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k'HI-71

NEW-YORK MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

VOLUME LI I.

NEW-YORK:
JOHN A. GRAY, 16 & 18 JACOB STREET

Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 185S, by

JOHN A. GRAY,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District

of New- York.

JOHN A. GRAY,

PRIKTER,

1« A 18 Jacob Street, New-York.

INDEX.

■♦♦♦-

Paok

AvGLO-PRKNcn Alliance and Orslni. By E.

L. GoDKir, 1

Ambition, 166

Atlantic Telegraph, The, 187

Atlantic Telegraph, The. By Jamxs 0. Notes, 895

Bkrtrahd dk Rols. By Javss 0. Notes,. .1C2
Boatman of Whitehall, The. By Fnz JiMn

0* BaiiK 145

Blue Bells of New-England, The. By T. B.

Aldrich, 175

Bridal, The. By T. B. Aldbich, 290

Bulgarians, The. By Jam k8 O. Notes, 864

Bourbon who never Reigned, The. By A.

WiLDKR, 441

Both Sides of the Question. By J. Ware, Jr., 612

Church in the Sky, The. By F. A Parx kntkr, 121
Common Woman^s Experience, A. By Mrs.

Farman, 264

Christian's Reveille, The, 26a

Cardinal Be Rohan's Necklace. By Osmond

TiFFAHT, .550

DoVKETORAFH, A. By Jameb 0. Notes, 88

Br. Francis's Inauguration Address, 167

Death of VirgU, The. By R. H. Stoddard, . . .251
Debut of Tottle Dabchick. By Don Pastel, . . 597
Doctor Pillarius. By J. Q. Otis, 6S8

Editor's Table : Interesting Correspondence
of two Deaf and Dumb Girls, 78 ; Late
Words touching the National Academy,
81 ; A Sensible Letter to Sensible In-
dies, 84 ; Literary Occupati<ms of Syd-
ney Smithes Earlier Tears, 190 ; A Good
Lesson in these Hard Times, 298 ; A
Voice fi-om the North Woods, 800 ; The
New-Tork Historical Society, 8ii2 ;
* Faith, Hope, and Charity — Tiiese
Three,' 411 ; The Age : A Colloquial
Satire, 41 6 ; One of the * Uncounted Les-

• sons of Life,' 418; Napoleon in I8116,
524, 680; Have we a Napoleon among
usr 681 : Lessons of the Spirit of Fisti-
cuffii, 687; Story of Carausius, the
Datch Augustus, 640.

PAOI

Far and Near, 287

Eraser River. By Manton M. Marble, . . . .831

Fragment from the Persian, A, 498

Fall of a Great Empire, The. By E. L. God-
kin, ^ 620

G1P8TINO Over the World. By James 0.

Notes, 10

<}oIden Ingot, The. By Fitz Jams O'Brien, . 1 7G

God help the Poor, 858

Going to Rest. By Ph<bbb Caert, 462

Gambrel Roof, The Old. By Henrt Clapp,

Jr., 478

Gift of Love, The. By George Arnold,. . . .506
Gossip with Readers and Correspondents,

66, 2U0, 803, 461, 583, 640

Htmn of the Early Christians, 260

Human Life, 282

Homeward Bound from California. By a

Lady, 236

Hallo ! My Fancy, whither wilt thou go ? By

Mrs. Stoddard, , 499

Hunting the Hinds of Hijaz. By Jamks 0.

Notes, 499

Homeless. By Fms James 0' Brien, 587

JuBAL, the Ringer. By Fitz James O'Brien, .280
Jasper Signet, The. By. R. H. Stoddard,.. 342
Jerks : Ancient and Modern. By L. P.
Brockbtt, 878

Les Bohemiens. By Oliver Wendell

HOLMRX 86

Lilac-Tree, The, 59

Lost Arts of the Household, The : illustrated.

By A. Wildkr, 60

Lines to June. By T. B. Aldrich, 69

Life in Virginia. lUustrated By G. P. R.

Jamrb, 269

Little Giant, The. By Hknry Clapp, Jr.,. .485
Ladders of Sunlseams. ByF. A. Parmemtfr,.514
Litebabt Notices : The New American Cy-

Index.

TkOM.

dopedU, 71; Old Xev-Tork, 74; Mlt-
efaeir* Oration before the *Alplui Delta
Phi * Socfetx, 76 ; ProfcMor CrraT"* Text-
Books in Botanj, 77 ; Tbe Para Papen,
1^^: Hiitorj and Antiquities of Saint
Aogiutine. 1m ; A Fev Terses for a Few
Friends, I?3 ; A Hand-Book on Property
Lav, 1 ^ ; Tvo MUJions, 291 ; Tbe Dutch
at tbe North Pole, 294; Lectures and
Aato-Blofr^>bj of Lola Montex, 297;
George Melrille, an American NoreL,
297; The New American Cjclop«dia,
4-'a ; Memoir of Joseph Curtis, 4t4 ; K. N.
Pepper, and other Condiments, 4fiS;
Dana's * Household Book of Poetry,* 515 ;
Gen. Amherst's Expedition: Wilson's
Orderlj-Book, 517 ; Inspiration not
Guidance nor Intuition, 5l9 ; Courtship
and Matrimony, 520 ; Shalmah in Pur-
suit of Freedom, 521 ; Legends and Ly-
rics, 522 ; Life and Adrentores of Major
Soger Sherman Potter, 528 ; A Journey
Due North, 588 ; Tbe Stratford Gallery,
025; Emestin,029; Isabella Orslni, 680:
Wells* CbemUtry,«2S.
LiTSKAKT Riooau, 109, 21S, 82S.

MnsnroBB at Night, The. By B. H. 8toi>-

niED, 9

Mother,. 184

Mrs. Potiphar, and the Women of Homer.

By Professor K Nokth, I.'y9

My Heart, 284

Meddah ofStambonl, The. By Ostaktas, 28S

Moose-hunting in a Canadian Winter, 850

Moon-light on the Saranac Lake. By

ALrRKD B. Stkkct, 872

Mid-summer. By R. A. Oikks, SdO

Military Adrenturers. By E. L. Godkix,. .464
Millennial Club, Tbe. By Giobob W. Cub-

Tis, 474

My Parsee Neighbor. By Dr. J. W. Palmes, 6<j0

PICX

Rums, Quadcs, and Hombag. By Pake

BojAxn, Emi, 2«1

Roae,The. By Pb<kbb Ciarr,. 2*5

Repose, 841

Rich though Poor. By A. D. F. Baxdolph, 5C6

Sova of the Arch- Angels, 85

Something about Wine. 9y H. T. Tccxu-
MAX, 14H,221

, Song of the Wordling, The 153

ShaU I be Crowned? 229

: Sonnet. By JoHX G. Saxk, 2-6

Song of the Woods, A 8>4

i Stars, Tbe 46S

Set of Turquoise, The. By T. B. Aldbich, . . 567
Skeleton Monk, The. ByDxHAB, 595

! T

! THAXAToa. By Epxs Sabgxxt, 28S

. Those Yesper-Bells. By Samuel Camkbox, 868

' Tbeophflus Snmpunk. By Dox Pastbl, 452

Thomas Jefferson. By O. J. Victob,. .859, 479
• Time-keeping: a Chapter on Watches, 507

i u

j Uxdbe the Rose. Qy R. A. Oikms, 484

i w

WBxmxG OABMEST, The. By Ellbx Kxt

Bluxt, 46

Wreck, The 400

Yorxe Bachelor, The 28

Ye Tailyor-man : a Contemplatire Ballad,
By John G. Saxb,. 45

Nkwpobt Out of Season. By IL T. Tuckxb-

max, 24

Necessity : a Fragment, 171

Number Three, The 285

Naming of the Baby, The. By * Dix

QUiCViDi,* 250

OuB Portrait : Dr. Fbakcis: a Sketch, 172

Ottoman Empire, The. By Dr. Jambs 0.

Not E8, 851

Out of His Head. By T. B. Aldkicu, 8S4

Our Loss,. 451

PoBTBAiT, The. By Grobob H. Clark, 70

Palimpsest: The, Narrative of a Fatalist,.. 185

STEEL PLATE ENGRAVINGS.

Olitbb Wbxdell Holmes, 1

Dr. J. W. Fbaxcis, Ill

Epeb Sarobxt, 221

Ctrus W. Fikld, 881

Geoboe W. CiTBns, 441

Washington Ibvixo, 551

WOOD CUTS.

Homeric Times, 60

The Spinning-wheel, 68

Weaving In India, 65

New-England Fire-side,. 66

Fauquier White Sulphur Springs, 269

Tbe Pavilion : Rear View, 272

Tournament Grounds on the Rappahannoc
River, 277

THE KNICKERBOCKER.

Vol. LII. JULY, 1868. No. 1.

ANGLO-FRENCH ALLIANCE AND ORSINI.

We doubt if any event of the last forty years, excited so much
surprise on the European continent, as the Anglo-French alliance
during the Russian war, and not surprise only, but chagiin and
indignation. All the traditions of European diplomacy had de-
clared such a union impossible ; and it was probably the very last
contingency to enter into the calculations either of the reaction-
naires or the radicals. The former had always looked upon Eng-
land as their firmest barrier against the onslaughts of French de-
mocracy, not because the pohtical tendencies of the two countries
were widely different, but because the two nations hated each
other with that intense hatred which nothing but 'an ancient
grudge' can inspire. France had, they calculated, suffered too
much ever to forget, and England had inflicted too much injury
ever to hope to be forgiven. Their wars had not, like those of the
continent, been wars of diplomatists and generals, in which the
people looked on in fear or curiosity, while the legions of the
Emperor or the Grand Monarch defiled past their doors, to suffer
defeats which inspired the peasant with no regret, or win victories
which brought him neither relief nor rejoicing. Anglo-French
wars were often, it is true, undertaken for the attainment of objects
not visible to the eye of the masses ; but the people of the two
countries entered upon them with a hearty personal animosity
which never sought to disguise itself. Each was to the other what
the Turks were to the Hungarians, the Tartars to the Russians, the
Moors to the Spaniards, and we were going to say, the British to
the Americans — that article of prime necessity without which
national life seems to move sluggishly, and in hatred of which so
much fervid and turbulent patriotism finds vent — 'a natural
enemy.' From the birth of the two nations down to 1850, they
had never united for a common object, or in obedience to a fellow-
feeling, except in the Crusades, and no allusion to this famous re-
ligious experience was very likely in the middle of the nineteenth

VOL. IJI. 1

2 Anglo-French AUiance and OrainL [J^Jj

century to cause Jacques Bonhomme to inclose the portly person
of John Bull in a fraternal accolade. In the long interval which
has since elapsed, how many ' wars of giants ' have they waged,
on how many bloody fields have they met, and how many hun-
dreds of millions of treasure has each expended from his hard
earnings, in the fell desu-e to harass, cripple, and destroy his rival ?
There was nothing in short, which, when Louis Napoleon ascended
the throne, history did not make it seem safer to predict, than a
union in arms, in a common cause, of the foes of Agincourt, and
Fontenoy, and Waterloo.

The liberals of every shade, from the moderate conservatives of
Berlin to the most sanguinary reds of Leicester Square, felt them-
selves equally justified in scouting the idea as an impossibOity,
England had for thirty years been known as the fast friend of par-
liamentary government, not only at home, but all over the world.
She had conferred it on her colonies, exacted it from her proteges^
and done all that bullying, and wheedling, and intriguing, and ar-
guing could do, to persuade mankind that it was the one gi*eat
jDolitical elixir, before whose potent influence all sores and ulcers
disappeared from the body politic in the twinkling of an eye.
She had never even been wilhng to admit that exceptions might
exist to the propriety of its application, or that it did not retain
its virtues in any climate. The language of the English press and
of the English legislature, had led every body on the continent to
believe that it was an axiom in English politics, that the monarch
who refused to bestow it on his people, was a knave or a fool, and
the people who did not demand it, and if need be, fight for it, were
asses or slaves. From 1820 to 1848, there was hardly a speech
delivered on questions of foreign politics in either House of Par-
liament, hardly a lino 'written in the London editorial bureaux, in
which this lesson was not inculcated. Was it from this quarter that
a frank and friendly reco^jnition was to be looked for of the most un-
scrupulous, most detcrramed, and most faithless enemy which par-
liamentary government has over encountered ? And was Lord
Palmerston, who was cradled in parliamentary traditions, who has
grown gray in parliamentary strife, whose laurels have been won
m its conflicts, and whoso strongest claim to the admiration of his
countrymen is his English roadiness in debate, his English respect
for majorities, his hearty English appreciation of the tonic efficacy
of election tumult and uproar — not the last man whom the world
would have oxpootod to Hacrifloo his nlaco in the cabinet to a desire
to congratulate the conspirator of tfio Second of December upon
having kicked parliament out of doors ?

Moreover, tnoro was nothing for which England took more
credit to herself, than the roHpoot of hor people for the law, and
nothing she professed to honor more in otliorn. The duty of obey-
ing it, till changed, was one of tlio oarllunt U'Hhouh In her political
catechism. She had, in all periods of hor hlntory, boon more than
usually vehement in hor denunciations of military violations of it
above all. She had never lost on opportunity of placing on armed

1868.] Anglo-IVench AUiance and Orsini. 3

interference with the ordinary course of justice, the stamp of public
execration. Precautions against it have always been the first fruits
of her revolutions, and all her great acta publica bristle with de-
clarations of its enormity, and penalties on its perpetrators.
And yet Louis Napoleon had been guilty of worse crimes against
law, than those for which Charles lost his life, and James his crown.
They suffered for violating liberties which had never been defined,
and a constitution which they had never recognized. He abrogated
a constitution he had sworn to maintain, and turned a court of
justice into the street, which, in legal form and for proved guilt,
had solemnly convicted him of treason. An alliance between
France and England seemed under any circumstances improbable ;
but between England and the France of Napoleon the Third it
seemed a monstrosity.

It was brought about by the operation of two influences : one was
Louis Napoleon's exceeding suavity and deference, and the other
the brilliant openings for English capital which his regime seemed
to offer. He had resided long in England, had studied the coun-
try closely, and thoroughly appreciated both her strong and weak
points. He recognized in her the only antagonist in Europe whom
France, in the zenith of her military splendor, could neither intimi-
date nor subdue, and was fully aware that the man must have
more than his uncle's genius and twice his uncle's resources, who
should desire her enmity or despise her firiendship. The Queen of
England was the only member of the European fe,mily of monarchs
who would heartily acknowledge that popular choice was as good
a title to legitimacy as. hereditary descent; and there was no
monarch in the world whose recognition would do so much to
supply the place of heraldry and history. To be sure it would
have been greater and grander to have relied solely on his seven
millions of votes, and claimed for his royalty a loftier and nobler
confirmation than lapse of ages or sacramental chrysm ; but no one
is always great any more than always wise. Every man has his
weakness, and a desire to be admitted to the royal family on equal
footing, and for this purpose 'to be well introduced,' seems to
have been Louis Napoleon's. However it be, he never ceased,
from the moment of his accession to the throne, to give the frankest
and most unmistakable proofe of his desire to be on terms of
cordial intimacy with his neighbor. The English government had
the intrigues, the falsehood, the chicanery, and deceit of the Or-
leans dynasty still fresh in their memories ; and the dangerous un-
certainty and vacillation of the republic, was of stiU more recent
date. To have to deal with a power which was not only all
smiles, but whose smiles were real — which promised readily, and yet
could keep its promises, was a bait too novel and too tempting to
be rejected.

Enormous investments of English capital were made in French
securities during the i'ei^ of Louis PhiUppe. There was hardly a
public work of importance in the whole country which did not owe
Its existence in great part to those bugbears of all honest French-

4 Anglo-French Alliance and Orsinu [J^^y,

men — 'English guineas.' The resources still undeveloped, and
which promised a handsome percentage for all outlay, were great,
and combined with their near neighborhood to the head-quarters
of British capital, and the consequent facilities for personal inquiry
and supervision on the part of stockholders, they offered a tempt-
ing field to the energies of British capitalists. The storms of the
revolutionary period which followed 1848 had inflicted serious in-
jury on these gentlemen. The depreciation in value of every
i^ecies of property, which was the natural consequence of the un-
certainty of the political future, during the republican regime^ had
fallen no less heavily on them than on the natives, and they shared
to the fullest extent the hostility with which the bourgeoisie re-
garded the new order of things, and were secretly fully as anxious
lor the establishment of ' a strong government.'

There was hardly one of their dreams which Louis Napoleon
did not promise to fulfil. The policy he traced out at the very
dawn of the empire was the one of all others to meet the wants of
a timid trader : unbounded facilities for speculation, with absolute
repression of all movements, political or other, which might exer-
cise the slightest influence on stocks or other securities, and no less
guarantee for the safety of property than five hundred thousand
bayonets, of which he had already proved himself capable of mak-
ing a remorseless and unscrupulous use. Nor did the new govern-
ment confine itself to bare guarantee of the security of vested
rights. It declared it to be a part of its mission to foster and sti-
mulate enterprise, so as to place France in the front rank of the
army of commerce, and for this purpose -began to make a lavish
use of all the resources, both material and moral, of the state. It
is no part of our present purpose to chronicle the prodigious com-
mercial activity which marked the first three or four years of the
present Emperor's reign. A monster corporation was organized
for absorbing all the savings of the community, and employing
them, under the sanction and with the aid of the government, in
every known species of speculation. Subventions were granted
with reckless profusion to rail-road and steam-boat companies, and
any other sort of company who«c existence bore the faintest appear-
ance of testimony to the general proHpcrity. ' Concessions ' of
rail-roads were showered upon the hea<]s of eager capitalists, and
among the most eager were the wealthicHt and canniest men of
' the city.' The London 7?m^^, whi(;h for a month or two after
the coup d^etat^ remained faithful in \U ttlli^^ance to law and just-
ice and numanity, and fired brofwlwidei* which utartlcd the usurper
on his throne, sjwjedily ffavo Wfiy hi^ihv^ iho yiAWyn of scrip, cou-
pons, and bonds which it rcodvpd ifi rHtirtii nitwck its colors and
converted itnolf into )\\n c^^'diftl frigid ftiid »dmlri»r. In the autumn
of 1853, before the i^raM hfwl yrrvmu tff^ ih« bloody graves of those
who fell two ycurw bHWo in tiii^^rifi^ Vtmum*n Uni proUmi against,
not simply the de»tri«ct}//fi of 1m ]\hk*tiif^ti^ hui tttfftijJJjt one of
the worwt ontrag(?rt p\Pf p^Mtnii?t\ iWtifi Hw ^tuiA faith of the
world, there wan not a man or jotirrifll m\ut\uptw^ or position in the

1858.] Anglo-French Alliance and Orsini. 6

whole British empire who dared to say that Louis Napoleon was
not worthy, not merely of English civility, but of English sympathy
and good wishes. Each month saw the adulation increase and the
delusion deepen. When the Russian war broke out, the English
army followed Marshal St. Amaud to the field, rather as an auxi-
liary corps than as the representative of the victors of Yittoria and
of Waterloo, and accepted the position of inferiority which was
assigned it, at once, and without a word of complaint from the au-
thorities at home. The two armies went into action at Alma with
equal numbers ; to the English was assigned the duty of the front
attack, where most danger lay and most loss was to be endm-ed ;
the French reserved to themselves the pleasanter task of surpris-
ing the enemy's flank by climbing precipitous heights unimpeded,
and have ever since worn the laurels plucked on that bloody field.
During the siege operations, the English were placed without re-
monstrance on the right wing, the point farthest from the sea, and
most exposed to a flank attack from the enemy. We all know the
results. We know that France came out of the war with fresh
lustre and strengthened prestige, and the British with the be-
wildering sensation of having fought veiy hard and been kicked
for their pains. The army went home intensely dissatisfied with
the part they had been permitted to play in the conflict, and their
feeling communicated itself to the whole country, and was aggra-
vated by the tone of the French press in commenting upon the
events of the war. The publication of the Baron de Bazancourt's
volume ; the omission of all mention of the English army at the ban-
quet given to the Crimean heroes at Marseilles ; and a variety of
other minor incidents, small in themselves, but important in view
of the actual temper of the public, gave the existing irritation on
the part of the British a chronic character. Lord Palmerston, and
the Times^ and the capitalists, however, clung to the alliance,
though the doubtiul operations by which it was found necessary to
sustam the national credit during the financial panic of last
winter, somewhat damaged the commercial character of the empire.
But a crisis of some sort was clearly at hand. The train was laid,
and Orsini's attempt fired it, and blew Palmerston, the alliance,
Count Persigny, and a great quantity of other valuables, into the air.
It is a great mistake to suppose that it was either the language
of the army, or of Count de Persigny, per S6, which created the re-
cent extraordinary effervescence of anti-Gallic feeling in England.
Provocations as great, and menaces hiuch more insulting because
more deliberate, have been offered before now, without giving rise
to any thing more exciting than a diplomatic correspondence. In
his ordinary moods, John Bull would have vented his ire upon the
braggarts by a letter to the Times, and then let the matter slip
from his memory. But the Crimean war had left its sting, and
the very same causes which led the French colonels and the
French ambassadors to forget themselves, roused the British pub-
lic into frenzy. Bernard's trial was the last act in a drama, the
first scene of which was laid on the banks of the Alma.

6 Anglo-French AUiance and Orsinu [July,

The Orsini conspiracy, or rather the effects it produced on
the policy of the French Government, drove the English public
into speaking out frankly what they had long secretly felt. The
studied contempt with which Count de Persigny treated the
humble congratulations of the London Corporation on his master's
escape, and the savage menaces which, in defiance of all good dis-
cipline, the army was allowed to utter through the colunms of the
Moniteur^ showed them what they refused to believe three years
previously — that no amount of flattery, conciliation, or sub-
serviency can establish between the two countries any thing more
solid than an alliance of governments, and that a lastmg union be-
tween two nations of such pretensions and such antecedents, and
marked by such differences of character and institutions, can never
be based on an assumption of their equality. Nor had the empire
fulfilled any of the hopes it had excited at its inauguration. Seven
years of experiment had resulted in a yearly deficit in the revenue,
m a yearly increase in the civil list, in the continued denial of
liberty of speech, in the destruction of the last shreds of freedom
of election, in a police and passport system of greater stringency
than ever. Nothing which was promised in 1852 was forthcoming.
The Emperor infonned the Chambers in that year, that liberty did
not form the pedestal of the political column : it crowned it. The
column has been going up rapidly ever since, and the materials
have been all supplied from the great quarry of the Idee Napo-
Xeoniennes^ but it has been so constructed, that any other capital
than slavery would now' constitute an architectual defoimity. As a
commercial speculation, the failure of the imperial rc^eme has been
equally signal. Business is at a stand-still throughout the country ;
the Credit Mohilier maintains its footing only through government
support ; the Bank of France was saved from stoppage and the com-
mercial panic averted, by the exertions of the police. 'A run *
would have been deemed an expression of want of confidence in the
Government, and punished as seditious. Better be bankrupt, and
say nothing about it, than try to pay your way and go to jail.
Stocks of all kinds have sunk so low, and return so little, under
the influence of the general feeling of insecurity and xmcertainty,
that most Englishmen are satisfied, that as far as trade is concerned,
the boisterous weather of republicanism is preferable to the hor-
rible calms which precede the hurricanes oi despotism. The ad-
miration of the world has been often challenged for the broad de-
mocratic platform on which his majesty's throne rests. Few men
have put on the crown and the assumed golden bees, at the bid-
ding of seven millions of free citizens. Tlie first of Orsini's bombs
dispelled the delusion. He who reigned by the national will, was
forced, because two foreigners attempted his life, to apportion
France into military districts, and garrison each by a corps d^armee
on war footing, under the command of a marshal, and place the
civil government of Paris in the hands of an African sabreur,
Orsim certainly failed to kill the Emperor, but he slew the empire.

1858.] AngUhFtenck AUiance and Orsini, 7

in destroying the faith of England and of the world, in its moral
strength.

With this dissipation of political delusions, has passed away that
obliquity of vision on the part of the public, both in France and
England, which enabled the usurper to hide unscrupulousness and
penury, by the exhibition of courage and success. The reflections
which Orsini's death inspired, must, we feel certain, have had a
large share in opening the ears of the world to the accents of
justice and truth. The contrast between the career of him who
died on the scaflbld, and that of his accuser who sat oh the throne,
was in itself a great moral lesson. Both began life in much the
same position ; both entered on the world with the uncon-
querable determination to carry out the object nearest their hearts ;
both passed their prime either in prison or in exile ; both were
adventurers, and both conspirators ; both, ten years ago, would
have been spoken of by European governments as vagabonds, of
equal pretensions to the pillory or the whipping-post. Each pur-
sued his ends with singleness of purpose to the last ; one has died
on the scaffold, and the other signed the warrant for his execution.
And yet there is no one who sits down calmly, and applies to their
history the immutable standard of truth and right, without feeling
that if one be a villain and the other a hero, the prize was due to
Orsini, and the judgment should be passed on Napoleon. Orsini
sacrificed himself, family and friends, home and happiness, to the
furtherance of an idea which may be called visionary, but which
no man can condemn. The Italian who lives for the liberation of
Italy, and ends by dying for it, may possibly be a fool, but his
folly is of that extreme sort, that it needs but a tinge of success to
change it into the highest sort of wisdom. The leading feature
in Orsini's career was self-abnegation. His own comfort, conve-
nience, or safety were the last elements which ever entered into his
calculations. There is not an American or an Englishman in ex-
istence, whose proudest boast and glory it would not be to have
had a father, or grand-father, or ancestor ever so remote, who had
done and dared, for America or England, all that this forlorn, per-
secuted * Carbonaro ' dared and did for Italy, up to the attempt on
Napoleon. The Emperor has displayed equal determination, equal
endurance, equal enthusiasm, but neither love for his own country
nor the human race in general nerved his arm nor steeled his
courage. His object, from first to last, has been avowedly his own
elevation to the throne, and the enjoyment of the salary apper-
taining to that position ; and he has never been guilty of the petty
meanness of pretending that he had any other aim in view. He
did not even put forward the claim of hereditary right, to justify
the preliminary perjury and massacre of the Second of December,
as in that case it would have been unnecessary to appeal to the
people for election, and the coup d*etat would have been but a le-

fitimate re-seizure of stolen goods. He conspired, he fought, he
roke his oath, because he desired to be Emperor ; and he killed

8 Anglo-French AUiance and Orsini, [Jaly>

Orsini, because he wishes to remain Emperor. Orsini conspired,
and fought, and sought to assassinate, that twenty millions mi^ht
be free. The last act in his sad story was the only blemish upon
a life of singular loyalty to honest con\dctions ; but if the coup
d^etaty the breach of the presidential oath, and the bloodshed which
followed it, bo justifiable in consideration of the end they had in
view, so also was the attempt of the twenty-first of Januarjr ; for,
per se, both acts were equally heinous. Any argument which ex-
culpates Louis Napoleon, excuses Orsini. Their cases, then, differ
only in the aims ol the men, and the result of their endeavors ; and
the issue once narrowed down to these two points, and the parties
brought face to face, the one in the position of judge, and the
other of executioner, every good instinct of the human heart rises
in execration at the spectacle. Both are scoundrels, if you will ;
both may come in the jurist's classification, under the category of
hostes humani generis; but any alliance, or other political arrange-
ment which rests on the assumption, that the one of two such men
deserves the hand of sympathy and friendship, while the other has
met his deserts on the block, is such a crazy fabric, that it needs
only to be examined to be overturned.

The result of this latest attempt to mamtain a hearty and active
friendship between two countries, whose domestic policy and insti-
tutions are so totally opposed as those of England and France, has
a warning in it, which it is to be hoped will not be forgotten.
How vain it is for England to hope to escape serious misconception,
as to the operation of the simplest portion of her political machin-
ery, has been evidenced by the way in which the result of Bernard's
trial has been received in France ; and the vote of the House of
Commons on the Conspiracy Bill, proves the serious inconveniences
of being on such terms with any despotic power, as to render the
introduction of such a measure, at its request, at all obligatory.
The fact is, that a general alliance or agreement to adhere to any
other state through thick and thin, or intercourse so intimate as
to involve such an alliance as an almost unavoidable consequence,
is something which every free country should avoid. All govern-
ments have a right to expect civility, and such good offices as hu-
manity or politeness dictate, or the interests of science or commerce
may require at the hands of their neighbors ; but nothing more.
More than this entails a ta<;it affproval by one of a thousand things
in the domestic policy of the other, which at home would be
condemned as wicked and indefensible, and it entails deviations
from its own foreign policy, wliich notliing but the interests of its
people or thrmc? of pure justice, can warrsnt.

A free p(;ople v,m\mA enter into a liearty nlliance with a despot,
without eflfecting pryrne wirt fif crfmyt(tm\m between his principles
and theirw, and nil wich eomirrotnises nn^ immoral. England
would certainly }>efore now have sati.^ied ]FnbHe justice, by dealing
out retribution on Naples, if she had n^rt beefi efini[)elled to respect
in the person of King Y9(m\)f% the principle which sits enthroned

1858.] 27ie Messenger at NigM, 9

in France, in the person of Louis Napoleon ; and the stand she is
now taking on the slave-trade, is tembly damaged by the conces-
sions which the alliance has compelled her to make to the French
' free emigration ' scheme. The yoke between her and the Em-
peror was one of the most unequal the world ever saw ; and there
is no friend of free institutions who must not rejoice in its sever-
ance. The sturdy oak of English freedom can never be other than
hampered by the intrusion of a pretentious French poplar into its
branches. It stands best alone. Whatever the spread of English
laws, and ideas, and influence can do to make mankind freer and
wiser and happier, can be done most effectually, when it has not to
accommodate itself to dynastic prejudices or necessities ; and if
Louis Napoleon's policy be for the gpod and glory of France, it
is but fair that he should win his guerdon or meet his doom,
single-handed, and on his own merits.

THE MBSSBK6EB AT NIGHT.

BT B. H. 8TOB9ABOi

A FACE at the window,

A tap on the pane :
Who is it that wants me,

To-night in the rain?

I have lighted my chamber,
And brought out my wine,

For a score of good fellows
Were coming to dine.

The dastards have failed me,

And sent in the rain
The man at the window.

To tap on the pane !

I hear the rain patter,
I hear the wind blow :

I hate the wild weather,
And yet I must go !

I could moan like the wind now,
And weep like the rain,

But the thing at the window
Is tapping again I

It beckons, I follow :

Good-by to the light I
I am going, oh I whither ?

Out into the night !

10 Oipaying over the World. [J^Ji

GIPSYING OVER THE WORLD.*

SECOND PAPEB.

* I 8» a Tolume of slow-rising smoke
O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild.
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat
Their miserable meal. A kettle.
Slung between two poles, upon a stick transverse,
Receives the morsel

Hard-faring race,
They pick their fuel out of every hedge,
Which, kindled with dry leaves and wood, just saves
The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide
Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin —
The vellum of the pedigree they claim.'

Fbom this rural English scene, so well described by Cowper, let
the reader transport himself m imagination to the balmy air and
simny sky of Andalusia, to a court in the luxurious capital of that
ancient province. The water leaps laughingly from a Moorish
fountain, and falls back in graceful jets to kiss the snow-white
marble. The warbling of birds, the aroma of the dzahar, and the
breath of innumerable lowers, too delicate and beautiful for western
lands, suggest the great-eyed Orient. The silvery laugh of Anda-
lusian maidens rings upon the air, as, seated in the shade of the
orange-trees, they now touch the guitar, and now, for a time,
intertwine with needles the silk and gold on their tambours.

The bell rings, and to the soft Quien eaf enters the Gitana — the
Gipsy fortune-teller — who, with her wild looks and haggard fea-
tures, resembles a Hai-py suddenly descended among the Graces.
Her accents are of hate, rather than of love. While murmuring
curses to herself she invokes the blessings of the stars upon those
not of her blood. Her movements and gestures are impassioned.
Fire seems to gleam from the liquid eyes of the strange apparition,
whose very presence is fascination — for it is the behef of all the
maidens of Seville, that the dusky Sibyl possesses the mysteries
of futurity, and can unlock them to whom she will. Ave Maria
purissima I escapes their lips but once, and a silver coin is given
to the strange being, wherewith to make the sign of the cross ; for
without this there could be no buena ventura.

Then, skilled in all the arts of chiromancy, she carefully traces
the lines upon those delicate hands, and dispenses — to this one,
wealth ; to that one, pearls ; to another, what is better than wealth
or pearls, the affection of some gallant hidalgo — thus realizing to
them aU, the rosy visions that float around the sleep of maidens of
eighteen.

• Taa 61PSII8. Their Origin, Hlftory, and Manner of LWb. By the aathor of * Romnanla.*
(In press.) Rudd amd OAatnoH, 810 Broadway, New-Yorlc.

1858.] Gipsying over the World. 11

The scene changes to the banks of the Danube, where of an
evening, in the shadow of the great hill of Buda, hundreds of the
Magyar chivalry assemble with the noble dames of that heroic
race to listen to the impassioned strains of a band of roving Gip-
sies — to a dusky group washing with Colchian fleeces, as of old,
the sands of the Carpathian Arangosh, richer in golden spangles
than Pactolus — to a circle of Roumanian youths and maidens un«
dulating in the graceful hora to the music of Gipsy lautari, to a
silent and breathless throng seated around a serpent-charmer of
Egypt.

As the sun sinks behind the hills of Judea, the traveller on the
plain bivouacs for the night. And there is no more beautiful
sight than when seated before his tent he watches the fires kindled
on the mountains of Moab, rising beyond the Jordan like a wall
against the eastern sky. In the cool of the purple evening the
Bedouins of the neighboring encampment assemble, but not to lis-
ten to the wild fables of the desert, or to the poems of Antar, re-
cited by one of the eloquent lip and the restless eye. The Gipsies,
called Chamari by the Arabs, nave chanced hither in their wander-
ings from village to village and camp to camp ; and under the
silent stars they draw out the long hours of the night in that wild
and weird minstrelsy which alike deUghts the children of Roma
and of Ishmael.

Again the scene changes — to distant India — to bands of dark-
eyed nomads roving on the banks of her mysterious rivers, or in
the land where oriental poverty is married with oriental magnifi-
cence, to a Rajah's court, before which Gipsy maidens are floating
in the soft movements of the eastern dance.

Who these Gipsies are, scattered more widely over the world
than the leaves by the winds of autunm, we attempted to show in
the last number of the Knickerbocker. We have thought that
the readers of our Magazine may be interested in some of the cus-
toms and pecuUarities of this strange people — the remnant per-
haps of some ancient race, left to perish on the shore, while the
great tide of barbaric life has ebbed ; a people of primitive
virtues, unchanged it may be where all else has changed; with
whom nothing is rare, neither the beauty of Astyanax, the charms
of Zenobia, the manly air of Hector, the talent of Ballot, the voice
of Malibran, the gravity of Priam, nor the sorrow of Cassandra.

After the birth of a Gipsy child, almost the flrst thing to be
thought of, in Mohammedan countries, is its circumcision, in Christ-
ian countries, its christening. Their haste in this respect does
not result, however, fi"om exceeding piety on the part of the Gipsy
parents, or so much from a desire for the spiritual welfare of their
oflfepring, as for the spiritual edification to themselves consequent
upon a liberal supply of drink. The Moslem's paradise and the
Cftiristian's heaven are myths never to be thought of in comparison
with the Gipsy's earth, to which he clings with a tenacity unknown
to any other race.

It is a pecuHarity of the Gipsies that they manage to draw

20 Gipsying over tJie World, [J*ily»

From all we have been able to learn from the Gipsies them-
selves, in many countries, and from others concerning them, espe-
cially the observant Vaillant, Tota is their god, and the sun his
image. Children of the earth, the sky is to them only the head
{s'*ero) of Tota ; the sun is his heart, his eye, and his soul ; he em-
braces all things with his love ; the stars are spangles of fire shot
from his eyes. If the zephyr breathes, it is Tota refreshing the
earth with his divine breath ; if the thunder reverberates among
the clouds, it is Tota who has taken cold and coughs. Who or
what then is their divinity ? Tota is neither the heavens nor the
earth, neither the stars nor any thing that can be seen, touched,
or felt. He is a flame, a heat, an invisible fire that communicates
itself to every thing, which renders the earth fruitful, glimmers
in the stars, bums in the sun, illuminates the heavens, glows in the
lightnings, and vivifies the spirit. The sun is his image, and it is
in the sun that the Gipsies adore him. It is for him that they are
bora, that they live and die. The soul, the breath, the spirit, all be-
long to Tota as the body belongs to the earth. The Gipsy laborer is
from predilection a smith ; and it is in exciting fire, in beating iron
and copper, that he returns naturally to his ancient faith, and teaches
to his offspring the probable existence of a Supremo Being, of a di-
vine breath that gives to fire heat, force, and life.

Tota^ or Devel as he is more frequently called, is recognized by
the Gipsies as the principle of good or of light, and JSengel, the
principle of evil or of darkness — not unlike the Ormzud and
Ariman of the Persians. By a singular application of lan^ua^e,
however, they have given the name of Satan to God, and m like
manner converted the first of martyrs ( Tomas signifying a thief)
into a pick-pocket. The Gipsies believe in the eternity of matter,
as also of the spirit ; yet their great fear is, that JSengel may anni-
iiilate one or the other, if not both. They are therefore only soli-
citous of conciliating this dread Nemesis that impends over them
in this world, and over-shadows even that which is to come. It
seems useless to bestow a thought upon the benignant deity who
never does them harm.

The Gipsies do not apparently believe in a resurrection in the
next world, averring that we are miserable enough in this, yet do
not imagine death to be an absolute destruction. They suppose
that the body will again enrich the earth, and the spirit viray the
air. The Gipsies have also an idea of the transmigration of souls.
How far the untutored children of Roma ever comprehended the
refined doctrines of the metempsychosis is unknown, but there is
something in the wild dream of soul-wanderiug through millions
of ages, in harmony with the wandering propensities of the Gipsies.

One would have hardly expected to find the despised Gipsies still
retaining the most ancient religion of India, practising even in our
midst those mysterious rites which unite them with the most distant
lands, and the most remote ages. Deva TotUj Fire of Fire, the ori-
ginal creative cause, appears to have been the primitive god of India ;
and before this divinity was supplanted by Buddha, Fire-worship
was, in a great degree, the religion of the country. Tamerlane, be-

1858.] Gipsying over the World. 21

lieving it to be his mission to rid the earth of idolaters, caosed the
Indian fire- worshipped to be thrown into the flames they adored.
At the Hindoo marriages, the officiating Brahmin still worships the
sun in the name of the bridegroom and the bride ; and when the
women of India bathe in the sacred Gkmges, they bow in devotion
toward the same bright luminary.

The Parsee Fire-worshippers are to be found in many parts of
the east, especially in India and Persia, but the central point of
this religion is upon the peninsula of Apscheraon in the Caspian
Sea. A few miles from Baka four immense columns of flame un-
ceasingly blaze up from the earth, with many smaller flames in the
vicinity. By night they produce a magnificent effect, seeming,
near at hand, a sea of fire, and, in the distance, serving as a beacon
to vessels tossed upon the Caspian. With these flames, which feed
upon enormous volumes of gas constantly escaping from fissures in
the rocks, ascend the prayers of the Fire-worshippers, a consider-
able number of whom spend their time there in voluntary penance
and mortification, a miserable remnant of the ancient sect of
Zoroaster, whose elevated teachings were, in the course of time,
degraded into unmeaning ceremonies. The emaciated, half-naked
forms of the devotees flit like uneasy ghosts among the pillars of
flame.

Traces of Fire-worship were to be found in the religious sys-
tems of the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans. Temples
were dedicated to the sun, and altars built whose inscriptions still
attest the object of their erection. Yet more lasting than temples
or altars or inscriptions, are the usages that have found lodgment
in the hearts of the people.

The appearance of the sacred fire in the Holy Sepulchre at
Jerusalem is the crowning glory of the great Easter festival. In
Western Europe, also, many relics of Fire-worship exist in the ob-
servance of the Catholic Church. As the traveller in France as-
cends the valley of Seille from Arlay to Voiteur on Christmas-eve,
he beholds upon the heights of Arlay, Brery, and Chateau-Chalons
a spectacle of marvellous beauty. The mountains seem illuminated
with constellations of blazing stars, some fixed and others in motion.
It is the youth of the neighboring hamlets bearing torches in their
hands, and now and then wheeling them in circles of fire. Should
he asic the reason of this, the peasant would tell him that the
torches thus agitated represent those carried by the shepherds who
went to offer their homage to the infant Saviour. The student of
traditions and customs would tell him that the observance was still
more ancient, and referred to the mythological system of the
Hindoos.

At the port of Brest, in Brittany, a province in which are to be
found many souvenirs of India, three or four thousand people as-
semble on the ice on Christmas-eve, with flaming torches in their
hands, whose rapid movements and rotations exhibit a thousand
capricious arabesques of fire, and almost make the spectator be-
lieve that he is looking upon the breaking billows of a phosphores-
cent ocean.

14 Gipsying over the World. [July?

live is still more unfavorable to the development of physical
charms, or at least obscures them when actually existing.

The boast of the Gipsies that they sprang from the earth, is
verified by the quantity of dirt adhering to their persons. How-
ever useful water may be for purposes of navigation, they appear
to have sworn eternal hostility against it, both as a purifying agent
and a beverage. Were it not lor the involuntary washing of an
occasional shower, a person might with tolerable accuracy estimate
the age of a Gipsy from the different strata of filth collected upon
his body, as we tell the age of trees by counting the rings of an-
nual growth from the centre of the trunk. It were better for us,
however, not to reveal the whole truth of this matter.

These princes of the ' ragged regiment ' are equally negligent
with their garments. The Afferent tribes of Suders who mhabit
the mountains of the Camatic, and are in so many respects allied
to the Gipsies as evidently to belong to the race, are smd to have
a singular domestic regulation that obliges persons of both sexes to
pass their lives in disgusting uncleanness. The common Gipsy usage
regarding dress is reduced to a law forbidding any person to wash
his garments or to lay them aside until they mil from the body of
their own accord. This regulation is so scrupulously observed,
that if one of their number dips his rags in the water, he is forth-
with expelled from the tribe and sent away in disgrace. It should
be stated, however, that water is not very abundant in the region
of the Camatic.

