. I should like to see you under that southern sun, lying among the flowers, subdued into mere enjoyment, while I bent over you and touched the lute and sang to you some little unconscious strain that seem- ed all one with the light and the warmth. You have never known that happiness of the nymphs, my Romola. No, Tito; but I have dreamed of it often since you came. I am very thirsty for a deep draught of joyfor a life all bright like you. But we will not think of it now, Tito; it seems to me as if there would always be pale sad faces among the flowers, and eyes that look in vain. Let us go. CHAPTER XVIII. THE PORTRAIT. WHEN Tito left the Via de Bardi that day in exultant satisfiLction at finding himself thorough- ly free from the threatened peril, his thoughts, no longer claimed by the immediate presence of Romola and her father, recurred to those futile hours of dread in which he was conscious of having not only felt but acted as he would not have done if he had had a truer foresight. He would not have parted with his ring; for Romo- la, and others to whom it was a familiar object, would be a little struck with the apparent sor- didness of parting with a gem he had professed- ly cherished, unless he feigned as a reason the desire to make some special gift with the pur- chase-money; and Tito had at that moment a nauseating weariness of simulation. He was well out of the possible consequences that might have fallen on him from that initial deception, and it was no longer a load on his mind; kind fortune had brought him immunity, and he thought it was only fair that she should. Who was hurt by it? Any results to Baldassarre were too problematical to be taken into account. But he wanted now to be free from any hidden shackles that would gall him, though ever so little, under his ties to Romola. He was not aware that that very delight in immunity which prompted resolutions not to entangle himself again was deadening the sensibilities which alone could save him from entanglemenb But after all the sale of the ring was a slight matter. Was it also a slight matter that little Tessa was under a delusion which would doubt- less fill her small head with expectations doom- ed to disappointment? Should he try to see 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the little thing alone again and undeceive her at once, or should he leave the disclosure to time and chance? Happy dreams are pleasant, and they easily come to an end with daylight and the stir of life. The sweet, pouting, innocent, round thing! It was impossible not to think of her. Tito thought he should like some time to take her a present that would please her, and just learn if her step-father treated her more cruelly now her mother was dead. Or, should he at once undeceive Tessa, and then tell Romo- Ia about her, so that they might find some hap- pier lot for the poor thing? No: that unfortu- nate little incident of the cerretwzo and the mar- riage, and his allowing Tessa to part from him ia delusion, must never be known to Romola, and since no enlightenment could expel it from Tessas mind, there would always be a risk of betrayal; besides, even little Tessa might have some gall in her when she found herself disap- pointed in her loveyes, she must be a little in love with him, and that might make it well that he should not see her again. Yet it was a tri- fling adventure such as a country girl would perhaps ponder on till some ruddy contadino made acceptable love to her, when she would break her resolution of secrecy and get at the truth that she was free. Dunquegood-by, Tessa! kindest wishes! Tito had made up his mind that the silly little affair of the cerretano should have no further consequences for him- self; and people are apt to think that resolutions made on their own behalf will be firm. As for the fifty-five forms, the purchase-money of the ring, Tito had made up his mind what to do with some of them; he would carry out a pretty ingenious thought which would make him more at ease in accounting for the absence of his ring to Romola, and would also serve him as a means of guarding her mind from the recurrence of those monkish fancies which were especially re- pugnant to him; and with this thought in his mind he went to the Via Gualfonda to find Pie- ro di Cosimo, the artist who, at that time, was pre-eminent in the fantastic mythological design which Titos purpose required. Entering the court on which Pieros dwelling opened, Tito found the heavy iron knocker on the door thickly bound round with wool and ingeniously fastened with cords. Remembering the painters practice of stuffing his ears against obtrusive noises, Tito was not much surprised at this mode of defense against visitors thunder, and. betook himself first to tapping modestly with his knuckles, and then to a more irnportu- nate attempt to shake the door. In vain! Tito was moving away, blaming himself for wasting his time on this visit, instead of waiting till he saw the painter again at Nellos, when a little girl entered the court with a basket of eggs on her arm, went up to the door, and standing on tip-toe, pushed up a small iron plate that ran in grooves, and putting her mouth to the aperture thus disclosed, called out in a piping voice, Messer Piero! In a few moments Tito heard the sound of bolts, the door opened, and Piero presented him- self in a red night-cap and a loose brown serge tunic, with sleeves rolled up to the shoulder. He darted a look of surprise at Tito, but with- out further notice of him stretched out his hand to take the basket from the child, re-entered the house, and presently returning with the empty basket, said, How much to pay ? Two grossoni, Messer Piero; they are all ready boiled, my mother says. Piero took the coin out of the leathern scar- sella at his belt, and the little maiden trotted away, not without a few upward glances of awed admiration at the surprising young signor. Pieros glance was much less complimentary as he said, What do you want at my door, Messer Greco? I saw you this morning at Nellos; if you had asked me then, I could have told you that I see no man in this house without know- ing his business and agreeing with him before- hand. Pardon, Messer Piero, said Tito, with his imperturbable good-humor; I acted without sufficient reflection. I remembered nothing but your admirable skill in inventing pretty caprices, when a sudden desire for something of that sort prompted me to come to you. The painters manners were too notoriously odd to all the world for this reception to be held a special affront; but even if Tito had suspect- ed any offensive intention, the impulse to resent- ment would have been less strong in him than the desire to conquer good-will. Piero made a grimace which was habitual with him when he was spoken to with flattering suavity. He grinned, stretched out the corners of his mouth, and pressed down his brows, so as to defy any divination of his feelings under that kind of stroking. And what may that need be? he said, after a moments pause. In his heart he was tempted by the hinted opportunity of applying his invention. I want a very delicate miniature device taken from certain fables of the poets, which you will know how to combine for me. It must be painted on a wooden caseI will show you the sizein the form of a triptych. The inside may be simple gilding: it is on the outside I want the device. It is a favorite subject with you Florentinesthe triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne; but I want it treated in a new way a story in Ovid will give you the necessary hints. The young Bacchus must be seated in a ship, his head bound with clusters of grapes, and a spear entwined with vine-leaves in his hand: dark - berried ivy must wind about the masts and sails, the oars must be thyrsi, and flowers must wreathe themselves about the poop; leop- ards and tigers must be crouching before him, and dolphins must be sporting round. But I want to have the fair-haired Ariadne with him, made immortal with her golden crownthat is not in Ovids story, but no matter, you will con- ceive it alland above there must be young ROMOLA. 65 loves, such as you know how to paint, shooting with roses at the points of their arrows Say no more ! said Piero. I have Ovid in the vulgar tongue. Find me the passage. I love not to be choked with other mens thoughts. You may come in. Piero led the way through the first room, where a basket of eggs was deposited on the open hearth, near a heap of broken egg-shells and a bank of ashes. In strange keeping with that sordid litter there was a low bedstead of carved ebony, covered carelessly with a piece of rich Oriental carpet, that looked as if it had served to cover the steps to a Madonnas throne; and a carved cassone, or large chest, with paint- ed devices on its sides and lid. There was hardly any other furniture in the large room, except casts, wooden steps, easels, and rough boxes, all festooned with cobwebs. The next room was still larger, but it was also much more crowded. Apparently Piero was keeping the festa, for the double door un- derneath the window which admitted the paint- ers light from above was thrown open, and showed a garden, or rather thicket, in which fig- trees and vines grew in tangled, trailing wild- ness among nettles and hemlocks, and a tall cypress lifted its dark head from a stifling mass of yellowing mulberry-leaves. It seemed as if that dank luxuriance had begun to penetrate even within the walls of the wide and lofty room; for in one corner, amidst a confused heap Qf carved marble fragments and rusty armor, tufts of long grass and dark feathery fennel had made their way, and a large store vase, tilted on one side, seemed to be pouring out the ivy that streamed around. All about the walls hung pen and oil sketches of fantastic sea-monsters; dances of satyrs and menads; Saint Margarets resurrection out of the devouring dragon; Ma- donnas with the supernal light upon them; studies of plants and grotesque heads; and on irregular rough shelves a few books were scat- tered among great drooping bunches of corn, bullocks horns,pieces of dried honey-comb, stones with patches of rare-colored lichen, skulls and bones, peacocks feathers, and large birds wings. Rising from among the dirty litter of the floor were lay figuresone in the frock of a Vallom- brosan monk, strangely surmounted by a helmet with barred visor, another smothered with bro- cade and skins hastily tossed over it. Among this heterogeneous still life, several speckled and white pigeons were perched or strutting, too tame to fly at the entrance of men; three corpu- lent toads were crawling in an intimate friendly way near the door-stone; and a white rabbit, apparently the model for that which was fright- ening Cupid in the picture of Mars and Venus, l)laced on the central easel, was twitching its nose with much content on a box full of bran. And now, Messer Greco, said Piero, sign- ing to Tito to sit down on a low stool near the door, and then standing over him with fold- ed arms, dont be trying to see every thing at once, like Messer Domeneddio, but let me know how large you would have this same triptych. Tito indicated the desired dimensions, and Piero marked them on a piece of paper. And now for the book, said Piero, reach- ing down a manuscript volume. Theres nothing about the Ariadne there, said Tito, giving him the passage: but you will remember I want the crowned Ariadne by the side of the youn~ Bacehus; she must have golden hair. Ha! said Piero, abruptly, pursing up his lips again. And you want them to be like- nesses, eh ? he added, looking down into Tito~s face. Tito laughed and blushed. I know you are great at portraits, Messer Piero; but I could not ask Ariadne to sit for you, because the paint~ ing is a secret. There it is! I want her to sit to me. Gio- vanni Vespucci wants me to paint him a picture of (iEdipus and Antigone at Colonos, as he has expounded it to me: I have a fancy for the subject, and I want Bardo and his daughter to sit for it. Now, you ask them; and then Ill put the likeness into Ariadne. Agreed, if I can prevail with them. And your price for the Bacchus and Ariadne ? Baje! If you get them to let me paint them, that will pay me. Id rather not have your money: you may pay for the case. And when shall I sit for you? said Tito, for if ~ve have one likeness, we must have two. I dont want your likenessIve got it al- ready, said Piero, only Ive made you look frightened. I must take the fright out of it for Bacchus. As he was speaking Piero laid down the book and went to look among some paintings, propped with their faces against the wall. He returned with an oil-sketch in his hand. I call this as good a bit of portrait as I ever did, he said, looking at it, as he advanced. Yours is a face that expresses fear well, be- cause its naturally a bright one. I noticed it the first time I saw you. The rest of the pic- ture is hardly sketehed; but Ive painted you in thoroughly. Piero turned the sketch and held it toward T~tos eyes. He saw himself with his right hand uplifted, holding a wine-cup in the atti- tude of triumphant joy, but with his face turned away from the cup with an expression of such intense fear in the dilated eyes and pallid lips that he felt a cold stream through his veins, as if he were being thrown into sympathy with his imaged self. You are beginning to look like it already, said Piero, with a short laugh, moving the pic- ture away again. Hes seeing a ghostthat fine young man. I shall finish it some day, when Ive settled what sort of ghost is the most terriblewhether it should look solid, like a dead man come to life, or half transparent, like a mist. 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE Tito, rather ashamed of himself for this strange sud sudden sensitiveness, so opposed to his usual easy self-command, said, carelessly: That is a subject after your own heart, Messer Pieroa revel interrupted by a ghost. You seem to love the blending of the terrible with the gay. I suppose that is the reason your shelves are so well furnished with deaths- heads, while you are painting those roguish loves who are running away with the armor of Mars. I begin to think you are a Cynic philosopher in the pleasant disguise of a cunning painter. Not I, Messer Greco; a philosopher is the last sort of animal I would choose to resemble. I find it enough to live, without spinning lies to account for life. Fowls cackle, asses bray, wo- men chatter, and philosophers spin false rea- sonsthats the effect the sight of the world brings out of them. Well, I am an animal that paints instead of cackling, or braying, or spin- ning lies. And now, I think, our business is done; youll keep to your side of the bargain about the ~iEdipus and Antigone ? I will do my best, said Titoon this strong hint, immediately moving toward the door. And youll let me know at Nellos. No need to come here again. I understand, said Tito, laughingly, lifting his hand in sign of friendly parting. CHAPTER XIX. THE OLD .MAN 5 HOPE. MESSER BERNAUDO DEL NERO was as inex- orable as Romola had expected in his advice that the marriage should be deferred till Easter, and in this matter Bardo was entirely under the ascendency of his sagacious and practical friend. Nevertheless, Bernardo himself, though he was as far as ever from any susceptibility to the per- sonal fascination in Tito which was felt by oth- ers, could not altogether resist that argument of success which is always powerful with men of the world. Tito was making his way rapidly in high quarters. He was especially growing in favor with the young Cardinal Giovanni de Medici, who had even spoken of Titos forming part of his learned retinue on an approaching journey to Rome; and the bright young Greek, who had a tongue that was always ready with- out ever being quarrelsome, was more and more wished for at gay suppers in the Via Larga, and at Florentine games in which he had no preten- sion to excel, and could admire the incompara- ble skill of Piero de Medici in the most grace- ful manner in the world. By an unfailing law of sequence, Titos reputation as an agreeable companion in magnificent society made his learning and talent appear more lustrous; and he was really accomplished enough to prevent an exaggerated estimate from being hazardous to him. Messer Bernardo had old prejudices and attachments which now began to argue down the newer and feebler prejudice against the young Greek stranger who was rather too sup- ple. To the old Florentine it was impossible to despise the recommendation of standing well with the best Florentine families, and since Tito began to be thoroughly received into that circle whose views were the unquestioned standard of social value, it seemed irrational not to admit that~ there was no longer any check to satisfac- tion in the prospect of such a son-in-law for Bardo, and such a husband for Romola. It was undeniable that Titos coming had been the dawn of a new life for both father and daughter, and the first promise had even been surpassed. The blind old scholarwhose proud truthful- ness would never enter into that commerce of feigned and preposterous admiration which, va ned by a corresponding nicasurelessness in vitu- peration, made the woof of all learned inter- coursehad fallen into neglect even among his fellow-citizens, and when he was alluded to at all, it had long been usual to say that though his blindness and loss of his son were pitiable misfortunes, he was tiresome in contending for the value of his own labors; and that his dis- content was a little inconsistent in a man who had been openly regardless of religious rites, and in days past had refused offers made to him from various quarters, if he would only take orders, without which it was not easy for pa- trons to provide for every scholar. But since Titos coming, there was no longer the same monotony in the thought that Bardos name suggested; the old man, it was understood, had left off his plaints, and the fair daughter was no longer to be ~ut up in dowerless pride, waiting for a parentado. The winning manners and growing favor of the handsome Greek who was expected to enter into the double relation of son and husband helped to make the new interest a thoroughly friendly one, and it was no longer a rare occurrence when a visitor enlivened the quiet library. Elderly men came from that in definite prompting to renew former intercourse which arises when an old acquaintance begins to be newly talked about; and young men whom Tito had asked leave to bring once, found it easy to go again when they overtook him on his way to the Via de Bardi, and, resting their hands on his shoulder, fell into easy clint with him. For it was pleasant to look at Romolas beauty: to see her, like old Fireuzuolas type of womanly majesty, sitting with a certain grand- eur, speaking with gravity, smiling with modes- ty, and casting around, as it were, an odor of quecnliness ;* and she seemed to unfold like a strong white lily under this genial breath of ad- miration and homage; it was all one to her with her new bright life in Titos love. Tito had even been the means of strengthen~ ing the hope in Bardos mind that he might be~ * Quando una donna ~ grande, ben formata, porta ben sna persona, slede con una certa grandezza, parla con gravitt, ride con modestia, e flualmente getta quasi un odor di RegIna; altora not diciamo quella donna pare una maestd, ella ha una maest~. Fsazazuoa~: Della Bellezrcr dells Deane. ROMOLA. 67 fore his death receive the longed-for security concerning his library: that it should not be merged in another collection; that it should not be transferred to a body of monks, and be called by the name of a monastery; but that it should remain forever the Bardi Library, for the use of Florentines. For the old habit of trust- ing in the Medici could not die out while their influence was still the strongest lever in the State; nnd Tito, once possessing the ear of the Cardinal Giovanni de Medici, might do more even than Messer Bernardo toward winning the desired interest, for he could demonstrate to a learned audience the peculiar value of Bardos collection. Tito himself talked sanguinely of such a result, willing to cheer the old man, and conscious that Romola repaid those gentle words to her father with a sort of adoration that no direct tribute to herself could have won from her. This question of the library was the subject of more than one discussion with Bernardo del Nero when Christmas was turned and the pros- pect of the marriage was becoming nearbut al- ways out of Bardos hearing. For Bardo nursed a vague belief, which they dared not disturb, that his property, apart from the library, was adequate to meet all demands. He would not even, except under a momentary pressure of angry despondency, admit to himself that the will by which he had disinherited Dino would leave iRomola the heir of nothing but debts; or that he needed any thing from patronage beyond the security that a separate locality should be assigned to his library, in return for a deed of gift by which he made it over to the Florentine Republic. My opinion is, said Bernardo to Romola, in a consultation they had under the loggia, that since you are to be married, and Messer Tito will have a competent income, we should begin to wind up the affairs, and ascertain ex- actly the sum that would be necessary to save the library from being touched, instead of letting the debts accumulate any longer. Your father needs nothing but his shred of mutton and his maccaroni every day, and I think Messer Tito may engage to supply that for the years that re- main; he can let it be in place of the morgen- cap. Tito has always known that my life is bound up with my fathers, said Romola, flushing; and he is better to my father than I am: he delights in making him happy. Ah, hes not made of the same clay as oth- er men, is he? said Bernardo, smiling. Thy father has thought of shutting womans folly out of thee by cramming thee with Greek and Latin; but thou hast been as ready to believe in the first pair of bright eyes and the first soft words that have come within reach of thee, as if thou couldst say nothing by heart but Paternosters, like other Christian mens daughters. Now, godfather, said Romola, shaking her head playfully, as if it were only bright eyes and soft words that made me love Tito! You know better. You know I love my father and you because you are both good; and I love Tito, too, because he is so good. I see it, I feel it, in every thing he says and does. And he is handsome, too: why should I not love him the better for that? It seems to me beauty is part of the finished language by which goodness speaks. You know you must have been a very handsome youth, godfathershe looked up with one of her happy, loving smiles at the stately old man you were about as tall as Tito, and you had very fine eyes; only you looked a little sterner and prouder, and And Romola likes to have all the pride to herself? said Bernardo, not inaccessible to this pretty coaxing. however, it is well that in one way ritos demands are more modest than those of any Florentine husband of fitting rank that we should have been likely to find for you; he wants no dowry. So it was settled in that way between Messer Bernardo del Nero, Romola, and Tito. Bardo assented with a wave of the hand when Bernardo told him that he thought it would be well now to begin to sell property and clear off debtsbe- ing accustomed to think of debts and property as a sort of thick wood that his imagination nev- er even penetrated, still less got beyond. And Tito set about winning Messer Bernardos re- spect l)y inquiring, with his ready faculty, into Florentine money-matters, the secrets of the Monti or public funds, the values of real prop- erty, and the profits of banking. You will soon forget that Tito is not a Flor- entine, godfather, said Romola. See how he is learning every thing about Florence! It seems to me he is one of the demoni, who are of no particular country, child, said Ber- nardo, smiling. His mind is a little too nim- ble to be weighted with all the stuff we men carry about in our hearts. Romola smiled too, in happy confidence. CHAPTER XX. THE DAY OF THE BETROTHAL. IT was the last week of the Carnival, and the streets of Florence were at their fullest and noisiest: there were the masked processions, chanting songs, indispensable now they had once been introduced by Lorenzo; there was the favorite rigoletto, or round dance, footed in piazza under the blue frosty sky; there were practical jokes of all sorts, from throwing com- fits to throwing stonesespecially stones. For the boys and striplings, always a strong element in Florentine crowds, became at the height of Carnival-time as loud and unmanageable as tree-crickets, and it was their immemorial priv- ilege to bar the way with poles to all passen- gers, until a tribute had been paid toward fur- nishing these lovers of strong sensations with suppers and bonfires; to conclude with the stand- ing entertainment of stone-throwing, which was 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. not entirely monotonous, since the consequent maiming was various, and it was not always a single person who was killed. So that the pleas- ares of the Carnival were of a checkered kind, and if a painter were called upon to represent them truly, he would have to make a picture in which there would be so much grossness and barbarity that it must be turned with its face to the wall, except when it was taken down for the grave historical purpose of justifying a reforming zeal which, in ignorance of the facts, might be unfairly condemned for its narrowness. Still there was much of that more innocent pictur- esque merriment which is never wanting among a people with quick animal spirits and sensitive organs: there was not the heavy sottishness which belongs to the thicker northern blood, nor the stealthy fierceness which, in the more southern regions of the peninsula, makes the brawl lead to the dagger-thrust. It was the high morning, but the merry spir- its of the Carnival were still inclined to lounge and recapitulate the last nights jests, when Tito Melema was walking at a brisk pace on the way to the Via de Bardi. Young Bernardo Dovizi, who now looks at us out of Raphaels portrait as the keen-eyed Cardinal da Bibbiena, was with him; and as they went, they held animated talk about some subject that had evidently no rela- tion to the sights and sounds through which they were pushing their way along the For Santa Maria. Nevertheless, as they discussed, smiled, and gesticulated, they both, from time to time, cast quick glances around them, and at the turn- ing toward the Lung Arno, leading to the Ponte Rubaconte, Tito had become aware, in one of these rapid surveys, that there was some one not far off him by whom he very much desired not to be recognized at that moment. His time and thoughts were thoroughly preoccupied, for he was looking forward to a unique occasion in his lifehe was preparing for his betrothal, which was to take place on the evening of this very ilay. The ceremony had been resolved upon rather suddenly; for although preparations to- ward the marriage had been goiug forward for some timechiefly in the application of Titos forms to the fitting-up of rooms in Bardos dwell- ing, which, the library excepted, had always been scantily furnishedit had been intended to defer both the betrothal and the marriage un- til Easter, when Titos year of probation, insist- ed on by Bernardo del Nero, would have been complete. But when an express proposition had come that Tito should follow the Cardinal Gio- vanni to Rome to help Bernardo Dovizi with his superior knowledge of Greek in arranging a li- brary, and there was no possibility of declining what lay so plainly on the road to advancement, he had become urgent in his entreaties that the betrothal might take place before his departure: there would be the less delay before the marriage on his return, and it would be less painful to part if he and Romola were outwardly as well as inwardly pledged to each otherif he had a claim which defied Messer Bernardo or any one else to nullify it. For the betrothal, at which rings were exchanged and mutual contracts were signed, made more than half the legality of mar- riage, which was completed on a separate occa- sion by the nuptial benediction. Romolas feel- ing had met Titos in this wish, and the consent of the elders had been won. And now Tito was hastening, amidst arrange- ments for his departure the next day, to snatch a morning visit to Romola, to say and hear any last words that were needful to be said before their meeting for the betrothal in the evening. It was not a time when any recognition could be pleasant that was at all likely to detain him; still less a recognition by Tessa. And it was unmistakably Tessa whom he had caught sight of moving along, with a timid and forlorn look, toward that very turn of the Lung Arno which he was just rounding. As he continued his talk with the young Dovizi, he had an uncomfortable under-current of consciousness which told him that Tessa had seen him and would certainly fol- low him: there was no escaping her along this direct road by the Arno, and over the Ponte Rubaconte. But she would not dare to speak to him or approach him while he was not alone, and he would continue to keep Dovizi with him till they reached Bardos door. He quickened his pace, and took up new threads of talk; but all the while the sense that Tessa was behind him, though he had no physical evidepce of the fact, grew stronger and stronger; it was very irri- tatingperhaps all the more so because a certain tenderness and pity for the poor little thing made the determination to escape without any visible notice of her a not altogether agreeable resource. Yet Tito persevered and carried his companion to the door, cleveriy managing his addio without turning his face in a direction where it was pos- sible for him to see an importunate pair of blue eyes; and as he went up the stone steps, he tried to get rid of unpleasant thoughts by saying to himself that, after all, Tessa might not have seen him, or, if she had, might not have followed him. Butperhaps because that possibility could not be relied on stronglywhen the visit was over, he came out of the door-way with a quick step and an air of unconsciousness as to any thing that might be on his right hand or his left. Our eyes are so constructed, however, that they take in a wide angle without asking leave of our will; and Tito knew that there was a little figure in a white hood standing near the door-wayknew it quite well, before he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was a real grasp, and not a light, timid touch; for poor Tessa, seeing his rapid step, had started forward with a des- perate effort. But when he stopped and turned toward her her face wore a frightened look, as if she dreaded the effect of her boldness. Tessa ! said Tito, with more sharpness in his voice than she had ever heard in it before. Why are you here? You must not follow me you must not stand about door-places waiting for me. ROMOLA. 69 Her blue eyes widened with tears, and she said nothing. Tito was afraid of something worse than ridicule if he were seen in the Via de Bardi with a girlish contadina looking pa- thetically at him. It was a street of high, silent- looking dwellings, not of traffic; but Bernardo del Nero, or some one almost as dangerous, might come up at any moment. Even if it had not been the day of his betrothal, the incident would have been awkward and annoying. Yet it would be brutalit was impossibleto drive Tessa away with harsh words. That accursed folly of his with the cerretanotha~t it should have lain buried in a quiet way for months, and now start up before him, as this unseason- able crop of vexation! He could not speak harshly, but he spoke hurriedly. Tess; I can notmust not talk to you here. I will go on to the bridge and wait for you there. Follow me slowly. He turned and walked fast to the Ponte Ru- baconte, and there leaned against the wall of one of the quaint little houses that rise at even distances on the bridge, looking toward the way by which Tessa would come. It would have softened a much harder heart than Titos to see the little thing advancing with her round face much paled and saddened since he had parted from it at the door of the Nunziata. Hap- pily it was the least frequented of the bridges, and there were scarcely any passengers on it at this moment. He lost no time in speaking as soon as she came near him. No~v, Tessa, I have very little time. You must not cry. Why did you follow me this morning? You must not do~so again. I thought, said Tessa, speaking in a whis- per, and struggling against a sob that would rise immediately at this new voice of Titos I thought you wouldnt be so long before you came to take care of me again. And the pritrigno beats me, and I cant bear it an~ longer. And always when I come for a holiday I walk about to find you, and I cant. Oh, please dont send me away from you again! It has been so long, and I cry so now, because you never come to me. I cant help it, for the days are so long, and I dont mind about the goats or kids, or any thingand I cant The sobs came fast now, and the great tears. Tito felt that he could not do otherwise than comfort her. Send her awayyes; that he must do, at once. But it was all the more im- possible to tell her any thing that would leave her in a state of hopeless grief. He saw new trouble in the back-ground, but the difficulty of the moment was too pressing for him to weigh consequences. Tessa, my little one, he said, in his old caressing tones, you must not cry. Bear with the cross patrigno a little longer. I will come back to you. But Im going now to Romea long, long way off. I shall come back in a few weeks, and then I promise you to come and see you. Promise me to be good and wait for me. It was the well-remembered voice again, and the mere sound was half enough to soothe Tessa. She looked up at him with wide trusting eyes, that still glittered with tears, sobbing all the while, in spite of her utmost efforts to obey him. Again he said, in a gentle voice, Promise me, my Tessa. Yes, she whispered. But you wont be long ? No,~not long. But I must go now. And remember what I told you, Tessa. Nobody must know that yoti ever see me, else you will lose me forever. And now, when I have left you, go straight home, and never follow me again. Wait till I come to you. Good-by, my little Tessa: I will come. There was no help for it; he must turn and leave her without looking behind him to see how she bore it, for lie had no time to spare. When he did look round he was in the Via de Benci, where there was no seeing what was hap- pening on the bridge; but Tessa was too trust- ing and obedient not to do just what he had told her. Yes, the difficulty was at an end for that day; yet this return of Tessa to him, at a moment when it was impossible for him to put an end to all difficulty with her by undeceiving her, was an unpleasant incident to carry in his memory. But Titos mind was just now thoroughly pene- trated with a hopeful first love, associated with all happy prospects flattering to his ambition; and that future necessity of grieving Tessa could he scarcely more to him than the far-off cry of some little suffering animal buried in the thicket, to a merry cavalcade in the sunny plain. When, for the second time that day, Tito was hasten- ing across the Ponte Rubaconte, the thought of Tessa caused no perceptible diminution of his happiness. He was well muffled in his mantle, less, perhaps, to protect him from the cold than from the additional notice that would have been drawn upon him by his dainty apparel. He leaped up the stone steps by two at a time, and said, hurriedly, to Maso, who met him, Where is the damigella? In the library; she is quite ready, and Monna Brgida and Messer Bernardo are al- ready there with Ser Braccio, hut none of the rest of the company. Ask her to give me a few minutes alone; I will await her in the selotto. Tito entered a room which had been fitted up in the utmost contrast with the half-pallid, half- sombre tints of the library. The walls were brightly frescoed with caprices of nymphs and loves sporting under the blue among flowers and birds. The only furniture besides the red leather seats and the central table were two tall white vases, and a young faun playing the flute, modeled by a promising youth named Michelangelo Buonarotti. It was a room that gave a sense of being in the sunny open air. Tito kept his mantle round him, and looked toward the door. It was not long before Romola entered, all white and gold, more than ever like a tall lily. Her white silk garment was bound 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by a golden girdle, which fell with large tassels; white and golden, and he with his dark glowing and above that was the rippling gold of her hair, beauty above the purple red-bordered tunic. surmounted by the white mist of her long veil, And it was our good strange lNero who which was fastened on her brow by a band of painted it ? said Romola. Did you put it into pearls, the gift of Bernardo del Nero, and was his head to paint me as Antigone, that he might now parted off her face so that it all floated have my likeness for this ? backward. No, it was he who made my getting leave Regina ?flia ! said Tito, as he took her for him to paint you and your father a condi- hand and kissed it, still keeping his mantle tion of his doing this for me. round him. He could not help going backward Ab, I see now what it was you gave up to look at her again, while she st6od in calm de- your precious ring for. I perceived you had light, with that exquisite self-consciousness which some cunning plan to give me pleasure. rises under the gaze of admiring love. Tito did not blench. Romolas little illusions. Romola, will you show me the next room about himself had long ceased to cause him any now ? said Tito, checking himself with the re- thing but satisfaction. He only smiled and said: membrance that the time might be short. You I might have spared my ring; Piero will said I should see it when you had arranged every accept no money from me; he thinks himself thing. paid by painting you. And now, while I am Without speaking she led the way into a long away, you will look every day at those pretty narrow room, painted brightly like the other, symbols of our life togetherthe ship on the but only with birds and flowers. The furniture calm sea, and the ivy that never withers, and in it was all old; there were old faded objects those Loves that have left off wounding us and for feminine use or ornament, arranged in an shower soft petals that are like our kisses; and open cabinet between the two narrow windows; the leopards and tigers, they are the troubles of above the cabinet was the portrait of Romolas your life that are all quelled now; and the mother; and below this, on the top of the cabin- strange sea-monsters, with their merry eyes et, stood the crucifix which Romola had brought let us seethey are the dull passages in the from San Marco. heavy books, which have begun to be amusing I have brought something under my man- since we have sat by each other. tie, said Tito, smiling; and throwing off the Tito mio . said Romola, in a half laugh- large loose garment, he showed the little taber- ing voice of love; but you will give me the nacle which had been painted by Piero di Cosi- key ? she added, holding out her hand for it. mo. The painter had carried out Titos inten- Not at all ! said Tito, with playful deci- tion charmingly, and so far had atoned for his sion, opening his scarsella and dropping in the long delay. Do you know what this is for, little key. I shall drown it in the Arno. my Romola ? added Tito, taking her by the But if I ever wanted to look at the crucifix hand, and leading her toward the cabinet. It again ? is a little shrine, which is to hide away from you Ah! for that very reason it is hidden. forever that remembrancer of sadness. You hidden by these images of youth and joy. have done with sadness now; and we will bury He pressed a light kiss on her brow, and she all images of itbury them in a tomb of joy. said no more, ready to submit, like all strong See! souls, when sh~ felt no valid reason for resist- A slight quiver passed across Romolas face ance. as Tito took hold of the crucifix. But she had And then they joined the waiting company, no wish to prevent his purpose; on the con- which made a dignified little procession as it trary, sha herself wished to subdue certain im- passed along the Ponte Rubaconte toward San- portunatn memories and questionings which still ta Croce. Slowly it passed, for Bardo, unac- flitted like unexplained shadows across her hap- customed for years to leave his own house, walk- pier thought. ed with a more timid step than usual; and that He opened the triptych and placed the crucifix slow pace suited well with the gouty dignity of within the central space; then closing it again, Messer Bartolommeo Scala, who graced the oc- taking out the key, and setting the little taber- casion by his presence, along with his daughter nacle in the spot where the crucifix had stood, Alessandra. It was customary to have veI7 said: long troops of kindred and friends at the spo- Now, Romola. look and see if you are satis- salizio, or betrothal, and it had even been found fled with the portraits old Piero has made of us. necessary in time past to limit the number by Is it not a dainty device? and the credit of law to no more thanfour hundredtwo hundred choosing it is mine. on each side; for since the guests were all feast Ab, it is youit is perfect! said Romola, ed after this initial ceremony, as wcll as after looking with moist joyful eyes at the miniature the aozze, or marriage, the very first stage of Bacehus, with his purple clusters. And I am matrimony had become a ruinous expense, as Ariadne, and you are crowning me! Yes, it is that scholarly Benedict, Leonardo Bruno, com- true, Tito; you have crowned my poor life. plained in his own case. But Bardo, who in They held each others hands while she spoke, his poverty had kept himself proudly free from and both looked at their imaged selves. But any appearance of claiming the advantages at- the reality was far more beautiful; she all lily-. tached to a l)owerful family name, would have RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 71 no invitations given on the strength of mere friendship; and the modest procession of twen- ty that followed the sposi were, ~vith three or four exceptions, friends of Bardos and Titos, selected on personal grounds. Bernardo del Nero walked as a vanguard be- fore Bardo, who wfts led on the right by Tito, while Romola held her fathers other hand. Bar- do had himself been married at Santa Croce, and had insisted on Romolas being betrothed and married there rather than in the little church of Santa Lucia close by their house, because he had a complete mental vision of the grand church where he hoped that a burial might be granted him among the Florentines who had deserved well. Happily the ~vay was short and direct, and lay aloof from the loudest riot of the Car- nival, if only they could return before any dances or shows began in the great piazza of Santa Croce. The west was red as they passed the bridge, and shed a mellow light on the pretty procession, which had a touch of solemnity in the presence of the blind father. But when the ceremony was over, and Tito and Romola came out on to the broad steps of the church, with the golden links of destiny on their fingers, the evening had deepened into struggling starlight and the servants had their torches lit. As they came out a strange dreary chant, as of a Miserere, met their ears, and they saw that at the extreme end of the piazza there seemed to be a stream of people impelled by something approaching from the Borgo de Greci. It is one of their masked processions, I sup- pose, said Tito, who was now alone with Romo- la, while Bernardo took charge of Bardo. And as he spoke there came slowly into view, at a height far above the heads of the onlookers, a huge and ghastly image of Winged Time with his scythe and hour-glass, surrounded by his winged children, the Hours. He was mounted on a high car completely covered with black, and the bullocks that drew the car were also covered with black, their horns alone standing out white above the gloom; so that in the som- bre shadow of the houses it seemed to those at a distance as if Time and his children were ap- paritions floating through the air. And behind them came what looked like a troop of the sheet- ed dead gliding above blackness. And as they glided slowly they chanted in a wailing strain. A cold horror seized on Romola, for at the first moment it seemed as if her brothers vision, which could never be effaced from her mind, was being half fulfilled. She clung to Tito, who, divining what was in her thoughts, said: What dismal fooling sometimes pleases your Florentines! Doubtless this is an invention of I?iero di Cosimo, who loves such grim merri- ment. But it is still thereit is only hidden, said Romola, in a low tone, hardly conscious that she spoke. See, they are all gone now! said Tito. You will forget this ghastly mummery when we are in the light and can see each others eyes. My Ariadne must never look backward nowoply forward to Easter, when she will tri- umph with her Care-dispeller. RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. HAVING lived for forty-seven years of my life (1 am now fiCty-eight) in that peculiar cir- cle of English society in which the middle class- es somehow blend with the uppera circle in which the artist and the soldier become connect- ed with royalty and all those intermediate varie- ties of rank which go to make up an aristocracy I have never attached much value to the acci- dents which have continually brought me into contact with some of the most remarkable peo ple of the present century. But I find myself now a member of a lettered community to whom nothing is indifferent which relates to the men and women who have filled a certain space in the worlds thought, and I therefore ransack the stores of my memory to supply a few pages of pleasant reading to the manifold admirers of Har,oei-s Magazine. There may not be much in these souvenirs to cast light on character or alter the impressions already received of the dis- tinguished individuals I shall bring on the tapis; but they all have the advantage of being quite true, and new. GEORGE III. I have l)laced George III. at the head of my list. Why? Not that I ever saw l~im,to my recollection, but because he is associated in my mind with an act of kindness4 to my relative, Mrs. Siddons, the illustrious tragedienne, which I heard described, in long after years, by her second son George. She was a reader to the Royal Family. Early in 1803 the King enter- ed the room where she was engaged with one of the princesses. Her son George was with her. Ha! whos this? ~vhos this ? exclaimed the monarch. My son, your Majesty. What do you intend to do with him? what? what? No actornoonly one Siddonsonly one Siddons! Mrs. S. replied that she had not determined upon any profession for him. Send him tolndiaIndiafine placevery fine placemake a fortune there. The tragedienne had not interest enough to ob- tain an appointment for him in the India serv- Tito, I wish it had not happened. It will ice. The King abruptly left the room; piesently deepen the images of that vision which I would returning, he handed her a letter written by Sir fain be rid of. Herbert Taylor, and signed by himself, directing Nay, Romola, you will look only at the that one of the best civil appointments should images of our happiness now. I have locked be given to Mr. George Siddons. Campbell all sadness away from you. mentions the fact of the appointment being thus

J. H. Siddons Siddons, J. H. Random Recollections of a Life 71-80

RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 71 no invitations given on the strength of mere friendship; and the modest procession of twen- ty that followed the sposi were, ~vith three or four exceptions, friends of Bardos and Titos, selected on personal grounds. Bernardo del Nero walked as a vanguard be- fore Bardo, who wfts led on the right by Tito, while Romola held her fathers other hand. Bar- do had himself been married at Santa Croce, and had insisted on Romolas being betrothed and married there rather than in the little church of Santa Lucia close by their house, because he had a complete mental vision of the grand church where he hoped that a burial might be granted him among the Florentines who had deserved well. Happily the ~vay was short and direct, and lay aloof from the loudest riot of the Car- nival, if only they could return before any dances or shows began in the great piazza of Santa Croce. The west was red as they passed the bridge, and shed a mellow light on the pretty procession, which had a touch of solemnity in the presence of the blind father. But when the ceremony was over, and Tito and Romola came out on to the broad steps of the church, with the golden links of destiny on their fingers, the evening had deepened into struggling starlight and the servants had their torches lit. As they came out a strange dreary chant, as of a Miserere, met their ears, and they saw that at the extreme end of the piazza there seemed to be a stream of people impelled by something approaching from the Borgo de Greci. It is one of their masked processions, I sup- pose, said Tito, who was now alone with Romo- la, while Bernardo took charge of Bardo. And as he spoke there came slowly into view, at a height far above the heads of the onlookers, a huge and ghastly image of Winged Time with his scythe and hour-glass, surrounded by his winged children, the Hours. He was mounted on a high car completely covered with black, and the bullocks that drew the car were also covered with black, their horns alone standing out white above the gloom; so that in the som- bre shadow of the houses it seemed to those at a distance as if Time and his children were ap- paritions floating through the air. And behind them came what looked like a troop of the sheet- ed dead gliding above blackness. And as they glided slowly they chanted in a wailing strain. A cold horror seized on Romola, for at the first moment it seemed as if her brothers vision, which could never be effaced from her mind, was being half fulfilled. She clung to Tito, who, divining what was in her thoughts, said: What dismal fooling sometimes pleases your Florentines! Doubtless this is an invention of I?iero di Cosimo, who loves such grim merri- ment. But it is still thereit is only hidden, said Romola, in a low tone, hardly conscious that she spoke. See, they are all gone now! said Tito. You will forget this ghastly mummery when we are in the light and can see each others eyes. My Ariadne must never look backward nowoply forward to Easter, when she will tri- umph with her Care-dispeller. RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. HAVING lived for forty-seven years of my life (1 am now fiCty-eight) in that peculiar cir- cle of English society in which the middle class- es somehow blend with the uppera circle in which the artist and the soldier become connect- ed with royalty and all those intermediate varie- ties of rank which go to make up an aristocracy I have never attached much value to the acci- dents which have continually brought me into contact with some of the most remarkable peo ple of the present century. But I find myself now a member of a lettered community to whom nothing is indifferent which relates to the men and women who have filled a certain space in the worlds thought, and I therefore ransack the stores of my memory to supply a few pages of pleasant reading to the manifold admirers of Har,oei-s Magazine. There may not be much in these souvenirs to cast light on character or alter the impressions already received of the dis- tinguished individuals I shall bring on the tapis; but they all have the advantage of being quite true, and new. GEORGE III. I have l)laced George III. at the head of my list. Why? Not that I ever saw l~im,to my recollection, but because he is associated in my mind with an act of kindness4 to my relative, Mrs. Siddons, the illustrious tragedienne, which I heard described, in long after years, by her second son George. She was a reader to the Royal Family. Early in 1803 the King enter- ed the room where she was engaged with one of the princesses. Her son George was with her. Ha! whos this? ~vhos this ? exclaimed the monarch. My son, your Majesty. What do you intend to do with him? what? what? No actornoonly one Siddonsonly one Siddons! Mrs. S. replied that she had not determined upon any profession for him. Send him tolndiaIndiafine placevery fine placemake a fortune there. The tragedienne had not interest enough to ob- tain an appointment for him in the India serv- Tito, I wish it had not happened. It will ice. The King abruptly left the room; piesently deepen the images of that vision which I would returning, he handed her a letter written by Sir fain be rid of. Herbert Taylor, and signed by himself, directing Nay, Romola, you will look only at the that one of the best civil appointments should images of our happiness now. I have locked be given to Mr. George Siddons. Campbell all sadness away from you. mentions the fact of the appointment being thus 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bestowed, but does not give the characteristic language of the kind-hearted, obstinate old mon- arch. George Siddons went to India, and re- mained there nearly forty years. He latterly held the lucrative office of Collector of Customs. He was a polished, high-minded gentleman, well read in Shakspeare, of a kind and liberal, but not of an energetic temperament, or he would have advanced, under Court auspices, to the highest position under the Government. MRS. SIDDONS. I saw Mrs. Siddons act twiceonce in Lady Macbeth and once in Queen Katharine; but I often, when a boy, heard her read in private. She has never been approached in either of the characters I have named. She played three or four times after her formal retirement from the stage, and always for the benefit of her younger brother, Charles Kemble, excepting on the first occasion of my seeing her, in 1816, when she returned for one night, at the request of Prince Leopold, now King of the Belgians, and the Princess Charlotte of Wales. I was behind the scenes, down near the proscenium, peeping through one of the old doors which then flanked the fore-part of the stage. I watched with a thrill of terror the wondrous expression of Lady Macbeths countenance; I saw as plainly as I see the paper on which I now write that she had made up her mind to have Duncan murder- ed, but wished her husband to participate in the act which was to make them temporally great. Thy face, my Thane, etc., was uttered in soul-searching tones, and John Kemble, who played Macbeth, hung his head as if he could not withstand her penetrating gaze or the lan- guage which interpreted aright the ambitious whisperings of his own heart. The Princess Charlotte and her consort expressed themselves delighted and grateful when the performance was over, and as I was standing by when her Royal Highness spoke her thanks, I received, for my own share in looking on, a gracious smile. People must live under a monarchy to appreci- ate the charm of a princely courtesy! Mrs. Siddonss Queen Katharine was as ~~at a personation every way as her Lady MacbeTh. The famous passage, Lord Cardinal, to you I speak! which Harlowe has represented her in the act of uttering, invariably elicited seven dis- tinct rounds of applause, during which she nev- er altered her magnificent pose, and so gave time to the artist to study all the accessories of the group. But it was neither the commanding attitude nor the lofty tone which assured the nightly burst of enthusiasm. It was the man- ner in which Katharine shrunk from Campeius, and waved him off, preparatory to the grand enunciation of her special appeal to Wolsey, which made the ensemble so sublime. JOHN KEMJILE.EDMUND KEAN. John Kemble was very great on the stage to the last moment of his career; but the public had got tired of his classicality and forsook him for the more brilliant style of Edmund Kean, whose marvelous performances of Richard III., Othello, Shylock, Sir Giles Overreach, Bertram, Ludovico Sforza, Macbeth, Richard of York, Oc- tavian, and Marlowes Jew of Malta, it was my great happiness to see. But I could not like Kean personally. He was esteemed a good fellow, and I observed that Sheridan and Lord Byron (then on the Drury Lane Committee of Management) petted the saviour of their prop- erty a good deal, but his habits and general com- panions were low. John Kemble was not averse to potations pottle deep, which certainly en- feebled his constitution and prematurely de- stroy ed his mighty artistic powers and energies; yet, to my youthful apprehension, there was a wide difference between drinking port-wine with noblemen at their own dwellings, and soaking gin and water in the Coal Hole Tavern with in- ferior players arid sporting satellites. DYRON.SHERIDAN.LADY LOvELACE. I spoke to Lord Byron once, or, rather, he spoke to me. It was in 1815. Sheridan took me with him to Drury Lane, and between the acts of a play he led me into the saloon at the back of the boxes. Lord Byron, in a dark-blue dress coat, broad white trowsers, his shirt-collar turned down, his digits encased in kid gloves, and a hat under his arm, was leaning in a studied attitude against a pillar. Sheridan led me up to himmentioned who I wasand instantly moved away. Byron said something to me about the dim religious light of the saloon, and as I saw Sheridan going away I ran after him. I suspect I was not the only one after the poor hunted debtor that night, which may have ac- counted for his rapid exit. Byron followed. We got into the Green Room. The two authors again spoke, Byron quoted some poetry. Sheri- dan exclaimed Nonsense! or Humbug ! I forget whichand hurried me away. I never saw either of these remarkable men again. In the following year Sheridan passed away, and Byron married and then parted from his wife. Whatever may have been the real causes of their separation, Lady Byron always enter- tained the highest reverence for his genius. For- ty years later I paid a visit to Lady Lovelace (Ada, sole daughter of my house and heart!), and on my remarking to one of her boys, in the library, that I was surprised at the absence of Lord Byrons works, he said, Oh, granma has them in a library all to themselves. She wont allow grandpas works to be associated with oth- ers. He said this with perfect childlike sim- plicity. NAPOLEON I. Four years now elapsed, during which period I was at a French college learning the art-mili- tary, and the science (so difficult to an English youth) of living upon soup maigre and haricots. And then I was sent to India to fight the battles of the East India Company. Our ship was one of those selected to pay pe.. RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 73 riodical visits to St. Helena, and carry supplies for the ships of war at the station and for the imperial exile and his suite. Major Pariby, an officer of the Madras army, who was one of my fellow-passengers, sought permission to pay his respects to General Bonaparte. Sir Hud- son Lowe sent to inquire if it would be agree- able to the unhappy prisoner to receive a party of English officers. It did please him. I ac- companied Major Pariby, with three other offi- cers, one a Captain in the navy. Napoleon s appearance distressed me. I believed him to have been a tyrant, the bitterest enemy of En- gland, the most selfish of all successful military geniuses, a sanguinary monster who was respons- ible for an immense amount of bloodshed, and very properly a detenu at St. Helena. But his melancholy pierced me, his graccful, paternal manner fascinated me. At the close of the in- terview, he said to me, Vous allez cornrnencer vdtre carri~re militaire You are about to be- gin your military career, may it have a happier termination than mine ! I stifled my emotions for the moment, but the words often brought tears up from my heart in after-years. From the date of that interesting interview I could understand the influence of Napoleon over all around him. BISHOP HEBER. Seven years passed in India in the perform- ance of military and magisterial duties (for the ~ucity of civil officers imposed even upon sub- alterns responsible judicial offices) shut me out of the society to which I had been accustomed, and I began to despair of ever seeing anybody of the least European note again, when accident brought me vis-& -viswith the admirable Reginald Heber. I went to Bombay from the fortress of Severndroog, where I was on duty, to enjoy a mouths leave of absence. There was an ama- teur theatre in the town, and being so slim that I could have crept through an Aldermans thumb ring, I was invited to play Lady Percy in HenrylV. (a plague upon sighingandgrief, I am now fitter for Falstaff!) I accepted the invitation. A few days later Bishop Heber ar- rived to visit the western part of his diocese, which then comprehended all India. I called to pay my respects. Having known my illus- trious relative, he asked me to dinner. I stated that I was pledged to play Lady Percy. Oh, how sorry I am, he exclaimed, that I did not know there was to be a play! I would have fixed my party for another day. I have invited the Governor, the Judges, the Commander-in- Chiefcan I put them off? My reply was, Certainly not, my Lord ! Well, he re- joined, as I can not go myself~ Mrs. Heber ahall attend the theatre at all events. And so she did. I mention the circumstance to illus- trate the tolerant spirit of that most benign and excellent man. He remained some time with us, preaching every Sabbath and administering the sacrament. How we loved him! How we (I mean the whole society of Bombay, compris ing as it did many men remarkable for their classical and Oriental learning) sought his rich and unaffected conversation! One of the principal Episcopalian ministers had transgressed the laws, and availed himself of the influence which his sacred calling con- ferred to corrupt the mind of the beautiful wife of a colonel of artillery. Heber had to investi- gate the case. He conducted the delicate in- quisition with the utmost prudence; and after making every allowance for the infirmities of humanity, deemed it his duty to deprive the of- fending clergyman of his gown and send him to Europe. In his Journal he charitably sup- pre~sed all mention of the delinquency he had been called upon to chastise. Mrs. Heber, how. ever, a coarse-minded woman, less scrupulous about such matters, included the Bishops pri- vate remarks in a posthumous second edition of the Journal, which much outraged the feel- ings of the families concerned, and revived the sort of scandal on which small communities sub- sist. ELLI5TON. WALLACK. From India I returned to England in 1826. The first night after my arrival I went to Drury Lane ~Theatre to see Elliston play Falstaff. A more unctuous knight it would be difficult to conceive. Macready was the impetuous Hot- spur, and James W. Wallack, who hasso ~vor- thily upheld the legitimate drama in America, was the Prince. I need not say it was a fine chivalrous piece of acting on Wallacks part. Elliston, however, ruined the play and himself by falling on the stage dead-drunk when he came to the passageHal, if thou seest me down in the battle, and bestridest me so, tis a point of friendship. Elliston had not that hold upon the affections of the public which made them tolerant of the escapades of a Cooke or a Kean. One transgression annihilated his theatrical ca- reer. WALTER SCOTT. Pressed by the relatives of a brother officer to pay a visit to Scotland, I proceeded in August, 1826, to Edinburgh, and became the guest of my friend, the Rev. E. Ramsay, now the belovedDean Ramsay, whose late works on Scottish character and phraseology have created so much interest both in England and America. Mr. Ramsay showed me the lions of the modern Athens, then comprising Jeffrey, Christopher North, Andrew Thomson, and Sir Walter Scott. I was intro- duced to Scott at the Sessions House. I shall never forget the impression he made on me. When we entered the Court the judges had risen, the people, the advocates, the writers, etc., had dispersed. Scott sat alone, writing. We stood for a few moments watching him. Presently he looked up. The light from his keen, dark eyes shot through me. I insensibly acknowledged the presence of a mighty spirit. He rose, limp- ed toward us. Mr. Ramsay presented me. Sir Walter took my hand. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Eli, a soldier, eh! To judge from your ored lithographs of le petit caporal et, voyez countenance I should say a good comic actor vous, le redingote gris I Charles X. rose im spoiled! mensely in the good opinion of the French peo I dont think that I quite relished the compli- pIe through this concession to their smothered ment, for I lovcd the military better than the love. He was believed, and not unreasonably, theatrical profession. At the same time, as an to be much under the influence of the Jesuits; amateur performer at our India theatres, I was yet, on the night of the expose of the Napoleonic not altogether displeased with this tribute to my imagps, I saw Tartuffe at the Th~& tre Fran9ais, histrionic capacity. Sir Walter dined with us with Madame Mars for Dorineineffaceable that day. The conversation was so purely local, recollection !and when the Huissier said, referring to people and things quite foreign to Nous vivons sous un Prince ennemi de la crime: me, that I sat silent, merely saying to myself, the house rang with aeclamations. I sat in Mr. Well, only think, I am sitting at the same Cannings box, and he applauded as earnestly as table with the author of Waverley! any one in the parterre or paradis; but I do not I was subsequently invited to Abbotsford, ~ind believe he thought Charles X. so thoroughly enjoyed the day very much indeed. Sir Walter opposed to the villainy of the caiotins. Indeed had a story to tell about every dagger and cv- I am sure he did not. ery quaigh. It is a pity he did not transmit his stories to the old ciceroni who show stran- ThE POLISH INSURRECTION.SICRZNECKI gers about the house. We should not have such replies as, I dinna ken, to every other ques- tion put by anxious tourists. GEOItGE CANNING.NAIOLEON PORTRAITS. A letter from Calcutta, offering me a valuable appointment as editor of a daily paper, recalled me from Scotland. I could not, however, think of returning to the East until I had arisited France. And, by a happy accident, Mr. Can- ning, the British Minister for Foreign Affairs, was induced to invite me to accompany him on a visit he was about to make to our Embassa- dor, the late Lord Granville. I remember that the simplicity of Mr. Cannings attire (he al- ways wore black, and a white cravat), destitute of orders and decorations of any kind, attracted much of the attention of the French noblesse, returned emigrJs of the Polignac and Artois cast, who were covered ivith stars and ribbons. But the event of the greatest interest to me during that brief visit to Paris was the removal of the prohibition of the sale of portraits and busts of Napoleon. From 1811i until 1826 the French populace had not been permitted to look upon the effigies of their former idol. Bourbon timidity, augmented by Bourbon folly and mis- government, had at first created an apprehension that the sight of the well-known and once well- loved countenance would revive all the old sym- pathies with the Consulate and the Empire, and endanger the stability of the throne. But ten years, it was fancied, would suffice to efface all reminiscences of the false glory in which France had reveled, and that now the old features might be contemplated with placidity. The decree went forth. The day was beautiful. I sallied out for a stroll. At every step I came upon a shop where portraits of Napoleon, under every variety of circumstance, were exposed for sale. The bronze stores were beset by crowds purchasing equestrian figures of the Emperorminiature Vend6me columns, busts with the petit cia- peau, busts with the laurel crown, busts with the bare head and the thin hair so picturesquely described by Lamartine. In the Boulevards old soldiers, with tears in their eyes, bought rude col Back to India for three more years, and then a long, long journey on horseback through Per- sia, Turkey, Russia, Germany, Hanover, and Holland, and so across the channel to England. But there was one stoppage on the way. It was 1830. The flames of revolution were burning in France, in Holland, and in Poland. An army of 30,000 Poles, led by the brave Skrznecki, ~vas endeavoring to assist the claims of the op- pressed, involuntary subject~ of the Czar to a rational measure of liberty; and an army of 200,000 Russians maintained the ascendency of the autocrat. The struggle was brief and san- guinary. The fate of Poland was sealed on tWe fields of Ostrolenka and Gronow. Inspired with a wish to see more service and to fight for the cause of liberty, I managed to join the Polish army, only in time to share in its retreat and dispersion. Skrznecki received Austrian pro- tection at Linz, and I subsequently joined him there. He was the noblest fellow I ever knew the finest soldier, the most polished gentleman, the most truly religious man. Many a happy evening did I pass in his company. Like every earnest Roman Catholic he was a sincere propa- gandist, and believed there was no chance what- ever for heretics excepting in repentance and apos- tasy. He made magnificent efforts to convert me, and was surprised if not indignant that I was not satisfied with II font croire . as a clench- ing argument in favor of transubstantiation. My time becoming short, I tore myeelf away to continue my equestrian tour into Bohemia and Prussia, and when I got to Berlin and met old Count Mostowka, who had been Governor of Warsaw, we often spoke of our common friend Skrznecki. Ah, said the Count, he was an admirable general! He only needed one qualifi- cation to make him greatsuccess ! Skrznecki subsequently removed to Belgium and obtained a command in Leopolds army. He brought it into a high state of discipline, and from what I afterward saw of that army in the camp at Bever- loo, I should say that les braves Belges of to- day will not imitate their illustrious predecessors of Waterloo should events call them into the field. RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 75 FANNY KEMBLE. I did not reach London until the spring of 1832, and had just time to see Fanny Kemble play Julia in the Hunchback. Do it I nor leave the act to me I There was the ring of the rich old metal again! I gloried in her just success, but having to leave London early the next morning I could not pay my respects. My stay in England was very brief, only just long enough to dine with my Hon- orable Masters, the East India Directors, and to appear at some of the literary coteries where poor L. E. L., Jerdan, T. K. Hervey, Ains- worth, S. Lover, Marryatt, ~ Crawford, D. L. Richardson, St. John, and similar small fry of literature, were wont to assemble. MACAULAY AND THE EDINBITROTI REVIEW. On resuming my editorial duties in India I had the happiness to become acquainted with Macaulay, whose friendship I afterward enjoyed to within a few days of his death. Macaulay was sent out to India by the Whig Government, with an appointment of 10,000 per annum, in recompense of a splendid speech he had made on the Reform Bill, and another on the Bill for re- newing the East India Companys charter. The appointment was that of president of a law com- mission whose business it was to prepare a code of laws adapted to the heterogeneous community of British India. Down to 1833 justice was ad- ministered after the principles of the Common Law of England, modified to meet Hindoo usage and Mohammedan law. Out of this system, with all its attendant precedents, government regulations, exceptions, etc., a complication had arisen which set all attempt to proceed upon equitable principles completely at defiance. The conrts were a scene of chaos. Macaulay and his compeersable law-officers and financiers drawn from different parts of Indiawere to re- store order and uniformity. They began by call- ing for returns, reports, statements, and similar documentary machinery which was to form the basis and leverage of their operations. Mac- aulay saw that at least a twelvemonth would elapse before a sufficiency could be collected from the various functionaries scattered over In- dia wherewith to make a beginning. He accordingly determined to pass his time in drawing his salary and writing for the Edin- burgh Review! He began with his famous criti- cism on the Life of Sir James Mackintosh by his son. Macaulay loved the fatherevery one loved Mackintosh who knew himand de- spised the son. I met Macaulay at dinner at Lord William Bentincks, and having been intro- duced to him by Mr. George Siddons, we got into conversation. He had finished the article, he said, and he wished to send it to England. Safety required that it should be sent in tripli- cate. Bat he disliked the labor of transcription, and he could not depend upon the aative copy- ists. Would I print half a dozen copies for him? Of course I would. The next day he came to my office with the manuscript. It was in a fine bold hand, upon foolscap paper. I con- signed it to my head printer. When I read the proofs I was so much struck with the beauty and power of the whole composition that I entreated Macaulays permission to reprint it in my news- paper, in anticipation of the appearance in India of the Edinburgh Review. Impossible! The editor of the Edinburgh was a despot in his way. He would probably expunge a large portion of the article, either from want of space, or a dis- agreement in opinion with the author. I could hardly believe this possible, but I dared not press the point, and Macaulay ultimately proved to be right. Napier cut away fourteen pages! MAcAULAY IN INl)IA. Macaulay now resolved to write a History of India, and with this view began to visit remark- able localities and to collect rare material. He was distressed that no vestige of the Black Hole of Calcutta remained, for the sufferings of the prisoners on that dreadful night, which he has so powerfully described in his sketch of Lord Clive, filled his imagination. He was, if possi- ble, more dismayed when he found that the field of Plassey, the scene of Clives victory over Suraj-oo-Dowlah, which has been said to have laid the foundation of the British empire in In- dia, had been entirely washed away in the over- flowings of the Ganges. He was fain, therefore, to content himself with a visit to Benares, ren- dered memorable by the courage displayed by Warren hastings in his contest with Cheyt Sing, and a close examination of the multitudi- nous records placed at his command. Macaulny returned to England in 1837, having enjoyed his salary for three years, and accumulated material for those admirable sketches of Hastings and Clive which he found occasion to publish in the Edinburgh in 1840 and 1841, when Gleigs and Malcolms books afforded him the means of showing how much more vivid a biographer the critic could be than the men who professed to write the lives of distinguished individuals. No one remembers or quotes Gleigs Warren Hast- ings ; few persons treasure Malcolms Clive; but who has not read Macaulays splendid epit- omes? Macaulays departure from India was not re- gretted. He led a comparatively secluded life, in the society of his sister and her husband, Sir Charles Trevelyan, of the Bengal Civil Service, who afterward became Governor of Madras. His only public act was to draft a scheme of law which deprived the European settler of the right he had thitherto enjoyed of appealing from the courts in the interior to the Supreme Court of Judicature at the presidencies of Bengal, Mad- ras, and Bombay. The effect of this was to place the European planter at the mercy of the native judges (Ilindoos and Mohammedans), whose local connections biased their judgments, even if they were not accessible to corruption. The Act was called The Black Act. It drew forth innumerable remonstrances. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I afterward saw much of Macaulay in England. He was greatly pleased with his elevation to the peerage. It was a tribute, he said, to literary reputation, and formed a good precedent. He regretted that Addisonwhose memory above that of all men he veneratedhad not died an earl. Macaulay was very susceptible of affec- tionate impressions, but he only loved high moral worth. His epitaphs on Lord William Bentinck, the enlightened 4llovernor-General of India, and Sir Bcnjamin Malkin, a judge, suffi~ ciently demonstrate the fervor and tenderness of his attachments. SIR WILLOUGHBY COTTON.THE HAVELOCKS. LADY SALE. At the close of 1838, although I had now laid aside the sword altogether for the service of Captain Pen, I could not resist the temptation to ask permission to join the army which was about to march into Afghanistan, ostensibly to replace Shah Shujah upon the throne, but in reality to checkmate the Russians, who, using the Persians as the monkey used the cats-paw, were stealthily advancing their physical and moral power toward the confines of India. My friend, General Sir Willoughby Cotton, was placed in command of one of the divisions of the army, and he very kindly invited me to join his staff. I accordingly engaged a palanquin and bearers, and in about ten or twelve days contrived to get over 1100 miles of ground, the last 300 through a country wasted by famine and the march of 15,000 men with their thousands of followers. I was very cordially received by Sir Willough- by Cotton, and by him was introduced to Henry Havelock, then only a captain of infantry, and aid-dc-camp to Sir Willoughby. Cotton was a man of fashion: he had, in his eariier days, h~en an aid and companion of George the Fourth, whose manner he imitated, and of whose peculiarities he had a large fund of anec- dote. But Cotton was a good soldier neverthe- less. He had served in the Peninsula, under Wellington, who esteemed his military talents; he had also commanded a brigade in the Bur- mese war of 182425, and during the latter oper- ation had formed the acquaintance of Henry Havelock, in whom he at once discovered high military qualities. As Sir Willoughby had only one small sleeping tent attached to his banquet- ing marquee, Havelock invited me to share his tent, and thus arose an intimacy, the stronger, perhaps, that we were so unlike each other in every respect. I admired and respected him, and he tolerated me. He was grave and thought- ful, pious, brave, judicious. Always poor, be- cause he married early in life, he had been un- able to return to England when his regiments were recalled, and therefore obtained a transfer to the relieving regiment, which carried him to the bottom of the list of lieutenants. This oc- curring twice, he was forty years of age, or thereabout, before he obtained a company. Though rather taciturn in society, Havelock was a cheerful companion in the tent and the morning ride. His mind was well stored. I used to tell him that the Bible and the Articles of War would form his library when he retired from the service; but this was only badinage, for no one was better read in history and the poets. Every now and then a word in admira- tion of Oliver Croitiwell would slip out; but our mutuid beau-ideal of the pure patriot and skill- ful leader was George Washington. Havelock vastly admired the Duke of Wellington, and had the Duke been a moral man he probably would have been preferred to Washington. Havelocks brother, William, was a soldier of a very different stamp to himself. He was a dear fellow, notwithstanding. Chivalrous, dar- ing, frank, generous, he was the idol of his regi- ment when in Spain. Napier records an in- stance of his intrepidity. But he was rash, and in later years when he rose to command be- came a very martinet. He was killed at the head of the 1~th Light Dragoons in an action with the Sikhs at Ramnagur. Charles Have- lock, a third brother, and a good soldier, is now, I believe, in America. At least I remember seeing it stated that his services had been ac- cepted by Presidejit Lincoln. During my stay with the army of Afghanis- tan I formed the acquaintance of Lady Sale, and we became such good friends that she insist- ed on my sharing her elephant howdah during a review of the army before Runjeet Singh, the ruler of the Punjab. Floreatia Sale was at this time a burly lady of middle age; a strong-mind- ed woman, whose manners smacked of a barrack education. She was the deity of the 13th Light Infantry, which her husband, Sir Robert, com- manded, and when I drew her attention to the steady marching of the 3d Buffs (who, as Run- jeet said, moved like one wall), she took a pinch of snuff and exclaimed, Ah, well, give me the Light Infantry any day. I dont care for the marching. The fightings what I look at ! The history of Lady Sales captivity among the Afghans has been told by herself. They dramatized the incidents of the war at one of our London theatres a few years later, and I could not help being much amused when I saw her ladyship represented by a spare young lady of twentya veritable heroinebestriding a white charger and tearing up impassable rocks, leaping terrific chasms, three feet wide and four feet deep, and achieving with sword and pistol more deeds of daring than Turk Gregory or Paul Jones. LOUIS PHILIPPE. The year 1843 found me again in England, after a long tour through Egypt, Italy, Switzer- land, and France. Presented to Louis Philippe, I was admitted to the privilege of some conver- sation with him. He was curious to know the exact position of the French in India. A Col- onel Dubois, whilom barber to the King of Oude, had been received as an envoy from that wretched sovereign, and cramming the French King with representations of the anxiety of the RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 77 ruler of Oudea miserable sensualist, who left to his Vizier all state ~tffairsto form an alli- ance with France, received a cross and a service of S~vres porcelain. Louis Philippe, astute as he was, had been singularly impressed with Duboiss statement, which it gave me very little trouble to demolish. The King spoke of the Algerian campaigns, the necessity for keeping a French army employed and amused. Les Fran- ~ais, said he, ne sont que des petits enfans. Ilfaut quils sojent amuses aujourdhui, et fou- ette~s demain! and he slapped the back of his hand significantly. THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. Soon after my arrival in London I had the supreme satisfaction of being introduced to the Duke of Wellington. A grand ball was given at Williss Roomsit was called The Waverlell Bal4 and its leading feature consisted in the formation of several sets of quadrilles, each of which was danced by sixteen couple costumed to represent the characters in one of Scotts novels. The crowd at the entrance to the rooms, as well as the crowd within, was immense. As I ascended the grand staircase I heard shouts from the crowd at the entrance. Turning round, I said aloud, I wonder who they are shouting for ? The Duke of Wellington was at my elbow, and supposing I had addressed him, re- plied in his usual dry way: I suppose it is either for you or I, Sir!, As I saw that the Duke would have had some difficulty in making his way through .the throng to the upper end of the ball-room, I was glad to escape from my confusion, and atone for my apparent rudeness by opening a path for him. When we reached the upper end he bowed to me and said, Thank you, Sir. I shall be glad to see you at Apsley House if you are fond of pictures. TEE DUKE AND WATERLOO ~I~TUEE5. I need not say that I allowed very few days to elapse before I presented myself at the gate of the mansion, which still, in its protection of iron blinds, reminded the passer-by that the Duke had once found it necessary to protect his windows from mob fury. The Duke received me very kindly, and at once led me to the Waterloo gal- lerya long room in which he was accustomed annually to entertain the old heroes of the great fight of June. 18, 1815. Many of the pictures were the works of Wilkie, Jan Stein, Gainsbor- ougli, etc. There were numerous portraits of the Dukes companions in arms, and of Napo- leon, whose military genius he seemed delighted to honor. There was a colossal statue of Napo- leon at the foot of the stairs. There was but one picture of the battle of Waterloo in the gallery, and as it represented Napoleon and his staff with the British in the remote distance almost enveloped in smoke, I ventured to ask his Grace which was the best representation of the battle he had ever seen? All bad, Sir. A battle can not be painted. It is continual motion. I chose this because I could not say it was false. VOL. XXVI.No. 151.F It is quieter than any of the others. He then proceeded to descant on the falsehoods perpet- uated by painters. Now, said he, theres Mr. Barkers paint- ing of my meeting with Blucher on the field of Waterloo. It is absurd. He has made us in the act of saluting with our cocked hats. That was not the way of it at all. Blucher rushed up to me~ at La Belle Alliance, threw his arms round my neck, kissed me and covered me with mud! I see that Maclise has sent in a design for a fresco illustration of this event in the House of Lords; but from the description given of it in the papers, I fear it will be no nearer to the truth than Barkers. There is a picture extant of the Duke show- ing the present Duchess, the Marchioness of Douro, the localities of the chief incidents at Waterloo. I remarked, The likeness of your Grace is good. Yes, he replied; but the devil of it is that the whole picture is false. I never took the Marchioness to Belgium at all Seeing him in a chatty humor, I ventured to inquire if it were true that he cried out, Up Guards and at them ! at the crisis of Waterloo. He said: It stands to reason I couldnt be such a dd fool. I was a quarter of a mile away and couldnt have been heard. Maybe some of the staff called out to the Guards to rise out of the corn where they were lying down. I merely said Let the line advance. On a later occasion I found the Duke in a Gallery of Illustrations, scrutinizing a picture of himself looking at the dead body of Crawfurd as it lay in a Spanish chapel after the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo. I inquired, Is it like, Sir? All a lie, he answered. I never was there; never saw Crawfurd after he fell. So much for pictures. For a long time there was onenay, more than oneexposed for sale representing Lord Cardigan leaping over a gun at Balaklava. When the Prince of Wales saw this he asked me, as I was standing by, whether Lord Cardigan really did accomplish the feat, and on my replying in the negative he exclaim- ed, Then why do they perpetuate such errors ? LADY BLESSINGTON AND HER SET. I had not been long in London before I fell into my old circle of society, seeing occasionally Lady Blessington and DOrsay, Louis Napoleon, Charles Dickens, the Napiers, Tom Hood, etc. The evenings passed at Kensington Gore (Lady Blessingtons) were pleasant enough, because both the host and hostess had abundance of conversation of the most attractive and piquant character; and you were also sure to meet some of the outsiders of the aristocracy, whose irregu- larities of life had made them the heroes or her- oines of innumerable adventures, and whose ac- quaintance was legion. It was curious to see so many English ladies with foreign titles. I could not quite understand it at first, but DOr- say enlightened me. You see, he observed, 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. when an Englishman of the honorable name of Spiffens, or Snooks, separates from his wife, he does not like that she shall go through the world proclaiming she is a divorcee, and so cast- ing discredit on his family. Therefore he pur- chases for her a small estate in Italy or in Ger- many which carries with it a feudal title, and thus Mrs. Snooks becomes the Baroness Fromag- gia, or the Contessa Seccatura, or the Graafin Hogsfleisch, and takes her place in distinguish- ed circles. He introduced me to one of the Baronessesan elegant woman, once rich and young, now in her uncertain age, doing the literary lady upon a small pittance, and editing a quasi-fashionable journal. She was welcome at Lady Blessingtons as long as she praised her ladyships tedious stories, but woe betide the honest critic! Louis Napoleonthen a refugee, awaiting the fullness of time, and lamenting (~ ce quon cUt) that it should be his destiny one day to superin- tend the sacking of Londonwas a frequent visitor at Gore House. I met him twice or thrice. He was generally reserved, but what- ever he did say was marked by strong good sense and originality. To his honor be it recorded he did not forget the hospitalities of the unfor- tunate Latly Blessington. When he became Emperor he gave DOrsay an appointment in connection with the Fine Arts, and paid much attention to his sister, the Duchess de Gram- mont. In 1856 I had occasion to visit Paris, and to seek an interview with the Emperor for the purpose of obtaining his patronage of an in- vention of a friend of mine, adapted to purposes of war. He was very cordial, and spoke with much feeling of the host and hostess of Gore house. THE NArIERs. Naturally seeking military society, I was not long in making the acquaintance of Sir Charles and Sir William Napierthe one illustrious by his Indian conquests and his administrative ca- pacity, the other distinguished by his rare pow- ers as a military historian. They were both live men, of strong passions and prejudices, fearless in the expression of their sentiments, and obstinate in their adherence to opinions once formed. William Napier, with a profusion of white locks, a white beard and long mustache, his deep-set gray eyes glaring through his spec- tacles over a large aquiline nose, was the very impersonation of fierceness. Charles, a smaller man, with a milder expression, was equally ar- dent and uncompromising. If he anathematized any oneand the East India Company were fa- vorite objects of his wrathhe spoke with scorch- ing vehemence. But when these brave men and good soldiers were not excited by their personal animosities their conversation was a real treat. Both were accomplished scholars and men of world-wide experience. The new Mini~ rifle interested both brothers, yet, accustomed as they had been to see great victories obtained by Brown Bess, they could hardly reconcile themselves to the introduction of a new-fangled weapon. Charles, to the last, upheld the bayonet, which, he feared, would be brought into disuse by the long shots. There was a little vanity in all this. The effectiveness of the modern rifle made the operations of the old smooth bores look very small. In this resistance to change Sir C. Na- pier resembled the Duke of Wellington, who was ~slow to believe in improvements. With him the knapsack question was exhausted; leave well alone ; it is folly to Waste money in ex- periments. Such were the replies invariably given to suggested changes. It was not until 1849 that the Duke considered it necessary that an officer should be educated, and then he only came to the conclusion upon receiving a letter from a young lieutenant in which physic was spelled with an f, and other orthographical eccentricities were apparent. ThOMAS HOOD. Among the literati upon whom I occasionally stumbled there was, as I have said, Tom Hood. Poor Tom! What between his physical suffer- ings and his pecuniary troubles it is wonderful that he had so many whims and oddities at command. To the last he was humorous. His very miseries were themes for his own diversion. He seemed to derive comfort from the jokes to which his anguish gave rise. Even the personal annoyances from creditors which he experienced were suggestive of boa snots. One of his last effusions was leveled at Colburn, the publisher, whom he never could forgive. Colburn and Bentley were very fond of having celebrated au- thors as editors of their Magazines, evidently hoping that the notorious incapacity of such men for the delicate and harassing duties de- volving on editors, who had to sit in judgment upon all sorts of productions, would be more than compensated by the extra demand which their fame would create for the periodicals. This was proved to be a mistake in the case of Camp- bell, Moore, Dickens, Bulwer, Hook, and Ains- worth; it was equally a blunder in the case of Tom Hood. But Hoods oe~upation of the ed- itorial chair in Great Marlborough Street, where Colburn published his New Monthi11 Magazine, was not only a source of trouble in respect to his editorial incapacity, it led to the office being diurnally besieged by bill discounters and trades- men to whom Hood was in debt. At length Tom was discharged, and obliged to seek a re- treat at the H6tel Anglais, Boulogne sur mer. To all the hungry creditors who called at Col- bums the answer was, Mr. Hood has left En- gland ; and at length, in a fit of spleen, Col- burn (who was a little old man affecting juve- nility) answered some applicants that he did not know any body of the name of Hood. This galled poor Tom, who forthwith wrote the fol- lowing, and sent it over to some friends in En- gland. Hurst, who succeeded to the business of Colburn, entreated that it might not be pub- lished, and I believe to this hour it has not ob- tained publicity: RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFE. 79 For a season or two, in the columns of Puff, I was reckoned a passable writer enough; But alas for the favors of Fame! My decline in repute is 80 very complete, Since I quitted my seat In Great Marlborough Street, That a Colburn dont know of my name. Now a Colburn I knew, of dimensions so susalt, lie seemed the next neigl4sor of nothing at all, Yet in spirit a Dwarf may he bi~ lint his mind was so uncrow, his person so aiim, No wonder that all I mememniser of him Is a little boys suit and a wig! ChARLES DICKENS. Of Charles Dickens, whose family I had known in his boylsood, I saw but little except- ing when ile was in public. His incessant lit- entry occtsl)ations, his amateur tlleatricals, his ol)crations as chief agent for the exectllion of Miss Burdett Cottttss charitable actions, his visits abroad, and the necessity he was under of being munch at the service of strange visitors, English and foreign (impelled by curiosity), gave him btft little time for t~ee-a-ec~ees with old friends. We were all surprised at time announce- ment which he published in Iiousdmold JVorels regardising Ilis domestic demenaqe, but the ulti- mate sel)aratioa from Mrs. Dickens ocaisioned no astonishment. Never wem two people less suited to each otiler. He, ardent, sanguine, energetic, full of imagination and animated by powerful human sympathies: she, supine, frivo- lous, commonplace, passing her time between the nursery and the drawing-roola. In ilis youth Charles Dickens had conceived a fond- ness for the picturesque scenery in the vicinity of Rochester, and vowed that if ever he became rich enough he would build a house at Gadsllill and live there. Mrs. Dickens declared she would never leave London. Thereupon the parties joined issue. He did in time btmild tile house, and as his wife would not accompany him thither he took his daughters and a suita- ble companion for them; and out of this event arose all the scandal with which England busied herself for some time. After Dickens had re- tired to the country he wrote Great Expecta- tions ; which is, in most respects, a great im- provement upon the works Ivllich immediately preceded it. We know that Canary birds sing the sweeter when they are in separate cages. May not the isolation of the author have been the cause of the revival of that rich humor wisich imIsarted immortality to Pickwick ? Niell has already described Charles Dick- enss Readimings in these pages. It is need- less for me, therefore, to attempt a sketch of him vhile reading the Chimes. Suffice to say that his passion for the stage, which in his youth he had adopted as a professionthus be- coming the original of his own Nicholas Nickle- hyfinds ample gratification in the delineation of his o~vn creations. Pathos is his forte, but he is not deficient in vis comico. Apropos of Nicholas Nickleby, how many of time dreometis persosur might be traced to liv- iming individuals ~iho had fallen in Dickenss ~vay! The Crummnles family caine to this country on a theatrical speculation some fifteen years since, atmd tile quondam iminfamint phenomenon is now the honored widow of a deceased General officer, who recemintly died from time effect of Isis noble exertions imi tlme Union cause. Once, in the course of a jourmsey into Cheshire, I came upon time wilole of tIme Peerybingle family, including Tilly Slowboy (amind time Cricket!); and Dickens has often said tlsat he never invented chmsracters but found them ready-made, only requiring a little height of color to make them presentable. The Cheeryble brotlsers, old Weller, Carker, Skimpole, old Dorritt, Barkis, Micawber are all types of a very large class. Dickens never moved in good society until line becanac eminent, antI lumen line was oily lionized. Ileuce his in- ability to deliaeate true gentlemen and real gen- tlewomems. LORD rALMEIIsToN. Among tile many celebrities with whom acci- dent brought me iminto contact I was perhaps more impressed by Lord Paimnerston than any othiner. No man with the weight of a nation upon his simommiders appeared more completely at his easemore profmmse of bonhomie. I was introduced to hminl by a nobleman who had famihy sympatfinies with me; Lord Frederick Fitzclarence, himself time son of Mrs. Jordan, time celebrated comic actress, and mistress of William IV., ~vhinen Duke of Clarence. Lord Palmerston received me very cordially, called me familiarly by my name without time prefix Mr.even may dear fellowed me in time course of conversation, and exposed his patron- age system very unreservedly. I went to ask a favor of Lord Palmerston on behalf of an old soldier, who in earlier life had rendered service to the Duke of Clarence. Lord Palmerston was then Home Secretary, and in his hands lay time appointment of the Military Knights of Windsor. These Kniglmts are composed of veteran officers of tIme army and navy who have seen service and are in a state of poverty. They are allowed a suite of apartments in Windsor Castle, coals, candies, and t~vo shillings per diemthmey are expected to appear occasionally in uniform, and to occupy their apartments for three montims in each year. I mentioned the service which entitled the old officer to time favor I sought. My dear fellow, said the Home Secretary, no doubt your friend is a very worthy man and all that, and if William IV. had lived he would probably have rewarded bins. But you kno~v very well we only give a~vay appointmeinsts to those wIno serve our party. Now I am asked for this very appoimmtment by men who have greatly assisted us in Parliamemint ulen wlso are still living, and whom it is of importance to oblige; so you see, my dear friend, tlse thing cant be dommeand now lets talk of something else. Frank, at any rate, thought I. TIlE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE. To Lord Frederick Fitzclarence I owed an hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. introduction to the I)ukc of Cambridge, the Queens cousin, and now Commander-in-chief of the British army. The Duke is one of the kindest and high-spirited of men. Brought up in a regiment of dragoons, and forming at a very early period of his life a liaisOiZ with a sec- ond-rate danseuse, it was expected that his com- mand would have been distinguished by favor- itism and corruption. The whole tenor of his occupation of the office has falsified titat expec- tation. From the very commencement of his duties he sought the assistance of all the oldest and ablest Generals in tlte service, deferring to their opinions and benefiting by their experi- ence. TIe was accessible to all applicants, and manifested an Itonest anxiety to render justice to well-founded claims. Under him tlte army has been advanced in all the essentials of effi- ciency. lie has encouraged good marksmen, enforced tlte importance of continual marchings out and encampments, and put an end to the extravagance and folly which, through the perni- cious example of rich young officers, were ru- ining the messes. At his instance the standard of military education has been materially raised, and no one, however high his birth ot. great the political claims of his family, can obtain a com- mission in the British army out of his turn, or until he has passed a severe exatnination by able Professors, in the presence of the Council of Military Education, composed of able scientific officers. And here let me remark, to the honor of America, that when an inquiry was instituted by the British Secretary at War, five years since, into the state of military education throughout the civilized worldin view to the introduction of its best features into the English College at Sandhurstit was found that the West Point system was more complete and effective titan any other extant! I well remember hearing Colonel Lefroy, of the Artillery, observe, Is it not singttlar that the Americans, who have the smallest army in the world, and little need of that, possess the best college and turn out the finest soldiers ? Little did he, or any one else, foresee how iscavy a demand would soon be made upon the talent issuing from the West PointAcademy by both Southerners and North- erners, or how con~pletely the efforts of the Gov- ernment so create good officers would be turned against itself! Tite connection of the Duke of Cambridge with the dansense, Miss Fairbrotber, who is now known as Mrs. Fitzgeorge, has never been a source of corruption or intrigue, such as dis- graced the career of the Duke of York. Site is a woman of great discretion, and values the honor of his Royal Highness too highly to peril it by any interference. Of her five children tuo of the sons are in the army, and her daughter is married to a captain. The liaison is never- theless a subject of great annoyance to Queen Victoria, in view of its possible influence upon the Prince of Wales. QUEEN VICTORIA. And now that I have got into the precincts of the Court I must arrest the course of my pen, for to unfold the diurnal operations of the ad- mirable lady who wields the British sceptre, and show how fully the whole time of a consti- tutional sovereign is occupied, would require more space than I have a right to expect should be placed at my disposal. On another, and pos- sibly no very remote occasion, I may he permit- tqd to describe The Queen and a Queens day, which will comprehend a full description of Court usages and a just tribute to rare ~vorth in high places. ORLEY FARM. BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. MILLAIS. CHAPTER LXXVII. JOItN KENNEBY 5 DOOM. ON the evening but one after the trial was over Mr. Moulder entertained a few friends to supper at his apartments in Great St. lichens, and it was generally understood that in doing so he intended to celebrate the trinmph of Lady Mason. Through the whole affair line had been a strong partisan on her side, had exl)ressed a very loud opinion in favor of Mr. Fmtrnival, and had hoped that that scoundrel Dock~vrathm ~votmld When such a low scoundrel as Dockwrath is pitted against a handsome woman hike Lady Mason hell not find a jury in England to give a verdict in huis favor. Then he asked Snengkeld to come to hmis little supper; and Kant~vise also hue invited, tluotmgh Kautwise had sho~vn Dock ~vrathm temmdencies throughuout thue whole affair but Moulder ~vas fond of Kautwise as a butt for Itis own sarcasm. Mrs. Smiley, too, was asked, as was natural, seeing that sIte ~vas time betrotlue& bride of one of the heroes of time day; and Momdd- er, in time kindness of his Imeart, swore thmat hue get all that he deserved from the hands of Mr. never was protmd, and told Bridget Bolster thuat Chaffaubrass. When the hotur of Mr. Dock- slme wotmid be welcome to take a share of what wraths punishment had come hue had been hiamd- was going. hy contented, but tlte inadequacy of Kennebys Laws, M., said Mrs. Motmlder, when she testimony had restored him to good-humor, and was told of this. A elmamber-maid from an the verdict had made him triumnphtant. inn! What will Mrs. Smiley say? Didnt I know it, old fellov ? he had said, I aint going to trotuble unysehf within what slapping his friend Snengkeld on tIne back. Motluer Smiley m~uy say or think about my so