The features of the Gipsies are not to be mistaken. They are
of medium height, robust and nervous. Never among the ebony
slaves from Abyssinia exposed for sale in the markets of Egypt, or
among the pale merchandise of the East which in early IHe had
breathed the mountain air of the Caucasus, have we seen forms
so perfectly rounded and developed — forms that would so delight
a sculptor as models. Sometimes when seen in repose, the youth
of the Zend-cali might almost be mistaken for statues of bronze.
The face is oval, the complexion a dark, rich olive, and the teeth
are of ivory whiteness. The females, if not combining all the
splendid outlines and delicious tints of Eastern beauty, are not
wanting in the browned ruddy cheeks and swelling bosoms so
associated with Gipsy charms. The eye, however, is the marked
feature of the race, and would distinguish the Gipsy in whatever
place, costume or character she might appear. It is not the small,
luxtuious eye of the Jewess, the oblong eye indispensable to the
Chinese beauty, nor the soft, almond eye of the Egyptian, but
something unique and peculiar. It is vivid, lustrous, or liquid,
according to the thought which seeks for utterance. Now it has
a wild and staring expression, and then, in moments of repose, a
filmy and phosphorescent softness will gather over it, through
which one looks as into the depths of the souL

Beauty, however, is a delicate gift — a child of care and atten-
tion which^ if not to be bathed constantly in May-dew, and fed on
honeysuckle, cannot on the contrary be long exposed with impu-

1858.] Gipsying over the World. 15

nity to the rough manner of life — sans feu et lieu — of the Gipsies.
We once saw a Circassian girl sold in Constantinople whose ap-
pearance by no means corresponded with the idea we had fonned
of her countrywomen. Upon inquiry, we were informed that
female slaves, when first brought from the Caucasus, are for the
most part rough, ungainly creatures. But after they have been
trained for a time in the harems of the Turkish grandees, and used
the bath, the veil, and the thousand-and-one agents employed in
the East, they become really beautiful. Their daughters are to be
numbered among the handsomest women in the world — so much
is beauty dependent upon favorable circumstances.

Gipsy charms are tnerefore short-lived : and as it takes an an-
gel to make a demon, the pretty girl of Roma soon becomes the
incarnation of ugliness. The change is as great as if one of the
Graces were metamorphosed into a daughter of Acheron. Her smile
grows hard and disagreeable ; her forehead is early seamed with
wrinkles ; her wind-beaten and sun-burned cheeks, scarred by ex-
posure and furrowed by passion, are the cheeks of a li\dnff mummy.
The body bent, the expression cracked, the voice broken — sex
itself becomes obliterated ; and the Gipsy hag might well imitate
old Madame de Hondatot, who candidly admitted — ^ Autrefois^
quand j^etais femmeJ* Manhood also assumes a sinister and
ferocious aspect. The hair which in youth served as an ornament,
grows stiff and harsh like that of a horse's tail, and being rarely
cut or kemped, is usually the home of undisturbed innocence.

The face of the untamed Gipsy becomes blacker and blacker
with age, making the redness of the lips more observable, and
rendering hideous the hazy glare of the deep rolling eye. One
never sees in the aged faces of the Zend-cali that tender, mellow,
childlike expression which we often observe in good old people.
On the contrary, vice, malice, revenge, and deceit become more
outspoken. Age and the loss of teeth only whet their appetites
for evil. Their withered limbs seem never to lose their strength,
the evil eye never grows old. As the French become better cooks
in proportion to their age and ugliness, so crooked Gipsy crones
malke the best fortune-tellei*s.

Water is the usual beverage of the Gipsies. They have, how-
ever, an inordinate love of brandy, which is preferred to all other
intoxicating drinks, from the fact that it induces intoxication more
speedily. %eer is not sufficiently stimulating; beside, it is the
mvorite drink of the lower class. The important events of life are
made the occasion of boisterous revels ; and in case liquor can be
obtained, the mirth and glee which attend the Gipsy's birth and
marriage are surpassed only by the drunken orgies that mark his
passage to another world.

Among the Bazeegurs, a Gipsy tribe of India, disputes are never
referred beyond their seat. If the matter be of so serious a nature
that a small puncha'*et (council) cannot settle it, the Bula Sudor
convenes a general assembly. This tribimal, however, never en-
ters upon business imtil a quantity of liquor equal to the import-

16 Gipsying over the World, [July,

ance of the case has been provided by both plaintiff and defendant.
The loser has ultimately to bear the expense unless, as frequently
happens, (all parties during the discussion being indulged in a free
participation of the liquoi*,) judges and contestants forget all about
the affair under consideration. The letter of the law is in this way
accommodated to the spuit. The punchcCet disperses by degrees,
and the contending parties, when aroused from the torpor of in-
toxication, awake only to regret their folly. Christians do not
more effectually ruin themselves in their law-suits.

This Gipsy tribunal rarely returns a verdict of ' Not guilty,' but
fortunately for the convict any crime may be expiated by a plenti-
ful supply of liquor, the fine being proportionate to the thirst of
the court. The alternative is to have the nose rubbed on the
ground. When the case is too complicated for the intelligence of
the assembly, the accused is made to apply his tongue to a piece
of hot iron, and if burned, is pronounced guilty. Persons who
have acquired any property are in constant danger of accusation,
and if the liquor be not forthwith coming, the delinquent is hooted
from the tribe, so that he is ultimately willing to impoverish him-
self in order to obtain the necessary libation.

It may be tnily said of the Gipsies of India, that they imbibe
alcohol with the maternal milk. Toddy, the fermented juice of
the palm, is regularly given to infants of five and six months when
it can be obtained. As in other countries, the Gipsies never work
while they have any thing to drink, so that their wretched Ufe con-
stantly alternates from intoxication to labor of some kind, and from
labor to intoxication. Nor do the women allow themselves to be
outdone by the men in the habit of intemperance. The use of in-
toxicating drinks is condemned by all the high castes of India.

The dress of the Gipsies is in keeping with their nomadic tend-
encies. They find it agreeable to beg or steal garments, and
therefore ordinarily procure their clothmg ready-made, so as not
to be molested by tailors' bills. The only attempt at tailoring I
ever saw among them, was to make a hole in the middle of a
blanket large enough for the head, and a couple of smaller ones for
the arms. The wind cannot blow off his hat who has none, and
shoes are troublesome appliances with people whose manner of life
and general economy are those of vagrants and beggars.

Pride is as common in the cabins of the lowly as m the palaces
of kings. The Gipsy exhibits this weakness even in the selection
and display of his rags. ' Better starve than work,' is his motto,
and he would consider it highly degrading to put on the ordinary
dress of a laboring man.

Gipsy women neither spin nor weave, neither sew nor work, and
yet it cannot be said of them that they are clothed like unto the
lilies of the field. They are usually more picturesque in the mat-
ter of dress than the males. We have known manjr instances in
which the entire female dress consisted of a large piece of cloth
thrown over the head and wound round the body in Eastern style,
and revealing here and there the tawny, sun-browned integument

1858.] Qipaying over the World. 17

beneath. Gipsy women have also a dash of Bloomerisra, for in
case their own wretched garments give out, they do not hesitate
to draw on those of their male companions, should these be so for-
tunate as to have any unmentionable articles of dress to spare.

Upon the coast of Malabar there is a caste of Indians named
McUai- Condiairous who live in the forests and are piincipally oc-
cupied in extracting, and preparing for use, the juice of the palm.
Though their manner of life is barbarous, there are too many
points of resemblance between them and the Gipsies not to believe
tliat they had a kindred origin. The individuals of this caste go
naked, the women wearing merely a shred of cloth that imperfectly
conceals the part it is intended to cover. It is related by the Abbu
Dubois that when the last Sultan of Mysore made an expedition
among the mountains of Malabar, having met a band of these savages,
he was shocked at the state of nudity in which they lived. How-
ever depraved the Mussulmans in their private life, they are une-
qualled in the exhibition of decency and modesty in public ; and
are greatly scandaUzed by the want of either, especially on the
part of feuiales. The Sultan having caused the chiefs of the Malai-
Condiairous to be brought in his presence, asked them why they
and their wives did not cover their bodies more decently ? The
chiefs gave as a reason the poverty of their people and the force of
custom. Tippoo replied that he should henceforth require them to
wear clothes Uke the rest of his subjects, and if they had not the
necessary means, would himself gratuitously furnish every year the
cloth requisite for that purpose. The savages, thus pressed by
their sovereign, humbly remonstrated, and begged that he would
not subject them to the embarrassment of wearing clothes.
Finally they declared that if, in opposition to the rules of their caste,
he should insist upon his demand, sooner than submit to so great
a vexation, they would all leave the country and seek a refuge
where, unmolested, they could follow the customs of their fore-
fathers in dress and manner of life. Tippoo was obliged to yield.

Among the Turks, the so-called Mohammedan Gipsies have the
privilege of wearing a white turban. In Russia, the Tsigans have
large caps covered with ribbons, and, as in many other Eastern
countries, exhibit, when able, strings of silver, or even of gold coin
upon the head and neck. Green and scarlet are every where fa-
vorite colors with the Zend-cali. Though so wretched generally as
to have nothing but unseemly rags to cover their bodies, they are
not indifferent to dress. To attract attention, not to conceal their
nakedness, is the chief object. Kelpius says that the Gipsies
of Ti'ansylvania spend all their earnings for drink and clothing.
In winter, the Wallachian Gipsies either wear coarse woolen stock-
ings, knit by females upon huge wooden needles, or sew up their
feet in bundles of rags, which are not taken off until spring ar-
rives or the material perishes.

* It would appear,' says Cervantes, in his Gitanella, a work more
highly esteemed in Spain than even the adventures of Don Quixote,
' as though Gipsies, both men and women, came into the world for

VOL. LII. 2

18 Gipsying over the World. [J^y>

no other end or purpose than to be thieves : they grow uj) among
thieves, the art of thieving is their study, and they finish with
being thieves, rogues, and robbers in every sense of the word ;
and the love and practice of theft, are, in their case, a sort of in-
separable accident, ceasing only with death.' The Gipsies account
for this remarkable proclivity in the following manner. The im-
pression prevails throughout Eastern Europe, that it was the
children of Roma who crucified our Saviour on Calvary, but they
say that only one of their number assisted on that sorrowful occa-
sion. Four nails were brought for use. The Gipsy thinking that
three were enough, stole the remaining one ; and ever since, his
people have been notorious thieves. Music, with all its refining in-
fluences, has not cured them of this predeliction.

With the Gipsies, stealing is a legitimate profession, the very
comer-stone, one might say, of their body pohtic. Writers upon
moral philosophy contend that labor and virtue are indispensable
elements of perpetuity in the existence of a state ; but here we
have a distinct people, who have existed many centuries, more by
theft than by properly directed industry, and have every where
been looked upon as the parasites of society.

The only disgrace the Gipsies attach to theft, consists in prac-
tising it too near home, and m being detected ; and the youth of
Sparta were not more adroit in the execution, or more selfflacri-
ficing in the concealment of the act. The most successful thief in
a band of Gipsies, usually attains the honor of being its chief, and
skill in this profession is ranked as the highest accomplishment that
a maiden of the tawny race can possess, proficiency therein ren-
dering her valuable to her parents, and especially desirable as a
bride.

It is not surprising, therefore, that among the Gipsies theft should
be a matter of study and education. Long before the child of
Roma is taught to read the mystical lines of the hand, or inter-
pret the hidden meaning of the stars, it is carefully instructed in
this most reliable and lucrative of Gipsy arts. Wrinkled men and
women, whose chins and knees are brought near together by age,
are the teachers, and the pupils have the benefit of both precept
and example.

In the unwritten grammar of the Gipsies, the verb is a word
which signifies to dance, to smoke, to he idle. Instead of beginning
with the moods and tenses of to love, they are first taught to con-
jugate and decline nicdbar, to steal ; and at an astonishmgly early
age, become familiar with it in all its numbers and persons. Their
knowledge has also the advantage of being practical, and shared
by every member of the tribe.

While the women are abroad telling fortunes, and the able-bodied
men engaged in predatory or trafficking excursions, the children at
their temporary home are initiated into the mysteries of the thieving
art. In countries where the Gipsies abound, we have seen many
a tableau of this kind worthy of the painter's skill. The still, hazy
air of mid-day, two or three ragged tents pitch^ on the outskirts

1858.] Gipsying over the World. 19

of a forest, a few rude articles of furniture scattered about, a pa-
tient donkey dozing in the shade, a thread of smoke curling up
among the tree-tops from the common fire where they cook the
evening meal — who could mistake the Gipsy camp ?

An officer in the Austrian army relates a characteristic incident
which occurred in a Hungarian village not far from Pesth. At the
house of a Jew he found a Gipsy, who had been compelled to serve
in his own regiment, trying to sell a horse which he was holding
by the bridle. He and the Jew disputed some time about the
price, but the latter agreed to throw m a roasted goose, which he
said was hanging in the chimney of the adjoining room. The
Gipsy expressed his satisfaction ; but the Jew could not find the
goose, and, becoming angry, charged his wife with having eaten it.
Finally it was discovered that the Gipsy had stolen the fowl, and
was holding it behind his back. The horse he was attempting to
dispose of belonged to the regiment.

A Gipsy was one day brought to trial at a place near Raab.
The judge, an aged and good-natured man, said reproachfully to
the delinquent : ' I have no compassion for you : I could perhaps
have let you off^ if in the hard, cold winter you had stolen these
boots from the peasant ; but now, in buming-hot summer, when
every one can go barefoot, it is certainly an unpardonable theft.'

' Yes, golden, gracious master,' replied the Gipsy naively, ' but
in winter no one could steal boots, for every peasant then has them
on his feet. It is necessary to provide in summer, when people
leave their boots standing at home.'

On a very stormy day, a gentleman saw a Gipsy in his garden
stealing carrots. Opening the widow suddenly, he called out to
the thief: ' Hallo, rogue ! what are you doing there ? '

' O God ! ' exclaimed the Gipsy, seizing hold of the top of a large
carrot fast in the earth, ' I am holding myself; for the wind is so
strong that it raises me from the ground.'

While it has been believed by many that the Gipsies have an
extended political organization, nay, that there is a King of the
Gipsies, whose dominions are wider than those of spiritual Rome ;
othera have conjectured that they cherish a secret faith of their
own. What then is the religion of the Gipsies ?

It has frequently been observed, that Gipsy smiths, when they
build their fires, pronounce certain mysterious words, and perform
a short but mystical ceremony. Mr. Brown, of Constantinople,
once related to us a circumstance which occurred while he was
making a journey with a Mussulman and a Gipsy. It was during
the Ramazan — the Moslem Lent — when the faithful are not per-
mitted to taste of food from the rising to the setting of the sun.
The Gipsy rose before the break of day, to prepare the morning
meal ; and while kindling the fire, was observed to go through a
performance evidently intended as a kind of worship. Mr. v ail-
lant, who has spent many years among the Wallachians, confirms
the remarkable fiict, that the secret fidth long attributed to the
Gipsies, is a species of Fire-worship.

20 Gipsying over tJie World. [J^ly»

From all we have been able to leam from the Gipsies them-
selves, in many countries, and from others concerning them, espe-
cially the observant Vaillant, Tota is their god, and the sun his
image. Children of the earth, the sky is to them only the head
{s'*ero) of Tota ; the sun is his heart, his eye, and his soul ; he em-
braces all things with his love ; the stars are spangles of fire sbot
from his eyes. If the zephyr breathes, it is Tota refreshing the
earth with his divine breath ; if the thunder reverberates among
the clouds, it is Tota who has taken cold and coughs. Who or
what then is their divinity ? Tota is neither the heavens nor the
earth, neither the stars nor any thing that can be seen, touched,
or felt. He is a flame, a heat, an invisible fire that communicates
itself to eveiy thing, which renders the earth fruitful, glimmers
in the stars, bums in the sun, illuminates the heavens, glows in the
lightnings, and vivifies the spirit. The sun is his image, and it is
in the sun that the Gipsies adore him. It is for him that they are
bom, that they live and die. The soul, the breath, the spirit, all be-
long to Tota as the body belongs to the earth. The Gipsy laborer is
from predilection a smith ; and it is in exciting fire, in beating iron
and copper, that he returns naturally to his ancient faith, and teaches
to his otfspiing the probable existence of a Supreme Being, of a di-
vine breath that gives to fire heat, force, and life.

Tota^ or JDevel as he is more frequently called, is recognized by
the Gipsies as the principle of good or of light, and BengeL, the
principle of evil or of darkness — not unlike the Ormzud and
Ariman of the Persians. By a singular application of language,
however, they have given the name of Satan to God, and m like
manner converted the first of martyrs (Tomas signifying a thief)
into a pick-pocket. The Gipsies believe in the eternity of matter,
as also of the spirit ; yet their great fear is, that JBengel may anni-
hilate one or the other, if not both. They are therefore only soli-
citous of conciliating this dread Nemesis that impends over them
in this world, and over-shadows even that which is to come. It
seems useless to bestow a thought upon the benignant deity who
never does them harm.

The Gipsies do not apparently believe in a resurrection in the
next world, averring that we are miserable enough in this, yet do
not imagine death to be an absolute destruction. They suppose
that the body will again enrich the earth, and the spirit vivify the
air. The Gipsies have also an idea of the transmigration of souls.
How far the untutored children of Roma ever comprehended the
refined doctrines of the metempsychosis is unknown, but there is
something in the wild dream of soul-wandering through millions
of ages, in harmony with the wandering propensities of the Gipsies.

One would have hardly expected to find the despised Gipsies still
retaining the most ancient religion of India, practising even in our
midst those mysterious rites which unite them with the most distant
lands, and the most remote ages. JDeva Tota^ Fire of Fire, the ori-
ginal creative cause, appears to have been the primitive god of India ;
and before this divinity was supplanted by Buddha, Fire-worship
was, in a great degree, the religion of the country. Tamerlane, be-

1868.] Gipsying over the World. 21

lieving it to be his mission to rid the earth of idolaters, caused the
Indian fire- worshippers to be thrown into the flames they adored.
At the Hindoo marriages, the officiating Brahmin still worships the
sun in the name of the bridegroom and the bride ; and when the
women of India bathe in the sacred Ganges, they bow in devotion
toward the same bright luminary.

The Parsee Fire-worshippers are to be found in many parts of
the east, especially in India and Peraia, but the central point of
this religion is upon the peninsula of Apscheraon in the Casj^ian
Sea. A few miles from Baka four immense columns of flame im-
ceasingly blaze up from the earth, with many smaller flames in the
vicinity. By night they produce a magnificent effect, seeming,
near at hand, a sea of fire, and, in the distance, serving as a beacon
to vessels tossed upon the Caspian. With these flames, which feed
upon enormous volumes of gas constantly escaping from fissures in
the rocks, ascend the prayers of the Fire-worshippers, a consider-
able number of whom spend their time there in voluntary penance
and mortification, a miserable remnant of the ancient sect of
Zoroaster, whose elevated teachings were, in the course of time,
degraded into unmeaning ceremonies. The emaciated, half-naked
forms of the devotees flit like uneasy ghosts among the pillars of
flame.

The appearance of the sacred fire in the Holy Sepulchre at
Jerusalem is the crowning glory of the great Easter festival. In
Western Europe, also, many relics of Fire-worship exist in the ob-
servance of the Catholic Church. As the traveller in France as-
cends the valley of Seille from Arlay to Voiteur on Christmas-eve,
he beholds upon the heights of Arlay, Brery, and Chateau-Chalons
a spectacle of marvellous beauty. The mountains seem illuminated
with constellations of blazing stars, some fixed and others in motion.
It is the youth of the neighboring hamlets bearing torches in their
hands, and now and then wheeling them in circles of fire. Should
he ask the reason of this, the peasant would tell him that the
torches thus agitated represent those carried by the shepherds who
went to offer their homage to the infant Saviour, The student of
traditions and customs would tell him that the observance was still
more ancient, and referred to the mythological system of the
Hindoos.

At the port of Brest, in Brittany, a province in which are to be
found many souvenirs of India, three or four thousand people aS'
semble on the ice on Christmas-eve, with flaming torches in their
hands, whose rapid movements and rotations exhibit a thousand
capricious arabesques of fire, and almost make the spectator be-
lieve that he is looking upon the breaking billows of a phosphores-
cent ocean.

22 CHpaying over tJie World. [July*

The highest peak of the chain of Lheute, which rises like a
barrier between the first plateau of Jura and the Combe d'Ain,
must have been worshipped in those remote ages when mountains
received divine honors. On a certain day in the year the inhabit-
ants of the adjacent hamlet of Verges celebrate a festival that
must be oriental in its origin, and connected only with the age and
county of the ancient Fire- worshippers. A number of the village
youth ascend to the summit of Lheute and kindle fires of straw in
the tops of the trees^ Clinging to the branches, they light their
torches by the blaze and then descend to the valley to join in the
festivities of the occasion. From these examples we need not be
surprised that the Gipsies should have retained many of the reli-
gious ideas of their ancestors.

With the Gipsies there is no such thing as instruction in religion.
One might almost venture to say that a prayer never escapes their
mouth. The name of God is often upon their lips, but there is
neither knowledge nor love of Him in the heart. Though they
may deny His existence, as indeed is frequently the case, their
hidden belief in a Supreme Being will in some way manifest itself^
so true is it that no people exist without the conception of a God,
however rude and mutilated it may be. Like the eastern nations,
the Gipsies believe in the efficacy of certain forms of words ; and
as the Orphic hymns of the Greeks were held sacred long after
they ceased to bo understood, so the Zend-cali have some old
words, doubtless married with their ancient faith, which they do
not comprehend, but retain with superstitious reverence.

Tlie Mussulmans say there are seventy-two and a half religions,
the fraction belonging to the Gipsies. So few evidences of ortho-
doxy do the Gipsy converts to Islamism exhibit, that the Sultan
wisely leaves to the Prophet the task of selecting the true be-
lievers. Like the Jews and Christians, they are obliged to pay
the capitation-tax, even though they should have made a pilgrim-
age to Mecca.

The Gipsies of Wallachia declare that they were formerly possessed
of the stone churches of the land, but that, having exchanged them
for churches of bacon, they ate up the latter, and had thenceforth
to depend upon the Wallachs for all spiritual privileges. In the
Catholic and Greek countries it is very common for the Gipsy,
when in the slightest trouble, to vow a wax candle of the size of
his body to the holy Mary. But he never burns one, even of the
size of his little finger, bringing contempt thereby upon the Virgin
and the Saints.

The indifference of the Gipsies to religion is illustrated by a
circumstance that occurred in Hungary. One of their people hav-
ing been condemned to die, was attended to the scaffold by two
clergymen of different persuasions, both of whom were anxious to
save his soul and bring him over to their particular creed. Hav-
ing listened to each with apparently much attention, he inquired
which of them would give him a segar. One of them gave the
Gipsy what he desired, whereupon he immediately accepted the
fidth of the donor.

1858.1 ITie Toung Bachelor. 23

THB YOUNG BAOHBLOR

Oh ! I 'm a gay young bachelor,

With heart all full of joy,
Aud spirits still kept buoyed up,

As when I was a boy.

Although the highest rent I pay,
I own the landlord *s rough.

And though I have a tip-top room,
I ne^er have room enough.

ni.

My bed it is not very long.

Nor very wide, 't is true.
But then when one grows very short,

His things should be short too.

rv.

Though but one single chair
Stands tottering on my floor,

Yet two within my room would make
It singular no more.

And though my table 's lost a leg,

Whene'er to tea I go,
I put my own there in its place,

As legatee you know.

VI.

My wardrobe, rather worn I grant,

Speaks badly for my thrift,
But when I cannot find a shirt,

I always make a shift.

VII.

Then though those woven articles

I wear upon my soles,
So very full of holes have grown,

'T is hard to find the wholes ;

VIXL

Yet still this life of bachelor

Is e'er the life for me ;
And as I ne'er loved in£Emcy,

In fimcy I '11 be free.

iz.

For if that I should get a wife,

And lead a life more sad ;
I know whene'er I lit my pipe,

She would get piping mad.

24 Newport out of Season, [Sxly^

Then I am sure her low-born mind
With mine would ne'er agree ;

I ne'er could get her up to my
Attic philosophy.

XI.

And when she saw my herring there,
Sole landscape to my name,

She never would believe my tale,
By tail direct it came.

xn.

No ! e'er a jolly bachelor,

I think I still wUl be ;
And as to maid I ne'er made loye,

None shall be made to me.

NEWPORT OUT OP SEASON.

BT B. T. TUOKBRMAX.

Fashion is incurious and self-absorbed, vain, not soulful ; and
hence few of her votaries who, year after year, visit this island
and would scorn the imputation of not knowing Newport, have
ever taken cognizance of the singular local features of one of the
oldest and least modified towns m New-England — where unique
relics of character, individual traits of nature and associations of
history and tradition exist, that would kindle an unperverted
imagination and reward patient observation. You may stroll along
the less frequented streets at noon-day, or ramble on the cliffs on a
moonlight evening, and not encounter a human creature save, per-
haps, a solitary fisherman or ' the oldest inhabitant ' hoeing his
vegetable paten. The strangers are herding in hotel-entries amid
chatter, ribbons, and heat ; the breath of nature, the haunts of
lowly comfort, the expanse of ocean silvered by lunar rays, have
no attraction unblended with la mode at whose shrine their devo-
tions are exclusively paid. Now that there are no ' hops ' except
what grow on vines ; now that the news-boys, organ-grinders, danc-
ing and riding-masters, and Germanians have all vanished ; now that
the shops are locked at dinner-time, the piazzas solitary, the dust laid,
the gongs hushed, the fops gone to Broadway and Chestnut street,
no concert but the sound of waves, and no heUea but noon chimes ;
Bateman's Point left to its isolated beauty and the bath-houses
drawn up from the beach ; now that the cottagers resume their

1858.] Newport out of Season, 25

matutinal rambles and social tea-drinkings ; now that a promenade
is more charming than a drive and a wood-fire better than a veran-
dah ; now that the early touch of autumn has driven away the gay
crowds, made the sunshine agreeable and exercise indispensable,
let us explore some of the by-ways of old Newport, look under the
most ancient roof-trees, talk with a few of the venerable natives,
and thus realize what the region is, independent of its brief water-
ing-place phenomena, which transform its normal aspect only for
two months in the year.

The atmospheric medium is so transparent that headland, isle,
and ledge have a remarkable prominence. Sachuest Point stretches
into the ultra-marine expanse as if its jagged cape were newly
chiselled ; Block Island is distinctly visible forty miles away, and
Cormorant Rock looms high ; the low houses on Little Compton
print themselves more legibly against the horizon, and the Dump-
lings are rounded more loftily. All summer our horses were
turned toward the beach ; now the cool air invites to inland rides,
and we gaze thoughtfully down the Glen at Lawton's valley, pause
before Whitehall or Prescott's head-quarters, scan Sullivan's breast-
works, and watch, from every side, the far-visible observatory on
Tammany hill. It is pleasant to wander through the fields and see
the yellow tassel of the golden rod and the nodding astera : thickly
stand the ranks of maize, its green hue fading into harvest shades ;
quinces hang thick and ripe, apples blush, and sun-flowers turn their
starry ovals to the light ; in quiet coves floats the green-necked
teal, and over-head pass flocks of black-duck; sheep patiently lay
their heads together in the sun on the slope of brown pastures, and
geese waddle across the road ; orange dyed pumpkins scintillate in
the sunshine ; sand-belts, at low tide, are dazzling white ; mosses
look, in the clear brine, like coral flowers ; dahlias flaunt gayly ;
the angles of rock and leaf are sharper ; the ocean and bay, when
calm, are as immense tables of lapis lazuli; sumac cones are
vividly crimson ; the maple is a world of delicate gems ; all the
prospect seems freshly enamelled with color and light ; the touch •
of the breeze, the radiance of the sunset, the deeper blue of the
sea proclaim that Autumn has come. It is a reminiscent season ;
and, as we wander, come back to us those whose fame is identified
with this island — Canonicus, who sold its fair acres; Roger Wil-
liams, who made it an asylum for the persecuted ; and Honyman,
Calender, Berkeley, Stiles, and Channing, the clerical worthies
whose names grace the landscape ; Smibert, Stuart, Malbone, and
Allston, who here pursued Art in their youth ; and Franklin, whose
press may still be seen in a corner of the old Mercury office which
his brother James established. We think of the days when the
hospitable Colonel Malbone reassured his alarmed guests, and had
the dinner-table moved on to the lawn, and continued the repast
in sight of his burning mansion ; when Dr. Hunter, a refugee from
the Stuart rebellion, went hence as surgeon to the expedition
against Crown Point ; when Vernon entertained Lafayette, and
Lightfoot showed the natives what a scholar and epicure at old

26 jffetoport <mt of Season, [J^y

Oxford learned ; when British soldiers turned the churches into
stables, made the State-house a hospital, and burned Beavertail
light-house, and the ' Isle of Peace ' became a scene of wantonness
and devastation ; when the petted Africans, of patriarchal slavery,
made famous dishes for colonial bon-vivants / and a ship, under
full sail before a gentle breeze, run her keel into the strand at
noon-day, with no living creature on board but a dog, and an uii-
tasted breakfast spread in the cabin — a mystery to this hour ;
when rich Jews thronged, on Saturdays, the now deserted sjTia-
gogue, whose bequests yet keep green and well ordered their rural
cemetery ; when tropical fruits and lowland brocade came fresh
from the West-Indies and Flemish looms into the old aristocratic
town ; when privateei*s levied a tax on the isolated population, and
George Fox held polemic disputes with the clergy ; when fleet
Naragansett ponies bore Quaker beauties from farm to farm ;
when Lord Northumberland declared the society worthy of St.
James's, and Dr. Waterhouse praised the laboratories ; when Red-
wood initiated the library, and Hessians cut down the trees ; when
Mrs. Cowley's assembly-room was honored by Washington leading
the minuet, and Rochambeau exchanged military salutes with
Trumbull ; when the September gale frosted every casement with
brine, and the Peace lighted them up with a thousand burning
tapers.

There are more amusing recollections of later origin and less
historical significance. A French dentist, whose courteous bow
was a lesson in the streets, a few years ago, enjoyed the office of
consul, long a mere sinecure, but rendered to him an unexpected
source of honor and profit. A vessel under French colors one day-
entered the harbor and was moored at the quay. Her crew lav-
ished their money so freely in the town as to excite suspicion ; but
the local authorities were indifferent, and she would have left as
she came, but for the official activity of the Gallic king's represent-
ative ; he was dissatisfied with her papers, and found objects of
luxury on board ill-suited to a merchantman. In the absence of
direct evidence, he took the responsibility of committing the cap-
tain and his men to prison, obtained an order from the home gov-
ernment to send them to France, where they were tried and
condcnmed as notorious pirates ; the presence of the urbane dentist
was requested at court ; he was honored and paid for his services,
and came back on a visit to his old friends at Newport, with a
red ribbon in his button-hole, and a valuable royal commission in
his pocket.

At the time the rumor of a ' long, low, black schooner ' filled the
dreams of old women and the columns of young journals through-
out the New-England borders, an order arrived here that a sloop-
of-war should be forthwith dispatched to hunt the mysterious
craft. Among the volunteers was a Quaker veteran who held an
office in the custom-house, and felt bound, as an employe of Uncle
Sam, to volunteer in this hazardous service. Old Slocum was
known and loved by every one in Newport ; he had but one in-

1868,] Newport out of Se^Mon. 27

firmity and one £ialt ; he was deaf and curious : thus, when he
beheld two people talking, he invariably approached, with his
hands together in the. shape of an ear-trumpet, and thrusting it
between the speakers, eagerly inquired : * WhaPa the idee f ' Y^vr
manifested impatience at the interruption ; and many gratified the
honest creature's pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. A
week after the sloop's departure, at the hour of noon, on a calm
and bright spring day, the inhabitants of the quiet town were
startled by the distant thunder of cannon. The butcher dropped
his cleaver and the thread of his customer's gossip ; the cobbler
left his wax-end half through the sole on his knee ; the spinster
pricked her finger by the jerk with which she perforated the sam-
pler ; and all the female gender ran to the door, while the sterner
sex, half of them with uncovered heads, hurried to the Parade in
breathless expectancy. * There has been a fight,' said one. ' They
have met the pirate ! ' exclaimed another. A maiden, whose lover
was on board the sloop, was heard to shriek ; the town clerk turned
pale, and a disabled pilot looked oracular. At this critical moment,
a lawyer, regarded as the most shrewd man in the community, was
seen approaching, with downcast eyes, and at a funereal pace, &om
the vicinity of the docks. 'Ah ! ' cried more than one of the ex-
cited crowd, ' he knows all about it ; how solemn he looks ! some
dreadful news is coming I ' Slowly, and without looking up, the
lawyer drew near. ' Alas I my fi-iends,' he exclaimed, ' who would
have thought our brave boys were doomed to be conquered I
D — n the bloody pirate ! * ' No profanity I ' said a deacon. ' O
my Jim I ' blubbered a poor woman. ' Tell us all about it,' coolly
demanded a surly bachelor; but the majority only gazed, hor-
ror-struck, upon the lawyer, and awaited the truth in mute sus-
pense. 'For my part,' he continued, 'having no relatives on
board. Old Slocum's fate weighs most bitterly on my heart.*
* What I did he go, after all ? ' inquired a broad-brim, ' it was
against our principles.' 'Yes,' said another, 'but he felt it his
duty, poor fellow 1 ' Some of the old men wiped away a tear ; all
looked mournful, and the lawyer stood an incarnation of pathos.
' Was he killed the first fire ? ' at length asked a sobbing voice.
' No, he walked the plank.' The listeners shuddered and huddled
more closely together. ' Yes, my friends,' resumed their inform-
ant, in melancholy tones, ' his behavior was characteristic ; after
the sloop was boarded, he stood in passive contemplation by the
mast, until urged toward, and mounted on, the plank ; even then
he, innocent soul, did not comprehend his awful fate, but leaning
forward to the nearest villain, and with his rounded hands to his
ear, neighbors, as we have seen him so often, and unenlightened
by a stab in the hind-quarters with which one of the wretches tried
to urge him forward, he meekly asked : ' WhaVs the idee f ' The
twinkle in the lawyer's eye, as well as his rapid retreat at this cli-
max, reminded them all of his habitual waggery, but too late to
escape the intense consciousness of having been thoroughly hoaxed.
Here is a domicile in which every linten rattles, and whose cli^

28 Newport out of Season. [Julji

boards are moss-grown and silvery with years of wind, sunshine,
and rain ; the floors and staircase are painted green : see that
dwindled, alert form watching the tea-kettle all by herself; how
tough, keen, and good-humored she looks in her isolation ; enter,
and she will atone for many taciturn days by a volubility that
takes away your breath. Her library consists of a huge family
Bible, the Farmer's Almanac, and a series of log-books, in which
the fortunes of the ' Sally Ann,' a notable whaler, are recorded
in the honest chirography of her rugged sire, who ploughed the
main three-score years, and was then laid in the church-yard furrow,
leaving this filial blossom to wither alone upon its virgm stem. In
that ' acre of God,' a good German designation, are many curious
epitaphs ; and it is a pensive satisfaction to read these quaint in-
scriptions, with the mellow breath of autumn swaying the long
grass beside you, and lifting the distant haze from the low shores
of Naragansett, until the amber gates of the west seem to open
into boundless crystal courts of heaven as the red sun goes down.
I transcribed these two odd elegies from the sunken head-stones :

* The human form^
respected for it$ honesty ^ and known fifty-three years by the appellation of

Christopher Ellery,
began to dissolve in the month of February^ 1789.

* If tears, alas, could speak a husband^s woe,
My verse would straight in plaintiyo numbers flow ;
But since thy well-known piety demands
A public monument at thy George's hands,
0 Abigail! I dedicate this tomb to thee.
Thou dearest half of poor forsaken me.'

Coaster's Island is divided from Newport by a broad inlet. It
slopes gradually up from the water, and a large stone building
stands m the midst of the green declivity ; this is the Newport
alms-house. As we cross the ferry, propelled by an old salt who
has rowed over to the Uttle jetty at our signal, the commanding sit-
uation and salubrious exposure of the edihce, excites surprise at its
public use. Where land is sold by the foot, as in our large cities,
and at prices equally extravagant, it seems remarkable that so eli-
gible a site for a gentleman's domain should be appropriated to a
municipal charity ; the island was bequeathed for the purpose by
Governor Coddington, the original purchaser of Aquidneck from
the aborigines in 1638, and his portrait hangs over the bed where
one of his descendants died, the victim of dissolute habits ; who
found a last asylum in the Hospital founded by his noble ancestor,
and sent for this picture, the only item left of his patrimony, to
solace his dying hour with that pride of birth which but enhanced
his own infamy. The coincidence would make an effective climax
in a novel. The inmates of this retreat offer a singular phase of
human life to the moralist. Turf and sea, prolific fields and a charm-
ing landscape, environ the asylum of poverty ; imbeciles wander
undisturbed around the dwelling, or bask in the sun ; the able-bodied
work in the garden ; a superannuated man-of-war's-man has filled

1858.] Newport out of Season. 29

his cell with little ships, carved with nicety and rigged to a charm ;
a crazy German talks to himself all day ; in one room is a neatly-
clad old lady, with her books and knitting, the aged survivor of a
large family, too proud to accept private charity, and respectable
and contented with that provided by her native town ; there sits
a patient man in the prime of life, blinded by the premature dis-
charge of a rock-blast; here plays a Uttle foundling, whose fair
skin and deep eyes indicate an educated parentage ; there a wild
hag plucks at her withered breast without ceasing ; below is a
frantic and nude cripple in a cage ; down by the shore is a little
hut built of drift-wood and mud — the nook where a gentle ma-
niac loves to hide ; his organ of acquisitiveness is diseased, and his
whole life is passed in collecting waifs of every kind — pebbles,
rusty nails, bits of glass, sticks, and shells, which he secretes about
his person, and conceals in the rude cabin where he delights to
play the miser over fancied treasures.

At the head of ' Long Wharf,' where an odor of tar and dock-
mud suggests a most incongruous association with the pleasures of
literature, a large weather-beaten sign announces the Richardson
Library ; not so called in memory of the author of ' Pamela,' but of
the family — that of one of Newport's early Post-masters, who,
before the days of cheap books, dispensed to her fair maidens and
old captains, a weekly pabulum of fiction or South-Sea voyages, at
the rate of fourpence-halfpenny, Massachusetts coin. The three
daughters of this ancient letter-king would have made excellent
portraits for Miss Ferrier or Dickens ; it was their business to hand
over the few-and-far-between epistles brought hither by the mail-
coach, and this they did with a distinctive art — one being witty,
another pretty, and the third a coquette ; so that many a game of
repartee and ogling was carried on between the pigeon-holes and the
window of the office ; notwithstanding their opportunities, how-
ever, the trio continued spinsters, and now but one remains in the
lone house where, at a subsequent date, when deprived of official
patronage, they kept a circulating library : the books have also
dwindled to a few dusty and faded volumes, having been gradually
sold by the survivor, who, with a venerable cat, a high-backed
chair, and a heap of yellow papers on the little oaken stand before
her, may yet be seen, the picture of antique single-blessedness,
cosily basking near the sunny window. It is curious to glance at
this remnant of what was the popular reading half a century ago ;
well-worn copies of ' The Scottish Chief,' ' Thaddeus of War-
saw,' and the ' Mysteries of Udolpho,' interspersed with handsome
octavo editions of ' Zimmerman on Solitude,' ' Cook's Voyages,'
' Moore's Travels,' the first American reprint of Byron's ' English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers,' Weems's ' Life of Washington,'
and ' Darwin's Botanic Garden,' an illustrated quarto, the pride
of the collection, and other favorites of that day. It is a place
where Lamb would have enjoyed an hour of quaint musing, and
Hawthorne found a scene for one of his Flemish interioi's. Farther
down the old wharf, Trevett, who is a kind of amphibious philoso-

80 Newport out of Season. [Joljy

jilicr, with a niece that might pass for Smike's sister, keeps a rickety
bnth-housc, and while heating the salt water for some rheamatio
ablutionist, will spin him a yam about the days when he and Sec-
retary Marcy kept school together. What Dryden was to Claade
Ilalcro, and George the Fourth to Bean Brunmiell, was his ' illustri-
ous friend ' to Trevett, who, amid the saline mists of his humible
avocation, read in the journals of his successful colleague's dipio*
niatic vicissitudes, with no little pride and sympathy, having, as he
declares, predicted that functionary's political eminence from the
sagacity lie exhibited in ruling troublesome urchins, and leadings
h:chool-committee8 by the nose.

At an angle of Mary-street stand, vis-d^triSy two fine old wooden
dwellings, well-preserved specimens of New-England architecture
at the era of colonial and revolutionary pride — the Vernon uid
Cliamplin mansions ; pleasant is the sight of their panelled wain-
scots, low cornices and cosy window-seats ; easy the ascent of their
staircases, hospitable the air of the front yard of the one and broad
door-step of the other. We have so few domestic vestiges of New-
England, that the aristocratic dwellings that remain in such places
as Salem, Portsmouth, and Newport, have a peculiar charm. In
some of them here there is a look more in harmony with the natural
features of the town than modem 'vdllas and cottages boast ; they
have, too, a traditional interest : one was the head-quarters of
Washington, another of Count Rochambeau ; here La&yette
sojourned ; there was given a famous ball, made brilliant by the
stately minuet wherein American and foreign officers: figured ; on
the little window-panes of one may yet be seen the initials of New-
port belles and Quaker beauties, scribbled with diamond rings, in
pensive mood, by their Gallic lovers ; tiles from Delfl Haven, repre-
senting, not without artistic merit, quaint caricatures of John Bull,
Monsieur, Mynheer, etc., surround some of the large, open fire-places
once glowing with huge Chi'istmas-fires : queer patriotic and scrip-
tural engravings, in some instances, adorn the walls ; circular mir-
rors of the best plate-glass, and with grotesque frames ; heavy, tall
chairs, with brocade seats ; massive old escritoires, and other curi-
osities of furniture may still occasionally be seen in these conser-
vative domicils. Some of them have gardens in the rear, where
sun-flowers, princess' feathers, morning-glories, scarlet beans, mari-
golds, coxcombs, hollyhocks, sage, savory, and other olden herbs
and flowers dear to the simple tastes of our ancestors, rankly
flourish ; and, when warmed by an October sun, display tints and
breathe odors redolent of primitive domestic nooks, such as recall
the scenes beloved of Shenstone, Goldsmith, Fielding, Cowper, and
Crabbe. Sometimes, when the venerable proprietor of one of the
old houses on Thames-street dies, the antedeluvian upholstery is
sold at auction, and files of ne^vspapers, with dates more than a
century back, spider-legged tables, clocks with a big moon over
the dial-plate, volumes of forgotten theology, and fierce political
pamphlets on questions long ago consigned to oblivion, form an
antiquarian mdange such as would drive Monkbams frantic with
joy.

1858.] Newport out of Season, 31

There is a little thoroughfare adjacent to the Aquidneck House,
called (7orne-Btreet, in memory of a genuine son of Naples, long
the favorite of sportsmen and epicures, who made their summer
quarters here before Newport became a fashionable resort. He
was one of those round- paunched, shrill-voiced, gay-hearted crea-
tures, no where bom except within sight of Vesuvius, who can sing
a barcarole^ cook a hare, improvise a soup, play the violin, tell a
story, and raise cauliflowers, each and all in a way unequalled by any
other child of the South. Full of animal spirits, with a sense at once
ingenious and keen for all kinds of physical enjoyment, musical,
jolly, epicurean, kindly, they are sublimated Sancho Panzas and epi-
tomes of material well-being : half-Punchinellos, half-artists, with a
dash of Falstaff and an inkling of Gil Bias, they seem made to
enjoy life as it is, and distil pleasure, undisturbed either by aspira-
tion or misgiving. Such is the Neapolitan philosopher, of which
Come was as genuine an instance as ever crossed the sea. A native
of Elba, his youthful days at Naples were divided between a pic-
torial, a military, and a lazzaroni hfe, until he became compromised
at the time of the Queen's flight under Nelson's auspices, and
sought refuge on board a brig about to sail for Boston. Thence
he travelled southward, and painted some battle-scenes for the
government, and several houses in fresco, then quite a novelty ;
returned, saved up a little money, and opened a fruit-store in Dock
Square ; his good-humor and facetiousness, his oranges and achieve-
ments with the brush, his anecdotes of poor Carricuofi, of the English
admiral, brave but perverted, and the Queen's guard, of which
he was one, with his private lessons in cooking, given con amore in
the kitchens of his customers — the way he told his beads in a
thunder-storm and his anecdotes in the sunshine — these and other
traits and services, gained him friends and filled his purse; so
that when possessed of ten thousand dollars, he determined, after
the wise manner of his country, to retire and enjoy himself.
A French confrere recommended Newport, and hither he came
one pleasant summer afternoon. In the course of an hour's ramble,
he encountered eleven old men, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes,
and this instantly prepossessed him in favor of the climate. A few
hundred piasters obtained him a lot, on which he reared a plain
frame-house over-looking the harbor, and laid out a garden ; the
walls of his chamber in the former, he adorned with sketches of
rocks, ships, fishermen, and other Mediterranean scenes, dashed off
a head of Washington at the top of the stairs, hung the parlor
with colored prints of Vesuvius, Capri, the Chiaja, and other ob-
jects of his native landscapes, laid in a stock of maccaroni, red
wine, Bologna sausages, and snuff, placed a crucifix near his bed-
post, sowed beans, artichokes, gooseberries, and tomatoes — the lat-
ter fruit introduced to this region by him — and set himself delibe-
rately to work enjoying what he called his American Elba ; with an
adopted son, whose gun and rod, proverbially expert, bountifully
supplied his table with fish and game, he was soon domesticated in
^ our isle ' to his heart's content, and became a favorite with the

32 jffeioport <yut of Season. [J^y>

community both high and low. Gentlemen fond of the cheerful
and odd in human nature, would share his hospitality and listen
to his reminiscences ; distressed neighbors found in him a ready
counsellor and benevolent friend ; he was the oracle of the barber's
shop, where his silhouette likeness still hangs ; foreigners loved to
stop at his door and practise their native tongue ; gourmands
praised his culinary skill, and rustics wondered at his artistic ex-
periments ; and so dwelt Come for many years in the old sea-port
town he loved, a Neapolitan in taste and habits to the last ; and
enacting marvellously the life of those warm shores, where Virgil
was buried, the Roman emperors revelled, Salvator loved to paint,
Massaniello revolutionized, and Murat ruled: the land of sun-
shine, singers, maccaroni, and volcanoes. Methinks I hear his
merry chuckle, the instinctive accent of animal delight, over some
choice jest, song, or dish, and recal the wonderment with which I
first encountered this incarnation of dolce far niente humanity, in
busy, locomotive, controversial, political, grave America. The
primitive frescoes yet adorn his chamber-walls, the ailichokes and
grape-vines bloom in his garden, his portrait — a rubicund face and
bald head, anointed with the oil of physical content — survives ; but
the happy old man, many summers ago, departed in a green old age.
A low-roofed, diminutive farm-house, by the road-side, a few-
miles beyond the town, offers a reminiscent contrast to this ve-
teran Sybarite. Its unpainted shingles are weather-stained, its
little front yard boasts no ornament but a flaunting cluster of tiger-
lilies, it hints no tale of human suffering or spiritual beauty to the
passing equestrian ; and yet it is memorable m the annals of rustic
piety and humble sonc^. Here dwelt Cynthia Taggart, the gifted
martyr, whose story a W ilson's pen might effectively weave into the
Lights and Shadows of Rhode-Island life; it is already embalmed in
anthologies, and is the subject of a tract not inferior, of its kind, to
'The Dairyman's Daughter.' A clergyman, several years ago,
approaching the cottage where this poor heroine's family dwelt, to
inquire his way to the ferry, became interested in the conversation
of her aged father, entered his house of mourning, and witnessed
a scene which his words and pen made known with pathetic em-
phasis. Cynthia had been twenty-seven years bed-ridden, and so-
laced her daily anguish with a lyre, which, though unadorned by
learning, and simple in its art, breathed genuine inspiration. One
sister was a hopeless cripple, another insane ; the mother palsied,
the father infirm, and all indigent ; and yet they sang hymns, read
books of Christian consolation, never murmured, and were strong
in faith. ' The Taggarts were always a reading family,' said the
old man with honest pride. He had served in the war of Inde-
pendence, and his white head was often bowed in eloquent prayer,
while his wife pondered, ' No Cross, no Crown,' and his stricken
daughter, in the intervals of pain, wrote an ' Ode to Health '
worthy of Cowper's muse. This story of domestic suffeiing and
piety, of saintly age and elegiac youth, the image of this isolated
country girl, wasted by disease, yet meekly wearing her singing
robes to the last, throws a plaintive charm over the old Taggait

1858.] Newport out of Season. 33

cottage, at one time a shrine to the benevolent, and now the local
memorial of those to whom, as the beloved of Heaven, is given
the promised sleep.

More than a hundred years ago, as the figures on his mossy grave-
stone prove, died William Claggett, one of those men of mechani-
cal genius for which the country of Franklin is renowned ; his name
appears as an electrician in the colonial days of Newport ; and a
remarkable trophy of his skill is preserved in one of the old houses.
It is a clock which not only feithfully reports the hour, but the
day of the week and the month, beside sounding a clnme which rings
out as melodiously now as when, a century back, it excited the
wonder of the inventor's townsmen. Over this precious relic two
antiquated maidens keep vigil ; a grand old tree shades their old
wooden house, a bright flower stands in the window, and in the
low-roofed parlor are (]^uaint specimens of their handiwork, kept as
a kind of permanent fair, by the sale of which they eke out a com-
fortable subsistence. Their neighbor has a bedstead which came
over in a ship when arrivals from the mother-country were so rare
as to be chronicled on any piece of household furniture which sur-
vived the perilous transit. In another dwelling may be seen a
female figure clad in the dimity and caps which elsewhere we only
find in venerable portraits ; her chairs are covered with chintz, on
which ruralize a succession of shepherds ; on the stand at her side
are silver vessels engraven with tne crest of a high &mily ; and
her decanters have no existent type, except such as we occasion-
ally find in a primitive engraving. Romance would scarcely be
imagined as woven into the texture of her life, so prim, wan, and
sapless is her image ; but there is a soft twinkle in me dark eye as
she proudly exhibits a miniature of her husband from the pencil
of Malbone. It is the fiice of a gentleman of the old school, with
powdered hair, ruddy cheeks, and aristocratic profile — not a line
or tint defaced by time. The manner in which he wooed the bride,
whose virgin charms had fled ere she stood with him at the altar,
is a characteristic instance of that elder gallantry whose declension
Burke and Charles Lamb lamented. They had been neighbors
from youth to middle age, exchanging every Sunday stately cour-
tesies at the church-door, he, the fine old gentleman, and she, the
rich spinster of the town, both contented with their situation ; the
one too proud to conciliate a fortune, and the other too maidenly
to attract an acknowledged beau of the old school. One summer
afternoon, as he took his accustomed walk, under the elms of the
Parade, a scream rose upon the quiet air ; he knew the voice and
hastened to the rescue. Two graceless brothers of the rich old
maid were endeavoring, by violence, to obtain her signature to a
deed of renunciation of her share of the family estate ; they fled ere
the uplifted cane of the indignant knight bruised their shameless
heads. He soothed the frightened heiress, and listened to her
terror-stricken complaints. 'Madam,' said he, 'I can only pro-
tect you in the character of a husband.' And upon this hint the
old couple were made one flesh.

VOL. Ln 3

34 Newport out of Season, [Ja'y»

As the day wanes, at the little casement under that willow, may
be seen a countenance so spiritually thin, franied in a snowy cap
of Quaker model, that you recognize at a glance an uncanonized
saint. Her thee and thou have a scriptural pathos ; she is a phan-
tom of the past, gentle, patient, believing, but as unaware of tho
advancement of science, save in vague dreams, as if she belonged
to another planet. She knits yam stockings, reads Fox's ' Martyrs,*
and sands the floor as if the steam-loom, Dickens, and cheap car-
pets had never existed. Modem locomotion is a mysteiy. One
of her sons thriving in another place, by dint of much entreaty
persuaded her once to visit a neighboring town ; the old lady
noted her last wishes, hunted up shawls and a foot-stove, and lay
awake all night in anxious expectation ; her astonishment at the
motion of the railway-cars produced a long interval of thoughtful
silence, which at last she broke with the inquiry, what relation an
interminable thread of wire in the air bore to the machine in which
she was hui-ricd along. When informed it was the telegrajfli,
' My son,' she observed, ' I have done this to please thee ; do n*t
ask me to return by the wire ; if thou dost, I shall say thee nay.'

On one of these mild and quiet October days, Uncle Toby and
the Corporal might revel undisturbed at Fort Adams.* They
could measure a ravelin, mount a gun-carriage, survey a glacis,
and rehearse the sieges in Flanders, undisturbed by intruders.
The morning salute no longer wakes the echoes of the bay, tho
iron hail lies in rusty pyramids, the grass nods between the stones ;
no stirring music or sentinel's tread breaks the stillness of those
massive walls, and one disablM soldier forms the garrison. Birds
have woven their peaceful nests on the angles of the parapets, and
spiders their webs over the dumb mouths of tho cannon. The
weed-grown inclosure, but a few summers ago, was the fashion-
able Corso of Newport, and the bulwarks a gallery for fiiir specta-
tors of the regatta ; while the barrack-rooms were a frequent scene
of cheerful hospitality. Now the visitor walks alone on the ram-

Earts to gaze upon the opposite town rising in a picturesque com-
ination of foliage and dwellings on the hill-side, or round upon
the harbor studded with islands and graceful sails, or seaward
upon cape, pharos, and the boundless deep. The clear tranquillity
and secure comfort of the prospect contrasts strangely with the
war-like preparations within ; the calm resources of nature with
the destructive arrangements of man.

In Touro-street dwells the respected widow of the hero of Lake
Erie.f The memory of that gallant achievement is kept alive here
by more than one survivor of the battle, by the granite sbafl over
the victor's tomb, and the annual parade of the volunteer military
corps instituted in honor of the event. On the widow's parlor-
wall hang rude engravings of the fight ; and on a late visit tnere, I
examined the memorials she cherishes with pious care. There is
the freedom of the city of New-York tendered him on his return

* since garrisoned. t Since deceased.

1858.] Song of the Arch-Angels. 35

from the lakes, enrolled on parchment, exquisitely drafted, adorned
with allegorical figures, and signed by De Witt Clinton ; the
gold medal bestowed by Pennsylvania ; the massive silver wine-
coolers from the citizens of Boston; a jewelled snuff-box, and
municipal testimonials presented along his triumphant progress
from Erie to Newport. As we talked of those memorable days,
with these tokens scattered around, and the aged survivor spoke,
with tears, of the recent death of her first-bom, her beautiful
grand-daughter entered the room, and I too mused of the glorious
past between worthy representatives of two generations.

SONG OF THE A B C H - A N G E L S .

PBOLOOUX IN rAUST.

B A P H AB L.

The sun yet sounds his ancient song,

Exultant, *mid the choral spheres,
In thunder-swiftness rolled along,

He journeys through the allotted years.
The angels strengthen in his light,

Though none may read his mystic gaze,
Thy works, unutterably bright,

Are fair as on the First of Days.

O AB RI E L.

And swifl, unutterably swift,

RctoItcs the splendor of the world :
The gleams of Aidenn glow and shift.

The shroud of night is spread and furled.
The sea in foamy waves is hurled

Against the rooted rocks profound ;
And rocks and seas, together whirled,

Sweep on in their eternal round.

MICHAEL.

And storms are shouting, as in strife,

From sea to land, from land to sea.
And weave a chain of wildest life

Round all, in rude tempestuous glee.
Thou, Desolation, fliest abroad.

Before the thunder's dreaded way :
And here Thy messengers, 0 Lord I

Watch the sweet parting of Thy day.

THE THBEE.

The angels strengthen in Thy sight.
Though none may know Thy wondrous ways ;

Yea, all Thy works sublimely bright,
Are fair as on the First of Days. h. h. b.

36 Lea JBohemiens, [J^iy^

LES BOHfiMIENS.

WMOM TH« rSBKOH OW BIBAKOIK.

BT OX.XTXR WXVltXZX KOZJCBa.

Wizards, jugglers, thieving crew, —

Refuse drawn

From nations gone, —
"Wizards, jugglers, thieving crew,
Merry Gipsies, whence come you ?

II.

Whence we come ? There 's none may know.

Swallows come, .

But where their home ?
Wlience we come ? There *s none may know *
Who shall tell us where we go ?

From country, law and monarch free,

Such a lot

Who envies not f
From country, law and monarch free,
Man is blest one day in three.

IV.

Free-bom babes we greet the day, —

Churches rite

Denied us qmte, —
Free-bom babes we greet the day.
To sound of fife and roundelay.

Our young feet are unconfined

Here below

Where follies grow, —
Our young feet are unconfined
By swaddling bands of errors blind.

VI.

Good people at whose cost we thieve

In juggling book

Will always look ;
Good people at whose cost we thieve
In sorcerers and in saints believe.

vn.

If Plutus meets our tramping band,

Charity I

We gaily cry ;
If Plutus meets our tramping band,
We sing and hold him out our hand.

vm.

Hapless birds whom God has blest
Hunted down
Through every town, —

1858.] Les JSohemiens. 37

Hapless birds whom God has blest
Deep m forests hangs our nest.

XX.

Love, without his. torch, at night,

Bids us meet

In union sweet ;
Love, without his torch, at night,
Binds us to his chariot's flight.

Thine eye can never stir again,

Learned sage

Of slenderest gauge, —
Thine eye can never stir again
From thy old steeple's rusty vane,

XI.

Seeing is having. Here we go I

Life that 's free

Is ecstasy.
Seeing is having. Here we go !
Who sees all, conquers all below.

zn.

But still in every place they cry,
Join the strife
Or lag through life ;
But still in every place they cry,
* Thou 'rt bom, good-day ; thou diest, good-bye.

xm.

When we die, both young and old,

Great and small,

God save us all I
When we die, both young and old,
To the doctors all are sold.

XIT.

We are neither rich nor proud ;

Laws we scorn

For freedom bom ;
We are neither rich nor proud, —
Have no cradle, roof or shroud.

XV.

But, trust us, we are merry still.

Lord or priest

Greatest or least :
But, trust us, we are merry still ;
T is happiness to have our wiM,

XVI.

Yes, trust us, we are merry still

Lord or priest

Greatest or least, —
Yes, trust us, we are merry still :
Jfay 6<4, 1808. T IB happiness to have our wilL

88 A Donkei/graph. [July,

DONKEYGRAPn.

* Sio Itur ad astra.*

When the immortal Quick, in the character of Richard III.
at his own benefit, came to the scene where the crook-backed
tyrant exclaims :

*A horse ! a horse ! My kingdom for a horse ! *

he put a finishing stroke to the fun by adding, with a look, voice,
and gesture perfectly irresistible :

*And if you can^t get a horse, bring a donkey ! *

The comedian hinted at a significant truth, for if the former of
these animals did not exist, would not the latter be considered the
most serviceable of beasts ?

We must admit that we never had even a remote conception of
the excellence of this creature, until set down one morning in
Grand Cairo to behold the aged and the young, Pachas and beg-
gars, lovers and the beloved, donkeyed every where. ' Hab my
donkey, O Basha ! me call him Young America ! ' cried one
of the Arab urchins, who in a fierce contest for our patronage
that resembled the fabled combat of Typhon and Osiris, faii*ly in-
sinuated their animals between our legs. But he was quickly
uuder-bid by a dark-skinned lad who,

*' His eye with a fine frenzy rolling/

S^rsuaded me to mount his four-footed companion, yclept ' Yankee
oodle.' How could I fail to appreciate so delicate a compliment
to my country ?

The donkey came from the Orient, whence also came histories
and the poesies. His fossilized bones are found in the strata of
the ancient civilizations ; and, setting aside authentic records, the
merest myth, floated down to us upon the sea of tradition, does
not refer to a period more remote than that in which the donkey,
in some form or other, is supposed to have existed.

From the East, that prolific Mother of Nations, the donkey ap-
pears to have advanced westward, yet not until a period of ripe de-
velopment. Aristotle assures us that, in his time, these animals were
unknown in Pontus, Scythia, and in the country of the Celts ; and
down to the reign of Elizabeth, England ' did yeelde no asses.'
Wealth and an advanced state of culture, however, introduce luxu-
ries. In the Periclean age of Athens, donkeys were cherished for
the tables of the great. Does not Martial state that the epicures of
Rome held the flesh of the onager or wild-ass in the same reputation
as venison is now held ? It is related by Pliny, that the most deli-

1858.] A Donkeygraph, 89

cate and best-flavored foals were brought from Africa ; and Pop
paja, wife of the Emperor Nero, did she not bathe every day m
asses' milk, for the purpose of beautifying her skin — four or five
hundred of the animals being kept for her special purpose ?

But the donkeys belong to the ' peeled nations ; ' and so widely
are they now dispersed, that it would be almost impossible, by
j>edestnan or other means of locomotion, to visit a place inhabited
by men, where specimens of the race are not to be found. Might
we not indeed almost say, that the voice with which the donkey
salutes the morning, daily encircles the earth with a spasmodic yet
uninterrupted strain after harmony ?

In the East, as also in Spain, it is customary to shear donkeys,
both for ornament*and grtater cleanliness. The employment may
be classed with the fine arts, and the old women of Pont Neuf
(who has not there read the avertissement of the widow Bish-
off : . . . . to)ise les chiejis et va en Paris ^ ) do not practise
their profession on cats and poodles with greater assiduity.

To heighten the effect, the tonsorial artists do not remove the
entire capillary coat from the sides and backs of the animals sub-
mitted to their shears. Fanciful patterns are suffered to remain,
and a tuft of hair is always left on the end of the tail, to be used
as a bell-pull, or as the rope by which a postillion hands himself
upon the coach-box, by the donkey-boy in the rear, who, so far as
locomotion is concerned, is ' the power behind the throne greater
than the throne itself.' A sentimental driver will Also have the
ciphers of his true love's name cut on his beast's rump. More-
over, it is not a little diverting to watch the cunning hand of one
of these knights of the shears toiling to reproduce upon the lateral
or dorsal surface of a patient donkey reliefs and figures that would
not have been out of place on Achilles' shield, or, comparing small
things with great, on the propylon of an Egyptian temple.

This patient beast — is he not more closely associated with sacred
things than any other animal ? Was he not domesticated in Syria
and Egypt long before the horse was reduced to subjection ?
The earliest mention in sacred history of any kind of cattle subse-
quent to the Deluge, relates to Abraham's visit to Egypt, when
Pharoah entreated him well for Sarah's sake. Among the presents
of oxen, servants, and asses made him by the Egyptian monarch,
in the catalogue of Abimelek's presents to Abraham, in the in-
ventory of the patriarch's effects on the occasion of Isaac's mar-
riage, in the account of Jacob's riches and the spoils taken from
Sechem ; and in the list of things we are not to envy, is there any
allusion to the haughty animal which in our affections has com-
pletely usurped the place of the donkey ?

The donkey is also intimately associated with things profane. We
do not assert that he has caused more swearing than any other
creature in the world, but are we not safe in manitaining that the
profanity evoked bv him has been of the most sulphurous quality ?

Whether Zeno, like Coleridge, ever said to a donkey, ' I hail
thee, Brother,' we know not ; but ' the blind old bard ' alludes to

40 A Donket/ffraph, [J^J

his stoical indifference to pain, and the keen appetite that ^ seeketh
after every green thing : '

* Though round his sides a wooden tempest rain,
Crops the tall harvest and lays waste the plain.*

Why was Ajax, who wished only for light, likened by Homer to
an ass ? And is it not probable that the fifth proposition in the
First Book of Euclid, took the name of pons asinorum as much
from the natural analogy between an emaciated donkey and conic
sections, as from the difficulty of that famous proposition to begin-
ners in geometry ?

When Demosthenes was on one occasion haranguing the Athe-
nian assembly in favor of an accused perion, he could not command
the attention of his auditors. Leaving the subject, he gave the
following story : ' I was going a short time since to Megara on a
hired ass. The heat was excessive, but not a tree nor a shrub was
to be found that could afford me shelter. I suddenly bethought
myself that I might avoid the scorching heat of the sun by shelter-
ing myself under the belly of my conveyance. The owner of the
beast stopped me : ' Sir,' said he coolly, ' you hired the ass, but
you did not hire the ass's shadow.' The dispute grew hot between
ns.' At these words there was a complete silence in the assembly,
and every one listened attentively for the issue of the adventure.
The orator saw his opportunity, and with much force upbraided
his audience for listenmg to so trivial a story, and refusing their
attention when the life of a fellow-creature was at stake. ' To
quarrel over an ass's shadow ' henceforth became synonymous with
tne discussion of any unimportant subject Samson, though un-
able to withstand the tongue of a woman, proved himself a better
orator than Demosthenes, the thick-skulled Philistines having suc-
cumbed, ' heaps upon heaps,' in the most successftil instance of jaw-
ing on record.

While Solyman the Magnificent was building his great mosque
in Constantinople, it is related that he suspended the work one
year, in order that the foundations might have time to settle.
Shah Thamas KLan, King of Persia, naturally supposing that the
delay in so pious an undertaking was caused by want of money,
sent a great ambassador to Solyman with two mules laden with
valuable jewels. He presented the Shah's letter to the Sultan, but
the latter was so incensed on reading its contents, that immediately,
in the ambassador's presence, he distributed half of the jewels to
the Jews of Stamboul, saying : ' Each Rifazi (Persian) changed
into an ass at the awful day of doom, shall bear to the fires of per-
dition some Jew or other. To them, therefore, I give this treasure,
that they may have pity on you on that day, and be sparing in the
use of whips and spurs.'

The French say :

* Every poet is a liar, and his trade the excuse.'

Let us write fable-monger instead of poet, and we shall have the
reason why almost every author, from jiEsop to La Fontaine, who

1858.} A Dofikeygraph, 41

has sought to put wisdom into the mouths of brutes, has delibe-
rately attempted to make the donkey ridiculous. It must be al-
lowed, however, that his voice and manner are not altogether
fevorable to the maintenance of gravity. Does not Lucilius relate
that Crassus, the grand-father of Marcus, the wealthy Roman,
never laughed but once in his life, and then at a donkey that had
the weakness to yield to a vulgar prejudice in favor of thistles ?

We are, shall we say it, almost believers in the doctrine of the
transmigration of souls, namely, that the spirits of men are wont to
inhabit the bodies of donkeys and vice versa. Is it necessary to
invest this modest creature with fashionable raiment, in the man-
ner of illustrated fables, to be reminded of individuals of our ac-
quaintance possessed of the gift, but not of the practice of reason ?
And is there not foundation here for a theory cnabhug us to com-
prehend those remarkable friendships that have occasionally
existed between men and donkeys — friendships compared with
which those of Damon and Pythias, of Achilles and Patroclus,
seem but sentimental attachments ?

We must, therefore, confess, that we never look upon a donkey
without more than suspecting him to be a human being in the
melancholy condition described by Apuleius. Lucius, a sentimental
Roman youth, weary of being a mere mortal, besought a famous
enchantress to change him into an eagle, in order that he might
take a flight in the empyrean. His body was duly anointed, and
Lucius, in fond anticipation, began to move his arms after the
manner o1^ the bird of Jove. But the enchantress had by mistake
used the wrong box of ointment, and behold a metamorphosis,
little expected by the youth ! His tender skin began to thicken,
and assume a hairy covering. The distinct fingers and toes
gradually hardened into bony hoofs. His body was bent down to
the earth in place of cleaving the sky. His face became enor-
mously elongated, the ears enlarged, the mouth widened, and the
lips thickened and pendulous, while a tail appeared which was to
prove a special object of mortification and annoyance. Lucius
could only look sideways with tearful eyes. Had not speech also
left him, he might have appropriately exclaimed with ' as pretty a
piece of man's flesh as any in Messina,' ' Write me down an ass ! '
The eating of roses could alone break the enchantment and restore
him, no longer despising the condition of humanity, to his former
self. Thus, retaining all his natural feelings and inclinations, was
Lucius condemned to wander over the world to procure the means
of disenchantment, but finding every where tliistles instead of
roses, and patiently enduring the traditional treatment of donkeys.

We would not wish, like the author of Tristram Shandy, to com-
mune forever with a donkey, but are often tempted to interrogate
him as to whether every member of his race is not in reality a
human being. Does he not in fact possess many qualities peculiar
to moral and intellectual greatness? Did any one ever see a
proud, hypocritical, self-conceited, ostentatious donkey ? He is on
the contrary, entirely destitute of pride, and his behavior is simple,

42 A Donkeygraph. [July,

modest, and unaffected. He has none of the ascetic folly of the
self-mortifying fakir who ' s^enfonce des clous au dernerepour avoir
de la consideration.^ He is not to be diverted from what he con-
siders the path of duty by soft blandishments of speech, or by any
lateral considerations, except of the most vigorous kind. Like
certain individuals whose study is, ' How not to do it,' he has a
marked aversion to the argument d posteriori. The donkey has the
patience of Job, and meekness beyond comparison, although the
world may leer at his unmelodious voice and falsely call his re-
solution obstinacy. To be engaged, however, in a perpetual ' brown
study ' is not, we must admit, a sure indication of superior attain-
ments, any more than capillary Ucentiousness, for as Lucian sagely
remarks :

* Ir beards long and bushy true wisdom denote,
Then Plato must bow to a hairy he-goat.*

Have we not just alluded to the voice of the donkey — the up-
raised voice we mean, not ' the still, small voice within ? ' It must
be granted a less conscientious beast, or one less prone to silence,
might find herein cause for humiliation. Combine in one tremen-
dous discord the whoop o^ pertussis^ the mid-night cries of jealous
cats, the sucking of dry pumps, the letting off of pent-up steam,
the screeching of ungreased wagons, and the scream of smarting
infents, and you will have a faint conception of the wheezy, spas-
modic voice of the donkey. The harmony of sweet soimds, how-
ever, is not to be compared with the substantial qualities possessed
by this animal. Beware, reader, not of 'the man who has no
music in his soul,' but of the individual who makes fine speeches
thereupon. Have not the most blood-thirsty tyrants been enamored
of fiddle-bows, and did not Lorenzo himself after discoursing so
pleasantly upon stratagems and spoils, steal the soul of Jessica
with many false vows of feith, ay, and run away with her without
notifying the wealthy Jew thereof? Yet the bray of the donkey,
like the voice of the turtle-dove, is not in vain. We have often
been startled and delighted by it in the solitudes of Eastern Eu-
rope and in Asia, having, hke another traveller, learned from ex-
perience, that where donkeys exist, men are sure to be found — as
well as the fact, that where men exist, donkeys will be found in
spite of themselves !

It may be asserted that a donkey of good constitution, and
under not more than ordinary persecution, does not usually win
the palm of martyrdom much before the age of thirty years. His
end, however, seems almost as obscure as the end of CEdipus.
What, then, becomes of superannuated donkeys ? Can it be sup-
posed that they die ? We must here quote the language of a
gentleman who has, unintentionally, without doubt, anticipated
our thoughts. We imagine that ' they do not become dead, cold,
moist, unpleasant bodies — that, like the husband of Aurora, that
ill-starred victim of an oversight, they fiide away gradually and
slowly, and almost imperceptibly, till at their appomted moment
they cease to exist, blending with unsubstantial air, hastening to

1858.] A Donkey graph, 48

be resolved into the elements, vanishing like a morning dream,
leaving not a wreck behind.'

But this unexpected bray of the donkey, the enumeration of his
shining qualities, and the theory of his earthly dissolution — a dis-
enchantment not always affected by roses — have diverted our
remarks from the connection between donkeys and literature, es-
pecially the poetical branch thereof. And here we must, in just-
ice to ourselves, say that we have not the least sympathy with
such sentimentalists as Sterne, who, as some one has intimated,
preferred whining over a dead ass to relieving the wants of a liv-
mg mother. We are in search of the tender humanities ; and first
comes to our aid the tearful Coleridge.

Did any one, having but little command over his lachrymals, ever
venture to read the ode to the dejected offspring of a tethered
donkey, Avithout having first retired to the privacy of his apart-
ment, turned the key and taken out a plentifiil supply of dry linen ?
We think we see the autlior of Christabel laying one hand gently
on the drooping head of the silent ass, and with the other extend-
ing to his mouth a piece of bread, while at the same time he in-
quires after the cause of the profound melancholy so unusual in
the period of juvenility. Alas ! poet, thou wast mistaken. Thou
didst err after the manner of poets who, like lovers, see every
tiling in couleur de. rose — even pigs. It was neither apprehension
for the future, filial pain, nor want of fiirinaceous food that caused
this depression of spirits in thy friend, but a desire for lacteal
nutriment. Instead of inviting the innocent foal to a musical dell,
where Laughter tickled the ribiess sides of Plenty, why didst thou
not rather unloose the mother, and permit both of them to act
according to their superior judgment ?

Some one has said : ' Let me compose the ballads of a people, and
I care not who makes their laws.' For our part, we should prefer
to make the laws, there being usually some pecuniary compensa-
tion therefor, which cannot be said of poetry in general, or, we fear
in particular, save that done for our Magazine. But the minstrel's
words drop into the heart like bullets ; and long-ears has found a
minstrel :

*If /had a donkey what wouldn't go,
Do you think / W wallop him ? Oh 1 no ! no !
I^d give him some hay, and I^d cry gee ! woh I
With a * Eimp up Neddy ! * '

Could there be any thing simpler, more direct, and out-spoken
than this ? Ah I here is true humanity I The possibility of a poet
being the fortunate possessor of a donkey, is clearly admitted,
while, however, the satisfaction of individual owTiership is greatly
diminished by the immovable nature of the property. Mark with
what a gush of feeling he protests against the energetic course
usually adopted in such an emergency, and lays down a plan of
treatment original in itself, and more congenial to animal nature. In
place of ' glittering generalities of speech,' he proposes to begin
with a supply of appropriate food, to be followed by kind words
adapted to the comprehension of a donkey.

44 A DonJceygraph, [J^y?

It was reserved, however, for Wordsworth to sound the depths
of asinine being. Of all singing men, he seems to have had the
clearest conception of the moral dignity of the donkey, and the
greatest femiharity with his language. Is it therefore remark-
able that the prologue to Peter Bell bears about the same propor-
tion to the tale itself as the corpus of a full-grown donkey to the
tail thereof? And is it not satisfactory to learn from the dedica-
tion, that the production of this poem did not require the inter-
vention of supernatural agency ?

In a little boat shaped like the crescent moon, we rise through the
clouds and go up among the stars, taking Taurus by the horns, and
stirring up the Crab and the Scorpion. Descents are traditionally
easy. We alight upon a spot of green grass, and have only to
turn around to espy a solitary donkey, seemingly about to imbibe
from the silent stream. It should here be stated parenthetically,
that this animal does not put his nose in the water when he drinks,
through fear of the shadow of his ears, or hold his head low, on
account of the great size of his auricular and labial appendages,
thus bringing the sensorium and the centre of gravity nearly to-
gether. Nor can this be attributed entirely to humility, any
more than the fact that the fowl never takes even a drop of water
without reverently raising its eyes to heaven. In reply to the
ready heels of Peter Bell, the ass

* WITH motion dull
dpoo the pivot of his skull,
Turns round his long left ear,'

drops upon his knees, and with a reproachful look from his hazel
eye, gives three successive groans, one of which ' goes before an-
other.' Peter falls in a fit, and the ass, notwithstanding a severe
contusion upon his head, rises. But how does he rise ? We will
answer, we will teU you :

* i^i.. Like a tempest-shattered bark,
That overwhelmed and prostrate lies,
And in a moment to the verge
Is lifUd of the foaming surge.'

Could any thing be more majestic ? And then, O compassion 1 he
licks with his tongue the hands which had just licked him with a
new peeled sapling. But the final meeting of the orphan boy
and the long-absent ass ! We have been accustomed to regard
Sancho Panza's recovery of his purloined Dapple as affecting in
the extreme. With what caresses he greeted him : ' How hast
thou done, my dearest donkey; delight of my eyes, my sweet
companion ? ' Was there ever any thing more tender than Tita-
nia's treatment of Bottom, when ^ she blessed his fair large ears,'
called him her ' gentle joy,' and rounded his hairy temple with a
coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ? * Yes, the orphan boy sur-
passes even that :

'Toward the gentle ass he springs,

And up about his neck he clings ;

In loving words he talks to him,

He kisses, kisses fisuse and limb —

He kisses him a thousand times I *

1858.] Ye Tailyor-Man. 45

TB TAILYOE-MAN.

A aOHTBMPLATXyi BALLAD.

BT JOHN O. SAXXi

Right jollie is ye tailyor-maD,
As aiinie man may be ;

And all ye daye upon ye benche
He worketh merrilie.

And oft ye while in pleasante wise
He coileth up his Umbes,

He singeth songes ye like whereof
Are not in Watts his hymns.

HI.

And yet he toileth all ye while
His merrie catches roUe ;

As true unto ye needle as
Ye needle to ye pole.

XV.

What cares ye valiant tailyor-man
For all ye cowarde feares ?

Against ye scissors of ye Fates
He pointes his mightie sheares.

He heedeth not ye anciente jests
That witlesse sinners use :

What feareth ye bolde tailyor-man
Ye hissinge of a goose ?

TI.

He pulleth at ye busie threade,
To feede his lovinge wife

And eke his childe ; for unto them
It is ye threade of life.

VII.

He cutteth well ye riche man^s coate,

And with unseemlie pride
He sees ye little waistcoate in

Ye cabbage bye his side.

vm.

Meanwhile ye tailyor-man his wife,

To labor nothinge loth,
Sits bye with readie hands to baste

Ye urchin and ye cloth.

46 27ie Wedding Oarment. [July

IX.

Full happie is ye tailyor-man,

Yet is he often tryed,
Lest he from fulnesse of ye dimes,

Waxe wanton in his pride.

Full happie is ye tailyor-man,
And yet he hath a foe,

A cunninge encmie that none
So well as tailyors knowe.

zi.

It is ye slipperie customer
Who goes his wicked wayes,

And weares ye honeste tailyor's coate,
But noTer, neyer payee I

THE WEDDING GARMENT.

In the great, rich city of New- York, another day had counted
away its hours and minutes and seconds, of joy or sorrow, pain or
pleasure, gain or loss, and, equally measured in time, its tide of
fortune had ebbed and flowed through the many currents of
crowded life for another day. From the costliest clock of the
marble mantle, through all the varieties of mechanism, to the very
cheapest which can be manufactured for the poorest dwelling, it
was after all only the same time to which the various and varying
hands had pitilessly pointed, as passing and now passed away — for
the day was gone ; but how different the allotted tide which had
mercifully, mercilessly swept to and from the sea of life, giving
and taking, bringing home and carrying away, embarking and
stranding, enriching and impoverishing, saving and losing, blessing
and blighting its mortal burden of beating pubes which differently
rejoiced or lamented that its mighty influence was also passing,
and now passed away, for the day was gone, gone with its mea-
sured time and its measureless tide, gone with its hours and
minutes and seconds, its thoughts and words and deeds, to be
strictly and straitly registered in that place where both the time
and the tide entering become eternity, and where the mortal life
of a single day shall be immortal.

The sun had set over the city which, light with gayety and
bright with art, seemed little to regard the departing splendor of
nature^s glorious luminary. Here and there might have been eyes
that looked up to the evening sky, just as there are hearts that

1858.] 77ie Wedding Garment. 47

turn toward heaven, but usually the city did not care if it were
day or nirfit.

Gas and glare and glitter and gold needed not the sunlight.
Only in some places where these were not, would there be dark-
ness in the city's night ; and none in light can tell how dark that
darkness ; none but God can see how such arc watching through
night for the morning. And the sun had set over the city.

From a broken and patched window in a small and miserable
^artment, in the highest part of an old dilapidated building,
which had stood the shocks of time and ruin until at last it could
show no deeper marks of fiirthcr injury ; like some wayside pau-
per we may have seen, to whom the familiar spirit of his poverty
and misery seem at last to spare from any more excess of aevasta-
tion, and stays the wrinkles and the falling locks and the failing
steps as if repenting of the evil work, but m mockery of mercy, is
arresting further downfall only to retain the degraded station ;
from this broken window which looked, thank God ! into the sky,
was leaning as far as was admitted by its miserable structure, or
rather superstructure, deformed by various modes of mending
economically with the half of an old shutter, and unclosing to ad-
mit the blessed breath of heaven only by a few panes broken and
patched, through which the eye of poverty, otherwise clouded,
sought the free light — was leaning thus in the perfect aban-
donment of natural j)leasure, the figure of a young girl.

Beautiful picture for such a frame ! Leaning eagerly with tht^
long-drawn breathing of intense enjoyment, with eyes uplifted and
arms slightly raised, as if she were springing to a better fate.
Bathed in the crimson glow of the evening sky, her pale cheek,
pink and fresh in its reflected ray, thus as she leaned who would
not have sought to help and bless her, to take her from the em-
brasure of that shattered window, even like a rare picture from
some decaying frame, and rescue her from the pressure of a pov-
erty, whose worst imprisoning is that it cannot even guard its
prisoners ?

Oh I there are men who are banded together in this veiy city
to save life from destruction, who scale trembling walls, and do
deeds of daring worthy of heroes, who, if this window with its
precious inclosure had appeared high above them in all the peril
of a burning building, would have risked life and limb to save the
beautiful being who, by the common tie of humanity, might claim
their common brotherhood ; there would have been a ladder and a
rescue, and when all the clocks of the city struck for the sun set
and the day gone, there would have been a deed done which even
the angels might desire to do.

But there was no ladder and no rescue, and as the clocks to-
gether and apart gave out the common notice of the common time,
the young girl counted them in their different tones as they floated
up from different parts of the city ; and remembering her yet un-
finished work which she had laid aside for this simple pleasure, she
withdrew, hastily closing the Avindow, feeling that she had wasted

48 77ie Wedding Garment. [July,

too mach time in this little respite. The air outside had been
chilly to her not warmly-clad form, but the room within was more
chilly to her warmly-beating heart, and she shivered over the few
coals as she collected them together to wai*m the little fingers
which must again resume their tedious employment of sewing.
For she was one of that class who, mostly needed, are yet least
cared for, whose work brings the highest price, yet not to them-
selves, who labor for others and are not maintained, who, if they
were by any possibility to stop sewing to-morrow, would cause an
inconvenience in fashionable society, disturbing their amusements
and interfering by the need of needful stitches, with their last deli-
cate charity of a calico ball.

And our little seamstress, who dwells with her mother, in our
story, was young and beautiful and good and poor. Young, she
was just sixteen, the season of maiden pride and pleasure ; beauti-
ful, the perfect features and graceful form would have adorned the
stateliest mansion ; dark blue eyes looked full into every face with
the trusting love of a pure heart which feared no evil because it
knew none, while a peculiar softness from the dark lashes of the
drooping lid shaded the face with an expression not of sadness,
but tenderness. Added to this there was a shadow surrounding
the whole figure from the heavy tresses of her hair which, still
worn in childish fashion, hung loose and free around her, swaying
with every motion, in every shade of the changing light, and add-
ing to her poor attire its beautiftd clothing of nature which no
fabric of art can ever equal.

And she was also good and poor, not that they necessarily go
together, or mean the same thmg, for poverty sometimes makes
suffering and selfishness, and, it is dreadful to think, many times,
crime. But then again many times, many times, its frail shelter
has driven the perishing soul to a surer refuge ; and as to this
poor garret ascending, each weary footstep treads farther and
fiiither from the dust of earth, so nuiy its inmates look out nearer
and nearer to the sky.

A bed and a table, and a couple of odd broken chairs, was all
the furniture the room containea, while a small carpet-bag and an
open wooden box held all the wardrobe its possessors had saved
from the wreck of former plenty. Gay shawl and colored gown,
piece after piece, had been parted with for the suits of mourning
which both were wearing, grateful to have obtained them by any
sacrifice of under-valuation in the exchange.

If you had opened the leaves of a Bible which rested on a ledge
beside the bed, you might have read the dates and the names of
these sad acts and actors in life's real drama ; the time when in the

village of , more than a hundred iniles away, this book

of God had been given to Heuben Itay and Mary his toife on
their wedding day. There was recorded the birth of their child,
who, in respect to an old-established custom in a femily whose re-
spectability seemed to exact such tribute regardless of taste,
to call the first-bom by the &ther's name, was christened Hubefia.

1858.] Tlie Weddmg Garment, 49

Thus was it written by her father's hand, but the lips of affection
which alters every sound, had ever called her Ruhy^ and if you
had asked her name, she would have told you it was Ruby Ray,

Resuming her task with a sigh, which however quickly changed
into the low murmuring of a song ; and as you may have seen the
light and shadow chase each other over some rippling stream, so
the weariness of her work and the natural lightness of her heart
mingled curiously together, flitting across her fair face, now with
a frown and quick impatient stitching, and now with a smile of
satisfaction, and a slower-moving needle as she reviewed her
nearly-completed labor. Pleasant thoughts seemed mostly in her
mind : of the last stitch to which she was fast arriving ; of the
price of all those stitches which she would then receive ; of how
It would help her poor mother — her mother who was all the
world to her — how much comfort it would purchase for them in
their poor way.

She counted it all up : four — six shillings it would be, em-
broidery and all. A great sum it seemed to her, and as she
threaded her needle and worked another flower, she was veiy
happy.

By degrees as the work dulled and the light dimmed in the
closing day, her hands rested idly upon the costly material, and
she was lost in a pleasant reverie of romance connected with it ;
for it was a wedding garment, and the bride was very rich, or it
would not be so heavily embroidered, and of course she dwelt in a
luxurious home, more grand than she could imagine ; and to her
thought, must be young and beautiful, and happy and blest, as she
oould hardly understand.

Then by a sudden transition her reverie changed. A single
crooked stitch had linked the chain of memory to a l(Jlig left cor-
ner in the little school-room of her childhood's home ; where for
just such a crooked stitch, she had been doomed one long summer
hour to sit while her companions played.

She could hear their merry voices still echoing in her ear,
gradually growing softer and stiller until at List it was a dream,
lor she slept. The twilight with its soothing influence had
gathered very gently and slowly around her, her eyes had closed
unconsciously in the dimness, while her mind was wandering yet
amid its tireless fancies — no wonder that she dreamed.

Travelling back to that well-known scene, agaui the home of her
earlier years was around her ; but still mixed with and belonging
to the present, she was sewing her childish task on the old re-
membered bench ; but incomprehensibly it was still this wedding
garment which she was decorating for this stranger bride.