Anthony Trollope Trollope, Anthony Orley Farm 80-97

hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. introduction to the I)ukc of Cambridge, the Queens cousin, and now Commander-in-chief of the British army. The Duke is one of the kindest and high-spirited of men. Brought up in a regiment of dragoons, and forming at a very early period of his life a liaisOiZ with a sec- ond-rate danseuse, it was expected that his com- mand would have been distinguished by favor- itism and corruption. The whole tenor of his occupation of the office has falsified titat expec- tation. From the very commencement of his duties he sought the assistance of all the oldest and ablest Generals in tlte service, deferring to their opinions and benefiting by their experi- ence. TIe was accessible to all applicants, and manifested an Itonest anxiety to render justice to well-founded claims. Under him tlte army has been advanced in all the essentials of effi- ciency. lie has encouraged good marksmen, enforced tlte importance of continual marchings out and encampments, and put an end to the extravagance and folly which, through the perni- cious example of rich young officers, were ru- ining the messes. At his instance the standard of military education has been materially raised, and no one, however high his birth ot. great the political claims of his family, can obtain a com- mission in the British army out of his turn, or until he has passed a severe exatnination by able Professors, in the presence of the Council of Military Education, composed of able scientific officers. And here let me remark, to the honor of America, that when an inquiry was instituted by the British Secretary at War, five years since, into the state of military education throughout the civilized worldin view to the introduction of its best features into the English College at Sandhurstit was found that the West Point system was more complete and effective titan any other extant! I well remember hearing Colonel Lefroy, of the Artillery, observe, Is it not singttlar that the Americans, who have the smallest army in the world, and little need of that, possess the best college and turn out the finest soldiers ? Little did he, or any one else, foresee how iscavy a demand would soon be made upon the talent issuing from the West PointAcademy by both Southerners and North- erners, or how con~pletely the efforts of the Gov- ernment so create good officers would be turned against itself! Tite connection of the Duke of Cambridge with the dansense, Miss Fairbrotber, who is now known as Mrs. Fitzgeorge, has never been a source of corruption or intrigue, such as dis- graced the career of the Duke of York. Site is a woman of great discretion, and values the honor of his Royal Highness too highly to peril it by any interference. Of her five children tuo of the sons are in the army, and her daughter is married to a captain. The liaison is never- theless a subject of great annoyance to Queen Victoria, in view of its possible influence upon the Prince of Wales. QUEEN VICTORIA. And now that I have got into the precincts of the Court I must arrest the course of my pen, for to unfold the diurnal operations of the ad- mirable lady who wields the British sceptre, and show how fully the whole time of a consti- tutional sovereign is occupied, would require more space than I have a right to expect should be placed at my disposal. On another, and pos- sibly no very remote occasion, I may he permit- tqd to describe The Queen and a Queens day, which will comprehend a full description of Court usages and a just tribute to rare ~vorth in high places. ORLEY FARM. BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. MILLAIS. CHAPTER LXXVII. JOItN KENNEBY 5 DOOM. ON the evening but one after the trial was over Mr. Moulder entertained a few friends to supper at his apartments in Great St. lichens, and it was generally understood that in doing so he intended to celebrate the trinmph of Lady Mason. Through the whole affair line had been a strong partisan on her side, had exl)ressed a very loud opinion in favor of Mr. Fmtrnival, and had hoped that that scoundrel Dock~vrathm ~votmld When such a low scoundrel as Dockwrath is pitted against a handsome woman hike Lady Mason hell not find a jury in England to give a verdict in huis favor. Then he asked Snengkeld to come to hmis little supper; and Kant~vise also hue invited, tluotmgh Kautwise had sho~vn Dock ~vrathm temmdencies throughuout thue whole affair but Moulder ~vas fond of Kautwise as a butt for Itis own sarcasm. Mrs. Smiley, too, was asked, as was natural, seeing that sIte ~vas time betrotlue& bride of one of the heroes of time day; and Momdd- er, in time kindness of his Imeart, swore thmat hue get all that he deserved from the hands of Mr. never was protmd, and told Bridget Bolster thuat Chaffaubrass. When the hotur of Mr. Dock- slme wotmid be welcome to take a share of what wraths punishment had come hue had been hiamd- was going. hy contented, but tlte inadequacy of Kennebys Laws, M., said Mrs. Motmlder, when she testimony had restored him to good-humor, and was told of this. A elmamber-maid from an the verdict had made him triumnphtant. inn! What will Mrs. Smiley say? Didnt I know it, old fellov ? he had said, I aint going to trotuble unysehf within what slapping his friend Snengkeld on tIne back. Motluer Smiley m~uy say or think about my so ORLEY FARM. 81 friends. If she dont like it, she may do the other thing. What was she herself when you first knew her ? Yes, Moulder; but then money do make a difference, you know. Bridget Bolster, however, was invited, and she came in spite of the grandeur of Mrs. Smiley. Keuneby also, of course, was there, bnt he was not in a happy frame of mind. Since that wretched hour in which he had heard himself described by the judge as too stupid to he held of any account by the jury he had become a mel- ancholy, misanthropic man. The treatment which he received from Mr. Furnival had been very grievous to him, but he had borne with that, hoping that some word of eulogy from the judge would set him right in the public mind. But no such word had come, and poor John Kenneby felt that the cruel, hard world was too much for him. He had been with his sister that morning, and words had dropped from him which made her fear that he would wish to post- pone his marriage for another space of ten years or so. Brick-fields ! he had said. What can such a one as I have to do with landed property? I am better as I am. Mrs. Smiley, however, did not at all seem to think so, and welcomed John Kenneby back from Alston very warmly in spite of the disgrace to which he had been subjected. It was nothing to her that the judge had called her future lord a fool; nor indeed was it any thing to any one but himself. According to Moulders views it was a matter of course that a witness should be abused. For what other purpose was he had into the court? But deep in the mind of poor Kenneby himself the injurious words lay fester- ing. He had struggled hard to tell the truth, and in doing so had simply proved himself to be an ass. I aint fit to live with any body else but myselg he said to himself as he walked down Bishopsgate Street. At this time Mrs. Smiley was not yet there. Bridget had arrived, and had been seated in a chair at one corner of the fire. Mrs. Moulder occupied one end of a sofa opposite, leaving the place of honor at the other end for Mrs. Smiley. Moulder sat immediately in front of the fire in his own easy-chair, and Snengkeld and Kant- wise were on each side of him. They were of course discussing the trial when Mrs. Smilev was announced; and it was well that she made a diversion by her arrival, for words were begin- ning to run high. A jury of her countrymen has found her in- nocent, Moulder had said, with much heat~ and any one who, says shes guilty after that is a libeler and a coward, to my way of think- ing. If a jury of her countrymen dont make a woman innocent, what does ? Of course shes innocent, said Snengkeld, from the very moment the words was spokea by the foreman. If any newspaper was to say she wasnt shed have her action. Thats all very well, said Kantwise, look- ing up to the ceiling with his eyes nearly shut. But youll see. Whatll you bet me, Mr. Moulder, that Joseph Mason dont get the prop- erty ? Gammon ! answered Moulder. Well, it may be gammon; but youll see. Gentlemen, gentlemen ! said Mrs. Smiley, sailing into the room; upon my word one hears all you say ever so far down the street. And I didnt.care if they heard it right away to the Mansion House, said Moulder. We aint talking treason, nor yet highway robbery. Then Mrs. Smiley was welcomed ;her bon- net was taken from her and her umbrella, and she was encouraged to spread herself out over the sofa. Oh, Mrs. Bolsterthe witness ! she said, when Mrs. Moulder went through some little ceremony of introduction. And from the tone of her voice it appeared that she was not quite satisfied that Mrs. Bolster should be there as a companion for herself. Yes, maain. I was the witness as had once, Bridget, never swned but said getting up and courtesying. Then she sat down again, folding her hands one over the other on her lap. Oh, indeed ! said Mrs. Smilev. But wheres the other witness, Mrs. Moulder? lies the one who is a deal more interesting to me. Ha, ha, ha! But as you all know it here, whats the good of not telling the truth? Ha, ha, ha! Johns here, said Mrs. Moulder. Come, John, why dont you show yourself? Hes just alive, and thats about all you can say for him, said Moulder. Why, whats there been to kill him ? said. Mrs. Smiley. Well, John, I must say youre rather backward in coming forward, considering what theres been between us. You might have come and taken my shawl, Im thinking. Yes, I might, said Kenneby, gloomily. I hope I see you pretty ~vell, Mrs. Smiley. Pretty bobbish, thank you. Only I think it might have been Maria between friends like us. Hes sadly put about by this trial, whis- pered Mrs. Moulder. You know he is so tender-hearted that he cant bear to be put upon like another. But von didnt want her to be found guilty; did you, John ? That Im sure he didnt, said Moulder. Why it was the way he gave his evidence that brought her off. It wasnt my wish to bring her off, said Kenneby; nor was it my wish to make her guilty. All I wanted ~vas to tell the truth and do my duty. But it was no use. I believe it never is any use. I think you did very well, said Moulder. Im sure Lady Mason ought to be very much obliged to you, said Kautwise. Nobody neednt care for whats said to them in a court, said Snengkeld. I remember when once they wanted to make out that Id taken a parcel of teas Stolen, you mean, Sir, soggestod Mrs. Smiley. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Yes; stolen. But it was only done by the opposite side in court, and I didnt think a hap- porth of it. They knew where the teas was well enough. Speaking for myself, said Kenneby, I must say I dont like it. But the paper as we signed, said Bridget, wasnt the old gentlemans willno more thafs this is. and she lifted up her apron. Im rightly sure of that. Then again the battle raged hot and furious, and Moulder became angry with his guest, Bridget Bolster. Kautwise finding himself sup- ported in his views by the principal witness at the trial took heart against the tyranny of Mould- er and expressed his opinion, while Mrs. Smi- ley, with a womans customary dislike to another woman, sneered ill-naturedly at the idea of Lady Masons innocence. Poor Kenueby had been forced to take the middle seat on the sofa be- tween his bride and sister; but it did not appear that the honor of his position had any effect in lessening his gloom or mitigating the severity of the judgment which had been passed on him. Wasnt the old gentlemans will ! said Moulder, turning on poor Bridget in his anger with a growl. But I say it was the old gen- tlemans will. You never dared say as much as that in court. I wasnt asked, said Bridget. You werent asked! Yes, you was asked often enough. Ill tell you what it is, said Kautwise, Mrs. Bolsters right in what she says as sure as your names Moulder. Then as sure as my names Moulder shes wrong. I suppose were to think that a chap like you knows more about it than the jury! We all know who your friend is in the matter. I havent forgot our dinner at Leeds, nor shant in a hurry. Now, John, said Mrs. Smiley, nobody can know the truth of this so well as you do. Youve been as close as wax, as was all right till the lady was out of her troubles. Thats done and over, and let us hear among friends how the matter really was. And then there was silence among them in order that his words might come forth freely. Come, my dear, said Mrs. Smiley with a tone of encouraging love. There cant be any harm now; can there ? Out with it, John, said Moulder. Youre honest, any ways. There aint no gammon about you, said Snengkeld. Mr. Kenneby can speak if he likes, no doubt, said Kautwise; though maybe it maynt be very pleasant to him to do so after all thats come and gone. Theres nothing thats come and gone that need make our John hold his tongue, said Mrs. Moulder. He maynt be just as bright as some of those lawyers, but hes a deal more true- hearted. But he cant say as how it was the old gen tlemans will as we signed. Im well assured of that, said Bridget. But Kenneby, though thus called upon by the united strength of the company to solve all their doubts, still remained silent. Come, lovey, said Mrs. Smiley, putting forth her hand and giving his arm a tender squeeze. t If youve any thing to say to clear that wo- mans character, said Moulder, you owe it to society to say it; because she is a woman, and because her enemies is villains. And then again there was silence while they waited for him. I think it will go with him to his grave, said Mrs. Smiley, very solemnly. I shouldnt wonder, said Snengkeld. Then he must give up all idea of taking a wife, said Moulder. He wont do that, Im sure, said Mrs. Smi- ley. That he wont. Will you, John ? said his sister. Theres no knowing what may happen to me in this world, said Kenneby, but some- times I almost think I aint fit to live in it along with any body else. Youll make him fit, wont you, my dear ? said Mrs. Moulder. I dont exactly know what to say about it, said Mrs. Smiley. If Mr. Kenneby aint will- ing, Im not the woman to bind him to his word, because Ive had his promise over and over again, and could prove it by a number of witnesses be- fore any jury in the land. Im a independent woman as neednt be beholden to any man, and I should never think of damages. Smiley left me comfortable before all the world, and I dont know but what Im a fool to think of changing. Any ways if Mr. Kenneby Come, John. Why dont you speak to her? said Mrs. Moulder. And what am I to say ? said Kenneby, thrusting himself forth from between the ample folds of the two ladies dresses. Im a blight- ed man; one on whom the finger of scorn has been pointed. His lordship said that I was stupid; and perhaps I am. She dont think nothing of that. John. Certainly not, said Mrs. Smiley. As long as a man can pay twenty shillings in the pound and a trifle over, what does it mat- ter if all the judges in the land was to call him stupid? said Snengkeld. Stupid is as stupid does, said Kantwise. Stupid be d, said Moulder. Mr. Moulder, theres ladies present, said Mrs. Smiley. Come, John, rouse yourself a bit, said his sister. Nobody here thinks the worse of you for what the judge said. Certainly not, said Mrs. Smiley. And as it becomes me to speak, Ill say my mind. Im accustomed to speak freely before friends, and as we are all friends here, why should I be ashamed ? For the matter of that no body says you are, said Moulder. 83 ORLEY FARM. And I dont mean, Mr. Moulder. Why should I? I can pay my way, and do what I like with my own, and has people to mind me when I speak, and neednt mind nobody else myselfand thats more than every body can say. Heres John Kenneby and I is engaged as man and wife. He wont say as its not so, Ill be bound. No, said Kenneby, Im engaged I know. When I accepted John Kennebys hand and heartand well I remember the beauteous lan- guage in which he expressed his feelings, and always shallI told him that I respected him as a man that would do his duty by a woman, though perhaps he mightnt be so cute in the way of having much to say for himself as some others. Whats the good, said I, of a mans talking, if so be hes ashamed to meet the baker at the end of the week? So I listened to the vows he made me, and have considered that he and I was as good as one. Now that hes been put upon by them lawyers, Im not the woman to turn my back upen him. That youre not, said Moulder. No I aint, Mr. Moulder; and so, John, theres my hand again, and youre free to take it if you like. And so saying she put forth her hand almost into his lap. Take it, John! said Mrs. Moulder. But poor Kenneby himself did not seem to be very quick in availing himself of the happiness offer- ed to him. He did raise his right arm slightly; but then he hesitated, and allowed it to fall again between him and his sister. Come, John, you know you mean it, said Mrs. Moulder. And then with both her hands she lifted his, and placed it bodily within the grasp of Mrs. Smileys, which was still held forth to receive it. I know Im engaged, said Kenneby. Theres no mistake about it, said Moulder. There neednt be none, said Mrs. Smiley, softly blushing; and I will say this of myself as I have been tempted to give a promise, Im not the woman to go back from my word. Theres my hand, John; and I dont care though all the world hears me say so. And then they sat hand in hand for some seconds, during which poor Kenneby was unable to escape from the grasp of his bride elect. One may say that all chance of final escape for him was now gone by. But he cant say as how it was the old gen- tlemens ~vill as we signed, said Bridget, break- ing the silence which ensued. And now, ladies and gentlemen, said Kant- wise, as Mrs. Bolster has come back to that matter, Ill tell you something that will surprise you. My friend Mr. Moulder here, who is as hospitable a gentleman as I know any where, wouldnt just let me speak before. Thats gammon, Kautwise. I never hin- dered you from speaking. How I do hate that word! If you knew my aversion, Mr. Moulder I cant pick my words for you, old fellow I But what were you going to tell us, Mr. Kantwise ? said Mrs. Smiley. Something that will make all your hairs stand on end, I think. And then he paused and looked round upon them all. It was at this moment that Kenneby succeeded in getting his hand once more to himself. Something that will surprise you all, or Im very much mis- taken. Lady Mason-has confessed her guilt. He had surprised them all. You dont say so ! exclaimed Mrs. Moulder. Confes~ed her guilt ! said Mrs. Smiley. But what guilt, Mr. Kautwise? She forged the will, said Kantwise. I knew that all along, said Bridget Bolster. Im dd if I believe it, said Moulder. You can do as you like about that, said Kautwise; but she has. And Ill tell you whats more: she and young Mason have al- ready left Orley Farm and given it all up into Joseph Masons hands. But didnt she get a verdict ? asked Snengkeld. Yes, she got a verdict. Theres no doubt on earth about that. Then its my opinion she cant make her- self guilty if she wished it; and as for the prop- erty, she cant give it up. The jury has found a verdict and nobody can go beyond that. If any body tries shell have her action against em., That was the law as laid down by Snengkeld. I dont believe a word of it, said Moulder. Dockwrath has told him. Ill bet a hat that Kantwise got it from Dockwrath. It turned out that Kautwise had received his information from Dockwrath; but nevertheless, there was that in his manner, and in the nature of the story as it was told to them, that did pro- duce belief. Moulder for a long time held out, hut it became clear at last that even he was shaken; and now, even Kenneby acknowledged his conviction that the signature to the will was not his own. I knowd very well that I never did it twice, said Bridget Bolster, triumphantly, as she sat down to the supper table. I am inclined to think that, upon the whole, the company in Great St. Helens became more happy as the conviction grew upon them that a great and mysterious crime had been committed, which had baffled two courts of law, and had at last thrust itself forth into the open daylight through the workings of the criminals con-. science. When Kautwise had completed his story, the time had come in which it behooved Mrs. Moulder to descend to the lower regions, and give some aid in preparation of the supper. During her absence the matter was discussed in every way, and on her return, when she was laden with good things, she found that all the party was contented except Moulder and her brother. Its a very terrible thing, said Mrs. Smiley, later in the evening, as she sat with her steam- ing glass of rum and water before her. Very 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. terrible indeed; aint it, John? I do wish now Id gone down and seed her, I do indeed. Dont you, Mrs. Moulder ? If all this is true I should like just to have had a peep at her. At any rate we shall have pictures of her in all the papers, said Mrs. Smiley. CHAPTER LXXVIII. TUE LAST OF THE LAWYERS. I SHOULD have done my duty by you, Mr. Mason, which those men have not, and you would at this moment have been the owner of ()rley Farm. It will easily be known that these words were spoken by Mr. Dockwrath, and that they were addressed to Joseph Mason. The two men were seated together in Mr. Masons lodgings at Al- ston, late on the morning after the verdict had been given, and Mr. Dockwrath was speaking out his mind with sufficient freedom. On the previous evening he had been content to put up with the misery of the unsuccessful man, and had not added any reproaches of his own. He also had been cowed by the verdict, and the two had been wretched and crest-fallen together. But the attorney since that had slept upon the matter, and had bethought himself that he at any rate would make out his little bill. He could show that Mr. Mason had ruined their joint affairs by his adherence to those London attorneys. Had Mr. Mason listened to the ad- vice of his new adviser all would have been well. So at least Dockwrath was prepared to declare, finding that by so doing he would best pave the wa~v for his own important claim. But Mr. Mason was not a man to be bullied with tame endurance. The firm bears the highest name in the profession, Sir, he said; and I had just grounds for trusting them. And what has come of your just grounds, Mr. Mason? Where are you? Thats the question. I say that Round and Crook have thrown you over. They have been hand and glove with old Furnival through the whole trans- action; and Ill tell you whats more, Mr. Ma- son. I told you how it would be from the be- ginning. Ill move for a new trial. A new trial; and this a criminal prosecu. tion! Shes free of you now forever, and Orley Farm will belong to that son of hers till he chooses to sell it. Its a pity; thats all. I did my duty by you in a professional way, Mr. Mason; and you wont put the loss on my shoulders. Ive been robbeddamnably robbed, thats all that I know. Theres no mistake on earth about that, Mr.Mason; you have been robbed; and the worst of it is, the costs will be so heavy! Youll be going down to Yorkshire soon, I suppose, Sir. I dont know where I shall go ? said the squire of Groby, not content to be cross-ques- tioned by the attorney from Ilamworth. Because its as well, I suppose, that we should settle something about the costs before you leave. I dont want to press for my money exactly now, but I shall be glad to know when Im ~to get it. If you have any claim on me, Mr. Dock- wrath, you can send it to Mr. Round. If I have any claim! What do you mean by that, Sir? And I shall send nothing in to Mr. Round. I have had quite enough of Mr. Round already. I told you from the beginning, Mr. Mason, that I would have nothing to do with this affair as connected with Mr. Round. I have devoted myself entirely to this mattem since you were pleased to engage my services at Groby Park. It is not by my fault that you have failed. I think, Mr. Mason, you will do me the justice to acknowledge that. And then Dockwrath was silent for a moment, as though waiting for an answer. I have nothing to say upon the subject, Mr. Dockwrath, said Mason. But, by Heaven, something must be said. That wont do at all, Mr. Mason. I presume you do not think that I have been working like a slave for the last four months for nothing. Mr. Mason was in truth an honest man, and did not wish that any one should work on his account for nothing; much less did he wish that such a one as iDockwrath should do so. But then, on the other side, in his present frame of mind he was by no means willing to yield any thing to any one. I neither deny nor allow your claim, Mr. Dockwrath, said he. But I shall pay nothing except through my regular lawyers. You can send your account to me if you please, but I shall send it on to Mr. Round without looking at it. Oh, thats to be the way, is it? Thats your gratitude! Very well, Mr. Mason; I shall aow know what to do. And I think youll find Here Mr. Dockwrath was interrupted by the lodging-house servant, who brought in a note for Mr. Mason. It was from Mr. Furnival, and the girl who delivered it said that the gentle.. man s messenger was waiting for an answer. Siusaid the note A communication has been made to me this morning on the part of your hrother, Mr. Lucius Macon, which may make it desirable that I should have an interview with you. If not inconvenient to you, I would ask you to meet me to-morrow morning at eleven oclock at the chamhers of your own lawyer, Mr. Round, in Bedford Row. I have already seen Mr. Round, and find that he can meet us. I am, Sir, your very obedient servant, THOMAS Fuasivia. 3. Misow, Esq., J.P. (of Groby Park). Mr. Furnival when he wrote this note had already been over to Orley Farm, and had seen Lucius Mason. He had been at the farm al- most before daylight, and had come away with the assured conviction that the property must be abandoned by his client. ORLEY FARM. 85 We need not talk about it, Mr. Furnival, Lucius had said. It must be so. You have discussed the matter with your mother ? No discussion is necessary, but she is quite aware of my intention. She is prepared to leave the place forever. But the income Belongs to my brother Joseph. Mr. Furni- val, I think you may understand that the mat- ter is one in which it is necessary that I should act, but as to which I trust I may not have to say many words. If you can not arrange this for me, I must go to Mr. Round. Of course Mr. Furnival did understand it all. His client had been acquitted, and he had tri- umphed; but he had known for many a long day that the estate did belong of right to Mr. Mason of Groby; and though he had not sus- pected that Lucius would have been so tobi, he could not be surprised at the result of such tell- ing. It was clear to him that Lady Mason had confessed, and that restitution would therefore b~ made. I will do your bidding, said he. And, Mr. Farnival, if it be possible, spare my mother. Then the meeting was over, and Mr. Furnival, returning to Hamworth, wrote his note to Mr. Joseph Mason. Mr. Dockwrath had been interrupted by the messenger in the middle of his threat, but he caught the name of Furnival as the note was delivered. Then he watched Mr. Mason as he read it and read it again. If you please, Sir, I was to wait for an an- swer, said the girl. Mr. Mason did not know what answer it would behoove him to give. He felt that he was among Philistines while dealing with all these lawyers, and yet he was at a loss in what way to reply to one without leaning upon an- other. Look at that, he said, sulkily hand- ing the note to Dc~ckwrath. You must see Mr. Furnival, by all means, said Dockwrath. But But what? In your place I should not see him in the presence of Mr. Round, unless I was attended by an adviser on whom I could rely. Mr. Mason, having given a few moments considera- tion to the matter, sat himself down and wrote a line to Mr. Furnival, saying that he would be iu Bedford Row at the appointed time. I think you are quite right, said Dock- wrath. But I shall go alone, said Mr. Mason. Oh, very well; you will of course judge for yourself. I can not say what may be the na- ture of the communication to be made; but if it be any thing touching the property, you will no doubt jeopardize your own interests by your im- prudence. Good-morning, Mr. Dockwrath, said Mr. Mason. Oh, very well. Good-morning, Sir. You shall hear from me very shortly, Mr. Mason; and I must say that, considering every thing, I do not know that I ever came across a gentle- man who behaved himself worse in a peculiar position than you have done in yours. And so they parted. Punctually at eleven oclock on the following day Mr. Mason was in Bedford Row. Mr. Furnival is with Mr. Round, said the clerk, and will see you in two minutes. Then he was shown into the dingy office waiting-room, where he sat with his hat in his hand, for rather more than two minutes. At that moment Mr. Round was describing to Mr. Furnival the manner in which he had been visited some weeks since by Sir Peregrine Orme. Of course, Mr. 1?urnival, I knew whh~h way the wind blew when I heard that. She must have told him every thing. No doubt, no doubt. At any rate he knew it all. And what did you say to him ? I promised to hold my tongue; and I kept my promise. Mat knows nothing about it to this day. The whole history thus became gradually clear to Mr. Furnivals mind, and he could understand in what manner that marriage had been avoided. Mr. Round also understood it, and the two law- yers confessed together, that though the woman had deserved the punishment which had come upon her, her character was one which might have graced a better destiny. And now, I suppose, my fortunate client may come in, said M~r. Round. Whereupon the fortunate client was released from, his captivity, and brought into the sitting-room of the senior partner. Mr. Mason, Mr. Furnival, said the attorn- ey, as soon as he had shaken hands with his client. You know each other very well by name, gentlemen. Mr. Mason was very stiff in his bearing and demeanor, but remarked that he had heard of Mr. Furnival before. All the world has heard of him said Mr. Round. He hasnt hid his light nAder a bush- el. Whereupon Mr. Mason bowed, not quite understanding what was said to him. Mr. Mason, began the barrister, I have a communication to make to you, very singular in its nature, and of great importance. It is one which I believe you will regard as being of considerable importance to yourself, and which is of still higher moment to mymy friend, Lady Mason. Lady Mason, Sir began the other; but Mr. Furnival stopped him. Allo~v me to interrupt you, Mr. Mason. I think it will be better that you should hear me before you commit yourself to any expression as to your relative. She is no relative of mine. But her son is. However, if you will allow me, I will go on. Having this communication to make, I thought it expedient for your own sake that it should be done in the presence of your own legal adviser and friend. 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Umpli ! grunted the disappointed liti- gant. I have already explained to Mr. Round that which I am about to explain to you, and he was good enough to express himself as satisfied with the step which I am taking. Quite so, Mr. Mason. Mr. Furnival is be- having, and I believe has behaved throughout, in a manner becoming the very high position which he holds in his profession. I suppose he has done his best on his side, said Mason. Undoubtedly I haveas I should have done on yours, had it so chanced that I had been hon- ored by holding a brief from your attorneys. But the communication which I am going to make now I make not as a lawyer but as a friend. Mr. Mason, my client Lady Mason, and her son Lu- cius Mason, are prepared to make over to you the full possession of the estate which they have held under the name of Orley Farm. The tidings, as so given, were far from con- veying to the sense of the hearer the full inform- ation which they bore. He heard the words, and at the moment conceived that Orley Farm w~s intended to come into his hands by some process to which it was thought desirable that he should be brought to agree. He was to be induced to buy it, or to be bought over from fur- ther opposition by some concession of an indefin- itely future title. But that the estate was to become his at once, without purchase, and by the mere free-will of his hated relatives, was an idea that he did not realize. Mr. Furnival, he said, what future steps I shall take I do not yet know. That I have been robbed of my property I am as firmly con- vinced now as ever. But I tell you fairly, and I tell Mr. Round so too, that I will have no dealings with that woman. Your fathers widow, Sir, said Mr. Fur- nival, is an unhappy lady, who is now doing her best to atone for the only fault of which I believe herb to have been guilty. If you were not unreasonable as well as angry, you would understand that the proposition which I am now making to you is one which should force you to forgive any injury which she may hitherto have done to you. Your half-brother Lucius Mason has instructed me to make over to you the pos- session of Orley Farm. These last words Mr. I~urnival uttered very slowly, fixing his keen gray eyes full upon the face of Joseph Mason as he did so, and then turning round to the attorn- ey he said, I presume your client will under- stand me now. The estate is yours, Mr. Mason, said Round. You have nothing to do but to take possession of it. What do you mean ? said Mason, turning round upon Furnival. Exactly what I say. Your half-brother Lucius surrenders to you the estate. Without payment ? Yes; without payment. On his doing so you will of course absolve him from all liability on account of the proceeds of the property while in his hands. That will be a matter of course, said Mr. Round. Then she has robbed me, said Mason, jumping up to his feet. By the will was forged after all Mr. Mason, said Mr. Round, if you have a spark of generosity in you, you will accept the offer made to you without asking any question. By no such questioning can you do yourself any goodnor can you do that poor lady any harm. I knew it was so, he said loudly, and as he spoke he twice walked the length of the room. I knew it was so; twenty years ago I said the same. She forged the will. I ask you, as my lawyer, Mr. Rounddid she not forge the will herself? I shall answerno such question, Mr. Mason. Then by Heavens Ill expose you. If I spend the whole value of the estate in doing it Ill ex- pose you, and have her punished yet. The slip- pery villain! For twenty years she has robbed me. Mr. Mason, you are forgetting yourself in your passion,said Mr. Furnival. What you have to look for now is the recovery of the prop- erty. But here Mr. Furnival showed that he had not made himself master of Joseph Masons character. No, shouted the angry man; no,by Heaven! What I have first to look to is her punishment, and that of those who have assisted her. I knew she had done itand Dockwrath knew it. Had I trusted him, she would now have been in jail. Mr. Furnival and Mr. Round were both de- sirous of having the matter quietly arranged, and with this view were willing to put up with much. The man had been ill used. When he declared for the fortieth time that he had been robbed for twenty years, they could not deny it. When with horrid oaths he swore that that will had been a forgery, .they could not contradict him. When he reviled the laws of his country, which had done so much to facilitate the escape of a criminal, they had no arguments to prove that he was wrong. They bore with him in his rage, hoping that a sense of his own self-interest might induce him to listen to reason. But it was all in vain. The property was sweet, but that sweetness was tasteless when compared to the sweetness of revenge. Nothing shall make me tamper with justice; nothing, said he. But even if it were as you say, you can not do any thing to her, said Round. Ill try, said Mason. You have been my attorney, and what you know in the matter you are bound to tell. And Ill make you tell, Sir. Upon my word, said Round, this is be- yond bearing. Mr. Mason, I must trouble you to walk out of my office. And then he rang the bell. Tell Mr. Mat I want to see him. But before that younger partner had joined his father Joseph Mason had gone. Mat, said 4 ORLEYFARM. 87 the old man, I dont interfere with you in many things, but on this I must insist. As long as my name is in the firm Mr. Joseph Ma- son of Groby shall not be among our customers. The mans a fool, said Mr. Furnival. The end of all that will be that two years will go by before be gets his property; and in the mean time, the house and all about it will go to ruin. In these days there was a delightful family concord between Mr. Furnival and his wife, and perhaps we may be allowed to hope that the peace was permanent. Martha Biggs had not been in Harley Street since we last saw her there, and was now walking round Red Lion Square by the hour with some kindred spirit, complaining bitterly of the return which had been made for her friendship. What I en- dured, and what I was prepared to endure for that woman, no breathing creature can ever know, said Martha Biggs, to that other Mar- tha; and now I suppose the fact is he dont like to see you there, said the other. And is that a reason ? said our Martha. Had I been in her place I would not have put my foot in his house again till I was assured that my friend should be as welcome there as myself. But then, perhaps, my ideas of friendship may be called romantic. Bnt though there were heart-burnings and war in Red Lion Square, there was sweet peace in Harley Street. Mrs. Furnival had learned that beyond all doubt Lady Mason was an unfortu- nate woman on whose behalf her husband was using his best energies as a lawyer; and though rumors had begun to reach her that were very injurious to the ladys character, she did not on that account feel animosity against her. Had Lady Mason been guilty of all the sins in the calendar except one, Mrs. Furnival could find it within her heart to forgive her. But Sophia was now more interested about Lady Mason than was her mother, and during those days of the trial was much more eager to learn the news as it became known. She had said nothing to her mother about Lucius, nor had she said any thing as to Augustus Stavelcy. Miss Furnival was a lady who on such subjects did not want the assistance of a mothers coun- sel. Then, early on the morning that followed the trial, they heard the verdict and knew that Lady Mason was free. I am so glad! said Mrs. Furnival; and I am sure it was your papas doing. But we will hope that she was really inno- cent, said Sophia. Oh yes, of course; and so I suppose she was. I am sure I hope so. But, nevertheless, we all know that itwas going very much against her. I believe papa never thought she was guilty for a moment. I dont know, my dear; your papa never talks of the clients for whom he is engaged. But what a thing it is for Lucius! He would have lost every acre of the property. Yes; its a great thing for him, certainly. And then she began to consider whether the standing held by Lucius Mason in the world was not even yet somewhat precarious. It was on the same dayin the evening that she received her lovers letter. She was alone when she read it, and she made herself quite master of its contents before she sat her- self to think in what way it would be expedient that she should act. I am bound to relin quish to my brother-in-law my title to Orley Farm. Why should he be so bound, unless? And then she also came to that conclusion which Mr. Round had reached, and which Joseph Ma- son had reached, when they heard that the prop- erty was to be given up. Yes, Sophia, I am a beggar, the letter went on to say. She was very sorry, deeply sorry; so, at least, she said to herself. As she sat there alone, she took out her handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. Then, having restored it to her pocket, after moderate use, she refolded her letter, and put that into the same receptacle. Papa, said she, that evening, what will Mr. Lucius Mason do now? will he remain at Orley Farm ? No, my dear. He will leave Orley Farm, and, I think, will go abroad with his mother. And who will have Orley Farm ? His brother Joseph, I believe. And what will Lucius have ? I can not say. I do not know that he will have any thing. His mother has an income of her own, and he, I suppose, will go into some profession. Oh, indeed. Is not that very sad for him, poor fellow ? In answer to which her father made no remark. That night, in her own room, she answered her lovers letter, and her answer was as follows: HARLEY STREET, )stsrch, 15. Mv DEAR Ma. MAsoN,I need hardly tell you that I was grieved to the heart by the tidings conveyed in your letter. I will not ask you for that secret which you with- hold from me, feeling that I have no title to inquire into it; nor will I attempt to guess at the cause which induces you to give up to your brother the property which you were always taught to regard as your own. That you are actuated by noble motives I am sure; and you may be sure of this, that I shall respect you quite as highly in your adversity as I have ever done in your prosperity. That you will make your way in the world I shall never doubt; and it may be that the labor which you will now encounter will raise you to higher standing than any you could have achieved had the property remained in your possession. I think you are right in saying, with reference to our mutual regard for each other, that uelther should he held as having any claim upon the other. Under present cir- cumstances any such claim would be very silly. Nothing would hamper you in your future career so much as a long marriage engagement; and for myself, I am aware that the sorrow and solicitude thence arising would be more than I could support. Apart from this, also, I feel certain that I should never obtain my fathers sanction for such an engagement, nor could I make It unless he sanc- tioned it. I feel so satisfied that you will see the truth of this that I need not trouble you and harass my own heart by pursuing the subject any further. My feelings of friendship for you of affectionate friendshipwill be as true as ever. I shall look to your future career with great hope, and shall hear of your suc 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cess with the utmost satisfaction. And I trust that the time may come, at no very distant date, when we may all welcome your return to London, and show you that our regard for you has never been diminished. May God bless and preserve you in the trials which are before you, and carry you through them with honor and safety! Wherever you may be I shall watch for ti- dings of you with anxiety, and always hear them with gratification. I need hardly bid you remember that you have no more affectionate friend Than yours always most sincerely, SOPUTA FURNrVAL. P. 5.I believe that a meeting between us at the present moment would only cause pain to both of us. It night drive you to speak of things which should be wrapped in silence. At any rate, I am sure that you will not press it on me. Lucius, when he received this letter, was liv- ing with his mother in lodgings near Fiusbury Circus, and the letter had been redirected from Hamworth to a post-office in that neighborhood. It was his intention to take his mother with him to a small town on one of the rivers that feed tile Rhine, and there remain hidden till he could find some means by which he might earn his bread. He was sitting with her in the evening, with two dull tallow-candles on the table between them, when his messenger brought the letter to him. He read it in silence very delibcratelv, then crushed it in his hand, and threw it from him with violence into the fire. I hope there is nothing further to distless you, Lucius, said his mother, looking up into his face as though she were imploring his confidence. No, nothing; nothing that matters. It is an affair quite private to myself. Sir Peregrine had spoken with great trnth witen he declared that Lucius Mason was able to bear adversity. This last blow had now come upon him, but he made no wailings as to his misery, nor did he say a word further on the subject. His mother watched the paper as the flame caught it and reduced it to an ash; but she asked no further question. She knew that her position with him did not permit of her ask- ing or even hoping for his confidence. I had no right to expect it would be other- wise, he said to himself. But even to himself he spoke no word of reproach against Miss Fur- nival. He had realized the circumstances by which he was surrounded, and had made up his mind to bear their result. As for Miss Furnival, we may as well declare here that she did not become Mrs. Staveley. Our old friend Augustus conceived that he had received a sufficient answer on the occasion of his last visit to Harley Street, and did not repeat it imnoediately. Such little scenes as that which took place there had not been uncommon in his life; and when in after months he looked back upon the affair, he counted it up as one of those niiraculous escapes which had marked his career. CHAPTER LXXIX. rAREWELL. TEAT letter you got this morning, my dear, was it not from Lady Mason ? It was from Lady Mason, father they go on Thursday. On Thursday! so soon as that ? And then Sir Peregrine, who had asked the question, re- mained silent for a while. The letter, accord- ing to the family custom, had been handed to Mrs. Orme over thebreakfast table; but he had made no remark respecting it till they were alone together and free from the servants. It had been a farewell letter, full of love and gratitude, and full also of repentance. Lady Mason had now heen for three weeks in London, and once during that time Mrs. Orme had gone up to visit her. She Ilad then remained with her friend for hours, greatly to Lady Masons comfort, and now this letter had come, bringing a last adieu. You may read it, Sir, if you like, said Mrs. Orme, handing him the letter. It was evident by his face that he was gratified by the privilege; and he read it, not once only, hut over and over again. As he did so he placed himself in the shade, and sat with his back to Mrs. Orme; but nevertheless she could see that from time to time he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and gradually raised his handkerchief to his face. Thank you, dearest, he said, as he gave the letter hack to her. I think that we may forgive her now even all that she has done, said Mrs. Orme. Yesyesyes, he answered. For my- selg I forgave her froln the first. I know you did. But as regards the prop- erty, it Ilas been given up now. And then again they were silent. Edith, he said, after a while, I have for- given her altogether. To me she is the same as though she had never done that deed. Are we not all sinners ? Surely, father. And can I say because she did one startling thing that the total of her sin is greater than mine? Was I ever tempted as she was tempt- ed? Was my youth made dangerous for me as was hers? And then she did nothing for her- self; she did it all for another. We may think of that now. I have thought of it always. It did not make the sin the less; but among her fellow-mortals And then he stopped himself, wanting words to express his meaning. The sin, till it was repented, was damning; but now that it was repented, he could almost love the sinner for the sin. Edith, he said again. And he looked at her so wishfully! She knew well what was the working of his heart, and she knew also that she did not dare to encourage him. I trust, said Mrs. Orme, that she will bear her present lot for a few years; and then, perlsaps Ah! then I shall be in my grave. A few months will do that. Oh, Sir! Why should I not save her from such a life as that? ORLEY FARM. 8~) From that ~vhich she had most to fear she has been saved. Had she not so chosen it herself she could now have demanded from me a home. Why should I not give it to her now ? A home here, Sir? Yes; why not? But I know what you would say. It would be wrong to you and Perry. It would be wrong to yourself, Sir. Think of it, father. It is the fact that she did that thing. We may forgive her, hut others will not do so on that account. It would not be right that you should bring her here. Sir Peregrine knew that it would not be right. Though he was old, and weak in body, and in- firm in purpose, his judgment had not altogeth- er left him. He was well aware that he would offend all social laws if he were to do that which he contemplated, and ask the world around him to respect as Lady Ormeas his wifethe wo- man who had so deeply disgraced herself. But yet he could hardly bring himself to confess that it was impossible. He was as a child who kno~vs that a coveted treasure is beyond his reach, but still covets it, still longs for it, hoping against hope that it may yet be his own. It seemed to him that he might yet regain his old vitality if he could wind his arm once more about her waist, and press her to his side, and call her his own. It would be so sweet to forgive her; to make her sure that she was ab~olntely forgiven; to teach her that there was one at least who would not bring up against her her past sin, even in his memory. As for his grandson, the prop- erty should be abandoned to him altogether. Twas thus he argued with himself; but yet, as he argued, he knew that it could not be so. I was harsh to her when she told me, he said, after another pause cruelly harsh. She does not think so. No. If I had spurned her from me with my foot she would not have thought so. She had condemned herself~ and therefore I should have spared her. But you did spare her. Jam sure she feels that from the first to the last your conduct to her has been more than kind. And I owed her more than kindness, for I loved her; yes, I loved her, and I do love her. Though I am a feehle old man, tottering to my grave, yet I love herlove her as that boy loves the fair girl for whom he longs. He will over- come it, and forget it, and some other one as f~tir will take her place. But for me it is all over. What could she say to him? In truth it was all oversuch love at least as that of which his old heart was dreaming in its dotage. There is no Medeas caldron from which our limbs can come out young and fresh; and it were well that the heart should grow old as does the body. It is not all over while we are with you, she said, caressing him. But she knew that what she said was a subterfuge. Yes, yes; I have you, dearest, he answer- ed. But he also knew that that pretense at com- fort was false and hollow. And she starts on Thursday, he said; on next Thursday. Yes, on Thursday. It will be much bet- ter for her to be away from London. While she is there she never ventures even into the street. Edith, I shall see her before she goes. Will that be wise, Sir ? Perhaps not. It may be foolishvery fool-. ish; but still I shall see her. I think you for- get, Edith, that I have never yet bidden her farewell. I have not spoken to her since that day when she behaved so generously. I do not think that she expects it, father. No; she expects nothing for herself. Had it been in her nature to expect such a visit, I should not have been anxious to make it. I will go to-morrow. She is always at home, you say ? Yes, she is always at home. And, Lucius You will not find him there in the daytime. I shall go to-ulorrow, dear. You need not tell Peregrine. Mrs. Orme still thought that he was wrong, but she had nothing further to say. She could not hinder his going, and therefore, with his permission, she wrote a line to Lady Mason, telling her of his purpose. And then, with all the care in her power, and with infinite softness of manner, she warned him against the danger which she so much feared. What might be the result, if, overcome by tenderness, he should again ask Lady Mason to become his wife? Mrs. Orme firmly believed that Lady Mason would again refuse; but, nevertheless, there would be danger. No, said he, I will not do that. When I have said so you may accept my word. Then she hastened to apologize to him, but he assured her with a kiss that he was in nowise angry with her. He held by his purpose, and on the following day he went up to London. There was nothing said on the matter at breakfast, nor did she make any further endeavor to dissuade him. He was infirm, but still she knew that the act- ual fatigue would not be of a nature to injure him. Indeed her fear respecting him was rath- er in regard to his staying at home than to his going abroad. It would have been well for him could he have been induced to think himself fit for more active movement. Lady Mason was alone when he reached the dingy little room near Finshury Circus, and re- ceived him standing. She was the first to speak, and this she did before she had even touched his hand. She stood to meet him, with her eyes turned to the ground, and her bands tightly folded together before her. Sir Peregrine, she said, I did not expect from you this mark of yourkindness. Of my esteem and affection, Lady Mason, he said. We have known each other too well 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to allow of our parting without a word. I am Nay, nay; we will not say that. Thats as an old man, and it ~vil1 probably be forever. may be hereafter. But it will not be at once. Thea she gave him her hand, and gradually It had better not be quite at once. Edith tells lifted her eyes to his face. Yes, she said; me that you goon Thursday. it will be forever. There will be no coming Yes, Sir; we go on Thursday. back for me. She had still allowed her hand to remain in Ii iiI~ 15R5. ORMES FAREWELL. ORLEY FARM. 91 his, but now she withdrew it, and asked him to sit down. Lucius is not here, she said. He never remains at home after breakfast. He has much to settle as to our journey; and then he has lawyers to see. Sir Peregrine had not at all wished to see Lucius Mason, but he did not say so. You will give him my regards, he said, and tell him that I trust that he may prosper. Thank you. I will do so. It is very kind of von to think of him. I have always thought highly of him as an excellent young man. And he is excellent. Where is there any one who could suffer without a word as he suf- fers? No complaint ever comes from him; and vetI have ruined him. No, no. lie has his youth, his intellect, and his education. If such a one as he can not earn his bread in the worlday, and more than his breadwho can do so? Nothing ruins a young man but ignorance, idleness, and de- pravity. Nothing; unless those of whom he should be proud disgrace him before the eyes of the world. Sir Peregrine, I sometimes wonder at my own calmness. I wonder that I can live. But, believe me, that never for a moment do I forget what I have done. I would have poured out for him my blood like water, if it would have served him; but instead of that I have given him cause to curse me till the day of his death. Though I still live, and eat, and sleep, I think of that always. The remembrance is never away from me. They bid those who re- pent put on sackcloth, and cover themselves with ashes. That is my sackcloth, and it is very sore. Those thoughts are ashes to me, and they are very bitter between my teeth. He did not know with what words to comfort her. It all was as she said, and he could not bid her even try to free herself from that sackcloth and from those ashes. It must be so. Were it not so with her, she would not have been in any degree worthy of that love which he felt for her. God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, he said. Yes, she said, for the shorn lamb And then she was silent again. But could that bitter, biting wind be tempered for the she-wolf who, in the dead of night, had broken into the fold, and with prowling steps and cunning clutch had stolen the fodder from the sheep? That was the question as it presented itself to her; but she sat silent, and refrained from putting it into words. She sat silent, but he read her heart. For the shorn lamb she had said, and he had known her thoughts, as they fol- lowed, quick, one upon another, through her mind. Mary, he said, seating himself now close beside her on the sofa, if his heart be as true to you as mine, he will never remember these things against you. It is my memory, not his, that is my pun- ishment, she said. Why could he not take her home with him, and comfort her, and heal that festering wound, and stop that ever running gush of her hearts blood? But he could not. He had pledged his word and pi~wned his honor. All the com- fort that could be his to bestow must be given in those few minutes that remained to him in that room. And it must be given, too, without falsehood. He could not bring himself to tell her that the sackcloth need not be sore to hcr poor lacerated body, nor the ashes bitter between her teeth. He could not tell her that the cup of which it was hers to drink might yet be pleas~ ant to the taste, and cool to the lips! What could he tell her? Of the only source of true comfort others, he knew, had spoken o~ers who had not spoken in vain. He could not now take up that matter, and press it on her with available strength. For him there was but one thing to say. He had forgiven her; he still loved her; he would have cherished her in his bosom had it been possible. He was a weak, old, foolish man; and there was nothing of which he could speak but of his own heart. Mary, he said, again taking her hand, I wishI wish that I could comfort you. And yet on you also have I brought trouble, and miseryandall but disgrace. No, my love, no; neither misery nor dis- grace, except this misery, that I shall be no longer near to you. Yes, I will tell you all now. Were I alone in the world, I would still beg you to go back with me. It can not he: it could not possibly be so. No; for I am not alone. She who loves you so well has told me so. It must not be. But that is the source of my misery. I have learned to love you too well, and do not know how to part with you. If this had not been so I would have done all that an old man might to comfort you. But it has been so, she said. I can not wash out the past. Knowing what I did of tny- self, Sir Peregrine, I should never have put my foot over your threshold. I wish I might hear its step again upon my floors. I wish I might hear that light step once again. Never, Sir Peregrine. No one again ever shall rejoice to hear either my step or my voice, or to see my form, or to grasp my hand. The world is over for me, and may God soon grant me relief from my sorrow! But to youin re- turn for your goodness For my love. In return for your love what am I to say? I could haveloved you with all my heart had it been so permitted. Nay, I did do so. Bad that dream been carried out, I should not have sworn falsely when I gave you my hand. I bade her tell you so, from me, when I parted with her. She did tell me. I have known but little love. HeSir Josephwas my master rather than my hus- band. He was a good master, and I served him trulyexcept in that one thing. But I never 92 hived him. But I am wrong to talk of this, and quiet spirit, and a heart at rest! Till you heac I will not talk of it longer. May God bless you, that I am under the ground, yon will know that Sir Peregrine! It will he well for both of us there is one living who loves yon well. Thea uow that you should leave me. j he took her in his arms, twice kissed her on the May God bless yon, Mary, and preserve forehead, and left the room without furthe! you, aad give back to yuu the comforts of a speech on either sid~. IIAIIPEII. JEW MOJTJILY MAGAZLTF. N U SIR rEasesuass FARIwEaS. ORLEY FARM. 00 Lady Mason, as soon as she was alone, sat as I have told her story that sympathy has grown herself do~vn, and her thoughts ran back over upon myself till I have learned to forgive her, the whole course of her life. Early in her days, and to feel that I too could have regarded her when the world was yet beginning to her, she as a friend. Of her future life I will not yen bad done one evil deed, and from that time up ture to say any thing. But no lesson is truer to those days of her trial she had been the vie than that ~vhich teaches us to believe that God tim of one incessant struggle to appear before does temper the wind to the shorn lamb. To the world~as though that deed had not been done homv many lies it not seemed, at some one period to appear innocent of it before the world, but, of their lives, that all was over for them, and beyond all things, innocent of it before her son. that to them in their afflictions theme was no- For t~venty years she bad striven with a labor tIming left but to die! And yet they have lived that had been all but unendurable; and now to laugh again, to feel that the air was warm she had failed, and every one knew her for what and the earth fair, and that God in giving them she was. Such had been her life; and then she ever-springing hope bad given every thing. how thought of the life which might have been hers. many a sun may seem to set on an endless In her earlier days she had known what it was night, and yet rising again on some morrow to be poor, and lund seen and heard those battles lie tricks his beams, end with uew-~p inglad ore after money ~vhich harden our hearts, and quench Flames in the forehead of the morning eky2 the poetry of our natures. But it had not been For Lady Mason let us hope that the day will altog~tluer so with her. had things gone differ- come in which she also many once again trick entle with her it might afterivard have been said her beams in some modest, uuasstmming way, that she bed gone through the fire unscathed. and that for her tIme morning may even yet be But the beast had set his foot upon her, and sweet with a glad warmth. For us, here in when the temptation came it was too much for these pages, it must be sufficient to say this last her. Not for herself would she have sinned, or kindly farewell. have robbed that old man, who lied been to her As to Lucius Mason and the arrangement of a kind master. But when a child was born to his affairs with his step-brother a very femv con- her, her eyes were blind, and she could not see eluding words will suffice. When Joseph Ma- that wealth ill gotten for her child would be as son left the office of Messrs. Rotund and Crook sure a curse as wealth ill gotten for herself. he would gladly have sacrificed all hope of any She remembered Rebekah, and with the cunning eventual pecuniary benefit from the possession of a second Rebekab she filched a worlds hiless- of Orley Farm could he by doing so have Se- ing for her haby. Now she thought of all this cured the condign punishment of her who had as pictures of that life which might have been so hu)ng kept hiini out of Isis inheritance. But hers passed before her minds eye. he 500mi found that lie lied no means of doing And they were pheasant pictures, hind they not this. In the first place, hue did not know where burned into her very soul as she hooked at them. to tiurn for advice. He lund quarreled absolute- hIo~v sweet had been that drawin0-room at The ly .withi Dockwraths, and though lie now greatly Cleeve, as she sat there in luxurious qumiet with distrusted time Rounds, he by uso nucans put im- her new friend! how sweet hind been that phicit triust imi him of Ihaunworth. Of the Rounds friendship ~vith a woman pure in all her thoughts, lie suspected that they were cn0aged to serve graceful to the eye, and delicate in all her ways! luis enemy, of Dockwrath lie felt sure that he She knew now, as shine thought of this, that to was anxious only to serve himself. Under these her had been given the poiver to appreciate such circumstances lie was driven into the arms of a delights as these. How full of charm to her third attorney, amid learned from him, after a would have been that life, in which there had delay thint emit hiimn to tIme soul, that he could been so much of true, innocent affection, had take no further crinuinal proceeding agaimust Lady thue load ever been absent from her shioulders! Mason. It would he impossible to have her And then she thought of Sir Peregrine, with Isis even indicted for the forgeryseeing that two pleasant, ancient manner and truth of heart, juries, at tIme interval of twenty years, had vim- and told herself that she could have been happy tually acquitted lieuunless new evidence whiclu with the love of even so old a man as that, lied should be absolute and positive in its kind should that burden been away from her! But the bar- be fortheomin~. Buit there was no new evidence den had never been awaynever could be away. of any kind. The offer made to surrender the Then sue thought once more of her stern but property was no evidence for a jtmry, whatever it just son, end as she bowed her head and kissed might be imi the mind of the world at large. the rod she prayed that her release might come And what ama I to do ?~ asked Mason. to her soon. Take tIme goods the gods provide yoms, said And now we will say farewell to her, and as the attortucy. Accept tluc offer whirls your we do so the chief interest of our tale will end, half-brother has very generously made you. I may, perhaps, be thoumght to owe an apology Generously! shouted Mason of Groby. to my readers ~n that I have asked their sympa- Well, on his part it is generous. It is quite thy for a woman who had so sinned as to have within his power to keep it;. and were he to do placed her beyond the general sympathy of the so no one would say hue was wrong. Why should world at large. If so, I tender my apology, and lie judge his mother? perhaps feel that I should confess a fault. Bunt Thiemi Mr. Joseph Meson went to another at- Von. XXYI.No. 151.G 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. torney; hut it was of no avail. The time was passing away, aud lie learned that Lady Mason nud Lucius had actually started for Germany. In his agony for revenge lie had endeavored to obtain some legal order that should prevent her departure ne exeat regno, as lie repeated over and over agaia to his advisers learned in the law. But it was of no avail. Lady Mason had been tried and acquitted, and no judge would interfere. We should soon have her back again, you know, if we had evidence of forgery, said the last attorney. Then, by ! we will have her back again, said Mason. But the threat was vain; nor could he get any one even to promise him that she could be l)rosecuted and convicted. And by degrees the desire for vengeance slackened as the desire for gain resumed its s~vay. Many men have threat- ened to spend a property upon a lawsuit who have after~vard felt gratefol that their threats were made abortive. And so it was with Mr. Mason. After remaining in town over a month he took the advice of the first of those new law- yers and allowed that gentleman to put himself in communication with Mr. Furnival. The re- sult was that by the end of six months lie again came out of Yorkshire to take upon himself the duties and privileges of the owner of Orley Farm. And then came his great fight with Dockwrath, which in the end ruined the Hamworth attorney, and cost Mr. Mason more money than he ever liked to confess. Dockwrath claimed to be put in possession of Orley Farm at an exceedingly moderate rent, as to the terms of which he was l)repared to prove that Mr. Mason had already en- tered into a contract with him. Mr. Mason ut- terly iguored such contract, and contended that the words contained in a certain note produced by Dockwrath amounted only to a proposition to let him the land in the event of certain cir- cumstances and results, which circumstances and results never took place. This lawsuit Mr. Joseph Mason did win, and Mr. Samuel Dockwrath was, as I have said, ru- ined. What the attorney did to make it neces- sary that he should leave Hamworth I do not know; but Miriam, his wife, is now the mistress of that lodging-house to which her own mahog- any furniture was so ruthlessly removed. ChAPTER LXXX. SHOWING HOW AFFAIRS SETTLED THEMSELVES AT NONINGSBY. WE must now go back to Noningsby for one concluding chapter, and thea our work will be completed. You are not to go away from Noningsby when the trial is over, you know. Mamma said that I had better tell you so. It was thus that Madeline had spoken to Felix Graham as lie was going out to the judges carriage oii the last morning of the celebrated great Orley Farm case, and as she did so she twisted one of her little fingers into one of his hutton-holes. This she did with a prettiness of familiarity, and the as- sumption of a right to give him orders and hold him to obedience, which ~vas almost intoxicating in its sweetness. And why should she not be familiar with him? Why should she not hold him to obedience by his button-hole? Was he not her own? had she not chosen him and taken him up to the exclusion of all other such choosings and takings? I shall not go till you send me, he said, putting up his hand as though to protect his coat, and just touching her fingers as he did so. Mamma says it will be stupid for you in the mornings, but it will not be worse for you than for Augustus. He stays till after Easter. And I shall stay till after Whitsuntide un- less I am turned out. Oh ! but you will be turned out. I am not going to make myself answerable for any improper amount of idleness. Papa says you have got all the law courts to reform.~ There must be a double Hercules for such a set of stables as that, said Felix; and then with the slight ceremony to which I have before adverted he took his leave for the day. I suppose there will be no use in delaying it, said Lady Staveley, on the same morning as she and her daughter sat together in the drawing-room. They had already been talk- ing over the new engagement by the hour to- getlier; but that is a subject on which mothers with marriageable daughters never grow tired, as all mothers and marriageable dai~ghiters know full well. Oh! mamma, I think it must be delayed. But why, my love? Mr. Graham has not said so? You must call him Felix, mamma. Im sure its a IlicO annie. Very well, my dear, I will. No; he has said nothing yet. But of course lie means to wait tilltill it will be pru- dent. Men never care for prudence of that kind when they are really in love; and Im sure he is. Is he, mamma? lie will marry on any thing or nothing. And if you speak to him he tells you of how the young ravens were fed. But he always forgets that hes not a young raven himself. Now youre only joking, mamma. Indeed Im quite in earnest. But I think your papa means to make up an income for you only you must not expect to be rich. I do not want to be rich. I never did. I suppose you will live in London, and then you can come down here ~vh~n the courts are up. I do hope he wont ever want to take a situation in the colonies.~~ Who, Felix? Why should he go to the colonies ? ORLEY FARM. .0 They al~vays dothe clever young barns- ters ~vho marry before they have made their way. That would be very dreadful. I really think it would kill me. Oh! mamma, he shant go to any colony. To be sore there are the county courts now, and they are better. I suppose you wouldnt like to live at Leeds or Merthyr-Tydvil ? Of course I shall live wherever he goes; but I dont know why you should send him to Merthyr-Tydvil. Those are the sort of places they do go to. There is young Mrs. Bright Newdegateshe had to go to South Shields, and her babies are all dreadfully delicate. She lost two, you know. I do think the Lord Chancellor ought to think about that. Reigate, or Maidstoue, or any- where about Great Marlow would not be so bad. And in this ~vay they discussed the com- ing event and the happy future, while Felix himself was listening to the judges charge and thinking of his clients guilt. Then there were t~vo or three days passed at Noningsby of almost unalloyed sweetness. It seemed that they had all agreed that Prudence should go by the board, and that Love with sweet promises, and hopes bright as young trees in spring, should have it all her own way. Judge Staveley was a man ~vho on such an oc- casionknowing with whom he had to deal cotild allow ordinary prudence to go by the board. There are men, and excellent men too, from whose minds the cares of life never banish themselves, who never seem to remember that provision is made for the young ravens. Phey toil and spin always, thinking sternly of the worst and rarely hoping for the best. They are ever making provision for rainy days, as though there were to be no more sunshine. So anxious are they for their children that they take no pleasure in them, and their fear is constant that the earth will cease to produce her fruits. Of such was not the judge. Dulce est desipere in locis, he would say, and let the oppor- tunities be frequent and the occasions many. Such a love-making opportunity as this surely should be one. So Graham wandered about through the dry March ~vinds with his futnre bride by his side, and never knew that the blasts came from the pernicious east. And she would lean on his arm as though he had been the friend of her earliest years, listening to and trusting him in all things. That little finger, as they stood to- gether, would get up to his button-hole, and her bright, frank eyes would settle themselves on his, and then her hand would press closely upon his arm, and he kne~v that she was neither ashamed nor afraid of her love. Her love to her was the same as her religion. When it was once acknowledged by her to be a thing good and trust-worthy, all the world might know it. Was it not a glory to her that he had cho- sen her, and why should she conceal her glory? had it been that some richer, greater man had won her lovesome one whose titles were known and high place in the world approvedit may well be that then she would have been less free with him. Papa would like it best if you would give up your ~vriting, and think of nothing but the law, she said to him. In answer to which he told her, with many compliments to the special fox in question, that story of the fox who had lost his tail and thought it well that other foxes should dress themselves as he was dressed. At any rate papa looks very well without his tail, said Madeline, with somewhat of a daughters pride. But you shall wear yoms all the same, if you like it, she added, with much of a young maidens love. As they were thus walking near the house on the afternoon of the third or fourth day after the trial, one of the maids came to them and told Madeline that a gentleman was in the house who wished to see her. A gentleman ! said Madeline. Mr. Orme, Miss. My lady told me to ask you up if you were any where near. I suppose I must go, said Madeline, from whom all her pretty freedom of manner and light happiness of face departed on the moment. She had told Felix every thing as to poor l~cre- grine in return for that story of his respecting Mary Snow. To her it seemed as though that had made things equal bet~veen themfor she was too generous to observe that though she had given nothing to her other lover, Felix had been engaged for many months to marry his other love. But girls, I think, have no objection to this. They do not desire first-fruits, or even early fruits, as men do. Indeed I am not sure whether experience, on the part of a gentleman. in his use of his heart, is not supposed by most young ladies to enhance the value of tha article. Madeline was not in the least jealous of Mary Snow; but with great good-nature promised to look after her and patronize her when she should have become Mrs. Albert Fitzalleu. But I dont think I should like that Mrs. Thomas, she said. You would have mended the stockings for her all the same. Oh yes, I ~vould have done that; and so did Miss Snow. But I would have kept my box locked. She should never have seen my let- ters. It was now absolutely necessary that she should return to the house, and say to Pere- grine Orme what words of comfort might be possible for her. If she could have spoken sim- ply with her heart she would have said much that was friendly, even though it might not be comfortable. But it was necessary that she should express herself in words, and she felt that the task was very difficult. Will you come in ? she said to Felix. No, I think not. But hes a splendid fel- low, and to me was a stanch friend. If I can catch him as he comes out I will speak to him. And then Madeline, with hesitating steps, with her hat still on her head and her gloves on her 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hands, walked through the hall into the draw- ing-room. There she found her mother seated on the sofa, and Peregrine Orme standing be- fore her. Madeline walked up to him with ex- tended hand and a kindly welcome, though she felt that the color was high in her cheeks. Of course it would be impossible to come out from such aa interview as this without having con- fessed her position, or hearing it confessed by her mother in her presence. That, however, had been nlready done, and Perebrine knew that the prize was gone. How do you (10, Miss Staveley P said he. As I am going to leave The Cleeve for a long time, I have come over to say good-by to Lady Staveleyand to von. Are you going away, Mr. Orme P Yes, I shall go abruadto Central Africa, I think. It seems a wild sort of a place, with plenty of animals to kill. But isnt it very dangerous ? No, I dont think so. The people always come back alive. Ive a sort of idea that no- thing will kill me. At any rate I couldnt stay here. Madeline, dear, Ive told Mr. Orme that you have accepted Mr. Graham. With a friend such as he is I know that you ~vill not be anx- ious to keep this a secret. No, mamma. I was sure of that; and now that your papa has consented to it, and that it is quite fixed, I am sure that it is better that lie should know it. We shall always look upon him as a very dear friendif he will allow us. Then it was necessary that Peregrine should speak, which lie did as follows, holding Made- lines hand for the first three or four seconds of the time: Miss Staveley, I will say this of myself, that if ever a fellow loved a girl truly, I loved you; and I do so now as well or better than ever. It is no good my pretending to be contented, and all that sort of thing. I am not contented, but very unhappy. I have never wished for but one thing in my life; and for that I would have given all that I have in the world. I know that I can not have it, and that I am not fit to have it. oh, Mr. Orme, it is not that. But it is that. I knew you before Graham did, and loved yon quite as soon. I believe thou~h of course I dont mean to ask any ques- tionsbut I believe I told you so before he ever did. Marriages, they say, are planned in lieav- en, said Lady Staveley. Perhaps they are. I only wish this one had not been planned there. I can not help it I can not express my satisfaction, though I will heartily wish for your happiness. I knew from the first how it would be, and was always sure that I was a fool to love you. I should have gone away when I first thought of it, for I used to feel that yon never cared to speak to me. Oh, indeed I did, said poor Madeline. No, you did not. And why should you when I had nothing to say for myself? I ought to have fallen in love with some foolish chit with as little wit about her as I have myself. I hope you will fall in love with some very nice girl, said Lady Staveley, and that we shall know her and love her very much. Oh, I dare say I shall marry some day. I feel no~v as though I should like to break my neck, but I doiit suPPose I shall. Good-by, Lady Staveley. Good-by, 1\lr. Orme; and may God send that you may be happy! Good-by, Madeline. I shall never call you so againexcept to myself. I do wish you may be happyI do indeed. As for himhe has been before me and taken away all that I want- ed to win. By this time the tears were in his eyes, and his voice was not free from their effect. Of this lie was aware, and therefore, pressing her hand, he turned upon his heel and abruptly left the room. lie had licen unable to say that he wished also that Felix might be happy ; but this omis- sion was forgiven him by both the ladies. Poor Madeline, as lie ~veut, muttered a kind farewell, but her tears had mastered her also, so that she could hardly speak. lie ~vent directly to the stables, there got upon liii horse, and then walked slowly down the av- enue toward the gate. He had got the better of that tear-coml)elling softness as soon as he found himself beyond the presence of the girl he loved, and ~vas now stern in liii mood, striving to hard- en his heart, lie had confessed himself a fool in conih)arison with Felix Graluim ; but yet, lie asked himself, in sh)ite of that, was it not possi- ble that he would have niade her a better husband than the other? It was not to his title or his estate that he trusted as he so thought, but to a feeling that he was more akin to her in circum- stances, in ways of life, and in tenderness of heart. As all this was passing through his mind Felix Graham presented himself to him in the road. Orme, said lie, I heard that you were in the house, and have come to shake hands with you. I suppose you have heard what has taken l)lace. Will you not shake hands with me No, said Peregrine, I will not. I am sorry for that, for we were good friends, and I owe you much for your kindness. It was a faii standup fight, and you should not be an grv. I am angry, and I dont want your friend- ship. Go and tell her that I say so, if you like. No, I will not do that. I wish with all my heart that we bad both killed ourselves at that bank. For shame, Orme, for shame! Very well, Sir; let it be for shame. And then lie passed on, meaning to go through the gate, and leaving Graham on the grass by the roadside. Bat before lie had gone a hundred yards down the road Isis better feelings canie back upon him, and lie returned. A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNESSEE. 97 I am unhappy, he said, and sore at heart. You must not mind what ~vords I spoke just now. No, no; I am sure you did not mean them, said Felix, putting his hand ou the horses mane. I did mean them then, but I do not mean them now. I wont say any thing about wishes. Of course you will be happy with her. Any body would be happy with her. I suppose you wont die, and give a fellow another chance. Not if I can help it, said Graham. Well, if you are to live, I dont wish you any evil. I do wish you hadnt come to Non- ingshv, thats all. Good-by to you. And he held out his hand, which Graham took. We shall be good friends yet, for all that is come and gone, said Graham ; and then there were no more words bet~veen them. Peregrine did as he said, and went abroad, extending his travels to many wild countries, in which, as he used to say, any one else would have baen in danger. No danger ever came to himso at least he frequently wrote word to his mother. Gorillas he slew by scores, lions by hnndreds, and elephants sufficient for an ivory palace. The skins, and bones, and other tro- phies, he sent home in various ships; and when he appeared in London as a lion no man doubt- ed his ~vord. But then he did not write a book, nor even give lectures; nor did lie presume to know much about the huge brutes he had slain, except that they were pervious to powder and ball. Sir Peregrine had endeavored to keep him at home by giving np the property into his hands; but neither for grandfather, nor for mother nor for lands and money would he remain in the neighborhood of Noningsby. No, mother, lie said it will be better for me to be away. And away he ~vent. lhe old baronet lived to see him return, though with plaintive ~vail he often declared to his dangli ter-in-law that this was impossible. lie lived, but he never returned to that living life which had been his before he had taken up the battle for Lady Mason. He would sometimes allow Mms. Ornie to drive him about the grounds, but other~vise he remained in the house, sitting soli- tary over his fire, with a book, indeed, open lie- fore him, hut rarely reading. I-Ic was waiting patiently, as he said, till death should come to him. Mrs. Orme kept her promise, and wrote con- stantly to Lady Mason, hearing from her as con- stantly. When Lucius had been six months in Germany he decided on going to Australia, leaving his mother for the present in the little German town in which they were staying. For her, on the whole, the change was for the bet- ter. As to his success in a thriving colony there can be but little doubt. Felix Graham was soon married to Madeline; and as yet I have not heard of any banishment either to Patagonia or to Merthyr-Tydvil. And now I may say, Farewell. A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNES- SEE. A Nh our since I was listening to the fervid, fiery Parson Browniow, and now I am thinking not so much of his moving narration as of a former visit to Tennessee, and my first at- tendance at a camp-meeting held by the denom- ination of which the free-spoken Parson is a mem- ber. Had lie only been present on this occasion I should be less doubtful of the acceptableness of my reminiscences. In the snuimer of 1 856, in company with Hay. Mr. Warner, of Boston, I visited a favorite cousin residing in Tennessee. We found him delight- fnlhy situated, with a lovely wife and interesting little daughter, who soon became my especial l)et and plaything. Walter MConnchl was a man of genial, affectionate, and hopeful nature; loved and esteemed by his equals, and fairly worshiped by his servants, who found in hiini a kind and considerate mastera rarer article, they secuied to think, than some Northern politicians would have us imagine. Mr. Warner was an Episcopal clergyman, and an agree able though fastidious gentleman. Very sensitive to variations from his established cus- toms and ideas, he was still neither irritable nor perverse in the maintenance of his views of right and propriety. My cousin had been his warm friend and class-mate in college, and good-na- turedly amusad himself during our visit with showing up heathendom to my very proper and reverend friend, Ned Warner. Prominent in the sable household was a de- voted, affectionate creature, originally rejoicing in the classic name of Juno. But the heathen goddess vanished when, as Nonies nurse, she was christened by that little ladys baby lips Mammy June. - She came into the paler one morning, her honest black face rahiant and shining as the month of roses, whose namesake she ~vas. Find- ing her niistress, she spoke quite in an ecstasy-: Miss Kate, thars a new preacher cuni to the camp-meeting g~vinc on at Salem, an Is jes stud yin if I can get to go dis evenin? Well, June, can he h)reachi, or is lie a trifling, no-account fellow like thiat Jacobs ? No, Missus, not a natomy like Jacobs is dis yer. I heerd him has Sunday night, atm hes powerful: dats so. lie telld us bout do judg- ment-day till I fairly spected to hear Gabriel toot ebery minuit. And ho teIld oh do lake of fire, and mis etimbrous timmer as whatil be cut down, and slung in, till I jes hicerd do flames a-crackhiii mong do dead branches, and suckin up do dry leaves. An lie (hone said how none oh mis could hide out do way in dat turrible time, but whiareber wes at, plum hind a mighty big rock or char tip do ftirdest mounting, well hear do Lords driber hinlowin his horn, loud as thiun der. An hell take do whole raft oh mis wid a come-quick, to do Lord iii glory or do debbil in hell. XVell, 1\Iammrmy, omive hinroveci him a preach