Presently, as in the usual bewilderment of dreams, the threads
of her work became all entangled and lost, at the same time an
over-excited value of their loss possessed her ; and she searching
eagerly to recover them, as if they could bind her to some un-
known treasure, was led on and on in the labyrinth of her dream,
through the dark dingy chambers and crooked, creaking stairs of

TOL. LII. 4

50 77ie Wedding Garment. [J^y>

her present habitation, through the crowded alleys and streets of
the city, where she always trembled so ; over a bridge which was
very hard to cross, the feet all the time slipping back, mitil at last,
God bless the dreamer ! she was again in her own old home.
Mother and child, they were again at the little garden-gate ; and
coming to meet them from the open door of the humble but happy
roof, was a form ; ah ! a form, well-known and well-beloved, well-
mourned and well-remembered, never to be forgotten, but never
to be met, never to be seen again, except in dreaming, until the
long tedious travelling of their journey of life ended, this mother
and child shall stand at last at the gate of heaven, and this father's
form shall meet them as they come home there, and it shall not be
a dream.

But she was dreaming now, and who would have waked her !
The flowers of her embroidering had shifted and showered upon
her the blossoms of her birth-place, and she was enjoying to the
uttermost the birth-right of even the portionless, which is never
parted with — which is, to dream.

But even in dreams we may not linger long with flowers ; and
so from the well-loved garden, where she longed to stay, this cruel
thread again impelled her to recover its sad imwindings; and
mixed as it was with wedding music in her mind, it was a natural
tmsting and turning it should take to lead her following in a vil-
lage train, which were gayly pressing on to the little church from
which the marriage bells were ringing out their merriest peal.
Following with the rest, she had forgotten herself and her earnest
search in the noisy mirth around her, when suddenly the tangled
threads, like some opposing destiny, surrounded and seemed to en-
velop her completely, as might some huge cobweb floating in the
air ; slightly but finnly withholding and withdrawing her from the
gathering crowd, and leading her as if of her own accord and yet
against her will through the entrance, not of the church, but the
church tower. Floating upward, bound by these mysterious
threads, past the rafters of the roof, and the ringing bell, she was
borne on ; looking back at the altar and the bride and the bless-
ing and the human happiness which was gathered there, she would
fam have returned ; gazing back, as if from dying, the saddest
yearning for human sympathy oppressed her : but she was hurried
on ; now past the cross on the highest tower, she could see no
more below it ; and knowing she could not return, she clasped her
hands in submission, and a strange knowledge seemed to come to
her that the wedding garment was for her, and that the marriage-
feast was in heaven.

Suddenly with a start she awoke. It was the entrance of her
mother at the rattling broken door which had aroused her, and never
did she wake to welcome more tenderly her only earthly friend.
Arising in haste to receive her, she kissed her with an emotion un-
usual and undefined, and taking from her hands the few articles
which had been purchased for their scanty meal, she placed them
on the table which needed not much arranging for their poverty-

1858.] 27ie Wedding Oarment. 61

stricken use. Smiling brightly as she unwrapped from its coarse
greasy paper the single tallow candle which their little means had
held out to pay for, she exclaimed as gayly her delight, as perhaps
some other maiden far up the city in her home of wealth might
have been doing at that same moment, over some golden gift or
bauble, while the lights of chandeliers were flashing and wasting
around her unappreciated.

But it is one blessed thing, that neither light nor darkness can
alter the shades of human love ; and the kiss which repaid the
giver in the lighted mansion, could be no better than this mother's
brow received in this dark garret, in return for her thoughtful care
of this hard-earned light ; and the lips which imprinted it, could be
no truer and no redder than the lips of Ruby Ray.

' Dear mother, how kind you were to think of a candle, that I
may finish my work ; we could not have done without a light, to-
night. May I light it at once ? '

' I would rather you would wait a little while. Ruby darling, for
we must not waste our comfort ; so sit beside me here, and while
I warm my feet, which are very cold, I ^vill tell you of what I have
been thinking in my long walk.'

Selecting from their small supply of wood in the comer, a couple
of sticks. Ruby placed it on the fire, and seating herself on the
hearth, to enjoy nearer its kindly blaze at the feet of her mother
she sat listening for the expected words.

But her mother spoke not. Tired and weary, it seemed as if she had
not strength to tell the heavv thoughts, which seemed to have sunk
into the depths of her soul, like heavy stones sunk deep. While she
had been walking it had been difierent. She had looked at them,
and placed them one before the other, in regular fashion ; and they
rose like stepping-stones, friendly to her, and promised her a sure
enough footing across the stream of her present perplexity. But
now, she was very weak, and the waters of her grief rolled deep
and'dark, and the thoughts were buried under their heavy pressure,
and she could not raise them up — could not touch them — could
not speak.

' It is no use, my child, to wait about your work ; I cannot talk
now ; and perhaps it is better so. So light the candle, darling, if
you Uke.'

There was so much sadness in her mother's voice, that it almost
spoiled the pleasure Ruby was surely going to take in lighting that
tallow candle. But she lighted it, and fixed it nicely in an old tin
candle-stick, and while she washed and wiped the grease from her
neat little fingers, whose shape and whiteness were unrivalled, ex-
cept for the constant pricking of her needle, she asked her mother,
if It were not beautiful — that tallow candle ?

' And now you shall have some supper, mother ; a cup of tea
will make you strong ; and then you can talk while I sew.' And
stirring the fire, and bustling about the little room with the pre-
paration for their meagre repast, she made the place light and

52 The Wedding Ocmnent. [J^y»

happy, not with the tallow candle, but with her own loving and
lovely presence.

She was singing, too, as she moved about, the verses of some old
song:

* I shall be gay, I shall be gay,

The clouds ifrom to-day shall pass ;
The humblest flower it has its dower,
And the sun smiles on the grass.'

And here it may not be amiss to go into some little detail of the
two who fill this little chamber to overflowing, with so much light
and shadow, so much joy and pain. Less than a year ago, the
little cottage, whose gate we have seen in Ruby's dream, had cov-
ered those now desolate ones, with the blessing of love and pro-
tection, and a happy home.

As the school-master of the little village, Ray enjoyed the su-
perior position, which was there as elsewhere accorded by con-
trast with those below him in learning and ability. But while he
might be content with being the first among these simple and kind-
hearted people, he was not willing to forego the pleasures of more
cultivated society, with all the advancement which he might com-
mand in such an enlarged sphere. So he left his little cottage, to
which only a dream, like a withered leaf, now clings, and actually
started — as many have and will again — to the great city of New-
York. There, in its great Bazaar, might he find some little nook,
where he might sell the weavings of his brain. And such a place
seemed to open to him in an engagement, which he readily entered
into, with some one, it does not matter which, of the various lite-
rary publications which, to supply the public mind, generally
sweep the brain of their busy workmen, until not even so much as
a cobweb remains.

His plan had succeeded, and hope smiled upon him. To be sure,
they were in very poor lodgings, and they all pined for the coun-
try air ; but yet the months went by, and the promise of his life
was fair before him as a rainbow in the sky. -But ah I it was in
the sky — the bright colors might never touch the earth. The
hectic glow which had marked his cheek, had &iled to tell how
deep the fire had spread below. The energy which had made him
attempt and do what others with equal courage would have never
dared, was the very spirit that had lured him to his ruin; the
strength which it had required to follow his strong will, had been
the very power which had burned away the ^reat machinery.
And one sad evening, he lay down, £dnt and sicK ; and one week
after — sadder still — he died.

It is a sad, sad story, but it is happening every day — and that
only makes it sadder.

* What was to become of wife and child now ? ' The question
naturally arises in the story, and it naturally also arose to the lips
of the people where they had boarded until this time.
• There was no money when he died. The last proceeds of his
work had been paid away, and no more was due. By the sale of

1858.] lYie Wedding Garment, 63

his watch and books, which were parted from with many a longing
look and lingering kiss of affection, the means were obtained suffi-
cient to pay for the present necessary expenses : for the narrow
apartments to which he had come only to die, and for that narrower
one which none might share.

Gladly would she, Mary, his wife, have shared his peaceful rest,
for he died in faith; but there was a chord within her heart
which must live on, their child, and so she lived on ; he had
told her to be brave, and so she would be brave.

And she was brave. It seemed almost as if his courage rested
npon her, covenng her with its blessing, for she never faltered,
and when the time came, and it came very soon, to leave the place
she could afford no longer, she took her little girl by the hand and
wandered out, she knew not where ; she did not seem to bo fol-
lowinff any guidance, but she was as surely as the sailor, who by
the faithful needle steers for home.

Through two or three gradations of cheap and cheaper boarding,
she had descended, or rather ascended, at last to tliis place, where,
seated as we have seen by the fire, which could never warm the
cold and comfortless chamber, she felt as if she had reached the
height of her despair, and her heart seemed breaking in her bosom,
as she watched the child around whom every nerve and fibre of
her soul was wrapped, and for whom she could be able to put forth
any strength which human nature may ever command.

* I shall be gay, I shall bo gay,
Oh ! tell me not of sorrow ;
The flower that does not bloom to-day,
Will be sure to bloom to-morrow.'

So sang on the happy voice, and many more verses likewise, the
chief merit of which consisted in the oil-repeated

*I shall be gay, I shall be gay.'

Flitting around like some gay bird, at the same time, she had pre-
pared the tea and arranged their evening repast. Pausing now to
see that no comfort remained undone, she caught her mother's eye,
in its sad gaze fixed upon her ; and bounding across the room, she
was instantly beside her. Again and again she kissed the pale,
sweet face, embracing her with the tenderest embraces.

* Dear, dear mother, be happy for me, for my sake ; do n't look
so sad ; see, we are very happy.'

But wliile she spoke her voice faltered, and by the mysterious
sympathy which we all know but do not understand, she felt her
breast swelling with the emotion of her mother's troubled heart,
and the tears raining over her cheeks, like a sudden shower in
summer from some over-hanging cloud. . She wiped them hastily
awav, and continuing her cheering and loving words, she suc-
ceeded in her effort of soothing her mother with her gentle care,
and they made their evening meal together, almost cheerfully in
the end.

When it was over, and another stick of wood added to the fire,

54 The Wedding Garment. [J'llyi

Ruby said it was so very pleasant, that indeed it looked Kke
Christmas; but seeing her mother look sadder at that happy
word, she tried to talk of something else ; but there was scarcely
any thing she could speak of, that did not bring a painful shadow
across the beloved countenance ; and so she contented herself with
talking about her work, and after showing with pride the skill and
neatness of all that she had so far done, and asking for advice con-
cerning the leaves of certain flowers in the pattern before her, she
seated herself near to the precious candle, whose red glare re-
quired all her young eyes' strength, and resumed her employ-
ment, which she had calculated would be at an end in one more
hour's steady work.

Talking on gayly all the time, while her needle glanced bright
and swift in its progress, of how it would soon be finished now, she
stopped to replenish the worked-out thread, but she could no
where find it ; shaking her work and looking careftdly all around in
vain, was soon accomplished, but it could not be found ; and then
she thought of her dream, and then she sighed and tried to forget it.

The thread must have fallen into the fire, and she blamed her-
self for her carelessness, and then timidly for fear of troubling her
mother by the question, she asked how she could be able to get
any more ?

A moment's thought will suflice to show how that the losing
of this little skein of thread was no trifle. First, there was no
money ; the last remaining pence had been spent in their supply
of food ; then it was Saturday night, the next day Sunday, no-
thing could be done to remedy the evil, and early on Monday mom-
ingthe work must be returned by a certain hour completed, or for-
feit the price expected.

The poor little heart, which had kept up so bravely during her
mother's grief, could struggle now no longer ; the memory of her
dream oppressed her, and sinking, like some bright bird whose
wing the fowler's shot has at last reached, she fell upon her mo-
ther's bosom, weeping bitterly.

And now did the comforters change places. It was her mother
who was cheerful now, consoling her for what she could not help,
and contriving a plan which might relieve their loss. Glancing at
her weding-ring, which she had often sadly thought would serve her
in some last emergency, she contrived her plan.

Accompanied by Ruby, and lighted by the candle, which, flar-
ing and melting in the rush of ah* outside, threatened constant ex-
tinguishing, she sought in the house below a sort of shop, where
many articles were displayed for pawn or sale. But there was no
thread there. It must be fine French thread, and nothing fine or
French was there, and she knew was not likely to be any where near.

Disappointed, they turned to leave the shop, when a stooping
figure in the door- way barred their exit. He appeared to be
scrambling after something on the floor, and at last, clutching it
with the expression of a shocking oath, he rose and stood before
them — a man of hideous aspect ; and the thing that he was dutch-

1858.] TTie Wedding Garment. 66

ing so wickedly, was the long bright golden tresses of some gath-
ered haman hair. It made one sick to see his dirty fingers twin-
ing through its profuse and flowing beauty ; and much more did
the blood run cold of our poor defenceless women, when, as they
sought to hurry past, he tried to stop them, informing them, in
some half-foreign, half-English language, that he bought hair,
lon^, long hair, and would give a great deal of money for Ruby's
dark brown curls, attempting as he spoke to touch them, as she
shrank away. Terrified and disgusted with his free impertinence,
they succeeded in passing him, and with all the speed possible
through the dark uncertain way, they at last reached again their
own apartment. The candle had fallen in their flight, and but for
the glow of the expiring embers, they would have been in total
darkness. Fastening the door as securely as it admitted, with
many a sigh and sob, but with earnest pleading prayer, they sank
at last to sleep ; and as the soft curls rested all night long on the
mother's aching bosom, it seemed to her that a shadow at the
door, as of a strong man armed, protected their feeble fastening.

And they slept ; and all night long the sweet delusion lasted,
if it were one, that it were their loved one's mission, from the
court of heaven, to be their guardian angel.

* Rest, weary spirit,

*T is the 'Sabbath day!
Toll and work and care

Put far away.
And as the bells are ringing

From the church towers,
Thou from thy heart be singing

Through holy hours.

* Rest, weary spirit !

Whatsoe'er thy grief,
Rest from thy weary effort

To find relief.
Then He who is the Lord

Even of the Sabbath day,
Will in IIis gentle mercy

Put thy care away.'

By a strange accident, or a liappy arrangement, the largest and
richest church in New- York, stands at the head of Wall-street,
bearing in its name the mystery of the ever-blessed Trinity, which
we forever worship and glorify ; raising the holy cross of Christ
on its highest summit into the sky, it stands at the head of all that
rushing vortex of moneyed misery, like some light-house on a dan-
gerous shore, like a preacher to the passing perishing people, tell-
mg them of a better treasure, far away, and wamhig them in its
solemn chime, as if the mighty words had fallen upon them — the
words which were the trumpet-note of Loyola, with which he, in
an age gone by, startled and stirred such another earth-contented
crowd with the most powerful conviction and conversion — only
repeating from ear to ear as the church bells chime and chime :

66 The Wedding QurmenL [July*

* What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world and
lose his own soul ? '

Yes, it stands as a church should stand, with open door, and
daily prayer, and free entrance, for even the pauper's feet. Wean-
ing from earth with its gathered-in graves, where the sleepers rest
80 still and so secure, and winning for heaven with its gathering-in
souls, where the weaiy and the heavy-laden may receive the pro-
mised peace.

Among those over whom the benediction of the closing services
had this day fallen, were our two poor wanderers ; and surely it
will rest upon them as they turn away and retrace their patient
steps to the place of poverty, which was all the world was giving
them for then* part of its great heritage.

AU ? was this all ?

The world, with its great gifts of mines and minds, of lands and
seas, burdened with treasures, of thrones and crowns, tottering
with the weight of pride and place, of government and people, to
whom these two belong, brave and free, with power and plenty,
blessing and blessed with institutions for justice and churches for
charity — was this all the world could give these two ?

Hope better !

The Sabbath passed away in peace. ' We will not think, to-day,
my child.' And the mother and daughter rested upon the Sab-
bath day, and kept it holy, according to the commandment. ^

No wonder that an angel walked beside them, according to the
promise.

With the earliest dawning of the following day, M^hich seemed
to point them only to perplexity, the mother arose, and hastily
arranging her poor attire, prepared to leave her sleeping daughter
to the repose which still so kindly clung to her.

She could go and return, she thought, before she waked, and
procure the thread which had caused them so much trouble ; and
so no time would be lost in completing the garment, which a fatal
moment too late might render of so ftiuch evil consequence to
them. She had descended to the lowest step, and was hurrying
to leave the impure atmosphere for the street, where at least a
little freshness dropped with the light from the sky, when she was
accosted by the same revolting figure, who had alarmed them so
on Saturday night, with the same announcement as before : that
he bought hair — long, long hair — and would give much money
for Ruby's dark brown curls.

As if he had struck her a sudden blow, the poor mother stag-
ffered back, for she was weak and nervous ; and instantly, from
the impulse which comes stronger In times of greatest weakness,
as if to refill and replace the mind's action, she turned and re-
ascended the old crazy, tottering stairs, back to her heart's trea-
sure ; a fear of she knew not wimt possessed her, and she could
not leave her there — she must take her w^th her.

O mother's heart I what makes it beat so? Made sacred| it
can never taint nor fall.

1858.] The Wedding Oarmefit 57

The opening of tbe door again, awakened Ruby, and the gay
'good morning' of her happy voice was so cheerful in its sound,
that her mother, stooping to kiss her, only told her to make haste
and come with her to buy the thread.

At that word. Ruby's trouble seemed to awake, and her dream
seemed almost leading her as she followed her mother through the
windings of that wretched place, to the no less wretched street,
where, after a walk of many squares, they at last procured, and
returned with the desired purchase.

As they reentered the door, and again climbed to their retreat,
never had it seemed to them half so wretched as now in the early
morning, which they knew was so fresh and beautiful in so many
places over the world, and which so dark and dreary here, was all
the worse by contrast.

Dirty children w^ere clamoring for something to eat, and dirty
women quarrelling for their morning fare, and in one dreadful
room which they had to pass, the door wide open, revealed sights
sickening even to the strongest mind.

Poor little trembling Ruby — poor, poor mother — clinging to-
gether closer than ever, once more they were in their own room,
which this time thev frreeted <]^ratefullv.

* Hasten, hasten, Ruby, with your work, and we will leave this
place ; there must be some more room for us in all the wide, wide
wftrld than this, my child. It is not right to stay here any longer ;
and we will go. God will lead us — we will not fear. Sew on
fast, darling. I will fix the breakfast — you sew on.'

* O mother ! it is dreadful, dreadful, but where shall we go ? '

' Do not talk, my child ; do not ask me ; God will lead us. I do
not fear ; sew fast, my darling, as fast as you can sew."

And Ruby sewed on fast ; and the mother made the fire and
prepared the meal for which they had little appetite : Ruby re-
garding her mother's newly-aroused strength with surprise. She
seemed borne on by some superior power, and so she was.

It was nearly mid-day when the last stitch was drawn and the
wedding garment was done. If to the gentle wearer its tale of
working could ever be unfolded, there would be less of human
woe ; but to her, this far-off stranger bride, in her pure happiness,
it will be nothing but only a clean, white linen.

Rapidly Ruby had sewed, and rapidly they now walked with the
finished work to the great depository from whence they had ob-
tained it. They had tried to expect the misfortune which still they
could not believe would happen to them ; but alas ! alas ! it was
even so. They were too late, and had lost the price. With a
civility which many times digraces higher departments when cru-
elty is measured out for justice, they were told that rules must be
adopted and carried out for the maintenance of good order and to
prevent disappointment to customers ; that the rules of the estab-
lishment were imperative, and could not be disregarded, and that
they might see for themselves how much trouble it would give to
customers if they were broken through.

They tried, but they could not see; but it did not matter

58 The Wedding Garment. [J^y>

whether they saw or not ; and with a choking in the throat which
prevented any words being spoken even to each other, they left
the wedding garment whose threads had surely, as in the dream,
entangled ana misled them, and following its further effect they
wound their weary way back to then- desolate starting-point,
from which since early dawn so much vain effort had been put forth.

Ruby seated herself by the window again lost in grief; but her
mother — she could not comprehend her mother's calmness.

' What shall we do, mother ? '

' We will go, my child.'

' Where, mother ? '

* God wUl lead us, darling. I do not fear.'

The calmness of the words was wonderful — so finn and strong ;
and all the while she was packing up quickly but careftilly their
few articles in the little carpet-bag, and then spreading the remain-
ing fi*agments of food upon the table for the last time, she begged
Ruby to try and eat something, so that she might not be hungry
again for that day.

As her pale thin hands glanced across the table in their kindly
care Ruby noticed that her ring, her wedding ring, was gone.

* O mother, mother I your ring ! O mother ! it is too hard.'
and the tears gushed in a sudden torrent over those pale thin
hands, which were instantly caught and pressed to her lips in many
a fervent kiss of devoted love.

' My child, do not regret it ; it will take us from this place of
evil ; and it is all right ; there, do not fret, darling, God will lead
us. I do not fear.'

O weak woman ! how strong the hejirt wears in the hour of
need!

' Mother ! mother ! ' said Ruby with a strength which seemed
partly inherited and partly reflected from the bright example.
' One thing I ask you, mother darling, and do not refuse me, dear,
dear mother, it will make me so much happier, and alone content
me for my lost work. You will not, mother, refuse me — say you
wdll not.'

And her mother knew what she meant without her saying it in
words. It scarcely needed the accompanying gesture of the httle
liands raised to the rich tresses of her beautiful hair, which was
truly the only treasure she could add to their almost empty purse.
But oh ! it was such a treasure, and the mother's piide rose up to
forbid the costly sacrifice. But the earnest eloquence of the
pleading voice and the tearful eyes raised to hers with such a look
of beaming hope, were not to be resisted ; beside, the thought
came that in their wandering helplessness it might be better so ;
the uncommon beauty of Ruby's hair every where attracted great
attention ; and they so lone and unprotected, it was better to
grant her wish, and so she granted it.

But it was the saddest sight of all to see the young head bowed
before this iron poverty, and the mother's hand, trembling but
faithful, severing tress afler tress for a means of safety and defence
through the difficulties and dangers which surrounded them.

1858.] The LilacrTree, 69

It was done, and she raised her head with a laugh of pleasure
to her mother's quivering face ; and it was sad to see it so shorn ;
but it was a noble act which must surely bring its own reward ;
and already as she arose from her voluntary sacrifice, she was like
some holy nun ; and what she had lost of earth she had gained of
heaven.

With hearts refreshed by these mutual deeds of generous love,
our mother and child prepared immediately to depart. First
kneeling together in the little old chamber, which none like them
should ever more inhabit, they asked God's blessing on their
wandering way.

As they knelt, the sun was in its meridian in the sky, and the
trial of their faith and patience was at its highest measure in their
souls.

It would decline now. It would never be so hard to bear
again. And they went, peacefully, bearing in their hands their
only earthly possessions, the Bible and the little carpet-bag ; and
quickly paying their rent .below with Ruby's treasure, they
sought once more the street ; the street where Ruby, always
trembled so ; but her mother walked serenely beside her.

* What shall we do ? Where shall we go, mother ? '

* I do not know my chfld ; but God will lead us. I do not fear.'
And they go on.

And so God does lead them ; but He leads them to our hearts.
And as they come, and they do come, and the question rises,
* What shall they do ? where shall they go ? ' how dare we answer
that * God leads them,' and let them go on I b. k. b.

THB LILAC-TBEE.

In the songful days of June,

When the birds are all a-tune,
And the honey-feast is coming for the humming-bird and bee,

Of all the trees that grow,

And with blossoms that do blow,
The sweetest and the saddest is the lilac-tree.

For, though purple is the bloom

That its crisping buds assume,
Like the tint on far-off mountains beyond the pleasant sea,

Yet the freshness but deceives.

And amid the shady leaves
There is ever a dead blossom on the lilac-tree.

And 80 it is with all,

That in things both great and small

Of our life a distant gleaming in our dreaming we may see ;
For when the heart is gladdest.
Oh \ there *s something in it saddest,

Like the blossom and the blight upon the lilac-tree.

The Lost Arts of the Souaehold. [J«ly,

THE LOST ARTS OF THE HODSBHOLD.

A FEW yeara since, )iirf Imperial MajeBty, ' Brother to the Sun '
and Emperor of all the Culestials, in the plenitude of his wtadom,
siiw fit to recall a governor from one of the southern provinces,
and after the promulgation of a decree authorizing him to wear an
additional peacock-feather in hia cap aa a reward for signal services,
consigned him to private life, and appointed a successor. The
new official was one of those eager reformers who desire to inno-
vate some existing custom, and thus procure immortality for their
names. He looked about for an appropriate field of action. The
veteran pig-t^l, the ahaven poll, the ancut finger-nails, the golden

1858.] The Lost Arts of tJie Household. 61

lilies — with none of these he dared interfere, lest he should
confound the true faith with that of the fankweis. At length,
with the aid of his private secretary, he concocted a proclamation,
well calculated to excite commotion among the celestials. It had
only its mathematical character to redeem it. The substance of
the general missive was, that the people of the province should
refrain in future from putting female infants to death, as, pros-
pectively, this practice would amount to the virtual destruction of
human beings. In due time, after learned mandarins had worried
their brains unsuccessfully to correct the rash innovator, a com-
plaint was forwarded to Pekin, and the obnoxious governor was re-
called.

Diligent investigation, we are convinced, will eventually produce
a change in popular sentiment ; and the profound idea of the shaven
celestial must inevitably prevail in the world. The early tradi-
tions of mankind, especially of the Caucasian branch, decidedly
lean toward the opinions which he, injudiciously anticipating
the progress of civilization, sought to disseminate. Indeed, we
think a mandarin would be horrified at some of the pictures which
ancient mythology presents, as, for instance, Athene, a god-
dess armed, and Artemis with her bow and hunting gear. Plato
would astound him with the assurance that women used to parti-
cipate in military exploits, and the axiom that ' all animated be-
ings, females as well as males, have a natural ability to pursue in
common every suitable virtue.' With the ancient Egyptians also,
he would be surprised to leani that women were permitted to
attend and deliver lectures upon Philosophy, to participate in hus-
bandry and mechanical employments, and to take part in political
affairs.

It is, indeed, difficult to define what views were most generally
entertained respecting the femhiine sphere. Women, variufn et
mutdbile semper^ exercised religious offices as the ministers at
temples, interpreters of the oracles, and as prophetesses among
the Hebrews. Deborah, the prophetess, for forty years 'judged
Israel,' and went with the armies ; Huldah was a king's counsellor ;
and in the times of the New Testament, the daughters of the
evangelist Philip ' did prophesy;' Phebewas c?/aA;ow 05, or minister
of the church at Cenchrea, and Priscilla * taught the way of God.'
The Germans, acknowledging a quid dlvinum^ or godlike element
in women, submitted to their counsels, and yielded to their as-
sumption of vaticinatory power and of the art of healing. In
short, they possessed importance in those ' good old times.' They
even sat on thrones ; and we presume that if they had consented
to bear the mace, or to exercise police functions, many an Alci-
biades would have accepted their escort to the watch-house or the
pnson.

Even in the Middle Ages, when refinement and civilization
struggled a thousand years to conquer Gothic barbarism, there
existed women capable of asserting the ancient prerogative. Vic-
toria Colonna, Veronica Gambara, Mary Aquazis, Jane d'Albret,

62 ITie Lost Arts of the Homehold. [3\^7i

and the fair professors in the schools of Aleala and Salamanca, were
eminent examples of intellectual greatness. But the progress of
the age has annihilated their arts, and their memories almost ; and
as buffoon masquerades are left to commemorate ancient festivals,
so the learned women of former times are now represented by the
humble school-mistress.

Science alone, however, has not ceased to confer its distinctions
upon notable women. There are * Lost Arts ' which need a chron-
icler to preserve them from oblivion. We do not refer to the arts
spontaneous with the sex, the variable coquetries and other guises
that they assume, but those old and venerable institutions formerly
assigned to women, and symbolized by three implements, the
needle, the distaff, and the loom. A generation only has to pass,
and these will be almost, if not utterly, forgotten. Yet, in the
ancient days, the ages which chroniclers but feebly reach, in the
ages which mythology has veiled with her thick curtains, skill in
handling those three instruments was made the glory of a woman.

Royal hands presided at the distaff. When Hercules bore off
lole and slew her brother, the oracle at Delphi commanded that
he should be sold as a slave, and he thus became the property of
Omphale, the Lydian queen. Taking to herself his leonme robe
and club, she made him put on female apparel and spin with her
maid-servants, playfully beating him with her slipper because he
held the distaff awkwardly. Sardanapalus followed this example,
and disgusted his people, who rebelled and overthrew the empire.
The raiment of the Macedonian Alexander was spun and wrought
by his mother ; and that of Augustus by his sisters.

The three dread sisters born of Olympic Zeus and Titanian
Themis, divided their task of fixing human destiny. Clotho was
the spinster* who held the distaff and formed the thread ; Lachesis
reeled it off and allotted to each mortal his portion ; and Atropos
severed at the appointed place.

In the thirty-nrst of Proverbs, the mother of King Lemuel eulo-
gizes a virtuous woman, or as we would express it, a woman of capa-
city, ascribing to her an industry which wotlld startle the maids and
matrons of our time. * She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh
willingly with her hands. She riseth while it is yet night — her
candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hand to the spindle,
and her hands hold the distaff.' To this implement a fascicle of
flax or w^ool was attached, which being drawn carefully off by the
hand, was, by aid of the spindle, converted into yarn or thread.

The addition of the wheel rendered the spinning process more
easy and perfect. When human skill had advanced thus fer, it
would seem, in this particular, to have remained stationary for
centuries. Our own memory goes back to the time when the flax-
spinning-wheel was considered as a part of the bride's trousseau /

* This Urm being the feminine of tpinner, wu of old applied to yonng women In that eapa-
eitj. The coitom of requiring erery maid to spin the linen for her Uwuuau ertntaated in
m^dng «p<n«<«r the designation of an unmarried woman.

1868.]

7^ Lost Artt of the SotueKoHd.

when eacb nmid and matron labored in this department of industry ;
and a mother and s'ster w'th fingers well moistened, drew dowD

the fibres of hackled flax from the d staff and propelli g the
wheel by the pressing of the foot i pon the treadle w o f,ht
them into thread

In those times tie slvln■^ copj ng the example perhips of
IleroDles, made i ta not nnfreq nt to the firm house to woo
the Bpinning-maida Never d d tl e Eites bj n more ass duo sly
the weal of human de li y tlian o i a ich oecasioni when the
blushing damaels wrought away with redoubled energy, propelling
convulsively the little wheel with their tiny, or rather not so tiny
feet, listenmg with attentive ears to the talcs and pleasing
speeches uttered so significantly in a soft, cooing tone, not always
anattended by nudges and pinches, which, though not exactly in
good taste, were very significant and perfectly understood. The

64 77ie Lost Arts of tJie Household. [Joly?

house-maid who was told that Barkis was willing, did not better
understand the import of the message.

The large spinning-wheel was more laborious. It consisted of a
bench or ' horse ' considerably larger than that of the little flax-
wheel. In it was inserted a standard on which to suspend the •
wheel, while at the front was another standard in which the spindle
was fixed upon a little wheel. A band passing around both, com-
municated Irom the larger orb the force required to propel rapidly
the smaller, and so twist properly the yarn. Instead or sitting as
when at work with the httle flax-wheel, the spinster walked for-
ward and backward as she plied her task. As the spindle became
so loaded as to preclude working easily, the ' reel ' was produced,
as in the other instances, and tne thread or yam was taken ofl*,
and apjx)rtioned into skeins. A ' run,' involving a waUc of several
miles, was considered a good day's work.

A very few of these monuments of the Past are still in exist-
ence ; but the art of spinning, except by machinery propelled by
steam or water power, is well nigh lost.

The art of weaving, intricate and ingenious as it is, possesses^
nevertheless, an antiquity defying research. Captain James Riley,
the African navigator, suggests that men first caught the idea
from the bark of the cocoa-tree, which, indeed, greatly resembles
cloth ; but this is only an hypothesis, not capable of demonstration.
It was ever considered, since history existed, as the avocation of
the house-wife.* Among the Bedouins, the loom is a very primi-
tive structure, consisting of two rows of pegs stationed at a given
distance from each other, to which the twist or ' warp ' was at-
tached. The threads are separated from each other by a wooden
stick, each alternately being placed above or below ; the weft or
woof is either passed through by hand or by the aid of a rude
shuttle, and then is beaten to the inner row of pegs by the stick.
The repetition of this process till the whole warp is thus filled with
woof-thread, results in producing cloth.

The shuttle and the loom were used in a remote antiquity in
every country of any claim to civilization, and their general form
in Egypt and Hindostan was not dissimilar to those employed in
modern Europe and America. The ancients attributed to Athene
their introduction into this world ; and Horace assures us that she
wove her own vestments and the robes of Juno, queen of the
gods. Every Roman matron deemed her skill at the loom as her
noblest accomplishment, and ancient story attributes the passion
of the Tarquin for Lucretia to an inspiration given when she was
surprised in this employment by the young Romans on the occa-
sion of their night visit.

In the weavmg process, the long threads are called warpy or
twist ; the cross-threads weft, woo^ or filling. The warp is always
attached to the loom, while the woof is contained in the shuttle.

* Ths term lo^tf comei from the same root with tO0&, iiM{/y, fMae«, «mx{/; and the Oermao
tM&«i^ iM&tfr, etc., and came to be applietl to the married vomaD, because she did the wearing
fSor the famil J.

8.]

2%« Zoat Arts of the Household.

The first operation consists in laying the requisite number of threai^s
together to form the width of the cloth. This is termed warpmt/.
Suppoeing there are to be one thousand threads in the width of a
piece of cloth, the yam as it is wound on the spools or bobbins,
inufit be so tinwound and laid out as to form one tnousand lengths,
which when placed parallel, constitute the warp of the intended

In India and China the old method is still pursued, of
drawing out the warp from the bobbins in an open field ; but the
occidental weavers employ a warijing-frame, in which the threads
are arranged by means oi a frame revolving upon a vertical axis.
When the warp is arranged around this machine, the warper takes
it ofi", and winos it into a ball, preparatory to the process of beam-
ing, or winding it on the beam or large roller of the loom. The
threads, in this latter process, are wound evenly on the beam ; a
ravel, comb, or separator being used to lay them parallel, and
VOL, Ln. S

7A« Loit Arts of the Household.

[Jtily,

to spread them out to about the intended width of the cloth. The
threads of warp are then drawn, or attached individually to n
^ick, which is afterward fastened to another revoMng beam of
the loom. In this process, each thread is passed through a'hMTiesa'
Sxed to two frames called headles, in such a manner, that all the
alternate threads can be drawn up or down by one beadle and the
remainder by the other.

Thtre is a seat for the weaver at the citrome end of the loom.
The weaver being seated, places one foot upon a treadle, by which
she depresses one of the beadles above, thereby forming an open-
ing in the warp, sufficient to admit the passage of the shuttle.
This Is hurled with force sufficient to carry it across the whole web,
giving out a thread, which thus extends across, above and below,
altematelv, each thread of the web.

With tho loom over wn« HnmKilntc-d the iHinily picture. He
mother, and, in England, tlio Ihther, of an evening ut weaving,

ISfiS.]

7%0 Lost Art» of the BbuaeAold.

sad tlie companion and the little ones would group around, per-
forming their usual tasks, or at some childish pastime, till, as the
evenitie waned away, one after another would drop away, till the
' old foUcB at home ' were left to finish the scene oy themselves.
Hie loom in the comer was always regarded as a Lar of the house-
hold, and its dislodgment would have been considered equivalent
to the dismemberment of the family.

But this ancient period has passed forever away ; the loom and
its fiunily associations have fled before modem inventions. The
inexorable Progress, creating social revolution, has wrested them
all away, nor minded what men thought of its innovations.

Formerly the mother and daughters wrought the clothing for
the &mily. Where ease and wealth gave opportunity, the business
of sewing was carried to great perfection. Embroidery was the
employment of ladies of gentle blood ; and the Bayeux tapestry
will long remind posterity of the skill of Queen Adoliza. But in
humbler circles, simple needle-work was all that was cultivated.
Tha manufacture of fabrics and the demands of fashion increas-
ing, the tailor and milliner — so called because she wrought Milan
goods — were introduced to aid the house-wife ; and for years they
were wont to ' whip the cat,' that is, go from house to house, to
render their sewing where required. The cities, and eventually
the villages, were exceptions to this rule j and shops were there
early established for these branches of industry. Sewing thus
became the avocation of a large class of operatives, most of them
females. It is easier and cheaper to obtain female labor, and neces-
nty teaches woman to endure privations and impositions at which
t the other sex would revolt.

It IS seldom that a woman's
wages more than suppUes
the commonest necessities
of hfe — often not that.
The 'Song of the Shirt,'
which immoi'talized its au-
thor IS accordant strictly
with fact. A cei-tun claw
of dealers engaged in the
clothmg and millinery busi-
ness, and perfectly unscru-
pulous, have contributed
largely to increase the la-
bor and to reduce the
wages of sewing -women.
Other dealers must sell as
low as they, and of course
The waste of health, of life.

policy.

amploy the

of happiness, of every thing precious to woman, is a sad picture
to contemplate. It would require a Jeremiad scroll of indefinite
length to depict properly and fully the painful diseases, the
•Inidged life, mined nopes, blasted prospects, and, worse than

Uta Zoat ArU of th$ SoutehoM.

[July,

all, the virtne eacrificed to enable poor sufTcrera to eke out their
miaerablG existence. A laboring woman starves on Tirtue; a
woman of pleasure grows rich and luxuriates in vice. We some-
times think of retribution, of an adjustment of the social scale,
and tremble to think what may be impending. If women have
the power to combine and improve their social condition, we have
no obstacles to interpose ; we only bid them GoD-speed.

In reference to needle-work, a revolution has indeed already
been inaugurated by the introduction of the sewing-machine. We
are able to state definite achievements in this respect, and, to give
point to our remarks, refer to the deservedly popular machine of
Wheeler and Wilson, which we some time since characterized aa
' an American. Institution.^

It combiacs all the essential qualities of a good instrument,
namely, elegance of model and finish ; simplicity and thoroughness
of construction, and consequent durability and freedom from de-
rangement, and need of repairs; ease, quietness, and rapidity of
operation ; beauty of stitch alike upon both sides of the fabric
sewed; strength and firmness of seam that will not rip nor ravel,
and made wiui economy of thread ; and applicability to a variety
of purposes and materials.

The stitch made by this machine is illustrated by the following
diagram :

It is formed with two threads, one above the fabric, and the
other below it, interlocked in ihe centre. It presents the same
appearance upon each side of the seam — a single line of thread

jitending from stitch to stitch. The machine is mounted u
small work-table, and driven
by sandal pedals, pulley, and
band, Tlie operator seats
herself before it ; with a
gentle pressure of the feet
upon the pedals, the ma-
chine is touched into i
tion, the work being placed
upon the cloth-plate and '
beneath the needle. The ,
pretty array of silvered '
arms and wheels perform
their regular music, inter-
weaving the threads smooth-
ly with the surCtce into a
beautiful seam, which glides
through the fingers at the
rate of a yard a minute, aa
if the operator had conjured
some magical influence to aid in the delightful occupation. The
fiibric is moved forward by the machine, and the length of the

1858.] Lines: June. 69

stitch regulated to suit the operator. One thousand stitches per
minute are readily made.

Baby-dresses and web-like mouchoirs are beaded with pearly
stitches; a shirt-bosom covered with tiny plaits, exquisitely stitched,
is completed almost while a lady could sew a needleful of thread ;
three dresses, heavy or fine, are made in less time than is required
to fit one ; coats, vests, and the entire catalogue of the wardrobe,
are gone through with rail-road celerity. In hemming, seaming,
qoiltmg, gathering, felling, and all sorts of fancy stitching, it rivals
tne damtiest work of the whitest fingers, and works with more
beauty and thoroughness than the most careful housewife. It only
requires a drop of oil now and then, and you have a ten-seamstress
power in your parlor, eating nothing, asking no questions, and
never singmg the mournful 'Song of the Shirt.' It works equally
well upon every variety of fabric — silk, linen, woolen, and cotton
goods, from the lightest muslins to the heaviest cloths. The
housekeeper, accustomed to make by hand but thirty or forty
stitches per minute, is soon surprised at the facility with which she
runs up seams, sews on facings, tucks, hems, plaits, gathers, quilts,
stitches in cords, sews on bindings, etc., and wonders how she
has endured the drudgery of hand-sewing. Her spring and fall
sewing, which dragged through the entire year with little inter-
mission, becomes the work of a few days with this machine. In
many instances, we have heard of the stronger sex doing most of
the family sewing — 'just for fun,' of course. The revolution
promises to be as complete as the evil ; and will extend to house-
wives as well as seamstresses.

Bayeux tapestries, Flemish fabrics, gauzes too, which reveal all
that they seem to hide, and threads invisible to unaided eyes, will
not be wrought by hand much longer. The sewing-machine and
the factories, with their steel-fingers and brazen sinews, will, in
some future time, wrest away these avocations, and invariably
establish another order of things.

U N E

Men turn to angels when dead :
A thought grows into a song :

Every thing ripens with time,
Or I and my rhyme are wrong.

II.

The May-moon blossomed and grew,
And withered, the flower full-blown ;

But out of the ruined moon
The beautiful June has grown.

10 The Portrait.

THB P0RTS1.it.

*T IS very odd, and yet there is

A slight resemblance too ;
Although a stranger well might ask

If this were meant for you.
There ^s too much roundness to the cheek :

The lips are all too red :
And those are natural curls, my loYe,

That glorify the head.

IT.

The maid has such a conscious look

Of bashfulncss and fun,
That one would guess her half-coquette

And half demurest nun ;
Or deem some merry devil lurked

Within those angel eyes.
To tempt deluded man astray

With hopes of Paradise.

And did you really, truly wear

That charming bodice-waist,
With its provoking open front.

So exquisitely laced ?
If low-necked dresses then were cut

So wonderfully low.
Pray tell me why it is that now

You never wear them so f

IV.

How could an artist ever gaze

Upon those glowing charms.
Nor throw his frenzied brush away.

To clasp them in his arms I
Yet he might paint you as you sit

Beside the cradle now,
Without a tremor of the hand,

Or flush upon his brow.

Well, never mind ; although the hair

That droops beneath the cap
Has lent its gold to that young rogue

Who slumbers on your lap ;
Yet when the bal)y 's grown a boy,

And wears a jaunty hat,
You then may say to him, that onc«

His mother looked lik« that. o. a. o.

LITERARY NOTICES.

Thb Nbw Ambbican Ctclop^dia: a Popular Dictionary of General Knowledge.
Edited bj Gbobgb Ripley and Charlbs A. Dana. YoU. I. and II. Kew-To» :
D. Applbton and Company. 1858.

The poet Gray said that his idea of Paradise was to * lie on a sofii and read
eternal new romances.* The multitudinous works of fiction which have
■bounded since his time and superabounded for a few years past, show that
the world has been somewliat inclined to accept his creed, and to introduce the
miltennium at once if new romances could do it There is nothing on the &ce
of the earth that has not been romanticized. We have had ideal novels, his-
torical novels, speculative novels ; novels illustrative of society, of high life, low
life^ real Ufe, city life, village scenes ; religious novels, metaphysical novels,
« sentimental novels, political novels, satirical novels, scientific novels; novels to
teach manners, morals, sociology, geography, and navigation; novels of gray
Bpirits, white spirits, blue spirits, devils, and fairies ; novels of the old world
and of the new, of the courts of Augustus, Louis XIV., and Montezuma — of
civilized and of barbarous states, of Biblical, mediseval, and contemporary
events; novels to please, excite, instruct, mystify, and enrapture. Undoubtedly
romance in prose and verse has constituted a full half of the reading of the pre-
sent generation. Against this sort of literature we have nothing to say, and
think it a question worthy of a philosopher to decide whether a romance or a
cyclopedia will be the last and highest attainment of humanity. We think,
however, that after having so long revelled in the carnival of the romantic, to
live for a while severely upon a Lenten discipline of realities, to know nothing
but facts, and facts certified, palpable, and stubborn, would be for the mental
and moral advantage of all of us. It will be well to let the over-tasked &ncy
rest for a season, while we attend to the plainest reports of what this universe
actually consists o^ and what certain facts have been transacted on the earth.
At least, let us know the facts, which like strong timbers, shall uphold the
temples built by fancy.

We therefore congratulate the American people upon having within their
reach so compact and substantial records of general knowledge as are contained
in the two volumes already published of the ^New American Gycloposdia^ and
promised in the volumes yet to come. An old German peasant was aocus-

72 Literary Notices. [Jiily>

tomed, after taking his pipe in the morning, to say to his son : * John, tell me
a fact, that I may have something to think ahout' The work before us is
composed of plain statements of facts. It has been generally recommended by
the press to men in business, in the trades, and in the professions. We com-
mend it also, especially, to young men and women who have mastered most of
the poems and novels, and are inclined to take romantic, heroic, and sentimen-
tal views of life. To pass from their favorite reading into these volumes will
be a sort of baptism in cold water that will be greatly for their healtL To
those who are acquainted with the solar system chiefly as it is developed in
the poems of Mr. WoRDSWoifro, and in pastorals generally, the article on

* Astronomy * would furnish excellent reading. To those who know men
chiefly as they appear in novels, drawing-rooms, Broadway, or even in civilized
countries, the article on * Anthropology,' showing as it does every sort of men
in all the diversities and localities of the race, would prove as entertaining as
it would be valuable. Those who have given black forests. Undines, and little
diabolic masters a prominent place in their conceptions of Germany, would be
disabused of their error by reading the article on * Austria,' in which the statis-
tics and history of a great empire are skilfiilly compressed. Those who are
familiar only with the outr'eeSy wayward, elfish, passionate girls that appear in
romances, would do well to learn of some of the actual eccentricities of the sex
by reading the articles on the * Almeh' of Egypt, the * Amazons ' of antiquity
and of South-America, and the *Bayadeer' of India. The series of articles on

* Animal,' * Animal Electricity,' ' Animal Heat,' * Animal Magnetism,' * Animal
Matter,' * Animal Mechanics,' * Animal Spirits,' * Animalcules,' * Aquatic Ani-
mals,' and * Amphibia ' are both learned and popular, and give clear views both
of the certainties and the mysteries of the most interesting of the three great
natural kingdoms.

We have neither time nor space to examine particularly a work of this cha-
racter and magnitude. It will pass into libraries, and be tried by time, by
constant reference to its pages. At present we purpose only to refer a little
more particularly to its treatment of American topics. It is nearly thirty
years since the old Eaclycloprndia Americana appeared, and considering that
that contained biographies only of the dead, while the ''JS'evD American Gych-
pcedia* has notices also of eminent living persons, it makes a difference of more
than half-a-century in their biographical departments. During the last thirty
years our country has increased from a population of thirteen millions to thirty
millions; has built all its rail-roads, and almost all its steam-boats; has invented
the electric telegraph ; received immense emigrations from the old world ; gone
through with one war ; peopled California ; begun to develop the resources of
the Mississippi valley; advanced to the Pacific in Oregon ; seeii the dose of its
second generation of great statesmen in the death of John Quincy Adams, and
of its third, in the death of Daniel Webster and Thomas H. Benton. The
city of Chicago, which the old Endyclopaedia does not contain at all, and
wluch the supplementary volume to it alludes to as having between four and
five thousand inhabitants, had in 1857 a population of one hundred and thirty
thousand; and this immense progress is but an eminent instance of the general
advancement of our country.

The ^Ifew American OyclopcBdia^ is the summing up of the work of the

1858.] Idterary Notices. 73

last thirty years. Fuller in every department and for every period than its
predecessor, it has a net addition to it of the events of tliis period.

It is pleasant to notice the part which America plays in great general sub-
jects. Thus in the article on * Agricultural Schools,' there are four pages de-
voted to the institutions of this kind in Great Britain and on the Continent,
and two pages to a particular account of those existing in the United States.
rhe article on * Almanac * is a story of the origin and present state of tliat
jpcdes of literature, and infbrms us that ^ the earliest intellectual productions
}f the European race on this continent were psalm-books and Almanacs.' It
doses with an item for the philosophy of history: *The trade of almanac-mak-
ing, like that of the court journalist, the minstrel, and the bard, does not hold
the place it did in the times of Regiomontanus and PcRBxcn. What was
once the daily companion and cherished luxury of kings and queens, court
ladies and royal mistresses, lias become popularized, and placed within the
reach of the wives of country farmers and city meclianics. Fame can no
longer be acquired in this way, but an amount of information, useful to tlie
domestic sanctuary and the counting-hoase of the man of ba^^iness, can be dif-
fused by our contemporary compilei-s, which the learned doctor, who revelled
in a court pension some centuries ago, could never have dreamed of In the
botanical article on * Anemone,' we are glad to observe that the writer delayed
a little to describe the species liepatica^ or wind-flower, which is one of our
earliest spring flowers, often decking the forests and pastures in the vicinity
of a lingering snow-bank. Probably there is no where else so satisfactory an
account of the water-works of Philadelphia, New- York, and Boston — not to
mention those of Jerusalem, ancient Rome, and Versailles — as in the article
on ' Aqueduct' The article on * Angling ' begins with Antony and Gleopatka
on the Nile, and ends with a full account of the fish, fishing-streams, fishing-
habits, and books on fishing, in America. The * Argentine Confederation ' is a
diapter in the history of South- America, which will be new to most readers.
The * Atlantic Ocean,' and ' Artesian AYelLs,' are admirable both for facts and
style, showing how much information may be pressed into a few pages ; and
the * Arctic Discovery ' and * Aurora Borealis ' are especially interesting, as
they bring thase subjects up to the date of the present year. The numerous
shorter articles in the work have the merit of being full of matter. Thus
'Bachelors ' contains an account of the way in which that portion of humanity
has been regarded by the laws of different nations ; the * Banjo ' is stated to bo
'as much our national instrument as the bagpipe is with the Scotch, or the
harp with the Welsh ; ' the tcnitory * Arizona,' or the * Gadsden Purchase,'
which is a subject of present political interest, is fully described ; and there is
a brief account of the * Art-Unions ' of the Continent, England and America.

Probably the most generally interesting, if not the best executed portion of
the work, Ls the biographies. To gi-aduate these in length in a way to please
precisely the taste of every body, is of com*se out of the question. For instance,
there are quite a number of Arabic heroes with names beginning witli Ahd
and Al^ in whom we cannot undertake to feel much interest, and do not see
how they can well fall in the way of the studies of ortlinary civilized Christ-
ians ; but probably some of our neighbors, who have a more oriental turn of
mind, would have felt aggrieved if they had been omitted. If a person finds

74 Literary Notices. [J^ly»

himself in the main satisfied in this respect, he should vote himself entirely
satisfied, because his judgment will be invariably somewhat modified by his
own pursuits. Among the longer American biographies in these two volumes
are those of the three Adamses, John, John Quincy, and Samuel, of Wash-
ington Allston, Agassiz, and Audubon, of Stephen F. Austin, the founder
of the first American colony in Texas, of Benedict Arnold, and John Andr£,
of P. T. Barnum, George Bancroft, N. P. Banks, and Joshua Bates.

The articles are probably less unequal in respect of style than in any other
English cyclopsDdia. This fact proves either unusual care in revision by the
editors, or a strong esprit de corps in the writers, and in either case, is credit-
able to the two accomplished gentlemen who have undei'taken and guide the
work.

Old Nbw-YobC) or Rbhiniscsncbs of the Past Sixty Years : being an Enlarged
Edition of the Anniversary Discourse delivered before the New- York Historical So-
ciety, November 17, 1857. By John W. Francis, M.D.jLL.D. New- York: Charles
Rob, 697 Broadway.

This popular Discourse by Doctor Francis on the New- York of earlier
times, before the Historical Society, has recently been issued in an enlarged
book form. The volume, uniting the charm of the author^s brilliant style with
the value of a historical record, has been so much praised, that an additional
word of commendation seems superfluous. We have space only to quote a
short sketch of Robert Fulton, and an incident connected with Thomas
Paine:

'Amid a thousand individuals you might readily point out Robert Fulton. He
was conspicuous for his gentlemanly bearing and freedom from embarrassment ; for
his extreme activity, his height, somewhat over six feet, his slender yet energetic
form, and well-accommodated dress ; for his full and curly dark brown hair, care-
lessly scattered over his forehead, and falling round about his neck. His complexion
was fair; his forehead high; his eyes large, dark, and penetrating, and revolving
in a capacious orbit of cavernous depth ; his brow was thick, and evinced strength
and determination ; his nose was long and prominent ; his mouth and lips were
beautifully proportioned, giving the impress of eloquent utterance, equally as his
eyes displayed, according to phrenology, a pictorial talent and the benevolent affec-
tions. In his sequestered moments, a ray of melancholy marked his demeanor ; in
the stirring affairs of active business, you might readily designate him indifferent to
surrounding objects and persons, giving directions, and his own personal appliances
to whatever he might be engaged in. Thus have I often observed him on the docks,
reckless of temperature and inclement weather, in our early steam-boat days, anxious
to secure practical issues from his mid-night reflections, or to add new improvements
to works not yet completed. His floating dock cost him much personal labor of this
sort. His hat might have fallen in the water, and his coat be lying on a pile of
lumber, yet Fulton's devotion was not diverted. Trifles were not calculated to im-
pede him, or damp his perseverance.

* There are those who have judged the sympathies of our nature by the grasp of
the hand : this rule, applied to Mr. Fulton's salutation, only strengthened your con-
fidence in the declarations he uttered. He was social ; captivating to the young, in-

1858.] Literary Notices. 75

structive even to the wisest. He was linked in close association with the leading
characters of our city ; with Emmet, Golden, Clinton, Mitchill, Hosack, Macnetkn,
and Morris. A daughter of his first-named friend, with artistic talents, has painted hia
interesting features and his habitat. After all, few eminent men recorded on the rolls
of fame, encountered a life of severer trials and provoking anuojance. The incredu-
litj which prevailed as to the success of his projects, as they were called, created
doubts in the bosoms of some of his warmest friends, and the cry of ' Crazy Fulton,'
issuing at times from the ignoble masses, I have heard reverberated from the lips of
old heads, pretenders to science. Nor is this all. Even at the time when the auspi-
cious moment had arrived, when his boat was now gliding on the wr.ters, individuals
were found still incredulous, who named his vast achievement tbty Marine Smoke'
Jack' and * Fulton's Folly.' With philosophical composure he stood unruflScd and
endured all. He knew what Watt and every great inventor encountered. During his
numerous years of unremitting toil, his genius had solved too many difficult prob-
lems not to have taught him the principles on which his success depended, and he
was not to be dismayed by the yells of vulgar ignorance. Beside, he was working
for a nation, not for himself, and the magnitude of the object absorbed all other
thoughts.

* Mr. Pulton was emphatically a man of the people, ambitious indeed, but void of
all sordid designs : he pursued ideas more than money. Science was more captivat-
ing to him than pecuniary gains, and the promotion of the arts, useful and refined^
more absorbing than the accumulation of the miser's treasures.

* I shall never forget that night of February twenty-fourth, 1815, a frosty night in-
deed, on which he died. Doctor Hosack, with whom I was associated in business,
And who saw him in consultation with Doctor Bhucb, in the last hours of his illness,
returning home at mid-night from his visit remarked : ' Fulton is dying : his severe
cold amidst the ice, in crossing the river, has brought on an alarming inflammation
and glossitis. He extended to me,' continued the Doctor, * his generous hand, grasp-
ing mine closely ; but he could no longer speak.' I had been with Mr. Fulton at hia
residence bat a short time before, to arrange some papers relative to Chancellor Liy-
IXQSTON and the floating-dock erected at Brooklyn. Business dispatched, he en-
tered upon the character of West, the painter, the Columbiad of Barlow, and the
great pictures of Lear and Ophelia, which he had deposited in the American Aca-
demy. This interview of an hour with the illustrious man has often furnished grate-
ful reflections.

.«.•■•«

' His pen was rarely idle for the first year or two after his return to America, nor
were the deplorable habits which marked his closing years so firmly fixed. Like
the opium-eater, inspired by his narcotic, Paine, when he took pen in hand, de-
manded the brandy-bottle, and the rapidity of his composition seemed almost an in-
spiration. During the first few years after his return, he was often joined in his
walks about town by some of our most enlightened citizens in social conversation,
and his countenance bore the intellectual traces of Romnet's painting. He now too
received occasional invitations to dine with the choicer spirits of the democracy ;
mnd none could surpass him in the social circle, from the abundance of his varied
knowledge and his vivid imagination. The learned and bulky Doctor Nicholas Ro-
KATNB had solicited his company at a dinner, to which also he invited Pintard, and
other intelligent citizens, who had known Painb in revolutionary days. Pintard
chose this occasion to express to Paine his opinion of his infidel writings.

' ' I have read and re-read,' said Pintard, ' your 'Age of Reason,' and any doubts
which I before entertained of the truth of revelation, have been removed by your
logic. Yesj Sir, your very arguments against Christianity have convinced me of its
truth.'

* * Well, then,' answered Paine, with a sarcastic glance, *I may retire to my couch
to-night with the consolation that I have made at least one Christian.'

> »

76 Literary Notices. [July,

Oration of Donald G. Mitchell before the Alpha Delta Phi Society, Twentt-
Fifth Anniversary. Charles Scribner, 877 and 879 Broadway. 1858.

Mr. Mitchell is too well known to the readers of the ELnickerbockeb, to
rcqiiire any introductory note to the few lines we are able to quote fix)m his
Oration. Those who have enjoyed (and who has not ?) the * Reveries,' and
the humor of the * Fudge Papers,* may be pleased to hear Mr. Mitcuell on a
graver subject Here are some good ideas upon associative action :

* A FEW congenial spirits come together ; a moderator is appointed ; tbev discuss
their needs; they establish a constitution to meet those needs; they club their
funds ; secretaries correspond ; chapters are formed ; conventions are called : we
respect the authority and obey the summons ; all the more readily, because it is so
true an expression of the national tendency. We love associative action ; it is the

{)rimordial law of our development; we crystallize normally in that shape. The
aminae overlay us every where. You cannot go so far away but you shall be en-
rolled in some Society — for printing campaign documents — for horticulture — for
repairing churches — for building rafl-ways. It is the source of our executive ener-
gy. It makes the grand lifts along our republican level : isolated, we are but peb-
bles on the shore : but band us together by affinities we love and cherish, and there
is a great sea-wall, over which the waters cannot come.'

> • • • • •

' It involves a certain degree of hardihood to advocate, now-a-days, the refine-
ments of letters ; the practical so overshadows and awes us. You and I value
things very much for their palpable and manifest profit ; not considering enough,
perhaps, what other, remoter, and larger profit may grow out of those medita-
tions or studies, whose germinating power is slower, more delicate, and less easily
traceable.

* Even in Science, we rank abstract and elemental ideas below positive and prac-
tical development. The man who maps the tides or the winds so as to shorten voy-
ages this year or next, is more estimated than the individual who spends years m
determining the position of certain new stars, in establishing the niceties of longi-
tudinal difference, or discovering some new metallic base of an old earthy matter.
And yet it is possible that the star-finder may be opening an investigation which shall
simplify the whole subject of navigation; or the delver in the earth — whose pro-
duct is now only a new chemical fact to announce — may live to see that particular
fact revolutionize a whole branch of industry. The truth that simmered for fif^
years under the Voltaic pile, in all that time serving only to give a shock to nervous
people, or to fuse a bit of metal, blazed out at last : and now, it plays upon an iron
web from city to city, over the world ; frail as the gossamer things we see on a
summer's morning, pendent from grass-tip to grass-tip, swaying in every breath of
air — and yet, the bridges of thousands of airy messengers, who carry their errands,
and die.'

The following is in Mr. Mitchell's best vein :

* Twentt-pivk years ago, and poor Sir Walter Scott was touching with his pal-
sied but beloved hand the last gleams of that feudal splendor that shone from the
corselet of Count Robert of Paris. Sharon Turner had, at about the same time,
closed the old series of English Histories with his cumbrous quartos, which I be-
lieve every body speaks well of, and nobody reads. Since that date, I think you can
rarely fail to have observed a more intimate alliance of all literary endeavor — grow-
ing every hour closer and closer — with the wants of our every-day life, and its
thorough incorporation with live things. The scholar, the romancist, the scientific
man, are no longer a company apart. Their aims and records are of what we know
and feel, and live by ; or they are shelved as curious specimens of vain work — Chi-
nese carving, showing infinite detail of labor perhaps, but wanti,ng the perspective
and foreshortenine which make them true, and whicn body forth life. Mere meta-
physics is dead. Chivalric tales, with however much of rhetorical spice in them, do
not flame in our hearts, and kindle love there, and joy and wonder. Science must
buckle itself to cloth-weaving or printing, or its story does not reach. Searchers
after lost asteroids give way to the man, who, with his magnetic battery, touches
our fire-bells with curious, invisible stroke.'

1858.] Literary Notices, *l*l

Professor Grat's Tbxt-Books in Botany. 1. How Plants Grow: Botany for
Young Peojjle. Illustrated with live hundred wood-cuts. Seventy-five cents.
2. Le:»son3 m Botany and Vej^etable Physiology. Three hundred and sixty-two
cuts. One dollar. *3. Manual of Botany : a *Flora of the Northern States for
Classification and Analysis. One dollar and fifty cents. 4. Manual and lessons
in one volume. Two dollars and twenty-five cents. 5. Manual illustrated, includ-
ing Mosses and Liverworts. Two dollars and fifty cents. «. Structural and Sys-
tematic Botany. With thirteen hundred wood-cuts. By Asa Gray, M.D., Fisher
Professor of ^Tatural ilistory in Harvard University. Ivison and Phixney, 8*21
Broadway.

All lovers of Nature, not less than the special students of the * Amiable
Science,' (as Botany was airectionutely styled by its f^cat ornament and culti-
vator, LiNX.EUs,) "lay be ju>^tly cimgi-atulated on the completion and publica-
tion of this full and admirable series of Text-Books. They arc the iirst at-
tempt in this country to digest for elementary instruction or popular ase the
results of the scientific reseanih which has been of late years so zealously and
successfully prosecuted in Vegictable Physiology by Db Saissure, Darwin,
and others, and in Clit-sillcation by De Candolle, Hooker, Lindley, and
others, which together have made of Botany quite another thing from the
very pleasant but loose and unscientific study by whicli, from Lixn.eus down
to Mrs. Lincoln and Professor AVoon, the spare time of young ladies has been
amused with the contemplation of flowers. Those who would pursue the
study in its present enlarged aspect, can be commended to no works that
so well unite great and accurate learning with that lucid simplicity of arrange-
ment which results from a perfect mastery of the subject, and that grace and
dcamcss of stylo which disclose the special tact and skill of the successful
teacher. Indeed, we know of no scientific text-books of any kind, more finely
realizing the ideal of a c«.)inplete and satisfactory elementiiry work, than these
*Lessoas,' and its abridgment and simplitication for the young, the *How
Plants Grow.* The * Manual ' is a full Flora of all the Northern States cast of
the Mississippi, and including Virginia and Kentucky, and is beyond all com-
parison the most thorough, exact, and comprehensive work of the kind ever
prepared ; embracing not only descriptions of a greater number of plants, but
furnishing an Analysis that is incomparaljly more precise, exhaastive, and re-
liable, than has been attained by any other botanist in this country. The
illustrations themselve.^ fonu a distinct and most valuable feature. They are
not servile copies of European drawings, which have been made to do the
service of scores of other books, but fresli, original delineations from Nature,
executed with a skill and finish that have seldom been called to the service of
Science. They arc very numeroas — amounting to some twenty-five hundred
different cuts — and exhibit wonderful distinctness, accuracy, and beauty.
For the purposes of illustration, they are even superior to the inspection of
the actual plants. The several volumes arc complete in themselves, and are
BO arranged as to consult the pupil's economy, by presenting in one book all
that is needed at any particular stage of study : and when we add that they
are beautifully printed and bound, we have included all the elements of at-
tractive, scholarly, reliable, and practical text-books, such as no teacher can
use without gratitude to the author, and a new affection for this charming and
most useful science.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

Interesting Correspondence from two Deaf and Dumb Girls. — We
have not unfirequently, in times past, found occasion, in noticing the annual
reports of the New - York Institution for the Deaf and Durnby under the
capable supervision of the Messrs. Peet, and erewhile our old friend Mr.
Bartlett, to quote from the amusing letters of many of the inmates, usually
embodied therein. The following conmiunication, from our friend and cor-
respondent, Jacques Maurice, (who was bom and brought up with the im-
mortal Pepper,) contains other letters, which cannot fiiil greatly to interest our
i*eaders:

'BaldwinavUUy Onondaga Cotmty, May 18, 1858.

* Dear Clark : I am about to lay before you the papers I referred to in my last ;
and I am sanguine you will, on perusal, justify the confidence of my tone in allud-
ing to them. You will perceive that the subject-matter of my sketch is a series
of letters ; the authors of them being two deaf and dumb children, now at the
New-York Institution, founded for like unfortunate (perhaps fortunate) creatures,
and which is, and has been many years, under the charge of Harvet P. Pkkt,
LL.D., and his son I. L. Peet, A.M. ; both thoroughly capable and efficient.
They are the children of Judge Stansbury, of this village, and nieces of Mrs.
0. M. EiRKLAND, the authoress. They have been at the Institution only since
November last ; and my object in sending you these letters is partly to show you
the wonderful progress they have made there, in ideas and style, and partly to
touch and amuse you by the various odd, striking, and affecting expressions in
which they give vent to novel emotions. I assure you I give litend transcripts of
the effusions, even to the minutest particular ; and that I can honestly disclaim
any such vulgar notion as that of parading those sweet innocents before the world,
as a Barmum might, merely to make a laugh. I hope to make some, if not all,
of those who may read this article, more glad and proud than ever of the New-
York Institution for the Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb : one of the noblest
and most beneficent foundations that was ever planned.

* It Lb proper to remark that the girls have long been familiar with the signs by
means of which the deaf and dumb communicate with each other ; and this wHi
account for the correctness of their orthography at the very beginning ; as of
course you know, they are obliged to spell every word, letter by letter. Their
fiftther has been very kind and assiduous in his instructions, and is so very fond

Hditor's Table. 79

of them, that I am conyinced, had it been possible, and he had done ten times
as much for them, it would all have been a *■ labor of love.* Upon my remarking,
in his presence, upon the probable difficulty in establishing in their minds, as a
preliminary, an adequate connection of words and ideas, he said I was correct ;
but that after the very first significant link had been formed, the rest was easy.
Thus he was a little time in showing that GAT really meant the little animal
they were accustomed to play with ; but after that, they overwhelmed him with
questions, until they knew the name of every object with which they were at all
familiar. Soon after the accomplishing of that first difficult step, he came upon
Hart, the younger, stretched on the floor, her left arm holding tightly the im*
willing cat, and with her right hand repeatedly spelling GAT with ludicrous
pains: after each enunciation, signifying to the animal, by motions, that thai was
its name I

^ The effusions I append are mostly Mabt^s. She writes a round, bold, some-
what masculine * hand,* every letter being carefully formed, and the completed
epistle staring you in the face with a singular air of honesty and frankness. The
lady mentioned by her given name, in the first, is their cousin, who was visiting
them. For the elucidation of this comparatively crude production, I may remark,
that almost every word contains an idea, and that a liberal sprinkling of full-stops
most be mentally resorted to by the reader. Mrs. Stansburt remarks (and the
letters afford her an amusing illustration) that they have an affecting way of
' hinting around ' when they want any thing, as they are too delicate-minded and

modest to ask for it boldly :

« *Xot}ember 26th, 1857.

' * Mt Dear Father : Adble come going daguerreotype one father and mother.
Anna, James, Joseph, Alice, and mother and father writing letter come happy. To-
morrow, Mart is eat hon. Careless Caroline is broke one comb. Careful Mart is
broke no comb. Adele come going soon soon soap. Mart towel not soap. Mr.
L. Pxet Teaching some lady writing slates. Add. School love Mart. Miss Mbrwim

teaching, Caroline, and Mart.

Mart E. Stansburt.'

*In the next the familiar employment of school-apothegms has a, comic effect.
The signs of advancement in mind and spirit are already apparent :

* * Institution for the Deaf and Dumby Kew-Torky Dec. Zd, 1857.

' ' Mt Dear Mother : I am very well and happy. This build is very large. Miss

Merwin is my teacher. Gk)D gives food and clothes to us. We should thank Him.

She has my teacher twenty-two girls. Peacock has no soul. There are three

hundred Deaf and Dumb pupils. Baby has pretty blue eyes and brown hair. Mrs.

I. L. Pert is little son. We Study often. We look through a window vessels sail.

The peacock is Vain. There are sixteen teachers. There has a pretty little baby.

Yesterday was the first day winter.

* * I am your affectionate daughter,

* * Mart E. Stansburt.'

*Ia the following, written afler a greater interval, the most satisfactory ad-
vancement will be perceived. Though child-like, it is coherent, if we except the
truisms which (having, I suppose, struck her childish fancy) she has thrown in,
with less than a critical regard for appositeness. Remembering her great depriva-
tion, I think you will be touched at the passage I have underscored :

* * Institution for the Deaf and Dumb^ Xew-Yorhy March ISth.

* * Mt Dear Father : I have received another letter from mother. Mr. Peet has
brought it to me. You are well. I play often in the yard. I have ruddy cheek. We

80 Editor's Table. [July,

study and improre. I am rerj well and happy. Miss Hubbbll has caught a bird-
She has opened a window. It has flown awaj. It will sit on a tree. Mrs. Stoneb*8
cat has four kittens. They will play with the girls. They will grow four cats.
Their mother washes them with her tongue. Perhaps she will give to them some
mice to eat. I grow fat. The sun is bright. The sky is blue. The ground is a little
wet. I love God. I shall die. / will hear the angels sing in Jieaven. We often go
into chapel. Mother has sent some cloth to mo. I thank her. I often play with
GoBA Wtnkoop. You will come to the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb. I am
very glad. I shall go home in four months. I wear spectacles on nay nose. The
frame is blue. Will you write to me ?

' * I am your aflectionate daughter,

* * Mart E. Stansbdrt.*

* I have two more letters, which, although they are comparatively long, I will
Tenture to include. They are written by Mary and Caroline, on one sheet, and
addressed to Bridget, a domestic. You may be assured the destitution Mary
hints at was not of long continuance. Her lugging in a ' large word * several times
is an amusing feature of her effusion. Carriers letter affords quite a contrast to
her sister's, being written in delicate characters, and evincing much care in
punctuation and other minutiae. It is in accordance with her manners, which are
timid and retiring, and with her personal appearance, which is always very neat
and tidy :

* *l7istUutionfor the Deaf and Dumb, New-Yorhy April *lth^ 1858.

< * Mt Dear Bridget : Miss Hubbbll caught a bird. She opened a window. It
flew away. It will sit on a tree. Some girls throw a ball over a house. Some girls
often play graces with other girls. Cora Wtnkoop often plays with me. All the
girls will wear a white dress : ^alluding to a contemplated exhibition of the children
in the Academy of Music.) We must not be vain. God does not love vain People.
We put our books in the desks. Some girls often sew coats, vests, and pantaloons.
God makes the sun and the rain. The grass will soon be green. The flowers will
soon grow. I have some collars. Mr. Weeks often goes to the city. He buys every
thing. He came here last Saturday. All girls wish some money. I have no money.
You have money enough. My hair will soon be long. I have broken an old comb.
I have black eyes. Fanny Smith often monitress all careless girls. Some girls often
sew white dress. We study and improve. Several boys sometimes stand on the roof.
Are you well? Are you all well? I write in a copy-book every day. Mr. Peet has
registers. Some lazy girls do not sew a white dress. Help some girls enthusiastic
sew all white dress. Emma Cludins often say half hear and speak. Mr. Morris
often goes home. Mr. Peet will bring three largo slates. The wind blows some
trees. Mr. Angus often talks with Cora Wtnkoop. You must all be enthusiastic
You will write send to me.

< * I am your affectionate friend,

* * Mary E. Stansburt.'

* ' My Dear Bridget : Some time ago I received a letter from you. It is raining a
little to-day. I often dance other with girls. Do you make good cook ? You are
well. I am very well. I wish see you. Mr. Peet explains to pupils deaf and dumb
every day. Do you farmer clean in the garden and potatoes and pears and com ? Do
you works rake from dead grass and flowers? We often see Mr. Peet's little son.
He has blue eyes and brown hair. Dr. Peet went to Albany last week. Perhaps he
will come back to-morrow. The grass will soon be green. The flowers will soon
grow. Some pupils deaf and dumb into Institution seven years. I often see some
crows. I often see steam-boats on the river. I often broom sweep from floor.

' ' I am your affectionate friend,

* * Caroline H. Stansbury.'

1858.] JSdUor's Table. 81

* Imagine 'Bbidoet* perusing those letters! Her impatience to answer the
abrupt question, ^ Do you make good cook ? ' on the spot ; her gratification at the
frank announcement, ^ I wish see you ; * her consternation at the quaintlj-mysteri-
om inquiry, * Do you farmer clean in the garden/ etc. ; her resohition to gratify
her young friends in the matter of * enthusiasm,* and her queer feelings at a num-
ber more places.

•But I weary you. Perhaps my taste and judgment will be impeached for hav-
ing betrayed me into an idle and uninteresting narrative. I think not : at least,
I hope not. If your sympathies have not been enlisted, I will confess I do not
know you. If they have, you will thank me for my trouble, and that will be re-
ward enough. And so, good-by.

* Your attached friend,

•Jacques Mauri ck.'

Latb "Words touching the National Academy Exhibition. — It was our
good fortune to visit the Exhibition of the National Academy of Design^ for
the present season, once. Let us at least be thankful for that privilege ; for
it has been several years since we have seen a better collection of pictures, in
tile various divisions of the colorist's art, than adorned the walls of the Acade-
my this year. All the old favorites of this Art-* Institution* were represented
this year, including Mr. Ingham, whose exquisitely-colored and finished por-
traits have been strangers to the walls of the Academy for a long time.
DoBAND, Kensett, Church, Gignoux, et al.^ have seldom been better repre-
sented: and this was true, not only of these distinguished artists, but of
oUiers in their line, whose productions are fulfilling the promise of their early
b^innings. In portraiture, we saw much to admire, and a marked improve-
ment, as we thought, upon many former exhibitions. Elliott, Hicks, (whose
face of Halleck is most true in color, drawing, and expi-cssion,) Ingham,
Bakse, Stearns, and several of their younger and less distinguished * con-
temporaries,* are honorably represented. Our examination of the collection,
however, was too cursory to admit of a notice of the pictures in detail, even
were it desirable, so long after the close of the exhibition. We give place to
^S$me Things made a Note of in the National Academy^ fi'om the pen of
an old friend and capable art-critic, who sauntered through the exhibition in
company with a mutual friend and lover of the * serene and silent art * of our
pictorial firiends :

* lir company with a friend, whom you very well know, I strolled through the
pleasant exhibition-rooms of the * National Academy.* Being short of time
that day, it was only a bird*8-eye view which we had of most of the * attractions *
which lined the walls. At our friend's suggestion, we made directly for a certain
picture, in the Sixth Room, the title whereof had struck our chance-look at the
Catalogue: * Elliott and his Friends*: No. G08. It is a very spirited picture,
and remarkably well done as to the likenesses. It is just the picture we should
like to have in mir * Sanctum,* placing before us, as it does, three individuals,
remarkable each in his particular sphere : and here they are, all shown to be

TOL. Ln. 6

82 mUor'8 Table. [July,

united in that one * gentle art ' which old Izaak Walton has so quaintly eulo-
gized. They are evidently enthusiastic devotees of angling — the Artist and
the Editor more especially — as their bold and characteristic attitudes suffi-
ciently indicate. It was a very difficult undertaking to paint three men in the
position and with the ^surroundings' which Mr. Stearns has chosen for his
favorite trio : but we are glad to see that he has succeeded so w^ell. That two
of the portraits, Elliott and your veritable self, friend Knickerbocker, are ex-
cellent entirely, we can unhesitatingly testify. We made critical comparison,
and agreed that it was * all right,' barring your white hat and leather sporting-
coat. A few days after, we chanced upon the well-bearded Elliott in the same
room, and found that he^ too, was equally well taken. We may naturally infer,
therefore, that the other subject (Mr. Frederick Cozzens) is likewise * all right,'
although we are not personally familiar with his lineaments. That Stearns can
paint a good likeness, we may confidently declare, judging from this picture
only : but there is another, (No. 630,) * Portrait of a Lady,' which extorts the
same praise.

* A subsequent visit to the Exhibition, somewhat more leisurely and critically
made, confirms our first Impression, that it is the best display the Academy has
offered for many years. There are no very conspicuous and startling instances
of successful ambition, it may be, unless we except Healy's full-lengths ; but
there is a large number of meritorious productions, and a general evenness of ex-
cellcnce throughout, which is exceedingly satisfactory. This is assuredly consol-
ing, and goes far to persuade us that the profession is making rapid and healthy
progress toward perfection. In a cursory notice like this, we cannot, of course,
pay our respects to more than a small portion of works deserving commendation
or criticism. As nearly all the articles we have seen about the Exhibition have
commented chiefly upon the landscape and fancy-department of Art, we have
thought best to say a little more about Portraits, (of which it may be somewhat
unfashionable to take much notice,) not a few being specimens worthy of special
attention.

* Among the PoriraitorSy if you will allow the word, we should undoubtedly
place Elliott at the head of the first rank. The specimens he has given us this
vear are admirable — full of truth and full of life. His flesh is real flesh ; his
^ expressions ' natural, and such as we ordinarily find in the subjects. He re-
quires no farther eulogium than this : his portraits all * speak for themselves.'
Close along after Elliott, follow Hicks and Carpenter — the latter quite a
young man, but full of industry and modest ambition. You have already pre-
dicted his success, did he but * fulfil the promise of his spring.' The former, we
think, is extremely happy in landscape, whenever he chooses to try his hand that
way, as witness his strikingly-truthful little picture, (No. 18,) called, * West-
Canada Creek, Trenton Falls.' How perfect those rocks — how natural that
foliage ! But it is in the accessories of his portraits that Hicks is very happy,
even more so, perhaps, than in the likeness itself, though that is good. He places
his subjects well, not making a blank, dark surface all around them, but some-
thing cheerful and graceful. This is pleasingly illustrated in the interesting pic-
ture, (No. 577,) * The Portfolio,' being the portrait of a lady, of Staten-Island.
His pictures, of which there are some half-dozen or more, are nearly all small
this year. His fine likeness of the poet Halleck graces the first gallery.

* Carpenter's heads are remarkably fine. He rarely, if ever, fails of a speak-
ing likeness. H'ls style is slightly more severe than Elliott's. He follows El-
liott closely in all the points of a successful and pleasing portrait. Witness his

1868.] JSclitor»8 Table. 83

half-length of *A Lady,' (No. 76.) It is an expressive countenance, with real
eyes and real complexion. The lady was fortunate in her choice of this artist,
if she wishes to see how she looks, better than when she sees herself * in a glass
darkly.' Witness also his large portrait of the Rev. Dr. Storks, which is most
fiiithfuUy exact and perfectly finished. In the smallest details, you will find this
artist never astray ; and this it is which makes his pictures so satisfactory, and
always valuable. His coloring is the exact counter-part of what is found in the
faces themselves. So truthful and pleasing an artist as this, deserves all possible
encouragement, and we are glad to hear that he is encouraged, and that the
many valuable orders which he is receiving, leave him little or no time to spare.
Considering how young a man Mr. Carpenter is — in the middle of * the twen-
ties,' we believe — it is quite remarkable how many distinguished men he has

* executed ' I

* Mr. RossiTER has several pleasing compositions on the walls. Of No. 432,

* The Nubie,' we have the testimony of a charming young lady, whose exclama-
tion we heard : * Is n^t it sweet ? ' His ' First Lesson ' is a very pretty work. So
is * The Old Porch.' But of all the specimens ho has set before us in this Exhi-
bition, a little Scripture piece gave us most gratification, representing our Sav-
iour, and the * Woman taken in Adultery' : * Let him that is without sin among
you, first cast a stone at her,' the Master said to the hypocritical Pharisees ;
and most expressively has the artist represented these self-convicted ones going
out from the pure presence of Jesus, leaving Him standing alone before the
humbled woman. There is a world of meaning portrayed in the face of the err-
ing woman. Full of shame, of sorrow, and of penitence it may be, she seems
not to dare lift her eyes to look upon the wonderful Bring before her, but stands
abashed and amazed by the mild, forgiving sentence which falls from His lips :

* Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no more.' This little piece, which,
perhaps, docs not attract much attention now, would be an excellent study for a
large and noble picture. We think the color of the hair of the principal figure,
although it may be traditional, is a little too golden.

' It is in our heart to make particular mention of other works, which elicited

our admiration and excited our cupidity. But if your patience is not already

exhausted, we fear your space would fail us, to tell of the many excellent things

which adorn the galleries of this Exhibition ; such as the exquisite land-and-

ifffl/er-scapes of Kensett, (for the chief feature of all this splendid artist's pieces,

this year, is the wet part ;) of the truthful and vigorous marines of Dix, a new

and most promising artist in this department ; of the admirable little sketches

of rural scenery by the two Harts ; of Baker, and Huntington, and Gifford ;

of Innes, whose little pieces are largely appreciated ; of Cropsey, Casilear,

and Calix ; of Eiininger and Nichols, the latter of whom has done himself

more credit this year than he did the last : all these, with some others, we must

pass by for the present, with the heartiest congratulations for what they have

done ; and may God speed them all in their continued illustrations of their capti-

Tating and refining Art !

* Your old Friend and Brother,

*A*.'

Touching Mr. Stearns' large picture, alluded to in the foregoing : wc wish
our friend and correspondent could see the beautiful scene of which it is an ex-
ceedingly faithful counterpart The fishermen, Elliott, Mr. Sparuowgrass,
and * Old Knick.,' are angling for trout at tlie foot of * Lyon's Falls,' just
below the junction of * Moose ' and * Black ' rivers — a grand and beautiful

84 JEditor's Table. [July,

scena We can see the rush of the tumbling flood, the uprismg, rolling
joasses of steam-like spray, and hear the continuous roar of the tumultuous
waters, at this moment Stearns himself should have been in the picture.
John Lane, of * Brown^s Tract,' says he is * a first-rate fisherman ; ' that he
can * throw a fly equal to the best man that he ever saw try to do it : ' and
when John Lane, who canH be beaten in anglecraft, says that a man is a
'fisherman,' set him down at once to be ^ a fisherman as is a Fisherman ! '

' A Letter to the Ladies. — From a new correspondent, we receive the
subjoined ^Letter to the Ladies.^ It contains much good advice, kindly and
courteously proffered, to which, it strikes us, our feir readers would do well to
give due heed. Doubtless some of them may bo sufficiently * self-contained '
and self-sustained, to desire, that among the various societies for the * crushing
out ' of vice, there might be one for the suppression of ad-yice : but first, let
all such attentively read and thoughtfully devour the subjoined epistle : and
having digested it well, we may safely leave the verdict with our friends of * the
second sex : '

•Mr Dear Sisters: An old proverb says, *"We should receive the truth
though the Devil tells it;' or, to apply the adage freely, we are so liable to
place a false estimate upon ourselves, that wo cannot afifbrd to lose the candid
criticism of any more impartial judge. So, were I the crustiest old bachelor that
ever avenged his misery by abusing you, yet from the captious tirade you might
glean many hints too good te be lost. But the suggestions of this letter are
made, because I love you too \v*ell to willingly see you in fault, and respect you
too highly to use flattering words. No one more highly appreciates your true
worth.- I have often observed in you a generous self-sacrifice, and a hopefulness
in love and toil, that have made you earth's ministering angels. And while your
sex is taunted with weakness and folly, very many of those sisters who have
made you blush, were only too pure and true-hearted to suspect the black vil-
lainy of another.

* This brings me to the criticism I wished to make : you are too credulous.
You will pin your faith to the veriest shadow ; and not all the world, not even
your own bitter experience, can shake it. How often you grant a man his most
preposterous assumptions I If he says he is wise or witty, you believe him, al-
though his fellows say he is a blockhead. He lays his soft hand upon yours, and
prates of uprightness and purity, and you smile upon him and trust him, although
half the world knows that he is a worthless profligate. A gentleman said in my
hearing the other day, * You call that man a gentleman,' in speaking of your
sex : * IIow we do humbug them! ' — and to his own disgrace, and to the injury
of trusting woman, I know that he spoke the truth.

* A few months ago, the London journalists were laughing about the exploits
of a worthless vagabond calling himself * Count Pdffemupskihi,' or some such
name. It appeared that he lived by making love to wealthy ladies, and then
robbing and deserting them. *Whcn I get through with one, I take on an-
other,' was his cool confession. He found women enough ready to swallow his
story — » a Polish noble in exile ; ' and so they pityingly received him to their

1858.] Editor' 8 TaUe. 86

hearts aud their purses. It seems incredible that a woman should believe all a
stranger chooses to say of himself, and give him her faith and her honor upon
the strength of his unattested declarations ; yet cases of this kind are of con>
stant occurrence. You remember the boast of Aabon Burr, and you know, too,
how true he made it. Parton has told us the secret : he was an adept in flat-
tery. * He always flattered a woman in those things upon which he knew she
valued herself; ' and the pure and the good fell before him. * You play the fool
one hour, and the will ever after,' is more true than complimentary. Men think
you love to be flattered, and your own conduct justifies the belief. You turn
with a haughty, injured air from one who would defend you in all which you
ought to value, as valiantly as ever knight of old, but who has too much straight-
forward honesty to pay you a single unmerited compliment, or to praise your
foibles ; you turn from such an one, to smile and blush at hollow, vapid adu-
lation.

*■ Father and brother tell you, that that gentleman whose society pleases you
80 much, is not worthy of your confidence. He plays the * injured innocence '
dodge : your woman's sympathies arc aroused : you declare the world merciless
and misjudging. You fancy your insight, because more kind, is therefore more
true : and your bosoms glow in generous vindication of unappreciated worth.
And the wily words of one whom you have resolved to trust, out-weigh the warn-
ings of friends, clear-judging, and interested only for your welfare. Ah ! ladies,
were there none but you to grant awards, I fear unpretending Merit would often
go begging, while he who should blow the loudest trumpet would win the most
applause.