Dennar Stuart Stuart, Dennar Camp-Meeting in Tennessee 97-102

A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNESSEE. 97 I am unhappy, he said, and sore at heart. You must not mind what ~vords I spoke just now. No, no; I am sure you did not mean them, said Felix, putting his hand ou the horses mane. I did mean them then, but I do not mean them now. I wont say any thing about wishes. Of course you will be happy with her. Any body would be happy with her. I suppose you wont die, and give a fellow another chance. Not if I can help it, said Graham. Well, if you are to live, I dont wish you any evil. I do wish you hadnt come to Non- ingshv, thats all. Good-by to you. And he held out his hand, which Graham took. We shall be good friends yet, for all that is come and gone, said Graham ; and then there were no more words bet~veen them. Peregrine did as he said, and went abroad, extending his travels to many wild countries, in which, as he used to say, any one else would have baen in danger. No danger ever came to himso at least he frequently wrote word to his mother. Gorillas he slew by scores, lions by hnndreds, and elephants sufficient for an ivory palace. The skins, and bones, and other tro- phies, he sent home in various ships; and when he appeared in London as a lion no man doubt- ed his ~vord. But then he did not write a book, nor even give lectures; nor did lie presume to know much about the huge brutes he had slain, except that they were pervious to powder and ball. Sir Peregrine had endeavored to keep him at home by giving np the property into his hands; but neither for grandfather, nor for mother nor for lands and money would he remain in the neighborhood of Noningsby. No, mother, lie said it will be better for me to be away. And away he ~vent. lhe old baronet lived to see him return, though with plaintive ~vail he often declared to his dangli ter-in-law that this was impossible. lie lived, but he never returned to that living life which had been his before he had taken up the battle for Lady Mason. He would sometimes allow Mms. Ornie to drive him about the grounds, but other~vise he remained in the house, sitting soli- tary over his fire, with a book, indeed, open lie- fore him, hut rarely reading. I-Ic was waiting patiently, as he said, till death should come to him. Mrs. Orme kept her promise, and wrote con- stantly to Lady Mason, hearing from her as con- stantly. When Lucius had been six months in Germany he decided on going to Australia, leaving his mother for the present in the little German town in which they were staying. For her, on the whole, the change was for the bet- ter. As to his success in a thriving colony there can be but little doubt. Felix Graham was soon married to Madeline; and as yet I have not heard of any banishment either to Patagonia or to Merthyr-Tydvil. And now I may say, Farewell. A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNES- SEE. A Nh our since I was listening to the fervid, fiery Parson Browniow, and now I am thinking not so much of his moving narration as of a former visit to Tennessee, and my first at- tendance at a camp-meeting held by the denom- ination of which the free-spoken Parson is a mem- ber. Had lie only been present on this occasion I should be less doubtful of the acceptableness of my reminiscences. In the snuimer of 1 856, in company with Hay. Mr. Warner, of Boston, I visited a favorite cousin residing in Tennessee. We found him delight- fnlhy situated, with a lovely wife and interesting little daughter, who soon became my especial l)et and plaything. Walter MConnchl was a man of genial, affectionate, and hopeful nature; loved and esteemed by his equals, and fairly worshiped by his servants, who found in hiini a kind and considerate mastera rarer article, they secuied to think, than some Northern politicians would have us imagine. Mr. Warner was an Episcopal clergyman, and an agree able though fastidious gentleman. Very sensitive to variations from his established cus- toms and ideas, he was still neither irritable nor perverse in the maintenance of his views of right and propriety. My cousin had been his warm friend and class-mate in college, and good-na- turedly amusad himself during our visit with showing up heathendom to my very proper and reverend friend, Ned Warner. Prominent in the sable household was a de- voted, affectionate creature, originally rejoicing in the classic name of Juno. But the heathen goddess vanished when, as Nonies nurse, she was christened by that little ladys baby lips Mammy June. - She came into the paler one morning, her honest black face rahiant and shining as the month of roses, whose namesake she ~vas. Find- ing her niistress, she spoke quite in an ecstasy-: Miss Kate, thars a new preacher cuni to the camp-meeting g~vinc on at Salem, an Is jes stud yin if I can get to go dis evenin? Well, June, can he h)reachi, or is lie a trifling, no-account fellow like thiat Jacobs ? No, Missus, not a natomy like Jacobs is dis yer. I heerd him has Sunday night, atm hes powerful: dats so. lie telld us bout do judg- ment-day till I fairly spected to hear Gabriel toot ebery minuit. And ho teIld oh do lake of fire, and mis etimbrous timmer as whatil be cut down, and slung in, till I jes hicerd do flames a-crackhiii mong do dead branches, and suckin up do dry leaves. An lie (hone said how none oh mis could hide out do way in dat turrible time, but whiareber wes at, plum hind a mighty big rock or char tip do ftirdest mounting, well hear do Lords driber hinlowin his horn, loud as thiun der. An hell take do whole raft oh mis wid a come-quick, to do Lord iii glory or do debbil in hell. XVell, 1\Iammrmy, omive hinroveci him a preach 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. er; go as soon as you like, and do take that witch, Ilallv, alongshell mind no one hut you. Kate, said MConnell, suppose we all go over this evening. Itll he a fine opportnnity for Ned to enitivate another branch of the church catholic, and Philip is already a wide liker. What say you? Oh, I go with pleasure, if the gentlemen like; but I think, Walter, you shohld offer Mr. ~,Varuer another inducementthe scenery is cer- tainly fine. Very, Ned, and the apostolic succession un- doubted. Like Peter and his associates, thcse stirring preachers are mostly unlearned and ignorant men; and excellent Christians are some of them; ditto their hearers. Theres Mammy got religion, as she terms it, fifteen years ngo at a catnp-meeting, and a better old soul never lived. I presume I can not refuse attending any tomfoolery in the county, MConnell, on pain of being called strait-laced Pharisee, bigoted Churchman, and the like. So Ill away to this Methodish pow-wo~v as soon as you please. All the more readily for the hint of a landscape given by your generous wife. It is ten miles to the ground. We will drive over in time to look around the secular department before (lark, and after ten oclock we have the finest of moons for our return. The day was delightful, and seemed exuber- antly happy in having found the very golden mean of temperature. Our road wound about with charming indirectness, affording us a vari- ety of prospect. Here it passed through a wood- land, where great downy flakes from the tall cotton-wood were sailing slowly and leisurely down, filling the air and covering the ground with a summer shower of snow. Soon we were on an emerald plain bounded in the distance by lofty hills. See dint hill range, Phil ! ex- claimed Warner; green as Vermonts own. That chain is called Cedar Hills, replied Mrs. MConnell. They are covered with that tree; and here let me repeat a remark of Mammy Junes on the cedar: Its the pootiest bush yet, Missus; tant never dead. Doesnt nev- er dead rival our phrase ever-greeti in poetical force? We reached Salem Camp an hour hefore dark. This time we devoted to observations on the secular department, as Walter called the living-place. For thirty years this had been an established camp-ground; a place of annual resort for the hundreds in attendance upon the meeting of a weeks duration. In the centre of the temporary village was a long row of perma- nent wooden buildings, much like the horse- sheds about a country meeting-house in New England. These were dwelling-places for many; but the greater part of those in attendance occu- pied teats, ~vhich were of all shapes and colors white being most prevalent. The humbler of these ~vere formed of old blankets and worn bed-quilts, whose parti-colored though tattered surfaces presented quite a gay and banner-like appearance. Suppers ~vere in all stages of activity and preparation at this hour. Negroes and poor negroless whites considered it a time of press- ing business. Sonic were toting water from the creek or spring, others milking the cows. here a woman took hoe-cakes from the ashes, while her neighbor placed a bacon-filled skillet as they term a frying-panover a gipsy fire. Troops of children, equipped with huge corn- dodgers and slices of fat pork, wandered at will, each juvenile having at least two curs in close attendance. These little folks seemed chiefly interested in the feeding and watering of the numerous animals, which occupied a large force of negroes and white trash. Around suburb- an stalls, from which liquors, tobacco, etc., were dispensed, sat groups of men drinking, smoking, chewing, spitting, and talking. The conversa- tion seemed unequally divided between politics and religion; the gifts of Elder Jones and the prospects of Buchanan. Matters of state had the ascendency; and more ofiPusive imprecations were hurled at them devils chilen, the Aboli- tionists, than at the paternal Satan himself. Just before evening service night meetin ratherwe proceeded to the sanctum sanctorum; and it was a noble specimen of Gods first temples, that grove of giant trees, miles from the habitation of man, on the right bank of the Cahooa noble stream, pronounced a mighty looty creek by the natives. All undergrowth and smaller trees had been carefally removed; none were spared but patri~mrclmal oaks, whose cups had caught the dews of centuries, and tow- ering hickories, that had tossed their nuts on the graves of successive generations. Bet~veen these sylvan pillars the grass grew long and soft, and now lay in plushy mats from the tram- pling feet. A~vay up among the green-leaved arches gleamed the stars, like bright birds rest- ing on the topmost boughs in their upward flight. Blazing pine-knots and smoking torches, in countless numb2rs, made a strange glitter in the (larkuess. They seemed a congregation of mam- moth fire-flies, no~v dancing at sight of their imaged forms in the water below, then leaping and reaching for some passing breeze. Sur- rounded by troops of fitful, flickering shadows they gave an air of grotesque beauty to the scene. The grove was longer than wide, and several speakers stands were erected, some rods apart, for the accommodation of the vast congregation of hearers. We stopped in the vicinity of the first we reached, although the new lireacher Elder Jonesheld forth at the stand below. The view from here was so wildly picturesque that we cared miot to exchange it for other groupings. The long lines of white tents lay at an enchant- ing distance; beyond slept tIm quiet dimpled valley, dreaming of May-flowers and sheaves of gold ; guarding its slumbers stood those far away sentinel hills, drinking the dews of the twilight and clasping the mists of the morning. The clouds stooped to kiss their green plumes, A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNESSEE. 99 and the zephyrs wooed them lovingly, but in vain. They were faithful to the lo~vly valley of their first allegiance. Ah, Cousin Kate, you were quite right. None but an artist eye located Salem Camp. Shortly after our arrival horns were sounded, and soon hundreds of people were ponring into the grove. Rough planks fastened to stakes firmly driven into the gronnd afforded seats to such as chose them. But the greatest latitude iu position and manner was allo~ved. Some re- clined on the grass, others leaned against trees, while a few venturesome youngsters were l)erclt- ed like crows in the hranches above. The hearers comfortably arranged in their various attitudes, a white-haired yet vigorous old man commenced the services with an elo- quent prayer. Its every clause met scores of appreciative and fervent responses in all manncr of twanging Amens; ejaculations of Thats so! Yes, Lord ! Send a witness ! True as Bible ! etc., accompanied by groanings and snortings indescribable. Ned, whispered MConnell, which is the active voice? Wouldnt that style of response suit you precisely? Youd say the Apostles Creed back~vard in your bc~vilderment. But Father Hill would have been quite lost without these rejoinders, and at the close of each distinct petition paused for the never-failing in- terlude. The final Amen was followed by The He- brew Childrena well-knotvn hymn, as are all in use at night camp-meetings. Hymn-hooks and pine-knots are not made for each otherto say nothing of a necessary acquaintance with the invention of Cadmus, as perfected by the print- ing Dutchman, on the part of the singers. The vast assembly rose, and all, even the boys in the trees, sung with a will. The air was a sort of chant or recitative, and though harsh voices joined in it, that volume of sound had a tllrilling, inspiring power. Richer, fuller than any anthem from deep-toned organ rose the grand chorus of hope: By-and-by well go and meet them, Safe in the promise(5 laud. And the hymn proceeds: Where now is the good old Daniel? Where now io the good old Daniel? Where now is the good old Daniel? Safe iu the promised land. lIe went up from the den of lions, lie went up from the den of lions, lie went up from the den of lions, Safe to the promised land. Rather a free grouping of incidents, MCon- nell, said Warner. I fear the Scripture wor- thies would hardly kno~v if I be I in this rapid sequence of their lifes leading events. Yes, a terrible massacre of the unities, Ned; and yet not so great a misrepresentation after all. But listen to the next stanza. It has a glimpse of the same spirit that prompted To Detim Laudamus, with its glowing remem- brance of the glorious company of the Apos tles, the goodly fello~vslsip of the Prophets, and the noble army of Martyrs. This hymn, you see, is an old favorite hymn of mine. There hark! Where now are the saints and martyrs? Where now are the saints and nsartyrs? Where now are the saints and martyrs? Safe in the promised land. They ~vent rip through great tribulation, They went up through great tribulation, They went up through great tribulation, Safe to the promised land. ny-and-by well go and nseet them, By-and-by ~vell go and meet them. Doesnt it biing the cloud of witnesses very near? After all, Ned, tli~ communion of the saints is far mose extended than we incline to think. The singing concluded, Father lull announced Isis text : lie that endureth to the end shall re- ceive a crown of life. The lapse of time, and my want of acquaint- ance with the loral idioms, which gave the ser- mon a quaint raciness, disqualify me for the part of a reporter. I feel constrained to beg the good mans pardon for presenting these mutilated and detached portions of Isis discourse as I recall them: Endareth what, bretheren? I take it to be the crossthe cross which every geni~vine sure- enough Christian must bear like his blessed Master afore him. We haint all got the same crossohs no! Thars no two jes like no more than our eyes or noses. The same pattern wouldnt fit us all ; hut thors nary role child of God but has his cross made a purpose for Isius and no other. And let him love it as Gods kiss; not endure it a-whiniu, an grudgin, an a-draggin it long in the dust. Let him bear it proudly, as a soldier carries his gun and ten- derly, as the lover holds the rose-bud given by Isis sweetheart. Its Christs draft for a crown. Yost know how inca carry drafts to the bank for gold arid silver. Bime-by, in the fields of glory, youd see stacks and stacks of golden crowns all ghr- term withs jewels, and shsinin with starsau 1 theyre all crowns of life. Once on your head, li will aelse no more. Your Isair will never turin gsa). Sickness, pain, aind death will be donQ forgot for ever and evermore for theyre all crowns of life. But thioughs theres heaps an heaps you must show a draft or nary a one will yorn get. The Lord will say, Whars your cross, stranger? And when you show him the brin- tered old thing hell answer, All riglst; angel, give this brother or this sister a crown. AntI, bretheren, the heavier, the crookeder, the uglier the cross, jes so much brighter II be the crown. Praps twos a thorny cross, teorin your flesh, and spotted with your blood. Well, every blood- drop 11 turn to a costly jewel in your splendid crown, and ~vill shine like the sun while yell dance in silver slippers above. So you see you must endume it to the end frir thors no possumin thar. Twont do to say HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Congregation here sung a hymn, known from its chorus, which is, 0 stem the storm! it wont be long; Well anchor by-and-by. Brother Briusmade then rose for a short ex- hortation, as he premised. lie was so hoarse that a fulfillment of his promise seemed probable. Brethcren and sisters, Ive talked so much this week that my voice is nigh giving out. And yet I must say one ~voi-d to tbese poor sinners; and I will, if it immolates me on this altar. And then the good Father above will give me a pail- of lungs to match the tallest angel about the throne, and Ill sIlent Glory! with the best of them. I was glad to hear 0 stem the storm! its a favorite hime of mine, for I was converted in a storm, twenty years ago and odd. I was a wild young fellow then, and we was plumrough down Ilere. If wed a cooll-skin cal), deer-skit breeclles, and moccasins, we was dressed up sure, and went it prime at many a hoe-down. We Iladilt no occasion then for gloves, polehats, nol broadelotlI ; and I reckon these yer girls aint no pootiel- in muslins and bootees than their motllers was ill linsey and barefoot. Yes, I was convarted in a storm, and a rigllt smalt chance of em Ive lIad since. It pears like Satan Ilolds a pertikkeler spite at me, and never quits pesterin even for a breatlling spell but keeps ttlSslin and wrastlin with IflO constallt. And, bretheren, ~0ll and I know that occa- sionallN-, if not oftener, Ive been tIle under-dog in tIle figllt. Manys the lammin Ive took fi-om him. But when lIe had tIle best of it, aIld I was jes ready to give in beat, the Lord reaclled out the hau(l, and I up and at Ilim agin. And so I 1-eckon twill be till I chieharricane en Ilarri cane, till I go up to glory in a regular wllirl wind, and anchor by-and-by. But so Im sure enough tllar at last, Im noways choosy about the road. 1111 my heavenly Fathers child. He may give me jes such a raising as suits llim, so hell take me Ilome at the end. But what will you poor sinners do that dont oust try to stem the storm, and makes 110 show of flglltin Satan, l)llt just ill) and crony with him, like lIe was an angel of light or a gI-eat gold eagle? A storm is coming ~vorse than all tllese ycrone that will lain fire and bl-imstone alId there is but One sllelter from it, and thats Ileaven. And a pooty fist youll make of it knockin an(l halloin at that place, Ilud callin on the Lord, when you never answei-ed llis call Ilere below, IllIt disremembered all his precepts and done for- got his reproof. Now salvation is plain and easy; you can build on the rock, and be sure. No accollat how black you are, how poor TOll are, how ignorant you are. Tile Lord dont mind a hair whetller yolll-e white or black, youll all be angel-color in heaven. Your Maker sets that you toted it a good spell, till so mighty tire(l that you jes got shet of it forneast that big bill or deep river. Youd a heap better never teched it if you dont endui-e clear to tIle end. \Ve cant allus know for sule sartain, bleth- eren, whos harm the cross in tills yer world and whos not, fol- its a world of make-believes and shauls. Wilen I mind all tile ilumbugs Ive seen on tilis vel- globe, it pears like it might lossum the great file at last, and stead o burn- ill solind and solid-like, jes roll up inter a big ball of gas and hustle off into space. No, bretheren, the cross-bearers aint la- beled here below, a~d were sonletimes Inightily taken in. One goes loging and limpin along like his back was most broke with a cross of lead, and we sax, Thars a saint. Jes look at Brother B endurin his cross. lies a mos ripe for glory! Like enoilgIl he hasnt tIle siladow of a ci-oss, and is just Imekin around ills luggage of self and sill. And hole comes a sister singin and skippin like ready to I we say, G - ly, and afeard - iddy Sister A., poor thing! Im shes nal-y hat-p and crown above! And perhaps tile inscein Loid knows jes how shes endur in a sharp Otltting cross right on her heart, and in her arms, and that she does it so gladly out of love to Him who died for her cl-own of life. No, bretheren, we cant say whos cross- heal-els here, without any doubt; and I expect, if I am ever so happy as to reach heaven, to be completely through-othered with the folks I shall meet and miss. Them I never thought o seem thar 11 take me by tile hand and say, ITo w dxc, Brotiler Hill ? and them Illat I leckoned Ilad a good title, years ago, to a mansion incol-ruptible, and whom I hoped to find settled down to house- keepin nice and comfortable wont be thaI, nor nowbar tilalabout. Yes, I expect to 1)0 5111 l)risedbut mole at finding Willialfi lull safe landed On tile shores of glory than at any body else. Im such a vile sinner tilat it will through other me out and out. A crown of life in heaven ! Friends, if von only kno~ved the place you wouldnt groan about yollr cross. It is so exceedin glorious that one glimpse of it strllck Paul dumb, and he wrote afterward that the langulage lladnt yet been made that could describe it. I tiiecl last night, in my poor way, to give you some idee of that celestial country; and what I said tllen is all true, evel-y wordfor, bretheren, its a 1-ale Ten- nessee of a place. If ye mind yer own cross yell Ilave plellty to do without stildyin about your neighbors cross, thats nowaxs like xou~i-s. But tilars Inany a 0110 who, in the wolds of Scriptule, strains at anothers gnat when lIe could vomit a camel himself; and Im mi~hty afeard some o youll miss goin into heaven yerselves from hem sO busy watching wile does get in, that tile door will be shot plum-to afore you mind. Now hold no store On youl- money, and dont care if ye on to your individual cross, every last one of ye, havent one lone picayune. lie dont ask fol ao till yeve swapped it for a crown of life! book-larulin nor eddication; 110 only waIlts you 100 A CAMP-MEETING IN TENNESSEE. 101 to have the good horse-sen so to obey his com- mandments right off. And heres one of them, Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Now, while the 1)retheren and sisters sing Were passing away, let all who will obey the Lord, stem the storms of this life, and be safely landed on Canaans shore at the great day, come ill) to the altar, and help us beg for mercy on their poor sonls. The scene that followed baffles description. Nnmbers ~vent forward and knelt around the rode railing. All of twenty preachers, with zeal- oiis lay men and women, prayed, ciitrcated, ex- horted, and shonted at once, while laboring ~vith the seekers, prodncing confnsion of the first quality. These seekers were in all stages of excitement, weeping and shrieking; tearing their hair, and springing about with violent gestnres while a few remained quiet and apparently thoughtful. Each exhorter seemed desirons of being the loudest, and the strange medley that reached my ears was sometimes lndicrous in the extreme. From one came the exclamation, This poor man is agoing right to the pit of darkness Amen! the Lord grant it, ~vas screamed from another quarter. These exercises had been prolonged nearly no hoer when several of the seekers were taken with the po~ver, as it is termed. I had never witnessed this affection, and was interested by it to a painful degree. One fine-looking girl, with a most interesting countenance, I observed particularly. She had seemed frantic with agony, wildly swaying from side to side. But now she stood statue-like and motionless. Her hands were tightly clenched, and her entire expression that of acute mental distress. Her luxuriant hair had escaped from its fasteniug, and falling almost to her feet gave an air of classic grace to her figure. With her rale, earnest face in that fixed agouy of terror ned supplication, while her 51)leudid, dreamy evessuch as I call Indian smnmer eyeshad a thr-off look, as if they gazed on the dread mvs- teries of eternity. She was a noble study for a painter. Suddenly, with one piercing scream, the tense muscles relaxed, and she fell to the earth in what seemed the silence and miller of death, and lay like some s~veet-slmadowcd lily reft from its stem. Several old ladies immediately surrounded her, bending over and hemming her in, as if for the exl)ress purpose of excluding any chance breath of air. Father lull, too, came up, Thank the Lord, hes sent a witness to this young sister. lies sho~ving her the crown of life ! All in the immediate circle joined him in a vigorous hand- clapping and shoutin~s of Glory! Perhaps it was the best restorative, for presently there was a slight tremor in the prostrate figure. Life was seen timidly stealing over the cold, rigid face, and then slowly and wearily the eyes un- closed, still with that soul-heavy, vision-seeing look. Are you happy, sister? has the Lord blessed veer soul ? The voice was not yet retumned from that strauge visit to the borders of the dark valley and a faint, brief smile of seraphic sweetness gave the affirmative response. Then praise him, beloved. hell give you more grace if von praise him. Spat your hands, sister. Btmt the soft little hands lay motionless. Mother Jones, help her praise till shes stronger. And Elder lull went on to another power IJatient. Mother Jones seated herself on the ground, pillowed the guIs head in her lap, and taking the uerveless hands of her charge by the ~vrists spatted them together unremittingly. She ac- comlianied this exercise with shoutings, such as I had previotisly supposed unutterable by human voice. We remained until the ydung girl was sufficiently restored to mender acknowledgments in her own voice, far more musical than that of Mother Jones. By this time the moon, in the full beauty of her regal state, was half-~vay up the heavens. Hosts of timid stars, who shrink from the stern presence of the Day Kin~, came thronging forth to feast their l)ri~lit eyes on her lovely face. One bolder than the rest strove to touch with her twinkling lingers the floating royal robe, woven of pure fleecy cloudlets, and spangled with diamond dews. By four of us that ride home was given into Memorys hand to be folded away with her sweetest recollections. My little pet, Nonie, quite exhausted with the evenings novelties, lay asleep in my arms. Cousin Kate was the first to break the silence. how strange that all these diversities of faith and practice brauch from one root, and that the living Vine! I love to picture to myself the ~~aiting intervie~v of those rel)resentatives of all Christians, Methodists or Churchmen, Puritans or l~alnsts, at the Last Supper with their Lord. And I am al~vays thankftil that Judas had gone when that last hymmi was sung. I should so dis- like to associate him with sacred song. How I wish we knew ~vlmat ~vere tIme words, and what time melody, sting by that small band in that sweet vet painful honi, and if they realized the tortimmed life ned cinel death awaiting them be yontl that closed doom! I was foicibly stmutk, MConnell, by your remark on the wide communion of saints. Yes, the household of faith are brethren, differing widely in non-essentials, yet in vital character- istics the same. Just as the race of mean vamies in form of life, lineaments, and complexion, and is yet one in all the great distinctive traits of hu- inanity. Well, Ned, live up to that, and Ill call you Pharisee no longer, but a true shepherd over a unit of the many flocks again to be gathered in one fold. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MISTRESS AND MAID. A HOUSEHOLD STORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF JOhN hALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. CHAPTER XXIII. FOLLOWING Miss Hilarys earnest advice that every thing should be fair and open, Elizabeth, on the very next day after that happy Whit-Monday, mustered up her, courage, asked permission to speak to her mistress, and told her she was going to be married to Tom CiifTh: not immediately, but in a years time or so, if all went ~vell. Mrs. Ascott replied sharply that it was no af- fair of hers, and she could not be troubled about it. For her part she thought, if servants knew their own advantages, they would keep a good place when they had it, and never get married at all. And then, saying she had heard a good character of her from the housekeeper, she of- fered Elizabeth the place of npper house-maid, a young girl, a psot~qee of the housekeepers, be- ing substituted in hers. And when you have sixteen pounds a year, and somebody to do all your hard work for you, -I dare say youll think better of it, and not be so foolish as to go and get married. But Elizabeth had her own private opinion on that matter. She was but a woman, poor tiling! and two tiny rooms of her own, with Tom to care for and look after, seemed a far happier home than that great house, where she had not only her own work to do, but tile responsibility of teaching and taking charge of that careless, stupid, pretty Estiler, who had all tile forward- ness, untidiness, and unconscientiousness of a regular London maid-servant, and was a sore trial to the staid, steady Elizabeth. Tom consoled her, in his careless but affec- tionate way; and another silent consolation was the little bits of things, bought out of her ad- ditional wages, which she began to put by in her boxsticks and straws for the new sweet nest that was n-building: a metal tea-pot, two neat glass salt-cellars, andawful extravagance two real second-hand silver spoonsTom did so like having things nice about him! These pur- chases, picked up at stray times, were solid, substantial, and useful; domestic rather tilan personal; and all with a view to Tom rather than herselt~ She hid them with a magpie-like closeness, for Esther and she shared the same room; but sometimes when Esther was asleep she would peep at them with an anxious, linger- ing tenderness, as if they made more of an as- sured reality what even now seemed so very like a dream. servants. How much they guessed of her en- gagement she neither knew nor eared. Mrs. Ascott, too, had apparently quite forgot- ten it. She seemed to take as little interest in her servants affairs as they in hers. Nevertheless, ignorant as the lower regions were in general of what was passing in the up- per, occasionally rumors began to reach the kitchen that Master had been a-blowing up Missis, rather! And once, after the solemn dinner, with three footmen to wait on two peo- ple, was over, Elizabeth, passing through the hall, caught the said domestics laughing togeth- er, and saying it was as good as a play; cat and dog was nothing to it. After which the rows up stairs became a favorite joke in the servants hall. But still Mr. Ascott went out daily after breakfast, and came home to dinner; and Mrs. Ascott sl)ent the morning in her private sitting! room, or botidoir, as she called it; lunched, and drove out in her handsome carriage, with her footman behind; dressed elegantly for din- ner, and presided at her own table with an air of magnificent satisfaction in all things. She had perfectly accommodated herself to her new position; and if under her satins and laces beat a solitary, dissatisfied, or aching heart, it was nobodys business but her own. At least, she kept lip the Splendid sham with a most credita- ble persistency. But all shams are dangerous things. Be the surface ever so smooth and green, it will crack sometimes, and a faint wreath of smoke betray the inward volcano. The like had happened OIICO or twice, as on the day when the men-serv- ants were so intensely amused. Also Elizabeth, when putting in order her mistresss bedroom, which was about the hour Mr. Ascott left for the city, had several times seen Nirs. Ascott come in there suddenly, white and trembling. Once, so agitated was she, that Elizabeth had brought her a glass of water; and instead of being an- gry or treating her with the distant dignity which she had always kept up, her mistress had said, almost in the old Stowbury tone, Thank you, Elizabeth. however, Elizabeth had the wisdom to take no notice, but to slip from the room, and keep her own counsel. At last one day the smouldering domestic earthquake broke out. There was a precious good row, the footman suspected, at the break- fast-table; and after breakfast, Master, without Except, indeed, on those Sunday nights waiting for the usual attendance of that Lane- when Tom and she ~vent to church together, and tionary, with his hat and gloves and a 1-lansoni afterward took a walk, but always parted at the cab, had tluiig himself out at the hall door, sinai- corner of the square. She never brought him hning it after hini with a noise that startled tue in to the house, nor spoke of him to her fellow- whole house. Shortly afterward Mississ hell