* From Eve down to the latest case of scandal, women have allowed themselves
to be duped, and still refuse to be taught by bitter and oft-repeated experience.
St. Paul says expressly, that Adam was not deceived ; and probably it is no
poetical fancy which supposes that he gallantly plunged over-board, resolved to
share the fate of his dearer though weaker self. '

* Now I would not have you suspicious and prudish : farthest possible from it.
I would have you believe that the world is full of true-hearted and trustworthy
men. But they are oftenest those who tell the rough, ragged truth in plain
English ; who detest the * surface,* and quietly and unpretentiously weigh your
true worth. If they find you empty, gilded toys, they will scorn you ; but if
they see in you unaffected delicacy, combined with artless candor, a pure, trust-
ful fooman-heart^ they yield you a whole-souled reverence, which any woman
might be proud to win.

* If you will be true to yourselves and to your own better instincts, true men
will love you with a nobler love than such sham sentiment as would lead them to
humor and pet you, while they neither trust nor respect you. Sisters, be worthy
of it, and those whom for ages you have called * lords,' will reverently look up to
you as guiding-spirits, and will guard you to the death as a holy trust.

* Finally : in forming your estimate of a man, be assured that the candid opin-
ion of one of his own sex is worth more than the judgment of two women. Men
are often poor judges of women, but they know men better than you do.'

There is no truer friend to true women, than the frank, out-spoken writer
of the foregoing * scriblet' Many an unfortunate liason^ many an unhappy
marriage^ might have been averted, had his counsels been followed in the
past^ as we have some hope that they may be in the future. Certain we are,
that they are tendered in good faith, and for a good purpose.

88 Editor's Table. [July,

Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. — Up to *this present writing/
the twenty-eighth day of May, the weather during the month has for the
• most part been sour, rainy, cold, and inclement, yet has the garden of * Cedar
Hill Cottage^ been in active preparation. Thanks to Mr. Orange Judd, editor
of the ''American Agriculttirist^'' (a journal of the first order of merit in its
kind, printed in German as well as English, and which has a circulation of
over thirty thousand copies,) we had been well supplied with the very best
class of seeds, in all their varieties, which have * well approved themselves,'
as their bright and thrifty appearance above ground sufficientiy evinces. Yes-
terday was a warmish day ; and as we were * puttering reound ' among the
cauliflowers, cabbages, tomatoes, peas, and lettuce, they really seemed, through
the medimn of a momentary imagination, to be * crowing over ' each other
for * getting on,' despite the cold weather, and the inauspicious * skiey influ-
ences.' And in that connection, there came suddenly to mind certain * Con-
versations on Vegetable Phy»iology^^ written some twenty-five years since by
J. Wharton Griffith, Esq., a legal gentleman of distinction, and a man of
much original and quaint humor, who could wield at times a pen firom which
dropped potent yet good-natured satire : a quality which he honestiy inher-
ited : as all our readers will admit, who can call to mind * The Married MavUs
Eye^ written by his mother for the Knickerbocker many years ago, and
copied all over the United States : an article which put into the hands of her
sex as potent a weapon as the ''Caudle Papers^ placed in ours. Pun-disaf-
fecters need not read the following. The writer was once a Philadelphia!!, and
he caught the infection the natural way : moreover, having read the celebrated

* Conversations on Chemistry,' he was anxious to emulate * Mrs. B ' and

* Emily ; ' having the desire, we infer, that vegetables should have an oppor-
tunity of * speaking for themselves ' as well as animals : the chemical * inter-
locutors ' had spoken volumes in favor of this plan of diffusing knowledge,
and he thought it not amiss to try his hand in another department :

* *■ Mr eyes ! ' said the Potato to the Lemon, *■ how bilious you look to-day !
Your skin is as yellow as saffron. What can be the matter ? '

* Lemon. Acidity of stomach — a family complaint of ours.

* Potato. Why do n't you take advice ?

* Lemon. Advice ! You know my poor dear brother dropped off the other
day ; and without being allowed to rest on his mother earth, his body was
snatched up by a member of the Bar, who, instead of acting legally, dissected
him — absolutely cut him up. ^All for the public good,' said the rascal, as he
squeezed out poor Lem's last gastric juices. Take advice, quotha I If he was
not allowed to enter a plea in Bar, what may I expect from Doctors' Commons ?

* Potato. That 's true. I only hope poor Lem, though he was in liquor at the
time, had strength enough to give him a punch under the ribs : he was a rum
customer to the last, no doubt — but I must say I wish his skin had been fuller.
Do you attend the meeting to-night ?

^ Lemon. I feel rather soured at present. I met Running -Vine just now with
the invitations, and he hinted that there would be a squeeze, in which case' I
should decline, as they might press me to furnish drink for the company — in

1858.] Editor's Table. 87

fact, it is always so when they call any of my family to their aid. But now, to
be serious, my sweet, sweet Potato, if you should go, let me advise you not to
get yourself into hot water : you Ul be dished to a certainty if you do. Onion,
the strongest friend you have on earth, brought tears to my eyes by the bare
recital of what would be the probable consequences of your attending it. In
case of a row, you MI both have to strip — peel off. Now, under such circuni-
fltances, he *11 certainly excite some sort of sympathy ; whereas the removal of
your russet coat might attract more admiration than pity : * Lovely in death,
would they say — * Pallida morSy* etc. Indeed, for my own part, I think you
do look better in white. Oh ! another thing I would say : Keep out of Ilorse-
Radish*8 company ; he will be sure to get into a scrape, a greater one than he
imagines, perhaps — and as for Onion, (do n*t let this leak out,) I fear the rope
will end him. I should not like to get into a stew with him — so, mum ! Ah !
here come Plum and Pear. IIow savage they look !

*Pear. How are you, my dear Lemon? Do decide this question between
Plum and me. On referring to Johnson, we find my numerical value estimated
at two only, while the rascally Plum is set down for a hundred thousand. It 's
too absurd : there must be some mistake.

'Pluu. None at all. Please to recollect, Sir, that I weigh a stone more than
you.

'Pear. From that I must beg leave to secede.

* Lemon. Stop this fruitless wrangling, or I shall be tempted to skin you both,
to get at the truth. I 'm not in spirits. As for you, Mr. Plum, no more of your
tart remarks ; and Mr. Pear, if you wish to be preserved, the less jarring the
better. Here comes our good friend Raspberry. How do you do, my fine
fellow, and where have you been ?

* Raspberry. In the most infernal jam you ever saw : 'pon honor, 't was
insupportable. What 's the news ?

* Lemon. There is a report which Bush has raised, quite current here, that he
served you up in sweet style last evening at tea-table, before a party of ladies ;
and the cream of the joke is, that you were considerably down in the mouth.

* Raspberry. Mere envy. You know he cultivates the affections of Miss
Rose Geranium, (a sweet creature, by-the-by, and has grown very unicli lately;)
but finding that she preferred me, he became saucy, which induced me to beat
him into a jelly, and send him in that state to his friend Venison, who lives near
Fulton Market.

* Lemon. (Puts his hands on his hips^ and guffaws.) Bravo ! What a funny
limb of Satan you are. But Ras., have you seen old Gardener lately ? He Ml
give you a deuced trimming when he meets you. He says you ought to have
done sowing your wild-oats, and that, although it goes against his grain to com-
plain of your treading on his corns, he can't stand it any longer, and must peach.

* Raspberry. Peach, will he ? And are these to be the fruits of my bearing
with him so long ? He has been picking at me for some time ; and yet it was
but yesterday, the ungrateful old rake, that I got him out of a scrape with Mr.
Horse-Radish, who, after seizing him by the nose, threw a musk-melon at his
head, exclaiming with an equestrian laugh : * That ought to make at least one
mango.' And go he did, that 's certain, all to squash.

' Lemon. A challenge will ensue, doubtless.

* Raspberry. By no means. No one knows bettor than Gardener that Horse-
Badish shoots like the devil in the spring, and one fall he has already received

88 Editor's Table. [July,

from him. It would be mireasonable to —^ But drop the subject, for here
comes Mrs. Tree, who seems to wear a very cypressy look.

^ Mrs. Tree. Good morning, gentlemen. You have heard, no doubt, that I
have lost those young limbs of mine. Well, perhaps it 's for the best : offsprings
are a great trouble and expense, and, to speak the truth, I should pine more at
the loss of my trunk. Fine growing weather, this. Adieu I

* Pear. Pine 7nore I I should say she is one of the pine-knots. There is
very little of the weeping- willow about her.

*' Lemon. No, the stingy old creature ! No doubt she 'd have been cut down
by the loss of her trunk — she 'd have been chop-fallen then. Instead of pining,
she talks sprucer than ever. I do n't beUeve she even went to the expense of
having the poor little things inoculated ; a very little matter would have given
them succor. She said the other day she was trying bark on them. But I vow,
here comes Aspen. Aspen, why so agitated ? Is there any thing strange in the
wind?

* Aspen-Tree. I *m in such a flutter, that I can scarce tell you of our common
danger. But in a word, whether it was on account of our extreme admiration
for the Woods and the Forest, or that the Chestnuts and Oaks began to rail at
him, and give offence, it has entered the head of Hickory — which is very high
just now — to root me out, and remove my trembling deposits from the bank
on which I was reared by the side of the Schuylkill. Supplication is useless.
Old Hickory will not bend^ though we tell him of our breaking — and I advise all
of you, who, like me, have branches, to cut and run.

* Lemon. My skin stands a double chance to be saved — for if I cut, I shall
surely run. But are you serious ?

*■ Aspen-Tree. Serious I I tell you the sooner you all cut stick, the better.
Hickory runs wonderfully. I 'in oflT.

* Lemon. Gentlemen, are you ready for the question ? All in favor of taking
our leaves, will please bow.

* [TTiey bow unanimously^ and exeunt as fast as their
limbs can carry them.'] '

'Tolerable,' and *to be endured!' - - - There was a ^Suicide of an
Unknown Man at Newark ' recorded in the journals recently, which seemed to
us, in its circumstances, to possess more than common pathos. He obtained
lodgings at the * Columbia House,' for which he paid in advance. He had
been rich, but was now poor, and sick with consumption. He left nothing by
which he could be identified. He kept a sort of diary, the last record in which
was the following :

* I DIB by my own hands. No one is to blame for my death. Disease and poverty
have brought me to this act. Poverty, age, and misfortune have forced me to this.
I would not live a beggar nor die a pauper. Give me a grave. God have mercy on
my soul I I have never knowin^lj^ injured or wronged any one, yet I have suffered
many wrongs. I die content and without fear. God is just and merciful. Could I
make mv own jgrave, I would not ask mankind for a grave. I have lived independent
aud wish to die so, but I cannot make my own grave. So I must become a beggar
after death, and even beg my own grave. I do not wish my name to be known.
Those who have an interest in my behalf know all, for I have informed them. Fare-
well to this world, with all its joys and sorrows I Here is my death-bed I '

There spoke a broken heart, * aweary of the world.' While we condemn,
let us pity the poor wayward wanderer. (Jod only knows how much he
had suffered in *mind, body, and estate I * - - - Who is 'The Girl that

1858.]

JSditor's Table.

lives in Drew?'' Where i» Drew? Who is the enamored swain? Our
fer-westem correspondent is courteous, and has laid us under obligations to
him : but he should have been more explicit : and for that matter, so should
the poet whose amatory effusion he sends us :

' Of all the girls, both ^eat and small,

And I have seen a few,
Bj far the prettiest of them all
Is the girl that lives in Drew.

' If I possessed great mines of wealth,

Attractions not a few,
I would give them all, except good health.
For the girl that lives in Drew.

* Oh ! did I dare to tell her name.

It I would tell to you ;
But she is pretty — so she is.
The girl that lives in Drew.

* Shonld I succeed in winning her,

Which I expect to do,
I will say softly: *Now, my dear,
You cannot live in Drew ! ' '

Probability fiivors the conclusion that she did n*t live out of Drew, for the
poet's especial sake, at least - - - To-day, as we write, beginneth the
'moneth Jime.' For a wonder,

*Ths sun is warm, the sky is clear,
Blue waves are dancing fast and bright'

on the bosom of the broad Hudson before us ; but * our heart is not here : ' it
is away with our brothers of the ^Narth Woods Walton Club^^ amidst the
lakes and the mountain solitudes of that primitive region ; as fresh now as
when first they came from the liand of the Almighty. Almost a year ago we
were there, with a pleasant party, which, with the scenes we saw, and the
enjoyment we secured, can never be forgotten. How we went from John
M. Lane's hospitable though lone retreat ; how we disported on the borders and
the waters of the * North' and * South' lakes of the * Tract' of Brown ; how
we visited, and threw our lines into, the next larger of these mountain sheets
of crystal ; how we * expanded ' at the * Shanty,' under the supervision of the
bladcest-eyed and handsomest Falstafp that ever sported an authentic abdo-
minal periphery ; how we visited the State-Reservoirs for supplying (twenty-five
miles off) the feeders of the Black River Canal : are not all these things writ-
ten with a stylas in our memories ? Yea, verily! But hear a brother-member
of the * Walton,' who writes fix)m his home in Old Kentucky, to our friend
'Adam Syghte,' express our emotions and those of two other members in our
immediate vicinage, at not being able to join the choice spirits who are at
this moment, no doubt, luxuriating upon the delicious * Speckled ' which they
have wiled from the blue waters :

'My Dsar Scholepield : I am in receipt of the North Woods Walton Club's pro-
ceedings, through our friend George D. JPrextice, for which I am much obliged to
yon. I feel at once all the Free Masonry of the angle. I sit at your festiye board ;
I taste your palatable viands ; I enjoy the wit, the laugh, the illumined faces ; I forget
the cares of business and of ambition, and like a colt with his bridle slipped, I take
to the woods again.

' I pass along the deep wooded valleys, musical with the notes of the red-bird and
the thrush ; I climb the winding rocky paths of the mountain; I draw a deep breath
of admiration, as the world-wioc prospect of mountain, forest, and winding streams
looms up before me ; I pitch witn you the tents upon some wood-fringed, pebble-
shored lake ; I hear trickling down the moss-covered rock the crystal rill, wnich to
the thirsty angler is sweeter than all the wines of sunn^ France or classic Italy.
Then comes the hurry in fixing up the established cosiness of the tent, or the
wooden hut. Then, with gun in hand, with cap and pouch, and powder all examined,
I look at the bearing of the sun, the water-courses and mountain ranges, and then,
with wild expectation, I strike out into the untrodden retreats of the ' forest Hocks.'

90 Editor's Table, [July,

•

Or, with delicate ringing nicely arranged, with timely worm or alert minnow, I seat
myself on some projecting rock, I draw the ruby-gemmed trout to my eager embrace !
I return as twilight steals oyer the receding hills to the fire-lit camp. Then for the
CTeedy inspection of the deer and the trout ! Then for the grateful fry — the steam-
ing camp-kettle — the aromatic coffee ! Then we stretch ourselves, with unshod feet,
upon the bough-feathered couch, and tell and hear the tangled yarns of each ad-
Tenturer by * sea and shore.' * Yes, Sir 1 New- York is a good place to go for fish-
hooks I * But here is the manly spirit's play-ground ! I remember at such a time,
and in such a place, the memorable effusion of an old * Walton * comrade of mine.
He was a clerk in a small town, yet a heart illy suited to such employ of a court,
swelled in his bosom, and turned loose contemplations, as he held the glass whose
glowing tints were reflected in jovial faces, and exclaimed : ' 0 boys T is n't this
grand? This crystal water — this pure, untainted air — this untamedf nature — this

glorious liquor — and not a rascal in an hundred miles of us I ' These, Sir, are

my sentiments.

* I wish I could be with you. I am with you. My heart is with you. No * spirit's
juggle,' no second sight, no witches' frolic, are needed here. All is distinct m the
mind's eye : painted on memory's retina, the past, and the coming time :

* * A LAST request permit in« here,
When yearly ye assemble a' :
One round, I ask It with a tear,
To him who minds you far awa\*

* May your shadows never be less ; maj^ your forests never fail, your lakes never
grow dry, your deer never die out, your wives never grow old, jour children never
grow less ; may your sweet-hearts grow more plenty ; may you live a thousand years,
and then may you be hung up for a relic.

* Your sincere brother of the gun and the angle, Cassius M. Clay.

*C. M. ScHOLEFiELo, Corresponding Secretary of the NoHh'Woods Walton Club J

When next the Club do go abroad in the woods, * may we be there to see'
and to feel with the members thereof including our immediate confrhes

* hereaway ! * - - - *-4 Collection of Familiar Qtiotationa ' is the title
of a Boston volume, which has just passed to a third edition. We have
not seen the work — only a review of it; judging from which, we may
assume it to be a useful as well as an entertaining book. In it, the term

* masterly inactivity * is taken from the late John C. Calhoun, and given to
Sir James Mackintosh : * God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,' which
every body who did n't suppose it was in the Bible, credited to Stebne, was
stolen by him from George Herbert, who translated it from the French of
Henri Estienne, who wrote, in 1594 : * God measures the wind to the shorn
sheep.' * The cup that cheers but not inebriates ' was * conveyed ' by Cowpbc
from Bishop Berkeley in his ^Siris,^ Wordsworth's *The child is father
of the man,' is traced from him to Milton, and from Milton to Sir Thqmas
More. *Like angel's visits, few and far between' is the of&pring oi an

* hook ' : it is rwt Thomas Campbell's original thought Old John Nobrib
(1658) used it, and after him Robert Blair, as late as 1746. * There 's a gude
time coming' is Scott's phrase in * Rob Roy' ; and the * Almighty Dollar' is
Washington Irving's happy hit These, with numerous other familiar quo-
tations, are traced, link by link, to their original source, in the book to which
we have referred. By-the-by, this work would supply a desideratum, we
think, in Mr. Sparrowgrass's library. Once when he was sitting for a por-
traiture of his lineaments in Mr. Elliott's studio, he pumped us dry, in
eliciting from us the names of the authors of some thirty or forty little lite-
rary tid-bits, which he quoted. At length he repeated a familiar distich:

* Who wrote that f ' he asked. * Shakspearb,' we replied. * No : you 're
out again. That is from Prior.' * Very well,' said we, * then of course he

1858.] Editor^s TaUe. 91

hM a prior clMm to it : but you need n't use your literary forcing-pump any
nore : we do n't know any thing about any other quotations which you are
going to mention.' This is our only pun. It was our first and our last Oh !
no: we did make one more! - - - *Have we a * Punch' among us?'
We unhesitatingly reply that we have, or something often quite as good, in the
JTtw-Yorh Weekly Picayune. Since *Doesticks' entered upon the duties
of editor of this lively and piquant journal, there have appeared in its columns,
from his pen, articles which have been as witty and sparkling as any thing
which has graced the pages of Punch during the same period. Such was his
description of a visit to a cricket-match, and his satirical but truthful defence
ef Kttle boys. Nor is it only fun or telling satire, which characterize the con-
tents of The Picayune, Every now and then the reader of this amusing
sheet will chance upon a bit of sound argument upon some prevalent public
topiG) and not unfrequently a touch of tender pathos, which shows that the
editor possesses true feeling as well as humor. Take for example, the an-
nexed passage from some desultory remarks upon *• Moving on May-Day ' ;

* Thb first of May is a great day in New-York city ; a rattling, clattering ; crashing,
•mashing, hurrying, skurrying, tearing, swearing day. Ah ! how many hearts and
looking-glasses are broken in our big city on this day ! How many cherished pieces
of famitare are shivered in the rude embraces of Celtic exiles ! How many Irishmen
knock the skin oft' their knuckles, and present themselves to their employers, bleed-
ing and perspiring spectacles, with bits of straw sticking in their dusty whiskers.
How many Fbbddies and Fannies stand howling through the long day in full rig,
waiting to get into the new house and have something to cat. How many Hibernians
Mtlously ruin how many clocks by packing small stray articles among the works.
How many emigrants roll down stairs over hair-mattresses. How many wives wish
tiiere were no such thing as houses, and that we could all live as the cows do. How
many mothers' hearts ache as they see their little stock of accumulated household
treasures carted away after the auction-sale, rendered necessary by hard times, and
Cbarlkt's losses in business. Those treasures which have become sacred relics,
Tohunes containing the history of the family. That wee crib, thrown carelessly in
flie cart, is the one on which little Wilue died, and there, where the carman puts his
beavy cow-hide boot, is the very spot grasped by his white hand, as he lisped those
last words, recorded on the scrap of paper which envelopes a lock of light hair.
'Don't cry. Mamma, I 'm goin' to be a velly good boy now.* That was the piano on
wldch Fannt played so often before she married and died. That is the book-case in
which GsoB^ kept those precious volumes which helped to gain that flattering
notice from the President of Harvard : he will be sorry it is gone when he comes
badt firom California, poor fellow : however, he is a smart boy, and will make the
iunily's fortune yet. Yes, yes : the first of May tears many an old garment into
liireds.'

There is nothing mawkish or * pumped-up ' in this. It is natural sympathy,

ntturally and feelingly expressed. - - - A recent Memphis journal has the

Mowing:

'Thb EaU Frisbee on her last trip had among her passengers a gentleman of Boli-
▼ar, who was going to see a friend of his, fifty miles up the river. His business was
this : one daj last week he saw a nondescript sort of article floating down the Missi^s-

Spi near his plantation : it resembled a miniature Noah's ark, with the hull knocked
Cariosity led him to board it, when he was astonished to find himself in the
•tore of a friend residing fifty miles up the river ! The contents were not greatly in-
Jlire4* He tied the store to the shore, and started off to let his trading friend know
vbsre he might find his lost place of business.'

Our friend Captain Hulse, of the New-York and Erie Rail-road steam-boat

92 JEditor's Table. [July,

* Erie,' was mentioning the foregoing drcumstance the other night in the pilot-
house of that spacioiis steamer, while himself and * Zack Stall ' and * Bill
WiTHERWAX,' pilots, Were peering through the dim night-haze for a Hudson
river vessel, which at first they could n^t well * make out,* although it proved
to be a * wing-and-wing ' craft, bound up the Tappaan-Zee. Now it came to
pass, that while we were looking at this dubious stranger, Brainard's sub-
lime and ludicrous lines, ' The Captain^ came to mind, and yS^ repeated it,
with such roars of laughter at the end, as are seldom heard in a play-house.

* I wish,' said the Captain, * that you would print that in the Knickerbocker :
do : there 's not a coasting skipper in our waters, I '11 be bound, but will want
a copy of it' We promised to do it ; the more readily, that in quoting it from
memory, a long time ago, we omitted three of the finest lines in the effusion :
nor, if we remember rightly, did we premise that the basis of the lines was this
simple paragraph in the ship-news of a Bridgeport (Conn.) journal : * Arrived,
schooner * Fame,' from Charleston, via New-London. While at anchor in that
harbor, during the rain-storm on Thursday evening last, the * Fame ' was run
foul of by the wreck of the Methodist meeting-house from Norwich, which was
carried away in the late freshet' Now observe what the poet constructed out
of such scanty materiel :

* Solemn he paced upon that Bchooner's deck,
And muttered of his hardships : ' I have been
Where the wild will of Mississippi's tide

* Has dashed me on the sawver: 1 nave sailed

In the thick night, along the wave-washed edge

Of ice, in acres, bv the pitiless coast

Of Labrador ; and I have scraped mj keel

O'er coral rocks in Madagascar seas :

And often in mj cold and mid-night watch,

Have heard the warning-voice of the lee shore

Speaking in breakers 1 Av, and I have seen

The whale and sword-fish fight beneath mj bows :

And, when thej made the deep boil like a pot,

Have swung into its vortex : and I know

To cord mj vessel with a sailor's skill,

And brave such dangers with a sailor's heart :

But never yet upon tne stormy wave.

Or where the river mixes with the main,

Or in the chafing anchorage of the baj,

In all my rouffh experience of harm,

Met I — a Meuodist Meeting-house ! «>

• • ■ • •

* Cat-head, or beam, or davit has it none,
Starboard nor larboard, ^nwale, stem nor stem :
It comes in such a ' ciuestionable shape,'

I cannot even apeaJc it 1 Up iib, Joset,

And make for Bridgeport I There, where Stratford-Point,

Long-Beach, Fairweather Island, and the buoy.

Are safe from such encounters, we '11 protest /

And Yankee legends long shall tell the tale,

That once a Charleston schooner was beset,

Biding at anchor, by — a Meeting-house.'

We scarcely know which most to admire in this, the grand sublimity of the
descriptive portion, or the utter ridiculousness of the conclusion. There is
another piece of Bbainard's, less known, even to the general reader, which is
quite in the same vein. Like the foregoing, it was suggested by a brief news-
paper paragraph, to the Mowing purport : * Two large bags containing news-

1868.] JEditor's Table. 93

— —

papers, were stolen firom the boot behind a mail-coach between New-Brunswick
and Bridgetown, New-Jersey. The straps securing tlie bags in the boot were
cut, and nothing else injured or removed therefrom. The letter mails are al-
ways carried in the front boot of the coach, under the driver^s feet, and there-
ibrc cannot bo so easily approached.' The lines were entitled * The Bobber : *

* The moon hangs lightly on von western hill :
And now it gives a parting look, like one
Who sadly leaves the guilty. You and I
Must watch, when all is dark, and steal alonj;
By these lone trees, and wait for plunder, linsh !
I hear the coming of some luckless wheel,
Bearing we know not what: perhaps the wealth
Torn from the needy, to be hoardea up
Bv those who only count it ; and perhaps
The spendthrift's losses, or the gambler's gains,
The thriving merchant's rich remittances,
Or the small trifle some poor serving girl
Sends to her poorer parents. But come on :
Be cautious ! There — 't is done : and now away,
With breath drawn in, and noiseless step, to seuk
The darkness that bcHts so dark a deed.
Now strike your light. Ye powers that look upon us !
What have we here? *Whitjs,' 'Sentinels,' 'Gazettes,'

* Heralds,' and * Posts,' and Couriers ; ' ' Mercuries,'

* Recorders,* 'Advertisers,' and 'Intelligencers;'

* Advocates,' and ' Auroras.* There, what's that I
That 's — a ' Price Current.'

* I do venerate
The man who rolls the smooth ond silky sheet
Upon the well-cut copper. I respect
The worthier names or those who m'/jn bank-bills :
And, though no literarv man, I love
To read their short and pithy sentences.
But I hate types, and prmters, and the gang
Of editors and scribblers. Their remarks.
Essays, songs, paragraphs, and prophories,
1 utterly detest. And Mt/fc, particularly,
Are iust the meanest and most rascally,
'Stale and unprotitable ' publications "
I ever read in my life ! '

We have a retrospective sympathy for that unfortunate * operator' — more,
a great deal, than we have for Tuckermax, the last-reported mail-robber, now
expiating bis deliberately-committed crime, by twenty-one years of jwiinful ircr-
▼itude in the Connecticut state-prison. - - - Somehody has taken a long
leap forward, in the condition of our naw *■ Great Metropolii>,' and given us the

* Bill of Fare' of a fashionable restaurant on Two Hundred and Second Avenue !
By the time New-York widens to that extent, it is barely possible that the
science of cookery will have so far advanced, that the following delicacies may
be made acceptable to the most fjistidioiLS gourmet. Among the * Soups ' are
included : * Cliipmunk,* * Frog/ * Pea-nut,' * Corn-cob,' and * Cockroach d la
Chinois,^ The ^FisJi^ department will be enriched by * Fillets of Mince,' witli

* Clams ; ' * Lizards, with Jellies ; ' * Snails on the Ilalf-shcU ; ' the ^ Relieves ' by

* Ejmgaroo, with Parsnip Jelly ; ' * Glutton and Turnips,' and * Hens, twenty-
six years old ; ' the Entries by * Boned Mu^krat ; ' Tenderloin of Jackass,
lard^ ; ' * Lap-dog Chops, with Spinach ; ' * Woodchucks ; ' * Bears' Feet, with
TrufSes;' * White-mice, breaded;' and * Croquettes of Eagles' Feet, with Ma-
Sauce,' etc The Boasts are neither so rich nor various, although tliey

94 JSditor's Table. [July,

embrace rare dishes ; as : * Saddle of Beef; * * Cows' Lights ; ' * Plucked Sheep/
and *Sows' Ears.' There is abundance of ^Game^ among which we find:
*Owls, larded;* * Wolves,' * Gray-headed Squirrels/ and * Wild-cats.' The

* Vegetables and Desserts ' offer a * rich treat : ' such as * Whale's Blubber
Jelly ; ' * Ice-cream, made last year ; ' * Horse-chestnuts ; ' * Swill-milk ; ' * Crabs,
frosted ; ' * Pigs' Feet ; ' * Speckled Apples ; ' and the like. * Wines and Liquors '
close the bill: among which are enumerated: * Clam-broth ; ' * Root-beer;'

* Jersey Lightning ; ' * Turnip Juice ; ' * Twiggs' Hair Restorative ; ' * Yankee
Champaigne ; ' * Mother's Relief' and so forth. Happy will be the man who shall
be able to dine at this rostam-ant, in Avenue Two-hundred and Two ! It must
needs prove a feast * to be remembered ! ' - - - If it were not such supreme
folly, and such wretched bad taste, we could find it in our heart most heartily to
laugh at the immense pains some of our would-be correspondents take to mag-
nify the President's simple English. There lies before us a most labored article
from one * Clio,' of a Southern State, in which the writer seems to have striven
magniloquently to express thoughts which would have been entirely acceptable,
if clothed in the terse and simple vernacular which best became them. It re-
minds us of an * exercise ' of * Ollapod's, once published in the ^Philadelphia
Daili/ Gazette,"^ of which he was so many years the editor, wherein he trans-
formed a few old maxims into the cumbrous grandiloquence of many scribblers
of the time. We recall a few Examples :

*Do fCt count your Chickens "before they are Hatched : * Enumerate not your adoles-
cent pullets ere they cease to be oviform. * Sauce for the Goose is Since for tie
Garyhr:* The culinary adornments which suffice for the female of the race Ansery
may be relished also with the masculine adult of the same species. ^Let Well-enovgh
Alone : * Suflfer a healthy sufficiency to remain in solitude. *Pat a Beggar on Horse-
hacky and A^ will ride to the Devil : ' Establish a mendicant upon the uppermost sec-
tion of a charger, and he will transport himself to Apollton. ^The least Said, (he
soonest Mended : * The minimum of an offensive remark is cobbled with the greatest
promptitude. * ' Tis an ill Wind that blows nobody Good : * That gale is truly diseased
which puffeth benefaction to nonenity. 'Looking two Ways for Sunday : ' Scrutiniz-
ing in duple directions for the Christian Sabbath. *A Stitch in. Time saves yine:*
The first impression of a needle upon a rent obviateth a nine-fold introduction.'

There were many more of these un-simplified apothegms, but the foregoing
are all that we can now remember. You may call a hat a * swart sombrero,'
or a * glossy four-and-nine, to storm impermeable ; ' but after all, praps it 's as
well to call it a hat : it w a hat, * Sawwaw-EDOWARD-A-LYTxox-A-BuLLwiG ! '
So says Thackeray's * Jeems ' to Bulwer : and he is right But it made Bul-
WER * hopping mad,' notwithstanding. - - - Russell, the world-known Cri-
mean correspondent of the London THmes^ writing from India, gives a most
spirited and graphic description of the storming, capture, and sacking of the
stronghold of Lucknow. The plunder of the King's palace and harem by the
soldiers, must have furnished a *rich' scene. Diamonds and pearls of count-
less worth ; gorgeous, costly India shawls ; gold lace, mirrors, and precious or-
naments, and jewelled arms ; all fell a prey to the ravaging, destroying troops.
There Is one thing mentioned by the Times correspondent, which rather favor-
ably impresses us toward some of the routed native nobility : there were found
in the palace and adjoining localities, great nimibers of gorgeously-ornamented
Kites, which it is stated they were very fond of fljring. Now here is an evi-

1858.] mUor's TaMe. , 95

denoo of civilization ; of a capacity and a taste for better things than massacre,
ing innocent women and children. How they could perfonn such cruel deeds,
and then go forth to the innocent amusement of sending up a splendid kite
into the blue Indian heavens, passes our comprehension. Aprojws of
KrrEs : the frame of our ^Leviathan'' mast be reduced, before it can rise into
the dear empyrean which over-liangs and circles fair and verdant Rockland.
It was constructed for us by a veritable Brunel among kite-architects ; but
when we found that it would take a hard-twisted clothes-line of Russian-hemp
to hold it, and that it would most likely take us up with it, reel and all, we
were compelled to entertain a proposition for reducing it to less formidable di-
inension.s. But even then^ it will be the most elephantine bow-kite that has
ever been seen in these latitudes. "When a mighty wind slmll ser\'e, it will
ix>mmence its aerial voyage from the top of ' Rockland Tower.' The invita-
tioas have been out for some time. - - - * Charles Mathews the Younger'
has been * faulty,' and the newspapers have caused the public to be made aware
of the fact : so has Mr. Daventort. Comparisons, by no means * odorous ' to
the son, have been drawn between him and his honored and honorable sire ; a
man universally respected, and an actor without an equal in his extraordinary
rdle. Who does not remember him, some twenty-four years ago, at the old
Park Tueatae, (treasured be its memory !) with his simple coverwl table before
him, seated behind which he pra>cnted to crowded audiences a whole picture-
gallery of unmistakable portraits, witliin the space of two hours? At tliat
time, our friend Charles Stetson, of the * Asioit,' then recently of the ' Tre-
MOXT,' Boston, where he knew Mathews ' from top to toe,' used to tell many
amusing anecdote.^ of him, and among them the following : * When I was about
leaving Liverpool for Amcricji,' said Mathews to Stetson, one day at the

* Tremont,' * I asked the Yankee captain, as we were lying in the stream, \vhy
we were not off * AYaiting for the mail,' said he. * \Yhen do you expect it V '
I asked. * In about twvnty minutes,' was the reply. It was two full hours
before the mail came, but we at kust started — and only started ; for in about

* twenty-minutes ' there was anolhcr st< >[). * AVhat is this for ? ' said I. * Wait-
ing for a pilot' * How Ion;; before he will be on board ? ' * In about twenty
minutes,' said the ski{)per again : and so it was all the way over. A gtile was
never * calculated ' to last * twenty minutes,' and that space of time was like-
wLse the terminating duration of a calm : and if a man was black-and-blue with
sea-sickness, he was consoled \\\\\i the a«:surance that * it might be all over in
twenty minutas ! ' Soon after I had arrived, an<l taken lodgings in New- York,
there comes me up one morning a waiter in hot ha«te, with : * Mr. Mathews !
Mr. Mathews ! you can't stay here not no longer, Sa ! ' * 'VYhy not, you vil-
lain ?' * 'Cause you can't, Sii ? * What 's the matter ? — what is tlie reason

I can't? * 'Cause, Sa, Mr. W , the * keeper,' has bu'sted, Sa, and the

sheriff has Issued a sashrarer, and the red flag is out o' the window, Sik, a-fly-
ing directly over your head, Sa ; and they 're gwyin' to sell out, Siu' * AVell,
when must I go?' 'Why, Sa, I 'spect you'd better be gittin awa}'^ in about
twenty minutes ! ' * And thus,' continued Mathews, in his amasingly fret-
ful, querulous manner, 'has it been ever since I first set my foot in America.
You 'd hardly believe it, but I have just returned from calling to sec an Old

JSditor's Table.

[July,

Country friend, who was very kind to me on my former visit * Where is Mr.

B V said I to the Yankee servant *Heisdead, Sir ! ' 'DesLd^ — deadf

How long since did he die?* *I should think about twenty minutes! — for
he is hardly cold yet, Sir.' * In short,' continued Mathews, * there is nothing
that cannot be, and is not done, in the United States in twenty minutes ! '
This may seem at first sight, to be exaggerated ; but let any one take notice
how often the term is used, in designating an ' unknown quantity ' of time, and
it will be considered a * veritable verity.' - - - The * ear-marks ' of our old
and always welcome correspondent, * John Honeywell,' are visible in the
lines, * The Geologist to his Zoce,' which we clip from the Hartford (Conn.)
''Daily Oourant.^ Punch himself would have snapped up the piece, and not
as an * unconsidered trifle' either:

* Beneath your gaze I do believe

Basaltic boulders thrill,
And that Mount Tom itself would throb

Obedient to vour will.
So might your glances turn a brick

To purple amethyst,
And change to Passion's willing slave

A cold geologist.

* The humid rays your eyes emit

Would warm a stalagmite ;
And their ethereal hue outvies

Prismatic lolite.
Then look with favor as I thus

Impulsive break my mind,
As I would break a block of fliut,

Mediaaval life to find.

' I have no doubt that love can claim

Volcanic origin,
And that th' arterial fount is where
' Its subtle fires be^in.
Its calide permeates aU my life,

As lustre does the spar.
And courses through my tingling veins
Like fumes of cinnabar.

' Some busv gnome has been at work

To rob my mind of peace,
And changed my heart to pumice-stone,

That was akin to gneiss.
It seems to be as tender now

As crumbling mica-slate,
And its component parts arc in

A strange transition-state.

* Your charms are printed on my brain

In carboniferous words,
As plainly as on Hadley rocka

The tracks of ancient bird^i ;
And strata of new feelings, love,

Crop out as strong and boid.
As sand-stone from the hill-side crop-j

Above the rocks of old.

* And through my daily life there runs

The most delightful thoughts,
As runs a thread of precious ore

Through cold auriferous quartz :
And as the secondary rocks

The primal over-lap.
So this alluvial sentiment

Is quite distinct from trap ! '

The piece concludes with a poii^t-blank * offer,' conveyed with such frank-
ness, and involving such prospective promise, that one would think it could
hardly fail to influence a * heart of stone : '

* Then prithee fix the happy time —

The incandescent hour.
When coral artists shall arise,

To deck our bridal-bower :
And if some tender aerolites

Should answer Htmbn's knock.
We '11 classify the specimens.

My love, as cradle rock I '

* Honeywell ' is elsewhere represented in these pages, and with credit to the
established reputation of his Muse. - - - One of the pleasantest anecdotes
which * John Waters ' of the Knickerbocker, (the late Mr. Henry Cart,)
used to relate of his * Uncle the Parson ' — not a few of whose * sayings and
doings,' as our readers have already seen, he has most graphically recorded — was
the subjoined : The good * Parson ' had been preaching, upon a certain Sunday
morning, from a text including the parable of the two houses, one of which

1858.] mitor's Tabic. 97

stood upon a rock, and the other upon the sand ; a parable which we may
reascnuUfly assume is not unknown to any reader of these pages. He warmed
with the force and beauty of his theme, until in the ardor of his discourse ho
carried away the wrong house ! * The rains beat, the floods came, and the winds
blew' upon the house thut stood upon the rocJc, *and it fell, and great was the fall
thereof: * a mere accidental transposition, of course, and doubtless not noticed by
one in fifty of his congregation. * Uncle,' said the narrator, as the two were
walking home from church, * did you not make a mistake in your sennon to-
day ? Did you not, in one instance, reverse the meaning of the beautiful parable
which formed its subject ? I looked to sec you re-reverse it' * You are right,
my son ; I did make a mistake : I am glad you were so attentive and watch-
fhl as to remark it : I carried away the wrong house, but I did not make a
mistake in not stopping to correct it Suppose I had done so ? Both houses
woidd then have been gone, and not one would have been left to illustrate the
parabla Few saw the error, I think : and this leads me to say, my son, that
when you find you have made a mistake, let somebody else discover itJ' Now
this is a maxim worthy of heed. - - - * W. F. T.,' of Baltimore, writes
us : * Your * Legislative Anecdote ' in the * May Knick.' brought t6 my mind
a very amusing circumstance that occurred in our bofly of law-makers, which,

if you think worth the printer's ink, you may * throw in.' Mr. W , the

member from A. A. county, had discoursed for some time upon a very hn-
portant question : toward the close of his remarks, he turned to his opponcnr,
and with flaming eye, and in thundering tones, he said: *And now. Sir, do you
ask me, who is the guilty one ? — where is the culprit ? As Cicero said unto
Plato, ''Thou art the inan!^ The learned gentleman took his seat amid
most enthusiastic applause.' - - - We made an instructive visit this
rooming, with our friend Mr. Rice, Superintendent of the New-York and Erie
Rail-road Machine and Car-TYorks, at Piermont-on-'Udson. We went to
examine Mr. Henry Waterman's Measurer of Power and Distance upon
Raihcays, It is a wonderful * operator,' for so small a concern : and like all
really good inventions, is as uncomplicated and simple as it is invaluable. The
^United States Bail-road JournaV tlius hints the peculiarities of the
machine:

*Tn faistmment Is compact in form, forms the coupling between the tender and cars, Is not
liable to ipet out of order, and regi:itcrB automatically, with entire accuracy, the exact amount of
power cxerteJ by the locomotive at cvory instant, and sums up the whole amount exerted for
the trip, as well as for any portion of it. It also gives the distance run. The value of such a
Maaturer of JPawer will be apparent to every percon connected with a rail-road. It tests the
merits of all Improvements for reducing friction, aad of the various plans for economizing in the
oie of fuel and oils. It show4 the kind of engines and cars that oppose tlie least resistance from
the fHctlon of their various parts. It shows the tractive power of the various kinds of materials
aied for tires; the different degrees of resistance due to the curves and grade of a road ; also
that dae to different velocities. It shows, besidd, the exact state of the track, under all its con-
ditions. Such an Instrument of course, shows the degree of economy with which each- train is
run. The ralne of all experiments to reduce the cost of working a road have been comparatively
valueless, for the want ot some accurate measure of the results obtained. The true test of eco-
nomy, for Instanco, Is not the small amount of fuel consumed, but the product, In power, that
result* from its combustion. A small train may require great power to move it, from not being
In good condition, or from the improper adjustment of its parts, or from the state of the road.
Od the other baud, a large train may be moved with comparative ease when every thing is in
excellent order. All instruments heretofore constructed having a similar object In view, have
failed, from the want of uniformity in their action, and from the imposdibility of obtaining from
them fneant or averages of the power exerted for any given distance. By Mr. Waterman's con-
trirance the ribratory action of the springs is controlled, while the actual amount of power
exerted at any given instant, and the whole amount exerted for the trip. Is accurately and auto-
auttcallj recorded, with averages for the whole or for any portion of it*

VOL. Lll. 7

98 EdiUyr'^s Table. [July,

Put this improvement (it has been so put) upon the superb Erie Rail-road cars
of Mr. McCallum^s patent, with their delightful air-springs, perfect ventilation,
and total absence of dust, and what more could one desire ? Nothing, save
that Mr. Rice or Mr. Smith should see that it was ^ all right' at starting.
Then *Go ahead I* - - - Wno is the very modest and considerate
correspondent in Dubuque, Iowa, who asks us some twenty questions *for
information,' and adds, that he should * like to hear from us immediately ' ?
Whoever he * may be, or not,' he must have an exalted idea of the * pump-
ing' capacity of an editor of a Magazine. Hia inquiries are mainly polem-
ical, or akin thereto : * Wi^t is the difference of belief between a Deist and
an Atheist?' 'What, in\ioctrine, is the distinction between *Hard' and

* Soft-shell ' Baptists ? ' and the like queries. The last is : * What constitutes
a Materialist f ' We will try to answer t?Mt question, in the language of
Baron Vondullbrainz, who, when the fashionable furor for * Germanics ' had
filled London with Teutonic professors and pretenders, lectured before one of
the * learned societies' of the great metropolis. The Baron was a decided

* Materialist' ; holding, as he did, that *de s'ing zat was made was more supe-
rior zan domiaher:^ a proposition, in the enforcement of which he used the
following irrefragable argument and illustration : * I say once more again, zat
ze s'ing as is made is more superior zan de maker : par examp. : I am de
coachman zat make de w'eel of ze coach : now zat w'eel of ze coach, he woU
a souzand mile, but I cannot woll one ! Or I am ze w'at you call cooper.
He make ze tub of wine : he hold five souzand gallon ; but I cannot hold
more as fives bottel ! So you see zat ze s'ing as is made, is more superior
zan ze maker !^ Baron Vondullbrainz was a ^ Materialist^^ wasnt he?
The fact seems undeniable. - - - There are some things, if we are a

* hainim-scarum race,' as an English weekly journal not long since termed us,
that all true Americans, howsoever * speculative and fidgety' they may be,
right well remember : the anniversaries of two memorable events, which, as we
write, are dose upon us — the Battle of Bunkkr-Hill, and the Declaration
OF Independence :

* That silent, moon-Ugbt march to Bunker-Hill,
With spades and swords, bold hearts and ready hands,
That Spartan step, without their flute — that still,
Hushed, solemn music of the heart — commands
More than the trumpet's echo : 't is the thrill
That thoughts Qf well-loved homes, and streams, and lands.
Awaken when mBn go into the tight,
As did the Men of Bunker-Hill that night : '

and as for the Fourth of July, it should be, and wo hope is, the fervent aspir-
ation of each American heart, that it may be celebrated in every passing year,
with undiminished patriotism and increased jubilant honors : with roaring can-
non, fire-works, and * crackers.' - - - It is seldom that the Rev. Mr. Chapin
speaks in public, upon any occasion, that he does not say something that

* bites : ' something, to use a fomiliar if not a coarse phrase, that *• sticks in the
crop' of his audience. Thus in a temperance-lecture, delivered not long since
in Philadelphia, he *mado use^ (many speakers employ words, without using
them) of the following illustration : * The young * blood ' exclaims, while speak-
ing of the attempts now making to suppress the abuse of alcoholic stimulants :

,<'

1858.] JEditor's Table. 99

*Am I to be deprived of my liberty to imbibe what I e7ioo3e to imbibe?
Whose business is it ? Liberty of action is guaranteed to me.' * To which
most effectively responds Mr. Chapin : * ^Liberty f * Liberty /or vshat f To
be hung up, like a dripping dish-cloth ? — to be stood up, like a battered, rusty
stove-pipe? — to be kicked about like a * shocking bad hat * in the gutter ? — is
this the * liberty ' you desire ? * What would * statistics,* what would * thrill-
ing confessions' effect, in comparison with this simple but most forcible
jQastration ? - - - The ^Lines^ which ensue are addressed to *Miss
IL £. A.,' of Paducah, Kentucky, by ' A Friend at Canton,' in the same State.
They are of *a peculiar character,' and quite imaginative :

* When the nightingale tells of the day's decline,

When silver rays o'er my pathway bend,
When horrid dreams absorbs my mmd,
When broken-hearted lovers brings their days to an end,

Then do I think of thee.