Dinah Maria Mulock Mulock, Dinah Maria Mistress and Maid 102-116

102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MISTRESS AND MAID. A HOUSEHOLD STORY. BY THE AUTHOR OF JOhN hALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. CHAPTER XXIII. FOLLOWING Miss Hilarys earnest advice that every thing should be fair and open, Elizabeth, on the very next day after that happy Whit-Monday, mustered up her, courage, asked permission to speak to her mistress, and told her she was going to be married to Tom CiifTh: not immediately, but in a years time or so, if all went ~vell. Mrs. Ascott replied sharply that it was no af- fair of hers, and she could not be troubled about it. For her part she thought, if servants knew their own advantages, they would keep a good place when they had it, and never get married at all. And then, saying she had heard a good character of her from the housekeeper, she of- fered Elizabeth the place of npper house-maid, a young girl, a psot~qee of the housekeepers, be- ing substituted in hers. And when you have sixteen pounds a year, and somebody to do all your hard work for you, -I dare say youll think better of it, and not be so foolish as to go and get married. But Elizabeth had her own private opinion on that matter. She was but a woman, poor tiling! and two tiny rooms of her own, with Tom to care for and look after, seemed a far happier home than that great house, where she had not only her own work to do, but tile responsibility of teaching and taking charge of that careless, stupid, pretty Estiler, who had all tile forward- ness, untidiness, and unconscientiousness of a regular London maid-servant, and was a sore trial to the staid, steady Elizabeth. Tom consoled her, in his careless but affec- tionate way; and another silent consolation was the little bits of things, bought out of her ad- ditional wages, which she began to put by in her boxsticks and straws for the new sweet nest that was n-building: a metal tea-pot, two neat glass salt-cellars, andawful extravagance two real second-hand silver spoonsTom did so like having things nice about him! These pur- chases, picked up at stray times, were solid, substantial, and useful; domestic rather tilan personal; and all with a view to Tom rather than herselt~ She hid them with a magpie-like closeness, for Esther and she shared the same room; but sometimes when Esther was asleep she would peep at them with an anxious, linger- ing tenderness, as if they made more of an as- sured reality what even now seemed so very like a dream. servants. How much they guessed of her en- gagement she neither knew nor eared. Mrs. Ascott, too, had apparently quite forgot- ten it. She seemed to take as little interest in her servants affairs as they in hers. Nevertheless, ignorant as the lower regions were in general of what was passing in the up- per, occasionally rumors began to reach the kitchen that Master had been a-blowing up Missis, rather! And once, after the solemn dinner, with three footmen to wait on two peo- ple, was over, Elizabeth, passing through the hall, caught the said domestics laughing togeth- er, and saying it was as good as a play; cat and dog was nothing to it. After which the rows up stairs became a favorite joke in the servants hall. But still Mr. Ascott went out daily after breakfast, and came home to dinner; and Mrs. Ascott sl)ent the morning in her private sitting! room, or botidoir, as she called it; lunched, and drove out in her handsome carriage, with her footman behind; dressed elegantly for din- ner, and presided at her own table with an air of magnificent satisfaction in all things. She had perfectly accommodated herself to her new position; and if under her satins and laces beat a solitary, dissatisfied, or aching heart, it was nobodys business but her own. At least, she kept lip the Splendid sham with a most credita- ble persistency. But all shams are dangerous things. Be the surface ever so smooth and green, it will crack sometimes, and a faint wreath of smoke betray the inward volcano. The like had happened OIICO or twice, as on the day when the men-serv- ants were so intensely amused. Also Elizabeth, when putting in order her mistresss bedroom, which was about the hour Mr. Ascott left for the city, had several times seen Nirs. Ascott come in there suddenly, white and trembling. Once, so agitated was she, that Elizabeth had brought her a glass of water; and instead of being an- gry or treating her with the distant dignity which she had always kept up, her mistress had said, almost in the old Stowbury tone, Thank you, Elizabeth. however, Elizabeth had the wisdom to take no notice, but to slip from the room, and keep her own counsel. At last one day the smouldering domestic earthquake broke out. There was a precious good row, the footman suspected, at the break- fast-table; and after breakfast, Master, without Except, indeed, on those Sunday nights waiting for the usual attendance of that Lane- when Tom and she ~vent to church together, and tionary, with his hat and gloves and a 1-lansoni afterward took a walk, but always parted at the cab, had tluiig himself out at the hall door, sinai- corner of the square. She never brought him hning it after hini with a noise that startled tue in to the house, nor spoke of him to her fellow- whole house. Shortly afterward Mississ hell 103 MISTRESS AND MAID. had rung violently, and she had been found ly- man, for, as Elizabeth went on, her heart warm- ing on the floor of her bedroom in a dead faint, ed with the strong instinct which comes almost her maid, a foolish little Frenchwoman, scream- of itself. ing over her. Think, to have a tiny little creature lying The frightened servants gathered round in a here beside you; something your very own, with cluster, hut nobody attempted to touch the poor its pretty face looking so innocent and sweet at lady, who lay rigid and helpless, hearing none you, and its pretty fingers touching you. here of the comments that were freely made upon her, Elizabeths voice quite faltered over the picture or the conjectures as to what Master had done she had drawn. Oh, maam, Im sure you or said that produced this state of things. Mis- would be so fond of it. tress she was, and these four or five ~vomen, her Human nature is strong. This cold, selfish servants, had lived in her house for months, but woman, living her forty years without any strong nobody loved her; nobody knew any thing about emotion, marrying without love, and reaping, her; nobody thought of doing aught for her, till not in contrition but angry bitterness, the cer- a kitchen-maid, probably out of former experi- tam punishment of such a marriage, even this cuce in some domestic emergency, suggested, woman ~vas not proof against the glorious mys- Fetch Elizabeth. tery of maternity, which should make every The advice was eagerly caught at, every body daughter of Eve feel the first sure hope of her being so thankful to have the responsihility shift- first-horn child to be a sort of Divine annuncia- ed to some other bodys shoulders; so in five mm- tion. utes Elizabeth had the room cleared, and her Mrs. Ascott lay listening to Elizabeth. Grad- mistress laid upon the bed, with nobody near nally through her shut eyelids a few quiet tears except herself and the French maid. began to flow. By-and-by Mrs. Ascott opened her eyes. Do you mind me talking to you this way, Whos that? What are you doing to me? maarn ? Nothing, maam. Its only meEhiza- No, no! Say what you like. Im glad to beth. have any body to speak to. Oh, I am a very At the familiar soothing voice the poor wo- miserable woman mana poor, wretched, forlorn woman she look- Strange that Selina Ascott should come to ed, lying there, in spite of all her grandeur betray, and to Elizabeth Hand, of all people, turned feebly round. that she was a miserable woman. But cir- Oh, Elizabeth, Im so ill! take care of me. cumstauces bring about unforeseen confidences; And she fainted away once more. and the confidence once given is not easily re- It was some time before she came quite to called. Apparently the lady did not wish to re- herself, and then the first thing she said was to call it. In the solitude of her splendid house, bid Elizabeth bolt the door and keep every body in her total ~vant of all female companionship out. for she refused to have her sisters sent for The doctor, maam, if he comes ? lie would only insult them, and Ill not have Ill not see him. I dont want him. I my family insultedpoor Selina clung to her know what it is. I old servant as the only comfort she had. She pulled Elizabeth closer to her, whispered During the dreary months that followed, when, something in her ear, and then burst into a yin- during the long, close summer days, the sick lady lent fit of hysterical weeping. scarcely stirred from her bedroom, and, fretful, Amazed, shocked, Elizabeth at first did not peevish, niade the very most of what to women know what to do; then she took her mistresss in general are such patiently borne and sacred head on her shoulder, and quieted her by degrees sufferings, Elizabeth was her constant attend- almost as she ~vould a child. The sobbing ant. She humored all her whims, endured all ceased, and Mrs. Ascott lay still a minute, till i her ill-tempers, cheered her in her low spirits, suddenly she clutched Elizabeths arm. and was, in fact, her mistresss sole companion Mind you dont tell. lIe doesnt kno~v, and friend. and lie shall not; it would please him so. It This position no one disputed with her. It does not please me. Sometimes I almost think is not every woman who has, as Miss Leaf used I shall hate it because it is his child. to say of Elizabeth, a genins for nursing ; She spoke with a fierceness that was hardly and very few patients make nursing a labor of credible either in the dignified Mrs. Peter Ascott love. The whole household were considerably or the laugnid Miss Selina. To think of Miss relieved by her taking a responsibility for which Selinas expecting a baby! The idea perfectly she was so well fitted and so little envied. confounded poor Elizabeth. Even Mr. Ascott, ~vho, when his approaching I dont know very much about such mat- honors could no longer be concealed from him, ters, said she, deprecatingly; but Im sure, i became for the nonce a most attentive husband, maam, you ought to keep yourself quiet, and I nud succumbed dutifully to every fancy his wife ~vouldnt hate the poor little baby if I were you. entertained, openly expressed his satisfaction in It may be a very nice little thing, and turn out Elizabeth, and gave her one or two bright gold- a great comfort to you. en guineas in earnest of his gratitude. Mrs. Ascott lifted her heavy eyes to the kind- how far she herself appreciated her new and ly, synipatlietic, womanly facethorough wo important position; whether her duties were lot HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. done from duty, or pity, or that determined self- By degrees, as Mrs. Ascotts hour approached, devotedness which some women are always ready a curious tranquillity and even gentleness came to carry out toward any helpless thing that needs over her, IJei fretful dislike of seeing any face them, I can not say, for she never told. Not ahout her hut Elizaheths bocame less. She even even to Miss Hilary, who at last was permitted endured her husbands company for an hour of to come and pay a form~ 1 visit ; nor to Tom an evening ; and at last humbled her Pride Chile, whom she no~v saw very rarely, for her enough to he~ him to invite her sisters to Ens mistress, with characteristic selfishness, would sell Square from ~atnrday to Monday, the only hardly let her out of her sight for half an hour. time when Hilary could he spared. Tom at first was exceedingly savage at this : For we dont know what may happen, said by degrees lie got more reconciled, and met his ~ she to hitn, rather seriotisly. sweet-heart now and then for a few minutes at ~ And though lie answered, Oh, nonsense the area gate, or wrote her long poetical letters, ~ and desired her to get such ridiculous fancies which he confided to some of her fellow-servants ~ out who thel ehy got acqnaintedwsth their secret ~ of her head, still lie consetited, and himself wrote to Miss Leaf, giving the formal invita it mattered little, as Elizabeth had faithftilly prom tion. ised that, alien her mistresss trial was over, and ~ The three sisters sl)ent a happy time together, every thing smooth and happy, she would m~rry~an 1 Ililary made some highly iUIreciated fismily Tom at once. So she took the jokes below stairs ~ jokes about the handsome Christmas box that with great composure ; feeling, indeed, too proud ~ Sehina was going to be so kind as to give them, and content to perplex herself machi about tiny ~ and the small probability that she wotild have thing. niiichi enjoyment of the Chsristuias dinner to Nevertheless, her life was not easy - for Mrs. ~ which Mr. Ascott, in the Slihierabtindance of his Ascott was very difficult , to manage. She re ~ good feeling, had invited his sisters-inlaw. The sisted an~rily all the personal sacrifices entailed baby, blessed innoceiit ! seeiiied to have softened hy impending motherhood, and its terrors and down all thingsas babies often do. forebodings used to conic over herpoor weak Altogether, it was with great cheerfulness, woman that she was !in a way that required affectionateness, a n(l hope that they took leave all Elizabeths reasonings to counteract, and all ~ of Schiiia : she. ~v . ithi unwonted coiisideration her self-s~ontrol to hide the Presentiment of evil, insisting that the carriage should convey them not unnatural under the circumstances. all the way to Richmond. Yet sometimes l)OOV Mrs. Ascott would take And, she said, lerhaps some of these fits of pathetic happiness ; when she busied her days say son, if lie is a son, may have the pleas self eagerly over the preparations for the new- are of escorting Isis aunts home. I shall cer- coiner ; would make Elizabeth take out, over and tainly call him henry Leaf and bring him up over a~ain the little clothes, and examine them to be in every way a credit to otir family. with childish delight. Sometimes she would gos \Vhen the ladies were away, and Mrs. Ascott Sil) for hours over the blessing that was sent to lied retired to bed, it was still only nine oclock, her so late in hifelsalf~re~retting that it had and a bright moonlight night. Elizabeth thought come so late ; that she should he almost an old she could steal down stairs and try to get a wonian heforehser little sonordaughterwas grown breaths of fresh air round the squaie. Her long ~ Still , I saayli~~e to see it, yen know to have confinement made lies almost sick sometimes for a sight of the enter world, a sight oflet a pretty girl to take on my arm into a hallroom, ase tell the esitire truths her own faithful or a big fellow to send to College : the Leafs al- Tome ways ~vent - 0 College in old times. lie shall be She lied not seen him now for fourteen days, henry Leaf Ascott, that I am determined on ; ~ mlii though his letters were very nice and ox- an(l ifits a girl, perhaps I may call her Johanna. ~ ceedingly clever, still she craved for a look at . Mv sister we . old like it ; wouldnt she ? I Isis face, a grasp of his hand, perhaps even a For more and mere, in the strange softening1 hiss, long and close and tesider, such as lie of her nattire, did Selina go back to the old ~ would sometimes insist iil)Ofl giving her, in spite ties. of ~ll I ~ policemen. Ilis love for her, desaonstrss.. I am not older than my mother was when tive as was his nature, lied become to this still, Hilary was born. Shie died, but that was hecatise quiet girl inexpressibly sweet, far sweeter than of trouble. Women (10 not necessarily die in sh~e knew. childbirth even at forty ; and in twenty years It was a clear winter night, and the moon more I shall only be sixtynet such a very old went climbing ever the fleecy white clouds in a woman. Besides, mothers never are old ; at least way that made beauty even in Russell Square. net to their children. Dont you think so, Eliza- Elizabeth looked up at the sky, and thought heth? how Tom would have 9njoyed it, and wished lie And Elizabeth answered as she hest coald. were beside her, and was so glad to think lie She toe, out of sympathy or instinct, was be- would soon be beside her always, with all Isis coming wendrous \vise. humors and weaknesses, all Isis little cressnesses But I am aware all this will he thenght very and cesuphainings ; she could put tsp with all, uninteresting, except by women and mothers. and be happy through all, if only she had him Let me hasten on. with her and loving her. MISTRESS AM) MAID. 105 His love for her, thongh fltfnl and tanciful, was vet so warm and real that it had become a necessity of her life. As he always told her especially after he had had one of his little quar- rels with herhers was to him. Poor Tom, I wonder how he gets on with- out me! Well, it wont be for long. And she wished sire could have let him know she was out here, that they might have had a chat for just ten minutes. Unconsciously she walked toward their usual trysting-l)laCe, a large overhanging plane-tree on the Keppel Street corner of the square. Surely, surely, that could not be Tom! Quite im})ossihle, for he was not alone. Two people, a Young man and a young woman, stood at the tryst, ahsorhed in conversation: evidently sweet- hearts, for he had one arm round her, and he kissed her unresisted, several times. Elizabeth gazed, fascinated, almost doubting the evidence of her o~vn senses. For the young luaus figure was so excessively like Torns. At length, with the sort of feeling that makes one go steadily up to a shadow hy the roadside, some ugly sl)ectre that ~ve feel sure, if we stare it out, will prove to be a mere imagination, she walked deliborately up to and past these sweet- hearts. They did not see her; they were far too much occupied with one another ; but she saw them, and saw at omie that it was Torn, Toms o~vu self, and with him her fellowservant, Esther. People may ~vrite volumes on jealousy, and volumes will still remain to be written. It is next to remorse for guilt, the sharpest, sorest, most maddening torment that human nature can endure. We may sit and gaze from the boxes at our Othellos and Biorrcas; ~ve may laugh at the silly heart-burnings between Cousin Kate and Cousin Lucy in the ball-room, or the squabbles of Mary and Sally in the kitchen over the gardeners lad; but there the thing remains. A man can not make love to two women, a woman can not coquet with two men, without caursing in degree that horrible agony, cruel as deatlr, which is at the root of half the tragedies, and the carrse of Iralf the crimes of this world. The courplaint comes in different forms; some- times it is a case of slow poisoning, or of ordeal by red-hot irons, which though not fatal, under- mines the ~vhole character, and burns inefface- able scars into the soul. And people take it in various wayssome fiercely, stung Iry a sense of wounded self-love; otlrers hauglrtily: Prides a safe rebe, Ill wear it; brrt no rags. Others, again, humble, self-distrrrstfnl natures, wirose only pride came through love, have no- tIring left them except rags. In a muonrent all their thin robes of happiness are torn off; they stand shivering, naked, and helpless before the blasts of the bitter world. TIns was Elizabeths case. After the first in- stant of stunned bewilderment and despair she took it all quite naturally, as if it were a thing which she ought all along to have know-n was srrre to lrappen, and wlrich was no more than she exlrected and deserved. She passed tIre couple, still unobserved by them, aurd tlren walked round the other side of the sqrrare, deliberately home. I ann not going to make a tragic heroine of tIns poor servant-girl. Perlraps, people may say, there is nothing tragic about tlre incident. Merely a plain, quiet, oldfaslrioned woman, who is so foolish as to like a lrrrndsome young swairr, and to believe in lrim, and to be surprised wlren Ire deserts lner for a pretty girl of ciglnteen. All quite after tlre way tlrings go on in tlre world, especially in tlne servnrntworhd ; and tlre best she can do is to get over it, or take anotlrer sweet Ireart as qrnickhy as possible. A ver-y common story after all, and mom-c of a farce tiran a trag cdv. Brrt there ni-c some farces which, if vorr look mmndemneatin tire surface, irave a good many of the elennents of tragedy. I shall neitirer paint Elizabeth tearin~ her own inair nor Estiners, nor going raging abcmut the square inn moonhigirt in an insane fit of jeal- ousy. Sire was not given to fits cruder any cimcrrmstances, or about any tiring. All sire felt ~vent deep dow-n into her heart, rooted itself, and either blossomed or cankered tireme. On this nigint shine, mrs I said, walked round tIne sqirare to liner home ; tlren qurietly ~vent imp stairs to irer garret, locked tire door, and sat down upon liner bed. SIre urighint Irave sat thiere for an hrorrr or more, her bonnet and shaw-l still on, witinout stirring, without cr-yirrg, altogetiner cold and irard like a stone, when slne fancied she. ineard her mistress3 bell m-ing, aind meclinanically rose up and ~vent down stairs to listen. Nothin~ was wanted, so sire return-ned to liner garret amnd crept to bed in tine drrrk. \Vlnen soon afterward Esthrer likecvise came up to h)ed, Elizabeth pretenulenl no ire asleep. Only once, taking a steahciry glance at tine pret- ty girl wino stood comnlnimng liner- muir at tine hook- ingglass, she was cominscionus of a sick sense of repulsion, a pain like a kunife rmmuning tirrough hiner, at siglint of tine red yornng lips winicin Tom mad just beemn kissing, of tine light fignrre winicin ire hind ciaspeul as ire used tin) clasp liner. But sire never spoke, not one word. Ilahf an inour after she was roused by tire nun-se coming to her bedside. Mrs. Ascott was very iii, and was calling for Elizabeth. Soomn tire whole establishurent ~vas inn confusion, and in tire siinarp struggle betcveen inirtiu and dentIn Ehizabetiu had no time to tinink of any thing hint her mnnistress. Contrary to every expectation, all ended speed- il~ and happily; and before line went off to the City next day the master of the mouse, who, in the midst of his anxiety and felicity, had man- aged to securre a good nights sheep and a good breakfast, had the pleasure of sending off a spe- cial messenger to tile Tinnnes office with tire noti- fication, The Lady of Peter Aseott, Esq., of a son and Ineir. 1O.i hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER XXIV. Unless, said Mrs. Ascott, when this propo- sition was made, suddenly recurring to a fact A FORTNIGHTS time rather increased than which seemed hitherto to have quite slipped diminished the excitement incident on the event from her mind unless you are still willing to at Rossell Square. get married, and think you would he happier Never was there such a wonderful baby, and married. In that case I wont hinder you. But never was there such a fuss made over it. Un- it would he such a comfort to tue to keep you a prejudiced persons might have called it an ugly, weakly little thing; indeed, at first there were such apprehensions of its dying that it had heen haptized in a great hurry, Henry Leaf Ascott, according to the mothers desire, which in her critical position nobody dared to thwart. Even at the end of fonrteen days the son and heir was still a puling, sickly, yellow-faced hahy. But to the mother it was every thing. From the moment she heard its first cry Mrs. Ascotts whole nature seemed to undergo a change. Her very eyesthose cold blue eyes of Miss Selinastook a depth and tenderness whenever she turned to look at the little bundle that lay beside her. She never wearied of touch- ing the tiny hands and feet, and wondering at them, and showingto every one of the house- hold who was favored with a sight of it my baby, as if it had been a miracle of the uni- verse. She was so unutterahly happy and proud. Elizabeth, too, seemed not a little proud of the baby. To her arms it had first been com- mitted; she had stood by at its first washing and dressing, and had scarcely left it or her mis- tress since. Nurse, a very grand personage, bad been a little jealous of her at first, but soon grew condescending, and made great use of her in the sick-room, alleging that such an exceedingly sensible young person, so quiet and steady, was almost as good as a middle-aged married wo- man. Indeed, she once asked Elizabeth if she was a widow, since she looked as if she had seen trouble ; and was very much surprised to learn she was single and only twenty-three years old. Nobody else took any notice of her. Even Miss Hilary was so engrossed by her excitement and delight over the baby that she only ob- served, Elizabeth, you look rather worn-out~ this has been a trying time for you. And Elizabeth had just answered, Yesno more. During the fortnight she had seen nothing of Tom. He had written her a short note or two and the cook told her he had been to the kitchen- door several times asking for her, but being an- swered that she was with her mistress up stairs, had gone away. In the sulks, most like, though he didnt look it. Hes a pleasant-spoken young man, and Im sure I wish you luck with him, said Cookie, who, like all the other servants, was now exceedingly civil to Elizabeth. Her star had risen; she was considered in the household a most fortunate woman. It was shortly understood that nursemajestic nurse, had spoken so highly of her, that at the months end the baby was to be given entirely into ~her charge, with, of course, an almost fabulous amount of wages. little longer. Thank you, maam, answered Elizabeth, softly, and busied herself with walking baby up and down the room, hushing it on her shoulder. If in the dun light tears fell on its puny face, God help her, poor Elizabeth! Mrs. Ascott made such an excellent recovery that in three weeks time nobody was the least anxious about her, and Mr. Ascott arranged to start on a business journey to Edinburgh; prom- ising, however, to be back in three days for the Christmas dinner, which was to be a grand celebration. Miss Leaf and Miss hlilary were to appear thereat in their wedding-dresses; and Mrs. Ascott herself took the most vital interest in Jobannas having a new cap for the occasion. Nay, she insisted upon ordering it from her own milliner, and having it made of the most beau- tiful lacethe sweetest old ladys cap that could possibly 1)0 invented. Evidently this wonderful baby had opened all hearts, and drawn every natural tie closer. Sc- hun, lying on the sofa, in her graceful white wrapper, and her neat close cap, looked so young, so l)retty, and, above all, so exceedingly gentle and motherly, that her sisters hearts were full to overflowing. They nckno~vledged that hap- piness, like misery, was often brought about in a fashion totally unforeseen and incredible. Who would have thought, for instance, on that wretch- ed night when Mr. Ascott came to hlilary at Kensington, or on that dreary heartless wed- ding-day, that they should ever have been sit- ting in Sehinas room so merry and comforta- ble, admiring the baby, and on the friendliest terms with babys papa? Papa is a magical word, and let married peol)le have fallen ever so wide asunder, the thought, my childs mother, my babys fa- ther, must in some degree bridge the gulf be- tween them. When Peter Ascott was seen stooping, awkwardly enou~h, over his sons cra- dle, poking his dumpy fingers into each tiny check in a half-alarmed, half-investigating man- ner, as if lie wondered how it had all come about, but, on the whole, was rather pleased than otherwisethe good angel of the household might have stood by and smiled, trusting that the ghastly skeleton therein might in time crum- ble away into harmless dust, under the sacred touch of infant fingers. The husbaiid and wife took a kindly, even affectionate leave of one another. Mrs. Aseott called him Peter, and begged him to take care of himself, and wrap up well that cold night. And when he was gone, and her sisters also, she lay on her sofa with her eyes open, thinking. What sort of thoughts they were, whether repentant or hopeful, solemn or tender, MISTRESS AND MAID. 107 whether they might have passed away and been forgotten, or how far they might have influenced her life to come, none knew, and none ever did know. When there came a knock to the door, and a message for Elizabeth, Mrs. Ascott suddenly overheard it and turned round. Who is wanting you? Tom Cliffe? Isnt that the young man you are to be married to? Go down to him at once. And stay, Elizabeth, as its such a bitter night, take him for half an hour into the housekeepers room. Send her up stairs, and tell her I wished it, though I dont allo~v followers. Thank you, maam, said Elizabeth once more, and obeyed. She must speak to Tom some time, it might as well be done to-night as not. Without pausing to think, she went doevn with dull heavy steps to the housekeepers room. Tom stood there alone. He looked so exact- lv his own old self, he came forward to meet her so completely in his old familiar way, that for the instant she thought she must be under some dreadful delusion; that the moonli~ht night in the square must have been all a dream; Esther, still the silly little Esther, whom Tom had often heard of and laughed at; and Tom, her own Tom, who loved nobody but her. Elizabeth, what an age it is since Ive had a sight of you But though the manner was ~varm as ever, In ho tone A something smote her, as if Duty tried To mock the voice of Love, how long since flown, and quiet as she stood, Elizabeth shivered in his arms. Why, whats the matter? Arent you glad to see me? Give me another kiss, my girl, lie took it; and she crept away from him and sat down. Tom, Ive got something to say to you, and Id better say it at once. To be sure. Tisnt any bad news from home, is it? Orlooking uneasily at her I havent vexed you, have I ? Vexed me, she repeated, thinking what a small foolish ~vord it was to express what had happened, and what she had been suffering. No, Toni, not vexed me exactly. But I want to ask you a question. Who was it that von stood talking with, under our tree in the square, hetveen nine and tea oclock, this night three weoks ago ? Though there was no anger in the voice it was so serious and deliherate that it made Tom start. Three weeks ago; how can I possibly tell ? Yes, you can; for it was a fine moonlight night, and you stood there a long time. Under the tree, talking to somehody? What nonsense! Perhaps it wasnt me at all. It was, for I saw you. The devil von did ! muttered Tom. Dont be angry, only tell me the plain truth. The young woman that was with you was our Esthem~ here, wasnt she ? For a moment rum looked altogether con- founded. Then he tried to recover himself, and said, crossly, Well, and if it was, wheres the harm? Cant a man be civil to a pretty girl without being called over the coals in this way? Elizabeth made no answer, at least not imme- diately. At last she said, in a very gentle, sub- dued voice, Tom, are you fond of Esther? You would not kiss her if you ~vere not fond of leer. Do you like leer asas you used to like me ? And she looked right up into his eyes. Hers had no reproach in them, only a piteous en- treaty, the last clinging to a hope which she knew to be false. Like Esther? Of course I do. Shes a nice sort of girl, and were very good friends. Tom, a nean cant be friends, in that sort of way, with a pretty girl of eighteen, when he is going to he married to somehody else. At least, in my mind, lee ought not. Tom laughed in a confused manner. I say, youre jealous, and youd hetter get over it. Was she jealous? was it all fancy, folly? Did Tom stand there, tree as steel, without a feeling in his heart that she did not share, without a hope in which she was not united, holding leer, and preferring her, with that individuality and unity of love which true love ever gives and exacts, as it has a right to exact? Not that poor Elizabeth reasoned in this way, but she felt the thing by instinct without reason- ing. Tom, she said, tell me outright, jost as if I was somebody else, and had never belonged to you at all, do you love Esther Martin ? Truthful people enforce truth. Tom might be fickle, bust lee was not deceitful; he could not look into Elizabeths eves and tell leer a delib- erate lie; somehow he dared not. Well, thensince you will have it out of meI think I do. So Elizabeths ship ~vent down. It might have been a very frail vessel, that nobody in their right senses would have trusted any treas lire with, still she did ; and it was all she lead, and it went do~vn to the bottom like a stone. It is astonishing ho~v soon the sea closes over this sort of wreck; and how quietly people take when they must take, and there is no more disbelieving itthe truth whiche they would have given their lives to prove was an impossible lie. For some minutes Tom stood facing the fire, and Elizabeth sat on her chair opposite without speaking. Then she took off her brooch, the only love-token he had given her, aced put it into his hand. Whats this for ? asked he, suddenly. You know. Youd better give it to Esther. Its Esther, not me, yen must marry now. And the thought of Esther, giddy, flirting, useless Esther, as Toms wife, was almost more than she could bear. Thee sting of it put even 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. into her crushed humility a certain honest self- assertion. Im not going to blame you, Tom; bnt I think Im as good as she. Im not pretty. I know, nor lively, nor young, at least im old for my age; but I was worth something. You should not have served me so. Tom said, the usual excuse, that he couldnt help it. And suddenly turning round, lie hegged her to forgive him, and not forsake him. She forsake Tom! Elizabeth almost smiled. I do forgive von; Im not a bit angry with you. If I ever was I have got over it. Thats right. Youre a dear soul. Do you think I dont like you, Elizabeth ? Oh yes, she said, sadly, I dare say you do, a little, in spite of Esther Martin. But thats not my way of liking, and I couldnt stand it. Wl~at couldnt you stand ? Your kissing me to-day, and another girl to-morrow: your telling me I was every thing to you one week, and saying exactly the same thing to another girl the next. It would be hard enough to bear if we were only friends, but as sweet-hearts, as hushand and wife, it would be impossihle. No, Tom, I tell you the truth, I could not stand it. She spoke strongly, unhesitatingly, and for an instant there flowed out of her soft eyes that wild, fierce spark, latent even in these quiet humble natures, which is dangerous to meddle with. Tom did not atteml)t it. lie felt all was over. Whether lie had lost or gained ; whether he was glad or sorry, he hardly knew. Im not going to take this back, any how, lie said, fiddling with the brooch ; aiid then going tip to her, he attenipted, with tremblin~ hands, to refasten it in her collar. The familiar action, his contrite look, were too much. People who have once loved oiie an- other, though the love is dead (for love cue die), are not able to bury it all at once, or if they do, its pale ghost will still come knocking at the door of their hearts, Let me in, let me in Elizabeth ought, I know, in proper feminine dignity, to have bade 1om farewell without a glance or a touch. But she did not. When lie had fastened her brooch she looked np in his familiar face a sorrowful, wistful, lingering look, and then clung about his neck: 0 Tom, Tom, I was so fond of you And lom mingled his tears with hers, and kissed her many times, and even felt his old affection returning, making him half oblivious of Esther; but mercifullyfor love rebuilt upon lost faith is like a house founded upon sands the door opened, and Esther herself came in. Laughing, smirking, pretty Esther, who, thoughtless as she was, had yet the sense to draw back when she saw them. Come here, Esther! Elizabeth called, im- peratively; and she came. Esther, Ive given up Tom; you may take him if he wants you. Make him a good wife, and Ill forgive you. If not She could not say another word. She shut the door upon them, and crept up stairs, con scions only of one thoughtif she only could get away from them, and never see either of their faces any more! And in this fate was kind to her, though in that awful way in which fatesay rather Prov- idenceoften ~vorks ; cutting, with one sharp blow, some knot that our poor, feeble, mortal fingers have been long laboring at in vain, oi making that which seemed impossilde to do the most natural, easy, ~ind only thing to be done. 110w strangely often in human life one woe dotli tread upon tIme others heel ! how con- tinually, while one of those small private trage- dies that I have spoken of is being enacted ~vithin, the actors are called upon to meet some other tragedy from without, so that external energy counteracts inward emotion, and holy syni p~ethiy with anothers sufferings stifles all h)ersonal pain. lhat truth about sorrows com- ing in battalions tiiay have a divine meaning in itniny he one of those mysterious laws which guide tIme universelaws that we can only trace iii fragments, and guess at the rest, believing, iii (heel) humility, thiat one day we shall know even as we are known. Therefore I ask no ~)ity for Elizabeth, be- cause crc she had time to collect herself, and realize in her poor confused mind that she had in(leed said good-by to rum, given him up and parted from him forever, she was summoned to her niistresss room, there to hold a colhoqu~- outside the door with the seriously-perplexed nurse. One of those sudden changes had come which sometimes, after all seems safe, strike terror into a rejoicing household, and end by carrying away, remorseless, the young wife from her scarcely tasted bliss, the nuother of many children froni her close circle of happy duties and yearning loves. Mrs. Ascott was ill. Either she had taken cold or been too much excited, or, in the over- confidence of her recovery, some slight neglect hind occurredsome trifle which nol)o(lv thinks of till afterward, and which yet proves the fatal cause, the little pin that Bores through the castle wall of luortal hope, and King Death enters in all his awful state. Nobody knew it or dreaded it; for though Mrs. Ascott was certainly ill, she was not at first very ill; and there being no telegraphs in those days no one thought of sending for either her husband or her sisters. But that very hotir, when Elizabeth ~vent up to her mistress, and saw the Ilushm on her cheek and the restless ex- pression of her eye, King Death had secretly creh)t in at the door of the mansion in Russell Square. The patient was carefully removed back into her bed. She said little, except once, hooking up uneasily I dont feel ehuite myselg Elizabeth. And when her servant soothed her in ths long-familiar way, telling her she would be bet- MISTRESS AND MAID. 109 ter in the morning, she smiled contentedly, and turned to go to sleep. Nevertheless, Elizabeth did not go to her bed, but sat behind the curtain, motionless, for an hour or more. Toward the middle of the night, when her baby was brought to her, and the child instinct- ively refused its natural food, and began scream- ing violently, Mrs. Ascotts troubled look re- turned. What is the matter? What are you do- ing, Nurse? I wont be parted from my baby I wont, I say I And when, to soothe her, the little thing was again put into her arms, and again turned from her, a frightened expression came into the mo- thers face. Am I going to be ill ?is baby She stopped; and as nurse determinately car- ric;d it away, she attempted no resistance, only foUowed it across the room with eager eyes. It was the last glimmer of reason there. From that time her mind began to wander, and before morn- ing she was slightly delirious. Still nobody apprehended danger. Nobody really knew any thing about the matter except nurse, and she, with a selfish fear of being blamed for carelessness, resisted sending for the doctor till his usual hour of calling. In that large house, as in many other large houses, every bodys busi- ness was nobodys business, and a member of the family, even the mistress, might easily be sick or dying in some room therein, while all things else went on just as usual, and no one was any the wiser. About noon even Elizabeths ignorance was roused up to the conviction that something was very wrong with Mrs. Ascott, and that nurses skill could not counteract it. On her own re- sponsibility she sent, or rather she ~vent to fetch the doctor. lie came; and his fiat threw the whole household into consternation. Now they kne~v that the poor lady whose hap- piness had touched the very stoniest hearts in the establishment hovered upon the brink of the grave. Now all the women-servants, down to the little kitchen-maid with her dirty apron at her eyes, crept up stairs, one after the other, to the door of ~vhat had been such a silent, mysteri- ous room, and listened, unhindered, to the rav- ings that issued thence. Poor Missis, and the poor little baby, were spoken of softly at the kitchen dinner-table, and confidentially sym- pathized over ~vith inquiring tradespeople at the area gate. A sense of awe and suspense stole over the whole house, gathering thicker hour by hour of that dark December day. When her mistress was first pronounced in danger, Elizabeth, aware that there was no one to act but herself, had taken a brief opportunity to slip from the room and write two letters, one to her master in Edinburgh, and the other to Miss Hilary. The first she gave to the footman to post; the second she charged him to send by special messenger to Richmond. But he, being lazily inclined, or else thinking that, as the order VOL. XXVI.No. 151.H was only given by Elizabeth, it was of compara- tively little moment, posted them both. So vainly did the poor girl watch and wait; nei- ther Miss Leaf nor Miss Hilary came. By night Mrs. Ascotts delirium began to sub- side, but her strength was ebbing fast. Two physiciansthreestood by the unconscious wo- man, and pronounced that all hope was gone, if, indeed, the case had not been hopeless from the beginning. Where is her husband? Has she no rela- tionsno mother or sisters ? asked the fashion- able physician, Sir , touched by the sight of this poor lady dying alone, with only a nurse and a servant about her. If she has, they ought to be sent for immediately. Elizabeth ran down stairs, and rousing the old butler from his bed, prevailed on him to start immediately in the carriage to bring back Miss Leaf and Miss Hulary. It would be midnight before he reached Richmond; still it must be done. Ill do it, my girl, said he, kindly; and Ill tell them as gently as I can. Never fear. When Elizabeth returned to her mistresss room the doctors were all gone, and nurse, standing at the foot of Mrs. Ascotts bed, was watching her with the serious look which even a hireling or a stranger wears in the presence of that sight which, however familiar, never grows less. awfula fellow-creature slowly pass- ing from this life into the life unknown. Elizabeth crept up to the other side. The change, undescribable yet unmistakable, which comes over a human face when the warrant for its dissolution has gone forth, struck her at once. Never yet had Elizabeth seen death. Her fa- thers she did not remember, and among her few friends and connections none other had occurred. At twenty-three years of age she was still igno- rant of that solemn experience which every wo- man must go through some time, often many times, during her life. For it is to women that all look in their extreme hour. Very few men, even the tenderest-hearted, are able to watch by the last struggle and close the eyes of the dying. For the moment, as she glanced round the darkened room, and then at the still figure on the bed, Elizabeths courage failed. Strong love might have overcome this fearthe natural re- coil of youth and life from coming into contact with death and mortality; but love was not ex- actly the bond between her and Mrs. Ascott. It was rather duty, pity, the tenderness that would have sprung up in her heart toward any body she had watched and tended so long. If she should die, die in the night, before Miss Hilary comes I thought the poor girl, and glanced once more round the shadowy room, where she was now left quite alone. For nurse, thinking with true worldly wisdom of the preser- vation of the son and heir, which was de- cidedly the most important question now, had stolen away, and was busy in the next room, seeing various young women whom the doctors had sent, one of whom was to supply to the in- 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fant the place of the poor mother whom it would ear Our Father which art in heaveato the never know. end. There was nobody left hut herself to watch After it Mrs. Ascott lay very quiet. At, this dying mother, so Elizabeth took her lot length she said, Pleasebringmybaby. upon her, smothered down her fears, and sat by It had been from the first, and was to the last, the bedside waiting for the least expression of an, baby. returning reason in the sunken face, which was The small face was laid close to hers that she very quiet now, might kiss it. Consciousness did return at last, as the doe- He looks ~vell; lie does not miss me much tors had said it would. Mrs. Ascott opened her yet, poor little fello~v U And the strong natural eyes; they wandered from side to side, and then agony came upon her, conquering even tho she said, feebly, weakness of her last hour. Oh, its hard, Elizabeth, wheres my baby ? hard! Will nobody teach my baby to remem- What Elizabeth answered she never could re- her me ? member; perhaps nothing, or her agitation be- And then lifting herself up on her elbow she trayed her, for Mrs. Ascott said again, caught hold of nurse. Elizabeth, am I going toto leave my Tell Mr. Ascott that Elizabeth is to take baby ? care of baby. Promise, Elizabeth. Johanna is Some people might have considered it best to oldHilary may be marriedyou will take care reply with a liethe frightened, cowardly lie of my baby ? that is so often told at death-beds to the soul I willas long as I live, said Elizabeth passing direct to its God. But this girl could Hand. not and dared not. She took the child in her arms, and for almost Leaning over her mistress, she whispered as another hour stood beside the bed thus, until softly as she could, choking down the tears that nurse whispered, Carry it away; its mother might have disturbed the peace which, merci- doesnt know it now. fully, seemed to have come with dying, But she did; for she feebly moved her fingers Yes, you are going very soonto God. lie as if in search of something. Baby was still will watch over baby, and give him back to you asleep, but Elizabeth contrived, by kneeling again some day quite safe. down close to the bed, to put the tiny hand un- Will He ? der those cold fingers; they closed immediately The tone was submissive, half-inquiring; like upon it, and remained so till the last. that of a child learning something it had never When Miss Leaf and Miss Hilary came in learned beforeas Selina was now learning. Elizabeth was still kneeling there, trying softly Perhaps even those three short weeks of mo- to take the little hand away; for the baby had tberhood had power so to raise her ~vhole na- wakened and began its piteous wail. But it did ture that she now gained the composure with not disturb the mother now. which even the weakest soul can sometimes Poor Selina was uo more. Nothing of her meet death, and had grown not unworthy of the was left to her child except the name of a mo- dignity of a Christians dying. ther. It may have been better so. Suddenly she shivered. I am afraid; I never thought of this. Will nobody come and speak to me ? Oh, how Elizabeth longed for Miss Hilary, CHAPTER xxv. for any body, who would have known what to say to the dying woman; who perhaps, as her IN SIEMORY o~ look and words implied, till this hour had never S ELI NA, thought of dying. Once it crossed the serv- TIlE IIEL~~ED WIFE OF PETER ASCOTT, ESQ., ants mind to send for some clergyman; but she OF RUSSELL SQUARE. LONnoN~ knew none, and was aware that Mrs. Ascott did AND DAUGhTER OF not either. She had no superstitious feeling that TIlE LATE Ii ENIIY LEA F~ ESQ., any clergyman would do; just to give a sort of OF THIS TOWN. spiritual extreme unction to the departing soul. DIED DECEMBER 24, 1S39, Her own religious faith was of such an intense- AGED 41 YEARS. ly personal silent kind, that she did not believe Suoxi was the inscription which now, for six sa any good to be derived from a strange gentle- months, had met the eyes of the inhabitants of man coming and praying by the bedside of a Stowbury, on a large, dazzlingly-white marble stranger, repeating set sayings with a set coun- monument, the first that was placed in the tenance, and going away again. And yet with church-yard of the New Church. that instinct which comes to almost every human What motive induced Mr. Ascott to inter his soul, fast departing, Mrs. Ascotts ~vhite lips wife herewhether it was a natural wish to lay whispered, Pray. her, and some day lie beside her, in their native Elizabeth had no words, except those which earth; or the less creditable desire of showing Miss Leaf used to say night after night in the how rich he had become, and of joining his little parlor at Stowbury. She knelt down, and once humble name, even on a tomb-stone, with in a trembling voice repeated in her mistresss one of the oldest names in the annals of Stow- MISTRESS AND MAID. 111 burynobody could find out. Probably nobody cared. The Misses Leaf were content that he should do as he pleased in the matter: he had shown strong but not exaggerated grief at his loss; if any remorse mingled therewith, Salinas sisters happily did not know it. Nobody ever did know the full history of things except Elizabeth, and she kept it to herself. So the family skeleton was buried quietly in Mrs. Ascotts grave. Peter Ascott shotved, in his coarse fashion, much sympathy and consideration for his wifes sisters. He had them staying in the house till a week after the funeral was over, and provided them with the deepest and handsomest mourn- ing. lie even, in a formal way, took counsel with theni as to the carrying out of Mrs. Ascotts wishes, and the retaining of Elizabeth in charge of the son and heir, which was accordingly set- tled. And then they ~vent back to their old life at Richmond, and the widower returned to his solitary bachelor ways. He looked as usual; ~vent to and from the City as usual; and his brief married life seemed to have passed away from him like a dream. Not altogether a dream. Gradually lie began to ~vake up to the consciousness of an occasional childs cry in the housethat large, silent, dreary house, where he was once more the sole, soli- tary master. Sometimes, when he came in from church of Sundays, he would mount another flight of stairs, walk into the uursery at the top of the house, and stare with distant curiosity at the little creature in Elizabeths arms, pronounce it a fine child, and did her great credit ! and walk down again. He never seemed to consider it as his child, this poor old bachelor of so many years standing; he had outgrown apparently all seuse of the affections or the duties of a father. Whether they ever ~vould come into him; wheth- er, after babyhood was passed, he would begin to take an interest in the little creature who throve and blossomed into beauty~vhich, as if watch- ed by guardian angels, dead mothers children seem often to dowas a source of earnest spec- ulation to Elizabeth. In the mean time lie treated both her and the baby with extreme consideration, allowed her to do just as she liked, and gave her in- definite sums of money to expend upon the nursery. When summer came, and the doctor ordered change of air, Mr. Ascott consented to her sug- gestion of taking a lodging for herself and baby near babys aunts at Richniond; only desiring that the lodging should be as handsome as could be secured, and that every other Sunday she should bring up his son to spend the day at Russell Square. And so, during the long summer months, the motherless child, in its deep mourningwhich looks so pathetic on a very young babymight be seen carried about in Elizabeths arms every where. When, after the first six weeks, the ~vet-nurse leftin fact, two or three wet.nurses successively were abolished she took little henry solely under her own charge. She had comparatively small experience, but sl~e had common sense, and the strong motherly instinct which comes by nature to some women. Be- sides, her whole soul ~vas ~vrapped up in thi~s little child. From the hour when, even with her mistress dying before her eyes, Elizabeth had felt a strange thrill of coumfort in the new duty ~~hicli had come into her blank life, she took to this duty as women only can whose life has become a blank. She received the child as a blessing sent direct from God; by umiconscious hands for Mrs. Ascott knew nothing of what happened; something that ~vould heal her wounded heart, and make her forget Tom. And so it did. Women and mothers well know ho~v engrossing is the care of an infant; how each minute of the day is filled up with something to be done or thought of; so that fretting about extraneous things becomes quite impossible. How gradually the fresh life grow- ing up and expanding puts the worn-out or blighted life into the back-ground, and all the hopes and fancies cling around the small, beau- tiful present, the ever-developing, ever-marvel- ous mystery of a young childs existence! Why it should be so, we can only guess; but that it is so, many a wretched wife, many a widowed mother, many a broken-hearted, forlorn aunt, has thankfully proved.. Elizabeth proved it likewise. She did not exactly lose all memory of her trouble, but it seemed lighter; it was swallowed up in this second passion of adopted motherhood. And so she sank, quietly and at once, into the condi- tion of a middle-aged woman, ~vhose lifes story and her sort of women have but onewas a mere episode, told and ended. For Esther had left and been married to Tom Cliffe within a few weeks of Mrs. Ascotts funer- al. Of course, the household knew every thing; but nobody condoled with Elizabeth. There was a certain stand-off-ishness about her which made them hold their tongues. They treated her with much respect, as her new position de- manded. She took this, as she took every thing, with the gr~ve quietness which was her fashion from her youth up; assumed her place as a confidential upper servant; dressed well, but soberly, like a ~voman of forty, and was called Mrs. Hand. The only trace her disappointment left upon her was a slightly bitter ~vay of speaking about men in general, and a dislike to any chat- ter about love-affairs and matrimony. Her own story she was never known to refer to iii the most distant way, except once. Miss Ililarywho, of course, had heard all, but delicately kept silence one night, when little Henry was not well, remained in the lodg- ings on Richmond lull, and slept in the nursery, Elizabeth making up for herself a bed on the floor close beside baby and cradle. In the dead of night the two women, mistress and maid, by some chance, said a few things to one another 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which never might have been said in the day- reach her after he was gone, and comfort her light,and which, by tacit consent, were never with the assurance of what, living, he had never afterward referred to by either, any more than if plainly told. Sometimes, when a wild terror of they had been spoken in a dream, his death seized her, this settled conviction drove Elizabeth told briefly, though not without it back again. He must be living, or she would emotion, all that had happened between her- have heard. self and Tom, and how he was married to Es- There was another interpretation of the si- ther Martin. And then both women went back, lence, which many would have considered the in a moralizing way, to the days when they had most probable of allhe might be married. both been young at Stowbury, and how dif- Not deliberately, but suddenly; drawn into it ferent life was from what they then thought and by some of those impelling trains of circum- looked forward toMiss Hilary and her bow- stance which are the cause of so many mar- er-maiden. riages, especially with men; or, impelled by Yes, answered the former, with a sigh, one of those violent passions which occasionally things are indeed not as people fancy when seize on an exceedingly good man, fascinating they are girls. We dream, and dream, and him against his conscience, reason, and will, un- think we see very far into the future, which no- til he wakes up to find himself fettered and in- body sees but God. I often wonder how my med for life. Such things do happen, strange- life will end. ly, pitifully often. The like might have hap- Elizabeth said, after a pause, I always felt pened to Robert Lyon. sure you would be married, Miss Hilary. There Ililary did not actually believe it, but still was one personIs he alive still? Is he ever her common sense told her that it was possible. coming home ? She was not an inexperienced girl now; she I dont know. looked on the world with the eyes of a woman I am sure he was very fond of you. And of thirty; and though, thank Heaven! the ro- be looked like a good man. mance had never gone out of herthe faith, He was the best man I ever knew. and trust, and tender lovestill it had sobered This was all Miss Hilary said, and she said down a little. She knew it was quite within it softly and mournfully. She might never have the bounds of possibility that a young man, said it at all; but it dropped from her unawares separated from her for seven years, thrown into in the deep feeling of the moment, when her all kinds of circumstances and among all sorts heart was tender over Elizabeths own sad, of people, should have changed very much in simply-told story. Also because of a sudden himself, and, consequently, toward her. That, and great darkness which had come over her without absolute faithlessness, he might sudden- OIVII: ly have seen some other woman lie liked better Literally, she did not now know whether Rob- and have married at once. Or if he came back ert Lyon were alive or dead. Two months ago unmarriedshe had taught herself to look this his letters had suddenly ceased, without any ex- probability also steadily in the facelie might planation, his last being exactly the same as the find the reality of herHilary Leafdifferent others as frank, as warmly affectionate, as from his remembrance of her; and so, without cheerful and brave, actual falseness to the old true love, might not One solution to diii was his possible coming love her any more. home. But she did not, after careful reasoning These fears made her resolutely oppose Jo- on the subject, believe that likely. 51w knew hannas wish to write to the house of business exactly his business relations with his employ- at Liverpool, and ask what had become of Mi. ers; that there was a fixed time for his return Lyon. It seemed like seeking after him, trying to England, which nothing except the very to hold him by the slender chain which he had strongest necessity could alter. Even in the never attempted to make any stronger, and chance of his health breaking, so a~ to incapac- which, already, lie might have broken, or de- itate him for work, he should, he always said, sired to break. have to go to the hills, rather than take the voy- She could not do it. Something forbade her; age home prematurely. And in that case he that something in the inmost depths of a womans certainly would have informed Isis friends of Isis nature which makes her feel her own value, and movements. There was nothing erratic, or exact that she shall be sought; that, if her love careless, or eccentric about Robert Lyon; he be worth having, it is worth seeking; that, how- was a practical, business-hike Scotchmanfar ever dear a man may be to her, she refuses to too cautious and too regular in all Isis habits drop into Isis mouths like an overripe peach from to be guilty of those accidental neghigences by a garden wall. In her sharpest agony of anxiety which wanderers abroad sometimes cause such concerning him, Hilary felt that she could not, cruel anxieties to friends at home, on her part, take any step that seemed to com- For the same reason, the other terrible possi- pci loveor even friendshipfrom Robert Lyon. hihityhis deathwas not likely to have hap- It was not pride, she could hardly be called a pened without their hearing of it. Hihary felt proud woman; it was an innate sense of the sure, with the strong confidence of love, that he dignity of that love which, as a free gift, is pre- would have taken every means to leave her some cious as much fine gold, yet becomes the last wordsome farewell tokenwhich would merest drossutterly and insultingly poor MISTRESS AND MAID. 113 when paid as a debt of honor, or offered as a benevolent largess. And so, though oftentimes her heart felt break- ing, Hilary labored on; sat tbe long day patient- iy at her desk; interested herself in the young people over whom she ruled; became Miss Bal- quidder~ rigbt band in all sorts of schemes which that good woman was forever carrying out for the benefit of her fellow-creatures; and at leisure times occupied herself with Johanna, or with Elizabeth and the baby, trying to think it was a very beautiful and happy world, with love still in it, and a God of love ruling over itonly, only Women are very humble in their cruelest pride. Many a day she felt as if she could have crawled a hundred miles in the dustlike some Catholic pilgrimjust to get one sight of Robert Lyon. Autumn camelovely and lingering late. It was November, and yet the air felt mild as May, and the sunshine had that peculiar genial bright- ness which autumnal sunshine alone possesses; even as, perhaps, late happiness has in it a holy calm and sweetness which no youthful ecstasy can ever boast. The day happened to be Hilarys birthday. She had taken a holiday, which she, Johanna, Elizabeth, and the baby, had spent in Richmond Park, watching the rabbits darting about under the brown fern, and the deer grazing contented- ly hard by. They had sat a long time under one of the oak-trees with which the Park abounds, listening for the sudden drop, drop of an occa- sional acorn among the fallen leaves; or making merry with the child, as a healthy, innocent, playful child always can make good women merry. Still Master Henry was not a remarkable speci- men of infanthood, and had never occupied more than his proper nepotal corner in Hilarys heart. She left him chiefly to Elizabeth, and to his aunt Johanna, in whom the grandmotherly character had blossomed out in full perfection. And when these two became engrossed in his infant majesty, Hilary sat a little apart, unconsciously folding her hands and fixing her eyes on vacancy; be- coming fearfully alive to the sharp truth, that of all griefs a strong love unreturned or unful- filled is the grief which most blights a woman s life. Say, rather, any human life; but it is ~vorst to a woman, because she must necessarily endure passively. So enduring, it is very diffi- cult to recognize the good hand of God therein. Why should He ordain longings, neither selfish nor unholy, which yet are never granted; ten- derness ~vhich expends itself in vain; sacrifices which are wholly unneeded; and sufferings which seem quite thrown away? That is, if we dared allege of any thing in the moral or in the material world, where so much loveliness, so much love, appear continually ivasted, that it is really thrown a~vay. We never know through what divine mysteries of compensation the Great Father of the universe may be carrying out His sublime plan; and those three words, God is love, ought to contain, to every doubting soul, the solution of all things. As Hilary rose from under the tree there was a shadow on her s~veet face, a listless weariness in her movements, which caught Johannas at- tendon. Johanna had been very good to her child. When, do what she would, Hilary could not keep down fits of occasional dullness or im- patience, it was touching to see how this woman of over sixty years slipped from her due pedes- tal of honor and dignity, to be patient with her younger sisters unspoken bitterness and incom- municable care. She now, seeing how restless Hilary was, rosc when she rose, put her arm in hers, and accom- panied her, speaking or silent, with quick steps or slow, as she chose, aeross the beautiful park, than which, perhaps, all England can not fur- nish a scene more thoroughly sylvan, thoroughly English. They rested on that high ground near the gate of Pembroke Lodge, where the valley of the Thames lies spread out like a map, stretch- ing miles and miles a~vay in luxuriant greenery. How beautiful! I wonder what a foreigner would think of this view? Or any one who had been long abroad? How inexpressibly sweet and home-like it ~vould seem to him Hilary turned sharply away, and Johanna saw at once what her words had implied. She felt so sorry, so vexed with herself; but it was best to leave it alone. So they made their way home- ward, speaking of something else; and then that happened which Johanna had been almost daily expecting would happen, though she dared not communicate her hopes to Hilary, lest they should prove fallacious. The two figures, both in deep mourning, might have attracted any ones attention; they caught that of a gentleman, who was walking quickly and looking about him, as if in search of some- thing. He passed them at a little distance, then repassed, then turned, holding out both his hands. Miss Leaf; I was sure it was you. Only the voice; every thing else about him was so changed that Hilary herself would cer- tainly have passed him in the street, that brown, foreign-looking, middle-aged man, nor recog- nized him as Robert Lyon. But for all that it was himself; it was Robert Lyon. Nobody screamed, nobody fainted. People seldom do that in real life, even when a friend turns up suddenly from the other end of the world. They only hold out a warm hand, and look silently in one anothers faces, and try to believe that all is real, as these did. Robert Lyon shook hands with both ladies, one after the other, Hilary last, then placed him- self between them. Miss Leaf, will you take my arm? The tone, the manner, were so exactly like himself, that in a moment all these intervening years seemed crushed into aim atom of time. Hil- ary felt certain, morally and absolutely certain, that, in spite of all outward change, he was the same Robert Lyon ~vho had bade tlmem all good- 114 IIAIiPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. by that Sunday night in the parlor at Stowbury. It is a long time, said Johanna, thought.. The same, even in his love for herselg though fully. he had simply drawa her little hand under his Johanna would not have been human had arm, and never spokea a single word. she not been a little thoughtful and silent on the Hilary Leaf, down, secretly, on your hearts way home, and had she not many times, out of lowest knees, and thank God! Repent of all the corners of her eyes, sharply investigated Mr. your bitternesses, doubts, and pains; be joyful, Robert Lyon. be joyful! But, oh, remember to ho so humble lie was much altered; there was no doubt withal, of that. Seven years of Indian life would She was. As she walked silently a long by change any body; take the youthfulness out of Robert Lyons side she pulled down her veil to any body. It was so with Robert Lyon. When hide the sweetest, most contrite, most child- coming into the parlor he removed his hat like tears. What did she deserve, more than many a white thread was visible in his hair, and her neighbors, that she should be so very, very besides the spare, dried-up look which is always happy? And when, a good distance across the noticeable in people who have lived long in hot park, she saw the dark, solitary figure of Eliza- climates, there was an old expression in his beth carrying baby, she quietly guided her corn- face, indicating many a worldly battle fought l)anions into a different path, so as to avoid and won, but not without leaving scars behind. meeting, lest the sight of her happiness might Even Rilary, as she sat opposite to him at in any way hurt poor Elizabeth. table, could not but feel that he was no longer a I only landed last night at Southampton, young man either in appearance or reality. Mr. Lyon explained to Miss Leaf, after the fash- XVe ourselves grow old, or older, without ion people have, at such meetings, of falling knowing it, bat when we suddenly come upon upon the most practical and uninteresting de- the same fact in another it startles us. Hilary tails. I came by the Overland Mail. It was had scarcely recognized how far she herself had a sudden journey. I had scarcely more than a left her girlish days behind till she saw Robert few hours notice. The cause of it was some Lyon. very unpleasant defalcations in our firm. You think me very much changed ? said Under any other circumstances Rilary might he, guessing by his curiously swift intuition of have smiled; maybe she did smile, and tease old what she was thinking of. him many a time afterward, because the first Yes, a good deal changed, she answered thing he could find to talk about, after seven truthfully; at which he was silent. years absence, was defalcations in our firm. lie could not readperhaps no mans heart But now she listened gravely, and by-and-by couldall the emotion that swelled in hers as took her part in the unimportant conversation she looked at him, the love of her youth, no which always occurs after a meeting such as longer young. how the ghostly likeness of the this. former face gleamed out under the hard, woru Were you going home, Miss Leaf? They lines of the face that now was touching her with told me at your house you were expected to din- ineffable tenderness. Also, with solemn con- ner. May I come with you? for I have only a tent came a sense of the entire indestructible- few hours to stay. To-night I must go on to ness of that love which through all decay or al- Liverpool. teration traces the ideal image still, clings to it, But we shall hope soon to see you again ? and cherishes it with a tenacity that laughs to I hope so. And I trust, Miss Leaf, that I scorn the grim dread of growing old. do not intrude to-day ? In his premature and not specially comely lie said this with his Scotch shyness, or pride, middle age, in hii~ gray hairs, in the painful, or whatever it was; so like Ins old se4f, that it anxious, half-melancholy expression which oc- made somebody smile! But somebody loved it. casionally flitted across his features, as if life Somebody lifted up to his face eyes of silent web., had gone hard with him, Robert Lyon was a come; sweet, soft, brown eyes, where never, thousand times dearer to her than when the since he knew them, had he seen one cloud ~vorhd was all before them both in the early days of anger darken, one shadow of unkindness rise~ at Stowbury. This is something to come home to, he There is a great deal of a sentimental non- said in a low voice, arid not over lucidly. Ay, sense talked about people having been young it was, together. Not necessarily is that a bond. Many I am by no means disinterested in the mat- a tie formed in youth dwindles away and breaks ter of dinner, Miss Leaf; for I have no doubt off naturally in maturer years. Characters alter, of finding good English roast beef and plum-pud- circumstances divide. No one will dare to al- ding on your sisters birthday. Happy returns hege that there may not he loves and friendships of the day, Miss Ililary. formed in middle life as dear, as close, as firm She was so touched by his remembering this, as any of those of youth; perhaps, with sonic that, to hide it, she put on a spice of her old temperaments, infinitely more so. But when mischievousness, and asked him if he was aware the two go together, when the calm election of how old she was? maturity confirms the early instinct, and the Yes: you are thirty; I have known you lives have run parallel, as it were, for many for fifteen years. years, there can be no bond like that of those MISTRESS AND MAiD. 115 who say, as these two did, We were young I beg your pardon once more. I had no together. right to allude to any thing of the kind. He said so when, after dinner, he came and Hilary replied not. It seemed as if now, stood by the window where Hilary was sitting close together, they were further apart than sewing. Johanna had just gone out of the room; when the Indian seas rolled between them. whether intentionally or not this history can not Mr. Lyons brown cheek turned paler and avouch. Let us give her the benefit of the paler; he pressed his lips hard together; they doubt: she was a generous woman. moved once or twice, but still he did not utter a During the three hours that Mr. Lyon had word. At last, with a sort of desperate courage, been with her ililarys first agitation had sub- and in a tone that Hilary had never heard from sided. That exceeding sense of rest which she him in her life before, he said: had always felt beside himthe sure index of Yes, I believe I have a right, the right that people ~vho, besides loving, are meant to guide every man has when his whole happiness de- and help and bless one anotherreturned as pends upon it, to nsk you one question. You strong as ever. That deep affection which know every thing concerning me; you always should underlie all love revived and clung to have known; I meant that you shouldI have him with a childlike confidence, strengthening taken the utmost care that you should. There at every word he said, every familiar look and is not a bit of my life that has not been as open ~tay. to you as ifas if. But I know nothing what- He was by no means so composed as she was, ever concerning you. especially now when, coming up to her side and What do you wish to know ? she faltered. ~v~itching her hands moving for a minute or so, Seven years is a long time. Are you free? he asked her to tell him, a little more explicitly, I mean, are you engaged to be married ? of what had happened to her since they parted. No. Things are rather different from what I Thank God thought ; and he glanced with a troubled air He dropped his head down between his hands round the neat but very humbly furnished par- n-nd did not speak for a long time. br. And about the shop? And then with difficultyfor it ~vas always Johanna told you. hard to him to speak outhe told her, at least Yes; but her letters have been so few, so he somehow made her understand, how he had shortnot that I could expect more. Still loved her. No light fancy of sentimental youth, now, if you will trust metell me all. captivated. by every fresh face it sees, putting Hilary turned to him, her friend for fifteen upon each one the coloring of its own imagina- years. He was that if he was nothing more. tion, and adorning not what is, but what itself And he had been very true; he deserved to be creates: no sudden, selfish, sensuous passion, trusted. She told him, in brief, the history of caring only to attain its object, irrespective of the last year or two, and then added: reason, right, or conscience~ but the strong But after all it is hardly worth the telling, deep love of a just man, deliberately choosing because, you see, we are very comfortable now. one woman as the best woman out of all the Poor Ascott, we suppose, must be in Australia. world, and setting himself resolutely to win her. I earn enough to keep Johanna and myself, and Battling for her sake with all hard fortune; Miss Balquidder is a good friend to us. We keeping, for her sake, his heart pure from all the have repaid her, and owe nobody any thin0, temptations of the world; never losing sight of Still we have suffered a great deal. Two years her; watching over her so far as he could, con- ago; oh! it was a dreadful time. sistently with the sense of honor (or masculine She was hardly a~vare of it, but her candid pridewhich was it? but Hilary forgave it, any- tell-tale face betrayed more even than her words. how) which made him resolutely compel him- It cut Robert Lyon to the heart. self to silence; holding her perfectly free, while You suffered, and I never knew it. he held himself bound. Bound by a faithful- I never meant you to know. ness perfect as that of the knights of oldasking Why not ? He walked the room in great nothing, and yet giving all. excitement. I ought to have been told; it Such was his lovethis brave, plain-spoken, was cruel not to tell me. Suppose you had single - hearted Scotsman. Would that there sunk under it; suppose you had died, or been were more such men and more such love in the driven to do what many a woman does for the world! sake of mere bread and a homewhat your Few women could have resisted it, certainly poor sister didmarried. But I beg your par- not Hilary, especially with a little secret of her don. own lying perdu at the bottom of her heart; that For Hilary had started up with her face all sleeping angel whence half her strength and aglow, courage had come; the noble, faithful, generous No, she cried; no poverty would have love of a good woman for a good man. But this sunk me as low as that. I might have starved, secret Robert Lyon had evidently never guessed, but I should never have married. or deemed himself wholly unworthy of such a Robert Lyon looked at her, evidently uncom- possession. prehending, then said humbly, though rather He took her hand at last, and held it firmly. formally, And now that you know all, do you think 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in timeIll not hurry youbut in time, do you think I could make you love me ? She looked up in his face with her honest eyes. Smiling as they were, there was pathos in them; the sadness left by those long years of hidden suffering, now forever ended. I have loved you all my life, said Hilary. A FAIRY IN SEARCH OF A PLACE. SUCH a provoking baby! There he lay in the cradle by the hearth, five little pink toes showiHg from under the blanket, and a fat thumb in his mouth, staring with all his might at the fire, while nurse sung and rocked till the cradles shadow seemed going crazy on the bright wall opposite. Bless the child! cried nurse at last, quite out of breath; will he never go to sleep ? As if even a pudding-headed baby could go to sleep, when, perched on the back log, sat a Fire Elf kicking up his heels into the chimney; turn- ing somersaults on the ~vall; throwing up his bright, pointed cap to the ceiling, and winking with all his might right into babys eyes. Hushaby baby! sung nurse. Dont you do it, crackled the Fire Elf. Well serve her out, baby, for washing you and poking me. What! are you winking? You mustnt think of such a thing. Wait a moment, and Ill tell you about the fairy that was shut out of Fairy-land. So baby opened his eyes wide, and the Elf commenced: Yesterday afternoon, when you sat in nurse s lap looking at the sunset, if you had but known it, baby, you were looking straight into Fairy- land. The closed gates were opened wide, and the pretty star that nurse showed was the great diamond tower where the Elves keep watch night and day, flashing out in the soft evening light; and the little rosy clouds toppling about were the boats in which the fairies sail on the air sea; and the dark that came so fast was the Shadow- Elf, coming to hunt up the stray sunbeams and fairies, and send them home to Fairy-land for the night. Almost all made for the hill-tops as fast as they could scramble at once, but a few sun- beams hid away on the hill-sides, and in among rocks and tangles of green; and between chas- ing them out, and shutting up the flowers, and pulling the curtains about the hills, and hanging out the stars, our poor Elf was kept so busy that one fairy crept away from him unobserved, and hiding under a toad-stool, played ho-peep with a cricket, till on a sudden closed the gates of Fairy-land, and our fairy was shut out. There was no one to take him in, for the flowers were shut up and the birds fast asleep; so he journeyed on sorrowfully enough till he came to a palace where every body was running about as if distracted. What is the matter? asked the fairy. Matter enough, answered the courtiers all together. The Princes tutor is dead, and not one of us knows the alphabet, and its contrary to the book of etiquette for the Prince to eat his dinner without having first said his A B Cs, and its contrary to etiquette for us to eat dinner without him; and weve sent east, west, north, and south for a tutor, and there is none to be found, and so we are all starving together. Try me, said the fairy. I can hear him say the alphabet. So they took him to the Lord High Fiddle- stick, who put on his spectacles and his wisest look, and said, Pray, Sir Tutor, do you speak Persian and Chaldee? Can you make lace and weave cloth of gold? Can you square the circle, and do you know any thing of astronomy? Why no, answered the fairy; but then one doesnt need to understand Persian to hear a child say his A B Cs. Alas! groaned the Lord High Fiddlestick and the courtiers, its contrary to the book of etiquette. You wont answer. So the fairy went out in a huff, and near the gates he met an owl, to whom he told what had happened. To-whit! to-whoo! what a fool you are I shrieked the owl. Hool boo! hoo! Wait now, and see how I will manage. Ill wager all my feathers against your cap that I will be appoint- ed tutor in half an hour. A fine tutor you will be, said the fairy, scornfully. What will you teach the Prince? To catch frogs and mice? But the owl only hooted the louder as he knocked at the palace gate, which the guards could hardly open, they were so weak from hunger. I am a tutor, said the owl; so they brought him to the Lord High Fiddlestick, who said. mournfully, Do you understand Persian? Ankeb Mhanashim, answered the owl; 1 never use any other language while I am eat~ ing. And Chaldee? Oh! I talk that in my sleep. And making lace and weaving cloth o~ gold? I was educated in those professions, anJ will give you a sample as soon as you will have made a set of diamond wheels and golden nec~ dles. ~ The Lord High Fiddlestick could hardly credit his senses. He was almost afraid to ask about astronomy and squaring the circle, but the owl was just as much at home there as in all the rest. Astronomy is my amusement, my lord. I have discovered six new planets, and will show them to you if you will build me a telescope a hundred miles long. Mine is unfortunately bro- ken. As for squaring the circle, that is mere childs play. I can teach you to do it in five seconds. You take a scalene isosceles, subtend it with a conical section, apply therapeutics, bisect with Enough! cried the Lord High Fiddle-

Louise Furniss Furniss, Louise Fairy in Search of a Place 116-117

116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in timeIll not hurry youbut in time, do you think I could make you love me ? She looked up in his face with her honest eyes. Smiling as they were, there was pathos in them; the sadness left by those long years of hidden suffering, now forever ended. I have loved you all my life, said Hilary. A FAIRY IN SEARCH OF A PLACE. SUCH a provoking baby! There he lay in the cradle by the hearth, five little pink toes showiHg from under the blanket, and a fat thumb in his mouth, staring with all his might at the fire, while nurse sung and rocked till the cradles shadow seemed going crazy on the bright wall opposite. Bless the child! cried nurse at last, quite out of breath; will he never go to sleep ? As if even a pudding-headed baby could go to sleep, when, perched on the back log, sat a Fire Elf kicking up his heels into the chimney; turn- ing somersaults on the ~vall; throwing up his bright, pointed cap to the ceiling, and winking with all his might right into babys eyes. Hushaby baby! sung nurse. Dont you do it, crackled the Fire Elf. Well serve her out, baby, for washing you and poking me. What! are you winking? You mustnt think of such a thing. Wait a moment, and Ill tell you about the fairy that was shut out of Fairy-land. So baby opened his eyes wide, and the Elf commenced: Yesterday afternoon, when you sat in nurse s lap looking at the sunset, if you had but known it, baby, you were looking straight into Fairy- land. The closed gates were opened wide, and the pretty star that nurse showed was the great diamond tower where the Elves keep watch night and day, flashing out in the soft evening light; and the little rosy clouds toppling about were the boats in which the fairies sail on the air sea; and the dark that came so fast was the Shadow- Elf, coming to hunt up the stray sunbeams and fairies, and send them home to Fairy-land for the night. Almost all made for the hill-tops as fast as they could scramble at once, but a few sun- beams hid away on the hill-sides, and in among rocks and tangles of green; and between chas- ing them out, and shutting up the flowers, and pulling the curtains about the hills, and hanging out the stars, our poor Elf was kept so busy that one fairy crept away from him unobserved, and hiding under a toad-stool, played ho-peep with a cricket, till on a sudden closed the gates of Fairy-land, and our fairy was shut out. There was no one to take him in, for the flowers were shut up and the birds fast asleep; so he journeyed on sorrowfully enough till he came to a palace where every body was running about as if distracted. What is the matter? asked the fairy. Matter enough, answered the courtiers all together. The Princes tutor is dead, and not one of us knows the alphabet, and its contrary to the book of etiquette for the Prince to eat his dinner without having first said his A B Cs, and its contrary to etiquette for us to eat dinner without him; and weve sent east, west, north, and south for a tutor, and there is none to be found, and so we are all starving together. Try me, said the fairy. I can hear him say the alphabet. So they took him to the Lord High Fiddle- stick, who put on his spectacles and his wisest look, and said, Pray, Sir Tutor, do you speak Persian and Chaldee? Can you make lace and weave cloth of gold? Can you square the circle, and do you know any thing of astronomy? Why no, answered the fairy; but then one doesnt need to understand Persian to hear a child say his A B Cs. Alas! groaned the Lord High Fiddlestick and the courtiers, its contrary to the book of etiquette. You wont answer. So the fairy went out in a huff, and near the gates he met an owl, to whom he told what had happened. To-whit! to-whoo! what a fool you are I shrieked the owl. Hool boo! hoo! Wait now, and see how I will manage. Ill wager all my feathers against your cap that I will be appoint- ed tutor in half an hour. A fine tutor you will be, said the fairy, scornfully. What will you teach the Prince? To catch frogs and mice? But the owl only hooted the louder as he knocked at the palace gate, which the guards could hardly open, they were so weak from hunger. I am a tutor, said the owl; so they brought him to the Lord High Fiddlestick, who said. mournfully, Do you understand Persian? Ankeb Mhanashim, answered the owl; 1 never use any other language while I am eat~ ing. And Chaldee? Oh! I talk that in my sleep. And making lace and weaving cloth o~ gold? I was educated in those professions, anJ will give you a sample as soon as you will have made a set of diamond wheels and golden nec~ dles. ~ The Lord High Fiddlestick could hardly credit his senses. He was almost afraid to ask about astronomy and squaring the circle, but the owl was just as much at home there as in all the rest. Astronomy is my amusement, my lord. I have discovered six new planets, and will show them to you if you will build me a telescope a hundred miles long. Mine is unfortunately bro- ken. As for squaring the circle, that is mere childs play. I can teach you to do it in five seconds. You take a scalene isosceles, subtend it with a conical section, apply therapeutics, bisect with Enough! cried the Lord High Fiddle- TILE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 117 stick; you are the very person we want; you shall be tutor to the Prince. One moment, said the owl, loftily. There are conditions. I must have private apartments. During the day I am not to be disturbed, as I shall be lost in philosophical meditations. I must have a key of the palace, as I am in the habit of walking in the woods to conduct my scientific experiments, and I must also he sup- plied with large quantities of frogs and mice for my dissecting room. Certainly, certainly, answered the Lord High Fiddlestick, while the courtiers whispered together, What a wonderful mind! It is worth a weeks starving to have such a tutor for our prince. But the poor rejected fairy went away sad and angry, though he is not the first fairy that has been turned away for an owl, concluded the Fire Elf: but it is time now to go to sleep; so shut your eyes, baby, and to-morrow night I will tell you what became of our fairy. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. CHAPTER VII. LILY, as she parted with her lover in the garden, had required of him to attend upon her the next morning as he went to his shoot- ing, and in obedience to this command he ap- peared on Mrs. Dales lawn after breakfast, accompanied by Bernard and two dogs. The men had guns in their hands, and were got up with all proper sporting appurtenances, but it so turned out that they did not reach the stubble- fields on the farther side of the road until after luncheon. And may it not be fairly doubted whether croquet is not as good as shooting when ~ man is in love? It will be said that Bernard Dale was not in love; but they who bring such accusation against him will bring it falsely. He was in love with his cousin Bell according to his manner and fashion. It was not his nature to love Bell as John Eames loved Lily; but then neither would his nature bring him into such a trouble as that which the charms of Amelia Roper had brought upon the poor clerk from the Income- tRy Office. Johnny was susceptible, as the word whereas Captain Dale was a man who had feelings well under control. He ~vas not one to make a fool of himself about a girl, or to die a broken heart; but, nevertheless, he would probably love his wife when he got a wife, and ~vould be a careful father to his children. They were very intimate with each other now, these four. It was Bernard and Adolphusor sometimes Apolloand Bell and Lily among them; and Crosbie found it to be pleasant enough. A new position of life had come upon him, and one exceeding pleasant; but, never- theless, there were moments in which cold fits of a melancholy nature came upon him. He was doing the very thing which throughout all the years of his manhood he had declared to hims~f that he would not do. According to his plan of life he ~vas to have eschewed marriage, and to have allowed himself to regard it as a possible event only under the circumstances of wealth, rank, and beauty all coming in his way together. As he had expected no such glorious prize, he had regarded himself as a man who would reign at the Beaufort and be potent at Sebrights to the end of his chapter. But now It was the fact that he had fallen from his settled position, vanquished by a silver voice, a pretty wit, and a pair of moder~tely bright eyes. He was very fond of Lily, having in truth a stronger capability for falling in love than his friend Captain Dale; but was the sacrifice worth his while? This was the question which he asked himself in those melancholy moments; while he was lying in bed, for instance, awake in the morning, when he was shaving himself, and sometimes also when the squire was prosy after dinner. At such times as these, while he would be listening to Mr. Dale, his self-reproach- es would sometimes be very bitter. Why should he ux~dergo thishe, Crosbie of Sebrights, Cros- bie of the General Committee Office, Crosbie who would allow no one to bore him between Charing Cross and the far end of Bayswater THE BEGINNING OF ThOGilLES.