* When lovely Vbnus o'er us look,

When the King of Day is in his glory,
When listening to some murmuring brook.
When thinking o'er some warrior story,

Then do I think of thee.

* When viewing the works of Art and Nature,

When pursuing the cunning and artful fox,
When travelling on the plains of the western verdure.
When waiting for the pleasures of the vernal equinox,

Then do I think of thee.

* When watching the manoeuvres of Saturn's moon.

When spying the fiery comets,
When rocked by the billows of a southern monsoon,
When prosecuted as a criminal by Blackstone's Comments,

Then will I think of thee.

* When red-hot comets upon us encroach,

When lightning checks the ethereal blue,
When the sea-bird tells of the storm's approach,
When chased by the lyon, the forest through.

Then will I think of thee.

* When chased by that comet, the wide space o'er.

When dodging that comet is our only redoubt,
When, informed of that comet's continuing to soar.
When I hear of that comet with its brains knocked out.

Even then will I think of thee.'

Our correspondent says he can send us *more of the same sort* Oh!
no — dont! As Prince D'Artois, of the exiled family of France, said to
Philip Kemble in Edinburgh, when asked to come the second time to see him
play Falstaff : * Ah I no, Mo'ssiu' Kemble : it was very fenny : I smile vcr
mo(Akd : hut one such fun it was enoff f ^ - - - We thank our Baltimore
ooirespondent for his ^Nbvel Settlement of a Breach-of Promise Case.'' It is
something too long, and * in spots ' a little too legally technical for the general
reader, we fear. One point in the report reminds us of a similar scene recorded
by the lamented Robekt C. Sands. The man who was the plaintiff in the
case was offered one hundred and fifty dollars to withdraw his suit * What! *
he exclaimed, *one hundred and fifty dollars for blighted hopes, crushed
aflbcdoDS, ruined prospects, for myself and for our children ! Never I Make

100 Editor's Table, [July,

it a hundred and seveniy-five, and it *s a bargain ! * - - - We are called upon
to lament the sudden demise of Hon. William Alexaiideb Dueb, formerly Pre-
sident of Columbia College, in the seventy-eighth year of his age. Mr. Duer was
a not infrequent contributor to the Knickebbockeb, nor were his articles ever
unacceptable. He was a grand-son of Lord Sterling, and claimed the titla He
was for several years a distinguished member of the Legislature of New- York,
representing Dutchess County, and was a leader in the old Federal party. In
1818 he removed to Albany, where he was again elected to represent that
County in the State Legislature. In 1823, he was appointed Circuit Judge
for the circuit embracing Albany, Columbia, Rensselaer, and some other
counties. After filling this office for several years, he removed to the city of
New-York, and was appointed President of Cohmibia College. He was the
author of a life of his ancestor. Lord Sterling, and of a work on constitutional
jurisprudence. In person, he was a * man of mark ; * erect as a statue, grace-
ful and distinguished in his mien, with an inherent dignity which was apparent
to the most casual observer. - - - The warm thanks of our metropolitan
public are due, and we are glad to hear have been substantially rendered, to
Frank Leslie, for the exposure, in his popular journal, of the Swill-Milk
Abuses, with which the city has so long been afflicted. He has awakened the
municipal authorities to this great enormity, and is now fiivored with active
cooperation. We now understand the reason of the preference expressed by
a little girl from the country, who was visiting, with her mother, an aunt in
the city. She was waiting impatiently one morning for her accustomed bowl
of bread-and-milk ; but her aunt told her that * the milk-man had not yet come.*
He came at last, however, and the little girPs want was supplied. * Is it good,
dear ? — do you like it ? ' ' I do n't like milh-man^s milk so well as I do cow's
milky was the ingenuous and forcible reply. No wonder : doubtless a good
many are of the same opinion. - - - Every body, that is to say, every
body who reads the ^Atlantic Monthly ' Magazine, will have occasion to la-
ment, when the ^Autocrat of the Break&st-Table * shall withdraw his pen
from the pages of a work which it has done so much to illuminate. To speak
the honest truth, we cannot say that we have ever greatly admired the other
papers in the ^Atlantic:'* but the Autocrat has never disappointed us. He
stands a head and shoulders above the best of his fellow-contributors to that
publication. Hear a passage or two from his lucubration for June :

' Thb old gentleman who aits opposite, finding that spring had fairiy come, mounted
a white hat one day, and walked into the street. It seems to have been a premature
or otherwise exceptionable exhibition, not unlike that commemorated by the late Mr.
Batlet. When the old gentleman came home, he looked very red in the face, and
complained that he had been *■ made sport of.' By sympathizing questions, I learned
from him that a boy had called him ' old daddy,' and asked him when he had his
hat white-washed.

* This incident led me to make some observations at table the next morning, which
I here repeat for the benefit of the readers of this record.

< The hat is the vulnerable point of the artificial integument. I learned this in
eariy boyhood. I was once equipped in a hat of Leghorn straw, having a brim of
much wider dimensions than were usual at that time, and sent to school in that por-
tion of my native town which lies nearest to this metropolis. On my way I was met
by a ' Port-chuck,' as we used to call the young gentlemen of that locality, and the
following dialogue ensued :

1858.]

JSditor's Table. 101

* Tbb Pobt-chuck. Hallo, You-Sir, did jou know there was gOn-to be a race to-
morraht

' MTULr. No : who 's gun-to run, 'n' wher's't gon-to be ?

* Turn PoHT-CHUCK. Squire Mico and Doctor Williams, round the brim o' your
hat'

' These two much-rcspectcd gentlemen being the oldest inhabitants at that time,
and the alleged race-course being out of the question, the Port-chuck also winking
and thrusting his tongue into his check, I perceived that I had been trifled with, and
the effect has been to make me scnsitiTO and observant respecting this article of
dress ever since. Here is an axiom or two relating to it.

'A hat which has heenpoppedf or exploded by being sat down upon, is never itseli
again afterward.

* It ia a favorite illusion of sanguine natures t^ believe the contrary.

' Shabby gentility has nothing so characteristic as its hat. There is always an
nnnatural calmness about its nap, and an unwholesome glos?, suggestive of a wet
brush.

' The last effort of decayed fortune is expended in smoothing its dilapidated castor.
The hat is the tiUimum moriens of ' re^^pectability.'

* The old gentleman took all these remarks and maxims very pleasantly, saying,
however, that he had forgotten most of his French, ex-ccpt the word for potatoes.
pummies de tare. UUimum moriens, I told him, is old Italian, and signifies JaH thing
to die. With this explanation he was well contented, and looked quite calm when I
saw him afterward in the entry, with a black hat on his head and the white one in
his hand.'

Observe with what ea.se the 'Autocrat ' flits from * gay to grave, from lively
to severe.' He translates and quotes the following stanza, written by the
French poet Gilbert, a week before his death, upon a mean bed in the Hotel
Dieu, at the early age of twenty-nine, and appends the comment which follows
it:

*At Iife*« gay banquet placed, a poor imhappj guest,

One day I pant*, then disappear;
I die, and on the tomb where I at length shall rest
No flriend shall come to shed a tear.'*

Fou remember the same thing in other words, somewhere in Kirke White's poem.*.
It is the burden of the plaintive songs of all these sweet albino-poets. ' I shall die an<l
be forgotten, and the world will go on just as if I had never been ; and yet how T
have loved I how I have longed ! how I have aspired I ' And so singing, their eye?
grow brighter and brighter, and their features thinner and thinner, until at last the
veil of flesh is threadbare, and, still singing, they drop it and pass onward.*

Tlie subjoined passage certainly needs no praise of ours ; yet we cannot for-
bear to invite the reader's especial attention to the sententious force and exqui-
site beauty of the extract :

« OuE brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once

for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Ro-
sarrection.

•Tic-tac! tic-tacl go the wheels of thought; our will cannot stop them; they can-
not stop theiyselves; sleep cannot still them; madness only makes them go faster;
death alone can break into the case, and, seizing the ever-swinging pendulum, which
we call the heart, silence at last the clicking of the terrible escapement we have car-
ried 80 long beneath our wrinkled foreheads.

* If we could only get at them, as we lie on our pillows and count the dead beats of
thought after thought and iniasje after image jarring through the over-tired organ !
Will nobody block those wheels, uncouple that pinion, and cut the string that holds
those weights ? '

102 Uditor'8 Table. [July,

When we read the following, we could not choose but think of the late
' Henry "William Herbert, Infelicissimus,^ We met him in Broadway, just
three days before his death, walking with a clergyman, whom we had the
pleasure to know, and to whom he was talking, with much violence of gesticu-
latioa As they saluted us, we remarked Mr. Herbert's expression of coun-
tenance. It was the very picture of * wan Despair : *

* What a passion comes over us sometimes for silence and rest ! — that this dread-
ful mechanism, unwinding the endless tapestry of time, embroidered with spectral
figures of life and death, could have but one brief holiday ! Who can wonder that
men swing themselves off from beams In hempen lassos ? — that they jump off from
parapets into the swift and gurgling waters beneath? — that they take counsel of the
grim friend who has but to utter his one peremptory monosyllable and the restless
machine is shivered as a vase that is dashed upon a marble floor ? Under that build-
ing which we pass every day there are strong dungeons, where neither hook, nor bar,
nor bed-cord, nor drinking-vessel from which a sharp fragment may be shattered,
shall by any chance be seen. There is nothing for it, when the brain is on fire with
the whirling of its wheels, but to spring against the stone wall and silence them
with one crash. Ah I they remembered that — the kind city fathers — and the walls
are nicely padded, so that one can take such exercise as he likes, without damaging
himself on the very plain and serviceable upholstery. If any body would only con-
trive some kind of a lever that one could thrust in among the works of this horrid
automaton and check them, or alter their rate of going, what would the world give
for the discovery ? *

And now let us * possess our souls in patience' until the appearance of an-
other number of the ^Autocrat.' We yearn after his multiform inditements,
even as our readers were wont to yearn after the monthly instalments of the
Ollapodiana Papers^ which they not a little resemble, as several correspond-
ents have incidentally remarked. - - - One of the truly good men of this
' naughty world,' who loves children, as we do, and all their little winning
ways, sends us the subjoined : * A little four-year-old girl, who had been sing-
ing a popular song with an elder sister until she had become very sleepy, was
hurried off to bed by the nurse. She was reminded of her * Good-night
Prayer : ' so, kneeling down, she ejaculated :

* A PENNY for a ball of cord,
A penny for a needle :
That *8 the way the money goes,
Pop goes • • • . '

She was too far gone to finish the verse, and so concluded with : * Put out the
candle, and shut the door tight, Nurse : good-night I Good — good • • • '
She was in dream-land at once. - - - Can it be possible that our new
correspondent, * G. J. S.,' of Alabama, who asks, * Why have the poets neg-
lected the Daisy ? ' — can it be possible, we ask, that the writer of the lines
' To the Daisy ' has forgotten one of Robert Burns' most beautiful, heart-warm
effusions? His own lines are feelingly-appreciative of the beauty of his
theme — a flower *so pure, so modest, so chastely-beautiful : ' but they could
add nothing to what has already been written upon The Daisy. Nevertheless,
the writer has our cordial thanks for his kind intentions. - - - The June
Number of Mr. Sparroworass's * Wine-Press ' commences the fifth year of that
' sparkling and bright ^ publication. Aside from its business speeialite, it is
an eminently readable literary journal ; showing good taste, and evincing not

1858.]

Editor's Table.

103

nlone a knowledge of * w?;ze-culture.* ^Injin Ink^ in the May Number, is very
IIooDisn. It is illustrated by a wood-cut of a tattooed Jack-tar, of whom the
rfaymist says :

' Aboi:kd his arms, all down his back,

Botwixt his shoulder-blades.
Are Peg, and Poll, and July-Ann,
And Mer^ and other maids :

' And just below his collar-bones,

Amidships on his chest.
He has a sun in blue and red,
A-rising in the west.

* A bit abaft a pirate craft,

Upon his starboard side,
There is a thinur he made himself,
The day his Nanct died.

'Marhap it be a lock of hair,

Mavhap a kilc o' rope :
He savs it is a tme-lovc knot.
And so it is, I hope.

' lie recks not, that bold foremast-hand,

What shape it wear to vou :
With soul elate, and hand expert,
Uc stuck it — so he knew.

* To *Et)'ard Cuttle, mariner,*

His sugar-tongs and spoons
Not dearer than that rose-pink heart.
Transfixed with two harpoons.

* And underneath, a ^rave in blue,

A crave-Htone all in red :
* * Here lies, all right, poor Tom's delight
God save the lass — she' s dead ! '

* Permit that Tarry Sailor-man

To shift his (\\n6. and sigh ;
Nur chide him if he cusses some,
For piping of his eye.'

The ^Wine-Press^ is beautifully printed: but that may be said of all the
publications which proceed from the numerous * groaning presses ' of Mr. Gray,
asawide 'Public* have found out. - - - The following exceedingly figurative
epitaph is copied by a late English journal from a tomb-stone in a church-yard
in Derbyshire : * Here lie, in a horizontiil position, the outside cases of Thomas
HiNDE, dock and watch maker, who departed this Ufe wound up in the hopes
of being taken in hand by his Maker, and being thoroughly cleaned, repaired,
and set a-going in the world to come, on the fifteenth day of August, 1S36,
aged fifty years.' Is n't lliat folioitous ? - - - Every body will remember the
anecdote of the sailor assisting a brother tar to understand a pompous *word of
command ' to * extinguish that luminary.' The question was repeated once
or twice, but it was Greek to the sailor, till his companion Jack called out,
* Douse the glim, you land-lubber ! ' wliich was speedily accomplished. A
doctor, full of professional pomposity, says a late EnglL«;h paper, was called
upon by a sailor-patient to liave a ' raging tooth * extracted. * Well, mariner,'
said the doctor, looking ycry learned, and speaking very slowly, ' which tooth
do you desire to have extracted ? Is it the molar or the incLsor V ' Jack re-
plied * sharp and short : ' * It 's in the upper tier, Larboard side : bear a hand,
ye swab, for it 's nipping my jaw like a bloody lobster ! ' The doctor grinned
and clapped on the forceps. - - - ''The World Turned Upside DoicnP
Such is the title of a much betattcred ' littcl boko,' profusely and not coarFcly
illustrated, considering that the work was * imprinted in London ' more than
a century ago, now lying before ils : a loan from that rare and indcfiitigable an-
tiquity-hunter, Captain William J. Folcek, late of the * KxicKiniDocKEii
House' at Inland-Piennont^ and now proprietor of a hotel, with the same
name, at Paterson, New-Jersey ; where whoso sojourns will not regret it. In
this small square booklet, eveiy thing is reversed — turned topsy-turvy. There
is a world of trenchant satire in the pictures, which are strongly enforced by
the poetical text First we have a * noble stag of ten tines ' turned pursuer,
and shooting liLs two-legged victim ' out of season,' with appropriate reflections :
next, *A Boy scourging his Father, and the little Daughter giving Pap to her

104 Editor's TaJbU. [July,

Mother : * then *An Horse curry-combing his Groom,* with a motto fiK)m * im-
mortal Pope : '

* * Teach me to feel anotherls woe,
To shun the faults I see :
That mercj I to others show,
That mercy show to me.' *

The groom is tied by a halter round his neck to the manger, and is kicking
lustily under his rough * rubbing down.' * Horses turned Farriers * is a less
effective picture, although it has some accessory points which are * telling.'
*An Ox turned Butcher ' is very good. The four-footed * operator ' has his
apron on, his tail jauntily tucked up, and with knife in hoof, is cutting open
his * man-beeve,' who is triced up by his feet, with his head just lifted off the
floor. There are incidental touches in this print which are almost worthy of
Hogarth. Another very ludicrous engraving is *An Hare roasting a Cook,
and a Cock basting him.* Timid as the hare usually is, he here seems bom to
his vocation : and the gallant rooster is doing him yeoman*s service as an as-
sistant *An Ass driving the Miller to Market, and the Mill turned * Topsy-
turvy,* tickled the risibles of the little folk amazingly. Our little six-year old
has scarcely yet ceased to laugh at it, as only a child can laugh. *A Fish
Angling for a Man * is not so good ; though he has hooked a good specimen,
if he can only land him safely. A terrible scene of carnage is represented in
*A Lamb attacking a Lyon I' It is evident that the * King of Beasts * must
soon succumb. Beside these, there is an * Ox driving a Yoke of Farmers at
Plough ; * 'An Ass singing in an Orchestra ; one playing on the Organ, another
on a Fiddle ; several Asses making up the Audience ; * ( capable of a wide ap-
plication, in some respects, perhaps:) 'A Lawyer turned Client;* together
with some dozen others, of unequal merit The lessons inculcated are good :
and the poet-author finishes with a moral * Conclusion,* which ends with :

* How weak the power of pomp and state,
To combat with impendinz fate :
The King, the Beggar, both must die,
And moulder in obscurity.
Let all then due attention give,
That after death they still may live.
And win on earth the immortal crown,
Before the * World *s turned Upside Dowx.

. » I

A good lesson to be evoked from so amusing and quaint a book. If it were not
torn, it might be re-printed. - - - The man who, in the late * tin-panic,'
or * crisis,' replied to the remark of a polite notary, that he had brought a
notice of protest for five thousand dollars, probably a mistake, * Oh I no — a
regular bu'st ! ' — that man, we say, is almost equalled by the editor of a
western paper, who owes a bank a thousand dollars, for which they hold his
note. The defaulting wag announces it thus in his paper : * There is a large
and rare collection of autographs of distinguished individuals deposited for
safe-keeping in the cabinet of the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank, each accom-
panied with a note in the hand-writing of the autographist "We learn that
they have cost the bank a great deal of money. They paid over a thousand
dollars for ours. We hope great care is taken to preserve these capital and
interesting relics, as, should they be lost, we doubt whether they could be

1858.] Editor's Table. 105

easily collected agaiiL Should the bank, however, be so unfortunate as to Ioro
oursa, wo ^11 let them have another at half price, in consequence of the very
hard times.* Is n't this slightly *cooL' - - - Two years ago, in noticing the
Discourse of Ret, Br, Bellows upon the Life and Btath of the late Joseph
Curtis^ we remarked: *As we write, in the still, early morning hours, we
hear through an open door of a pleasant upper apartment of our little * Cedar-
Hill Cottage,* the occasional deep-drawn sigh of one who loved her dear de-
parted companion for more than half a century. What a world of reminis-
cence must throb beneath that Quaker cap and silver hair I I^Iay the God of
the widow, the Comforter of tlie Bereaved, sustain her hitherto calm and
cheerful spirit in this dark hour of her affliction ! ' And now that silver hair,
that calm, sympathetic face, tliat warm innocent heart, repose in the family
tomb at beautiful Greenwood, by the side of the dear departed, who was sel-
dom out of her thoughts. During her illness, while love and affection welled
out toward the liWng, * her heart was with the dead : * she was talking with
her parents and sisters in heaven, but mast of all, with her husband. The
night before she died she said : * Yes, my dear Joslo, (ever her familiar designa-
tion,) I see you : in a little while I shall be with you.* Very beautiful were
her prayers toward the close of her brief illness : most touching her words to
loving friends, young and old. In repeating the Lord's Prayer, she invariably
paused at *Tiiv will be done ; ' asking only for patience to bide her Father's
time. And thus, loving and bi.'lovo(l, she closed a pure and blameless life of
nearly eighty years, and her tender, beautiful spirit ascended to the bosom of
her Father and her Gon. - - - It would seem to be quite a hard lot
enough for * Statcs'-nicn,* Califoniia-bound, to be cheated in the metro]:>olLS
before their departure, by bogus passage-tickets ; but according to a complain-
ing passenger in the New-Orleans '■Plcaynne^^ their annoyances do n't stop
with the shore ; for among other things he saith :

* Wal ! of all the cussed kinveyiancos,
Ef this is n't about the wust !

Nothin but rockin uiid rollin',
An pitchin from tlie vcrv fust :

The iiiffiDe a-groaiiin, and the biler
Ljable enny miuit to bust.

' Fust wun side, dum It, and then tnthcr,
Till I'm dogged if I know what to du:
Bock awav, you darned old cradle !
I was a baby when I got inter i/ou.

*None on em seems to kcer i\\ cents

How bad a feller may ft cl,
Nur to talk to him — riot even the e«aler,
Foolin away his time onto u wlieiO.

'Thar's the captinjf : an't it prorokin

To see that critter, all threw the trip,
Continooaliy drinkin and smokiu.
Wen he oVter be a mindiu his bhip ?

' It *s enuf to aggoravait a body,
And it an't mariners, I think.
To set thar takin down his toddv.
And never askin nary passinger to
drink.

*And the pusser, all he's kep fur.

Is fur to have a good time with his pals :
I sav, darn such a pusser! jeest hecr Iimi,
Flertin and carrin on among the gals.

' And wen he 's tired o' that, what follers ?
In his little cabin, thar he cets
Like a spyder among barrels of dollars,
Enuf to pay a feller's debts.

* That 's all they keer for nassingers.

Is, to get tlie two bunder
And titty dollars out of his pokct into
theirn.
And then he may go to thunder.'

Ho ascended the shrouds one day, and they ran up after him, and tied him
there with a piece of tarry s])un-yam, and would n't let him down *tel ho
forkt out a bottle of bmndy,* which extortion wrung his Yankee heart beyond

106 JEditor's Table. [Jaly»

expression. In short, as Mr. Van Buren remarked, *his sufferings was
intolerable,' and not to be endured. - - - We like the subjoined : it is
alike true, and forcibly expressed :

* In a constant looking up from birth to the lofty mountain peak, around which
clouds gather when it is serene below, the eye contracts a habitual upward turn, and
the soul follows the example of this its brightest inlet of impressions. Manliness and
self-reliance, reverence and piety, are the lessons taught in the mountain-school. We
do not make a friend of the Darren, gray and frowning altitudes. But it is a comfort
to bow down to them, and do them and their CasAToa homage. The heart wants
something to love, indeed ; but it also needs something to venerate and adore. A
mountain stretching itself above the clouds, and knocking, as it were, at the heavenly
portals, helps the soul to rise, and fix its thought upon the Eternal, the All Power-
rcL AND QooD. These exidted but somewhat austere meditations may not be al-
ways altogether agreeable to the young and pleasure-loving ; but a period is approach-
ing, if they live to be advanced in age, when they will turn away from the oright,

smooth, gracefully-flowing river, and the bustling, happy voyages upon its bosom, to
the hoary, inaccessible mountain summit, that points the way upward to the profound
abysses of the skies, whither the^ and all of us are tending. The spectacle of the

mountain, on which the infant hrst opened its gaze, will bo a consolation to the old
man's heart, as his glazing eye is taking its last of it, and every other earthly object.'

*High mountains are a feeling ^ says Byron, and that he *sayeth sooth,' few
lovers of nature will gainsay. - - - All communications, intended for
the ' Editor's Table,' or * Gossip with Readers and Correspondents,* of
the Knickerbocker, should be addressed to L. Gaylord Clark: articles
written for the * Original Papers,' in prose or verse, may be addressed either
to Mr. Clark, or to Dr. J. 0. Noyes, at the oflSce. Apropos of our new
associate, who will have charge of the business of the office, and contribute in
every number to the pages of the Magazine : Dr. Noyes graduated in Medi-
cine at Harvard University. After leaving college, he spent a year in Ger-
many. He was, while there, *Our Own Correspondent' of the daily Tribune
and the London Morning Chronicle. The following year he passed in Eastern
Europe, Asia, and Africa. He was five months in Turkey, and held the posi-
tion of surgeon in the Turkish army, under Omer Pacha. He is the author of
a popular work entitled ^Houmania, the Border-Land of the Christian and the
Turk ; ' and another volume, soon to appear from the press of Messrs. Rudd and
Carleton, entitled ^Tlte Gipsies; their Origin^ History^ and Manner ofLife^
The papers upon *'The Gipsies over the World^ in the last and present num-
bers of the Knickerbocker, will attest his keen observation, and his manner
of portraying the incidents of his * travel's history.' Other and kindred articles
from his pen will from time to time appear in these pages, which will
acceptably * speak for themselves.' - - - That was a strikingly intelligent
person, who called upon a sign-painter to have a Sunday-school procession-
banner painted, and said : * We 're goin' to have a tearin' time with our
Fourth o' July Sunday-school celebration, and our folks wants a banner.'
*Well,' naturally enough responded the painter, *you ought to have one.
What will you have painted on it ? ' * Wal, / d'n know : we ort to hev a
text o' skripter painted onto it for a motto, had n't we ? ' * Yes : that 's a very
good idea: what shall it be?' * Wal, I thought this would be about as good
as any : *'Be sure you We right^ th^n go ahead .' " It is iair to conclude that
he had not * searched the Scriptures ' attentively. - - - We gratify sundry
grateful little people, * growing, and always an-hungered,' by saying, that,
Wing's Farina Crackers are precisely what they pretend to be. It would

1858.]

Editor's Table. 107

seem almost impossible to produce from * simple unadulterated wheat* an

article so agreeable to the paLate and so nourishing to the bod}'. - - - Mk.

BryanVs latest published poem, ''A Night Sccne^'^ will remind the reader

of his ^Etening liererie,^ one of the several noble poems written by hun

for the Knickerbockek. Neither the melody nor the sentiment is greatly

dissimilar. Witness the following pa£:sage: premising that the poet Ls

apostrophizing a river liastcning to lose itself in the ocean, stretching into

infimty:

' Yet there are those who he beside thy bed.
Fur whom thou once didst rear the bowers that screen
Thy margin, and didst water the Krecn fields,
And now there is no night so stillthat they
Can hear thy lapse; their slumbers, were thy voice
Louder than Ocean's, it could never break.
For them the early violet no more
Opens upon thy bank, nor for their eyes
(llitter the crimson pictures of the clouds
Upon thy bosom, when the sun goes down.
Their memories are abroad — the memories
Of those who lust were gathered to the earth —
Lingering within the homes in whicli they sat,
Hovering about the paths in which they trod,
llauntinj^ them like a presence. Even now
They visit many a dreamer in the forms
TheV walked in*, ere, at last, they wore the shroud ;
Ancf eyes tliere are that will not close to dream.
For weeping and for thinking of the grave.
The new-made grave, and the pale one within.
These memories and these sorruws all shall fade
And pass away, and fresher memories
And newer sorrows come and dwell awhile
Beside thy border, and, in turn, depart.

* On glide thy waters, till at last they flow
lieneath the windows of the populous town.
And all night Ion a; give back the gleam of lamps.
And glimmer with the trains of light that stream '

From halls where dancers whirl. A dimmer ray
Touches thy surface from the silent room
In which they tend the sick, or eather round
The dying ; and a slender, stea(h' beam
(.'(mies from the little chamber in the roof.
Where, with a feverous crimson on her cheek,
The solitary damsel, dying too.
Plies the quick needle till the stars grow pale.
There, close beside the haunts of revel, stand
The blank, uuliKhted windows, where the poor,
In darkness aiiu hi huncer, wake till morn.
There, drowsily, on the naif-conscious ear
Of the dull watchman, pacing on the wharf.
Falls the soft ripple of thy waves that strike
On the moored Dark: but f^iihier listeners
Are near — the prowlers of the night, who steal
From shadowy nook to shadowy nook, and start
If other sounds than thine are in the air.

' Oh ! glide away from those abodes, that bring
Pollution to thy channel, and make foul
Thy once clear current. Summon thy quick waves
And dimpling eddies ; linger not, but haste,
With all thy waters, haste thee to the deep.
There to be* tossed bv shifting winds, and rocked
By that mysterious force which lives within
Tne sea's immensity, and wields the weight
Of its abysses, swaying to-and-fro

108 JSditor's Table. * [July,

The billowy mass, until the stain, at length,

Shall wholly pass awaj, and thou regain

The crystal brightness of thy mountain-springs.'

We should have known these lines to be Bryant*s, if we had encountered
them in a leading column of the London Times, a journal not greatly given
to poetry, unless it be the * poetry of Fact* - - - A word to our friends
the Publishers. Publications sent to the Knickerbocker will be either
noticed in the review department proper, or under the head of the * Literary
Record.* The receipt of all publications received at the office will be acknow-
ledged monthly, whether deemed to demand notice or not Additional aid in
the review department will enable us to do earlier justice than heretofore to the
issues of our long-time friends, the publishers. - - - The new book of
Dr. Francis should have called our attention to the ''Wwoerley Circulating
Library, kept by his publisher, Mr. Charles Roe, Number 697 Broadway :
comprising five thousand volumes of choice books, and intended to obviate the
delay, trouble, and uncertainty attending the over-crowded applications at the
public libraries. It will so. - - - * Uncle Dad Morton,' of Vermont^
who tells the following story, should possess, in connection with Tiia invention,
two or three of our Hen-Persuaders. His success would then be complete :

* Them ancestors of our'n did n't do nothin' half-ways. But, there 's an awful fallin'
off since them times. Why, in my time, when I was a boy, things went on more eco-
nomical than now. We all work'd. My work was to take care of the hens and
chickinj^s, (Dad is famous for his handling of the alphabet,) and I '11 tell yer how I
raised ^m. You know I'se a very thinkin' child, al'as a thinkin' 'ccpt when I'se
asleep. Well, it came to me one night to raise a big lot of chickings from one hen,
and I'll tell ye how I did it. I took an old whisky-barrel, and filled it up with fresh
eggs, and then put it on the south side of the barn, with some horse manure around
it, and then set the old hen on the bung-hole. The old critter kept her sittin' and in

the

head out of the barrel, and covered the barn floor, two deep, all over, with little
chickings. Now, you may laugh as much as you please, but it s true.'

Rather * toughish ' though : how different from the clear and succinct state-
ment of our hen-invention ! - - - * We shall now to couch,' and rest our tired
frame upon Howe^s Elliptic Spring Bed-Bottom, that cool, compact, portable,
durable, cheap, cleanly, and delightful invention, of which our readers may
hear more, on reference to the fourth page of the cover of the present number.
We have * earned a night's repose' as surely as the * Village Blacksmith : ' We
have sailed forty-six miles; read, and ^made up' into pages, between thirty
and forty pages of * matter,' such as it Ls. Moreover, the New-York and Erie
Rail-road is striking twelve from its clear-sounding d6p6t-bell, and we must be
stirring betimes, to hear the birds about the cottage * welcome up the dawn.'
They herald it every early morning, for the pleasure of one pleased and grate-
ful auditor, at least - - - Received, for notice, among other publications,
the following : * Roumania, the Border-Land of the Christian and the Turk,'
by Dr. J. 0. Notes : * The Travellers in Russia: ' * Ursula, a Tale of Country-
Life,' by Mrs. Sewell: *The Boy-Missionary,' by Mrs. Jenny Marsh Parker:

* Devotional Exercises for Schools : ' *A Manual of Speaking, Conversation, and
Debating f' *Tho National Fifth Reader,' by Parker and Watson: and

* The Quaker-Soldier.'

1858.]

JSditor'8 Table. 109

Btcorli of Nft9 $ ttblf catf 4 ns.

TwiLTTH Nxonr at thb Centurt Club. — Does n't old Tempus fugit 'to a degree?
It seems a reiy short time since our humble name was associated with those who
formed the nucleus of *Tke Century,* one memorable evening, at the hospitable rctji-
denoe of an esteemed friend in Amity-street. Scarcely more than a dozen members,
head^ by the veteran Yebplaxck, formed the opening roll : and of these, three,
well beloved and honored, have already passed away : Daniel Setmour, Dr. Johx
Neilsox, Jr., and Robert Kellt. . The Club * grew, waxed strong, and multiplied ; '
antn it has become one of the first, if not t?ie first ' institution * of its kind in the
United States. But this apart : our object being simply to say a few words touching
the quaintly and exquisitely executed volume now gracing our table. The little book
opens with a history, at length, of the ' Twelfth-Night Festival of Merry Old England,'
much of which will be new to many a reader. The * Proclamation ' and * Ordinance,'
the lively ' Poetical Dialogue,' and the * Proceedings ' generally, as here set forth, are
in the appropriate vein, and present a good variety. The ' History ' concludes with :
' The Century Club had observed with regret that the ancient festival of Twelfth
Kight, with its poetical and reverential associations, and its pleasant and picturcsiiue
118^^, which had for ages contributed every year to the innocent enjoyment and
Eocial affections of the Dutch, English, French, Irish, and German ancestors of our
cosmopolitan Xew-York, was fulling into disuse in this over-worked and care-worn
(uty. They therefore felt that it belonged to their proper vocation to endeavor to re-
vive the love and honor duo to this joyous institution. They cherish the lively hope
that the antique pageantry and fantastic ceremonial, mixed with more usual social
Joys, aa presented at the Century CIub*s Twelfth Night of 1358, will by no means,

* LiKB unsubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind : *

bat will rather, as the great Poet himself teaches,

* WiTHBSS more than Faxot^s image,

And tend to something of great constancy.^ *

The Dutch Battle of the Baltic. — While all were reposing from their sumptuous
dinner at the late PaiLs Festival of the Saint Nicholas Society, awaiting pipes,
schnapa, and Pa&s-eggs, there was laid before each member present a handsomely-
printed pamphlet, from the press of Messrs. Pratt and Scuram, Poughkccpsie, en-
titled, *Th€ Dutch JkUtU of the Baltic : one of the most Glorious Achievements of
the Mariners of Holland; a triumph worthy the great Maritime Republic of the
United Provinces.' The production is * dedicated to the Saint Nicholas Society of the
City of Nlenw-Amsterdam and all true Ksikkekbakkbrs,' by the author, ' J. Watts
Db Pbtstbr, Descendant of the HoUandish race.' It is a most creditable perform-
ance ; indicating a thorough knowledge of all the details of the writer's theme, and a
fervor of good honest, patriotic Dutch feelin^:, which it is a pleasure to contemplate.
It could not but have been a * labor of love ' to the author, as is manifested not only
internally, but externally, lie even loves the old typography of Ilolland, and
sprinkles the Dutch types of other days profusely through his pages. The narra-
tive is a most stirring one, and renders ample justice to the noble spirit and deeds
of the Hollanders, and will serve to aid in perpetuating the name and fame of her
great and brave men, William the Third, Van Tromp, Opdam, Wittksex, Wuax(jkl,
and their noble compeers. This brief notice does small justice to the pumplilet be-
fore as : but if it shall serve to call attention to its undeniable merits, our aim will
have been accomplished.

110 Editor's Table. [July, 1858.

Peck's History of Wtomino.— Rev. Gborgx Peck, D.D., has made a worthy con-
tribution to American historj, in k volume just issued by the Messrs. Harper:
* Wyoming : Us History ^ Stirring Incidents^ and Bamantie Adtentvres.* These cha-
racteristics are truly represented in the title. It is a melancholy recital, almost pain-
ful to read : and with few literary graces of style, is nevertheless pregnant with in-
terest, from the abundant and well-authenticated /octo which it perpetuates and pre-
serves, for * posterities of readers.* Many of these facts, to be sure, are not new ;
but they are here brought together in their order of occurrence, and are well-ar-
ranged and discriminated. A brief history of Wyoming is followed by a series of
historic scenes, which constitute natural amplifications of the general outline. Each
story is a complete picture in itself, and yet is a necessary part of the whole. This
plan presents independent views of the historic drama from many different stand-
points. The author's heroes not only reflect the lights and shadows of their own
character and actions, but they give separate versions of the eventful scenes through
which they passed. For forty years, the author claims to have enjoyed rare advan-
tages for the study of the history of Wyoming. His object, he tells us, was * strict
conformity to historic truth ; ' and he has evidently spared no pains in the collection
of his facts, and in their study and exposition ; facts, moreover, ' which constitute a
part of the wonderful history of the early development and fearful struggles of our
country, and which fall behind no portion of that story in exciting interest.' If the
reader would knowwhat sufferings, what perils, what cruel tortures were undergone
by our brave and patriotic ancestors, let them draw near and peruse the very excit-
ing and attractive volume before us. It has several illustrations of various merit.

* The Belle of Washinoton.' — This work, from the press of Pbtbbsok, Phildelphia,
it str^es us, is not a new production. It is by Mrs. N. P. Lascblle, of Washington ;
and if we are not mistaken, it was first published some five or six years ago, under
the title of 'Aiyna Gratson, or the Belle of Washington,' and we well remember that
it was warmly commended in our home-circle. * There is great purity of feeling, no-
bility of soul, and grace in the character of the heroine. There is now and then a
true woman, who, like her, is blessed with wealth, and the generous, benevolent
spirit to leave the banquet-halls of Fashion to spend an hour with the suffering,
dying creatures of our common God. There are some who have hearts to feel for
other's misery, and whose ears are not so deadened by the gay sounds of fashionable
revelry as to be deaf to the wail of the orphan, the sob of the widow, and the prayer
of the beggar. Richer rewards, and a happier life are in store for these than ever
blessed the proud hearts of the selfish leaders of the fashionable world ; a world in
whose creed merit and poverty are little less than crimes. Let the mere butterflies
of humanity read this history, and compare the lives of the two heroines : let them
reflect, and then decide for eternity, whether all the great objects of life are secured
by being petted for a few years and then be forgotten, or only remembered to be de-
tested. Annie, the Senator's daughter, with beauty, and every accomplishment, sup-
plied with all that wealth could give, was enabled to pass through the great mael-
strom of American society with no blighting stain upon her pure soul, and her frivo-
lous mother's example had no effect to overcome the principles that had been instil-
led into her young mind by the sisters.'

«% A WORD, once more, to our correspondents : Copies should be kept by the
writers of brief articles, in prose or verse, sent for insertion in the Enickbrbockkh.
Such cannot be returned : but all articles of length, if not accepted, will be returned
in the course of a week or ten days after their receipt.

n/r/i^ S^^^^.

^THE KNICKERBOCKER.

Vol. LII. AUGUST, 1858. No. 2.

THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS.

Whatever may be said of the merits of the right of search
qaestion, our recent action with regard to it, has done justice
neither to it nor to ourselves. The day has long gone by when it
"was necessary for us to boast of our readiness to fight, in order to
convince the world of our power. There was a time when
our capabilities and resources were vastly greater than people
dreamed of, and when we alone could speak of them with know-
ledge. But the selfassertion wliich is pardonable in obscure
merit, is preposterous in notorious vigor and maturity. No one
will bo a whit more convinced by Senatorial indignation, that the
United States will not brook an insult, and has the means as well
as the will to avenge it. It is certainly not cither the threats or
self-glorification of its statesmen which have given any nation on
earth a high standing. The ' great powers ' are great in virtue
of great deeds. It was not Napoleon's thundering bulletins which
made Europe tremble at his nod. The world would have laughed
at bis blasts of Oriental indignation, if they had not found vent in
Marengo and Austerlitz. ' Rule Britannia ' would be a very lu-
dicrous performance, if there had never been such battles as those
of the Ifile and of Trafalgar. And we may rest assured, that we
owe our present position not to ' war speeches ' or Fourth-of-July
orations, but to our wealth, our commerce, our population, our in-
domitable enterprise, our capacity for self-government, and the
prestige of three bloody wars. If these will not save us from dis-
nonor, Messrs. Seward, and Hale, and Toombs may threaten in
vain. War-whoops such as characterized recent debates in the
Senate, can add nothing to our physical strength,, and they sadly
diminish our moral influence. We have reached that stage of
national growth when it is just as necessary that we should take
the field with dignity, as leave it with honor.