Anthony Trollope Trollope, Anthony The Small House at Allington 117-126

TILE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 117 stick; you are the very person we want; you shall be tutor to the Prince. One moment, said the owl, loftily. There are conditions. I must have private apartments. During the day I am not to be disturbed, as I shall be lost in philosophical meditations. I must have a key of the palace, as I am in the habit of walking in the woods to conduct my scientific experiments, and I must also he sup- plied with large quantities of frogs and mice for my dissecting room. Certainly, certainly, answered the Lord High Fiddlestick, while the courtiers whispered together, What a wonderful mind! It is worth a weeks starving to have such a tutor for our prince. But the poor rejected fairy went away sad and angry, though he is not the first fairy that has been turned away for an owl, concluded the Fire Elf: but it is time now to go to sleep; so shut your eyes, baby, and to-morrow night I will tell you what became of our fairy. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. CHAPTER VII. LILY, as she parted with her lover in the garden, had required of him to attend upon her the next morning as he went to his shoot- ing, and in obedience to this command he ap- peared on Mrs. Dales lawn after breakfast, accompanied by Bernard and two dogs. The men had guns in their hands, and were got up with all proper sporting appurtenances, but it so turned out that they did not reach the stubble- fields on the farther side of the road until after luncheon. And may it not be fairly doubted whether croquet is not as good as shooting when ~ man is in love? It will be said that Bernard Dale was not in love; but they who bring such accusation against him will bring it falsely. He was in love with his cousin Bell according to his manner and fashion. It was not his nature to love Bell as John Eames loved Lily; but then neither would his nature bring him into such a trouble as that which the charms of Amelia Roper had brought upon the poor clerk from the Income- tRy Office. Johnny was susceptible, as the word whereas Captain Dale was a man who had feelings well under control. He ~vas not one to make a fool of himself about a girl, or to die a broken heart; but, nevertheless, he would probably love his wife when he got a wife, and ~vould be a careful father to his children. They were very intimate with each other now, these four. It was Bernard and Adolphusor sometimes Apolloand Bell and Lily among them; and Crosbie found it to be pleasant enough. A new position of life had come upon him, and one exceeding pleasant; but, never- theless, there were moments in which cold fits of a melancholy nature came upon him. He was doing the very thing which throughout all the years of his manhood he had declared to hims~f that he would not do. According to his plan of life he ~vas to have eschewed marriage, and to have allowed himself to regard it as a possible event only under the circumstances of wealth, rank, and beauty all coming in his way together. As he had expected no such glorious prize, he had regarded himself as a man who would reign at the Beaufort and be potent at Sebrights to the end of his chapter. But now It was the fact that he had fallen from his settled position, vanquished by a silver voice, a pretty wit, and a pair of moder~tely bright eyes. He was very fond of Lily, having in truth a stronger capability for falling in love than his friend Captain Dale; but was the sacrifice worth his while? This was the question which he asked himself in those melancholy moments; while he was lying in bed, for instance, awake in the morning, when he was shaving himself, and sometimes also when the squire was prosy after dinner. At such times as these, while he would be listening to Mr. Dale, his self-reproach- es would sometimes be very bitter. Why should he ux~dergo thishe, Crosbie of Sebrights, Cros- bie of the General Committee Office, Crosbie who would allow no one to bore him between Charing Cross and the far end of Bayswater THE BEGINNING OF ThOGilLES. 118 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. why should hc listen to the long - winded stories of such a one as Squire Dale? If, in- deed, the squire intended to be liberal to his niece, then it might be very well. But as yet the squire had given no sign of such intention, and Crosbie was angry with himself in that he had not had the courage to ask a question on that subject. And thus the course of love was not all smooth to our Apollo. It was still pleasant for him when he was there on the croquet ground, or sitting in Mrs. Dales drawing-room with all the privileges of an accepted lover. It was pleasant to him also as he sipped the squires claret, knowing that his coffee would soon be handed to him by a sweet girl who would have tripped across the two gardens on purpose to perform for him this service. There is nothing pleasanter than all this, although a man when so treated does feel himself to look like a calf at the altar, ready for the knife, with blue ribbons round his horns and neck. Crosbie felt that he was such a calfand the more calf-like, in that he not as yet dared to ask a question about his wifes for- tune. ~ I will have it out of the old fellow this evening, he said to hiinself as he buttoned on his dandy shooting gaiters that morning. How nice he looks in them! Lily said to her sister afterward, knowing nothing of the thoughts which h~d troubled her lovers mind while he was adorning his legs. I suppose we shall come back this way, Crosbie said, as they prepared to move away on their proper business when lunch was over. Well, not exactly ! said Bernard. We shall make our ~vay round by Darvells farm, and so back by Gruddocks. Are the girls going to dine up at the Great House to-day ? The girls declared that they were not going to dine up at the Great House, that they did not intend going to the Great house at all that evening. Then, ns you wont have to dress, you might as well meet us at Gruddocks gate, at the back of the farm-yard. Well be there exactly at half past five. That is to say, were to be there at half past five, and youll keep us waiting for three-quar-- ters of an hour, said Lily. Nevertheless the arrangement as proposed was made, and the two ladies were not at all unwilling to make it. It is thus that the game is carried on among un- sophisticated people who really live in the coun- try. The farm-yard gate at Farmer Gruddocks has not a fitting sound as a trysting-place in romance, but for people who are in earnest it does as well as any oak in the middle glade of a forest. Lily Dale was quite in earnestand so indeed was Adolphus Crosbieonly with him the earnest was beginning to take that shade of brown which most earnest things have to wear in this vale of tears. With Lily it was as yet all rose-colored. And Bernard Dale was also in earnest. Throughout this morning he had stood very near to Bell on thc lawn, and had ihought that his cousin did not receive his little whisperings with any aversion. Why should she? Lucky girl that she was, thus to have eight hundred a year pinned to her skirt! I say, Dale, Crosbie said, as in the course of their days work they had come round upon Gruddocks ground, and were preparing to finish off his turnips before they reached the farm-yard gate. And now, as Crosbie spoke, they stood leaning on the gate, looking at the turnips while the two dogs squatted on their haunches. Cros- bie had been very silent for the last mile or two, and had been making up his mind for this con- versation. I say, Dale, your uncle has never said a word to me yet as to Lilys fortune. As to Lilys fortune! The question is whether Lily has got a fortune. lie can hardly expect that I am to take her without something. Your uncle is a nina of the world, and he knows Whether or no my uncle is a man of the world I will not say; but you are, Crosbie, whether he is or not. Lily, as you have always knoi~rn, has nothing of her own. Im not talking of Lilys own. Im speak- ing of her uncle. I have been straightforward with him; and when I became attached to your cousin I declared what I meant at once. You should have asked him the question, if von thought there was any room for such a question. Thought there was any room! Upon my word you are a cool fellow. Now look here, Crosbie; you may say what you like about my uncle, but you must not say a word against Lily. Who is going to say a word against her? You can little understand me if you dont know that the protection of her name against evil words is already more my care than it is yours. I regard Lily as my own. I only meant to say, that any discontent you may feel as to her money, or want of money, you must refer to my uncle, and not to the fam- ily at the Small House. I nra quite well aware of that. And though you are quite at liberty to say what you like to me about my uncle, I can not say that I can see that he has been to blame. lie should have told me what her prospects ale.~ But if she have got no prospects! It can not be an uncles duty to tell every body that he does not mean to give his niece a fortune. In point of fact, why should you suppose that he has such an intention ? Do you know that he has not? because you once led me to believe that he would give his niece money. Now, Crosbie, it is necessary that you and I should understand each other in this mat- ter But did you not? Listen to me for a moment. I never said a word to you about my uncles intentions in any way, until after you had become fully engaged to Lily with the knowledge of us all. Then, THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 119 when my belief on the 5U1)jCCt could make no the home paddocks, back to the Great House, possible difference in your conduct, I told you where tbey found the squire standing in the that I thought my uncle would do something for front of the porch. her. I told you so because I did think so; and The walk had not been so pleasant as they as your friend, I should have told you what I bad all intended that it should be when they thought in any matter that concerned your in- made their arrangements for it. Crosbie had terest. endeavored to recover his happy state of mind, And now you have changed your opinion ? but had been unsuccessful; and Lily, fancying I have changed my opinion; but very prob- that her lover ~vas not all that he should be, had ably without sufficient ground. become reserved and silent. Bernard and Bell Thats hard upon me. had not shared this discomfiture, but then Ber- It may be hard to bear disappointment; but nard and Bell were, as a rule, much more given you can not say that any body has ill-used you. to silence than the other t~vo. And you dont think he will give her any Uncle, said Lily, these men have shot thing? nothing, and you can not conceive how unhappy Nothing that will be of much moment to they are in consequence. Its all the fault of y(,u. the naughty partridges. And Im not to say that thats hard? I There are plenty of partridges if they knew think it confounded hard. Of course I must how to get them, said the squire. put off my marriage. The dogs are uncommonly wild, said Cros- Why do you not speak to my uncle? bie. I shall do so. To tell the truth, I think it They are not wild with me, said the squire; would have come better from him; but that is a nor yet with Dingles. Dingles was the matter of opinion. I shall tell him very plainly squires game-keeper. The fact is, you what I think about it; and if he is angry, why, young men nowadays expect to have dogs train- I suppose I must leave his house; that will be ed to do all the work for you. Its too much all. labor for you to walk up to your game. Youll Look here, Crosbie; do not begin your con- be late for dinner, girls, if you dont look sharp. versation with the purpose of angering him. Were not coming up this evening, Sir, lie is not a bad-hearted man, but is very ob- said Bell. ~tinate. And why not? I can be quite as obstinate as he is. And Were going to stay with mamma. then, without further parley, they went in among And why will not your mother come with the turnips, and each swore against his luck as you? Ill be whipped if I can understand it. he missed his birds. There are certain phases One would have thought that under the present of mind in which a man can neither ride nor circumstances she would have been glad to see shoot, nor play a stroke at billiards, nor remem- you all as much together as possible. her a card at whist, and to such a phase of mind Were together quite enough, said Lily. had come both Crosbie and Dale after their con- And as for mamma, I suppose she thinks versation over the gate. And then she stopped herself, catching the glance They were not above fifteen minutes late at of Bells imploring eye. She was going to make the trysting-place, but nevertheless, punctual some indignant excuse for her mother-some though they had been, the girls were there be- excuse which would be calculated to make her fore them. Of course the first inquiries were uncle angry. It was her practice to say such made about the game, and of course the gentle- sharp words to him, and consequently he did men declared that the birds were scarcer than not regard her as warmly as her more silent and they had ever been before, that the dogs were more prudent sister. At the present moment wilder, and their luck more excruciatingly bad he turned quickly round and went into the house; to all which apologies very little attention was and then, with a very few words of farewell, the paid. Lily and Bell had not come there to in- two young men followed him. The girls went quire after partridges, and would have forgiven back over the little bridge by themselves, feel- the sportsmen even though no single bird had ing that the afternoon had not gone off altogeth- been killed. But they could not forgive the er well. want of good spirits ~vhich was apparent. You shouldnt provoke him, Lily, said Boll. I declare I dont know whats the matter And he shouldnt say those things about with you, Lily said to her lover, mamma. It seems to me that you dont mind We have been over fifteen miles of ground, what he says. and Oh, Lily! I never knew any thing so lackadaisical us No more you do. He makes me so angry von gentlemen from London. Been over fifteen that I can not bold my tongue. He thinks that miles of ground! Why Uncle Christopher would because all the place is his, he is to say just what think nothing of that. he likes. Why should mamma go up there to Uncle Christopher is made of sterner stuff please his humors ? than we are, said Crosbie. They used to be You maybe sure that mamma will do what born so sixty or seventy years ago. And then she thinks best. She is stronger-minded than they walked on through Gruddocks fields, and Uncle Christopher, and does not want any one to 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. help her, But, Lily, you shouldnt speak as throughout the past years of his hitherto success- though I were careless about mamma. You ful life? or rather, as he at last put the question didnt mean that, I know, to himself more strongly, was it not the case Of course I didnt, Then the two girls that he had already destroyed all that success? joined their mother in their own little domain; His m~ rriage with Lily, whether it was to be for but we will return to the men at the Great House, good or bad, was now a settled thing, and was Crosbie, when he went up to dress for dinner, not regarded as a matter admitting of any doubt, fell into one of those melancholy fits of which I To do the man justice, I must declare that in all have spoken, Was he absolutely about to de- these moments of misery he still did the best lie stroy all the good that he had done for himself could to think of Lily herself as of a great treas~~ Y\l LILY SPEAKS. ITS ALL TIlE FAULT OF TIlE aAUGnTy PA TRInGEs. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 121 ure which he had wonas of a treasure which should, and perhaps would, compensate him for his misery. But there was the misery very plain. He must give up his clubs, and his fash- ion, and all that he had hitherto gained, and be content to live a plain, humdrum, domestic life, with eight hundred a year, and a small house, full of babies. It was not the kind of Elysium for which he had tutored himself. Lily was very nice, very nice indeed. She was, as he said to himself, by odds the nicest girl that he had ever seen. Whatever might now tarn up, her happiness should be his first care. But as for his own, he began to fear that the compensation would hardly be perfect. It is my own do- ing, he said to himself, intending to be rather noble in the purport of his soliloquy, I have trained myself for other thingsvery foolishly. Of course I must suffersuffer damnably. But she shall never know it. Dear, sweet, innocent, pretty little thing I And then he went on about the squire, as to whom he felt himself entitled to be indignant by his own disinterested and manly line of conduct toward the niece. But I will let him know what I think about it, he said. Its all very well for Dale to say that I have been treated fairly. It isnt fair for a man to put forward his niece under false pretenses. Of course I thought that he intended to provide for her. And then, having made up his mind in u very manly way that he would noL desert Lily altogether after having promised to marry her, he endeavored to find consolation in the reflec- tion that he might, at any rate, allow himself two years more run as a bachelor in London. Girls who have to get themselves married with- out fortunes always know that they will have to wait. Indeed, Lily had already told him that, as far as she was concerned, she was in no hurry. lie need not, therefore, at once withdraw his name from Sebrights. Thus he endeavored to console himself, still, however, resolving that he would have a little serious conversation with the squire that very evening as to Lily~ fortune. And what was the state of Lilys mind at the same moment, while she, also, was performing some slight toilet changes preparatory to their simple dinner at the Small House? I didnt behave well to him, she said to herself; I never do. I forget how much he is giving up for me; and then, when any thing annoys him, I make it worse instead of comfort- ing him. And upon that she made accusation against herself that she did not love him half enoughthat she did not let him see how thor- oughly and perfectly she loved him. She had an idea of her own, that as a girl should never show any preference for a man till circumstances should have fully entitled him to such manifest- ation, so also should she make no drawback on her love, but pour it forth for his benefit with all her strength when such circumstances had come to exist. But sl~ was ever feeling that she was not acting up to her theory, now that the time for such practice had come. She would un- wittingly assume little reserves, and make small pretenses of indifference in spite of her own judg- ment. She had done so on this afternoon, and had left him without giving him her hand to press, without looking up into his face with an assurance of love, and therefore she was angry with herself. I know I shall teach him to hate me, she said out loud to Bell. That would be very sad, said Bell; but I dont sefi it. If you were engaged to a man you would be much better to him. You would not say so much, but what you did say would be all affec- tion. I am always making horrid little speech- es, for which I should like to cut out my tongue afterward. Whatever sort of speeches they are I think that he likes them. Does he? Im not all so sure of that, Bell. Of course I dont expect that he is to scold menot yet, that is. But I know by his eye when he is pleased and when he is dis- pleased. And then they went down to their dinner. Up at the Great House the three gentlemen met together in apparent good-humor. Bernard Dale was a man of an equal temperament, who rarely allowed any feeling, or even any annoy- ance, to interfere with his usual mannera man who could always come to table with a smile, and meet either his friend or his enemy with a properly civil greeting. Not that he was espe- cially a flilse man. There was nothing of deceit in his placidity of demeanor. It arose from true equanimity; but it was the equanimity of a cold disposition rather than of one well ordered by discipline. The squire was aware that he had been unreasonably petulant before dinner, and having taken himself to task in his own way, now entered the dining-room with the courteous greeting of a host. I find that yonr bag was not so bad after all, he said; and I hope that your appetite is at least as good as your bag. Crosbie smiled, and made himself pleasant, and said a few flattering words. A man who intends to take some very decided step in an hour or two generally contrives to bear himself in the mean time as though the trifles of the world were quite sufficient for him. So he praised the squires game, said a good-natured word as to Dingles, and bantered himself as to his own want of skill. Then all ~vent merry not quite as a marriage bell; but still merry enough for a party of three gentlemen. But Crosbies resolution was fixed; and as soon, therefore, as the old butler was perma- nently gone, and the ~vine steadily in transit upon the table, he began his task, not without some apparent abruptness. Having fully con- sidered the matter, he had determined that he would not wait for Bernard Dales absence. He thought it possible that he might be able to fight his battle better in Bernards presence than he could do behind his back. Squire, he began. They all called him squire when they were on good terms together, and Crosbie thought it well to begin as though 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. there was nothing amiss between them. Squire, of course I am thinking a good deal at the pres- ent moment as to my intended marriage. Thats natural enough, said the squire. Yes, by George! Sir, a man doesnt make a change like that without finding that he has got something to think of. I suppose not, said the squire. I never was in the way of getting married myself; but I can easily understand that. Ive been the luckiest fellow in the world in finding such a girl as your niece Where- upon the squire bowed, intending to make a lit- tle courteous declaration that the luck in the matter was on the side of the Dales. I know that, continued Crosby, she is exactly every thing that a girl ought to be. She is a good girl, said Bernard. Yes, I think she is, said the squire. But it seems to me, said Crosbie, finding that it was necessary to dash at once headlong into the water, that something ought to be said as to my means of supporting her properly. Then he paused for a moment, expecting that the squire would speak. But the squire sat per- fectly still, looking intently at the empty fire- place, and saying nothing. Of supporting her, continued Crosbie, with all those com- forts to which she has been accustomed. She has never been used to expense, said the squire. Her mother, as you doubtless know, is not a rich woman. But living here, Lily has had great ad- vantagesa horse to ride, and all that sort of thing. I dont suppose she expects a horse in the park, said the squire, with a very perceptible touch of sarcasm in his voice. I hope not, said Crosbie. I believe she has had the use of one of the ponies here sometimes, but I hope that has not made her extravagant in her ideas. I did not think that there was any thing of that nonsense about either of them. Nor is there, as far as I know. Nothing of the sort, said Bernard. But the long and the short of it is this, Sir! and Crosbie, as he spoke, endeavored to maintain his ordinary voice and usual coolness, but his heightened color betrayed that he was nervous. Am I to expect any accession of income with my wife ? I have not spoken to my sister-in-law on the subject, said the squire; but I should fear that she can not do much. As a matter of course, I would not take a shilling from her, said Crosbie. Then that settles it, said the squire. Crosbie paused a moment, during which his color became very red. He unconsciously took up an apricot and ate it, and then he spoke out. Of course I was not alluding to Mrs. Dales income; I would not, on any account, disturb her arrangements. But I wished to learn, Sir, whether you intend to do any thing for your niece. In the way of giving her a fortune? No- thing at all. I intend to do nothing at all. Then I suppose we understand each other at last, said Crosbie. I should have thought that we might have understood each other at first, said the squire. Did I ever make you any promise or give you any hint that I intended to provide for my niece? Have I ever held out to you any such hope? I dont know. what you mean by that word at last, unless it be to give offense. I meant the truth, SirI meant thisthat seeing the manner in ~vhich your nieces lived with you, I thought it probable that you would treat them both as though they were your daugh- ters. Now I find out my mistake; that is all ! You have been mistaken, and without a shadow of excuse for your mistake. Others have been mistaken with me, said Crosbie, forgetting, on the spur of the moment, that he had no right to drag the opinion of any other person into the question. What others ? said the squire, with anger; and his mind immediately betook itself to his sisterin-law. I do not want to make any mischief; said Crosbie. If any body connected with my family has presumed to tell you that I intended to do more for my niece Lilian than I have already done, such person has not only been false but un- grateful. I have given to no one any authority to make any promise on behalf of my muiece. No such promise has been made. It w~s only a suggestion, said Crosbie. He was not in the least aware to whom the squire was alluding in his auger; but he per- ceived that his host was angry, and, having al- reaIy reflected that he should not have alluded to the words which Bernard Dale had spoken in his friendship, he resolved to name no one. Bernard, as he sat by listening, knew exactly how the matter stood; but, as he thought, there could be no. reason why he should subject him- self to his uncles ill-will, seeing that he had committed no sin. No such suggestion should have been made, said the squire. No one has had a right to make such a suggestion. No one has been placed by me in a position to make such a suggestion to you without manifest impropriety. I will ask no further questions about it; but it is quite as well that you should understand at once that I do not consider it to be my duty to give my niece Lilian a fortune on her marriage. I trust that your offer to her was not made under an such delusion. y No, Sir, it was not, said Crosbie. Then I suppose that no great harm has been done. I am sorry if false hopes have been given to you; but I am sure you will acknowl- edge that they were nj given to you by me. I think you have misunderstood me, Sir. My hopes were never very high; but I. thought it right to ascertain your intentions. Now you know them. I trust, for the girls 123 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. sake, that it will make no difference to her. I can hardly believe that she has been to blame in the matter. Crosbie hastened at once to exculpate Lily; and then, with more awkward blunders than a man should have made who was so well ac- quainted with fashionable life as the Apollo of the Beaufort, he proceeded to explain that, as Lily was to have nothing, his own pecuniary arrangements would necessitate some little de- lay in their ma~ia~. As far as I myself am concerned, said the squire, I do not like long engagements. But I *~m quite aware that in this matter I have no right to interfere, unless, indeed and then he stopped himself. I suppose it will be well to fix some day; eh, Crosbie ? said Bernard. I will discuss that matter with Mrs. Dale, said Crosbie. If you and she understand each ether, said the squire, that will be sufficient. Shall we go into the drawing-room now, or out upon the lawn ? That evening, as Crosbie went to bed, he felt that he had not gained the victory in his en- counter with the squire. CHAPTER VIII. IT CAN NOT flE. ON the following morning at breakfast each of the three gentlemen at the Great House re- ceived a little note on pink paper, nominally from Mrs. Dale, asking them to drink tea at the Small House on that day week. At the bottom of the note which Lily had written for Mr. Cros- bie was added: Dancing on the lawn, if we can get any body to stand up. Of course you must come, whether you like it or not. And Bernard also. Do your possible to talk my uncle into coming. And this note did some- thing toward recreating good-humor among them at the breakfast-table. It was shown to the squire, and at last he was brought to say that he would perhaps go to Mrs. Dales little even- ing-party. It may be well to explain that this prom- ised entertainment had been originated with no special view to the pleasure of Mr. Crosbie, but altogether on behalf of poor Johnny Eames. What was to be done in that matter? This question had been fully discussed between Mrs. Dale and BeJi, and they had come to the con- clusion that it would be best to ask Johnny over to a little friendly gathering, in which he might be able to meet Lily with some strangers around them. In this way his embarrassment might be overcome. It would never do, as Mrs. Dale said, that he should be suffered to stay away unnoticed by them. When the ice is once broken he wont mind it, said Bell. And, therefore, early in the day, a messenger was sent over to Guestwick, ~vho returned with a note from Mrs. Eames, saying that she would come on the evening in question with her son and daughter. They would keep the fly and get back to Guestwick the same evening. This was added, as an offer had been made of beds for Mrs. Eames and Mary. Before the evening of the party another mem- orable occuiTence had taken place at Allington, which must be described, in order that the feel- ings of the different people on that evening may be understood. The squire had given his neph- ew to understand that he wished to have that matter settled as to his niece Bell; and as Ber- nards views were altogether in accordance with the squires, he resolved to comply with his un- cles wishes. The project with him was not a new thing. lie did love his cousin quite suffi- ciently for purposes of matrimony, and was minded that it would be a good thing for him to marry. He could not marry without money, but this marriage would give him an income without the trouble of intricate settlements, or the interference of lauvyers hostile to his own in- terests. It was possible that he might do bet- ter; but then it was possible also that he might do much worse; and, in addition to this, he was fond of his cousin. He discussed the matter within himself very calmly; made some excel- lent resolutions as to the kind of life which it would behoove him to live as a married man; settled on the street in London in which he would have his house, and behaved very prettily to Bell for four or five days running. That he did not make love to her, in the ordinary sense of the word, must, I suppose, be taken for grant- ed, seeing that Bell herself did not recognize the fact. She had always liked her cousin, and thought that in these days he was making him- self particularly agreeable. On the evening before the party the girls were at the Great House, having come up nominally with the intention of discussing the expediency of dancing on the lawn. Lily had made up her mind that it was to be so, but Bell had objected that it would be cold and damp, and that the drawing-room would be nicer for dancing. You see weve only got four young gentle- men and one ungrown, said Lily; and they will look so stupid standing up all properly in a room, as though we had a regular party. Thank you for the compliment, said Cros- bie, taking off his straw-hat. So you will; and we girls will look more stupid still. But out on the lawn it wont look stupid at all. Two or three might stand up on the lawn, and it would be jolly enough. I dont quite see it, said Bernard. Yes, I think I see it, said Crosbie. The unadaptability of the lawn for the purpose of a ball Nobody is thinking of a ball, said Lily, with mock petulance. Im defending you, and yet you wont let me speak. The unadaptability of the lawn for the purposes of a ball will conceal the insuffi- ciency of four men and a boy as a supply of 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. male dancers. But, Lily, who is the ungrown gave the girl some slight, indistinct warning of gentleman? Is it your old friend Johnny what might be his intention. Not that she said Eames ? to herself at once that he was going to make het Lilys voice became sobered as she answered an offer of his handnow, on the spot; but she him. felt that he intended something beyond the ten~ Oh no; I did not mean Mr. Eames. He derness of ordinary cousinly affection. is coming, but I did not mean him. Dick I hope we shall never quarrel, she said. Boyce, Mr. Boyces son, is only sixteen. He is But as she spoke her mind was settling itself~ the ungrown gentleman. forming its resolution, and coming to a conclu- And who is the fourth adult ? sion as to the sort of love which Bernard might, Dr. Croft, from Gucstwick. I do hope you perhaps, expect. And it formed another con- will like him, Adolphus. We think he is the elusion; as to the sort of love which might be very perfection ~f a man. given in return. Then of course I shall hate him; and be Bell, he said, you and I have always been very jealous, too! dear friends. And then that pair went off together, fighting Yes, always. their own little battle on that head, as turtle- Why should we not be something more than doves will sometimes do. They went off, and friends 1 Bernard was left with Bell standing together To give Captain Dale his due I must declare over the ha-ha fence which divides the garden that his voice was perfectly natural as he asked at the back of the house from the field. this question, and that he showed no signs of Bell, he said, they seem very happy, nervousness, either in his face or limbs; He had dont they ? made up his mind to do it on that occasion, and And they ought to be happy now, oughtnt he did it without any siges of outward disturb. they? Dear Lily! I hope he will be good to ance. He asked his question, and then he waited her. Do you know, Bernard, though he is for his answer. In this he was rather hard upon your friend, I am very, very anxious about it. his cousin; for, though the question had cer- It is such a vast trust to put in a man when we tainly been asked in language that could not be do not quite know him. mistaken, still the matter had not been pu~ for- Yes, it is; but theyll do very well together. ward with all that fullness which a young Tady, Lilywill be happy enough. under such circumstances, has a right to expect. And he? They had sat down on the turf close to the I suppose hell be happy too. Hell feel ha-ha, and they were so near that Bernard was himself a little straitened as to income at first, able to put out hishand with the view of taking but that will all come round. that of his cousin within his own. But she con- If he is not, she will be wretched. trived to keep her hands locked together, so that They will do very well. Lily must be pre- he merely held her gently by the wrist. pared to make the money go as far as she can, I dont quitc understand, Bernard, she said, thats all. after a minutes pause. Lily wont feel the want of money. It is Shall we be more than cousins? Shall we not that. But if he lets her know that she has be man and wife ? made him a poor man, then she will be unhappy. Now, at least, she could not say that she did Is he extravagant, Bernard? not understand. If the question was ever asked But Bernard was anxious to discuss another plainly, Bernard Dale had asked it plainly. subject, and therefore would not speak such words Shall we be nian and wife? Few men, I fancy, of wisdom as to Lilys engagement as might have dare to put it all at once in so abrupt a way, and been expected from him had he been in a differ- yet I do not know that the English language af- cut frame of mind, fords any better terms for the question. No, I should say not, said he. But, Oh, Bernard! you have surprised mc. Bell I hope I have not pained you, Bell. I have I do not know that we could have acted been long thinking of this, but I am well aware otherwise than we have done, and yet I fearthat that my own manner, even to you, has not been we have been rash. If he makes her unhappy, that of a lover. It is not in me to smile and say Bernard, I shall never forgive you. soft things as Crosbie can. But I do not love But as she said this she put her hand lovingly you the less on that account. I have looked upon his arm, as a cousin might do, and spoke about for a wife, and I have thought that if I in a tone which divested her threat of its acerb- could gain you I should be very fortunate. ity. He did not then say any thing about his uncle You must not quarrel with me, Bell, what- and the eight hundred a year, but he fully in- ever may happen. I can not afford to quarrel tended to do so as soon as an opportunity should with you. serve. lie was quite of opinion that eight hun- Of course I was not in earnest as to that. dred a year and the good-will of a rich uncle were You and I must never quarrel, Bell; at least, strong grounds for matrimonywere grounds I hope not. I could bear to quarrel with any even for love; and he did not doubt but his one rather than with you. And then, as he cousin would see the matter in the same light. spoke, there was something in his voice which You are very good to memore than good. THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. 125 Of course I know that. But oh, Bernard! I did not expect this a bit. But you will answer me, Bell! Or if you would like time to think, or to speak to my aunt, perhaps you will answer me to-morrow ? I think I ought to answer you now.~~ Not if it be a refusal, Bell! Think well of it before you do that. I should have told you that our nude wishes this match, and that he will remove any difficulty there might be about money. I do not care for money. But, as you were saying about Lily, one has to be prudent. Now, in our marriage, every thing of that kind would be well arranged. My nncle has promised me that he would at once allow us Stop, Bernard. You must not be led to suppose thirt any offer made by my uncle would help to purchase Indeed, there can be no need for us to talk about money. I wished to let you know the facts of the case, exactly as they are. And as~ to our uncle, I can not but think that you would be glad, in such a matter, to have him on your side. Yes, I should be glad to have him on my side; that is, if I were going But my uncles wishes could not influence my decision. The fact is, Bernard Well, dearest, what is the fact ? I have always regarded you rather as a brother than as any thing else. But that regard may be changed. No; I think not. Bernard, I will go fur- ther and speak on at once. It can not be changed. I know myself well enough to say that with certainty. It can not be changed. You mean that you can not love me ? Not as you would have me do. I do love you very dearlyvery dearly, indeed. I would go to you in any trouble, exactly as I would go to a brother. And must that be all, Bell ? Is not that all the sweetest love that can be felt? But you must not think me ungrateful, or proud. I know well that you areare pro- posing to do for me much more than I deserve. Any girl might be proud of such an offer. But, dear Bernard Bell, before you give me a final answer, sleep upon this and talk it over with your mo- ther. Of course you were unprepared, and I can not expect that you should promise me so much without a moments consideration. I was unprepared, and therefore I have not answered you as I should have done. But as it has gone so far, I can not let you leave me in uncertainty. It is not necessary that I should keep you waiting. In this matter I do know my own mind. Dear Bernard, indeed, indeed it can not be as you have proposed. She spoke in a low voice, and in a tone that had in it something of almost imploring humil- ity; but, nevertheless, it conveyed to her cousin an assurance that she was in earnest; an assur- ance also that that earnest would not readily be Vom.. XXVI.No. 151.I changed. Was she not a Dale? And when did a Dale change his mind? For a while he sat silent by her; and she too, having declared her intention, refrained from further words. For some minutes they thus remained, looking dQwn into the ha-ha. She still kept her old position, holding her hands clasped together over her knees; but he was now lying on his side, sup- porting his head upon his arm, with his face in- deed turned toward her, but with his eyes fixed upon the grass. During this time, however, he was not idle. His cousins answer, though it had grieved him, had not come upon him as a blow stunning him for a moment, and rendering him unfit for instant thought. He was grieved, more grieved than he had thought he would have been. The thing that he had wanted moderately, he now wanted the more in that it was denied to him. But he was able to per- ceive the exact truth of his position, and to cal- culate what might be his chances if he went on with his suit, and what his advantage if he at once abandoned it. I do not wish to press you unfairly, Bell; but may I ask if any other preference There is no other preference, she answered. And then again they were silent for a minute or two. My uncle will be much grieved at this, he said at last. If that be all, said Bell, I do not think that we need either of us trouble ourselves. He can have no right to dispose of our he& rts. I understand the taunt, Bell. Dear Bernard, there was no taunt. I in- tended none. I need not speak of my own grief. You can not but know how deep it must be. Why shouldl have submitted myself to this mortifica- tion had not my heart been concerned? But that I will bear, if I must bear it And then he paused, looking up at her. It will soon pass away, she said. I will accept it at any rate without com- plaint. But as to my uncles feelings, it is open to me to speak, and to you, I should think, to listen without indifference. He has been kind to us both, and loves us two above any other living beings. Its not surprising that he should wish to see us married, and it will not be surprising if your refusal should be a great blow to him. I shall be sorryvery sorry. I also shall be sorry. I am now speaking of him. He has set his heart upon it; and as he has but few wishes, few desires, so is he the more constant in those which he expresses. When lie knows this, I fear that we shall find him very stern. Then he will be unjust. No; he will not be unjust. He is always a just man. But he will be unhappy, and will; I fear, make others unhappy. Dear Bell, may not this thing remain for a while unsettled? You will not find that I take advantage of your goodness. I will not intrude it on you again 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. say for a fortnight or till Crosbie shall be of preaching a sermon. Several discourses had gone. already been written, and I had only to make No, no, no, said Bell. my selection from these, and, with manuscript Why are you so eager in your noes? There in my pocket, take the cars on Saturday, and can be no danger in such delay. I will not stand ready to occupy my friends place in the press you and you can let my uncle think pulpit on Sunday. that you have at least taken time for considera- Promptly sending an affirmative answer, in tion. whh~h were introduced sundry depreciating and There are things as to which one is bound doubtful passages touching myself, I entered at to answer at once. If I doubted myself, I once upon the not very easy task of deciding would let you persuade me. But I do not which of my half dozen sermons would best doubt myself, and I should be wrong to keep impress the congregation before whom I was to you in suspense. Dear, dearest Bernard, it can appear with a due sense of my literary and not be; and as it can not be, you, as my brother, oratorical powers. I am on the confessional, would bid me say so clearly. It can not be. and must tell the truth. Not that I, conscious- As she made this last assurance, they heard ly, set this end before me. Far from it. I even the steps of Lily and her lover close to them, flattered myself that a sole desire to become the and they both felt that it would b~ well that medium of good to others ruled in my soul. their intercourse should thus be brought to a But I did not know the human heart then as close. Neither had known how to get up and well as I know it now. leave the place, and yet each had felt that no- The selection of a sermon was at last made, thing further could then be said. but not till the whole six had been read over, Did you ever see any thing so sweet and some for the third time. The few more than affectionate and romantic ? said Lily, standing usually eloquent passages in the one finally taken over them and looking at them. And all the really decided the choice. I would have been while we have been so practical and worldly. indignant then had any one hinted such a thing, Do you know, Bell, that Adolphus seems to and felt that my indignation was just. How think we cant very well keep pigs in London? little we know ourselves! How deeply hidden It makes me so unhappy. often are our springs of action! It does seem a pity, said Crosbie, for I was up until after twelve oclock on Satur- Lily seems to know all about pigs! day night, talking with my friend and arrang- Of course I do. I havent lived in the coun- ing the order of service for next day. I felt try all my life for nothing. Oh, Bernard, I very much excited, exhilarant almost; the high- should so like to see you rolled down into the er velocity attained by the machinery of my bottom of the ha-ha. Just remain there, and mind giving thought a buoyancy and clearness well do it between us. above the ordinary state. Is it to be wondered Whereupon Bernard got up, as did Bell also, that I was self-confident? That I felt myself and they all went in to tea. wholly equal to the occasion? Sleep rested on my eyelids during the morning-watches for only brief seasons, and unable to lie in bed longer, I arose with the sun, and spent the time that in- tervened until the breakfast hour in going over my sermon again, and studying certain effective passages which I hoped to render in a way that could not fail to move the audience. Something in my appearance, when I met my friend at the breakfast-table, caused him to look at me with just a shade of concern on his face. Im afraid we were up too late, he re- marked. Did you sleep soundly after you went to bed? Not very soundly, I replied. This is a new experience for me, and, of course, I feel a little nervous. Thought gets so busy, some- times, that it will not yield to the poppies. Still, I feel very well, and shall make up for lost sleep- ing-time to-night. There is no occasion whatever for being nervous, answered my friend, smiling. You have your discourse all written out, your eye- sight is good, and you are an effective reader. Trust to these and keep fast hold of your self- possession. Above all, let your thought rest in the truths to which you give utterance so that you can feel their significance. Truly effective speaking comes from the heart that is all alive MY FIRST SERMON. THE long looked-for and nervously-antici- pated day came. I was to preach my first sermon. It was one of the purest, brightest, calmest of June Sabbaths. Just three days be- fore a letter had come to me from a young clergyman, settled in a small village twenty miles distant by rail: DEAR AaTuUa..he wrote I am sick. A severe cold, taken while officiating at a funeral, ha.o produced hoaseness and a cough. The Doctor says there is consid- erable inflammation of the throat, and that I muot inter- mit at least one Sahbath service. Your welcome favor of two weeks ago should have heen answered earlier hut many things prevented. I need not say how much grati- fied I was to learn that you had received a license to preach. Coiue down on Saturday and fill my pulpit for me next Sabbath. I will take no denial, understand. One thing can premise you, and that is, a kind as well as an appreci- ative audience. How my heart fluttered! I was inwardly pleased, yet disturbed by the invitation. It gave me just the opportunity I had desired. In literary societies I had sought honors as a de- bater, and on two occasions had written and pro- nounced public addresses. But in the graver marler of a sermon I was yet to be tried; or, to speak with exactness, in the graver matter

T. S. Arthur Arthur, T. S. My First Sermon 126-129

126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. say for a fortnight or till Crosbie shall be of preaching a sermon. Several discourses had gone. already been written, and I had only to make No, no, no, said Bell. my selection from these, and, with manuscript Why are you so eager in your noes? There in my pocket, take the cars on Saturday, and can be no danger in such delay. I will not stand ready to occupy my friends place in the press you and you can let my uncle think pulpit on Sunday. that you have at least taken time for considera- Promptly sending an affirmative answer, in tion. whh~h were introduced sundry depreciating and There are things as to which one is bound doubtful passages touching myself, I entered at to answer at once. If I doubted myself, I once upon the not very easy task of deciding would let you persuade me. But I do not which of my half dozen sermons would best doubt myself, and I should be wrong to keep impress the congregation before whom I was to you in suspense. Dear, dearest Bernard, it can appear with a due sense of my literary and not be; and as it can not be, you, as my brother, oratorical powers. I am on the confessional, would bid me say so clearly. It can not be. and must tell the truth. Not that I, conscious- As she made this last assurance, they heard ly, set this end before me. Far from it. I even the steps of Lily and her lover close to them, flattered myself that a sole desire to become the and they both felt that it would b~ well that medium of good to others ruled in my soul. their intercourse should thus be brought to a But I did not know the human heart then as close. Neither had known how to get up and well as I know it now. leave the place, and yet each had felt that no- The selection of a sermon was at last made, thing further could then be said. but not till the whole six had been read over, Did you ever see any thing so sweet and some for the third time. The few more than affectionate and romantic ? said Lily, standing usually eloquent passages in the one finally taken over them and looking at them. And all the really decided the choice. I would have been while we have been so practical and worldly. indignant then had any one hinted such a thing, Do you know, Bell, that Adolphus seems to and felt that my indignation was just. How think we cant very well keep pigs in London? little we know ourselves! How deeply hidden It makes me so unhappy. often are our springs of action! It does seem a pity, said Crosbie, for I was up until after twelve oclock on Satur- Lily seems to know all about pigs! day night, talking with my friend and arrang- Of course I do. I havent lived in the coun- ing the order of service for next day. I felt try all my life for nothing. Oh, Bernard, I very much excited, exhilarant almost; the high- should so like to see you rolled down into the er velocity attained by the machinery of my bottom of the ha-ha. Just remain there, and mind giving thought a buoyancy and clearness well do it between us. above the ordinary state. Is it to be wondered Whereupon Bernard got up, as did Bell also, that I was self-confident? That I felt myself and they all went in to tea. wholly equal to the occasion? Sleep rested on my eyelids during the morning-watches for only brief seasons, and unable to lie in bed longer, I arose with the sun, and spent the time that in- tervened until the breakfast hour in going over my sermon again, and studying certain effective passages which I hoped to render in a way that could not fail to move the audience. Something in my appearance, when I met my friend at the breakfast-table, caused him to look at me with just a shade of concern on his face. Im afraid we were up too late, he re- marked. Did you sleep soundly after you went to bed? Not very soundly, I replied. This is a new experience for me, and, of course, I feel a little nervous. Thought gets so busy, some- times, that it will not yield to the poppies. Still, I feel very well, and shall make up for lost sleep- ing-time to-night. There is no occasion whatever for being nervous, answered my friend, smiling. You have your discourse all written out, your eye- sight is good, and you are an effective reader. Trust to these and keep fast hold of your self- possession. Above all, let your thought rest in the truths to which you give utterance so that you can feel their significance. Truly effective speaking comes from the heart that is all alive MY FIRST SERMON. THE long looked-for and nervously-antici- pated day came. I was to preach my first sermon. It was one of the purest, brightest, calmest of June Sabbaths. Just three days be- fore a letter had come to me from a young clergyman, settled in a small village twenty miles distant by rail: DEAR AaTuUa..he wrote I am sick. A severe cold, taken while officiating at a funeral, ha.o produced hoaseness and a cough. The Doctor says there is consid- erable inflammation of the throat, and that I muot inter- mit at least one Sahbath service. Your welcome favor of two weeks ago should have heen answered earlier hut many things prevented. I need not say how much grati- fied I was to learn that you had received a license to preach. Coiue down on Saturday and fill my pulpit for me next Sabbath. I will take no denial, understand. One thing can premise you, and that is, a kind as well as an appreci- ative audience. How my heart fluttered! I was inwardly pleased, yet disturbed by the invitation. It gave me just the opportunity I had desired. In literary societies I had sought honors as a de- bater, and on two occasions had written and pro- nounced public addresses. But in the graver marler of a sermon I was yet to be tried; or, to speak with exactness, in the graver matter MY FIRST SERMON. 127 with its theme. Forget every thing but your subject. No better advice could have been given; the difficulty lay in making it the rule of action on this occasion. Considering my state of mind, that was a simple impossibility; for I was am- bitious to do well, to make a favorable impres- sion, to extort admiration. Poor human nature! shall I expose your weakness still further? lift the veil a little higher? It may be well, for the day of humiliation is past. Even as I dwelt in fancy on the eloquent manner with which this my first sermon was to be deliveredfor, with all my nervousness, I felt great confidence in my ability to impress an audiencea suggestion of the contrast likely to be drawn between me and my friend, unfavorable to him of course, was thrown into my mind. Did I cast it out in- stantly? Push it aside as an unseemly thing? Not so! It was dwelt upon and referred to, over and over again, even until the thou~,ht of being called to fill his place was reached, and I be- came aware of a pleasant excitement of feeling. I was rather startled at this discovery, but not deeply shocked at the time. Simply turn- ing myself away from the thought, instead of at- tempting to exorcise it as an evil, I let my mind again dwell on the manner and address I was to assume in the pulpit. I was in my room, and in the act of studying a passage in my sermon, with a view to itt effect- ive delivery, when the hell rang for church. The first peal made my heart leap. Folding my manuscript hurriedly, I went down stairs, where I found my friend and his wife awaiting me. We had to walk about an eighth of a mile, along the outskirts of the town, and through streets shaded by great elms, which made them seem like rural avenues, and where June had spread her mantle of green, hroidered all over with richest flowers. But the peace of nature did not fall upon my soul. There was no echo to the singing birds in my heart. The blossoms for me sent forth their odors in vain. I was thinking only of myself; looking only at the image of myself as I stood up, in imagination, before the people. As we neared the church, and I saw group after group approaching the vestibule and entering, a weight began to settle down upon my bosom which I vainly tried to throw off by deep-drawn inspirations. As my friend nodded and spoke to one parishioner after another, I noted the curious glances that were cast upon me. Of course it was known th~ a stranger would preach on that morning; and, of course, I was recognized as that stranger. What impression did I make? Yes, that was the thought I permitted to come in through some unguarded door. We entered the vestry room, my friend and I, and from thence passed up to the pulpit. The organ commenced playing as we took our seats side by side on the sofa just behind the reading- desk. Every eye in the assembly was upon me. I strove to repress the unquiet beating of my heart, to still the low tremor that shook along my nerves, to forget every thing but the duty I was there to perform. A few minutes and then the rich swells and tender harmonies of the organ died away, and there followed a deep silence. My time had come! Rising, I advanced, with that slow and solemn manner which I thought befitting the place and occasion, to the desk. Opening the Bible, I read a brief psalm. At first I scarce- ly knew the sound of my own voice; but I soon had it under control, and executed the portion of Holy Writ quite to my satisfaction. A hymn came next. Few clergymen read poetry well. I dont know why it is, unless they are generally deficient in imagination. Being a little vain of my skill in this line, I laid myself out on the hymn. The words were so familiar that I had no occasion to look down upon the book; never- theless I, affecting to catch the lines by quick glances at the page before me, and then lifting my eyes, sometimes upward and sometimes to the range of my audience, would recite them with all the elocutionary skill at my command. In the midst of this performance I noticed an intelligent-looking man, whom I had already felt a desire to impress, glance sideways at a lady with a half-amused expression on his face. It was a dash of ice-water on my enthusiasm. Against ridicule I have no proof armor. On that side I have always been weak. Was I making myself ridiculous! The thought stung me like an adder. I was only half through the hymn. How the balance was read I can not re- member. Not with much effect, I am sure. The congregation, if not amused at the contrast of styles, must have been struck with the sudden change in my way of reading. The prayer came next. It was to be extem- pore. I had laid myself out for this important part of the services, carefully committing to mem- ory devotional passages previously written down, which might be uttered with the most pious fer- vors. Nothing finer, I was sure, had ever beers addressed to that congregation. But, alas for my eloquent prayer! That single meaning glance had taken all the conceit out of me. I had no more heart for display. The stage ter- ror, of which actors speak, had seized upon me. Instead of an appreciating and admiring audi- ence, I felt that I was in the presence of unmer- ciful critics. All my eloquent sentences were forgotten, and I stumbled, almost helplessly, through a series of disconnected petitions, with scarcely an idea of the God I was addressing in all my thoughts. How weak, and poor in spirit, and humbled I was, when I arose from my knees, and in a subdued voice, read a psalm for the singers to chant. It was a relief to get back again on the sofa beside my friend, even for the short interval between the choir-singing and the sermon. I know that my face must have been pale when I stood up again, and opened the manu- script sermon I was to read. My hand shook as I turned the first page. My mouth was dry and clammy; and there was a great obstruction in 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. my throat constantly rising and threatening to choke me. All self-confidence was gone; and in my weakness, and almost despair, I looked upward and prayed for sustaining power. My voice, which in the opening chapter and hymn had been pitched to a somewhat elevated key, dropped now to so low a range as I commenced reading my discourse that I noticed some in the distant pews leaning forward to listen, while an almost unnatural stillness pervaded the whole assembly. It was impossible to recover myself, and just as impossible to get my thought down into any appreciable comprehension of my subject. I read, and read, in a dull, unsympathetic way, conscious of no efflux from the people, yet hur- rying on in order to get throngh the unprofit- able task as quickly as possible, and away from the hurting gaze of a thousand arrowy eyes. The last page was turned at last. I sat down, weakin, a tremorovercome with sense of humiliationand remained motionless, with my eyes on the floor, until my friend gave out the closing hymn, and pronounced the benediction. Then I shrunk away from the pulpit, and de- scended to the session room, into which a few of the leading members of the church came, and to whom I was introduced. No one seemed very cordialthat was my impressioncertainly no one complimented me on my performance, or even referred to it. On our way back to the parsonage, both my friend and his wife were si- lent as to the sermon. He tried to talk cheer- fully on a theme outside of theology, but I could only respond in monosyllables. I had failed miserably, and there was no gloss- ing it over; failed through self-conceit, and the effort to act instead of preach. On arriving at the parsonage, I went immediately to my room, where I sat down and gave way to unmanly tears. That was, I think, the bitterest hour I have known in my whole life. I resolved to give up my license, and abandon all thought of preaching. To eschew forever a profession in which, at my first essay, I had won, as I be- lieved, only contempt. Iwould fain have excused myself, when the bell rang for dinner, on the plea of a headache, which had set in, and want of appetite; but this would be attracting more attention to myself than was desirable. So I joined my friend and his wife at the table. In spite of their kind and hospitable natures they could not rise out of a certain embarrassment which in no way helped my unhappy state. No reference whatever was made to the morning services. How could they speak of these? Truth kept them from compliments or approval, and tenderness for my feelings from suggestive criticism. That evening, as I sat alone with my friend in his study, I broke through the ice of reserve which had hardened between us since morning. and said, with a bitterness of tone which I did not try to veil, I shall give up my license. Why so, Arthur ? he asked, in manifest surprise, yet with the old kind interest in his voice. Simply, I answered, because I have mis~ taken my calling. He dropped his eyes in reflection for some moments. I am not so sure of that, was his gravely- spoken reply, as he looked up again into my face. You have eyes and ears. My performance is before you, and you are as well aware as I am that it was a wretched failure, alike discred- itable to me and the profession I disgraced, said I, with considerable excitement of manner. You did not do so well as I expected, Ar- thur, was frankly returned, and simply be- cause you tried to do too well, failed, became conscious of failure, and broke down. You started at too high a speed. A preacher, Ar- thur, to be successful, must forget himself in his high callingmust preach truth with the end of saving souls, and not to dsplay his talents. As I, this morning, endeavored to do, I answered, with much bitterness. There are few young preachers, Arthur, my friend said, kindly, who do not, in the be- ginning, fall into the same error. But not into the same degree of error. Oh, have I not been sharply punished! How could I have been so blind to my real state! How was it that I dared go into the pulpit, as an act- or goes upon the stage, with no higher end than to sustain a character ! If you had no higher end, was replied, with a seriousness of tone that almost expressed re- buke, then it is well that failure instead of success crowned your effort. But in your pres- ent state of mind it is natural to accept an ex- aggerated view of the case. Be that as it may, I returned, my future course is settled. I have preached niy first ser- mon and my last one also. My friend looked at me calmly for some time; theui he said: The motive from which a man acts gives the quality of his action. I did not reply, and he went on: Instead of turning back in the way you have entered, Arthur, let me suggest, as the first thing to be done, an examination into the mo- tives that prompted you to set your feet in this way. Was it from a desire to serve your fellow- man in the highest possible degree; or to secure a p.sition for yourself and to win honorable dis- tinction? Dont let this examination be any half-way performance. Go down into the very depths of your soul. Find out just what you are as to main-springs ofaction. And if, through the painful experiences of to-day, you are led into a fuller knowledge of yourself, the hand of a kind Providence may be traced in the confu- sion that befell you this morning. Reflect for a moment. There was no lack of personal abili- ty nor of preparation. Your sermon was quite above the average of sermons, and would have been listened to with interest and instruction if MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 129 it had been even passably delivered. You have a good voice, and can read effectively. It was your thought of yourself that ruined every thing. Your overweening desire to do wellnot for the sake of good to others, hut praise to yourself. Now, as a brother, I would admonish you in all love and duty. Put away hindrances that stand in the way; but as you value your soul do not turn aside from the way. The present is an hour of sore temptation, in which the quality of your life is, as it were, on trial. The Tempter has flowed in with your natural love of doing well and seeming well, and drawn you into slip- pery places, that he may cast you down. The best, Arthur, fall into temptation. All have inherited forms of evilyou of one kind, I of another; and unless we are tempted of evil we can not know of its existence, nor put it away. But when the hour of temptation comes let us beware that we do not fall in the struggle; for if we do, then will our last state be worse than the first. Dont, then, give your adversary the advantage he is seeking. Dont, at his sugges- UNITED STATES. OUR Record closes on the 10th of November. For more than a month after the battle of An- tietam the great body of our Army of the Potomac remained in Maryland. At length on the 20th of October the main body of the army began the pas- sage of the river at Berlin, six miles below Harpers Ferry, the cavalry under General Pleasanton lead- ing. They proceeded by way of Leesbnrg, push- ing forward scouts toward Aldie and Middleburg. The enemy meanwhile had fallen back from the Po- tomac, following up the course of the Shenandoah with the apparent design of occupying that valley, and threatening another incursion into Maryland, or of falling back by that route in the direction of Rich- mond. The main advance of our army was in a parallel direction, the Blue Ridge being between, our forces being on the east side and those of the Confederates on the west. There was a continued series of skirmishes between cavalry corps and out- posts; but in the course of the week we had occu- pied the chief passes through the Blue Ridge. On the 8th of November our head-quarters were at War- renton, with the advance at Culpepper Court house, some twenty miles further south. Our Army of the Potomac then occupied nearly the same ground as before the battles of Bull Run and Centreville at the end of August. The enemy apparently were spread over the valley of the Shenandoah from Winchester southward. It was reported that their main strength, largely reinforced, was at Gordonaville, on the Rap- pahannock, seventy-five miles south of Winchester from which point there is direct railroad communi- cation with Richmond, so that they had the choice either to fall back or to turn and give battle at pleas- ure. Their plan appeared to be, if they found them- selves in sufficient force, to give battle on the Rap- pahannock, where they are strongly intrenched, while a simultaneous attack on our rear should be made from the Valley of the Shenandoah. It will thus be seen that the chief apparent object of our advance into Virginia, the cutting off the enemy tion, turn back from the work to which you were about consecrating your life; but sweeping aside, in the strength of a divinely-inspired purpose, all weaknesses of the fleshall hindrances that un- regenerate human nature throws in the way press toward the mark for the prize of your high calling. You have saved me ! I exclaimed, over- come by the emotions which now swept over me; for I saw myself as I had never seen my- self before, and trembled as I looked into the dim abyss en which my feet were standing. On the next morning I returned home a little wiser and a great deal sadder than when I went forththinking only of myself and the impres- sion I would make to preach my first ser- mon. It was the last I ever gave in my friends pulpit, though not the last of my preachingas witness some thirty years of, I trust, not wholly unfruitful labor in the vineyard of God. He did not venture upon a second invitation, for which I could not find it in my heart to blame him. from Richmond, or forcing him to give battle except at his pleasure, has not been attained. Matters stood thus on the 8th of November, when an order unex- pectedly arrived at head-quarters removing General MClellan from the command of the Army of the Potomac, and appointing General Bnrnside in his place. As far as we can now judge, the reason of this action is to he found in the delay of the advance of the army. General Halleck, in a report to the Secretary of War, dated on the 28th of October, says that on the 1st of October he urged General MClel lan to cross the Potomac at once, pointing out the disadvantage of delaying until the autumn rains had swollen the Potomac, and impaired the roads, and on the 6th he peremptorily qrdered General MClellan to cross the Potomac and give battle to the ene- my or drive him south. Three weeks passed before this order was complied with. General Halleck af- firms that, in his opinion, there has been no such want of supplies in the army under General MClel- lan as to prevent his compliance with the orders to advance against the enemy. Had he moved to the south side of the Potomac, he could have received his supplies almost as readily as by remaining in- active on the north. A dashing exploit has been performed by a body of Stuarts Confede~ate cavalry. On the 9th of Oc- tober they crossed the Potomac, about 2000 strong, at a point considerably above the right of our army. They pushed rapidly on and reached Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, where they secured a considerable amount of clothing, and destroyed some property be- longing to the Government, and burned the railroad d6p6t. The incursion was such a perfect surprise that no opposition was offered. Having supplied themselves with fresh horses, which they seized from the inhabitants, they set out to return to Virginia; but instead of retracing their steps they made a de- tour to the south, and reached the Potomac at a point to the left of our forces; thus having made a three-days dash to onr.rear, actually passing clear around our whole army, and escaping without loss.

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 129-131

MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 129 it had been even passably delivered. You have a good voice, and can read effectively. It was your thought of yourself that ruined every thing. Your overweening desire to do wellnot for the sake of good to others, hut praise to yourself. Now, as a brother, I would admonish you in all love and duty. Put away hindrances that stand in the way; but as you value your soul do not turn aside from the way. The present is an hour of sore temptation, in which the quality of your life is, as it were, on trial. The Tempter has flowed in with your natural love of doing well and seeming well, and drawn you into slip- pery places, that he may cast you down. The best, Arthur, fall into temptation. All have inherited forms of evilyou of one kind, I of another; and unless we are tempted of evil we can not know of its existence, nor put it away. But when the hour of temptation comes let us beware that we do not fall in the struggle; for if we do, then will our last state be worse than the first. Dont, then, give your adversary the advantage he is seeking. Dont, at his sugges- UNITED STATES. OUR Record closes on the 10th of November. For more than a month after the battle of An- tietam the great body of our Army of the Potomac remained in Maryland. At length on the 20th of October the main body of the army began the pas- sage of the river at Berlin, six miles below Harpers Ferry, the cavalry under General Pleasanton lead- ing. They proceeded by way of Leesbnrg, push- ing forward scouts toward Aldie and Middleburg. The enemy meanwhile had fallen back from the Po- tomac, following up the course of the Shenandoah with the apparent design of occupying that valley, and threatening another incursion into Maryland, or of falling back by that route in the direction of Rich- mond. The main advance of our army was in a parallel direction, the Blue Ridge being between, our forces being on the east side and those of the Confederates on the west. There was a continued series of skirmishes between cavalry corps and out- posts; but in the course of the week we had occu- pied the chief passes through the Blue Ridge. On the 8th of November our head-quarters were at War- renton, with the advance at Culpepper Court house, some twenty miles further south. Our Army of the Potomac then occupied nearly the same ground as before the battles of Bull Run and Centreville at the end of August. The enemy apparently were spread over the valley of the Shenandoah from Winchester southward. It was reported that their main strength, largely reinforced, was at Gordonaville, on the Rap- pahannock, seventy-five miles south of Winchester from which point there is direct railroad communi- cation with Richmond, so that they had the choice either to fall back or to turn and give battle at pleas- ure. Their plan appeared to be, if they found them- selves in sufficient force, to give battle on the Rap- pahannock, where they are strongly intrenched, while a simultaneous attack on our rear should be made from the Valley of the Shenandoah. It will thus be seen that the chief apparent object of our advance into Virginia, the cutting off the enemy tion, turn back from the work to which you were about consecrating your life; but sweeping aside, in the strength of a divinely-inspired purpose, all weaknesses of the fleshall hindrances that un- regenerate human nature throws in the way press toward the mark for the prize of your high calling. You have saved me ! I exclaimed, over- come by the emotions which now swept over me; for I saw myself as I had never seen my- self before, and trembled as I looked into the dim abyss en which my feet were standing. On the next morning I returned home a little wiser and a great deal sadder than when I went forththinking only of myself and the impres- sion I would make to preach my first ser- mon. It was the last I ever gave in my friends pulpit, though not the last of my preachingas witness some thirty years of, I trust, not wholly unfruitful labor in the vineyard of God. He did not venture upon a second invitation, for which I could not find it in my heart to blame him. from Richmond, or forcing him to give battle except at his pleasure, has not been attained. Matters stood thus on the 8th of November, when an order unex- pectedly arrived at head-quarters removing General MClellan from the command of the Army of the Potomac, and appointing General Bnrnside in his place. As far as we can now judge, the reason of this action is to he found in the delay of the advance of the army. General Halleck, in a report to the Secretary of War, dated on the 28th of October, says that on the 1st of October he urged General MClel lan to cross the Potomac at once, pointing out the disadvantage of delaying until the autumn rains had swollen the Potomac, and impaired the roads, and on the 6th he peremptorily qrdered General MClellan to cross the Potomac and give battle to the ene- my or drive him south. Three weeks passed before this order was complied with. General Halleck af- firms that, in his opinion, there has been no such want of supplies in the army under General MClel- lan as to prevent his compliance with the orders to advance against the enemy. Had he moved to the south side of the Potomac, he could have received his supplies almost as readily as by remaining in- active on the north. A dashing exploit has been performed by a body of Stuarts Confede~ate cavalry. On the 9th of Oc- tober they crossed the Potomac, about 2000 strong, at a point considerably above the right of our army. They pushed rapidly on and reached Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, where they secured a considerable amount of clothing, and destroyed some property be- longing to the Government, and burned the railroad d6p6t. The incursion was such a perfect surprise that no opposition was offered. Having supplied themselves with fresh horses, which they seized from the inhabitants, they set out to return to Virginia; but instead of retracing their steps they made a de- tour to the south, and reached the Potomac at a point to the left of our forces; thus having made a three-days dash to onr.rear, actually passing clear around our whole army, and escaping without loss. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The invasion of Kentucky, and the threatened in- cursion into Ohio, by the Conf9derates under Bragg, has been repelled. On the 26th of September Gen- eral Bragg issued a proclamation to the people of the Northwestern States, in which he said that the South was waging a wholly defensive war; that they had been and were anxious for peace; but that hitherto hostilities had been carried on solely within their borders; and that self-defense required that they should visit some of the consequences of the war upon those who obstinately refused to make peace. The responsibility of the continuance of the war he said rested upon the people of the Northwest. They were the natural allies of the South, and should con- clude a separate peace with the Confederate Govern- ment. The Mississippi River was a natural bond of union between the grain and stock-raising States of the Northwest and the cotton and sugar States of the South, which should never have been disturbed by the cupidity and bigotry of New England and the East. The South wonld be the best customers of the West, while the East would be their perpet- ual rivals. As f6r the free navigation of the Missis- sippi, the South were ready to concede it without striking a blow; as for the Union, it was a thing of the past; a Union of consent was the only union worth a drop of blood. I come, then, concludes this proclamation, with the olive branch of peace, and offer it for your acceptance, in the name of the memories of the past and the ties of the future. The arrival of General Buells army at Louisville put a stop to the projected invasion of the Northwest, if it had ever been seriously entertained; and General Bragg began to fall back. But during his incursion into Kentucky he had secured a large amount of stores and supplies, which were sent forward in ad- vance. General Buell came up with the rear of Braggs army near Perryville, where a sharp action took place on the 8th of October, attended, however, with no important result. The enemy were repulsed in their assaults, but continued their retreat with no serious molestation. Guerrilla fights and combats of detached bodies have occurred at various points in Kentucky, but these have had no decisive bearing upon the main result. General Buell, who has been sharply censured for want of activity in advancing upon the retreating forces of the Confederates, has been relieved from the command of the army of the West, which has been confided to General Rose- crans. The battle of Corinth, briefly noted in our Record of last month, proves to have heen one of the most sharply contested and decisive engagements of the war. The enemy, under Van Dorn, in superior force, made a violent attack upon our advanced po- sitions on the 3d of October, and succeeded in driv- ing us into the town of Corinth. Van Dorn sent a dispatch to Richmond saying, We have driven the enemy from every position; we are within three quarters of a mile of Corinth; the enemy are hud- dled together about the town; some are on the ex- treme left, trying to hold their position. On the morning of the 4th the Confederates made an ~sttack upon a fort on the northwest of the town, and suc- ceeded in gaining momentary possession of it, but were soon driven back with great loss. They then made a vigorous assault from another quarter and penetrated the streets into the main part of the town; but they were met with so severe a fire that they were driven back in disorder and abandoned the at- tack. They were followe4 up in their retreat for some days, suffering severely. General Rosecrans, who has since been appointed to the command hith- erto held by General Buell, was in actual command in this engagement. The official report gives our total loss in these actions as 315 killed, 1812 wound- ed, and 247 prisoners and missinga total of 2374. Of the enemy 1423 are reported to have been buried by our forces, 5000 were wounded and left behind in the yetreat, and 3000 prisoners were madea total loss of 9423. In Arkansas a second battle took place near Pea Ridge on the 22d of October. General Curtis re- ports that General Schofield, finding that the ene- my had encamped here, sent General Blunt toward that point. He found the enemy, estimated at from 5000 to 7000 strong, at Maysville, in the northwest corner of the State. After a sharp engagement, which lasted about an hour, they were totally rout- ed, with the loss of all their artillery, many horses, and a part of their transportation and garrison equi- page, and were driven in disorder beyond the Boston~ Mountains. Their whole organized forces were thus driven back to the valley of the Arkansas River. In the Department of the South some important movements have been made. The most consider- able of these was an expedition sent from Hilton Head on the 21st of October, with the design of de- stroying the bridges on the Charleston and Savan- nah Railroad. Three or four sharp encounters took place in the neighborhood of Pocotaligo, which re- sulted in our favor; but the enemy haying destroy- ed tho bridge in their rear, the advantage could not be followed up. The obstruction of the railroad was only partially accomplished, and the enemy having been ndnforced both from Charleston and Savannah the expedition was abandoned. The chief point gained seems to have been a thorough reconnois- sauce of the region between the island of Port Royal and the line of the railroadGeneral Mitchell, who was only recently appointed to the command of this department, died of fever on the 30th of October. He was a native of Kentucky, born in 1810; grad- uated at West Point in 1829, in the same class with the Confederate Generals Lee and Johnston. lie afterward devoted himself mainly to scientific pur- suits, and became widely known as an astronomer. Upon the breaking o~t of the war he was appointed a Brigadier-General, and established his reputation for skill and daring by his famous raid upon Chat- tanoo,,a. Galveston, Texas, was occupied on the 9th of October by a detachment from our mortar fleet, under command of Commodore Renshaw. The military forces of the enemy had before abandoned the place, and the occupation was accomplished without opposition. It has been for some months reported that armed vessels of great power were being built in Great Britain for the insurgents, to he employed in preying upon our commerce. This could not be done with- out the direct knowledge and indirect complicity of the British Government. At least one of these ves- sels has been sent out. She is known as the Ala- borne; was built and equipped at Liverpool and Birkenhead, and left the latter port late in August, under the command of Captain Semmes, formerly of the Sunster, with a crew composed mainly of En- glishmen. She is a propeller, said to be very fast under sail or steam, and heavily armed. She made her appearance off our coast early in October, and since that tune is known to have captured 22 mer- chant vessels of various descriptions. Of these 19, with their cargoes, were burned; the others were released, upon their captains giving bonds for their LITERARY NOTICES. 131 value, to be paid after the conclusion of peace. These vessels appear to have been released solely to enable them to take off the crews of those which had been destroyed, for whom the Alabama had no adequate means of making provision. The Autumn Elections have generally resulted un- favorably to the Republican party. In Vermont, Maine, Massachusetts, and Michigan, the candidates have generally succeeded by majorities greatly re- duced from the last election. In New York, where State officers and members of Congress were to be chosen, Mr. Seymour, the Democratic candidate for Governor, had a majority of about 10,000 over Mr. Wadsworth, the Republican candidate. We have returns of the elections for members of the next Congress from fourteen States. From these States the Republicans have in the present Congress 95 members, and their opponents 38; in the next Con- gress, which meets in December, 1863, the Repub- licans will have 72, and their opponents 69a Re- publican loss of 23, and an Opposition gain of 31. The principal changes are in New York, where the Republicans lose 10 members; in Ohio they lose 8; in Pennsylvania 7. According to the best estimates which can now.be formed, the next House of Repre- sentatives from the loyal States will consist of 185 members, of whom 83 will be Republicans and 102 Opposition of different shades of opinion. The Sen- ate will consist of 48 members29 Republicans, and 19 Opposition. MEXICO. The advance of a powerful French naval and mili- tary expedition against Mexico reached Vera Cruz on the 21st of October. General Forey, the com- mander, previous to lauding, issued a proclamation declaring that it remained to France alone to defend the position which she had originally taken in con- junction with Spain and Great Britain. The war which had been undertaken was not against the Mexican people, but against a handful of adventur- ers who had seized upon the government; and as soon as the Mexican people were freed from restraint by French arms, they would be at liberty to select whatever form of government pleased them. France, in intervening, acted solely in behalf of the interests of the Mexican nation and the cause of civilization. All accounts concur in representing that, in the capital and other chief towns of Mexico, there was the utmost determination manifested to resist the French invasion. EUROPE. The American war, in its various aspects, con- tinues to be the absorbing subject of thought and discussion. The rumors in respect to European in- tervention are so discordant that no reliance can be placed upon them. As far as the action of the British Government is concerned, the most signifi- cant expressions are contained in recent speeches of Sir George C. Lewis, the Secretary of War, and Mr. Gladstone, Chancellor of the Exchequer. The for- mer denies the claim of the Confederate States to recognition, on the ground that they have not yet accomplished their independence ; and the latter says that while he thinks it for the interest of En- gland that the Union should continue, and that the neutral course of the British Government has been the only wise one, he yet holds that the Confederate leaders have made an army, are making a navy, and, what is more, have made a nation. He anticipates their certain success, as far as regards their separa- tion from the North. He, with other responsible members of the Government, opposes any present recognition of the Confederate States.Sir JohA Pakington, in a recent speech, advises an offer of mediation, on the ground of a separation between the North and the South, with the understanding thatthe failure of this proposal will be followed by an imme- diate recognition of the Southern Confederacy.Sir E. Buiwer Lytton declares that the Union can never be restored, and that the curse of slavery will not long survive the separation. Mr. Cobden urges the formation of a league, the object of which shall line to procure the abolition of all blockades of commercial ports, and the exemption from capture of merchant vessels not actually engaged in the conveyance of articles contraband of war.The project of an At- lantic Telegraph has been revived; Messrs. Glass, Elliott, and Company, who are extensive marine telegraph contractors, have formally offered to make and lay a cable from Ireland to Newfoundland upon condition of being paid weekly their actual disburse- ments with an additional 20 per cent. in shares of the Company, when the line shall have been put in working order. Upon these conditions they offer to subscribe 25,000 to the capital of the Company. A revolutionary movement has taken place in Greece; King Otho, after vainly endeavoring to quell it, abdicated in favor of his brother; and a Provisional Government has been established, with Prince Mavrocordato as President. Memoirs of the Rer. Nicholas Murray, D.D. (Kir- wan), by SAMUEL IEEN~EU5 PRIME. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) To the great public Dr. Mur- ray was known as a keen controversialist; to a nar- rower, but by ub means limited circle as a laborious preacher and faithful pastor; to his intimate asso- ciates as a man of most genial temperament and quick humor. He was in many respects a repre- sentative man. He came to America in 1818, a bur- ly, untrained Irish lad of seventeen, and found em- ployment in a printing-office. Having abjured the Catholic faith and joined the Presbytermin Church, the subscriptions of a few individuals furnished him with the means of pursuing his studies for the min- istry. Ten years after his arrival in America he be- came the minister of a congregation in the Valley of Wyoming; and four years later was called to the pastorate of an important church at Elizabethtown, New Jersey, where the remaining twenty - eight years of his life were passed. More than a thou- sand carefully-written sermons are witnesses of the industry with which he performed one part of the functions of his office, while his long charge over a single church bears witness to the faithful fulfill- ment of his other pastoral duties. The controver- sial works which made his noes de plume of Kir- wan so widely known were but an episode in his labors. Though born and reared a Catholic, his faith sat lightly upon him. The priests with whom he came in early contact were not favorable speci- mens of their order. When he left Ireland for Amer- ica his mother had him denounced from the altar; and when in time she learned that he had become a Protestant she had masses said for the repose of his

Literary Notices Literary Notices 131-134

LITERARY NOTICES. 131 value, to be paid after the conclusion of peace. These vessels appear to have been released solely to enable them to take off the crews of those which had been destroyed, for whom the Alabama had no adequate means of making provision. The Autumn Elections have generally resulted un- favorably to the Republican party. In Vermont, Maine, Massachusetts, and Michigan, the candidates have generally succeeded by majorities greatly re- duced from the last election. In New York, where State officers and members of Congress were to be chosen, Mr. Seymour, the Democratic candidate for Governor, had a majority of about 10,000 over Mr. Wadsworth, the Republican candidate. We have returns of the elections for members of the next Congress from fourteen States. From these States the Republicans have in the present Congress 95 members, and their opponents 38; in the next Con- gress, which meets in December, 1863, the Repub- licans will have 72, and their opponents 69a Re- publican loss of 23, and an Opposition gain of 31. The principal changes are in New York, where the Republicans lose 10 members; in Ohio they lose 8; in Pennsylvania 7. According to the best estimates which can now.be formed, the next House of Repre- sentatives from the loyal States will consist of 185 members, of whom 83 will be Republicans and 102 Opposition of different shades of opinion. The Sen- ate will consist of 48 members29 Republicans, and 19 Opposition. MEXICO. The advance of a powerful French naval and mili- tary expedition against Mexico reached Vera Cruz on the 21st of October. General Forey, the com- mander, previous to lauding, issued a proclamation declaring that it remained to France alone to defend the position which she had originally taken in con- junction with Spain and Great Britain. The war which had been undertaken was not against the Mexican people, but against a handful of adventur- ers who had seized upon the government; and as soon as the Mexican people were freed from restraint by French arms, they would be at liberty to select whatever form of government pleased them. France, in intervening, acted solely in behalf of the interests of the Mexican nation and the cause of civilization. All accounts concur in representing that, in the capital and other chief towns of Mexico, there was the utmost determination manifested to resist the French invasion. EUROPE. The American war, in its various aspects, con- tinues to be the absorbing subject of thought and discussion. The rumors in respect to European in- tervention are so discordant that no reliance can be placed upon them. As far as the action of the British Government is concerned, the most signifi- cant expressions are contained in recent speeches of Sir George C. Lewis, the Secretary of War, and Mr. Gladstone, Chancellor of the Exchequer. The for- mer denies the claim of the Confederate States to recognition, on the ground that they have not yet accomplished their independence ; and the latter says that while he thinks it for the interest of En- gland that the Union should continue, and that the neutral course of the British Government has been the only wise one, he yet holds that the Confederate leaders have made an army, are making a navy, and, what is more, have made a nation. He anticipates their certain success, as far as regards their separa- tion from the North. He, with other responsible members of the Government, opposes any present recognition of the Confederate States.Sir JohA Pakington, in a recent speech, advises an offer of mediation, on the ground of a separation between the North and the South, with the understanding thatthe failure of this proposal will be followed by an imme- diate recognition of the Southern Confederacy.Sir E. Buiwer Lytton declares that the Union can never be restored, and that the curse of slavery will not long survive the separation. Mr. Cobden urges the formation of a league, the object of which shall line to procure the abolition of all blockades of commercial ports, and the exemption from capture of merchant vessels not actually engaged in the conveyance of articles contraband of war.The project of an At- lantic Telegraph has been revived; Messrs. Glass, Elliott, and Company, who are extensive marine telegraph contractors, have formally offered to make and lay a cable from Ireland to Newfoundland upon condition of being paid weekly their actual disburse- ments with an additional 20 per cent. in shares of the Company, when the line shall have been put in working order. Upon these conditions they offer to subscribe 25,000 to the capital of the Company. A revolutionary movement has taken place in Greece; King Otho, after vainly endeavoring to quell it, abdicated in favor of his brother; and a Provisional Government has been established, with Prince Mavrocordato as President. Memoirs of the Rer. Nicholas Murray, D.D. (Kir- wan), by SAMUEL IEEN~EU5 PRIME. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) To the great public Dr. Mur- ray was known as a keen controversialist; to a nar- rower, but by ub means limited circle as a laborious preacher and faithful pastor; to his intimate asso- ciates as a man of most genial temperament and quick humor. He was in many respects a repre- sentative man. He came to America in 1818, a bur- ly, untrained Irish lad of seventeen, and found em- ployment in a printing-office. Having abjured the Catholic faith and joined the Presbytermin Church, the subscriptions of a few individuals furnished him with the means of pursuing his studies for the min- istry. Ten years after his arrival in America he be- came the minister of a congregation in the Valley of Wyoming; and four years later was called to the pastorate of an important church at Elizabethtown, New Jersey, where the remaining twenty - eight years of his life were passed. More than a thou- sand carefully-written sermons are witnesses of the industry with which he performed one part of the functions of his office, while his long charge over a single church bears witness to the faithful fulfill- ment of his other pastoral duties. The controver- sial works which made his noes de plume of Kir- wan so widely known were but an episode in his labors. Though born and reared a Catholic, his faith sat lightly upon him. The priests with whom he came in early contact were not favorable speci- mens of their order. When he left Ireland for Amer- ica his mother had him denounced from the altar; and when in time she learned that he had become a Protestant she had masses said for the repose of his 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. soul, as though he were actually dead. It was nat- ural tlsat he should cherish a strong dislike for the Church which be had ahandoned, hut nearly twen- ty years passed after he hecame a minister hefore he appeared as her public antagonist. He had heen thoroughly occupied with the ordinary duties of his profession, and, with the exception of a few news- paper articles, wrote nothing for the press. But at the age of forty-seven, when in the full maturity of his powers, he hogan his famous Kirwan letters. They were addressed to Bishop Hughes, the ac- knowledged leader of the Catholic Church in the United States. Though they appeared separately in a weekly denominational newspaper, each series was written in full before the publication of the first number, so that they manifested no traces of the crudeness inseparable from the composition of a se- ries of papers written on the promptings of the mo- ment. These letters attracted immediate attention by their nervous style, keen wit, and caustic humor. They were widely copied, and finally gathered into a little volume, of which more than 100,000 were soon in circulation. A second series soon followed; and Bishop Hughes having replied to these, a third series was added. These three series make, in their collected shape, one small volume. Some years later he wrote, in the form of Letters to Chief-Justice Taney, a work on Romanism at Home, givin,. the result of his impressions of the system as he had seen it during a brief tour in Europe. These two volumes comprise the whole of Kirwans strictly controversial works, though a strong anti-Catholic tone runs through the volume in which he describes his travels in Europe. Besides these works, Dr. Murray published a volume of Parish and other Pencilings, mainly describing scenes and incidents which had come under his own observation during his long ministry; a work on Preachers and Preaching, full of sound suggestions for his brother clergymen; and a little volume called the Happy Home, the inspiration of which was drawn from his own fireside. Six small volumes, of which only two come fairly within the category of theological controversy, thus comprise the whole of his writings as published by himself. Another volume, which contains a series of written discourses whose deliv- ery was prevented by his sudden death, forms an appropriate legacy to the people of his charge, and to the wide circle of his personal friends. Dr. Mur- rays death was sudden and wholly unexpected. Though he had almost reached the age of three- score, his hale and vigorous frame gave promise of many additional years. On the 1st of Febru- ary, 1862, a paroxysm of pain, which was attribut- ed to a sudden cold, prevented him from fulfilling an appointment. Still no danger was apprehended up to the evening of the 4th, when a sharper pang seized him, and he fainted; he recovered conscious- ness for a short time, but all felt that the supreme hour was at hand. His last words were, Let the world go; it will all be right.Mr. Primes Me- moir, though excellent in its way, we think fails to do full justice to its subject. It presents to us, in- deed, the acute controversialist, the earnest preach- er, and the faithful pastor. But those who knew him well will miss something of the broad and ge- nial nature of the man whose smile was like a gleam of sunshine, and whose stores of anecdote and rem- iuiscence made him so charming as a host and a guest. The man is, after all, greater than Isis office or at least more inerestisig; and of all the brave and noble men whom Ireland has given to America there have been few so noble and brave as was Nicholas Murray. Mis-ions, by MARION JIARLAND. Two previous tales by the same writer, Alone and The Hid- den Path, have won for her a fair rank among our American writers of fiction. The present work will at least sustain her claim to this position. The scene of the story is mainly in Kentucky; the char- acter~, saving perhaps the clergyman who performs the role of hero, are such as may reasonably be sup- posed to have had an existence. He is one of those faultless models of physical, intellectual, and moral excellence which we apprehend exist only in the fancy of novelists. The prevailing quiet tone of the story is especially pleasing in these days of sensation novels. There is throughout a fine moral tone, and the style is uniformly in excellent taste, though not manifesting any where traces of extraordinary power. (Published bySheldon and Company.)TkeHoese- hold Edsfin of DICKENSS Works, now issued by the same publishers, is worthy of note as by far tile most attractive form in which they have l~en put forth either in England or America. Doesbep and Son forms the latest issue, each of the four volumes be- ing enriched b~an exquisite illustration, three being by Darley and one by Gilbert. Thepalm must cer- tainly be given to our own countryman, whose drawings for these volumes will compare favorably with any former productions of his pencil. The Students ihstory of France (published by Harper and Brothers) forms one of an admirable series of historical compends which give, within a moderate compass, the essential points of the great facts of universal history, drawn out upon a nearly uniform scale. In a single volume is given a clear epitome of the history of Rome from the earliest times to the foundation of the Empire. A second volume, parallel with this, gives the history of Greece down to the Roman conquest, when Grecian history merges into that of Rome. A third volume presents an admirable condensation of Gibbons De- cline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Descending to modern times, Ilumes History of England, with a continuation bringing it down to the year 1851, is compressed into a single volume. In the History of France, which forms the latest issue of this series, all the essential facts, from the earliest time down to the foundation of the present empire, in 1852, are clearly and succinctly narrated. In one volume the author has succeeded in presenting, not merely a dry epitome of names and dates, but a vivid and connect- ed narrative of the main transactions which have marked the varying fortunes of the French nation from the time when it first emerged into the light of history down to the accession of its present astute ruler. This work supplies a deficiency which has long been acknowledged. There are in our language able and exhaustive works upon different periods of French history; and others, like that of Mr. Parke Godwin, have been projected and partially executed; but hitherto there has been no one work to whiels the American reader could recur with the hope of finding any thing like a complete resumh of French history. The series of Students Histories, as far as completed, is worthy of all praise. Two or three additiossal volumesone, for example, giving the history of~I4ermany, another that of America, in- eluding the United States and the Spanish Repuls- liesare still reqimired. When these are added the general readers of history, and the students in our colleges and higher seminaries, will be supplied with a uniform series of works for reading and study which LITERARY NOTICES. 133 will leave little to be desired for amplitude of infor- mation and thoroughness of execution. The Rev. THOMAS H. STOCKTON, Chaplain to Congress, has issued, through Carter and Brothers, a small volume of Poems, with A utobiographic and ether Notes. The three longest and most ambitions of these poems, though begun quite thirty years ago, are still but fragments. The Notes give an idea of the immense fields which lay in the contemplation of the author. One of these poems, Faith and Sight, was to be comprehensive of all the variety of earth and heaven ; another, Man, was de- signed to sweep the whole circle of human interests, current and prospective, as affected by all the influ- ences of creation, providence, and redemption. The third of these poems, Snow, was to be more lim- ited in scope, the purpose being to make a simple home commencement, and. then glide away on the snow-line from zone to zone, and from one peak of perpetual frost to another, all around the world, ob- serving the character, conditions, and customs of all nations. These grand schemes are but imper- fectly realized in the fragments which are publish- ed. Some of the minor poems possess considerable merit; but the notes, biographical and autobiograph- ical, are more characteristic than the poems. These of themselves will commend the volume to the re- gards of that large circle, for whom it was specially designed, who know and love the author. The Future of Africa, by Rev. ALEX. CRUMMELL. The author of this volume is a native of New York, of pure African descent. Finding it impossible to pursue his theological studies in the American insti- tution which he preferred, he went to England, en- tered at Queens College, Cambridge, and graduated with credit. He subsequently took up his residence in Liberia. This volume consists mainly of ad- dresses and sermons which had been delivered in his adopted home. They show talent, cultivation, and thought of no common order. Those parts which relate especially to the duties, condition, and pros- pects of the civilized Africans in the land of their ancestors, are especially worthy of consideration. The leading idea which runs through the whole is that the colored man, shut out by various circum- stances from a worthy career in Europe or America, has a promising future before him in Africa, where he has been called to meet the demands of civiliza- tion, commerce, and nationality; and that he is now becoming awake to the solemn responsibility of the work imposed upon him. (Published by Charles Scribuer.) Grape Gulture, Wieses, and Wine-Making, by A. HAaAszTsev. The author of this work, himself a vine-grower on a large scale, was appointed by the Legislature of California as Commissioner to visit Europe to investigate the ways and means best adapted to promote the improvement and culture of the grape-vine in California. He visited in succes- sion the chief wine districts of France, Germany, Spain, and Italy, being familiar with the process of wine-making as practiced in his native Hun- gary. His credentials gave him ready access to every means of information. The proprietors of the leading vineyards and wine establishments afforded him every facilit~ for investigation, and he collected in addition a vast amount of material in the shape of reports and treatises upon the subject. The most im- portant of these are embodied, either in fullor abridged translations, in this volume, which abundantly at- tests the rare zeal, fidelity, and intelligence with which he performed the duties of his commission. Few more readable books of travel have been pro- duced than that portion of the work which describes his o~vn personal experiences and observations. He always keeps in view the special object of his jour- ney, describing fully and clearly all the processes employed in the culture of the vine, the gather- ing of the grapes, and the fabrication of wines; noting also all other subjects which could relate to the agricultural interests of his adopted State. The statistics of the wine-culture, which he has labori- ously collated, are something remarkable. There are, in round numbers, in Europe, twelve and a quar- ter millions of acres devoted to the production of ~vine. The average product in Germany is a little less than 150 gallons to the acre; in the rest of Europe somewhat more than 255 gallons. In this respect Italy ranks highest, producing 441 gallons, and Saxony lowest, producing only 57 gallons to the acre; the average product of France being 176 gal- lons. The whole product of Europe is something more than three thousand millions of gallons, worth, at twenty--five cents a gallonthe average price re- ceived by the producersmore than 775 millions of dollars. The single State of California, according to Mr. Haraszthy, contains five millions of acres adapted to the growth of the vine; the product of the vine here is fully double that of Italy, which stands foremost in Europe. Thus the possible wine- product of California, according to Mr. llaraszthy, though it yield no better than Italy, will still amount to $551,858,208 33. This large sum may astonish the most sanguine; nevertheless, in anoth- er generation California will produce this result. Making the largest possible deductions from the re- sults of the statistics of Mr. Iiaraszthy, there can be no doubt that the vine-culture is destined to be- come a most important element in the prQductions of California; and the sum expended in gathering the immense mass of information embodied in this volume can not fail to have been well bestowed. First Book in. chemistry, by WORTHINGTON HOOKER. Dr. Hooker possesses the rare faculty of presenting scientific subjects in a form which, while strictly accurate, is at the sania time attract- ive to, because comprehensible by children. In this little volume the leading principles of chemistry are laid down and illustrated by examples from every- day life, in such a manner as to be readily under- stood by any intelligent child of ten or a dozen years. One of the most noticeable features of the book is the large number of experiments, illustrating almost every leading principle of the science, which can be performed by the aid of materials and utensils to be found in almost every family. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) Camp and Outpost Duty, by General DANIEL Brrr- TERFIELD. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) This little book is founded upon a pamphlet pre- pared by the author for the special use of his own brigade. He was requested by the General com- manding his division to adapt it for the use of the whole army. The MS. was then submitted to Gen- erals Porter, Hooker, Kearney, and M Clellan, who recommended that it should be published by au- thority, and circulated throughout the companies of each regiment. In addition to a full system of Opt- post Duty, it comprehends the important portions of the Standing Orders, and Regulations for the Army, with Rules for Health, and an excellent chapter on the Duties of Officers, prepared by General Casey. The volume should be the pocket-companion of every intelligent officer and soldier. 134 IIAEPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Modern War: its Thea ry and Practice, by EMERIC as you would trace a river-course by the winding SZABAD, Captain U. S. A. The author of this work line of richness in the verdure; but it is impossible. is a Hungarian, who served through the war in his Certainly the right of personal liberty, of free speech, own country and in the recent Italian campaign of of the jury trial, bills of rights, and the privileges the Emperor Napoleon. He has written several of Parliament, are great and sacred obligations which works of great value in French and English, besides civil society owes to Great Britain. But they seem contributing largely to the Encyclopndia Britan- to have been won somehow in spite of the people. nica. In this work he undertakes to lay down the You are shocked and astonished at every step by the great principles upon which modern warfare is con- igr!orance and superstition of the masses and the ducted; describes the composition of an army, its partisan duplicity of the leaders. Who has fully raising, organization, maintenance, and mode of made up his mind about Cromwell except Carlyle? handling; explains the nature and object of milita- To how many of the best Englishmen, until within ry movements, whether in a general campaign or in late years, has not King Charles been truly the mar- actual battle; illustrating the whole by descriptions tyr? Nay, the glorious revolution of 88, how it of and commentaries upon the great campaigns and loses much of the dignity that belongs to a truly battles of modern times, especially those of Frederick, great epoch by the party intrigues and low charac- Napoleon, and Wellington. Accurate military maps ten by which it was achieved! Macaulays pages are given of the countries covered byNapoleons lead- are a terrible record for that Great Britain which cv- lug campaigns, and diagrams ofhis chief battles. Cap- ery generous foreigner appeals to, but which so sel- tam Szabad writes our language with as much grace dom becomes visible. Carlyle is called a cynic, and fluency as though it were his vernacular. His but he has said the best things for his nation of any work being divested of all mere technicalities is per- of. her modern children. In his Friedrich it is clear fectly intelligible to the general reader, who will that the Scotchman can not help feeling the full from it be able to form a clear idea of the important stupidity of such a Britannic Majesty as George II., subject upon which it treats. (Published by Harper seeing him to be a ludicrous Defender of the Faith of and Brothers.) Liberty. But he is just to the jewel in that toad. We in this country think it hard to have had for four years, by popular election, such a magistrate as Buchanan; but think of a nation that had George IV., by hereditary descent, as supreme ruler an~ anointed head of the church for life! Ne~ wondev John Bull is surly and ill-mannered. But it is to that England or Britain, call it what yot will, of whose genius Shakespeare is the ripest fruit: whose historic achievements are the safeguards of liberty which we most value; whose benediction the. noblest men desire; for which in our day Carlyle, and Mill, and Tennyson, and Ruskin, and Cairnes, and Bright speak, each in his way. That is the Britain which we Americans fondly call our mother. country, and to which Garibaldi writes his fervent, pathetic prayer. Its request will have no practical answer. John Bull, ip the shape of Palmerston and Co., will smile at a well-meaning enthusiast, prob- ably delirious from a wound received in an utterly Quixotic enterprise. A Worlds Congress, to be cho- sen by mutual understanding, and to meet at Lon- don to settle by arbitration what has hitherto been settled by war, is not a project likely to be eagerly supported by the late party to the Congress of Paris, and a few years since of Vienna; nor by a Govern- ment which proclaims its perfect neutrality between a friendly constitutional Government and an insur- rection against every principle of the traditional Brit- ish policy, and then permits every kind of blow to be leveled and struck from its shores against that Government. But still the appeal is not in vain. When Gari- baldi cries Begin, 0 English people! For the love of God begin the great era of the human compact, and benefit present generations with so great a gift his words not only thrill many an English heart in which the same holy prayer lies unspoken, but they address themselves instinctively to the only nation in Europe from whose civilization the era he yearns for can legitimately arise. The same instinct makes him appreciate also the solemn and vast scope of our struggle. lie sees and says what theexternal England of to-day denies, but what the true interior England perceives, that our cause is the cause of mankind, of civil liberty, of civilization. If England but knew it, if she only could know THE letter of Garibaldi to the British nation contrasts strangely in the purity of its appeal to the loftiest principle with the apparent chiarac- ter and conduct of the people to whom it is address- ed. Yet the contrast is between the heroic faith of Garibaldi and the hesitating, treacherous timidity of the British Government, and not between the in- stinct of the Italian Jils do people and that of the people of Engrand. When you hear the high ap- peal, breathed in passionate music, it is impossible not to think of Titania and Bottom. When you turn from English history, or the London newspaper of to-day, to listen to that clear Southern voice in- toning the principles and ideas which it is the glory of men to have uttered centuries ago, it is almost as if you heard that voice itself out of history, vague, remote, illusive. It is the ideal Britain that Garibaldi addresses; that other nation hidden deep in the one we see; the nation that justifies Shakespeare, Chaucer, Mil- ton; the nation which glimmers and disappears be- fore Lord Palmerston and the Saturday Ileciew. In- dividuals are two-fold, and certainly nations are. When you are thrown with the Englishman of or- dinary intercourse, clumsy, spluttering, bigoted, and ill-bred, you ask yourself; involuntarily, Who, in the name of wonder, writes the English poetry? Who makes the jokes? Who makes the England that such men as Browning and Tennyson praise to- day, and that Milton and Chaucer loved and believed in long ago? There is a clew to that England in few Englishmen you meet. And some, and even brilliant and famous English- men, strip all the charm from their country. Ma- caulay was a kind of typical Briton. His virtues and his failings as an author are purely British. But ho~ his clear, hard, glittering page belittles England! How sordid, upon the whole, the na- tional character looks in his History and Essays! You try to follow the line of the development of the great principles that distinguish English history by some corresponding nobleness in British character,

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 134-139

134 IIAEPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Modern War: its Thea ry and Practice, by EMERIC as you would trace a river-course by the winding SZABAD, Captain U. S. A. The author of this work line of richness in the verdure; but it is impossible. is a Hungarian, who served through the war in his Certainly the right of personal liberty, of free speech, own country and in the recent Italian campaign of of the jury trial, bills of rights, and the privileges the Emperor Napoleon. He has written several of Parliament, are great and sacred obligations which works of great value in French and English, besides civil society owes to Great Britain. But they seem contributing largely to the Encyclopndia Britan- to have been won somehow in spite of the people. nica. In this work he undertakes to lay down the You are shocked and astonished at every step by the great principles upon which modern warfare is con- igr!orance and superstition of the masses and the ducted; describes the composition of an army, its partisan duplicity of the leaders. Who has fully raising, organization, maintenance, and mode of made up his mind about Cromwell except Carlyle? handling; explains the nature and object of milita- To how many of the best Englishmen, until within ry movements, whether in a general campaign or in late years, has not King Charles been truly the mar- actual battle; illustrating the whole by descriptions tyr? Nay, the glorious revolution of 88, how it of and commentaries upon the great campaigns and loses much of the dignity that belongs to a truly battles of modern times, especially those of Frederick, great epoch by the party intrigues and low charac- Napoleon, and Wellington. Accurate military maps ten by which it was achieved! Macaulays pages are given of the countries covered byNapoleons lead- are a terrible record for that Great Britain which cv- lug campaigns, and diagrams ofhis chief battles. Cap- ery generous foreigner appeals to, but which so sel- tam Szabad writes our language with as much grace dom becomes visible. Carlyle is called a cynic, and fluency as though it were his vernacular. His but he has said the best things for his nation of any work being divested of all mere technicalities is per- of. her modern children. In his Friedrich it is clear fectly intelligible to the general reader, who will that the Scotchman can not help feeling the full from it be able to form a clear idea of the important stupidity of such a Britannic Majesty as George II., subject upon which it treats. (Published by Harper seeing him to be a ludicrous Defender of the Faith of and Brothers.) Liberty. But he is just to the jewel in that toad. We in this country think it hard to have had for four years, by popular election, such a magistrate as Buchanan; but think of a nation that had George IV., by hereditary descent, as supreme ruler an~ anointed head of the church for life! Ne~ wondev John Bull is surly and ill-mannered. But it is to that England or Britain, call it what yot will, of whose genius Shakespeare is the ripest fruit: whose historic achievements are the safeguards of liberty which we most value; whose benediction the. noblest men desire; for which in our day Carlyle, and Mill, and Tennyson, and Ruskin, and Cairnes, and Bright speak, each in his way. That is the Britain which we Americans fondly call our mother. country, and to which Garibaldi writes his fervent, pathetic prayer. Its request will have no practical answer. John Bull, ip the shape of Palmerston and Co., will smile at a well-meaning enthusiast, prob- ably delirious from a wound received in an utterly Quixotic enterprise. A Worlds Congress, to be cho- sen by mutual understanding, and to meet at Lon- don to settle by arbitration what has hitherto been settled by war, is not a project likely to be eagerly supported by the late party to the Congress of Paris, and a few years since of Vienna; nor by a Govern- ment which proclaims its perfect neutrality between a friendly constitutional Government and an insur- rection against every principle of the traditional Brit- ish policy, and then permits every kind of blow to be leveled and struck from its shores against that Government. But still the appeal is not in vain. When Gari- baldi cries Begin, 0 English people! For the love of God begin the great era of the human compact, and benefit present generations with so great a gift his words not only thrill many an English heart in which the same holy prayer lies unspoken, but they address themselves instinctively to the only nation in Europe from whose civilization the era he yearns for can legitimately arise. The same instinct makes him appreciate also the solemn and vast scope of our struggle. lie sees and says what theexternal England of to-day denies, but what the true interior England perceives, that our cause is the cause of mankind, of civil liberty, of civilization. If England but knew it, if she only could know THE letter of Garibaldi to the British nation contrasts strangely in the purity of its appeal to the loftiest principle with the apparent chiarac- ter and conduct of the people to whom it is address- ed. Yet the contrast is between the heroic faith of Garibaldi and the hesitating, treacherous timidity of the British Government, and not between the in- stinct of the Italian Jils do people and that of the people of Engrand. When you hear the high ap- peal, breathed in passionate music, it is impossible not to think of Titania and Bottom. When you turn from English history, or the London newspaper of to-day, to listen to that clear Southern voice in- toning the principles and ideas which it is the glory of men to have uttered centuries ago, it is almost as if you heard that voice itself out of history, vague, remote, illusive. It is the ideal Britain that Garibaldi addresses; that other nation hidden deep in the one we see; the nation that justifies Shakespeare, Chaucer, Mil- ton; the nation which glimmers and disappears be- fore Lord Palmerston and the Saturday Ileciew. In- dividuals are two-fold, and certainly nations are. When you are thrown with the Englishman of or- dinary intercourse, clumsy, spluttering, bigoted, and ill-bred, you ask yourself; involuntarily, Who, in the name of wonder, writes the English poetry? Who makes the jokes? Who makes the England that such men as Browning and Tennyson praise to- day, and that Milton and Chaucer loved and believed in long ago? There is a clew to that England in few Englishmen you meet. And some, and even brilliant and famous English- men, strip all the charm from their country. Ma- caulay was a kind of typical Briton. His virtues and his failings as an author are purely British. But ho~ his clear, hard, glittering page belittles England! How sordid, upon the whole, the na- tional character looks in his History and Essays! You try to follow the line of the development of the great principles that distinguish English history by some corresponding nobleness in British character, EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 135 it, the noblest, the sublimest words that have been spoken to her in this century are in this glowing poetical apostrophe of the man whom the people of Europe love as their God-given leader. If the in- tellig~nt, industrious, active, and practical England of to-day were really represented by men whose names are not Palmerston and Russell, and by jour- nals which were not the Times, and the Saturdey Review, and the cornkill, it would ponder these words of Garibaldi, and wonder how they might be justified in fact as well as in hope. And what should we be in Europe without your dignified be- havior? Autocracy can strike her exiled ones in other countries, where only a bastard freedom is enjoyedwhere freedom is but a lie. But let one seek for it on the sacred ground of Albion. I, like so many others, seeing the cause of justice oppressed in so many parts of the world, despair of all human progress. But when I turn my thoughts to you, I find tranquillity from your steady and fearless ad- vancement toward that end to which the human race seems to be called by Providence. Tux story of Romola, by the author of Adam Bede, which is published serially in these pages, is entirely worthy the hand that writes it. When it began, a few months since, we spoke of the difficulty of writing a novel of Italian life nearly four hun- dred years ago, but this difficulty has disappeared in the profound interest and power of the story. Of course in all such tales, as in Thackerays Henry Esmond, which is one of the best of the purely his- torical and dramatic novels, there is something which is quaint and not exactly natural. That is to say, the characters speak and mox~ in a manner that would be stran~e to-day, and therefore impress us not as contemporaries would be impressed. In truth, you can not take the portrait of a man who has been dead four hundred years. You can only copy other portraits. Such a novel is necessarily more like a masquerade than like the society with which we daily mingle. What looks stiff and sounds strained did not seem so to the people who really saw and heard the life and the times of which we are read- ing. Concede that at the portal, and then you will enter this stately and pathetic story like a temple. It is a love-story of old Florence. But then the lover is a Greek and he loves Romola, the daughter of a blind old Florentine scholar who lives in his library, hums with the consuming and irritating zeal of a com- mentator, and dreams that when he dies he may be thought worthy to he buried in Santa Croce. The story is not far advanced, nor would it be fair to tell it here if it were. But as a study of Florentine life at the period it is exquisite in its elaborate de- tail, and in the curious familiarity with the street life, always so striking in the old republic and so difficult to reproduce. We say familiarity, because the reader is impressed by the intrinsic reality of the description, not because there are many who are competent to pronounce it accurate. But the Italian flavor of the street jesting, and gossip, and incident is as unmistakable as the glow of the Italian atmos- phere and the silver sheen of the olive hills of Tus- cany in which the tale is set. Tito, the beautiful young Greek, is drawn from the Antinous. He enters upon the scene always with a bright grace that fascinates; a strange brill- iancy that is yet shallow and cool shining all around him. A selfishness that springs from his very full- ness of power to enjoy speciously asserts the right of eminent domain over the choicest enjoyment which resides in splendid and imperial youth. Romo- la, who has had no other experience of men than her old father and his companions, and a brother who has left the home for a convent, finds in Tito a fulfillment of unconscious hope such as she had not dared to imagine. To her his coming is like li,ht- ing a lamp in a vase in a darkened chamber. Every thing is~ softly luminous. But the vase itself is most brilliant and exquisite of all. Emotions in the mind of Tito are like the swift, glittering, and gloom- lug gusts that wrinkle a sunny sea. They are swift, brisk, and evanescent. The great substance and depth of the ocean are untouched. But are there any depths? or are they stagnant? Romola herself is magnificent. A pure, queenly, profound nature: a beauty which, as Tito vaguely feels, is a consequence of her superb soul: altogeth- er a woman to whom every man has seen some re- semblance in some few women; an amplitude of no- ble being such as no Greek goddess nor Christian Madonna precisely represents, but mingling the in- cisive force and splendor of the one with the lofty tenderness of the other. This, at least, is the outline already drawn, but only the first book is finished and the design is to be completed. The childlike candor and stately simplicity of Romola are delicately but most pathetically contrasted with the equal candor and simplicity of the shrinking, timid, dove-like Tessa, a poor little peasant girl unconscious of any thing in the world but what appears, or in Tito, but an overwhelming splendor toward which her whole nature helplessly tends like a moth to a star. This clearly is where the outer tragedy of that bright and beautiful and shallow Greek nature is to show itself. Already, through the sunshine and distant vineyards, and gay music of church bells, and merry chat of the market, the mystic shadow throws its chill. Already that conflict of essential character in which this author finds her truest sphere has begun. The gloom of the tragedy gathers. And if the story be conducted to the end as it has thus far advanced, it will be one of the most power- ful and remarkable of our novels. The very remote- ness of the scene and the characters from our actual modern life is one of the chief charms. The familiar aspects of contemporary experience have been so fully and almost exclusively presented of late that to move away from them for a subject is itself an in- terest. There is also in Romola a purely mesthetic element which has not been so evident heretofore in these novels. The very selection of the place and the figures, and the setting given to them, re- veal an exquisite appreciation of pure art. Flor- ence strangely lives again in these pages. A weird haunting sadness, like that you feel in all the autumn brightness of woods that mock the spring, hangs over this delightful story. THE changing aspects of the war compel every observer to remark the force of party-spirit, which is the terrible strain of every popular government. And if the observation lead some one to repudiate it, it will not only have helped him but the country. As Americans our primary interest is the honor~ and integrity of our country. That implies, of course, the maintenance of our Government. The policy of that Government is the proper platform of party. Whether we shall have a tariff or free trade, whether a bank or no bank, whether long or short naturalization, whether slavery shall be limited or extended, and a thousand other questions of policy 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and national advantage, are the points upon which men of various views and interests naturally divide into parties. Some of the questions involve moral considerations. But still the practical solution of them is political. The various parties endeavor to persuade the people to give them votes in order that the policy they favor may prevaiL The people de- cide, and the defeated party, by still farther and more convincing argument, strives still for the re- sult it wishes. During the discussion there will he excitement, rage, and the unreasonable consequences of rage. The dangers to the country if the Smith policy prevail, are depicted in ghastly colors by Jones. The total destruction of all things if Jones should succeed, is set forth with heart-rending elo- quence by Smith. The election arrives. Smith or Jones is defeated; and the loser counts his chances for another struggle. This is the simple, natural, normal operation of parties in a free government. Intrigue, chicanery, corruption, disgust, despair, and rebellion may all spring from it. But when rebellion actually comes, and the object is either to destroy the Government itself or forcibly to impose a policy upon the coun- try, parties, which are institutions of peace, at once disappear, and the great body of citizens are simply men who are faithful or unfaithful to their govern- ment. If the faithful are wiser as well as stronger, they will maintain the government. If the un- faithful are wiser or stronger, the government will be destroyed. Now, practically, when the rebellion hegins in a free system the government is administered by one of the parties. The administration virtually de- pends upon the people, and the danger of the gov- ernment itself naturally merges questions of policy in the paramount interest of the continuance of the government itself. To perplex its administration, when lawfully the guidance must remain as it is for a long time, is to do the work of an enemy. For in war unity of counsel, as of action, is indispensable. While you discuss whether to point your gun east or wcstwhether to shoot high or low, the enemy scales the wall and the fort is taken. So while par- ties spend the golden days in wrangling as to who shall conduct the ~var, and how it shall be con- ducted, the war is not conducted, and the state is ruined. To assume, in a civil war, that questions of mere policy in the conduct of the contest can and ought to divide either side, to a point beyond friendly debate, is either a fatal ignorance or a disastrous knavery. For it breeds delay, paralysis, and destruction. To divide the foe, is it not the very golden rule of strategy? To be divided by him, thai is your own crime. The policy of a legal administration of a government in a civil war is like a plan of battle. If the inferior generals and soldiers do not like it, they do not therefore feel themselves at liberty to quarrel with it upon the field, unless they wish the enemy to conquer. So in the general management of a war maturely settled by an administration you can not make a party issue, since the administration can not be changed without imperiling the govern- ment a hundred-fold more than by assenting to a policy which you do not prefer. The only conceiva- ble honest issue at such a time is one of vigor. If the war flags, if the public mind is growing languid, there may well be fear of the result, and the gov- ernment will, by all faithful men, be constantly stimulated to greater energy. But an issue to make the war flaga party to encourage lassitude with a view to surrenderis not that the last, sad, tragical triumph of party-spirit? Of course upon all questions of policy, in every re- lation of human life, there will be differing opinions. But when you know that a work must be done by a certain pair of hands, if you do not like the way in which those hands are doing it, you will suggestand remonstrate. But to insist that the work shall wait for another pair is to insist that it shall remain un- done. If a man takes that ground every other man has a right to say to him, You dont want the work done. And if you remember what such a man has said or done before, and watch closely what he says and does afterward, you will be sure to find some- thing which proves that he did not wish it done. The secret of party-spirit is the love of power. It is selfishness at last. To a brave and honest man, who hopes well and means well for mankind, party is an ascending grade by which he helps all men up. To an ambitjous, selfish, unprincipled man it is a pulley by which he hauls himself higher. WE speak of party-spirit, and we have an illus- tration of it in the perpetual debate between En- gland and France upon the Waterloo question, of which we spoke last month. John Bull and Johnny Crapeau are forever fighting the battle of Waterloo. Every few years a fresh charge is made upon one side or the other. The other side springs to arms. Serried pages of furious assertion engage in mortal difference, and gradually the noise subsides. Victor Hugo and Thiers having lately glorified France in describing Waterloo, the English period- icals storm into the most vehement pish ! and pooh! and untrtme ! They are not careful to agree among themselves, and Waterloo becomes dim- mer and dimmer. When a few more Frenchmen have described it, and a few more Englishmen have criticised the descriptions, we shall have reached the most profound and hopeless ignorance upon the whole subject. Thierss account of the battle is especially distressing to the English mind, and it begins its observations upon it by calmly saying that Thiers is not truthful. That once admitted, the rest of the task is tolerably easy. The (orehill speaks of Thiers as bright and vi- vacious, but not truthful. His history is a ro- mance. It has errors of detail which have had their origin in the writers contempt for authentic records. NI. Thiers has not studied the map at all. He has a profound misconception of the whole po- sition of the two armies. His singular errors show the habitual carelessness with which NI. Thiers has written what he calls history. He makes a misstatement to prepare the reader for receiving a fundamental blunder in his history. There is really something sublime in the con- tempt of NI. Thiers for facts. He is as ignorant of the English as he is of the Prussian movements. It is quite useless to expect precision from our au- thor. There are gravest errors which lie at the very base of this superstructure of misstatements. Errors of detail abound every where. His hab- it of inaccuracy becomes fatally conspicuous. NI. Thiers is not a whit more enlightened than the earli- est French historianalways excepting Napoleon touching the details of the battle of Waterloo. He does not even know the ground, etc. Finally, we have this charming battle-piece, unique for in- accuracy in the writings of NI. Thiers. This is the style of the Cornhill in treating of the famous French historian. It regards his history as EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 137 a romance. It finds it ludicrous from its errors. Mit- fords Greece is thorough and authentic by Thierss Napoleon. And it is remarkable that the romances and errors and grave inaccuracies are generally in regard to some advantage gained by the French over the English. Were the squares of the British in- fantry broken? Were any British standards taken? They did, they didntyoure one, youre another is the attractive style of the debate. The English critics have not exactly agreed upon any consistent statement as a base of operations against the French descriptions; for in the Cornlsill we read: In this onset the cuirassiers of the hero of Marengo did roll up the Sixty-ninth and capture its colors ; while the A thenceum, charging upon the exasperating Thiers, emphatically declares, in a distinct paragraph: Not an English square was broken, not an English stand- ard was captured, all that day. We speak of it not to take a side, but to observe how difficult it is to know the truth. The survey of all this truculent assertion and contradiction makes us modest in the matter of our own news. Who can tell correctly the story of the great battles of this war? Will the history which Mr. W. Gilmore Simms will certainly write confirm that of any North- ern historian? Are we never to know exactly how it was at Bull Run, at Mill Spring, at Hilton Head, at Shilob, at Corinth, or on the Virginia peninsula? Do we know how it was at Detroit or on Lake Erie, at Bunker Hill or Saratoga, at Quebec or Louisburg; at Minden, Oudenarde, and Dettingen; at Pharsalia, at Salamis, at Marathon, in Gaul? Is all history as inaccurately told as the history of battles? Is Hume upon Cromwell any better than Thiers upon Wellington, or John Bull upon Napoleon? At least, then, let us be patient in reading our own story; not too swift to condemn, not too sure that we un- derstand, and willing to believe the best until the worst is proved. Tssosse of us who remember Hannegan, Minister of the United States, haranguing in his shirt the populace of Berlin from a balconyor Mason in Paris triumphing in the ability to chew and smoke at the same timeor any other of the grotesque and ex- traordinary performances of our foreign plenipoten- tiaries, will learn with interest that Earl Russell has issued a new set of regulations for the English Diplomatic Service. Whether they extend to per- sonal habits, or to costume as Mr. Marcys famous letter did, does not appear. But it is evidence of the fact that there is a Diplomatic Service. Another fact is, that in America we have no diplomatic career. The question is often asked, Why not have a regular diplomatic career? Why not appoint a young man as an attachd, then a secretary, and in due order a minister? Should we not secure better servants by such a course and wiser service ? But at the very proposition of the question the reply, founded in practical experience is, how can you dispense with the rewards of political labor; and why should not all service of the country be a career from which only incapacity and dishonesty should uxciude the incumbent? The answer is sim- p1y that all public service s/weld be such a career, and if the system could be initiated, the habits of office-holding as a reward of party service, and not of personal fitness and ability, would be forever de- stroyed. But how will you initiate it? The diffi- culty is chiefly in the minds and customs of the peo- ple. It would be easy to find a President, for in- stance, who might make a stand and retain all the faithful servants of the Government. But then those servants have been appointed by party. They are all partisans. They will be glad enough to stay in, but they will inevitably be working to turn the administration out. Then what will the supporters of the administration do? I do not know how many men were really the men who nominated the Presi- dent, but there is a very large number who have told me iii strict confidence that they elected the Governor of New York. They spent money, by George! They spared nothing, you see. And this, this is the reward! The men who worked against us, and swore and spent money against us, are now comfortably sipping the public pap. Tis too much! Human nature succumbs. Well, party nature will succumb, whatever hu- man nature may do. Therefore unless the people really wish the change it can not be made, except when, by some rare chance, the leading men of all parties shall resolve that it is better to renounce patronage as political machinery. When do you think that will be? Certainly, if we are to have ministers at all, they should be as accomplished for their position and duty as the representatives of any power. It is not neces- sary to insist upon small hands and feet, nor man- ners in proportion. A boor, surely, should not be an embassador; but a very homely, simple man may be the very best man for the purpose. On the other hand, because a man is admirably fitted to bring out all the voters in his town or State to the polls, it does not follow that he could negotiate a good treaty. If the positions abroad are to be re- garded as sinecures, which do not require any ability, then pay the money and keep the men at home. But if there be any duty to be done or character to be maintained, let us send men who are competent to do the duty and to represent the character. The new code of Earl Russell provides that when a young man receives his appointment to the diplo- matic service he is to pass four years without any pay. How would that suit our political aspirants? Six months of those four years are to be spent in the Foreign Office, in order to learn the routine of diplo- matic business, and three years at one of the em- bassies. At the end of the four years the unpaid attach6 becomes third secretary, provided that the Minister with whom he last served gives him a cer- tificate of good character and conduct, and stating that he understands and speaks French well, as well as one other foreign language. But before thiswithin three months after he is ap- pointedthe young diplomatist must be examined in orthography, handwriting, pr6cis (style of expres- sion), Latin, Arithmetic, French, German, and His- tory; and before he receives a penny 6f salary as thil secretary ho is to pass anothcr examination. If he chooses ho may have but one examination ~ but this will include, beside all the studies named, the first book of Euclid, and International Law. Nothin~, can be better in intention than such a system. If a thing is worth doing, it is surely worth doing well. If a merchant would not make a man his book-keeper because he had cobbled his shoes well, why should a state appoint a man an embassador because he makes a good stump speech, or buys votes, or brings them out, or gives thirty thousand dollars to carry an election? But where would our diplomatic service be if it had to be estab- lished upon such foundations? Let any traveler in Europe during the last twenty years refresh his recollections of the probability of our embassadors 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. successfully passing an examination in the first book of Euclid, or their chances of a certificate asserting their knowledge of French and of one other lan- guage! In that time the country has been repre- sented abroad by eminent scholars and gentlemen; but we are speaking of the rule. It will be naturally supposed that Earl Russells code is aristocratic and exclusive. An effort was made to throw open the diplomatic service to all comers and select the best for appointment, as in the Civil Service of India and the Ordnance Corps; but it was hopeless. The gate of entrance into the career is very narrow. The candidate will continue to be nominated by the Foreign Secretary. The basis of the appointment is thus purely political, as with us. The heads of the great houses, as Macaulay magniloquently calls them, will continue to provide in the diplomatic service for their friends and retain- ers. As by hereditary right any nincompoop with a title is a life-long governor and legislator of Great Britain, so by the close borough system of Cabinet nominations the influential noblemen will secure a perpetuity of this privilege. It has this advantage over the House of Lords that, for a seat in that as- sembly no examination of fitness, no selection by a satisfied constituency is necessary; but simply the fact of being horn the oldest son of a peer. The old- est son of an embassador stands no chance of an em- hassy if he does not know the first book of Euclid and three languages. What would happen if an exact knowledge of English grammar were required of our embassadors! The practical difficulty with us is that men of re- fined and high-toned natures hate to soil their fingers with politics, and consequently have no political eminence. They have the heartiest sympathy often, and they do all they can for the promotion of the good old cause of America and Liberty. But they make no claim for reward, and the reward goes to the worker who asks for it, and not to the worker who does not, nor to him who has not been a work- er. That surely is not the best way for the state to find its best ses~vants. But there is this to be said for it, that if every citizen did his fair share of polit- ical duty the fittest men for the various offices would have as clear a claim in service as those who are less fit. Indeed our whole free popular system proceeds upon the assumption that we are faithful to our duty, however disagreeable it may be. That system is now in danger because the best citizens have so willingly shirked that duty WhEN the operations of a Confidence Man are There was never any other pretense urged by any exposed, there is always a smile of derision at the soldier for any wanton and reckless invasion of a stupid rural victim; but the supply of victims does foreign territory. He always comes to protect the not fail. So when you pass a mock-auction shop, rights of the people of the territory. Designing men and contemplate Peter Funk and his friends pn- among them are plotting mischief. But I. Louis, weariedly playing buy and sell mock watches and never have any personal motive; I have only the brass jewelry, it is impossible not to admire the gui- Millennium at heart. My mission is to root out hbility which is so exact and calculable a quantity selfishness. I am sent by Heaven to chastise the that a trade like this may ho established upon it, ambitious and self-seeking. I, from the 2d of De- and gentry like these make a living by it. Year cember, am the guardian of legitimate governments after year the Confidence Man drops a wallet or of the people against the usurpation of individuals. shows the secret of a safe, and year after year Peter My empire is peacepeace in the Crimea, peace in Funk chatters over his counter the merits and cheap- Italy, and now peace in Mexico. Peace, at the pres- ness of his glass diamonds. And year after year also ent time, is the regeneration of Mexico. But, believe the rustic falls into both the traps, and hies home- me, it isapurelyimpersonal, philanthropic movement ward a wiser and a poorer man, of mine. France is bound to keep the peace of the But all this is not more surprising than the per- world, and I am France. General Forey, you will formances of royal Confidence Men and imperial order the ships to open upon the ports and the army Peter Funks from the beginning of time. Their to advance upon the capital. game goes on from century to century. The same It is only a great piece ot historical Peter Funk. old brass time-pieces are extolled as the purest gold. The same old promises are made of sudden elevation to wealth. The same old farce of friendship is played and played again. The last mock-auction upon the great scale is the movement of Louis Napoleon in Mexico, which has a very natural and peculiar interest for all of us neighbors of that restless nation. The Emperor of Russia a few years since thought his dear friend Turkey a sick mansick even unto death: so sick that his estate must be administered upon; and who so competent, who so clearly Heaven-called to the task, as the ancient ally and disinterested friend of Turkey, Russia? In a similar manner the heart of the French Emperor is touched by the misery of Mexico. It is not, indeed, his neighbor. But whosays Louis Funkwho is my neighbor if not a suffering State? Spain and England, as we were saying some few months since when General Prim was our hero of an hour, have withdrawn from the errand of mercy. But the conscience of the Emperor of France would be troubled if he should give over his noble friends, the Mexicans, to their own destruction. So he has sent an army and a navywhy? To revenge the defeat of the French arms last summer? Softly, im- petuous inquirer! Do you think that Peter Funk sells watches for his own advantage? Does he not expressly tell you that this watch is an article of the finest gold, of the most exquisite workmanship, with thirty jewels, and a regulator of the sun? Ii it not knocked down to you at a fearful sacrifice and dirt cheap, expressly to close a concern? Is it not the very last of the lot, and, by a cu;ious but lucky chance, the very best? What, then, says Peter Napoleon by his man Forey? Has it not the true washed-copper ring? Is it not the purest strain of the mock-auction shop? Listen: As soon as the Mexican people are freed by our arms they will choose, without restraint, the Government that suits them. I bring a positive command to declare so to them In the name of the Emperor I invite, without distinc- tion of parties, 51J who wish the independence of their country and the integrity of their territory. It is not a part of the politics of France to mix, for a personal inter- est, in the intestine dissensions of foreign nations; but when for legitimate reasons she is obliged to interfere, she always does it in the interest of the country where she employs her actioa. Remember, Mexicans, that wherever her flsg is un- furled in America, as in Europe, she represents the cause of nations and of civilization. EDITORS DRAWER. 139 The intention is that of the worthy auctioneer. The declaration of intention is just as veracious as his assertions about his wares. The passengers pass in the street and smile to hear his talk; and there is not a man of very ordinary sense, in France or out of France, who does not smile with contempt and pity as he hears the stale old fustian of the brand-new Emperor. When Mexico shall have been pacified by the apostle of peace, what other part of the world will it be his mission to regulate? THE Hon. George P. Marsh, than whom we have no more learned and elegant scholar, a man who has spent a lifetime among books, digging up dead languages and seeking the origin of tongues, this delver in the ditches of antiquity, and who is more familiar, we verily believe, with the early lit- erature of England than any other man among us; Mr. Marsh, in his lectures on the English language, bears this remarkable testimony: I have observed that no great English writer has ever been wholly able to suppress the quality of humor. Hooker would be claimed as an excep- tion, and in truth he is one of the gravest of authors; but one can not but suspect that a smile is lurking under some bf the illustrations which accompany his most serious arguments. Thus, having declared that God works nothing without cause, he instances the creation of woman, which he intimates was an after-thought, and declares that Gods will had nev- er inclined to perform it; but that he saw it could not be well if she were not created. In this he seems to have meant a half-jocose expression of the same sentiments to which John Knox had, not many years before, given such passionate utterance in his ungenerous but very eloquent First Blast of the Trumpet against the monstrous Regiment of Wo- men. THE man that laughs heartily is a doctor without a diploma. His face does more good in a sick room thais a bushel of powders or a gallon of bitter draughts. People are always glad to see him. Their hands instinctively go half-way out to meet his grasp, while they turn involuntarily from the clammy touch of the dyspeptic who speaks in the groaning key. He laughs you out of your faults, while you never dream of being offended with him; and you never know what a pleasant world you are living in until he points out the sunny streaks on its pathway. THE following epitaph is copied from the His- torical Collections of Connecticut, and is perfectly authentic. It was taken~ from the tomb-stone of a young lady: Molly, though comely in her day, Was suddenly seized and carried away; How soon shes ripe, hew seen shes rotten, Laid in the grave and quick forgotten. THE humors of the war continue to make a merry chapter in the history of these melancholy days. One of our naval friends at Key West wrote to us in September last: ON BOARD THE U. S. STEAMER MAGNOLIA. Among our crew is one steady old fellow, to whom, while a temporary hospital was being erect- ed on shore, was given the charge of a huge kettle of boiling tar, etc., used for spreading on the roof to render it water-tight. Strangers here are naturally of an inquisitive turn of mind; and all, on seeing this steaming kettle, and the old shell-back so in- tently engaged stirring its contents, would invaria- bly question him as to its use, etc., until it became to him a nuisance. One afternoon one of our of- ficers walked down to where Tommy was at work, and while-standing there observed a strange vessel coming into the harbor under a full press of canvas. Tommy, said he, what ship is that coming in? Tommy, without looking up from his work, thinking the questionhaving indistinctly heard it one relating to the contents of the kettle, as usual, answered, Roofing-cement. Singular name, says the officer. Who is her captain? Coal-tar, Si;, I believe. Mr. thought that Tommy must have been drinking, and started off to get his information from some other quarter. WHEN the new order concerning the change of the navy officers uniform came to hand, it set all of ous officers to imagining the probable effect of gold-lace, etc., on their own persons, and for several days nothing was talked of but gold-lace and shoul- der-straps. Our Chief-Engineer, rising late one morning, walked up on deck, and on looking around him perceived an addition to our fleet. Coming to a group of officers who were discussing the new or- der, he asked When did the Penguin get in? The answer was similar to Tommys in the above, and about as much to the point: You must wear gold-lace half an inch wide around the cuffi Chief; nothing put out, asked again: When did the Penguin get in? Answer: A single-breasted coat with nine but- tons for mates. Did she stop any where on her way down? On the shoulders, a strap with a silver anchor worked on it, and a gold bar at each end. Chief ventured another question: How long was she coming from New York? I tell you only two inches, to be turned in on the edge. What a crazy set! soliloquized the Engineer as he stepped to the side to see a huge fish that was hauled aboard ky one of the crew. THE annexed advertisement, scissored from the Washington Republican, will repay attentive pe- rusal: A CARDThe attention of the public is invited to the ti-sale which will take place on FRIDAY MORNING, the 10th instant, at the U. S. Penitentiary, commencing precisely at 9 oclock. Purchasers will have to settle as knocked down, if not, they ~vill be put up and resold, as they will have to be moved as sold, on account of the Gov- ernment wanting it immediately. By order of H. I. KING, Warden. GREEN & WILLIAMS, Auctioneers. Rather stringent on purchasers, eh? How about the habeas corpus, Fort Lafayette, etc.? Has Gov- ernment done any thing worse than this? THE writer is a practitioner of medicine in his feeble and humble manneras old Brother Col

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 139-143

EDITORS DRAWER. 139 The intention is that of the worthy auctioneer. The declaration of intention is just as veracious as his assertions about his wares. The passengers pass in the street and smile to hear his talk; and there is not a man of very ordinary sense, in France or out of France, who does not smile with contempt and pity as he hears the stale old fustian of the brand-new Emperor. When Mexico shall have been pacified by the apostle of peace, what other part of the world will it be his mission to regulate? THE Hon. George P. Marsh, than whom we have no more learned and elegant scholar, a man who has spent a lifetime among books, digging up dead languages and seeking the origin of tongues, this delver in the ditches of antiquity, and who is more familiar, we verily believe, with the early lit- erature of England than any other man among us; Mr. Marsh, in his lectures on the English language, bears this remarkable testimony: I have observed that no great English writer has ever been wholly able to suppress the quality of humor. Hooker would be claimed as an excep- tion, and in truth he is one of the gravest of authors; but one can not but suspect that a smile is lurking under some bf the illustrations which accompany his most serious arguments. Thus, having declared that God works nothing without cause, he instances the creation of woman, which he intimates was an after-thought, and declares that Gods will had nev- er inclined to perform it; but that he saw it could not be well if she were not created. In this he seems to have meant a half-jocose expression of the same sentiments to which John Knox had, not many years before, given such passionate utterance in his ungenerous but very eloquent First Blast of the Trumpet against the monstrous Regiment of Wo- men. THE man that laughs heartily is a doctor without a diploma. His face does more good in a sick room thais a bushel of powders or a gallon of bitter draughts. People are always glad to see him. Their hands instinctively go half-way out to meet his grasp, while they turn involuntarily from the clammy touch of the dyspeptic who speaks in the groaning key. He laughs you out of your faults, while you never dream of being offended with him; and you never know what a pleasant world you are living in until he points out the sunny streaks on its pathway. THE following epitaph is copied from the His- torical Collections of Connecticut, and is perfectly authentic. It was taken~ from the tomb-stone of a young lady: Molly, though comely in her day, Was suddenly seized and carried away; How soon shes ripe, hew seen shes rotten, Laid in the grave and quick forgotten. THE humors of the war continue to make a merry chapter in the history of these melancholy days. One of our naval friends at Key West wrote to us in September last: ON BOARD THE U. S. STEAMER MAGNOLIA. Among our crew is one steady old fellow, to whom, while a temporary hospital was being erect- ed on shore, was given the charge of a huge kettle of boiling tar, etc., used for spreading on the roof to render it water-tight. Strangers here are naturally of an inquisitive turn of mind; and all, on seeing this steaming kettle, and the old shell-back so in- tently engaged stirring its contents, would invaria- bly question him as to its use, etc., until it became to him a nuisance. One afternoon one of our of- ficers walked down to where Tommy was at work, and while-standing there observed a strange vessel coming into the harbor under a full press of canvas. Tommy, said he, what ship is that coming in? Tommy, without looking up from his work, thinking the questionhaving indistinctly heard it one relating to the contents of the kettle, as usual, answered, Roofing-cement. Singular name, says the officer. Who is her captain? Coal-tar, Si;, I believe. Mr. thought that Tommy must have been drinking, and started off to get his information from some other quarter. WHEN the new order concerning the change of the navy officers uniform came to hand, it set all of ous officers to imagining the probable effect of gold-lace, etc., on their own persons, and for several days nothing was talked of but gold-lace and shoul- der-straps. Our Chief-Engineer, rising late one morning, walked up on deck, and on looking around him perceived an addition to our fleet. Coming to a group of officers who were discussing the new or- der, he asked When did the Penguin get in? The answer was similar to Tommys in the above, and about as much to the point: You must wear gold-lace half an inch wide around the cuffi Chief; nothing put out, asked again: When did the Penguin get in? Answer: A single-breasted coat with nine but- tons for mates. Did she stop any where on her way down? On the shoulders, a strap with a silver anchor worked on it, and a gold bar at each end. Chief ventured another question: How long was she coming from New York? I tell you only two inches, to be turned in on the edge. What a crazy set! soliloquized the Engineer as he stepped to the side to see a huge fish that was hauled aboard ky one of the crew. THE annexed advertisement, scissored from the Washington Republican, will repay attentive pe- rusal: A CARDThe attention of the public is invited to the ti-sale which will take place on FRIDAY MORNING, the 10th instant, at the U. S. Penitentiary, commencing precisely at 9 oclock. Purchasers will have to settle as knocked down, if not, they ~vill be put up and resold, as they will have to be moved as sold, on account of the Gov- ernment wanting it immediately. By order of H. I. KING, Warden. GREEN & WILLIAMS, Auctioneers. Rather stringent on purchasers, eh? How about the habeas corpus, Fort Lafayette, etc.? Has Gov- ernment done any thing worse than this? THE writer is a practitioner of medicine in his feeble and humble manneras old Brother Col 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. burn, our circuit preacher, said of his discourse among the illimitable prairies. I frequently have written applications for medicine, etc., as many of my customers live at a distance. One day, not long since, a negro boy rode up to the fence, halloed Hello! and handed me a note. Here is the doc- kyment Jul5 tA I 1865 Dr. pleese send mes a litle sugar of led to mak som I water oblige Your CH------ A few days subsequently the same specimen of the Torrid Zone reported himself at my office with another epistle from thesame friendvidelicet: July 15 62 Dr pleese of sende a vile of I water for the baby and som pouderes the babe has fever agane wee brok the vile of I water bee sill seems C H to rub his bed Tho vile of I water was dispatched, and as the case did not convalesce I was summoned to see the child. It was laboring under acute ophthalmia, complicated with remittent rover. In a few days I dismissed the case. But the end was not yet. A few days later the son of Africa dismounted at my gate with the following luminous message: 15e July 55 1862 Dr plees sende me som mour I water I wish you to sende somthing to stop nite swets on him hoe seams to fall of all the tim Yours Cil PLEASE do not give the authors name, as the story may be seen by the parties, and so hurt the feelings of worthy people. Thus writes a correspondent to the Drawer. Did he know what he was saying? He is willing to have us publish a story that would hurt the feelings of worthy people, but he does not wish to be known as the author of it! Whero is honor, conscience, kindness? We do not wish any man to mako use of the Drawer by amusing some people at the expense of others. The feelings of worthy people are more sacred than gold; and we would not for any consideration be made the means of wounding the feelings of the least of the worthy ones who read these pages. The world hns humor enough in it to fill the Drawer full to overflowing without hurting the hair of the head of the humblest son or daughter of Adam; and we would rather lock the Drawer up, and throw away the key, than to use it for the injury of the feelings of any body. Please make a note of this, most excellent con- tributors, and send us nothing that will pain the living, or that, dying, you would wish to blot. FROM the Far East we have a brace of anecdotes: Some years since our friend, Colonel B, found himself a passenger on board one of the steam- ers running between Havana and New Orleans. Before reaching the latter city the captain of the steamer having learned, in course of conversation, that Colonel B was a live Yankee from Vormont, thought lie would amuse, and at the same time com- pliment the Colonel by relating to him a bit of his experience with a certain Yankee pilot whom he once employed, and who, like the Colonel, enjoyed the honor of hailing from Vermont. The Colonel said, My friend the captain was formerly in command of one of the Mississippi River steamers, and one morning, while his boat was lying at her moorings at New Orleans, waiting for the tardy pilotwho, it appears, was a rathor uncertain sort of a fellow a tall, gaunt Yankee made his appearance before the captains office, and sung out, Hello, Capn! you dont want a pilot nor no- thin about this ore craft, do ye? How do you know I dont? responded the Captain. Oh, you dont understand; I axed you sposin von did? Then, supposing I do, what of it? Well, said the Yankee, I reckon I know suthin about that ore sort o business, provided you wanted a feller of jest about my size. The Captain gave him a scrutinizing glance, and with an expression of countenance which seem- ed to say, I should pity the snags! asked, Are you acquainted with the river, and do you know where the snags are? Well, ye-asresponded the Yankee, rather hesitatingly Im pretty well acquainted with the river; butthe snagsI dont know exactly so much about. Dont know about the snags! exclaimed the Captain, contemptuously; dont know about the snags! Youd make a pretty pilot! At this the Yankees countenance assumed any thing but an angelic expression, and with a dark- ened brow and a fiercely flashing eye, he drew him- self up to his full height, and indignantly roared back in a voice of thunder, What do I want to know where the snags are for, old sea-boss? I know where they eint; and theres whore I do my sailing! It is sufficient to know that the Yankee was promptly engaged, and that the Captain takes pleas- ure in saying that he proved lsimself one of the best pilots on the river. WE have in this vicinity another live specimen of a Yankee who, if he does not come full up to the Mississippi River pilot, falls but a half pace behind. He once had occasion to buy a pig; and after going into the country and spending considerable time in looking over the pork market, finally succeeded in bargaining for a small varmint, the smallest of a lot of ten owned by a clever old farmer. While the trade was progressing the welcome notes of the farm- ers dinner-horn pealed forth, calling upon the hun. gry to fall to and devour. Our friend, it must be remembered, is sametimes very deaf, but on this oc-~ casion fully understood the dinner-horn; and, of course, the farmer found no difficulty in making him understand that his company at the table would be acceptable. Dinner over, our hero got his horse and wagon in readiness to depart, and then went back to the pen to get his pig; but instead of taking the small one bar,ained for, selected the largest nd best of the lot, and carried it, squealing for its dear life, to the wagon. The farmer made his appear- ance in the yard just in season to discover what he supposed to be the mistake of our Yankee friend, and shouted out to him, Youve got the wrong pi~! youve got the wrong pig! Bring him back! Youve got the wrong pig! But our friend, think- ing it best not to be too particular under the circum- stances, made a bee-line for his wagon, at tile same thue shouting back, Let him squeal! let him squeal! I can hold him! I can hold him! The farmer followed swiftly, in hopes of having the mistake corredted; but on arriving at the gate~ way a fresh cloud of dust in the distance suggested to his bewildered senses that both he and his pig ha4 been sold. EDITORS DRAWER. 141 THE horrors of war, and the tedium of camp-life, and the anxious hours at home, have heen relieved and alleviated hy the Drawer, till we have come to regard it as one of the main pillars of the Statea sort of savings institution for the henefit of the sob dier, the citizen, and the household, in which all have a life interest, and a right to draw out all they want, whether they put in or not. From the Gulf Squadron, on board one of the United States mortar- hoats, an old subscriber writes to the Drawer, and tells us how he has been pining for ~he want of it, and actually refreshing his soul by reading old num- hers that were fortunately on board. Who knows how much they helped to capture New Orleans? Hear him. He is a surgeon, and knows what is good for soldiers and sailors: Something near a dozen years agone, at the so- licitation of a pertinacious afid ragged newsboy, your correspondent invested a quarter in the purchase of your initial Number, since which day, whether at home or abroad, Iicoper has been my constant and welcomed monthly visitor. When leaving home to render my meed of service by keeping men in health to fight, and healing those who were wounded while fighting, my hetter-half faithfully promised to send Ilerper regularly to cheer my loneliness with its well-loved face. Alas! letters from home have reached me, now and again, saying that harper has been sent to me; and yet for five mouths my accus- tomed food has been by some ruthless hand snatched away from my starving mind. Some appreciative sinner, more anxious than honest, sequestrates my Magazines to his own enjoyment, without caring an old Ilereld for me, the rightful owner of the treasure. Think of my being so long without a visit from my old friend! Two consolations, however, are mine under this privation: first, we have on board some thirty old numbers, and they are ever ready to give up their rich stores of pleasure and profit at my de- mand; and secondly, the anticipation of what is in store for me when I return home and read up my arrears. May peace be with you and all of us soon 1 To which we respond Amen! And then our friend goes on to give us an incident of the war: During the bombardment of Fort Jackson, one of our officers, well-tired by a nights work, was summoned to breakfast by the steward, who found munch difficulty in awakening him. Mr., FAITHFUL BUT DISAGREEABLE. Ma. SNonezAss, who has removed to the country, brought home last night a famous Watch-Dog. The faithful creature has taken up his quarters under the kitchen table, and causes some little disarrangement in the preparations for hreakfast. VoL. XXVI.No. 151.~I* 142 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. says the steward, shaking the sleeper for the third terrible state of excitement, and the Judges house or fourth time, Mr. it is gone eight bells was filled with a crowd of anxious friends, for he breakfast is all ready. The drowsy officer, with his was a great favorite in the place. He was not more mind full of the mortar, barely caught the sound of surprised and gratified, however, at so many calls the all ready of the steward, and to the latters and their great solicitude, than they were to learn surprise bade him get a good range and fire as soon that he had had an attack of chills and fever the day as possible, as he turned to resume his sleep. before, for which the Doctor prescribed arsenic. DR. H.. was always fond of a practical joke, EPITAPHS actually copied from tombstones in a and sometimes at the expense of his best friends; grave-yard in Philadelphia: and when annoyed, as he often was, by some old Pain was my portico, woman stopping him in the street to ask Isisa about Physic was my feed, his patients, he added a little spice of usalice. Old Groans was my divotion, Mrs. Young was one of this troublesome class, and Drugs did use not goad. one day seeing the Doctors gig standing a long time Christ was my Physician, Ito knew wisat way was best in front of Judge Ps house, also hailed him as To ease nse of my pain, he came back and asked him wlso was sick at the He took my soul to rest. Judges. The Judge himself; he replied. Wisat is Isome without a Mother? Whats the matter with him? Oh Nancy dear my breaot does ache, Hes been taking poison, said the Doctor, and And I do ouffer sore; whipped up his horse and left Iser. But Christ has come, Ill seen be gone, In an hour from that time the village was in a And then my suffering is oer. UNAPPRECIATED DEVOTION. Ma. TmuIINs isas fallen desperately in love with Miss HELEN, and wishes to solace her with a little music. To him Sister LAURA, very kind-hearted, but so near-oighted: Itere, Poor Man, is a piece of bread fsr you. Now do go away. Sister Helen has a headache, and says your toot. ing drives her crazy. ~J~vi!jiurt~i fur rt~rnht~r, Furnished by Mr. G. BRoDJE, 300 Canal Street, New York, and drawn by XOIGT from actual articles of Gostume. I, ILGURES 1 AND 2.MORNING KEGLIG~E AND BOYS Co~1uME. I 9

Fashions for December 143-144

~J~vi!jiurt~i fur rt~rnht~r, Furnished by Mr. G. BRoDJE, 300 Canal Street, New York, and drawn by XOIGT from actual articles of Gostume. I, ILGURES 1 AND 2.MORNING KEGLIG~E AND BOYS Co~1uME. I 9 144 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 7T HE MORNING NEGLIGEE and Boys COSTUME, THE SORTIE DO BAL, represented above, is cx- I. illustrated on the preceding page, are adapted tremely elegant. It is composed of white merino, to almost any of the seasonable materials. j lined with rose silk and trimmed with swans-down. FIGURE 3.SORTIE DU BAL.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 26, Issue 152 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January 1863 0026 152
J. Ross Browne Browne, J. Ross A Californian in Iceland 145-162

a HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CLII.JANUARY, 1863.VOL. XXVI. A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. NOT many years have passed since it was considered something of an achievement to visit Iceland. The traveler who had the hardihood to penetrate the chilly fogs of the north, and journey by the compass through a re- gion of everlasting snows and desolating fires, Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, trict Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. XXVI.No. 152.K by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the Dis could well afford to stay at home during the re- mainder of his life, satisfied with the reputatior. generally accorded him by his fellow-men. It was something to have plunged into rivers of unknown depth, and traversed treacherous bogs and desert fjelds of lavasomething to be able to speak knowingly of the learned Sagas, and verify the wonders of the Burned INjal. An isolated spot of earth, bordering on the Arctic Circle, and cut off by icehergs nnd frozen seas from all intercourse with the civilized world during half the year, once the seat of an en- lightened republic, and still iuhnbited by the descendants of men who had worshiped Odin and Thor; must surely have presented rare at- tractions to the enterprising traveler before it 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. became a beaten track for modern tourists. A certain a niche in the temple of fame. It would simple narrative of facts was then sufficient to be something to rank with the great men who enlist attention. Even the unlearned adventur- had devoted their lives to the pursuit of the er could obtain a reputation by an unvarnished Dodo and the Hoc. But there was a deplorable recital of what he saw and heard. He could de- lack of information about the haunts and habits scribe the L6~berg upon which the republican of the Auk. I was not even satisfied of its cx- Parliament held its sittings, and attest from per istence, by the fact that two Englishmen visited sonal observation that this was the exact spot Iceland a few years ago for the purpose of se- ~vhere judgments were pronounced by the Tide,1. curing a specimen of this wonderful bird, and, He could speak familiarly of heathen gods and after six weeks of unavailing search, wrote a Vikin s after a brief intercourse with the inhab- hook to prove that there was still reason to hope itants, who are still tinctured with the spirit of for success. their early civilization. He could tell of fright- Upon the whole, I thought it would not do ful volcanoes that fill the air with clouds of to depend upon the Ank. There was but one ashes and desolate the earth with burning floods opening leftto visit Iceland, sketch-book in of lava, and of scalding hot water shot up out hand, and faithfully do what others had left un of subterraucan boilers, and gaping fissures that donemake accurate sketches of the unountains, emit sulphurous vapors, and strange sotln(1s rivers, lava-~jclds, geysers, people, and costumes. heard beneath the earths surface, utid all the In nothing is Iceland so uleficient as in pictorial marvelous experiences of Icelandic travel, iu- rel)resentation. It has been very minutely sur- eluding ghosts and hobgohlius that mamble over vexed by the Danes, and Olsen has left nothing the icy wastes by night and hide themselves in to wish for in the way of to~)ogra~)hical delinca gloomy caverns by daythese he could dwell tion; but artists do not seem to have found it upon in earnest and hounely language with the an attractive field for the exercise of their talent. pleasing certainty of atm appreciative audience. At least I could ol)taiu no guoul pictures of Ice- But times have sadly changed within the past latud in Copenhagen. The few indifferent sketch- few years. A trip to Iceland nowadays is little es published there, and in the jounnals of late more than a pleasant sumuner excursion, brought English and German tourists, afford no adequate within the capacity of every tvro in travel througlt idea of the country. I ltave seen nothing of the the leveling agency of steam. When a Parisian kind any where that impressed my mind with lady of rank visits Spitzbergen, and makes the the slightest notion of That land of fire, or the overlatud journey from the North Cape to the spirit and genius of Icelandic life. It would Gulf of Bothnia, of what avail is it for any gen- therefore be soune gain to the cause of knowl- tleman of elegant leisure to leave his comforta- edge if I could luresent to five hundred thousand ble fireside? We tourists who are ambitious to of my fellow cit zeus, who do their traveling see the world in an easy way need butt sit in otir through these illuminated pages, a reasonably cushioned chair, cozily smoking our cigar, while fair delineation of the cotuntry and the people, some enterprising lady puts a girdle rotund about with such situlule record of my ouvn experiences the earth; for we may depend upon it she will a.s would render the sketches generally intelli- reappear ere leviathan can swim a league and gihle. present us with a bouquet of wonderful experi- So one fine morning in May I shotuldered my ences, neatly pressed between the pa~es of an knapsack, and bade a temporary adieu to my entertaining volume. The icebergs of the Arc- friends in Frankfurt. By night I was in Han- tic, the bananas of the tropics, the camels of the burg. The next day was agreeably spent in East, the bufibloes of the West, and the cannihals ninabhing about the gar(lens acrdss the Alster of the South are equally at our service. We Basin, and at 5 e. :u. I left Altona for Kida can hold the mountains, rivers, seas, atud human joturney of three hours by rail across a flat and racus between our finger and thumb ; and thus, tot very interesting tract of country within the as we gently dally with care, we may see the limits of Schleswig holstein. From Kid a wonders of the world as in a l)leastunt dream. steamer leaves for KorsLir on the island of Zea- Thuus max we enjoy the l)erils and hardships of lund, the terminus of the Copenhagen Railuvax. tuavel at a very small sacrifice of personal coin This is the most (hirect route between Hamhuurg fort. and Copenhagen ; thought the trip may be very It was somewhat in this style that I reasoned pleasauttly varied by taking a steamer to Taars when the idea occurred to me of unaking a trip and passing by diligence through the islands of to Iceland. From all accounts it was a very Lalland, Falsuer, and Mden. uncomfortable cotuntry, deficient itt roads, desti- A few (Itmys after my arrival in Copenhagen I tute of hotels, and subject to various eccentrici- had the pleasutre of making the acquaintance of ties of climate. Neither fame nor money ~vas Professor Andcrssen, of the Scandinavian Mut- to be gained by such a triputuless, indeed, I scum, a native Icelander, whto very kindly show- succeeded in catching the Great Attk, for which, ed me time elmief objects of etuniosity obtained it is said, the Directors of the British Museutm froun the Danish possessions in the north, con- have offered a reward of a hutadred pounds. sisting mostly of fish and geological specimens. This was a chance, to be sure. I might possi- The Minister of the Jutdiciary obhigingly gave blx he able to get hold of the Autk, and thuerehy me a letter to the Governor autd principal Amt- secure money enought to p~y expenses, and umake men of Iceland; anul nuaumv other geuttleunen of A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 147 influence manifested the most friendly interest may be a matter of interest to an American in my proposed undertaking. I was especially reader to have some idea of tbe peculiar neigh- indebted to Captain Sddring, late o~vner of tbe borbood and style of bonse in which a great Fox, of Arctic celebrity, for much valuable iu 1)anisb author has chosen to take up his abode. formation respecting tbe northern seas, as well The city of Copenbagen, it should be borne in as for his cordial hospitality and indefatigable mind, is intersected be canals which, dnring the efforts to make my sojourn in Copenhagen both sumuier mouths, are cro~vded with small trading Ibrecable and profitable. Indeed, I was delight- vessels from Sweden and Jutland, and fishing ed with the place and the people. The Danes smacks from the neighboring islands and c6ast are exceedingly genial in their manners, di~tin- of Norway. The wharves bordering on these gn ished alike for their simplicity and into lli canals l)resent an exceedingly animated appear- ge nce. There is no trouble to which they will auce. l~easants, sailors, traders, and fishermen not put themselves to oblige a stranger. In my in every variety of costume, are gathered in rambles through the public libraries and muse- groups enjoying a social gossip or interchanging ums I was always accompanied by some profess- their various products and wares, and straw- or attached to the institution, who took the great berries from Amak and fish from the Skager est l)ains to explain every thing, and impress me Rack mingle their odors. In the second story with a favorable idea of the value of the collec- of a dingy and dilapidated house, fronting one tion. This was not a mere formal matter of of these unsavory canals, a confused pile of dirty, duty; many of them spent hours and even (lays shambling old tenenients in the rear, and a cnn- in the lerformance of their friendly labors, omit- ens medley of fish and fishermen, sloops and ting nothing that might contribute to my enjoy- schooners, mud-scows and skiffs in front, lives ment as a stranger. The visitor who can not the world-reiiowned author, hans Christian Au- spend his time agreeably in such society, sin derssen. I say lie lives there, but properly speak- rounded by such institutions as Thorwaldsens lug he only lodges. It seenis to be a peculiar Museum and the National Collection of Scandi- ity of his nature to move about from time to navian Antiquities, n2itist be difficult to please time into all the queer and uninviting places indeed. The Tivoli or the Dyrhave, an even- })ossil)le to be discovered within the limits of ing at Fredericksherg, or a trip to Hamlets Copenhagennot where Grave at Elsiiieur, would surely fill the incas- rue niaiitiiug vine ore of his contentment. Whether in the way Lays forth her grape an(1 gently creeps of beautiful gardens, public amusements, charm Luxeriaut,~ ing excursions, or agrec~d)le and intelligent so hot where the roughest, noisiest, busiest, and cietv, I know of no European capital that can fishiest of an amnh)hiihiOus populatioii is to be surpass Copenhagen. Our excellent Minister, found. Here it is, apparently amidst the most Mr. Wood, with whom I had the l)leasure of iiicongniious elements, that he draws from nIl spending an evening at Elsineur, speaks in the around him the most delicate traits of human niost complimentary terms of the Danes and nature, and matures for the great outer world the thucir customs ; and exl)resses some surprise, most exquisite creations of his fancy. It is pure considering the general increase of European ly a labor of love in which he spends his life. travel froia our country, that so few American The products of his hen have furnished him with tourists visit Denmark. ample means to live in elegant style, surrounded I colild not do myself the injustice to leave by all the ullurenments of rank and fashion, but Copenhagen ~vithont forming the personal ac- lie prefers thie obscurity of a plain lodging amidst qunintauce of a man to whom a debt of grami the haunts of those classes whose lives amid puir mode is due by the young and the old in all suits hie so well portrays. here he cordially re- countriesthe ramblers in fairy-land, thee lovers ceives all who cahl upon him, and they are not of romance, and the friends of humanityall few. Pilgrims of every condition in life and ~vho cami feel the divimie influence of genimis, and from all nations do homage to his genius; yet learn, mhrommgh the teachings of a kindly heart, valuable as his time is, hie finds enough to spare that the imuhabitants of enith are for the kimidly reception of his visitors. His Kindred by one heiy tie omily hiousehiold companions appear to be two old the quaint, pathetic, genial Hans Christian An- peasant women, whuom he employs as domestics; derssen. Not vishing to impose ammy obligation weathmer-beaten and decrepit old creatures, with of courtesy on him by a letter of introduction or faces amid forms very mmmcli like a pair of anti- the obliging services of my Danish friends, I qmiamed nimt-crackers. lie occupies only two or called at his house unattended amid merely semit three roommus plainly furnished, and apparently in my name and address. Unfortunately he lives in the simuplest and most abstemnious style. vas out takimig his momniimg walk and would miot Whemi I called, according to directions, one be back till the afternoon. By calling at three of time ancient nut-crackers merely pointed to the o clock, the servant said, I would be very likely door, and said she thought herr Anderssen was to find him at home. I then added to my card in, bmmt didnt know. I could knock there and the simple fact that I was an American traveler try; so I knocked. Presently I heard a rapid on my way to Iceland for the purpose of making step, and tIme door was thrown open. Before me some sketchies of the country, and would take stood the tall, thin, shambling, raw-boned figure the liberty of calling at the appoiuited hour. It of a man a little beyond the prime of life, but not 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. yet old, with a pair of dancing gray eyes and a hatchet-face, all alive with twists and wrinkles and muscles; a long, lean face upon which stood out prominently a great nose, diverted by a freak of nature a little to one side, and flanked by a tremendous pair of cheek-hones with great hol- lows underneath. Innumerable ridges and fur- rows swept semicircularly downward around the corners of a great moutha broad, deep, rugged fissure across the face, tbat might have been mistaken for the dreadful child-trap of an ogre hut for tbe sunny beams of benevolence that lurked around the lips and the genial humanity that glimmered from every nook and turn. Nei- ther mustache nor heard ohscured the strong in- dividuality of this remarkable face, which for the most part was of a dull granite color, a little mixed with limestone and spotted with patcbes of porpbyry. A dented gutta-percha forehead, very prominent about the brows, and somewhat resembling in its general topography a raised map of Switzerland, sloped upward and back- ward to tbe top of the head; not a very large head but wonderfully bumped and battered by the operations of the brain, and partially covered by a mop of dark wavy hair, a little thin in front and somewhat grizzled behind; a long bony pair of arms, with long bands on them; a long lank body with a long black coat on it; a long loose pair of legs, with long boots on the feet; all in motion at the same time; all shining and ~vrig- gling and working with an indescribable vitality; a voice bubbling up from the vast depths below with cheery, spasmodic, and unintelligible words of welcomethis was the wondemful man that stood before me, the great Danish improvisator, the lover of little children, the gentle Caliban who dwells among fairies and holds sweet con- verse with fishes and frogs and beetles! I would have picked him out from among a thousand men at the first glance as a candidate for Con- gress, or the proprietor of a tavern, if I had met him any where in the United States. But the re- semblance was only momentary. In the quaint awkwardness of his gestures and the simplicity of his speech there was a certain refinement not usually found among men of that class. Some- thing in the spontaneons and almost childlike cordiality of his greeting; the unworldly im- pulsiveness of his nature, as he grasped both my hands in his, patted me affectionately on the shoulder, and bade me welcome, convinced me in a moment that this was no other, and could be no other, than hans Christian Andersten. Come in! Come in ! be said, in a gush of broken English. Come in and sit down! You are very welcome! Thank you! thank you very much! I am very glad to see yoti! It is a rare thing to meet a traveler all the way from Californiaquite a surprise! Sit down! Thank you! And then followed a variety of friendly com- pliments and remarks about the Americans. He liked them; he was sorry they were so unfortu- nate as to be engaged in a civil war, but hoped it would soon be over. Did I speak French? he asked, after a pause. Not very well. Or German? Still worse, was my answer. What a pity ! lie exclaimed, it must trouble you to understand my English! I speak it so badly. It is only within a few years that I have learned to speak it at all. Of course I complimented him upon his English, which was really better than I had been led to expect. Can you un- derstand it ? lie asked, looking earnestly in my face. Certainly! I answered, almost every word. Oh, thank you! thank you! You are very good! he cried, grasping me by the hand. I am very much obliged to you for understanding me! I naturally thanked him for being obliged to me, and we shook hands cordially and mutually thanked one another over again for being so amiable. The conversation, if such it could be called, flew from subject t6 subject with a rapidity that almost took my breath away. The great improvisator dashed recklessly into every thing that lie thought would be interesting to an American traveler, but with the diflicultv of his utterance in English, and the absence of any knowledge on his part of my name or history, it was evident lie was a little embarrassed in what way to oblige me most; and the trouble on my side was, that I was too busy listening to find time for talking. Dear! dear! And you are going to Ice- land ! he continued. A long way from Cali- forutia ! I would like to visit America, but it is very dangerous to travel by sea. A vessel was burned up not long since, and many of my friends were lost. It was a dreadful affair. Froni this lie diverged to a tuij) he then had in contemplation through S~vitzerland and Spain. lie was sitting for his statuette, which be de- sired to leave as a memento to his friends prior to his departure. A young Danish sculptor was making it. Would I like to see it? and forth- with I was introduced to the young Danish sculptor. The likeness was very good, and my cornusents upon it elicited many additional thanks and several squeezes of the hand it was so kiiid of me to be pleased with it! lie is a voun student, said Anderssen, approving- ly; a very good young man. I want to en- courage him. Hd will be a great artist some day or other. Talking of likenesses reminded me of a photo- graph which I had purchased a few days before, and to which I now asked the addition of an autograph. Oh, you have a libel on me here ! cried the poet, laughing joyously a very bad likeness. Wait! I have several much better; here they are And he rushed into the next room, tumbled over a lot of papers and ransacked a number of drawers till he found the desired package heres a dozen of them; take your choice! help yourselfas many as you please! While looking over the collection I said the like- ness of one who had done so much to promote the happiness of some little friends I had at home would he valued beyond measure; that I knew at least half a dozen youngsters who were as well A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 149 acquainted with the Little Match Girl, and the Ugly Duck, and the Poor Idiot Boy, as he was himself; and his name was as familiar in California as it was in Denmark. At this he grasped hoth my hands, and looking straight in my face with a kind of ecstatic expression, said: Oh, is it possible! Do they really read my books in California! so far away! Oh! I thank you very much! Some of my stories, I am aware, have been published in New York, hut I did not think they had found their way to the Pacific coast. Dear me! Thank you! thank you! Have you seen my lastthewhat do you call it in English ?a little animal Mouse, I suggested. No not a mouse; a little animal with wings. Oh, a hat! Nay, nay! a little animal with wings and many legs. Dear me! I furget the name in En- glish, hut you certainly know it in Americaa very small animal In vain I tried to make a selection from nil the little animals of my acquaintance with ~vings and many legs. The ease was getting both em- barrassing and vexatious. At length a light broke upon me. A mosquito ! I exclaimed, triumphantly. Nay, nay ! cried the bothered poet; a little animal with a hard skin on its hack. Dear me, I cant rememher the name! Oh, I have it now, said I, really desirous of relieving his mind A flea At this the great improvisator scratched his head, looked at the ceiling and then at the floor, after which he took several rapid strides up and down the room, and struck himself repeatedly on the forehead. Suddenly grasp- ing up a pen he exclaimed some- what energetical- ly Here! Ill draw it for you! and forthwith he drew on a scrap of paper a diagram, of which the above engraving is a fac-simile: A tumble-bug ! I shouted, astonished at my former stupidity. The poet looked puzzled and distressed. Evi- dently I had not yet succeeded. What could it be? A beetle ! I next ventured to suggest, rath- er disappointed at the result of my previous guess. A beetle! A beetle !thats it; now I re- membera beetle ! and the delighted author of The Beetle patted me approvingly on the back, and chuckled gleefully at his own adroit method of explanation. Ill give you The Beetle, be said; you shall have the only copy in my possession. But you dont read Danish! What are we to do? There is a par- tial translation in Frencha mere notice.~, No matter, I answere(l. A specimen of the Danish language will be very acceptable, and the book will be a pleasant souvenir of my visit. He then darted into the next room, tumbled over a dozen piles of books; then omit again, ran- sacked the desks and duiwers and heaps of old papers and rubbishtalking all the time in his joyous, cheery way about his books and his trav- els in Jntlaiid, and his visit to Charles Dickens, and his intended journey through Spain, and his delight at meetiug a traveler all the way from California, and whatever else came into his head; all in such mixed up broken English that the meaning must have been utterly lost but for the wonderful expressiveness of his face and the striking oddity of his motions. It came to me mesmerically, lie seemed like one who glowed all over with bright and happy thoughts, which permeated all around him with a new in- telligence. his presence shed a light upon oth ers like the rays that beamed from the eyes of Little Suiishine. The book was found at last, and when he had written his name in it, with a frieiidly inscription, and pressed both my hands on time gift, and patted me once more on the shoulder, and promised to call at Frankfort on his return from Switzerland to see his little friends who knew all about the Ugly Duck and the Little Match Girl, I took my leave, more (lehighted, if possible, with time author than I had ever before been with his books. Such a man, the brightest, happiest, siml)lest, most geni- al of human beitigs, is Hans Christian Anderssen. 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The steamer Arctstrus was advertised to sail make a very interesting trip at a very small ex- for Revkjavik on the 4th of June, so it behooved pease; though, as will hereafter appear, the me to be laying in some sort of an outfit for the most considerable part of the expenditure occurs voyage during tile few days that intervened. A inJceland. Captain Anderssen (they are all An- knapsack, containing a change of linen and my dersseas, or Jonassens, or Ilnasseas, or Peters- sketching materials, ~mas all I possessed. This seas in Denmark), a very active and obliging would have been sufficient, but for the probabil- little Dane, commands the Arcteursus. lie speaks its of rain and cold weather. I wanted a sail English fluently, and is an experience(l seaman ors monkey-jacket and an overall. My friend and if tile tourist is not unusually fastidious Captain Sddring would not hear of my bumyimug about accommodations, there will be no diffi- any thing in that ~vav. He had enough on culty in making an agreeable voyage. I found hand from his old whaling voyages, he said, to every tiling Oil board excellent; the fare abund- fit out a dozemi men of may l)attemn. Just come ant and wholesomne, mind the sleeping-quarters tip to the house and take a look at them, and if not more like collins than they usually are on there wasnt too much oil on them, I was wel- board small steamers. A few inches cut off come to the whole lot; but the oil, he thought, time passengers legs or added to the length of would be an advantageit would keep out the time berths, and a few extra hand-spikes in the water. In vain I protestedit was an use lee scuppers to steady tIme vessel, would be an time Captaia was an old whaler and so w ss I sad improvement; but then one cant have every when two old whalers root, it was a pity mf tlmev timing to suit him. Some grumbling took place, couldnt act like shipmates on tIme vox age of to 1)0 sure, after our departure from Scotland. life. There was no resisting tlmis appeal so I A youmag Scotchunan wanued a bermim for a big agreed to accept the old clotlmes. When we am dog in the sanue cabin wimlm tIme rest of his friends, rived at the Captains Imouse he disappe~mmed ma sxhmeh the captain woumld not permit; aim En- the garret, but presently returned beaming a tel glishman was disgusted with the beastly fare rifle pile of ruibbisim omm his shoulders, and iccom amud an old Danish mereluant would persist in pamuied by a stoat servant-girl also heavily laden shuving himself at the public table evemy day with marine cummiosities. There were son siost all of whiclm caused amu under-current of dissamis- ess, and tarpaulins, and skull-caps ; frieze jack- faction dumuimug time early part of the voyage. Sea- ets, amid overalls, amid Imickory shirts ; tarpaulin sick umess, however, jmuut an cud to it before bug, coats, and Imeavy sea-boots, and duck blouses aumd thmiuugs ivemit on all riglmt after that. witim old hunches of onkuim sticking omit of time Bat I must not anticipate my narrative. Time pockets; there xvere coils of rope-yarn well tarred, scene upon leaving time wimarf at Copenhagen was amid jackknives iii leather cases, still black with ammusiag and characteristic. For some homurs be- uvhalegurrv ; mind a few telescopes mmd log fore glasses. Take em all! said time Captuuimi. time O~ll uleparimure time decks were crowded xvi~ Ii fmieads (it mime passengers. Every persoui bad They smell a little fishy; but no matter. Its to kiss amid immug every other person, and simake all the better for a voyage to Iceland. Youll hands, and Inuigim aumd cry a little, and tiuca lung he ased to the smell before you get to Reykjmmvik and kiss again, without regard to age anmi not and its wholesome, veiny whmolesonue! No- much distimiction of sex. Some natal al teams, thing makes a man so fat ! I made a small of course, must ahvavs be shed on occasions of selectiona rough jacket and a feuv ocimer essen- this kind. It was rathcr a melancholy refiec- tial articles. Nonsense, man! roared time Cap- tion, as I stood aloof looking oms at all these tam. Take em all! Youll find thucun musefuil; deuumonstinations of affectioui, thmat there was no- and if you dont, you can heave them overboard body presemut to grieve ovem my depuirtamenot or give them to time sailors ! And thus was I eveum a lap-dog to bestow upon me a pmiumiuug kiss. fitted out for the voyage. Waving of hmandkerehiefs, umessages mo friemids imi Lhe Auctsoes is a samall screw steamer owned Icehand, and parting benedictions, took place by Messrs. Koch and Henderson, amid now some long before we left time wharf. At length the six years on the mute betweeus Copenhagen and last behls were rung, time lingering loved ones Reykjavik. The Danish Govermumcnt pumys them weme handed ashmome, and time inexorable voice an anninial smum for carevi iug time mails, and they of time captain was heard ordering the sailors to control a considerable trade in fish and wool. east loose time ropes. We were fairly off for Timis vessel makes six trips every year, tomuehming Iceland! at a port in Scotland both on the outem and re- In a few huours we passed, near Elsineur, the turn voyage. Ac first shine made Leithm her stop- fine old Castle of Kmoaberg, built imi time time of pimig-place; bat ouving to superior facilities for Tycho Brahie, once tue prison of time unfortunate hem business at Grangemouthi, shine now stops at Camoline Matilda, queen of Chiristimmn VII., and that port. The cost of passage is extremely in the great vauuhms of which it is said the Damuislm moderateonly 45 I)aud sb dollars, abomut $~28 Roland, Ilolger Dansk, still lives, huis long white American, living on board 75 cents a day, and beard grown fast to a stone tumble. We were 500mm a snuall fee to the steuvard, makimig for the voy- omut of the Somund, plowiuug nuit way toward time age out or back, which usumalix occupies about famous Skager-Rack. The weather had been eleven days, incluusive of stOluhua~es, something shdwery and threatening for some time. It less than ~IO. I mention diii fom the benefit of now huegan to rain and blow in good cainest. my friends at home, xvhuo amy tluimik proper to i We mad on board only thirteen passengers, A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 151 chiefly Danes and Icelanders. Among them was a newly-appointed Amtman for the District of Reykjaness, with a very accomplished young wife. lie was going to spend the honey-moon amidst the glaciers and lava-fjelds of Iceland. It seemed a dreary prospect for so young and tender a bride, hit she was cheerful and happy, except when the inevitable hour of sea-sickness came. Love, I suppose, can make the wilder- ness blossom as the rose, and shed a warmth over ice-covered mountains and a pleasant ~er- dure over deserts of lava. A very agreeable and intelligent young man, Mr. Jonassen, son of the Goveraor, was also on hoard. I saw bnt little of him during the passageonly his head over the side of his berth; but I heard from him frequently after the weather became rough. If there was any inside left in that yonng maa by the time we arrived at Reykjavik it must have been badly strained. As a son of lena he com- pletely reversed the Script ural order of things; for instead of being swallowed by a great fish, and remaining in the belly thereof three days and nights, he swallowed numerous sprats ar,d sardines himself; vet would never allow them internal accommodations fur the space of three minutes. My room-mate was a young Icelandic student, who had been to the college at Copen- hagen, and was now returning to his native land to die. There was something very sad in his case. lie had left home a fe~v years before with he brightest prospects of success. Ambitious and talented, he had devoted himself with un- wearied assiduity to his studies, but the activity of his mind was too much for a naturally feeble constitution. Consumption set its seal upon him. Given up by the physicians in Copenha- gen, he was returning to breathe his last in the arms of a loving mother. On the second morning after leaving the Sound we passed close along the Downs of Jut- land, a barren shore, singularly diversified by great mounds of sand. The wind sweeping in from the ocean casts up the loose sands that lie upon this low peninsula, and drifts them against some bush or other obstacle sufficiently firm to form a nucleus. In the course of a few years, by constant accumulations, this becomes a vast mound, sometimes over a hundred feet high. Nearly the whole of Northern Jutland is diversi- fied with sand-plains, heaths, and ever-changing mounds, among which wandering bands of gyp- sies still roam. The shores along the Skagen are surrounded by dangerous reefs of quick- sand, stretching for many miles out into the ocean. Navigation at this point is very diffi- cult, especially during the winter, when terrific gales prevail from the northwest. The numer- ous stakes, buoys, and other water-marks by which the channel is designated, the freqtiency of light-houses and signal telegraphs, and the wrecks that lie strewn along the beach, over which the surging foam breaks like a perpetual dirge, afford striking indication of the dangers to which mariners are subject in this wild re- gion. Hans Christian Anderssen. in one of his most delightful works, has thrown a romantic interest over the scenery of Jutland, giving a charm to its very desolation, and investing with all the beauty of a genial humanity the rude lives of the gypsies and fishermen who inhabit this wild region of drifting sands and wintry tempests. Steen Blicher has also cast over it the spell of his poetic genius; and Von Buch, in his graphic narrative, has given a memorable interest to its seagirt shores, where masts and skeletons of vessels stand like a range of pali- sades.~ During our passage through the Skager-Rack we l)assed innumerable fleets of fishing-smacks, and often encountered the diminutive skiffs of the fishermen, with two or three amphibious oc- cupants, buffeting about among the waves many miles from the shore. The ~veather had been steadily growing ~vorse ever since our departure from Copenhagen. As we entered the North Sea it began to blow fiercer than ever, and for two days we experienced all the discomforts of chopping seas that drenched our decks fore and aft, and thilling gales mingled with fogs and heavy rains. It was cold enough for mid-win- ter, yet here we were on the verge of mid-sum- mer. Our little craft was rendered somewhat unmanageable by a deck-load of coal and a heavy cargo of freight; and there ~ere peridds when I would have thought myself fortunate in being once more offCape Horn in the good ship Poc~fic. The Amtman and his young bride spent this portion of their honey-moon performing a kind of duet that reminded inc of my friend Ross Wallaces lines in Perdita Like two sweet times that wandering met, And se harmoniously they run, The hearer deenia they are but one. At least the harmony was perfect, whatever might he thought of the music in other respects. Young Jonassen ssvallowed a few more sardines about this period of the voyage, which he vainly attempted to secure by sudden and violent con- tractions of the diaphragm. Iii short, there were but two l)O~5Ofl5 in the cabin besides Cap- tain Anderssen and myself who had the temer- ity to appear at tableone an old Danish mer- chant, who generally received advices, midway through the nienl, requiring his immediate pres- ence on deck; and the other a gentleman from Holstein, who alsvays lost his appetite after the soup, and had to jump up and run to his state- room for exercise. In due time we sighted the shores of Scot- land. A pilot caine on board inside the Frith of Forth, and as we steamed rapidly on our course all the passengers foi~got their afflictions and gazed with delight on the sloping sward and woodland, the picturesque villages, and ro- mantic old castles that decorate the shores of this magnificent sheet of water. Our destination was Grangemouth, where we arrived early on Sunday morning. A few sail- ors belonging to some vessels in the docks, a custom-house inspector, and three small boys, comprised the entire visible hopuilation of the 1~2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bowser! What r ye abeanut! Ho there! Where the dooce are our berths? By Jove! ha! ha! This is jolly! Other voices joined in, with a general chorus of complaints and exclamations Egad! its a do! No berths, no state-rooms! Ho, Stoord! Wheres my trunk? I say, Sto ord, wheres my fishing-rod? Hey! hey! did you appen to see my overalls? Ive lost my gun! Pon my word, this is a pretty do! Lets go see the Agent ? come on! Certainly ! Oh, hang it, no! Oh yes! Here, Bowser! What the devil! Wheres Bowser? Gone ashore, by Jove! A pretty kettle of fish ! Here there was a sudden and general stampede, and.amidst loud exclama- tions of Beastly ! and Disgesting ! the par~ ty left the cabin. I barely had time to see that it consisted of some four or five fashionable tour- istsspirited young bloods of sporting procliv- ities, who had taken passage for Iceland. The prospect of having some company was pleasant enough, and from the specimen I had seen there could be no doubt it would be lively and entertaining. place. Judging by the manner in which the Sabbath is kept in Scotland the Scotch must be a profoundly moral people. The towns are like grave-yards, and the inhabitants bear a striking resemblance to sextons, or men who spend much of their lives in burying the dead. I was very anxious to get a newspaper con- taining the latest intelligence from America, but was informed that none could he had on Sun- day. I wanted to go up to Edinburgh: it was not possible on Sunday. I asked a man where could I get some cigars? he didiia ken; it was Sunday. The depressed expression of the few peoI)le I met began to prey like a nightmare on my spirits. Doubtless it is a very good thing to pay a decent regard to the Sabbath; but can any body tell me where we are commanded to look gloomy? The contrast was certainly very striki.ng between the Scotch and the Danes. Of course there is no such thing as drunkenness in Scotland, no assaults and batteries, no rob- beries and murders, no divorces, no cheating among the merchants of Glagow or the hankers of Edinburgh, no sympathizing with rebellion and the institution of slaveryfor the Scotch are a sober and righteous people, much given to sackcloth and ashes, manufactures of iron, and societies for the insurance of property against fire. The A?cturus was detained several days dis- charging and taking in freight. I availed my- self of the first train to visit Edinburgh. A day there, and an excursion to Glasgow and Loch Lomond, agreeably occupied the time. I must confess the scenerybeautiful as it is, and fraught with all the interest that history and genius can throw over itdisappointed me. It was not what I expected. It was a damp, moist, uncomfortable reality, as Mantalini would saynot very grand or striking in any respect. A subsequent excursion to the Trossachs, Loch Katrine, Loch Long, and the Clyde afforded me a better opportunity ofjudging; yet it all seem- ed tame and commonplace compared with the scenery of California and Norway. If I enjoyed a fair specimen of the climaterain, wind, and fog, varied by sickly gleams of sunshineit strikes me it would be a congenial country for snails and frogs to reside in. The Highlands are like all other wild places within the limits of Europe, very gentle in their wildness com- pared with the rugged slopes of the Sierra Ne- vada. The Lady of the Lake must have pos- sessed an uncommonly strong constitution if she made her nocturnal excursions on Loch Katrine in a thin white robe without suffering any bad consequences; for I found a stout ovei--coat insufficient to keep the chilling mists of thnt region from seeking in my bones a suitable loca- tion for rheumatism. I was quietly sitting in my state-room await- Once more during the night I was aroused by ing the departure of the steamer, when a tre- a repetition of the noises and exclamations al- mendous racket on the cabin-steps, followed hy ready described. The steamer was moving off. a rush of feet up and down the saloon, startled The passengers were all on board. We were me out of a pleasant home-dream, battering our way through the canal. Soon the Hello! What the devil! I say! Wheres heaving waters of the ocean began to subdue the every body! Stoord! Blast the fellow! Here, enthusiasm of the sportsmen, and before morn- A i)ANS)Y TOURIST. A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 153 ing my ears were saluted by sounds and observa- tions of a very different character. I shall only add at present, in reference to this lively l)arty of young Britishers, that I found them very good fellows in their waya little hoisterous and inexperienced, but well-educated and intelligent. The young chap with the dog was what we would call in America a regular bird. lie and his dog afforded us infinite di- version during the whole passageracing up and down the decks, into and out of the cahin, and all over each other. There was something so fresh and sprightly about the fellow, something so gootl-natured, that I could readily excuse his roughness of manner. One of the others, a quiet, scholastic-looking person, who did not really belong to the party, having only met them on board, was a young collegian, well versed in Icelandic literature, lie was going to Iceland to perfect himself in the language of the country, and make some translations of the learned Sagas. A thvorahle wind enabled us to sight the Ork- neys on the afternoon following our departure from the Frith of Forth. Next day we passed the Shetlands, of which we had a good view. The rocky shores of these islands, all rugged and surf-heaten, with myriads of wild-fowl dark- ening the air around them, presented a most tempting field of exploration. I longed to take a ramble in the footsteps of Dr. Johnson; but to see the Shetlauds would be to lose Iceland, and of the two I preferred seciug the latter. After a pleasant passage of two days aud a half from Grangemouth, we made the Fame Islands, and had the good fortune to secure, without the usual loss of time occasioned by fogs, an anchor- age in the harbor of Thorshavn. The Faroc Islands lie about midway between Scotland and Iceland, and belong to Denmark. The whole group consists of thirty-five small isl- ands, some of which are little more than naked rocks jutting up out of the sea. About twenty are inhabited. The rest are too barren and pre- cipitous to affortl suitable place of abode even for the hardy Faroese. The cadre population is estimated at something over six thousand, of which the greater part are shepherds, fishermen, and bird-catchers. Owing to the situation of these islands, surrounded by the open sea and within the influence of the Gulf stream, the climate is very mild, although they lie in the sixty-second degree of north latitude. The winters are nev- er severe, and frost and snow rarely last over too months. They are subject, however, at that season to frequent and terrible gales from the north; and during the summer are often inac- cessible for days arid even weeks owiug to dense fogs. The humidity of the climate is favoralde to the growth of grass, which covers the hills with a brilliant coating of green wherever there is the least approach to soil; and where there is no soil, as in many places along the shores, the rocks are beautifully draped with moss and lich- ens. The highest point in the group is 2800 feet above the level of the sea; and the general aspect of them all is wild and rugged in the ex- treme. Prodigious cliffs, a thousand feet high, stand like a wall out of tic sea on the southern side of the Stromee. Tue Mygenaes-holm, solitary rock, guards, like a sentinel, one of the ~assages, and forms a terrific precipice of 1500 feet on one side, against which the waves break with an everlasting roar. here the solan-goose, the eider-duck, and innumerable varieties of gulls and other sea--fowl build their nests and hreed. At certain seasons of the year the intrepid birdhunters suspend themselves from the cliffs hy means of ropes, and feather their own nests by rubbing the nests of their neighbors. Enor- mous quantities of eggs are taken in this way. The eider-down, of which the nests of the eider- duck are composed. is one of the most profitable 1IIUOSHAVN. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. articles of Faroese traffic. The mode of life to something of the same dull and dingy aspect; so which these men devote themselves, and their that a geauine Faroese enjoys one advantage hahitnal contact with danger, render tMm reck- he can never look much more dirty at one time less, and ninny perish every year by falling from than another. the rocks. Widows and orphans are numerous The women wear dresses of the same material, throughout the islands, without much attempt at shape or ornament. A The few scattering farms to he seen on the colored handkerchief tied around the head, a sil- slopes of the hills and in the arahle valleys are ver hreast-pin, and a pair of ear-rings of domestic conducted on the most primitive principles. A manufacture, comprise their only personal deco- small patch of potatoes and vcgetahles, and in rations. As in all countries where the burden certain exposures a few acres of grain, com- of heavy labor is thrown upon the women, they prise the extent of their agricultural operations, lose their comely looks at an early age, and Sheep-raising is the most profitable of their par- become withered, ill-shaped, and hard-featured suits. The climate appears to be more con- long before they reach the prime of life. The genial to the growth of wool than of cereal pro- Faroese women doubtless make excellent wives ductions. The Faroese sheep are noted for the for lazy men; they do all the labors of the house, fineness and luxuriance of their fleece, and it and share largely in those of the field. I do nol always commands a high price in market. A know that they are more prolific than good and considerable portion of it is manufactured by the loving wives in other parts of the world, but inhabitants, who are quite skillful in weaving they ce.rtainly enjoy the possession of as many and knitting. They make a kind of thick wool- little cotton-beads with dirty faces, turned up en shirt, something like that known as the Guern- noses, ragged elbows, and tattered frocks, as one say, which, for durability and warmth, is unsur- usually meets in the course of his travels. Two passed. Sailors and fishermen all over the North- fair specimens of the rising generation, a little era seas consider themselves fortunate if they boy and girl, made an excellent speculation on can get possession of a Faroese shirt. The cos- the occasion of my visit to Thorshavn. Know- tume of the men, which is chiefly home-made, ing by instinct, if not by my dress, that I was a consists of a rough, thick jacket of brown wool; stranger, they followed me about wherever I a coarse woolen shirt; a knitted bag-shaped cap rambled, looking curiously and cautiously into on the head; a pair of knee-breeches of the same my face, and mutually commenting upon the material as the coat; a pair of thick woolen oddity of my appearancewhich, by-the-way, stockings, and sheep-skin shoes, generally coy- would have been slightly odd even in the streets ered with mudall of the same brown or rather of New York, wrapped, as I was, in the volum- burnt - umber color. Exposure to the weather inous folds of Captain Sddrings old whaling gives their skins, i~atnrallv of a leathery texture, coat, with a sketch-book in aly band and a pair vs in rAno~ isnanus, A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 155 of spectacles on my nose. However, no man likes to be regarded as an object of curiosity even by two small ragamuffins belonging to a strange race; so I just held up suddenly, and requested tbese children of Faroe to state ex- plicitly the grounds of their interest in my be- half. What they said in reply it would be im- possible for ma to translate, since the Faroese language is quite as impenetrable as the Ice- landic. They looked so startled and alarmed withal tbat a gleam of l)ity must bave manifested its appearance in the corner of my eyes. The next moment their faces broke into a broad grin, and each held out a hand audaciously, as much as to say, My dear Sir, if youll put a small cop- per in this small band, well retract all injurious criticisms, and ever after regard you ~s a gentle- man of extraordinary personal heauty ! Some- how my hand slipped unconsciously into my pock- et, but before banding them the desired change it occurred to me to secure their likenesses fur pub- lication as a warning to the children of all na- tions not to undertake a similar experiment with any hope of success. Thorshavn, so named after the old god Thor, is a small town of some five or six bun- died inhabitants, sit- uated on the south- eastern side of the isl- and of Stromoe. In front lies a harbor, in- differently protected hy a small island and t~vo rocky points. The anchorage is insecure at all times, especial- ly during the preva- lence of southerly and easterly gales, when it often becomes neces- sary to heave up and put to sea; and the dense fogs by which the approach to land is generally obscured render navigation about these islands extremely perilous. Of the town of Thors- hava little need he said. Its chief inter- est lies in the almost Irimeval construction of the houses and the rustic simplicity of its inhabitants. The few streets that run be- tween the straggling hues of sheds and sod- covered huts scatter- ed over the rocks are narrow and tortuous, winding up steep, sto- nyprecipices, and into deep, boggy hollows; around rugged l)oints and over scraggy mounds of gravel and grit. The l)uhlic editices, consisting of two or three small churches and the Amtmans residence, arc little bettor than martin-boxes. For some reason best known to the people in these Northern climes, they l)aint their houses black, except where tlse roofs are covered with sod, which nature paints green. I think it musthe from some notion that it gives them a cheerful aspect, though the darkness of the laint aud the chilly luxuriance of the green did not strike me with joyous impressions. If Scotland can claim some advantages as a place of residence for snails, Thorshavn must surely be a laradise for toads accustomed to feed upon the vapors of a dun- geon. The wharvesloose masses of rock at the boat-landingarc singularly luxuriant in the article of fish. Prodigious piles of fish lie about in every direction. The shambling old store-hou~ses are crammed with fish, and the heads of fish and the back-bones of fish lie bleaching on the rocks. The gravelly iatches of beach are slimy with the entrails of fresh fish, and the air is foul with the odor of ule caved fish. The boatmen that lounge about FAi~oLsc euuuImflN. 156 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. waiting for a job are saturated with fish inside his forces, marches them down to his war-skifl and outlike their boats. The cats, crows, from the stern of which waves the Danish flag. and ravens mingle in social harmony over the and placing an oar in the hands of each man he rlreadfnl carnival of fish. In fine, the impres- gives the order to advance and board the steam- sion produced upon the stranger who lands for er. On his arrival alongside he touches his cap the first time is that he has accideuitahly turned to the passengers in a grave and dignified man- up in some piscatorial hell, where the tortures of ncr, a ad expiesses a desire to see our command skinning, drying, and diseinhon cling are per Cr, Captain Anderssen, who, dnriiug this period formed by the unreleiiting hands of man, of the ceremony, is down below busily occupied In addition to the standing population of in arranging the brandy and crackers. The ap- Thorshiavn, the fortifications an abandoned pearance of Captain Anderssen on deck is polite- mui(l-hank, a flag-staff, and a board shantyare ly acknowledged by the Anitman, who there- subject, in times of great pnbhic peril, to he de- upon orders his men to pull alongside, when the fended by a standing army and navy of twenty two cabin-boys and the cook kindly assist him four soldiers, one small heat, one corporal, and over the gangway. Descending into the cabin the Governor of the islands, who takes the field he carefully exaunines the ships pal)ers, pro- himself at the head of this bloody phalanx of nominees them all right, and joins Captain Auuders- Rues still reeking with the gore of slaughtered sen in a social smile. Then haviuig delivered fish. Upon the occasion of the arrival of the himself of the latest intelligence on the subject Arcterusstbe only steamer that ever touches of wool and codfish lie returns to his heat and hereprincipal Amtman, upon perceiving the proceeds to huis quarters on shore. All this is vessel in the distance, imune(hiatoly Proceeds to done with us quiet and dignified formality both organize the army and navy for a grand display. pleasing an(l impressive. First he shaves and puts on his uniform then As an illustration of the severity cuf the laws calling together the treops, who are also sailors, that govern the Farce Llaruds, and the upright hue carefully inspects them, and selecting froni and inexorable chanucter of the Governor and the number the darkest, dirtiest, and most hirincipal Amtman, I must relate an incident bloody-looking, he causes them to buckle on that occurred under my own eluservation. their swords. This done he delivers a brief Shortly after the it uctuouus had cast anchor the anldress, recommending them to ahstain from party of British sportsnien already mentioned the use of schnapps and other intoxicating hey- went ashore with their dogs and guns, and began erages till time departure of the steamer. The an indiscriminate slaughter of all the game with- dignity of otlicial position requires that he should in two miles of Thorshsuuvnconsi~tiuug of three remnain on shore for the space of one hour after plovers, a snipe, and sonic half a ulozen spar- the dropping of the anchor. He then musters rows. The Captain had warned them that such Fuui(uu:su SiANLiCuIS. A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 157 a proceeding was contrary to law; and a citizen of Thorshavn had gently remonstrated ~vith them as they passed throngh the town. When the slaughter commenced the proprietors of the bog, in which the game ahounded, rushed to the doors of their cabins to see what was going on, and perceiving that it was a party of Englishmen en- gaged in the destructive pastime of firing shot- guns ahout and among the flocks of sheep that browsed on the premises, they straightway laid a complaint before the Governor. The inde- pendent sons of Britain were not to he baffled of their sport in this manner. They cracked away as long as they pleased, by-Joved and hlawsted the island for not having more game, and then came aboard. The steamer hove up anchor and sailed that night. Nothing further took p lace to admonish us of the consequences of the trespass till our return from Iceland, when the primicipal Amtman came on board with a formi- dable placard, neatly written, and translated iuto the three court languages of the place Danish, French, and English. The contents of this doc~nnent were as follows that, whereas, in the veam, 1763, a law had been passed for the f)iotectioii of game on the Faroe islands, which law had not since been rescinded; and, whereas, a subsequent la~v of 1786 hail been passed for the protection of sheep and other stock ranging at large on the said islands, which law had not since been rescinded; and, wl~reas, it had been rel)resented to the Governor of the said islands, ~hat certain persons, supposed to he Englishmen, had lately come on shore, armed ~vitb shot-guns, aiid in violation of the said laws of the country had shot at, maimed, and killed several birds, and caused serious apprehensions of injury to the flocks of sheep which were peaceably grazing on their respective ran~es;. now, therefore, this was earnestiy to request that all such persons ~vould reflect upon the penalties that would at- tach to similar acts in their own country, and he thus enabled to perceive the impropriety of l)ur- suing such a course in other countries. Should they fail to observe the aforesaid laws after this warning, they would only have themselves to I)lame for the unpleasant consequences that must assuredly ensue, etc., etc. [Officially signed and sealed.] Great formality was ohserved in carrying this important document ~on hoard. It was neatly folded and carefully done up, with various seals and blue ribbons, in a package ahout six inches wide hy eighteen in length, and was guarded hy the select half of the Faroese army and navy, being exactly twelve men, and delivered hy the Amtman of the island with a few appropriate and impressive remarks, after which it was hung up over the cabin gangway hy the Captain as a solemn warning to all future passengers. There can be no doubt that it produced the most salu- tary effects upon the sporting gentlemen. I was really glad the affair had taken place, as it evi- dently afforded His Excellency a favorable op- portunity of promulgating a most excellent State paper, cautiously conceived and judiciously word- ed. The preparation of it must have occupied his time advantageously to himself and his country during the entire period of our absence. I must now turn back a little to say, that while my comrades were engaged in their un- lawful work of killing the sparrows and frighten- ing the sheep, I deemed it a matter of personal safety to keep out of range of their guns. Apart from the danger of arrest, the probable loss of an eye or disfigurement of some ornamental feature was a sufficient consideration to satisfy me of the policy of this course. Taking a path across the rugged desert of rocks and bogs, extending for some miles back of Thorshiavn, I quickly began to ascend a barren range of hills, abounding in green-stone trap- rock and zodlites, from the summit of which there is a magnificent view of the whole sur- roundimig country, with glimpses of the cloud- capped sumnniits of the neighboring islands. Beautiful little valleys, dotted with the sod-cov- ered huts of the shepherds and fishermen, sweep down to the ~vaters edge a thousand feet below; weird black bogs and fields of scoria and burned earth lie on the slopes of the distant hills to the right; and to the left are rugged cliffs, jutting out of the sea like huge castles, around which myriads of birds continually hover, piercing the air with their wild screams. The wind blew in such fierce gusts over the bleak and desolate range of crags upon which I stood that I was glad enough to seek shelter down on the lee- side. It now occurred to me to go in search of a ruined church of which I bad read in some trav- elers journal said to he withiii four or five miles of Thiorshava. Some artificial piles of stones, near the ledge upon which I had descended, in- dicated the existence of a trail. On my way do~vn a legion of birds about the size of puffins began to gather around, with fierce cries and ~varning niotions, as if determined to dispute my ~rogress. They flew backward and forward within a few feet of any head, flapping their wings furiously, and uttering the most terrific cries of rage and alarmso that I was sorely puzzled to know what was the matter. It was not long before I came upon some of their nests, which of course explained the difficulty. Hav- ing no immediate use for eggs or feathers, I left the nests unmolested and proceeded on any way. In about an hour I came suddenly upon a small green valley that lay some five hundred feet be- low, directly on the waters edge. By some mis- chance I had lost the trail, and in order to de- scend was obliged to slide and scranible down the cliffsan experiment that I presently dis. covered would probably cost me a broken neck if persisted in; for when there seemed to be no further obstruction, I came all at once upon a precipice.at least sixty feet deep without a single foothold or other means of descent than a clear jump to the bottom. Not disposed to follow the example of Sam Patch on dry land, I re- luctantly turned back. By dint of scrambling and climbing, and slipping down various cliffs 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. KiCK Ga()2. cud slopes, I at length reached a point from we can communicate our ideas when necessity which I had a view of seine ruins and farm compels us to depend upon our ingenuity. Be- nooses still some ditance below. Follo~ving fore I had parted from that family the whole ~ba line of the regular trail till it struck into the matter was perfectly explained the history of eiiff~, I had no further difficulty in reaching the their abseut relative was quite clear to me, and valley. they had a very fair conception of the kind of The good people at the farmhousea family country in which he lived. Upon no considera by the iiame of Peterssenreceived me in the tioi~ would they receive compensation for the kindest manner, with many expressions of xvon lunch, and they even sceme(l offended when 1 der at the risk I had run in crossing the motint- endeavored to press it 111)011 theta. This, from am without a guide. It was with considerable people whom I had never seen bctbrea 1)1cm difficulty we made ourselves understood. None country funile loin g in a wilderness where such of the family spoke any language exempt their luxuries as sugar and coffee could only be bad own. The son, indeed, a fine yotng man of at considerable expensewas absolutely refresh- twenty, understood a few words of English but ing. For the first time since tnv arrival in En that ~xas all. There is somethin nevertheless, rope, after having travers~d the whole Continent, in genuine kindness and hospitality that makes I had encountered a specimen of the human race itself intelligible without the aid of language. capable of refusing nioney. Subsequently I I was immediately invited into the house, and learned that this was the common practice in wlnle young Peterssen entertained me with 01(1 the Faroc Islands. The poorest shepherd freely prints and Faroese books his mother prepared offers to the stranger the hospitality of his hut an excellent lunch. Tired and worried after and it is a creed among these worthy people not my trip I could offer no objection. Never to accept pay for coffee and bread, or indeed any shall I forget the coffee and creata, and the but- thing else they mtiay have to offer in the way of ter and bread and delicate fruit-tarts Placed on entertainment. My fellow-passengers were sim- the nice white table-cloth by the good Mrs. ilarly treated in Thorshavu, where visitors arc Peterssen. I ate and drank and glowed all over more frequent and the customs of the country with a childlike relish of the good things, while less l)ritnitive. tile whole family gathered round and tried to The great object of interest at Kirk Giiboe is make me understand that they had a relative in the ancient church, from which the phtce derivee California, who lived in the mines at a place its name; a long, low, stone bitilding, white- called Six-mnile-bar, and tltat they were glad to washed and covered with a sod roof; but, owing see a Californian, and wanted to know all about to repeated repairs, now presettting no particular California. It is wonderful with how few words traces of antiquity, althmottgh reported to have A CALIFORNIAN IN ICELAND. 159 bceu built in the eighth century. I have no bad given me, announced his intention of seeing data in reference to this interesting relic, and am me safe over the mountain. In vain I assured not aware that antiquarians have ever attempted him, that, however pleasant his company would to trace oat its origin. The probability is, that be, I had no apprehension of losing the way this it was built liv sotue of those Culdee auchorites time. Go be would, and go be did; anti when of ~vhom Dasent speaks as the first settlers of we l)arted on the top of the mountain, in plain Iceland. sight of Thorshavn, be cordially shook mc by the 1~he interior of the church contains an altar hand, and said many kind words, which I could an(l sonic wooden carvings on the headboards only interpret to mean, that he and all his kith of the lle~vs, evidently of great antiquity. It is and kin wished me a pleasant voyage to Iceland, lml)055ib10 to conjecture from their appearance nod nuoiy years of health and happiness. whether they are five hundred or a thousand When I now recall the fine intelligent face yeirs oldat least without more research than of this von ug man, his bright dark eyes, healthy a casual tourist can bestow upon them. coml)leXioO, and strong, wellknit frame, the la There is also within a few steps of the farm- tent energy ha all his movements, the genial tim- house a much larger and more pictnresqne rtmin plicity of his manners and his evident thirst for of a ebnrch, built in a later style of architecture, knowledge, I can not help feeling something The only information I could get about this mm akin to regret that so nauch good material should was, that it dates back as far as the fifteenth celi be waste(l in the obscurity of a shepherds life. tory. The walls are of rough stone well riot So gifted by nature, what might not such a youth together, and now staiad roofless and mosscoy achieve in an appropriate sIsliere of action ? And ered, inhabited o~ihv by crows and swallows, yet, perhaps, it is better for him that he should The doors and windows are in the Gothic stvl e. spend his life among the barren cliffs of ~tromoe, A sketch made from the (loor of the old church with no more companions than his dog and his mrst mentioned, embracing the residence of the Peterssen family, with a glimpse of the cliffs aol rugged ledges bahind l1~011 which their flocks graze, will give the best idea of the whole prom- 1505. Ifaving thus pleasantly nero pied a few hours at Kirk GL;boe, I bide adieu to the worthy fain lv who h id so hos1Ktably eiitertained me, and was about to set out for tliorshavn, whemi voalig Peterssen, not content with the directions he sheep, thaii jostle among men in the great ooter world to learn at last the bitter lesson that the eve is not satisfied with riches, nor the tuider standiiig with knowledge. On the way down to the Valley of Thiorshayn I met a luau nionuted on a sh~aggy little mama ster, which in almost nay other country would have been mistaken for a shiecies of sheep. As this was a fair specimen of a Faroese horse and his rider, I sat down on a rock after they had FARM-il US! A NO ri 1(30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of Thorshavn came down to the wharf to bid us farewell. In half an hour more we were all on hoard. Up anchor! was the order, and once more we went steam- ing on our way. Short as our sojourn had been among these primitive people, it furnished us with many pleasant rem- iniscences. Their ge- nial hospitality and siml)le good-nature, together with their litter ignorance of the outer world, formed the theme of various amusing anecdotes (luring the remainder of the passage. Fa- vored by a southerly wind and a stock of good coal, we made the southeastcri~ Point of Iceland in a little over two days from Thorshava. It would he dim- cult to conceive any thing more iml)ressiye than this first view of the land of snow and fire. A low stretch of black hoggy coast to the right ; dark cliffs of lava in front; far Passed and took the best view of them I could in tile back-ground, range after range of bleak, get. snow~cal)ped mountains, the fiery Jokuls dimly Late in the afternoon the scattered passengers visible through drifting masses of fog; to the were gathered together, and the good people left a broken wall of red, black, and blue rocks, li& TuRAL bl~1DO FAl(OE5v ON ll(v~senAeK. A ALl ~ORNJAN IN. ICELAND. 161 weird and surf-beaten, stretcbing as far as the eye could reachthis was Iceland! All along the grim, riftcd coast the dre~ d marks of fire and flood and desok tion were visible. Detached masses of lava, gnarled and s ~ ~gy like huge clinkers, seemed tossed out into the sea; towers, buttresses, and battlements, shaped by the very elements of destruction, reared their ste-n crests galust the waves; glaciers lay glittering upon the blackened slopes behind; and foaming tor- rents of snow-water burst throug the rifted crags in front, and mingled their rage with the wild rage of the surfall was battle and ruiu and desolation. As we approached the point called Portland, a colossal bridge opened into view, so symmet- rical in its outline that it was difficult to believe it was not of artificial construction. The arch is about fifty feet high by thirty in width, and ifords shelter to innumerable flocks of birds whose nests are built in the crevices under- neath. Solan-geese, eider-ducks, and sea-gulls cover the dizzy heights overhead, an whales have been known to pass through the passage be- low. Great numbers of blackflsh and porpoises bound in this vicinity. From time to time, as we swept along on our way, we could discern a lonesome hut high up on the shore, with a fen sheep and cattle on the slopes of the adjacent hills, but for the most part the coast was barren and desolate. Earlyon the following morning the sun-capped peaks of Mount Hecla were visible. There has been no eruption from this mountain since 1845. The principal crater lies 5210 feet above the VOL. XXVI.No. 152.L level of the sea, and is distant fifteen miles from the shore. Toward noon we made the Westmann Isles, a small rocky group some ten miles distant from the main island. A shing and trading estab- lishment, o~ ned by a company of Dunes, is lo- cated on one of these islands. The Arcteres touches twice a year to deliver and receive a mail. On the occasion of our visit a boat came out with a hardy-looking crew of Danes to re- ceive the mail-bug. It was doubtless a matter of great rejoicing to them to obtain news from home. I had barely time to make a rough on line of the islands as we lay off the settlement. The chief interest attached to the Westmann group is, that it is supposed to have been visited by Columbus in 1477, fifteen years prior to hL voyage of discovery to the shores of America. It is nov generally conceded that the Icelunders were the ori~inal discoverers of the American continent. ecent antiquarian researches tend to estThiish the fact that they had advanced as far to the southward as Massachusetts in the tenth century. They held colonies on the coasts of Greenland and Labrador, and must have had frequent intercourse with the Indh us farther south. Columbus in all probability obtained some valuable data from these hardy adventurers. The date of his visit to Iceland is well authen- ticated by Beamish, ~fn, and other erinent writers on the early discoveries of the Northmen. Nothing could surpass the desolate grandeur of the coast as we approached the point of Ileyk- janess. It was of an almost infern~ I blackness. The whole country seemed upturn, rifted, shat COAST OF IcELAnD. 162 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. tered, and scattered about iii a vast chaos of iuin. Passing a sin~ular rock standing atone SOIO.~ hugo cliffs of lava split down to their bases top- twenty miles off the land, called the llIcal-soci pled over the surf. Rocks of every conceivable we soon changed onr course and bore up for the shape, scorched and blasted with fire, wrested harbor of Reykjavik. By the time we reached from tile main and hurled into the sea, battled the anchorage our voyage from Thorshavn had with the waves, their black scraggy points pierc- occupied exactly three days and six honrs. ing the mist like giant hands upthrown to smite Trusting that the re der will pardon me for or sink in a fierce death-struggle. The wild the frequent delays to which I have subjected havoc wrought in tile conflict of elements was him since we joined our fortunes at Copenhagen. appalling. Birds screamed over the fearful wreck I shall now proceed to the important labors of of matter. The surf from tile inrolling waves the enterprise with this solemn understanding broke against tlle charred and shattered desert that the journey before us is pretty rough, and of ruin with a terrilic roar. Columns of spray the prospect is strong that, in our random dash shot up over the blackened fragments of lava, at the wonders of Iceland, we will encounter while in every opening the lashed waters, discol- some perilous adventures by flood and field; but ored by the collision, seethed and surged as in a if I dont carry him safely and satisfactorily huge caldron. Verily there is One whose fury through them all, he must console himself bY is poured oat like fire; the rocks are thrown the reflection that many a good man has beeu down l)y him ; the mountains quake and the hills sacrificed in the pursuit of knowledge, and that melt, and the earth is burned at his presence. he xviii smmfihr in excellent company. ALONE. Oil wind of autumn, wandering fice Oer all the far Virginian hills, My spirit sighs for wings like thee, Till agony my murmur stills! For somewhere neath tilis starless round Which shrouds our sorroxving land tonight, You pass the lonely grave he found, So dear to love, so lost to sight! This dim, vast Night is but his tomb Tile darkness is his only shroud, But pitying angels walk the gloom And lean from every passing cloud. Ye loving children of the skies, I would I might descend xvirh you, To xvatch the sacred dust that lies Forsaken by a soul so true! Mv homeless spirit feels its chain, Yet clasps sad memories while it may; Oh xvhen shall ansxvering love again Add light to een a heavenly day! My blessed Past! against this cloud Your setting splendors brighter shine, For never human heart xvas boxved Oer wreck of dearer hope than mine. From naught of earth my heart can win A balm to cure this deepening woe; I feel that every sighing xvind Talks of the grief xvhich xvounded so Oh Father! reach from heaven thine bane, And lift my fainting spirit up; I can not walk this shifting sand, Or drink alone Lifes bitter cup! TIlE MEAL-mAca.

Alone 162-163

162 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. tered, and scattered about iii a vast chaos of iuin. Passing a sin~ular rock standing atone SOIO.~ hugo cliffs of lava split down to their bases top- twenty miles off the land, called the llIcal-soci pled over the surf. Rocks of every conceivable we soon changed onr course and bore up for the shape, scorched and blasted with fire, wrested harbor of Reykjavik. By the time we reached from tile main and hurled into the sea, battled the anchorage our voyage from Thorshavn had with the waves, their black scraggy points pierc- occupied exactly three days and six honrs. ing the mist like giant hands upthrown to smite Trusting that the re der will pardon me for or sink in a fierce death-struggle. The wild the frequent delays to which I have subjected havoc wrought in tile conflict of elements was him since we joined our fortunes at Copenhagen. appalling. Birds screamed over the fearful wreck I shall now proceed to the important labors of of matter. The surf from tile inrolling waves the enterprise with this solemn understanding broke against tlle charred and shattered desert that the journey before us is pretty rough, and of ruin with a terrilic roar. Columns of spray the prospect is strong that, in our random dash shot up over the blackened fragments of lava, at the wonders of Iceland, we will encounter while in every opening the lashed waters, discol- some perilous adventures by flood and field; but ored by the collision, seethed and surged as in a if I dont carry him safely and satisfactorily huge caldron. Verily there is One whose fury through them all, he must console himself bY is poured oat like fire; the rocks are thrown the reflection that many a good man has beeu down l)y him ; the mountains quake and the hills sacrificed in the pursuit of knowledge, and that melt, and the earth is burned at his presence. he xviii smmfihr in excellent company. ALONE. Oil wind of autumn, wandering fice Oer all the far Virginian hills, My spirit sighs for wings like thee, Till agony my murmur stills! For somewhere neath tilis starless round Which shrouds our sorroxving land tonight, You pass the lonely grave he found, So dear to love, so lost to sight! This dim, vast Night is but his tomb Tile darkness is his only shroud, But pitying angels walk the gloom And lean from every passing cloud. Ye loving children of the skies, I would I might descend xvirh you, To xvatch the sacred dust that lies Forsaken by a soul so true! Mv homeless spirit feels its chain, Yet clasps sad memories while it may; Oh xvhen shall ansxvering love again Add light to een a heavenly day! My blessed Past! against this cloud Your setting splendors brighter shine, For never human heart xvas boxved Oer wreck of dearer hope than mine. From naught of earth my heart can win A balm to cure this deepening woe; I feel that every sighing xvind Talks of the grief xvhich xvounded so Oh Father! reach from heaven thine bane, And lift my fainting spirit up; I can not walk this shifting sand, Or drink alone Lifes bitter cup! TIlE MEAL-mAca. CARDS AND DICE. 163 CARDS AND DJCE. MAN has been called a Laughing Animal but so is the hyena. A Cooking Ani- malhut the monkey was roasting chestnuts when he had occasion to use the cats paw. A Tool-using Animal, says Dr. Franklinhut the Baltimore Oriole and the Indian Tailor-bird sew with their hills, which are their most appro- priate needles. A Gambling Animal he is. The folly of venturing his own property on the chance of winning that of another, is peculiar to Platos featherless biped. There is no well-authenticated instance of any of the lower orders of animals having ever played a game of chance. The silliest cur is not tempted to risk his dinner at odd and even, nor will the most sheepish of sheep draw lots for choice of pasturage. Even the learned pig, that suburban miracle which tells people their fortunes by the cards, has never learned the value of a trump. Man is the only animal content to stake not only money but happiness on the treacherous turn of a die, or the chance deal of a pack of cards. Not only money and happiness indeed, but his time, which is, or should be, of more value than moneyhis habits of regularity, industry, and perseverance. And this, though all wisdom, human and divine, exclaims against the waste, though mor- alists have besought, though satirists have ridiculed him, though mathemati- cians have demonstrated that in the long- run he must lose. For allowing that money is the measure of human happiness (which it is with the gambler), and that the number of winners is equal to the number of losers, which can occnr only where there is fair play, it is yet plain that the sum lost bears a greater propor- tion to the fortnne of the loser than the sum gained bears to that of the winner. That is to say, suppose two players sit down with one thou- sand dollars each; one loses five hundred dol-. lars, which the other gains. In this case the capital of the loser is diminished in the ratio of 2: 1, while that of the winner is increased in the ratio of only 2: 3. In plain language, one loses half his fortune, but the other has added only a third to his pile. La Place, in his Philoso- phic Essay on Probahilities, calculates this cer- tain loss of happiness by play at thirteen per cent. Gaming, says a distinguished author, is the nursery of covetousness and dissimulation, inducing to fraud, quarrels, forgery, disgrace, and death. Counting gaming as an adopted ~ice, Lord Chesterfield said that ten times more people are ruined by adopting a vice than from natural inclination to it. The road has done me justice, Gay makes his highwayman exclaim, but the gaming-table has heen my ruin. Mangling done here, was the sign a ruined gamester secretly placed on the ~vall in the principal gambling-room at Crockfords, in London. These, says the heroine in the Beggars Opera, pointing to the highwaymans pistols, are the tools of a man of honor; cards and dice are only fit for cowardly cheats who prey upon their friends. A Lacedemonman em. bassador, being sent to Corinth, commissioned to conclude a treaty of friendship and alliance with the Corinthians, found the captains and senaturs- playing at hazard. He returned home without attempting to accoml)lish his mission. 2. woe TO oacaeAaos. 1.Time CUEVAmAEa 0. A POi~TUOUESE CARD PACK 1693.

Charles Nordhoff Nordhoff, Charles Cards and Dice 163-176

CARDS AND DICE. 163 CARDS AND DJCE. MAN has been called a Laughing Animal but so is the hyena. A Cooking Ani- malhut the monkey was roasting chestnuts when he had occasion to use the cats paw. A Tool-using Animal, says Dr. Franklinhut the Baltimore Oriole and the Indian Tailor-bird sew with their hills, which are their most appro- priate needles. A Gambling Animal he is. The folly of venturing his own property on the chance of winning that of another, is peculiar to Platos featherless biped. There is no well-authenticated instance of any of the lower orders of animals having ever played a game of chance. The silliest cur is not tempted to risk his dinner at odd and even, nor will the most sheepish of sheep draw lots for choice of pasturage. Even the learned pig, that suburban miracle which tells people their fortunes by the cards, has never learned the value of a trump. Man is the only animal content to stake not only money but happiness on the treacherous turn of a die, or the chance deal of a pack of cards. Not only money and happiness indeed, but his time, which is, or should be, of more value than moneyhis habits of regularity, industry, and perseverance. And this, though all wisdom, human and divine, exclaims against the waste, though mor- alists have besought, though satirists have ridiculed him, though mathemati- cians have demonstrated that in the long- run he must lose. For allowing that money is the measure of human happiness (which it is with the gambler), and that the number of winners is equal to the number of losers, which can occnr only where there is fair play, it is yet plain that the sum lost bears a greater propor- tion to the fortnne of the loser than the sum gained bears to that of the winner. That is to say, suppose two players sit down with one thou- sand dollars each; one loses five hundred dol-. lars, which the other gains. In this case the capital of the loser is diminished in the ratio of 2: 1, while that of the winner is increased in the ratio of only 2: 3. In plain language, one loses half his fortune, but the other has added only a third to his pile. La Place, in his Philoso- phic Essay on Probahilities, calculates this cer- tain loss of happiness by play at thirteen per cent. Gaming, says a distinguished author, is the nursery of covetousness and dissimulation, inducing to fraud, quarrels, forgery, disgrace, and death. Counting gaming as an adopted ~ice, Lord Chesterfield said that ten times more people are ruined by adopting a vice than from natural inclination to it. The road has done me justice, Gay makes his highwayman exclaim, but the gaming-table has heen my ruin. Mangling done here, was the sign a ruined gamester secretly placed on the ~vall in the principal gambling-room at Crockfords, in London. These, says the heroine in the Beggars Opera, pointing to the highwaymans pistols, are the tools of a man of honor; cards and dice are only fit for cowardly cheats who prey upon their friends. A Lacedemonman em. bassador, being sent to Corinth, commissioned to conclude a treaty of friendship and alliance with the Corinthians, found the captains and senaturs- playing at hazard. He returned home without attempting to accoml)lish his mission. 2. woe TO oacaeAaos. 1.Time CUEVAmAEa 0. A POi~TUOUESE CARD PACK 1693. 164 TIARPEES NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. saying that he would not sully the glory of the Spartans by mak- ing a leaguewith gain- hiers. I formerly loved cards and dice, says shrewd old Mon- taigne, hut have long since left them oft only for this reason, that though I carry my losses as handsomely as another, I was not quiet within. The an- cients worshiped the goddess of Fortuno; but Juvenal says, No wise man puts his trust in her. Whether they win or lose, says old Burton, their winnings are not For- tunes gifts hut haits; the common catastro- phe is beggary, and as the plague takes away life doth gaming goods. The civilians of old set guardians over such hrain-shk prodigals as they did over madmen, to mod- erate their expenses, that they should not so loosely consume their fortunes, to the utter undoing of their families. That which was once their livelihood, and should have maintained wife, children, and family,is now spent and gone, wrote Charles VII. of France, in an edict against gambling; and again Burton writes: For most part, in these kind of disports tis not art or skill, hut subtlety, cunny-catch7 ing, knavery, chance. and fortune carries all away. Theynotonly played hut also cheated in the ancient times. Cams Caligula converted his 8.JACQUEMIN ORINOOTTNEUE5 CARD. palace into a gambling-house, where he fiec~ed from the pursuit itself; for which Seneca, in his the young nobility of his days. If we may sarcastical relation of the Emperors apotheosis, credit Horace, they could cog a die in the An- brings him, after many adventures, to hell, where gustan age as well as in the English Georgian. he is judged to play constantly with a bottom- The Emperor Claudins, who was so exceeding- less dice-box, hy which his hopes were to he con- ly prodigal in his play that he adventured 400,000 tinnally fed hut never satisfied. Nero was the sesterces on the cast of a die, wrote a treatise most infatuated gambler of his age. Plutarch upon gaining, in those hours which he spared mentions that the Romans matched quails for ~CARDS AND DICE. 165 generally, but wrongly, stated that cards were invented by one Jacque- mill Gringouneur, a painter, in 1393, to amuse Charles VII. of France when be lost his reason from a sun- stroke. This gave occasion, how- ever, for a very shrewd reply to a lawyer in a Scotch court. Sir Wal- ter Scott used to tell the story of Dr. Gregory, an eminent Edinburgh I)ractitiOner, ~vhose testimony in a certain case went to prove the insan- ity of a gentleman whose mental ca- pacity was the point at issue. On cross-examination the Doctor was forced to admit that the patient played admirably at whist. And do you seriously say, Doc- tor, asked the learned counsel, that a person having a superior capacity for a game so difficult, and which requires, in a pre-eminent de- gree, memory, judgment, and com- bination, can he at the same time deranged in his understanding ? I am no card-player, was the reply; but I ha~ e read in history that cards were invented for the amusement of an insane King. We shall not follow the writers on the History of Playing Cards in their various attempts to prove the extreme antiquity of cards. It matters little ~vhether Europe received cards from India or China, or whether chess and cards had their origin in the same idea, and were both intended to fig- ure the contests between the differ- ent orders or classes which compose a state. It will suffice for us to know that cards are first mentioned in European history, in the Annals of I~rovence, of the year 1361 ; while a MS. recently discovered seems to prove that they were known twenty wagers; and describes Antony before the battle years earlier. An edict prohibiting the use of of Actium lamenting, as though his genius cow- cards was published by John I. of Castile in ered before that of his adversary, that the very 1387. In 1464 the English Parliament for- quails of Augustus ~vere superior to his. We bade their importation, and it is probable that must not forget that the Roman soldiers drew they were introduced not earlier than 1400, as lots for the vesture of our Saviour. Sophocles Chaucer makes no mention of them. The says of Palamedes that he invented dice to pack consisted at various times of 36 cards, 48 serve instead of a dinner, which office they among the Germans, who omitted the ace, and fulfill to this day for many a man whom they the Spaniards, who had no ten spots; and, final- have robbed of the means of paying for his ly, 52. Court-cards were originally known as dinner. The convulsion of nature which over- coot-cards; i. e., cards hearing figures who were whelmed Pompeii surprised a party of gentle- coated or dressed, in contradistinction to the men at the hazard-table, where they were dis- other devices, which were of flowers or some- covered two thousand years after, with the dice times of animals. In the early Italian and firmly clenched in their fists. Spanish cards the modern spade was the spade A grave elderly gentleman observed to a fe- or sword, allegorically representing the nobility; male relative, who was an indefatigable whist- cappe, cups or chalices, represented the clergy; player, that there was a great deal of time lost deaari, money, the citizens; and Sastoai, clubs at cards. The lady replied, with infinite natce- or sticks, the peasantry. The French substi- tt, What! in shuffling and cutting? Ay, tuted for the sJ)a(la the pique or lance-head of so there is, but how can we avoid it ? It is the knights, representing nobility; czur, hearts 4.swoans AS TRUMPS.HFTEEaT1I csuTdav. 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (sounding like ckceer, a choir) for the clergy; trefle, clover or trefoil, for the husbandmen, who were the middle class before commerce or manu- factures became important; and carrcau, a dia- mond-shaped arrow-head, as the symbol of the common soldiery. In modern cards the signifi- cance of the symbols has been lost sight of, and the names and suits have been curiously mixed up, so that the sword (No. 4) has been turned into a spade (oh significant change!); the clerical chalice has become a heart; the trefie, or clover- leaf, is the basloni of the Spaniard and our club; and the arrow-head is the diamond. The French first introduced a queen among the coot-cards. It appears that cards were long known as the Books of the four Kings, Rabe lais mentioning them by this title, among the amusements of his hero, Gargantua. They were also called quartes, having reference to the four suits; and from this, it is supposed, came the word cords in English. Cards were first brought to America by the Spanish discoverers. There is an old legend that Columbus, on the eventful night before he made the land, kept himself awake by a game of primero; and Herera relates that when Montezuma was made prison- er by Cortdz in 1519, he took great pleasure in seeing the Spanish soldiers p1ev at cards. The Hindoo cards, of which we give the Honors (No. 6) of an eight-suit pack, are usu- ally circular. The suits are either eight or ten there is no queen, the two court-cards being a king and his prime minister; the material of which the specimens under consideration are made is canvas, very stifflyvarnished; and the fig. ures and marks were not stenciled, but put on by hand. Each suit has a different color, the eight being respectively fawn, black, brown, white, green, blue, red, yellow. The pack is com- posed of 96 cards, and the common cards are numbered from one to ten, as with us. Four suits are named superior, and four inferior; and in the superior the ten is next in value to the Wuzeer, or prime minister, while in the in- ferior the ace is next, followed by the deuce, etc. (No. 5.) The Chinese, who arc reckless gamblers, have also several kinds of cards. In the Chinese En. cyclopedia, called CYiing-tsze-teng, it is stated that Teen-tsze-pae, dotted cards, were invented in 1120 A.D. The general name for cards in China is (be-pee, or paper tickets; and the kind most com- monly used, of which several specimens are repre- sented (Nos. 7, 8, 9), are called Tseen-een-che- pee a thousand times ten thousand cards. The pack has thirty cards: three suits of nine O.nINCoOsTANI cARes. CARDS AND DICE. 167 each, and three independent cards, which are ble. During the fifteenth centnry cards were superior to the rest. Figures 1 and 2 of our executed hy means of stencil plates. We give specimens are the first and third of the suit call- several figures from a pack made in Germany ed nine myriads of strings of heads ; Figs. 3 ahout 1440; here amy he seen the original of and 4 are the ace and tray of the suit of nine the present diamond suit, as well as of the units of cakes ; Fig. 5 is the ace of the suit of nine units of chains ; and Fig. 6 is one of the superior cards called the white flower. Our engravings show the proper size of these cards. The Chinese have several other varieties, one of which is called the hundred boys cards; an- other chariots, horses, and guns; and a third, curiously devised on the principle of some of our historical cards, is called a thousand times ten thousand mens names cards. Cards were not long introduced in Europe ere gambling with them became the rage among high and low. We read that at the heginning of the fifteenth century this passion was so prevalent in France, that persons who were addicted to it endeavored to restrain and guard themselves by voluntary bonds, resembling our modern temper- ance pledges, with the exception that there was a penalty for breaking the pledge. The illus- tration (No. 11), a copy from an illuminated MS. of this period, not only shows what kind of cards were then in use, but proves also that women played, andwhat would seem a great hardship nowthat players stood around the ta 6.nxxnoo OOUILT-cAllus. 168 HARPERs NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. SCHINESE CARDS. CChINESE CARDS, TSEEN-WAN~CIIEPAE. club, which is there represented as an acorn. uf this production of reformed art that he sooi (Nos. 12, 13.) became rich. In the Bibliotheque de Roi al The vice of gaming with cards seems to have Paris there is an old wood-cut, dated 1454, of spread over Europe with frightful rapidity in the which our illustration (No. 14) is a fac-simile, fifteenth century. Even the clergy were not cx- and which is supposed to commemorate this empt from the vice, as is shown by the story of a event. pretty little game of bluff played by Pope Leo X., In 1452 John Capistran, a disciple of St. Ber- who seems to have understood himself very nardin, preached for three hours at Nuremherg, well. His Holiness was playing at a game some- the head-quarters then of the card manufacture, what similar to our Western hluff, and found against luxury and gaming. So great was the himself in possession of a hand which could not excitement of the populace that, on the close of be beaten except in the contingency of his hay- the sermon, there were brought into the market- ing to play last. His opponent also held a very place and burned 76 jaunting sledges, 3640 back- good hand (did his Holiness deel?the prudent gammon boards, 40,000 dice, and cards inun- historian does not say), and put up a heavy merable. stake. Give me a point, and I will see you! In 1509 Thomas Murner, a Franciscan friary cried the Pope. His opponent, thinking him taking advantage of the universnl love of cards1 beaten, doubled the former stake. His Holiness, published an exposition of logic in the shape of having secured the advantage, called him, a pack of cards. These logic cards, of which we and swept his pile. give a sample, had such. success that he publish Not all the clergy played at cards, however. ed in 1518 an introduction to the civil law in Many of them traveled about the country to de- the same form. It is impossible at this time to nounce the practice, and did so with good effect in explain either of these treatises; and it is only many cases. St. Bernardin, of Sienna, preached known that in the card (No. 16) the star is meant with such power to the Bolognese, in 1423, that his to signify the refulgent glory the ingenious author hearers made a fire in the public l)lnce and threw has thrown upon his subject. This did not end their cards into it. One, a card-maker, alarmed the matter, however. In 1651 Baptist Pendleton at Bernardins denunciations, not only of game- published Scientiall Cards, in which he aimed sters but also of all who supplied them with cards to convey a thorough knowledge of grammar by and dice, said to him: Father, I have not the use of a pack of cards and a key to the puz- learned any other business but that of painting zle. These were followed at intervals hy Geo- cards; and if you deprive me of that you de- graphical and Heraldic Cards, and presently the prive me of life, and my destitute family of the Scientiall Card system seems to have had quite means of earning subsistence. a vogue, for in 1679 there were published cards To which the saint: If you do not know displaying the iniquities of all the Popish plots what to paint, paint this figure, and you will against the security of England, historical, rhe- never have cause to regret having done so. torical, and satirical cards in great variety; and With which words he took a tablet and drew on finally, to cap the climax, in 1692 was invented it a figure of a radiant sun, with the name of and published the game of carving at table, ac- Jesus indicated in the centre by the monogram curately and easily taught in a pack of fifty- I. II S. The card painter followed the saints two neatly executed pasteboards. In these cards alivice; and so numerous were the purchasers the suit of Hearts is occupied by flesh, that of CARDS AND DICE. 169 Diamonds by fowl, Clubs by fish, and Spades by baked-meats. The King of Hearts presides over a sirloin of beef of Diamonds over a turkey, of Clubs over a pickled-herring, and of Spades over a venison pasty. Though it is a remarkable fact that wherever cards were introduced in any country of Europe there resulted an immediate and great spread of the passion for gaming, it must not be supposed that the gamhling population depended upon cards alone for excitement. In England, so early as the reign of John Lackland, the chances of the dice constituted the chief amusements of the great. Matthew Paris reproaches the bar- ons who wrested Magna Charta from John with spending their time in luxury and gambling with dice when their presence was required in the field. In a wood-cut on the title-page of Woe to Drunkards, a sermon preached by Samuel Ward, of Ipswich, in 1627 (which cut we copy, No. 2), the vices of that age are typically contrasted with the virtues of a former one. Charles II., who never learned wisdom, gambled with his court- iers. I will bet my soul to an orange on the game! called his Majesty to Rochester. If your Majesty will bet odds I will take them, was the cool rejoinder. Henry Cheney, created by Qneen Elizabeth Baron of Tudington, played at dice once with Henry II. of France, and won of him a diamond of great price at one cast. What would you have done had you lost ? inquired the King. I have, said young Cheney, with true Brit- ish brag, sheeps-tails enough in Kent, with their wool, to buy a better diamond than this Cnsar Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, when he had lost many thousand crowns at a sitting, at dice, said, No matter; the sins of the Ger- mans pay for this ! alluding to the fact that his father, Pope Alexander VI., gave him his income out of the profits arising from the sale of indulgences in Germany. Joannes Gonzaga losing a great sum of money at dice, his son Alexander, who stood by, complained thereof; whereupon his father said, Alexan- der the Great, hearing of a victory that his father had gained, was seen to be sad at the news, fearing that there would be nothing left for him to gain; but my son Alexander is afflicted at my loss, fearing that there will be no- thing left for him to lose. In an old life of the Duke of Esper- non it is related that, in 1603, a famous Italian gamester, Pimentel by name, hearing what a humorer of play reigned at the French court, caused a great number of false dice to be made and secretly conveyed to Paris, he only knowing the secret. He there- upon, by means of emissaries, bought up all the dice in the market, and sup- plied his own in their places. This done, he obtained an introduction at court, and gamhled to so good purposeas well he mightthat he cleaned out great part of the nobilitys pockets, and even won considerable sums of the king. Playing with the Duke of Espernon, he got all his ready money and many of his jewels; and after these won of him a piece of ambergris valued at 20,000 crowns, the greatest that ever was seen in Europe, which he afterward sold to the Republic of Venice. It is noticeable that whistunder the name of whiskwas long thought a game fit only for servants, one which their masters did not de- mean themselves by playing. When it was in- troduced into polite assemblages, however, it at once took possession of the gambling world. How devoted that world grew to it some instances will testify. About 1739 it became the mode for 11.A cAm-PARTY OF THE FIFTEENTH OENTCEY. 10. NINE OF PAROQUCTS, 14S0. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. children to have card-parties; and it is related in the Gentlemans Magazine for that year that a young girl, under fourteen, having lost consid- erably over her rubber of whist, rem~irked that there was much more spirit in games of chance (she meant dice); and desired to know if the late ridiculous Act against gaming would pre- vent betting upon things ? In 1759 it became the fashion to hold card- parties in the rooms of lying-in ladies. Horace Walpole writes: We played at Lady Hert- fords last week, the last night of her lying-in, till deep into Sunday morning, after she and her lord were retired. It is now adjourned to Mrs. Fitzroys, whose child the town calls Pamela. I propose that, instead of receiving cards for as- semblies, one should send in the morning to Dr. Hunters, the man-midwife, to know where there is loo that evening. The young men of fashion were in the habit of losing five, ten, or fifteen thousand pounds in an evening at Almacks. Lord Stavordale, not yet of age, lost eleven thousand pounds in one evening, but won it all back at one throw of the dice. He swore a great oath, Now, if I had been playing deep, I might have won millions! Pay 1500 to Lord , said the Marquis of Hertford one night to the croupier at Whites. This was the loss on one rubber at whist. Wal- pole remarks with disgust that, at Paris, above 150 men of quality live by keeping public gain- ing-houses. The men who keep the hazard-table at the Duke de Gisvres pay him twelve guineas per night for the privilege. Even the Princesses of the Blood are dirty enough to have shares in the banks kept at their houses. Toward the close of the last century it became the fashion also in England, and the principal gaming-tables and faro-banks in London were kept by titled ladies, who took pay for their services. The grandsons of the Duchess of Marlborough had a rule never to dirty their fingers with silver, and, when they went to the gambling-clubs, used to throw a guinea to the chairmen who carried them, who generally fought for this remunera- tive honor. Walpole names one of his young acquaintance, with similar scruples as to touch- ing dirty silver, who used daily to give a flower- girl half a guinea for roses for his button-hole. Betting was the prime amusement of all class- es, from king to beggar; and nothing was too trivial, ridiculous, or disgusting to het upon. The utmost excitement would prevail, and ru- inous sums were staked on which of two drops of rain coursing down the window-pane would soonest reach the hottom; or which of two mag- gets would achieve in a certain time the great- est distance across the cheese-board; or which of two betters would pull the longest straw from the rick. What will you lay ? was the ques- tion in every bodys mouth, and a het settled every dispute. January 9, 1755, Lord Orferd, l2.SEvEN OF CLUas, OLD GERMAN. 13.5EVEN or IGAMONDS, OLD GLUMAN. CARDS AND DICE. 171 I dont know; I have no bets upon it. Mr. Hare, a celebrated wit, meeting Major Brereton at Bath, where both gam- bled heavily, asked him How the world went with him ? Pretty well, an- swered Brereton, allud- ing to some successes at the gaming-table; but I have met with a sad misfortune lately. I have lost Mrs. Brere- ton. Was it at hazard or quinze? asked Hare. Again, a man insured his life, securing to him- self, however, as was then often done, the privilege of suicide without inval- idating the policy. He carried the insurers to dinner at a tavern, where they met several other persons, and, after din- ner, said to them: Gen- tlemen, it is fit you should be acquainted with the company. These honest men are tradesmen to whom L was in debt, without meaus of paying I them but by your assist ance; and now I am your humble servant ; with which he pulled out a pistol and shot himself. Lord Lauderdale once staked five thousand pounds upon a single card at faro. George Fox played twenty-two consecutive hours, losing at the rate of five hun- dred pounds per hour. Major Aubreys favorite toast was, Play: like the air we breathe, if we have it not we die. One Matthias OByrne, an Irish adventurer, hav- ing won in one night one hundredthousand pounds of a person who he knew 14.ma eva cAau.1454. could not pay so large a sum, shrewdly allowed informing Horace Walpole of the suicide of a him to win back all but ten thousand pounds, mutual friend, writes: He himselg with all which, being within the losers compass, was his judgment in bets, would have betted any paid. From this he received from Hare the nan in England against himself for self-mur- name of Xenophon OByrne, to commemo- der. lie then tells a story of this man hein~ rate his masterly retreat with ~he ten thousand. asked soon after his daughters marriage if she The Prince of Wales, afterward George IV., was enciente. Upon my word, he replied, lost six thousand pounds on a race between 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dead; but his first action on recovery was to knock down his preserver for his officiousness in preventing him from settling what he considered a dcbt of honor! Bath, as a fashionable resort, was long a gambling centre. When Bean Nash was king of society there, he en- couraged play, as a recreation for the polite of both sexes ; and the conse- quence was that women were wont to ruin not only their husbands hut them- selves by this passion. There is a story of Beau Nash which nicely illustrates the gross manners of his times. It was the fashion for ladies before they enter- ed the bathwhich was a public resort for gentlemento adorn their heads, the only parts which were not sub- merged. This was supposed to have so charming an effect that the husband of one of the bathers, standing near Nash admiring the pretty dabblers, cried out to his wife that she looked like an angel in the water, and he wished he twenty turkeys and twenty geese! A gambling were with her. Whereupon Nash, conceiving friend victimized him by inducing him to bet it an occasion to establish his gallantry and upon the turkeys, himself having wagered large- spirit, took him by the collar and waist-band of ly on the other side. A funny sight it must his breeches, and soused him over the parapet. have been to see the heir-apparent to the British throne urging his turkeys on with a pole having a bit of red rag tagged to it, and strewing barley along the ground with his own royal hands, in the vain endeavor to coax his rebel- lious lieges from their too frequent roost in the trees by the wayside. Walpole records a good story of cynical George Selwyn, who, when a waiter at Arthurs Club-house was committed to Newgate for robbery, said, What a horrid idea he will give of us to the peo- ple in Newgate! So did the gambling-rage pos- sess the public mind that, when in Paris, in 1825, a man sat at a crowded gaming - table and dis- charged a pistol into his mouth, the play did not even cease while the scattered brains of the victim were cleared away by the serv- ants! But a more extraordinary case occurred in London, in 1832. One Shelton, a second-rate public prize-fighter, gaming with a low companion, lost first his money, next all his clothes, which were taken from his person as they be- came forfeited, and finally staked his life! He lost it! and the win- ner, assisted by bisase~/ immedi- ately hanged him to a lamp-post! By good luck, a passing watchman cut bim down before he was quite lO.TaoMAs MUENRES LOOLe CARD.1509. la COURT CARD (cJacuaAa).1480. CAHDS AND DICE. 173 man comes in, exclaims a contempo- rary writer, with his fortnne in his pocket. He sits down at the table. He winslosesloseswins wins loses loseslosesloseslosesgoes into the next room and blows his brains ont ; or, as sometimes happened, he shot the rascal who had cleaned him out. The passion brought about some singular social anomalies. A noble- man, the head of a highly popular Whig family in the west of England, and orig- inally of immense wealth, died in 1839 in a miserable garret, in an obscure quarter of London, having many years before lost all at faro. One of the old- est baronets in England, having lost all in a similar manner, was in 1840 mak- ing his living by driving a stage-coach. A Mr. Payne, forced before the Court as witness in a certain gambling trans- acticn in 1837, admitted that lie had lost nearly all his patrimony by gam- bling; which patrimony consisted of ten thousand acres of the finest land in Toward the close of the last century the gain- England. He did not stop till the last acre ing-houses of Londonthey were known to the was finished. Finally, Lord Dc Ros, one of genertil public as Clubs, and to the gamesters the most respectable of the gaming nobility, as Hellswere fitted up in extraordinary style. was accused of practicing a certain trick at Fishmongers Hall cost $200,000 merely to whist; the matter came up for trial in 1837, furnishan expense which does not seem so and it was proved that he cheated habitually; great, however, when it is known that the pro- and that some of his noble associates, knowing prietor netted the first year $750,000. The law this, prudently played wit/i him rather than prohibited the opening of such houses; but the against bini! The noble Lord did not long sur- proprietor of this was beard to boast that he was vive his disgrace. When he died Theodore in no danger, inasmuch as he counted among Hook proposed as his epitaph, here lies En- his membersit was a privilege to gain admis- glands Premier Baron, patiently awaiting the sion to one of these hellsthe majority of those last Trump. who made the laws! So profitable were the gain- I know a man who cheats, said a young bling-houses of Baden no longer ago than 1840 man to Sheridan; I do not like to expose that the purchasers of a new lease of their privi- him; what shall I do ? lege for fifteen yearswhich is farmed out by the Governmentpaid willing- ly 40,000 forms per annum, hesides laying out 230,000 forms in imurove- meats of the grounds, and assuming a debt of the bank to the amount of 120,000 forms. And this for the ex- clusive privilege of keeping a gam- bling-bank for only about five mouths in the year! To these houses were enticed with many arts young men just come into their fortunes; and here they were speedily plucked. It was no strange thing for a man to lose fifty thousand dollars in a night. At Brookess, a private club, and very exclusive, a cer- tain nobleman lost 25,000 at a sit- ting; and it is related that, in 1799, four young men were brought thith- er who had just come into fortunes amounting, in the aggregate, to ten million of dollars: in a twelve-month all four were beggared. Suicide was a common result of such villainy. A 1S.couiu-cAmmu.1480. 17.cniccLAii cAao.l480. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Back him, was the reply. A distinguished English gamester has given it as his opinion that there is no game played in which cheat- ing can not be and is not practiced. Dice can be secured~ with such certainty that hazard becomes simple robbery; cards are marked, l)acked, pricked, slipped, skinned, shuffled; and dice are made unequal, are scratched, and worked with doctors, doctor dice-boxes, and dispatch- ersmost appropriately named. Concave and convex edged cards are commonly used by pro- fessional gentlemen, whose fortunes depend as much upon the tenderness of their finger ends as upon steadiness of eve and brazenness of face. At one of the German watering-places not many years ago, a Jew card-vendor sold his exceeding- ly well made pastcboards so riclienlously low that every gaming-house in the place laid in a sea- sons stock of them. During the next season the confederates of the dealer, who had had the cards prepared under their own supervision, and knew them hut too well, reaped a golden harvest from their ingenious investment. There is a story of a French Jew who in like manner man- ufactured the dice on which he afterward het, and who was taken in to the tune of $5000 in one night by a stranger who by some means knew the secret and worked with a sample of the Jews manufacture. A similar story of biter hit is told of a Mis- sissippi gambler, hy Joe Cowell, in his Recol- lections of the Stage. The hoat had run foul of a snag, and though no damage was done ev cry body of course rose from the card-tables with which the cabin was filled, and rushed to the guards to see what was up. All hut a gentle- man in green spectacles, a diamond pin, and a heavy watch-chain, who had heen playing at poker, and now, his party having rushed off, sat quietly, shuffling and cutting the i)olcer-declc for his own amusement. When the excitement was over, the players returned to resume the game. It was the spectacled-mans deal, and when he had quietly dealt, he stit still without raising his cards, watching the rest. The man on his left bet ten dollars. A young lawyer, son of the then mayor of Pittshurg, without more than glancing at his hand saw that ten and hat ten better. The third saw the last ten, and went fire hundred dollars bet- ter. I must see that, said Green Spectacles, now first taking up his hand, his fingers nerv- ous with the certainty of winning. He paused a moment in disappointed astonishment, and sighing I pass, threw his cards upon the ta- ble. The left-hand man bet again that fire han- died dollars and ore thousand dollars better The young lawyer had by this time calculated the value of Isis hand/bar kings and aa ace it could not he heat !and lingeringly, as though there might be some douht ahout the matter, l)ut his wallet on the tahle and called. The left- hand man had four queens and an ace, and the right-hand man four Jacks and an ace. Specta- cles had nothing to speak of. The lawyer pock- eted his two thousanti and twentythree dollars clear; and Gm-ecu Spectacles, good-naturedly pushing the money towam-d Imim, said: Did any one ever see the like out P The fact was, he 20.coua-euuj.1511. 19 VALEF OF FRENCh CARDs, TIME OF hENRY iv. CARDS AND DICE. 175 had pet up the cards, while the rest were off to engaged, and the lientenant fast asleep and see what was the matter; hot hy some fatal coiled away in a convenient position, squatted oversight he had made a slight change in the on either side of him, and made his shoulder distribution of the hands, hy which the yonng their tahie. The continual tip, top on his shoul- lawyer got the cards he intended for himself. der rather helped his sleep; but an energetic Mr. Cowell has two more gambling stories, slap by one of the players, at heing High, hy which are so characteristic of days now passed thnnder ! awakened him. On looking up, one away in the West that we are tempted to quote of the gamesters, slightly urging down his head, them. He was sitting near a table watching a said, in a confidential ~vhisper, Hold on, stran- quiet game of two-handed euchre, when he no- ger, the games just out; Ive twelve for game ticed another looker-on, who made it his busi- in my own hand, and have got the Jack. ness to spy out the trumps in one players baud lie of course accommodated them, and when and telegraph the important information to his the game was out, he found they had been keep- opponent by laying the same number of fingers lug the run of it with chalk tallied on his stand- carelessly on the table. Of course one lost and up collar! the other gained steadily for a considerable time; The systematic pursuit of gaming as a passiOn, until at a certain deal the loser received one and not as a profession, in England and France, trump. The fact was duly signaled by the fore- during the last fifty years, led several men of finger laid on the table, which the losing gentle- more than ordinary mathematical abilities to man very coolly but adroitly chopped off! make accurate calculations of the real chances of Hallo! stranger, what are you about? You various games. In doing this it was discovered have cut off one of my fingers, cried the dis- that, in all cases, the banks so arranged their membered. games that there could be no positive fair play. I know it, said the amputator, coolly, In rouge et uoir, which was once a very fashion- and if Id had more trumps youd have had able game in the gambling hells of this country, less fingers. the certain and inalienable advantage of the A lieutenant of the navy was obliged, with banks against the players, made by a peculiar many others, to sleep on the floor of the cabin, rule of the game, amounts to about 1~ per cent. owing to the crowded state of the boat. Two on all the moneys staked on one eventor to ardent devotees at secen up. finding all the tables about 100 per cent, per hour (!) against each 21.EaoLmsu KNAvE OF eLcB5.lOlC. ~.ENOLL5II KNAVE OF IIFACTSibiC. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. steady player. And this deadly odds neither skill nor calculation on his part can in the slight- est degree divert. In short: lie who hopes at cards to win Must never think that cheatings sin; To make a trick wheneer he can No matter hew, should be his plan. No case of conscience mast he snake, Except how he may save his stake; The only ebject of his prayers~ Net to be caught and kicked down stairs. A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURREC- TION. I. THE love of my heart was dead. I had watched its death - throes, listened to its moans of expiring agony. With my own hands I had decently composed the frozen limhs, and closed the lids over the haunting eyes. Dead! and now I carried the still corse to its hurial. Mourners followed; hopes, frost-chilled in their awaking; pleasant dreams, which must he dreams only forever; crowds of mad, passionate im- pulses shrieking out after the hier their frantic, unavailing agony; and over all, slowly, unpity- ingly, tolled the hells of memory. There was no hreak of light in east or westonly one cloud, shuttsng out heaven and God. Would it ever lift? I did not ask myself the question in that hour. In my misery I shut the door on Hope. Golden lights of morning could break for me no more, therefore I would have nothing. Crim- son hues of snnset, silver tranquillity of moon and stars, what were they worth, when they could promise no dawning? Henceforth my path would lead through the valley and the shadow, out of which no torture should force from my proud lips cry or moan. lVIy life had heen sad rather than strange. Left motherless almost in infancy, all the wealth whose splendors surrounded me, all the gold my father was accumulating so rapidly, could not huy for me the happiness which is the fit heritage of childhood. It is a sad thing when a child feels that there is no one to love it, no gentle voice to soothe its woes, no lips always ready with their kisses, no long-suffering, patient mo- ther-tenderness; saddest of all, when the orphan is a yearning, passionate child, for whom is no consolation in playthings or panacea in confec- tionery. I seldom saw my father except on Sundays. He was off to his business before I was present- able in the morning; and I was usually put to bed hy my impatient nurse-maid before he re- turned at night. If he loved me, he manifested it only in providing with a lavish hand for my comfort. So I grew up, in the stately mansion where we lived, with little company and no change of scene. In due time my nurse was replaced hy a governess; a thorough, unsympathetic person, who worked to earn her wage, and felt that her whole duty was done when she had inoculated me with a certain daily amount of gramusar and history. Our establishment was under the con- trol of a widowed sister of my fathers; a haughty, handsome woman, of whom I need say little at present, as during my early years she seemed al- most to forget my existence. As I grew older I had masters who instructed me in every accolnplishlnent, though music was the only one in which I particularly excelled. In this manner I received my entire education, for my father was rigidly prejudiced against schools. At .eighteen I was pronounced ready to he introduced into society. At this epoch Aunt Langdons interest in me became active. She liked the office of chaperon, and hesides her l)ride was enlisted. Kept in entire seclusion hitherto, my cldiimt was a suc- cess. My face, if not remarkably beautiful, was new; my manners, formed in solitude, were, hap- pily, not stereotyped. Moreover, my health was perfect. Dissipation did not tell upon my vig- orous organization, or blanch my fresh color. Every thing I encountered l)ossessed for me the charm of novelty. I bade fair to be intoxicated by pleasure; to lose heart and sotil in the vortex of fashionable folly. Singularly enough, to my thoughtless gayety came an interruption. I stood one evening near a window, a little wearied with dancing, still with the flush of con- scious triumph on my cheeks, and a gay light kindling my careless eyes. My vague musings were scattered by a voice which said, And when the ancient tempter smilce, So yield we our souls up to Isis wiles, Alas, and woe is mc The voice was rich and low, with an under- tone of sad melody. I had been introduced to the sl)eaker for the first time that evening; but until now I had not noticed how handsome he was; what latent fire smouldered dreamily in his wide, dark eyes; what persuasive tenderness soft- ened the curves of his mouth. Are you another sphinx, with a riddle for me to read ? I asked, ligI~tly, affecting a care- lessness I dsd not feel, for his words had given me a vague sense of discomfortstirred my con- science, perhaps. No, the rich, low voice answered. It is you who offer the riddle for my solution. I know something of you. Your thoughtful, stu- dious, lonely girlhood had been spoken of in my presence hefore I met you. One naturally has a high ideal of a character formed by study, self- communion, and solitude; and now I find you here as gay as the gayest; as satisfied, apparent- ly, with what is hut the bead on the wine. And you kindly resolved, I said, a little bitterly, to constitute yourself my Mentor? I fear I shall prove but a refractory disciple. I beg, Miss Chester, that you will not at- tribute to me a wish so conceited, or assign me a task so ungracious. Believe me, I, least of all, have any right to judge others. I can ap- preciate the highest order of character, but I do not possess it. Few men are more good-na- turedly selfish; but the selfishness is very real.

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler Lost Love: Its Resurrection 176-184

176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. steady player. And this deadly odds neither skill nor calculation on his part can in the slight- est degree divert. In short: lie who hopes at cards to win Must never think that cheatings sin; To make a trick wheneer he can No matter hew, should be his plan. No case of conscience mast he snake, Except how he may save his stake; The only ebject of his prayers~ Net to be caught and kicked down stairs. A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURREC- TION. I. THE love of my heart was dead. I had watched its death - throes, listened to its moans of expiring agony. With my own hands I had decently composed the frozen limhs, and closed the lids over the haunting eyes. Dead! and now I carried the still corse to its hurial. Mourners followed; hopes, frost-chilled in their awaking; pleasant dreams, which must he dreams only forever; crowds of mad, passionate im- pulses shrieking out after the hier their frantic, unavailing agony; and over all, slowly, unpity- ingly, tolled the hells of memory. There was no hreak of light in east or westonly one cloud, shuttsng out heaven and God. Would it ever lift? I did not ask myself the question in that hour. In my misery I shut the door on Hope. Golden lights of morning could break for me no more, therefore I would have nothing. Crim- son hues of snnset, silver tranquillity of moon and stars, what were they worth, when they could promise no dawning? Henceforth my path would lead through the valley and the shadow, out of which no torture should force from my proud lips cry or moan. lVIy life had heen sad rather than strange. Left motherless almost in infancy, all the wealth whose splendors surrounded me, all the gold my father was accumulating so rapidly, could not huy for me the happiness which is the fit heritage of childhood. It is a sad thing when a child feels that there is no one to love it, no gentle voice to soothe its woes, no lips always ready with their kisses, no long-suffering, patient mo- ther-tenderness; saddest of all, when the orphan is a yearning, passionate child, for whom is no consolation in playthings or panacea in confec- tionery. I seldom saw my father except on Sundays. He was off to his business before I was present- able in the morning; and I was usually put to bed hy my impatient nurse-maid before he re- turned at night. If he loved me, he manifested it only in providing with a lavish hand for my comfort. So I grew up, in the stately mansion where we lived, with little company and no change of scene. In due time my nurse was replaced hy a governess; a thorough, unsympathetic person, who worked to earn her wage, and felt that her whole duty was done when she had inoculated me with a certain daily amount of gramusar and history. Our establishment was under the con- trol of a widowed sister of my fathers; a haughty, handsome woman, of whom I need say little at present, as during my early years she seemed al- most to forget my existence. As I grew older I had masters who instructed me in every accolnplishlnent, though music was the only one in which I particularly excelled. In this manner I received my entire education, for my father was rigidly prejudiced against schools. At .eighteen I was pronounced ready to he introduced into society. At this epoch Aunt Langdons interest in me became active. She liked the office of chaperon, and hesides her l)ride was enlisted. Kept in entire seclusion hitherto, my cldiimt was a suc- cess. My face, if not remarkably beautiful, was new; my manners, formed in solitude, were, hap- pily, not stereotyped. Moreover, my health was perfect. Dissipation did not tell upon my vig- orous organization, or blanch my fresh color. Every thing I encountered l)ossessed for me the charm of novelty. I bade fair to be intoxicated by pleasure; to lose heart and sotil in the vortex of fashionable folly. Singularly enough, to my thoughtless gayety came an interruption. I stood one evening near a window, a little wearied with dancing, still with the flush of con- scious triumph on my cheeks, and a gay light kindling my careless eyes. My vague musings were scattered by a voice which said, And when the ancient tempter smilce, So yield we our souls up to Isis wiles, Alas, and woe is mc The voice was rich and low, with an under- tone of sad melody. I had been introduced to the sl)eaker for the first time that evening; but until now I had not noticed how handsome he was; what latent fire smouldered dreamily in his wide, dark eyes; what persuasive tenderness soft- ened the curves of his mouth. Are you another sphinx, with a riddle for me to read ? I asked, ligI~tly, affecting a care- lessness I dsd not feel, for his words had given me a vague sense of discomfortstirred my con- science, perhaps. No, the rich, low voice answered. It is you who offer the riddle for my solution. I know something of you. Your thoughtful, stu- dious, lonely girlhood had been spoken of in my presence hefore I met you. One naturally has a high ideal of a character formed by study, self- communion, and solitude; and now I find you here as gay as the gayest; as satisfied, apparent- ly, with what is hut the bead on the wine. And you kindly resolved, I said, a little bitterly, to constitute yourself my Mentor? I fear I shall prove but a refractory disciple. I beg, Miss Chester, that you will not at- tribute to me a wish so conceited, or assign me a task so ungracious. Believe me, I, least of all, have any right to judge others. I can ap- preciate the highest order of character, but I do not possess it. Few men are more good-na- turedly selfish; but the selfishness is very real. A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURRECTION. 177 I inherit from my mother a love of ease which is as strong as the Livingstone pride of birth, and the two make me a man of small philan- thropy, of little true worth in the world. I had cause to remember his words afterward. They were an honest warning; hut I did not believe them. Their sole effect was to enlist my admiration for his humility. I suppose he read this thought in my eyes, for he smiled when he met them, and went on. You will see now that I could not have presumed to reprove you. I was only thinking, as I watched your face, that the world was get- ting fast hold of you as well as the rest of us; that you found it all the brighter, perhaps, for its very strangeness; and I borrowed that quaint, melancholy rhyme to clothe my thought. The martyrs are all dead; or, at least, they do not live in New York. We are much alike, poor moths hovering round a candle. But the candle is pitiless. If we come too near we shall scorch our~ wings, and thenDeath finds the way short to a moths vitals. Never mind, roses are just as sweet to-day though they fade to-morrow. Vice la bugatelle! They are striking up a Re- dowa, will you dance it with me That was the beginning of my acquaintance with XVales Livingstone. It did not end there. Before the season was over I was his promised wife. I~ found in him all I had been blindly seekingpeace, hope, rest, tender love, watch- ful care. Found them, orthought so! What if the mirage be an illusion? Do its shining hills, its placid waters, its waving palms, gleam for that the less resplendently upon the travel- ers vision? Nay, the truth were dull and bare in comparison. I owed him somewhat for that winterhe taught me what happiness was. Few men possess in such lavish measure the power to fascinate. In all his moodsand his character was many-sidedhe was charming. We were daily together. We read and talked and sang. What a voice he had! Even now the memory of his singing steals over me, some- times, like a spell of enchantment. In those days I worshiped him. Unconsciously I made him a tyrant, for my whole study in life was to know and do what would please him. That he loved me with equal devotion I did not question. Why should I, while he never passed an hour away from me when propriety would permit ns to be together? Aunt Langdon was a shrewd woman. She made little pretension to heart, but her insight into the nature of others was crnelly keen. One day she transfixed me with, her cool blue eye. Her words followed her glanceas cool, sharp, and cynical. Are you very sure, child, that Mr. Living- stenes love equals your own Why this question? My blood hurried, fright- ened, to my heart, and left my cheeks marble. I could only falter, What do you mean, Aunt Langdon? Why should it not ? Perhaps she accepted the flag of truce my VOL. XXVI.No. 152.M white face hung out. Her answer was in a gentler tone, as if my very powerlessness had moved her pity. I hope it does, Marian; only it is well not to pay too large interest for what we receive. No man has a right to usury. And it is an old truth that those who lose most suffer most. This was warning the second; was I likely to heed it, who had not heeded Wales Livingstones reading of his own nature? He came in soon after. I suppose the color had not come hack to my face, for he looked at me inquiringly, and caressed me with more than his usual tenderness. Has any thing grieved my fair Marian? he asked, as my head lay against his arm. What could grieve me, Wales, while you love me? But do you love me? Am I the world to you, as you are the universe to me He looked into my eyes. It was a long gaze, and in it were many meanings. lie spoke as seriously as I had done. I do not think I have ever deceived you, Marian. It is not in the nature of man, per- haps, to love as unselfishly and enduringly as woman; but I love you, and only you. I migk not, under some circumstances, be happy with you: I am sure I could not, under any, without you. His words puzzled me. Under some circum- stances he might not be happy with me! What could he mean? He left me little time for speculation. He had brought with him a port- folio of exquisite foreign viewsthe work of an artist friendand he began to talk to me about them, until presently I forgot every thing else in the fascination of his conversation. In de- scription his power was singular. A little more of the heroic element would have made him a poeta little patience and executive ability, and he would have been a painter. As it was, he talked, and, hearing him, you cared not any farther to call him to account for his talents. With a sentence he unlocked for me the gold- en gates of the far, fair foreign lands where he had wandered in other years. I saw wilder- nesses of Southern blossoms; shadowy trees, haunted by birds whose wings had been stolen from orient rainbows; I heard songs of en- trancing melody; I touched the hot sands of Eastern deserts, burning and golden as the sun; I shot with dusky boatmen down the swift cur- rent of Asiatic streams, or rested among the lotus blossoms and read Persian poets at mid- night by a moon so bright that you ceased to wonder she had been worshiped. And then, leaving me rapt in the spell of his eloquence, he went away; and I marveled, as I had done so many times before, how he, with all his rare gifts, his rich experiences, his power to choose whom and where he would, had chosen me. My whole life was a trance-like dream until at last the awakening came. I was with Mr. Livingstone as usual, one wild, wet day in March, when the tempest was keen- 178 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. ing outside with the prophetic voice of a Ban- its head and look at me with its gleaming, bale- shee. It was four in the afternoon when we ful eyes. heard my fathers step in the hall. He did not For my father I mourned sincerely. His last enter the drawing-room, as was his habit, now words had brought me nearer to him, into more that I had grown old enough to be a companion. intimate communion with his heart than all the He ~vent, instead, directly to his own room over- years of my previous life had done. .1 felt now head. At dinner-time he sent word that he how dear we might have been to each other had could not come; be was not well and very busy. my mother lived for a connecting link between I might have thought strange of this had I been us. But for all mutual understanding it was less absorbedas it was, it gave me little con- too late now. No cry or sound could pierce cern. through the long death-silence. God only knows We passed a happy evening together, I and whether,. indeed, he had sinned willfully, shut- my loveran evening full of those sweet no- ting out hope from his own soul foreveror things, as indescribable and ineffable as the scent whether, under some malignant spell of tran- of a flower, hut whose impalpable fragrance we sient insanity, the mad impulse had come upon cherish and inhale as eagerly as the first man him, and there was yet hope in his death. might have done the breath of life, which to him, Thank Heaven for the merciful uncertainty in the chosen of all men, was the breath of God. which such ends are shrouded! How many a At breakfast, next morning, my fathers seat heart has it saved from a life-long despair! was still vacant; and Aunt Langdon, remarking Not two hours after I read my fathers last carelessly that he was overworking himself fear- words Wales Livingstone came. The storm of fully of late, ran up stairs to remonstrate with yesterday had been followed by a morning blue him. In a moment a shriek of horror burst from and balmy as May. He had planned, it seemed, her lips, so wild, so shrill, that it seemed utterly to enjoy it with me. lie rode a fiery horse, to paralyze all my powers of motion. Instantly, which displayed his admirable horsemanship to almost, I recovered my self-command, and rushed the best advantage, and a groom led another after her to his room. The faint, sickly-sweet with a ladys saddle. odor of Prussic acid was still in the air; an I met him in the ball. em~)ty bottle was on the stand beside him, and I can not ride to-day, Wales, I said as I on the bed, with no look of agony on his face answered his greeting. Please send the horses only the sad, strange ghost of a smile about the away and come in. frozen month, and haunting the wide-open eyes Commanded to instant compliance by my man- my father lay. Dead, by his own hand! ner, he moved to the door and obeyed me. Then I had never drawn near to himnever re- he came back and led me into the drawing-room, ceived any of the sweet, paternal tendernesses where we had passed so many hours together ~vhich make so strong a tie between most fathers hours beside whose brightness all the rest of my and daughters; yet there is an instinctive, natu- life seemed dim and cold. ral affection inseparable from the knowledge of What is it, Marina? he asked, drawing me the relationship, and to me the shock was tern- toward him tenderly. ble. I will not linger over that awful day. His For all answer I 1~l~t~ in his hand my fa- motives were briefly set forth in a note which he thers note. With wide eyes, taking in all the left for me. This I will copy: horror, he read it slowly through. Marian, my child, lam ratned, dishonored, maddened. In his surprise and consternation his arm hail Fifteen ycars of speculation, in which every venture seemed fallen away from me, and he forgot, much as I to prosper, has come to this. My notes wilt be protested to- needed his sympathy, to take me back to the morrow. tleaith, good name, credit, hope, alt gone I heart where I had hoped for shelter. 14e sat can not live. I will not see the sun rise which wilt shine still upon my disgrace. God help you, child; I can not. If I in blank stulsor. should live I could do nothiug, even for usyseif. God end After a while, finding his presence, to which your mother forgive me for the ruin I have wrought. I I had looked for solace, a restraint and a hur have always loved yoo, Marian, even when I seemed cold- den rather, I suggested, with bitterness in my eat. Do not hate your father. heart and my words, that perhaps he had better I read these words with a strange calmness. go away. He could not do any good, and as it Sudden and terrible as was the shock, it did not was not his sorrow, why should he spend his render me incapable of thought. I thought only day in that darkened, stricken house? He ac- too much. I seemed to see allcertain present cepted my suggestion, apparently ignoring its possible futureat a glance. I felt every irony, and only saying, as if he had detected hope slipping away from me, even the dearest. no latent satire in my words, that of course it And yet I strove to convince myself it could wos his sorrow ia a certain way, since it was not be that because disgrace enabronded the name mine and I was his; but as he could do no good I bore Wales Livingstone would give me up. by staying, perhaps he had better leave me. Were it on him the blow had fallen surely I So he xvent. He gave me a kiss at parting. sliotild but cling to him the more closely. What Was it the coldest one his lips had ever left on right had I to reckon his love at a lower rate mine, or did it only seem so to my foreboding than mine? Still, reason as I wonld, a fell pro- fancy? God pity the uoman who has dreamed sentiment was winding its serpent coils about that she leaned on a strung staff, an(l when the my heart, and every now and then it would erect hour of trial comes, and there is but that to A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURRECTION. 179 bridge the chasm between her and despair, finds it only a broken reed! I hardly know how the days passed on for a week nfter that day. I sent for a lawyer whom I knew my father had occasionally employed, and placed all the business arrangements in his hands. Of course, I told him, every thing was to be given npbooks, furniture, musical instruments, paintings. I desired nothing for myself. The only wish I had was that he should spare my fa- thers memory as much as was in his power, and manage the business with as little loss as possi- ble to othcrs. The day after my father was buried I received, through my attorney, a message from the cred- itors, begging me to reserve for my owu use my piano, my private libraryall my personal ef- fects, in short; and any souvenirs of my parents to which I attached a particular value. More- over, they desired that I would retain undisturb- ed possession of the house for a month or two or until I had had plenty of time to arrange for my future. By the advice of Lawyer Van Ness I accepted these generous propositions, though all that I would consent to retain for myself was my own clothes, my piano, a few cherished books, and the portraits of both my parents. I talked over my plans for the future with Aunt Langdon, and we settled that I should re- move with her in two weeks to the house of her husbands sister, in the pleasant country town of Aurora. There, she said, there will be no diffi- culty in your heing independent. Mrs. Clayton is, like me, a childless widow. She will be glad of our company. I have property enough to make myself comfortable, and, with your tal- ents, you could be sure of quite a yearly income~ from music scholars, if Mr. Livingstone should not insist on being married at once. I felt her cool, shrewd blue eyes reading my face, and I knew I blushed under their search- ing glance. But I answered, as quietly as she had spoken, that her plan pleased me, and I should follow it; for of coursewhatever Mr. Livingstone might sayI could not think of marriage until after my year of mourning had expired. During all my stay in New York my betroth- ed came to see me daily. He did not remain long at these intervie~vs, however. I did not ~vonder at this, for I saw now that his nature had nothing in common with grief. Of course sorrow, of one kind or another, is possible to ev- ery human being. On a battle-field every sword is likely to meet the shock; but when you see whether it bends or breaks you can tell the tem- per of the blade. Suffering is inseparable from humanity; but it is only the deepest n~ tures which claim kinship with it and recognize its angelic mission. Others wear it uneasily, as Sinbad carried the Old Man of the Sea, and cast about anxiously for the first opportunity of shuf- fling it off. Of this latter class was Wales Livingstone. Despite thedangerous sweetness of his manner, the low richness of his voice, the fire in his eyes, and the blnAd persuasion of his words, when you strove to sound where you thought the deep, still waters lay, you found it required but a very short line. He had loved me when youth and nov- elty had conspired, for the passing hour, to make me attractive to the rest of the world. Perhaps he loved me still, but there was something sadly incongruous with his pleasure-seeking nature in the darkened rooms and the blanched, weary face, shadowed still more by mourning garments. So he just came dailyasked tenderly for my healthnsurmured a few protestations of love and sympathygave me kisses which left a bit- ter tang on my lips because I believed them the cold offspring of custom and dutyand went away. It was singular how much more real comfort I found in the practical suggestions and straight- for~vard, unobtrusive kindness of Lawyer Van Ness. I had never met him in society, and I knew him, until the day I summoned him to our house of mourning, only by name. He was a hard- working man in his profession; the farthest pos- sible remove from any thing like a squire of dames, though thoroughly gentleman-like; ~vell- horn, being the son of an old Knickerbocker fam- ilv, left penniless by the princely tastes of his father, and climbing h~hard work an(l social self-denial slowly back to wealth again. All this I had heard my father say of him; and I sent for him because I knew that I should find in him sbre~vd wisdom, united to integrity, be- yond a question. It needed but to see him to acknowledge his stren~th. It appeared in his muscular, well- knit figure; it looked out of his clear, gray eyes eyes which seemed to see all but reveal no- thing; you heard it in his firm footstep, and the resonant ring of his voice; you felt it in the strong, encouraging clasp of his hand. Meet- ing him as I did, only on business, I saw that, without being in the least what one calls fasci- nating, he was a man whom I should like to have for my friendone on whom those whoso right it was could rely without fear or trembling no reed which the first shock might break; a strong stafl rather, with heart of oak. lie was of inestimable comfort and service to me in that season of trial; and it was no mere form of ~vords when I expressed my indebtedness to him, and assured him of the grateful remembrance in which I should hold his name, as we shook hands at parting the day before I started for Aurora. That evening was to be spent with Wales Livingstone. In the three weeks of sad excite- ment since my fathers death but little had been said between us concerning our plans for the future, though I had told him that I was going with my aunt to her friends in Aurora as soon as that step had been decided upon. All this while I had been slowly growing into the conviction that our engagement was a burden to 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. him, and I had resolved that night to offer to release him from it. He came, and, touched perhaps b~ the thought of our near parting, met me more tenderly than he had done in the whole three weeks preceding. Still the soft melancholy of that manner, the murmurous cadences of that voice whose every tone was a caress, could no more beguile me into self-forgetfulness, or lull me into false se- curity. I must know allthe worstand if I found he would accept of his freedom, he must have it: though I felt in that hour, looking on that handsome face, meeting the beguiling glances of those dark eyes, that to resign him would be to give up all that life held for meto shut and bar the gates of my Paradise with my own hand. During the few moments in which I was try- ing to collect my forces for the scene which must follow, he helped me by beginning of his own accord to question me about my future. These friends to whom you go, will they he kind to you, Marian? Are they both able and willing to make your life what it has been hitherto? The question stung me into momentary auger. It betrayed such an utter ignorance of my plans, even of those which I remembered confiding to him. I answered him sharply, They are Aunt Langdons friends, not mine. She is the on ~y relative I have left, and it is for convenience, spectability, the proprie- ty of being with her, that I go to Aurora. I expect no assistance from her people, beyond possibly their aid in getting scholars, and the shelter of a roof; which I shall faithfully pay for. Pay for! Scholars! You, Marina Chester, teachand what ? It seems to be the only resource left to me, Marina Chester, I said, with a perceptible irony pointing my words. I shall teach music. I have Signor Barrillis and Madame Stefanis es- timates of my musical ability in my pocket. I think these credentials will help me to find pupils. There were a few moments during which he sat in silence, and I watched the thoughts come and go on his face. How well I could read them! He loved meI did not doubt that, nor hava I ever in the long days since: but it was with such love as he could givesecond, per- haps, to his love of pleasure; second, certainly, to the incense he burned forever to his true idol, himself. And yet, that self would find it hard to give me up. There was some satisfaction in that knowledge to my stung, tortured pride. He spoke at length: Forgive me, Marian, that I had not reflect- ed sooner what your position was likely to be. It seems to me that we ought to be married at once. I can not consent to be living in luxury while you are toiling for your daily bread. There was no more weakness at my heart just then. For the nonce I had conquered it. I answered him in firm, unfaltering tones: Ithink, on the contrary, that we ought not to marry at all. I know your nature too well to undertake to live with you on an income which you find only enough for yourself. With wealth enough, I might have made you happy; but you could not be happy with any woman in what you would call poverty. You would be restless and discontented, and I should he wretched. You know, in your own soul, bat I speak the truth. I have been three weeks in coming to this conclusion, and now you can not change it. I do not blame you. It is not your fault. You are what your nature and your train- ing made you; hut I know you could never make sacrifices patiently. It is best to part before our memory of the Past holds any bitterness. Marian, he cried, with sudden energy, Marian Chester, I thought you loved me too well to resign me so willingly! Will not pover- ty be as bitter for you as moderate self-denial for me? I know you are deciding the case wrongly. And I know I nsa not. Poverty does not frighten me. Better part with you now than see your love worn away hereafter by the slow friction of daily cares. I know, too, your Liv- in~stone pride of birth. I should shame ~on if I married you. The world would never forget that my father died a bankrupt and a suicide. No, Wales, I have decided in love, not pride, and I know my decision is right for us both. If I had hopedand, being woman, perhaps I hadthat he would, after all, refuse to resign methat the strength and dignity of manhoods love would assert its sovereigntyits superiority to all false pride, all external showI was un- deceived, as I saw the look of conviction settle gradually into his face under my words. I grew firm and cold as marble. He expostu- lated with me, however; he even urged that, if I would not marry him then, our engagement should continue. What was the use? I look- ed through the thin veil of his words into his thought his heart not false, but miserably weak. Better than all those subtle charms of manner, those wondrous graces, that beauty like the beauty of a dream, one throb of the rugged strength of a true manhood. And yet I loved him, him only, and I suffered. Remem- ber how lonely and joyless my life had been in the midst of its splendor until he came, and with what fullness of promised blessing his love had dawned on me! I suffered, but I was firm. No tie should exist between ns?no future dream of possible union. I would not write to him, or preserve one relic of a past which must be dead to us both henceforth. I gave him back his ring. I brought his notes, and he burned them slowly before my eyes. He had nothing to restore. I had never written himI had given him only my love. Alas that love should be the hardest gift on earth to reclaim! Our parting was sadder on his side than on mine; at least he manifested more emotion, for his feelings lay nearer the surface. I ~vent out A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURRECTION. 181 with him into the hall, as I had done so often before. He opened the door, and the April moonlight poured in; and so, wrapped in its silvery glory, I took my last look at him. For one instant, with the old freedom of betrothal, he put his arms around me, and kissed me, al- most wildly, on lip and brow. When he turn- ed away, with tears he could not hide, I did not weep. I could speak calmly, though, perhaps, my quiet tones were interfused with more of anguish than his tears. Good-by, I said; good-by, Wales Liv- ingstone. We part in peace. We can never be less than friends; and if there come any sad hours when the thought would comfort you, re- member that you have held one womans love And so he went away, down the long, moon- lighted street; and I, who had watched his steps so often, did not watch them this last time. I went up stairs, and found Aunt Langdon in my room, where a bright fire was burning. I knew, though no words had been interchanged between us, that she waited anxiously to learn the result of the interview which was over. Bet- ter end it all then, I thought. It would save any pang in alluding to the subject hereafter. I stood near her by the fire, and, looking at her, I said: Butterflies do not live through storms, Aunt Langdon. Their wings are too gay to be water- proof. Some loves are butterflies. I hope I shall he pleased with Aurora, for it is likely to be my home. She understood me without need of farther explanation. She took her light from the stand, and then, lingering a moment still, she came up to me and touched her lips to my forehead. I shall not want to part with you, Marian no danger. That was all. She knew I could not have borne sympathy, or even comment; and men- tally 1 thanked her for her silence. I knew then that she was my friend; that, though there would never be any demonstration or much warmth between us, she honestly cared for me. That night I slept as sweetly as an untroubled child. I know not whyI was not insensible the stroke had been both keen and sudden, the wound it left would rankle long and deeply; yet Nature was merciful, and gave me the rest I needed. What though the morrows waking must be to a memory of sharp pangs, of death- ly agony, not one ghost of sorrow haunted my dreams. That was the death of my love. In some hearts love may die of slow decline mine was not one of them. I had found weak- ness where I looked for strength; worldliness instead of heroism; selfishness instead of self- renunciation. When the prop failed me, as my nature was, I threw it away, and the tide down which it floated never gives hack its treasures. But if love was dead, anguish, despair, hu- miliation survived it long. If Wales Living- stone had followed me in a single week to pour oat penitence and protestations at my feet, he could not have kindled my dead love into even a momentary galvanized life. Yet, now that he had failed me, I wanted nothing more. The fu- ture held out no hope. I had spent all my life- times savings to buy the lucky number of which I had dreamed. The lottery had been drawn my number was a blank. What a summer of torture that summer was I how I hated its brightness! The mists rising blue and silvery on the hill-tops, and then kin- dled hy the dawalight into gold, and carmine, and violetthe soft ripples of the lakethe trees, lofty as the survivors of primeval forests the balmy breath of flowersthe music of breeze and birdhow they all tortured me! Every sound of joy seemed such a heartless mockery to a heart which had no hope on earth, and had never striven for one in heaven. And yet, bereaved of every other stay, my pride stood me in good stead. Aunt Langdon, I knew, would keep my secret, so far as she held it. But not even she should guess that the life, out of which Wales Livingstones handsome eyes had faded, was empty as a tomb whence its ten- ant had arisen. I wore a smiling front. I re- turned all my calls, which were not few; for Aurora possessed a society not only refined and select, but in summer quite extensive. I made the slight effort which was necessary to secure pupils, and taught so successfully that I had to refuse more scholars than I could take. Still I ~vent at night to my room overlooking the lake, and listened there to the ~vail of my heart over its own desolation. I looked into the glass and smiled to see how my old charms xvere fading; how the blue rings were creeping under my eyes, and my lips were settling into hard, tense lines. I had a weary longing for deathI, who had never sought Heavens light to illumine the land of silence lying beyond! But with youth and health and active work such a state of things can not endure forever. In time there is balm more potent than that which stanched all the wounds with such rare magic in the old romances. Sooner or later healing must come. It was borne to me on the fresh winds of the autumi~. It was a lang time before I realized the change that was being wrought; but insensibly I opened my sealed heart to its influence. I put aside my morbid repinings. The small, healthful cares of daily life resumed their interest for me, and more than once I felt again that faint, involuntary thrill which we call happinesssomething like that with which we stop to see a daisy at our feet in January. Of any possible future love I never thought. To a proud heart, once bitterly and hopelessly disappointed, such a dream does not easily re- turn: hut I began to see that my life, as it was, was a very pleasant, and might be a very good life; and with this knowledge came an emotion of thanksgiving. When the ~vhite splendors of winter burnished the lake with silver, covered the trees with dia- monds, and folded hills and valleys in a robe of 182 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. mystic softness and purity, for the first time in my life they had a language for me beyond that of mere external beauty. They were the fore- shadowing of splendors nbove and beyond words the reflection from the great White Throne and there was no room for regret at the dethron- lug of a human idol in the heart which had found God. Yet do not think I had no sad hours. When we aspire for perfect happiness and satisfaction in the love that is beyond the earth, we aspire tbr immortalityfor the reward which comes after the conflict of life is over, and which we can know here only by dreams and glimpses. There were hours, many of them, in which I without parents, or brothers, or sisters, or real homefelt very sad and lonely; when I longed to be near and dear to human hearts; to be able to contribute to the happiness of some house- hold band; to feel that to some on earth my words and my presence were dear and precious. The human soul which has been alone and not felt the bitterness of such longings must be above or below humanity. Still, this was but the occasional under-cur- rent, and, on the whole, I was more calmly, trust- fully happy than I had ever been ia my life. I do not except even the days when my love for ~\Tales Livingstone had ne~er been overshadowed by a doubt; for those were not days of peace tind calm. Rapture, rather than happiness, would best describe them; or, perhaps, the vision-seeing intoxication of the earlier stages of opium-eating, or the blissful delirium pro- duced by hasbeesh. When the spring came again I was ready to welcome itto rejoice in the general resurrection to feel my own pulses bound with a life kin- dred to that ~vhich leaped in the brook and stirred in the trees. The summer followed and brought me a friend. II. I sat alone in my room one July evening, watching the lake, with the moon silvering its waters, and indulging in a sort of poetical rhap- sodya banquet of memory, compounded of all the delicious bits of word-painting about ~vater and moonlight which I could recall. I was re- peating a fiagment from Keats, the very poet of the moon, when a knock at my door broke the stanza in twain. I read by the moon-rays the name on the card which was handed me Hendrick Van Ness. I struck a light and consulted my mirror with a real womanly solicitude about my appearance for almost the first time since I left New York. I was glad to see that the color and freshness had come back to my cheeks and the youth- light to my eyesthat I was looking well, in m~ white muslin dress, with the pink flowers knotted on my bosom, and trailing their sweet- ness through the braids of my hair. I had not seen or heard from Mr. Van Ness since our parting the day before I went to Aurora; but I was heartily glad of his coming, lie was a man whom I honored, and who had been most kind to me in days when I sorely needed kind- ness. I went down stairs and met his pleasant gray eyes, his genial smilefelt the strong, warm clasp of his hand. He seemed to bring with him an atmosphere bracing as mountain air. I passed a happy evening. In the course of it I learned that he had come to Aurora for the summer; he had a law-book to compile, he needed rest, and he had no en- gagements from which he could not break away. ~3o lie had given himself a holiday. 1 asked, simply enough, how it chanced that he had se- lected Aurora to pass it in. Because of the promise it held out of society, lie said. It was the only country place where lie knew any one. Here he bad an old college friend with whom lie was to board; and be bad remembered, more- over, that it was my place of abode, and had anticipated the pleasure of calling on me now and then: had lie been too presumptuous? Of course I expressed the welcome which I felt, and begged him to come to Mrs. Claytons whenever he bad miotliing pleasanter to do. This proved to be very often. That he cared for me beyond a warm friendship he gave me no reason to suspect; but he certainly liked my society, and we passed a great many happy hours together. He was not fascinating. He possessed none of Wales Livingstones peculiar gifts. He loved music, but lie never sang or danced; he h~d been too busy, he said, to p~y court to the graces. Ills conversation was trenchant and terse rather than pictorial. He had never tma~- eled, and if lie had, much as his soul might have opened to the wonders and splendors of other lands, long and faithfully as it might have re- flected theni, lie could never have revealed these memories other than by chance glimpses; nevem could have made poems or pictures of them. Yet I enjoyed hearing him talk. His ideas of right were so lofty, and you were never pained by any fear of his falling short of his own stand- aid; his judgment was so clear and comprehen- sive; his love for humanity so conibined the zeal of the reformer whim time tempered wisdom of the philosopher that it ~vas no wonder, as his character unfolded before me, I began to think him the noblest type of manhood I had ever met. Yet his declaration of love, when it came, was an utter surprise to me. I had never guessed the secret of his heart. Like all men of such strength, such firmness, such latent power, Ins nature, when once you stood face to face with it, was full of fire and fervor; a fire which no macre breath could put out; which, once kindled, must burn on till death. I do not think he meant to reveal it to me at that time, but the impulse was too strong to be resisted. I was asking him one afternoon about his life; how long he had been so alone in the world; and how he had borne solitude and toil with such brave patiemice, not growing soured or A LOST LOVE: ITS RESURRECTION. 183 world-wearied, or losing at all the freshness of his delight in Nature, in the mere sense of exist- ence. He looked at me a moment, and his gray eyes, which I had once thonght revealed no- thing, fairly flashed into lightgrew luminous with splendor. Because, Marianhe called me. hy my name for the first time I have never looked forward to loneliness. I have always felt that I was toiling for some one besides myself; some heloved, unknown one. Since I sa~v~ou I have felt who she must he if she ever came. Could you love me, Marion ? The words were not so much. I had been wooed in a strain far more eloquent and impas- sioned; hut I saw, looking out of the clear, steadfast eyes, the true, steadfast, manly heart; and I knew that heart was mine. I understood now, for the first time, what were my own feel- ings toward him; knew that ~he love-dream of my youth was but a vision, a delirium, com- pared to this deep tenderness of which my whole soul ~vas fell. It had slept until now, unrecog- nized in my heart, gathering daily strengtls and nourishment from his presence; now it con- fronted me, strong as my life, immortal and quenchless as my soul. But not yet could I allow myself the joy of potting my hand in hisof hearing him bless me as his own. He must know my whole heart, and choose me, if at all, out of that full knowl- edge. So I told him the story of my acquaint- ance with XVales Livingstone, as I have told it here. I did not keep back one throh of that early joy one emotion of love, or grief, or wounded pride. I laid my heart in his hands, end he read it like an open book. Then I paused and waited, as a criminal does for his sentence. His words were like himself. Perhaps I had pleased my fancy, Marion, with the hope of winning first lovemost men do. I can resign that; but I must have last love, best love. Can you give it to me? Can I make you so happy that no thought of con- trast or longiug will ever wander sadly toward that early dream ? Was it Heavens bounty which sent me, at that moment, the power so to answer him that no possible doubt could ever at any future hour shadow his trust in my love? Just then Aunt Langdon, returning from her after-dinner walk, came into the room, and, see- ing us engaged in conversation, merely put into my hands a letter, nod retired. It is from Wales Liviugstone, I said, rec- ognizing the familiar chirography his first since our J)arting. Then I would rather you should read it alone. I will not take your answer to my ques- Pen until this evening.~ And so he ~vent away, and I read my first loves letter and answered it alone. These were the tsvo epistles which I handed that night to Hendrick Van Ness, and baAe him read. The first only will surprise you: I write to you, Marian Chester, the oniy woman lever loved, to communicate a change in my circumstances. Last week osy uncle Japhet died. By some strange freak in will-making he passed over brothers and sisters, and countless nephews and nieces, leaving the whole of his large property to me. I am rich new beyond my most ex- travagant desires. If this had happened a year and five months ago you would not now be teaching music in AuroraI should not be weary of life because you do not share it. You would be my wife, imod we should bsth be happy. I have smut been happy without you. It was your fault that we part- ed. You were so resolved that I had net enongl~energy to battle with your convictions. I knesv then that 1 should never love again; but I did not know how little comfort I could find in a life without love. I have missed you every day, every hour. Without you I am restless, discontented, miserable. With you my life would be one d: earn of joy. You know, do you not, why I am writing this? The sole barrier which existed between usthe sole objection you made to fulfilling our engagementis removed. I have been loyal to your memorymy heart is yours yet more entirely than when we parted; is there any reason ness why I may not elates the promise you gave me less than two years ago? Am I making too sure that pour heart has been as faithful as usy own? I know you loved me, Marian. You told use so even on that lest night. You are not the style of woman to change easily. I believe that I do you but justice when I trust in your constancy. You will not, through any false pride, blight your own life and mine. I shall be poorer than ever unless you share my wealth. I mciii make you happy. You shell never have an unful- filled wish, and for me you shall be the one priceless joy of life. I wait only for your permission to come to you. Let me find you my own, and be parted from you nevermore. WALES LsvsNesToNz. It was a letter, with all its faitla in my love, its allusions to the past, to test to the utmost the generosity of Hendrick Van Nesss nature. His face revealed notlaing of his emotions as lac rend, only he turned, with illy-suppressed eagerness, to my answer: Mom. LevusosvoNa, MY FitmaanfOr when we parted 1 told you we could never be less tisan friendsI have re- ceived and read your letter. I thank you for the ison r done me by your faithful remeembrance. I rejoice in your good fortune, and I can never be indifferent to your happi- ness. For time rest, I must deal Isonestly with you. When we parted my love died. I do not change eseily, it is true, but to use that parting was no little timing. It was nay hour of utmost need. You failed me. That you did so I said then, amid repeat now, was time fault of your nature, youmr trainingnot your Iseart. Then or nose I never blamed you. But lime fact that you did so fail me rensains; and lied you written me us one week time letter I received to-day it would have been as vain then as it is 0000. I had hossrs of bitter sorrow after our parting; hut strength and imappineso followed it in time; end nowfor I will conceal nothinglove lies come once more to my life: a love stronger and imigimer tlmmmu the old one, by as much as the womans nature is stronger and loftier then the girls. When we naeet again, please God, I shall be the wife of another. I know now that ileaven an~ Nature never meant us for each other; therefsre I can hope for you aloe a second love, which shell be time first loves resurrection; nobler, purer, more fortunate. Assure yoemrself of my good wishes nay friendship, whirls will never fail youand, for time past as well as time present, my thanks. MAauAue Cimeevoma. Are you satisfied ? I said, as Mr. Vpn Ness handed me hack the two letters. I am satisfied. God has given me my hearts desire. I saw Isis lips move, and I knew tlsey breatlsed 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a silent thanksgiving to the Infinite Mercy which ward to the future without fear. God is over he never failed to acknowledge. Thea his full all, and the heart and the strength of my bus- eyes sought my face. band sustain me. Marian loves meMarina is mine ? I I have not seen Wales Livingstone. Soon think my eyes answered him. after the reception of my letter he went to Paris. I hear he intends to reside there. He is right. I went hack to the city that fall as Mrs. Van Parisian life is the only fit atmosphere for such Ness. In the two years which have passed since a sybarite. Peace go with him, and to you, my life has fulfilled all its promises. I look for- reader, a blessing and farewell! 1~ PAST AND PRESENT. A ND Arthur is coming home, Alice, I think I heard you say? in Arthur, the son of our neighbor, with whom you used to play: He went to the war last summer; I wondered at it then, That a boy should go to battle, when they used to send only men. So strange it seems, little Alice, as I watch you standing there; Why, you are almost a woman, a woman grown, I declare! Strange, indeed, when I think of ittis a long, long time, I know I stood just where you are standing, nearly fifty years ago. Stood there awaiting my Willie, your grandfather, Alice; for he Had been off n-fighting the Britishwe heat them on land and sea. The elm-tree there by the gate, darling, was not what it is to-day, Its bark was smooth like a saplings, and now it is rugged and gray. Ab! things have changed, little Alice; the sunlight seems less fair As it falls through the vines thick leafage, and tangles itself in your hair, The days, too, seem to me shorter, and the notes of the birds less bold But it may be Im growing old, dear, it may be Im growing old. And now as I think of it, Alice, and recall it all to mind, I was wondrously like what you arewondrously like, I find. Older, of course; a woman: what age are you, did you say? Eighteen! Why that was my agejust eighteen years and a day. For I remember my birthday had come on the one before The years of our lives, say the Scriptures, at best are only four-score, And I have numbered of mine nearly three-score years awl ten Girls were much older in those days, girls were much older then; For we had spoken of marriage before Will went away, And he had asked me to wed him, asked me to name the day; And youit seems but a fortnight since I held you, a babe, on my arm, A rosy-faced, dimpled infant, and carried you over the farm. Eighteen, did you say, little Alice? Are you sure you have made no mistaka! I should certainly think I was dreaming, were I not sure Pm awake. And your mother, now you remind me, was younger even than I When she married; yes, you are right therehow swiftly the years go by! What was I saying ?that you, Alice, are like what I used to be? One wouldnt think to see us you could ever resemble me; But time works wonderful changes; and this afternoon I seem To live over again the past, Alice, as though in a pleasant dream To watch your grandfathers coming, a girl once more, where you stand Come sit here beside me, daughter; so, now let me take your hand Seven long years since he left me, perhaps before seven more I, too, shall have crossed Deaths river, to stand on the further shore.

N. G. Shepherd Shepherd, N. G. Past and Present 184-186

184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a silent thanksgiving to the Infinite Mercy which ward to the future without fear. God is over he never failed to acknowledge. Thea his full all, and the heart and the strength of my bus- eyes sought my face. band sustain me. Marian loves meMarina is mine ? I I have not seen Wales Livingstone. Soon think my eyes answered him. after the reception of my letter he went to Paris. I hear he intends to reside there. He is right. I went hack to the city that fall as Mrs. Van Parisian life is the only fit atmosphere for such Ness. In the two years which have passed since a sybarite. Peace go with him, and to you, my life has fulfilled all its promises. I look for- reader, a blessing and farewell! 1~ PAST AND PRESENT. A ND Arthur is coming home, Alice, I think I heard you say? in Arthur, the son of our neighbor, with whom you used to play: He went to the war last summer; I wondered at it then, That a boy should go to battle, when they used to send only men. So strange it seems, little Alice, as I watch you standing there; Why, you are almost a woman, a woman grown, I declare! Strange, indeed, when I think of ittis a long, long time, I know I stood just where you are standing, nearly fifty years ago. Stood there awaiting my Willie, your grandfather, Alice; for he Had been off n-fighting the Britishwe heat them on land and sea. The elm-tree there by the gate, darling, was not what it is to-day, Its bark was smooth like a saplings, and now it is rugged and gray. Ab! things have changed, little Alice; the sunlight seems less fair As it falls through the vines thick leafage, and tangles itself in your hair, The days, too, seem to me shorter, and the notes of the birds less bold But it may be Im growing old, dear, it may be Im growing old. And now as I think of it, Alice, and recall it all to mind, I was wondrously like what you arewondrously like, I find. Older, of course; a woman: what age are you, did you say? Eighteen! Why that was my agejust eighteen years and a day. For I remember my birthday had come on the one before The years of our lives, say the Scriptures, at best are only four-score, And I have numbered of mine nearly three-score years awl ten Girls were much older in those days, girls were much older then; For we had spoken of marriage before Will went away, And he had asked me to wed him, asked me to name the day; And youit seems but a fortnight since I held you, a babe, on my arm, A rosy-faced, dimpled infant, and carried you over the farm. Eighteen, did you say, little Alice? Are you sure you have made no mistaka! I should certainly think I was dreaming, were I not sure Pm awake. And your mother, now you remind me, was younger even than I When she married; yes, you are right therehow swiftly the years go by! What was I saying ?that you, Alice, are like what I used to be? One wouldnt think to see us you could ever resemble me; But time works wonderful changes; and this afternoon I seem To live over again the past, Alice, as though in a pleasant dream To watch your grandfathers coming, a girl once more, where you stand Come sit here beside me, daughter; so, now let me take your hand Seven long years since he left me, perhaps before seven more I, too, shall have crossed Deaths river, to stand on the further shore. PAST AND PRESENT. 185 Do I sadden you, A]ice, my darling? but Arthur will come by-and-by It is not a matter for grief that a poor old woman must die. And Arthur will tell us of battles. You will like to hear, I know, How at Lundys Lane we met them, and gallantly routed the foe. At Lundys Lane, did I say, Alice? I see I am dreaming again; That was one of your grandfathers storiesthey are alway haunting my brain: I used to hear them so often, so very often, in truth, My good man talked in his old age far more than he did in his youth. And you have heard them too, Alice, when you used to sit on his knee; I have marked your eye grow bright when he told of a victory. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, were the words the minister said, But at times I think I see him, and doubt if he be dead. Much there is which to me seems amiss that I cant understand~ Who would ever have thought of a civil war in the land? Of a time like this when one hardly knows a foe from a friend, When brothers fight against brothersGod only knows where twill end! Shame on a traitorous people, say I, who would dare to assail A government like to our own: Heaven grant the right may not fail! And hasten the promised time when strife and contention shall cease That Golden Age of the prophet when the world shall be at peace. And Arthur, you say, little Alice, is coming and soon will be here. What are you looking that way at, and why do you tremble, my dear? The sun is bright above us, and the air so calm and still, I can hear the big wheel turning in the hollow down at the mill. Who is that in the lane, Alice, coming this way, do you think? Yonder close to the well-sweep, where the cattle stop to drink. Through that same lane, returning, my Willie, your grandfather, came, When the west, like a fiery furnace, was red with the sunsets flame. Nearly fifty years ago, my darling, of mingled grief and joy: This can not be Arthur, surely; for Arthur was only a boy; A boy with a beardless face, and not the man that I see. He is coming in at the gate, Alice; I wonder who it can be! Why, the child is off down the pathwhatever on earth is this! It wasnt considered in my day exactly the thing to kiss, Unless a brother or husband, or maybe a loverI know I always kissed my Willie when he used to come and go. And then it was here in the shadow, no# out there where they stand; And the second time he kissed me he placed this ring on my hand. But the ways of the world are changed in these latter years, I find. Upon my word, it is Arthur !how could I have been so blind? Ah! there is no such blindness as that which comes with years; And the world, though changed in some things, is unchanged in one it appears Love rules the camp and the court, the poet has said in his rhyme, And love is the same to-day as it was in my girlhoods time. 186 HARPEIIS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. follow him or stay behind, as they chose. Only two of hi~ warriors volunteered to share the danger. With these he pushed on, crept hy stealth, in open day, into the midst of a Sioux village, near the present site of St. Paul, where he shouted his war-whoop and fired his rifle. - Imagine the confusion and con- sternation of the moment, tite wild indignation and the Itot pur- snit. A hundred warriors were on his track before the crack of Isis rifle had ceased to reverberate among the hills, and hunted hitri night and day, but in vain. For two days and nights he was in their country hiding, dodging, doubling on his track like a fox, often where his lursuers were in range of his rifle, but where he dared not reveal his hidingplace even for an enemys scalp. At 7 the end of this time lie managed to cross the river on a log, with the loss of only his blanket. Ten days after Isis departure lie re- turned to his peop1e to tell tlict~i his wonderful exploit. Bravery like this was isafor- tunately obscured by acts of cowardly treachery. By custom among these belligerent tribes. the hunting season is a time of armistice. Taking advantage cf this custom, Hole-iu-rhe-1)ay one night entered a Sioux tcepce, nOLE-Ix-TuE-nAy. partook of its hospitality, and laid down to sleep on the skins TIOLEJNTHEDAY. spread for him by the unsuspecting ium~tes. It was a fatal confidence; they never saw anothser TJ~ WENTY-FIVE years ago, a chief of the sisurise. He arose before they woke next morn- I.. Chsippewa (formerly Ojibwav) Indians, cause hug, and tomahsawked and scalped the whole to Father Gear, then army chaplain at Fort family in cold blood. Snelhing, bringing his little boy- of about fifteen In later years he seemed to become tired of years, witb the request that the good clergymams such deeds and scenes of blood. Of his own ac- slsould take the child and educate him in the arts cord he came to the officers at Fort Snelhin of peace and civilization, amid the religion of and asked their assistamice and intercession to Christ. Thsis chief was Pu-go-na-ke~shick, or bring about a treaty of peace and amity between Ilohe-in-the-Day, the elder, the father of the sub- Isis nation and their bereditssry foes. The offi- ject of this sketch. Originally he had been a comn- cers of the fort lent their aid, and the two no- msson Isidian; but by his prowess on the war-path tions were brought face to face ims council, umider agaimsst the Sioux(forsnerh-Dacotahss), the hered- the walls of the fort. The sigist of their ancient ita. y enemies of his tribe, hy his daring in battle, enemies was too much for th~ savage temper and and Isis orstory in council, he hadhiecome an 0-ge- untamed patience of the Sioux. By word, act, mali, or war-chief of the nation. lIe was an In- and gesture, in and omst of councih, they heaped dma of sisperior presence and ability; in personal abuse, insmslt, and derision on the CIippewas. appearance and achievement be womshd have rank- A collision seemed inevitable. In spite of the ed with the hsistoricah characters of the red race, large force of soldiery present, there remained Once iso headed a war party who launched scarcely a hope that the councih ground would their canoes on the swift waters of the sipper not be turned into a hsloody battle-field. But ~lississ~ppi t Isis call, withiotit knowing where hole-in-the-Day proved a stoic. lie sat un lie would lead tisem. When near the place moved in council. When lie arose to speak he of his enterprise, lie explained to them a hold told them lie did not heed thPir taunts nor listen and darisig p1~~n, and told tbens they might to their isisults. He came to make peace, and

J. G. Nicolay Nicolay, J. G. Hole-in-the-Day 186-191

186 HARPEIIS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. follow him or stay behind, as they chose. Only two of hi~ warriors volunteered to share the danger. With these he pushed on, crept hy stealth, in open day, into the midst of a Sioux village, near the present site of St. Paul, where he shouted his war-whoop and fired his rifle. - Imagine the confusion and con- sternation of the moment, tite wild indignation and the Itot pur- snit. A hundred warriors were on his track before the crack of Isis rifle had ceased to reverberate among the hills, and hunted hitri night and day, but in vain. For two days and nights he was in their country hiding, dodging, doubling on his track like a fox, often where his lursuers were in range of his rifle, but where he dared not reveal his hidingplace even for an enemys scalp. At 7 the end of this time lie managed to cross the river on a log, with the loss of only his blanket. Ten days after Isis departure lie re- turned to his peop1e to tell tlict~i his wonderful exploit. Bravery like this was isafor- tunately obscured by acts of cowardly treachery. By custom among these belligerent tribes. the hunting season is a time of armistice. Taking advantage cf this custom, Hole-iu-rhe-1)ay one night entered a Sioux tcepce, nOLE-Ix-TuE-nAy. partook of its hospitality, and laid down to sleep on the skins TIOLEJNTHEDAY. spread for him by the unsuspecting ium~tes. It was a fatal confidence; they never saw anothser TJ~ WENTY-FIVE years ago, a chief of the sisurise. He arose before they woke next morn- I.. Chsippewa (formerly Ojibwav) Indians, cause hug, and tomahsawked and scalped the whole to Father Gear, then army chaplain at Fort family in cold blood. Snelhing, bringing his little boy- of about fifteen In later years he seemed to become tired of years, witb the request that the good clergymams such deeds and scenes of blood. Of his own ac- slsould take the child and educate him in the arts cord he came to the officers at Fort Snelhin of peace and civilization, amid the religion of and asked their assistamice and intercession to Christ. Thsis chief was Pu-go-na-ke~shick, or bring about a treaty of peace and amity between Ilohe-in-the-Day, the elder, the father of the sub- Isis nation and their bereditssry foes. The offi- ject of this sketch. Originally he had been a comn- cers of the fort lent their aid, and the two no- msson Isidian; but by his prowess on the war-path tions were brought face to face ims council, umider agaimsst the Sioux(forsnerh-Dacotahss), the hered- the walls of the fort. The sigist of their ancient ita. y enemies of his tribe, hy his daring in battle, enemies was too much for th~ savage temper and and Isis orstory in council, he hadhiecome an 0-ge- untamed patience of the Sioux. By word, act, mali, or war-chief of the nation. lIe was an In- and gesture, in and omst of councih, they heaped dma of sisperior presence and ability; in personal abuse, insmslt, and derision on the CIippewas. appearance and achievement be womshd have rank- A collision seemed inevitable. In spite of the ed with the hsistoricah characters of the red race, large force of soldiery present, there remained Once iso headed a war party who launched scarcely a hope that the councih ground would their canoes on the swift waters of the sipper not be turned into a hsloody battle-field. But ~lississ~ppi t Isis call, withiotit knowing where hole-in-the-Day proved a stoic. lie sat un lie would lead tisem. When near the place moved in council. When lie arose to speak he of his enterprise, lie explained to them a hold told them lie did not heed thPir taunts nor listen and darisig p1~~n, and told tbens they might to their isisults. He came to make peace, and HOLE-IN-THE-DAY. 187 nothing should induce him to do or say aught for any other purpose. He had yet another trial. A Chippewa warrior had eateu a poisonous root or plant, and died. The ChippeWtts, following the suggestions of superstition, at once conceived that the death of the brave was a judgment of the Great Spirit for having dared to think of making peace with their old enemies. If their chief was a stoic before, he now added the talent of the philosopher. He convoked his people in council, calmed and dissipated their heathenish fears, and explained to them that the event was not supernatural; that, as the leaves, the trees, the birds, and the beasts must all die, so the bravest brave and wiliest warrior, though he escape arrow and scalping-knife, must yet leave prairie and river and go to the hunting grounds of the happy. His firm calmness was more pow- erful than the savage wrath of the Sioux. The treaty of peace was concluded, and for several years the tomahawk was btiried and a feud stayed, which had been and yet is so deep and bitter, that there remains no tradition of its beginning, and no guess at the number of its victims. It is sad to know that fate does not always favor and foster the good impulses of bad men. As already written, the Chippewa chief brought his son to the good chaplain at Fort Snelling. He was tired of ~var, he said, and disgusted and sickened with blood. He wanted his people to become peaceful, civilized, and prosperous. He wanted his son taught the ways and the knowl- edge of the white man, so that he in turn might teach them to his nation. But Father Gear, though his heart warmed and quickened at the Indians desire for. usefulness and good, had nei- ther the money nor facilities to undertake the sapport and education of the boy. lie gave all he couldgood advice; but this was not enough. So father and son went back to their teepeeto their idleness, their filth, their savage instincts and traditions. The father learned to know and to like the fire-water of the pale-faces, and a few years after a barrel qf whisky fell upon him and killed him. The sonwhom his father called Que-we- sans The Boy, by which name he is still known among the Indians, but who now balls himself Hole-in-the-Day, after his fatherin time grew up to assume the chieftainship of one of the bands of Chippewas. His shrewdness and intelligence attracted the attention of the white traders and offleials who came in contact with him. Tha notice which they bestowed upon him to secure his friendship, and through him that of his band and tribe, gave him much influ- ence with the Indians, and excited his vanity and ambition to become the recognized chief of the whole Chippewa nation. To this end he has for several years steadily directed his ener- gies with a skill in diplomacy and intrigue rare- ly found among the Indians. To effect his pur- poses he knew he must also gain position and influence with the whites. By the treaty of 1835, at which time the Chippewas were re- moved to reservations further north on the Mis- sissippi, he managed to secure the grant of a sec- tion of land in his own right, as his share of the compensation. This he located on the east side of the Mississippi, opposite the Indian Reserva- tion, which lies on the west side of the river, and about two miles from the village of Crow Wing, the northernmost one on the Father of Waters. Here he has until lately made his home. With the money the Government paid him as an an- nuity, and that which he obtained in the way of presents and bribes from traders and agents, he built a handsome frame-house, bought a gold watch, a pair of horses, and a carriage, lie had nominally but one wife; the other five squaws about his house were his servantsso he explained to the whites. In part he adopted civilized dress, and visited on neighborly terms many families in Crow Wing and St. Paul. lie was always ready to accept an invitation to tea, and frequently inquired into the details of civil- ized cookery, with a view to improve the culi- nary skill of his squaws. A prominent lawyer in St. Paul was his attorney and business hdviser. lie acquired some facility in the English lan- guage; and when moved by the impulse of special friendliness, or warmed by the mellow- ing influences of fire-water, he would talk in the pale-face tongue. But when in the sulks he would sometimes sit a whole evening at a friends fireside mute as a statue, only vouch- safing a sentence or two, through the medium of his interpreter, in unalloyed Ojibwa. Two years ago his favorite wife, and soon after one of his children, died. They were de- cently coffined and interred by the Episcopal clergyman at Crow Wing, with the burial rites of the Church. The chief seemed much affect- ed by his loss, and in conversations with ~he clergyman told him he did not believe the re- ligious traditions of the Indians, and desired to learn more of the white mans faith. About this time he signed a temperance pledge, and kept it faithfully for some three months. Among other things in which Hole-in-the- Day learned to imitate white men was to dabble a little in politics. The Legislature of Minne- sota, by special Act, made him a citizen of the State. As such he had a right to vote at State and local elections, and his name is recorded on the Crow Wing poll-book as II. D.~v, Esq. Iii the last Presidential election he is said to have been quite zealous in the Republican cause; with what effect can not perhaps now be re- duced to evidence. His electioneering had one fault; he mixed the rather incongruous ele- ments of Republicanism