VOL. LII.' 8

112 27ie Freedmn of the Seas. [August,

For all these reasons, we regret that the visitations of our vessels
in the Gulf of Mexico, should have led to hostile language on the
part of men occupying seats in the Senate-Chamber, before it had
been ascertained whether the British Government had authorized
them, and still more, that a fleet should have been equipped and
sent to sea with belligerent instructions, before both sides of the
controversy had been heard. War is a remedy so terrible, for even
the worst of evils, that it has always been justly considered the
last resort of the injured or insulted. It was our duty first to have
heard whether the British officers had any evidence to offer, or
statements to make, in reply to the ex parte testimony of our own
skippers ; next, whether, the facts being acknowledged, they had
acted under orders from their superiors, and if so, what their
Government had to say in justification of such orders ; and lastly,
to have asked for the instant cessation of the acts complained of.
In other words, to have demanded simply, the punishment of the
officers, and reparation, in case they acted without orders ; the re-
vocation of the orders, and reparation, in case they acted with
them. A refusal, in either case, would have been a clear casus
belli; but a due regard both to the claims of justice and humanity,
and our own character, required these steps to be carefully taken,
before the commission of any act, either hostile in itself or leading
to hostilities. Let a nation be ever so satisfied of the justice of its
own cause, it owes it to the public opinion of the world to see that
an appeal to the sword be weU considered and en regie.

The demands made in Congress for the arrest, and even the
execution, of the British naval officers engaged in the ' outrages,'
were not only silly, but displayed ignorance on points with which
all persons who are engaged in the management of public affairs
ought to be familiar. If they acted in obedience to the orders of
their Government, they were unquestionably not personally re-
sponsible for any consequences resulting from the execution of
those orders. This question was discussed between Mr. Webster
and Mr. Fox, the British Minister, in reference to McLeod's case
in 1841, and there was no difference of opinion between them on
the subject. When Mr. Crittenden, then Attorney-General,
was sent on to New-York, to watch the trial on behalf of the
Federal Government, Mr. Webster's letter of instructions con-
tained a full acknowledgment of this principle. He there said :
' That an individual forming part of a public force, and acting
under the authority of his Government, is not to be held answer-
able as a private trespasser or malefactor, is a principle of public
law, sanctioned by the usages of all civilized nations, and which
the Government of the United States has no inclination to dispute.'

Nor is the position that they might lawfuDy be arrested on the
high seas and dealt with by our tribunals, if they acted without
orders, a bit more tenable. The misdemeanors of members of the
public force of a foreign power, committed outside our jurisdiction,
are properly punishable only by their superiors on our demand. If
we might arrest and try them ourselves, we might with«qual show

1868.] 27ie Freedom of the Seas. 113

of reason demand their extradition. The discipline of a foreign
army or navy is something which no government ever attempts to
interfere with, farther than to hold the nation to which it belongs
responsible for its due enforcement toward offences of which it
may have been the subject. To resist a foreiG^n officer in the actual
commission of an offence, is one thing ; to follow him up, and pass
judgment on hun afterward, is another, and the law of nations has
amply recognized the distinction. A little patience and modera-
tion would, in short, have left us in just as good a position regard-
ing the matter in controversy as we hold at this moment, and
would have saved us the humiliation of havincj blustered for two
months, and armed a fleet, upon the strength of ex parte evidence,
and for the purpose of avenging by a bloody war the blunder of
the commander of a gun-boat.

This criticism of our manner of' asserting our dignity, is all
the more allowable, because, if our position as regards the right
of search has finally to be defended by force, that defence can be
undertaken not only with a better grace, but \\dth far more effect,
three months hence than now. Wliat that position is, we believe
but a small portion of the public thoroughly imderstand, because
its consideration has not only been disturbed by passion, but by
recollections derived from the forcible assertion, by Great Britain,
in the last war, of claims which she has long since tacitly but com-
pletely abandoned. To understand and appreciate the points in
dispute, not in their legal merely, but in their moral aspects, it is
necessary to go back a little.

The first controversies which ever arose in modern times about
the free use of the sea for purposes of commerce and navigation,
were occasioned by the attempts of particular powers to claim
certain portions of it as within their territory, and subject to their
exclusive jurisdiction. Great Britain sought to appropriate the
narrow seas in her own neighborhood — ' the four seas of England,'
as they were called — and was stoutly resisted by the Dutch, then
her great commercial rivals. The jealousies bred by their opposing
interests, brought the writers as well as the soldiers of the two
countries into the field. While Rupert and De Witt contested
the supremacy on the ocean, the jurists and poets belabored each
other with ponderous learning or bitter satire. Grotius wrote one
of Ms largest tomes — the Jfare Lihermn — in defence of the
freedom of the seas, and particularly of the German Ocean and St.
George's Channel. Selden responded in his Mare Olausum^ and
overwhelmed his opponent with precedents and quotations. He
was ably seconded by the lighter artillery of the humorists, who
heaped ridicule on the unfortunate Dutch. Butler describes Hol-
land as:

* A COUNTRY that draws fifty feet of water,
In which men live as in the hold of Nature ;
That feed like cannibals on other fishes,
And serve their cousin German up in dishes :
A land that rides at anchor and is moored,
In which men do not lire, but go aboard.'

114 .Tlie Freedom of tJ^ Seas. [August,

Marvell declares that Holland scarce

* DXSEBYES the name of land :

As but the offacouring of the British sand,

And so much earth as was contributed

By English pilots, when they heaved the lead.*

and adds that the ' injured ocean »

* OFT at leap-frog o*er their steeples played,

As if on purpose it on land had come

To show them what 's their Mare Liherum^

Portugal in like manner attempted to appropriate the trade to
the East-Indies, and forbade foreign vessels going round the Cape of
Good Hope ; but all these pretensions speedily gave way before the
common-sense of mankind, and the ocean took its present position
as public property. The establishment of the freedom of the
seas owed, in those days, more to the indomitable energy of the
Dutch than to any thing else. The British had even then given
unmistakable indications of that arrogance of temper which would
brook no rivalry which could be crushed ; and though the Hol-
landers had in excess many of the worst faults of traders, the world
owes them, a debt of gratitude for the indomitable energy with
which they resisted pretensions which might, in the then unsettled
state of international law, readily have been established as prece-
dents which it would have given posterity some trouble to over-
turn. This contest, however, is now interesting only as a matter
of history, inasmuch as no nation nowadays attempts to claim juris-
diction over any portion of the ocean, except the creeks, bays, and
harbors of its own territory, and a league ft'om the shore on the
open sea ; and at the commencement of the present century, it
was well settled that every vessel navigated for a lawful purpose,
had a right to pass where she pleased, with liability, however, to
search at the hands of belligerent cruisers, and under the obliga-
tion of showing her flag to any man-of-war of any nation, in order
to indicate her nationaUty.

This right, accorded with strange unanimity by all nations to
the public vessels of belligerent powers, to search neutral ships,
has occasioned a vast deal of trouble and controversy ; but not so
much on its own account, as on account of the consequences to
which it has led. The search was supposed to be instituted for
three purposes: first to discover the nationaUty of the ship;
next, the nature of the cargo, lest it should prove to be munitions
of war for the use of the enemy; and lastly, the ownership of the.
cargo. If it happened to consist either of contraband of war, or
enemy's goods, it was liable to seizure and forfeiture, and in the
former case, the vessel herself became a lawful prize. So stood
the law of nations on this subject, at the outbreak of the French
Revolution. During the great wars which followed, in many por-
tions of which Great Britain, who was undisputed mistress of the seas,
had half Europe in arms against her, it became very desirable to
effect some change in the doctrine, that enemies' goods on board a

1858.] Tlic Freedom of the Seas. 115

neutral vessel were liable to capture. It was doubly desirable for
the United States, because, while we had no interest in the conflict,
we had every interest in getting hold of as much of the carrying
trade as we could, and this was hardly possible, as long as nearly
every power in Europe was at war with some other power. The
Baltic powers attempted to enforce the rule, that the flag covers
the cargo, by entering into a league, known in history as the
*Armed Neutrality ; ' but, as it was confessed that the doctrine
they put forward was an innovation in the law of nations, Great
Britam stoutly resisted it, and Anally compelled them to abandon
their pretensions. There has been ever since a great deal of con-
troversy, from time to time, as to the rights of neutrals in time of
war, and this country has made strenuous attempts to make the
flag an effectual protection for the cargo, by whomsoever owned,
as long as it is not contraband of war ; but its representations
have so far produced no effect. Upon one point, however, arising
out of this branch of international law, the Ensrlish Court of Ad-
minilty, and the Supreme Court of the United States, have given
decisions directly opposed. The former has decided, that if a
neutral places goods on board an armed belligerent cruiser, he
forfeits his neutrality, and the goods share the fate of the vessel, if
captured ; the latter has laid down with equal clearness, that the
character of the vessel in no way affects the cargo, and so the
matter rests. If another European war were to break out, this
conflict of decisions would lead to some curious complications.

In the limits of an article like the present, it is clearly impossible
to go into all the details of a controversy which has extended over
80 many years, and occupied the attention of so many able states-
men. We must content ourselves with a candid examination of
the rights and ^vrongs of a great question, apart from all considera-
tions suggested by national pride or historical reminiscences.
The cause of the war of 1812 was not the searching of our vessels
by the British, for their right to do so, as long as they were at war
with France or any other European power, was never questioned.
"We nevertheless hear it alleged every day, both on the platform
and in the press, that it was to protect our vessels against search
that we fought ; and the sang-froid with which the assertion is
made, is a singular illustration of the immunity from question or
criticism which a widely-diffused popular error sometimes enjoys.
The offence which we took up arms to avenge, was not the search
of our vessels, either to ascertain their nationality or the nature of
their cargo, but the attempts of Great Britain to use a right which
we never denied her, as a means of enforcing her monstrous doc-
trines upon the subject of the allegiance due from her subjects. We
acknowledged that she might lawfully board our ships, to ascer-
tain whether their papers entitled them to their flag, and whether
their cargoes were privileged from seizure ; but we never acknow-
ledged that British officers might seize any man in our crews, upon
whom they chose to fasten the character of a British subject, and

116 The Freedom of the Seas. [August,

transfer him by force to the royal service. The first was no out-
rage at all, and we never resented it as such ; but sooner than
submit to the latter, we went to war. It is therefore plain enough
that nothing which occurred in 1812, in spite of all that has been
said upon the subject, has any bearing wnatever upon the point
at issue in the controversy now raging, and that all attempts to
find a precedent in it for any thing which we are now doing, or
propose to do, are so much Buncombe.

At the close of that war our position, as well as that of Europe,
upon the subject of visit and search, confined the right to perform
either of these acts to belligerent cruisers. The right of a man-
of-war of any nation, at all times, however, to approach sufficiently
near to any vessel she might meet, to ascertain her nationality and
to require her to show her colors, and, if need be, to compel her
to show them by force, was also universally acknowledged. No-
thing to be found in the law of nations, however, or, in other
words, nothing to which maritime nations imanimously assented,
warranted any greater interference than this, with the right of
free passage over the seas of the world. But for the slave-trade,
in all probability nothing would have occurred to this day, to dis-
turb the opinions entertained by diplomatists on these subjects,
when the IVeaty of Ghent was signed. The actual state of public
opinion with regard to that trade, is something which none of the
old publicists ever contemplated, and for which no provision is to
be found in their writings. It is something also for which the
statesmen who discussed questions of international law in the be-
ginning of the present century, were totally unprepared. It is
consequently almost as absurd to look into Grotius or Puffendorf
for instructions as to the duties of maritime powers toward slave-
traders, as to seek light in Thucydides or Plutarch upon the duties
of modem belligerents toward prisoners of war.

There is still another reason, and in our opinion a stronger one,
why the solution of the present difficulty cannot properly be
sought in what is called international law, and that is, its notorious
uncertainty and vagueness, and the absence of any tribunal whose
interpretations of it are final and binding upon all who profess to
acknowledge its authority. The application of its principles to the
facts in any given case is left wholly to the disputants themselves,
and the value of a code thus enforced and expounded may readily
be estimated. About the principles of law there is rarely much
diffierence of opinion, and if these were aU that had to be ascer-
tained, we should rarely have any litigation between either nations
or individuals. But the main duty of a tribunal of last* resort is
to apply these principles to the fects acknowledged by the parties,
or established by the evidence. International law has established no
such tribunal. It supplies no means of sifting evidence, or ascer-
taining the truth, and it leaves to the parties themselves the task
of weighing and redressing their own wrongs. K we proposed to
decide controversies between individuals by such means, we i^ould

1858.] 77ie Freedoyn of the Seas. 117

be laughed to scorn. If we proposed to take Kent's Commenta-
ries as our standard authority, abolished all the courts, and left
persons who had quarrels to settle to decide them by coirespond-
ence, and quotations fi-om the ex-Chancellor's great work, and in
case of obstinate difference of opinion to punch each other's heads,
we should undoubtedly be pronounced insane. And yet the man-
ner in which questions of international law are settled, presents an
exact parallel to the above hypothesis.

In pouit of fact, we doubt whether in a thousand difficulties be-
tween sovereign states, ten could be selected which were ever ar-
ranged by the submission of both parties to the acknowledged dic-
tum of the law of nations. Whatever jurists and diplomatists may
say, we deny in toto that any such spectacle as general obedience
to abstract rules of right has ever been Avitnessed in the dealings
of nations with one another. Expediency has far oftener regulated
their intercourse than respect for Grotius or Vattel, or the reason-
ing of a diplomatic note. The ' Anued Neutrality ' entered into
by the Baltic powers was notoriously and undeniably in contra-
vention of the established usage, and the dicta of the publicists ;
and it was abandoned not for this reason, but because Great Bri-
tain, who opposed it, was able to exert an overwhelming force in
support of her opinion. No later than four years ago, we offered
cheerfully to join the European powers in such a change of the law
as would render private property, on sea in time of war, sacred ;
and at the very same time we steadfastly refused to concur in the
abolition of privateering, because it happened to be our principal
means of offensive hostilities. In both these cases, we regulated
our conduct not by a reference to legal principles, but to our own
immediate interest. * There is not a page of the history of the last
century and a half which does not furnish numerous examples of
the fidlacy which lurks in the appeals of the ' great powers ' to in-
ternational law. The correspondence by which disputes are al-
ways followed, and hostilities always preceded, is due in most in-
stances to that lingering feeling of respect for public opinion by
which even the strongest and most unscrupulous are actuated, but
it has always struck us as very much resembling that preliminary
growling by which two dogs generally preface a light 15oth stand
perfectly still, face to face, and each waits for the slightest move-
ment from his antagonist to begin the conflict, but neither wishes
to take on himself the responsibility of making it.

But even supposing the law of nations to possess the certainty
and accuracy necessary to regulate international dealings, the

Sower of legislating, of effecting the changes necessary to meet al-
ed customs, opinions, to punish new forms of crime, and provide
for just contingencies, must reside somewhere. The law of nations
certainly had an origin. It did not spring from the brain of Jove,
nor is it a simple embodiment of the rules of abstract justice and
morality. Many of its leading features are arbitrary rules, which
have no foundation whatever in ethics. Many of the leading of-

118 The Freedom of ike 8eas. [August,

fences against it, are mere mala prohibita, and not mala per se.
Piracy, for instance, is of course a crime under any law, but the
distinction between plundering on land in time of war, by private
individuals, and plundering on sea by privateers, is purely arbi-
trary, and receives no sanction from either religion or morality.
The code is full of conventionalisms of the same sort, and these
certainly must have some other origin than the conscience of man-
kind. They are confessedly due to the assent of civilized nations,
and have grown into customs partly through accident and partly
through their practical convenience. K the civilized nations of the
world have the power to make laws, therefore, they surely have
the power to alter them. If they find any thing in a cod^ which
rose into use in times of barbarism and ignorance, which offends
against justice and morality, and retards civilization, they have
surely the right to abrogate it.^ If they can bind, they surely can
loose. If they had power to recognize the slave-trade as a lawful
traffic after the discovery of America, they have unquestionably
power now to brand it as a crime against the human race
and punish it accordingly. To maintain the contrary is to main-
tain that the world four hundred years ago, was more capable of
judging what was best for the interests of mankind than it is
now, and that time can consecrate cruelty and injustice. If, there-*
fore, the law of nations exists rather in name than in reality, and if
it adapts itself readily to the convenience of individual states, our
right to such exemptions, as we claim for our flag, must be mea-
sured by some surer standard ; and if it be a living rule, framed by
the civUized world for the world's good, they who framed have
the right to alter or modify. In either case, it seems to us, the
position taken of late years by our statesmen with reference to the
connection of our flag with the slave-trade, is open to grave objec-
tions. In the former case we owe a duty to society, and ought to
perform it, even with some sacrifice of our dignity, and in the lat-
ter case we owe allegiance to law, and should bow to the will of
the majority. It is now well established that states are moral in-
dividuals, with a conscience to be obeyed and cultivated, and
honor to maintain, with moral duties to perform as well as moral
obligations to fulfil. The theory that a nation can lawfully adopt
a line of conduct for which it can offer no better justification than
the gratification of its own desires, is now repudiated by the best
authorities. The only law of nations which is unmistakably clear
and well defined, is the law of right, and to it our first allegiance
is due. There is considerable doubt hanging round the question,
as round aU similar questions, in what manner cruisers are justified
in ascertaining a vessel's nationality ; and whatever be the proper
manner, it is clearly in any case a purely conventional arrange-
ment, which not only may, but ought to be altered to meet the
requirements of those portions of international law which are based
on immutable justice, and owe none of their authority to either
the convenience or wishes of men. There is consequently a ten-

1858.] ITie JFVeedom of the Seas. 119

fold weightier obligation resting on us to see that our flag does not
cover slave cargoes, than to see that our papers are not examined
by foreign cruisers. Offences, which are mala per se^ claim our
first attention, and should never be neglected for the rigorous
prohibition of those which are only mala prohlbita. This portion
of the case is all the stronger from the fact that to the imperious
demands of abstract morality, are added the common assent of all
civilized nations, and these two create the most solemn form of ob-
ligation.

As regards the injury, which it is alleged we suffer from the
right of visit claimed by Great Britain, it is of two kinds, the one
affecting the national honor, and the other the value of the ship
and cargo. It is an insult to our flag, it is said, to have the right
of any vessel to carry it, inquired into by a foreign officer ; and it
may cause serious loss to individuals to have a vessel delayed, or
brought to, even, while on her voyage. In discussing the value of
these objections, we desire to have it borne in mind, that we pro-
ceed throughout on the assumption that all visitations are made
by the British in good faith, and with the sole object of suppress-
ing the slave-trade. No proof has as yet been oftered of the con-
trary. Now, we think it is a full and complete answer to the first
of these that we suffer a still greater indignity to be offered to our
flag in what is called the ' belligerent right of search,' than has
ever been attempted in the crusade of the slave-trade. We our-
selves have declared the slave-trade piratical, sinful, and abomina-
ble, and all Europe has reechoed our condemnation. We have en-
tered into solemn engagements to put it down, and yet we allow
our flag to cover it with impunity, and refuse either to interfere
ourselves or let others. Yet if a war broke out between France
and England to-morrow, arising out of a controversy to which we
were in no way a party, upon the merits of which we had express-
ed no opinion, and the results of which could in no way affect
us — a controversy it might be in which mankind had no sort of
interest, and caused, as such quarrels often are, to use the words
of Alexander Hamilton, ' by the attachments, enmities, interests,
hopes and fears of private individuals,' or ' by the bigotry, petu-
lances and cabals of a woman ; ' if a war thus begotten broke out,
we should permit our vessels to be stopped on the high seas,
boarded and searched fore-and-aft, above and below, by both
British and French cruisers ; and if the commanders of either one
or other saw fit, to be carried into a foreign port, and submitted
to the adjudication of a foreign tribunal, without a murmur or re-
monstrance. Now if the principle of the in\dolability of the flag
be a good one, surely it would be hard to conceive of a case call-
ing more strongly for its rigorous application than this. What
have we to do with foreign squabbles ? What business is it of
ours if foreign monarchs fall out and fight ? Is their losing their
temper any reason why our ships should be overhauled on the
world's highway, our commerce harassed and impeded, our flag

120 TJie Freedom of the Seas. [August,

insulted and set at naught ? And yet we never complain. If it
be said that the object in view alters the nature of the proceed-
ing, we reply, the suppression of the slave-traffic is an object which
commends itself to our sympathies for a thousand reasons, while
not one can be urged in favor of the seizure of contraband
of war. The dignity of the flag and the inviolability of our
territory do not depend upon the doings or motives of foreign
powers. If they are sacred they are always sacred, unless we
choose for good reasons to abandon a portion of what we claim
for them. No one but ourselves is a proper judge of the time or
the occasion which demands such a saciifice, and we surely cannot
hesitate between the abolition of the African slave-trade and the
convenience of forei^jn bellis^erents.

However, while we see in the strongest light the absurdity of
standing upon our rights while we wink at the commission of great
wrongs upon others, there is no length to which we would not go,
to preserve to ourselves the performance of our own police du-
ties — if we did perform them. There are numerous serious incon-
veniences in principle as well as in practice arising out of the inter-
ference of foreign cruisers with vessels sailing under our flag.
They are in no way diminished by the nature of the object in view,
and we would advise or coimtenance submission to them, only
so long as this submission was the only actual ^hindrance to the
perpetration of the foulest of crimes. There* is a maxim well
known in courts of law, which ought to be just as well known and
as highly prized in diplomatic bureaux : ' He who seeks equity
must do equity ! ' He who appeals to the law for redress must
come into court with clean hands. Our misfortune in this dispute
is that, in spite of our solemn agreements and equally solemn
moral obligations, we do nothing to suppress the slave-trade our-
selves. We claim the broadest immimity for our flag under all
circumstances, and yet take no steps to see that foreign nations
are protected from its abuse. We should remember that if we
have our rights on the seas we have our duties as well ; but the
duties once performed, we would assert the rights against all odds,
and join issue upon the pettiest infringement of the very least of
them.

It is often said of very weak and very poor people, that they
cannot afford to have a conscience ; but no one excuses the rich
and strong for not indulging in the luxury. We are now old
enough, and powerful enough, not only to protect our rights, but
enforce our laws. Our government is 'thoroughly respected both
at home and abroad, and has ample means at its conmiand for car-
rying into effect all lawful wishes. We are ^med for our skill
and courage and independence the world over. We can now
safely commence to build up a reputation for moral integrity and
uprightness ; and if it only extend with our territory, and increase
with our population, we shall have achieved something which no
other nation has ever even attempted.

1858.] The Church in the Sky, 121

THE CHUBCH IN THS SKT.

Ah I there it rises, dim and grand,

Where yon blue vapors lie,
My church amid the purple clouds,

Far up the summer sky.

Behold its misty battlements,

Its airy, gleaming spires !
How bright its arching windows shine.

With opalescent fires.

And higher still, behold its dome,

Majestic, grand, and dim I
In what a radiant glory-sea

Its antique arches swim!

T is based upon the summer clouds,

'T is built of golden blocks.
And with each idle, passing breeze

Its red-cross banner rocks!

But hark ! from yon high, misty tower,

There comes a chime of bells,
And with the sighing twilight wind.

It loud and louder swells I

Ay, list again ! for now is heard

From 'neath the azure dome.
The chanting of the angel-choirs,

Who sing of harvest-home.

Behold them strike their golden harps I
How white their garments gleam I

And o*er them, from yon casements high,
What floods of radiance stream !

Meanwhile, within the chancel kneels

The form of One divine ;
Upon His brow is stamped the cross,

A wondrous, holy sign.

0 radiant soul ! 0 sacred Son !

For whom dost offer prayer ?
T is for Tht wandering flock on earth,

Who doubt, and nigh despair.

But now aslant the mazy aisles,

Mysterious shadows fall,
And soon is vanished from the sight

Each shining jasper wall :

The airy structure disappears,

T was but a twilight dream,
lit for the musing of an hour,

A visionary theme !

122 JBertrande de Hols. [Augnst,

BERTRANDE DE ROLS.

Before the gates of the Palace of Toulouse perished, during
the massacre of St. Bartholomew, M. De Coras, Counsellor to the
Parliament of that city, and a Calvinist by faith. Previous to his
death, however, he had given to the world many of the facts con-
nected with a most remarkable case of imposture, wherein circum-
stances of actual occurrence appeared stranger than the wildest
vagaries of fiction ; a case deemed worthy of being enumerated
among Z^s Causes Cdebres of France.

Martin Guerre, a native of Biscay, married, in early youth,
Bertrande de Rols of the City of Artigues, in the Diocese of Rieux.
They were about the same age, and enjoyed that happy condition
of life equally removed from the privations of poverty and the per-
plexities of wealth. She was worthy, modest, and beautiful. A
union of nine years was, however, blessed with no offspring.
Both were of the opinion that this misfortune was caused by the
operation of some charm, and in accordance with the superstitious
ideas of the time, Bertrande caused four masses to be celebrated,
and ate bread baked in ashes. As a proof of her devotion, she
resisted the solicitations of her parents to separate herself from
Martin Guerre by course of law. The tenth year of their marriage
was crowned with the birth of a son, whom they named Sanxi.
About this time the husband absented himself on account of some
offence committed against his father. The parent's anger was soon
forgotten, but Martin Guerre did not return. Whether he had
become tired of his wife, or had been led away by love of adven-
ture, or perhaps of libertinage, no one knew. They had reason to
believe he was living, but a long time passed without the slightest
information concenunff him.

After eight years of suspense, during which the neglected wife
had lived above reproach, a man presented himself as her husband.
He had the same figure and the same lineaments of face as Martin
Guerre, and was recognized as the husband of Bertrande de Rols
by her four sisters-in-law, her uncle by marriage, her own parents,
and also by herself. She really loved her husband and did not
doubt that she had recovered her loss in the veritable Martin
Guerre. They lived together for the space of three years as hme-
band and wife, having in the mean time two children, one of which
died at birth. He also took possession of the estates at Artigues
and in Biscay, and in every respect acted as the husband of Ber-
trande de Rols,

Pierre Guerre, the uncle of Martin, and several other persons,
finally began to suspect that the assumed husband was an impostor.
If such were the case, Jupiter himself had not more perfectly
played the part of Amphitryon during his absence from the deluded
Alcmena. They believed at first that Bertrande had willingly de-
ceived herself for the reason that the deception was agreeable* It

1858.] Bertrande de Hols. 123

seemed improbable that a resemblaiice however exact could so
mislead a wife who had lived ten years in the matrimonial relation.
Was it possible that an impostor could so represent the manner,
the tones of voice, the gestures of an absent husband, and that in-
describable something which arises from close familiarity, as to
impose upon a wife whom nothing peculiar to her husband can
escape ? However this may be, the incredulous friends of Ber-
trande apparently succeeded in convincing her that the person
with whom she had been living three years was not Martin Guerre,
but an impostor, named Amaud du Tilh. He was arrested and
araigned before the Court of Rieux. Bertrande de Rols demanded
in her petition that, in addition to a penalty to the Crown, the ac-
cused should, with uncovered head, bare feet, and holding a burn-
ing torch in his hand, ask pardon of CrOD, of the King, and of her-
se^ saying that he had falsely, impudently, and wdckedly wronged
her in assuming the name and representing the person of Martin
Guerre ; and finally, that he should be condemned to pay her the
sum of two thousand livres and bear the costs of the trial.

Amaud du Tilh alleged in his defence before the Judge that no
misfortune could, equal his, for the reason that a number of his re-
lations were so base as to deny his name, and even his existence, in
order to obtain possession of his property ; that PieiTC Guerre, who
had instigated the prosecution, was animated by hatred and cu-
pidity ; that those who shared the opinion of the uncle, were per-
secuting him from motives of avarice, and had even suborned his
wife, at the expense of her good name, to engage in this atrocious
procedure.

The accused then explained the cause of his disappearance, and

Sive an account of his life during his long absence from Artigues.
e stated that he had served the King of France as a soldier for
seyen years, and afterward visited Spain. Longino: to see again
his home and kindred, he had returned to them. In spite of the
change which time and the cultivation of a beard had made in his
appearance, he had the satisfaction of having been recognized as
tie husband of Bertrande de Rols, and loaded with caresses by
this same Pierre Guerre who now charged him with imposture.
He declared that he had not lost the friendship of his uncle until
he had demanded of him an account of the property committed to
his keeping, during his own. absence from Artigues ; and that the
tiiarge would never have been preferred had ho been willing to
sacrifice his entire estate. Pierre Guerre, he insisted, had employed
every possible means to efiect his ruin, and even on one occasion
attacked him with the view of taking his life. As the climax of
this unheard-of persecution, he was attempting to make the Court
of Rieux subservient to his base designs. The accused requested
of the Judge that he might be confronted by his wife, who was
not animated by the passion that governed his persecutors, and
therefore could not deny the truth. He also demanded that his
calumniators should be condemned, according to the laws of equity,
to the same penalty which they were desirous of imposing upon

124 Bertrande de RoU. [Aagnst,

himself; that Bertrande de RoLs should be entirely removed from
the influence of Pierre Guerre and his associates, and that the &]se
charges should be forthwith withdrawn.

The Court then instituted a close examination of Amand du
Hlh. He promptly answered all the questions put by the Judge
relative to feiscay ; to the birth-place of Martin Guerre, and his
connections ; to the year, the month, the day even of his marriage ;
to his fether and mother-in-law, the priest and the guests who were
present at the marriage ceremony ; and also to the particular cir-
cumstances occurring on that and the day following, even to ^ving
the names of the persons who went to see him at mid-night m the
nuptial-bed, according to the custom of the country. He spoke
of his son Sanxi, of the day upon which he was bom, of his own
departure, the persons he had met in his travels, of the cities he
had visited in France and in Spain, of persons he had seen in those
countries ; and in order that they might be the more perfectly
convinced of the truth of his depositions, gave the names of indi-
viduals who could confirm all that he had said. In all this, there
was not the slightest circumstance that could be turned against
him. Granting the accused to be an impostor, Martin Guerre him-
self could not have stated the facts more promptly and correctly.
Mercury had not more perfectly recalled to the memory of Sophia
all her previous actions.

It was ordered by the Court that Bertrande de Rols, and several
persons named by the accused, should be submitted to an exami-
nation. Bertrande gave the facts relative to the marriage in
perfect conformity with Amaud du Tilh, with the exception of
mentioning the supposed charm to which allusion has been made.
She related her unwillingness to separate herself from her husband,
in compliance with the wish of her parents, although the marriage
had not been blessed with of&pring, and that the birth of Sanxi
afterward was conclusive proof that the charm had been broken,
and that her husband was no longer impotent.

The accused, who had not heard the deposition of Bertrande,
was then interrogated upon these points. He related in detail the
circumstances connected therewith, mentioning the means they had
employed to dispel the charm, and giving, in every respect, the
same history of the affair as Bertrande hersel£

Amaud du Tilh was now confronted by the plaintiff and all the
witnesses. He demanded again that his wife should be removed
from the influence of Pierre Guerre and his associates, in order
that her judgment might not be perverted by his enemies. The
demand was granted by the Court. He brought exceptions against
the opposing testimony, and asked permission to publish a monitory
to verify these exceptions, and prove that Bertrande de Rols had
been subomed by his persecutors. This was also granted ; but it
was ordered at the same time to make a searching examination at
Peiz, Sagias, and Artigues, into all the circumstances relating to
Martin Guerre, the accused, and Bertrande de Rols, and also in-
vestigate the character of the witnesses. The revelations of the

1858.] Bertrande de Hols. 125

monitory, and the foots elicited in the course of the investigation,
confirmed the virtuous conduct of the forsaken wife.

Of the one hundred and fifty witnesses who were sworn, between
thirty and forty deposed that the accused was the veritable Martin
Guerre, on the ^ound that they had known him well from infancy,
and also recognized him by several marks and scars, which tune
had not removed. A still greater number of witnesses, however,
testified that the defendant was not Martin Guerre, but Arnaud
du Tilh, alias Pousette, declaring that they had been acquainted
with him from the cradle. The remainder of the witnesses, num-
bering more than sixty, averred that the resemblance between the
two was so striking, that they could not affirm whether the ac-
cused was Martin Guerre or Arnaud du Tilh.

The Court then ordered two reports upon the resemblance, or
the want of resemblance, between Sanxi Guerre and the defendant,
and also between the former and the sisters of Martin Guerre. It
resulted from the first report, that Sanxi Guerre did not resemble
the accused, and from the second, that he did resemble the
asters of Martin Guerre. The revelations of the monitory, and
the facts elicited by the investigation, would seem at least to have
left the guilt of Arnaud du Tilli a matter of doubt. But upon the
slight and unreliable proof contained in the two reports he was
convicted of the crime of imposture, and condemned to lose his
head, and, after death, to be quartered. Aside from the doubts
of criminality of which the accused is always to have the benefit, the
tender relations of marriage and of parentage should have availed
somewhat with the Judge in making his decision.

Arnaud du Tilh, having appealed to the Parliament of Toulouse,
that high'Court deemed it necessary to institute a more thorough
inyestigation into the case than had yet been made. It ordered
firat, that Pierre Guerre and Bertrande do Rols should be con-
fronted in presence of the assembly by the accused. On that oc-
casion, Arnaud du Tilh bore an air so assured, and a face so open
and apparently sincere, that the judges believed they saw therein
the evidence of his being the veritable Martin Guerre. Pierre
Guerre and Bertrande, on the contrary, seemed disconcerted.
But as these circumstances could not be regarded as absolute
proo& of innocence, the Court ordered an inquii-y into several im-
portant facts,' concerning which a number of new witnesses were
to be heard. This investigation, instead of enlightening the minds
of the judges, served only to render the case more obscure and
^fficult of decision. Of the thirty new witnesses, nine or ten de-
dared that the accused was the veritable Martin Guerre, and-
seven or eight that he was Arnaud du Tilh : the rest were not
willing to affirm positively on either side.

Among the forty-five witnesses who testified against the accused,
were individuals whose depositions carried great weight. The
most important, perhaps, was his uncle. Carbon Barreau, who re-
cognized him as his nephew, and seeing him in fetters, bitterly de-
plored the unfortunate destiny of one so nearly related to himself.

126 JSertrande de Hols, [August,

It was not to be supposed that a person would, under such circum-
stances, state what was untrue. Nearly all the above witnesses
declared that Martin Guerre was of taller stature, and darker than
the accused ; that he was slender, and a little round-shouldered ;
that his head was thrown somewhat backward ; that his nose was
large and flat, the upper-lip slightly jpendulent, and that there were
two scars upon the face. Arnaud du Tilh, on the contrary, ap-
peared to be thicker-set without being round-shouldered; but
ne bore precisely the same marks upon the face as Martin Guerre.
The shoemaker of the latter testified that there was considerable
difference in the size of the shoes worn by him and those of the
accused. Another witness deposed that Martin Guerre was skilful
in the use of weapons, while Arnaud du Tilh knew nothing about
them. Jean Espagnol affirmed that the accused had made him-
self known to him, but desired that he would keep it secret. Va-
lentine Rugie also deposed that the accused, seeing the witness
recognize him as Arnaud du Tilh, had made him a sign to say
nothmg. Pelegrin de Liberos swore to a similar circumstance, and
stated likewise that the accused had on one occasion given him
two pocket-handkerchiefs, with the instruction that one of them
should be presented to his brother, Jean du Tilh.

Testimony was given by two other persons to the effect that a
soldier from Rochefort, passing by Artigues, was surprised that
the accused should call himself Martin Guerre : he declared openly
that he was an impostor ; that Martiii Guerre was in Flanders, and
that he had a wooden leg in place of a limb carried away by a
cannon-ball before Saint Quentin at the battle of Saint Laurent.
It was added that Martin Guerre was from Biscay, where the
Basque is spoken, a language of which Arnaud du Tilh was almost
entirely ignorant. It was finally deposed by a number of wit-
nesses that the accused had, from an early age, been inclined to
evil practices, and that he was a thief, a perjurer, an atheist, and a
blasphemer. After all this, could he not easily play the character
of an impostor ? Were not the facts testified against him suflicient
for his condemnation ?

The affirmations on the opposite side were, however, still more
conclusive of innocence. Between thirty and forty witnesses testi-
fied that the accused was veritably Martin Guerre, and strength-
ened their testimony by saying that they had been acquainted with
him from infancy, and had frequently eaten and drunk with him.
Among these witnesses were the four sisters of Martin Guerre, who
had been brought up with him, and from the first had maintained
that the accused was their brother. Was it possible for all of these
to be deceived ? Would they not have observed and seized upon
the slightest perceptible difference between the two persons ?

Some of the witnesses, who had been present at the marriage of
Martin Guerre and Bertrande de Rols, gave their testimony in
favor of the accused. Catherine Borre stated that, at raid-night,
she had carried to the newly-married pair the collation, called media

1858.] Bertrande de JRols, 127

noche^ or the HeveiUon, and that the accused was the person whom
she saw in bed with Beitrande de Hols.

A still more remarkable circumstance influenced the testimony
of many of the witnesses in favor of the accused. Martin Guerre
was known to have two prominent upper teeth, a drop of blood
' extra vasated in the left eye, the nail of the index-finger broken,
three warts upon the right hand, and one upon the little finger of
the left hand : the accused bore exactly the same marks. How
oonld Nature have imitated so perfectly these distinguishing pecu-
liarities?

Other, and apparently reliable witnesses, testified to the exist-
ence of a conspiracy between Pierre Guerre and his associates to
min the accused ; that they had sounded one Jean Loze Consul,
of Palhos, to know whether he would furnish money to carry on
fhe trial, but that the latter had refused on the ground that Mar-
tin Guerre was a relative, and that he would rather give money
to saye than to ruin him. It was a common report at Artigues,
they added, that Pierre Guerre and his cabal were persecuting
Martin Guerre against the actual wish of his wife, and that several
persons had heard her say to Pierre Guerre that the accused was
iiis nephew, and no other person.

Nearly all the witnesses agreed in stating that the accused, on
his arrival at Artigues, had recognized and called by name all his
relatives and friends with the intimate familiarity of Maiiin
Guerre ; that he had recalled to those who were but slightly
acquainted with him the places where they had met, conversa-
tions they had held, and parties of pleasure in which they had
joined^ ten, fifteen, and even twenty years before, as if all these
things had been of recent occurrence. What was still more sin-
gular, he had recalled to the mind of Bertrande de Rols the most
intimate and secret events connected with the nuptial-bed — events
of which a husband alone could have knowledge. After the first
caresses, upon his return, he had asked her to bring him his white
breeches, lined with white taffeta, from a certain chest, and she had
found them in the place indicated, although not aware of her hus-
band's possessing such an article of dress.

Was it possible, in the light of all these circumstances, to believe
that the accused was not Martin Guerre ? Could any other brain
than his have been filled with all these ideas ? Was it credible that
an impostor, unacquainted with a single individual in the place
where he wished to practise his deception, could successfully repre-
sent a person who had lived there a number of years, who had
formed a large circle of acquaintances, communicated with people
of every class, and passed through many different scenes ; was it,
indeed, credible that this imposture should succeed when the per-
son in question had a wife who had lived under his eyes a number
of years, and with whom he had intimately communicated uf)on
almost every imaginable subject ? Could the memory of a man,
Ikying the character of another under such trying circumstances,
never be at fault ? Was it not, in fine, morally certain that the

VOL. LII. 9

128 Bertrande de Hols. [Augnst,

accused was none other than the veritable Martin Guerre, the hus-
band of Bertrande de Rols ?

It should be here observed that the result of the second inouiry
as to the resemblance between the accused and the sisters of Mar-
tin Guerre, was entirely favorable to the defendant. The persona
who drew up the report were satisfied that he must be their
brother. But what left apparently not the least doubt of calumny
and fraud against the accused, was the conduct of Bertrande de
Rols during the trial. When she was confi'onted by him, he re*
quii'ed her, by the sacredness of an oath, to testify as to his iden-
tity ; he went so far as to make her his judge, declaring that he
would submit to capital punishment if she would swear that he
was not Martiu. Guerre. Would an impostor have placed himself*
in a position where nothing could avail him but the assurance of
innocence ?

What was the answer of Bertrande ? She declared that she
wished neither to swear nor to believe. It was as if she had said :
' Although I cannot betray the truth that condemns me and speaks
for you, 1 do not, however, wish to acknowledge it, even at the
time when it escapes me in spite of myself, for the reason that I
have now gone too far to turn back.' Observe, also, her conduct
toward the accused before the trial. She had lived with him three
years, as a wife lives with her husband in the tender relation of
matrimony, without complaint ; and it does not appear from the
testimony that she had detected, during that length of time,
any point of difference between the accused and Martin Guerre,
Wnen some one said to her that the person with whom she was
living was not her husband, she angrily contradicted the statement,
declaring that she knew better than any one else, and whoever
said that her husband was an impostor should be made to suffer.
She had also been heard to declare that the accused was Martin
Guerre or an evil spirit in his body, for no two persons could so
exactly resemble each other.

How many times, also, Bertrande de Rols had complained of
Pierre Guerre, and of his wife, who was at the same time her own
mother, for the reason that they had urged her to prosecute the
accused as an impostor I They had even threatened to drive her
from the house unless she complied with their wishes. It was evi-
dent that she had been led away, and was completely under the
influence of Pierre Guerre and her mother. It will be remembered
that the latter had before counselled Bertrande to procure a sep-
aration from her husband on the ground of impotence.

It is reported that the accused, having been thrown into prison
previous to this trial, and for some other offence, at the petition of
Jean d'Escomebeuf, (whose secret colleague was Pierre Guerre,)
it was then asserted that the person arraigned was not the verita*
ble Martin Guerre ; and that Bertrande de Rols also then com-
plained of the constant solicitations of Pierre Guen*e and his wife to
prosecute the accused for imposture. When he had been set at lib-
erty by virtue of the judgment of the Seneschal of Toulouse, whidi

1868.] Bertrande de Rols. 129

pronounced between the parties a decree of contrariety, Bertrande
de Rols received him with demonstrations of joy, caressed him,
and even did not disdain humbly to wasli his feet. Upon the fol-
lowing day, however, Kerrc Guerre, with his associates, had the
inhumanity again to thrust him into prison, having violated thereby
his letter of authority. Was it not evident from all this, that
Bertrande was unable to resist the tyranical ascendency of Pierre
Guerre, especially as she sent the accused, in prison, a dress and
money to purchase provisions ?

It* as one of the ancients has declared, ' it belongs only to a hus-
band to understand his wife,' can it not be said with equal reason,
that a wife alone thoroughly understands her husband ? And since
Bertrande de Rols had long recognized the accused as such, it fol-
lowed that he was Martin Guen-e, and could be no other person.

In view of all these convincing proofs, was not the Court of
Toulouse bound to decide in favor of the accused ?

The mere report of the soldier, that Martin Guerre had been in
Flanders, and lost a leg in the battle of Saint Laurent, it was
argued, could carry no weight in a court of justice. In answer to
the argument that the physical traits of Martin Guerre did not in
every respect correspond with those of the accused, it was an-
swered that the difference related only to the size of the indivi-
duals. Was it singular that Martin Guerre, who w^as slender, and
appeared to be taller than the accused, being yet very young when
be left Artigues, should, after so long an absence, seem shorter and
thick-set ? A person who increases in size becomes apparently
shorter. Nor could the want of resemblance between Sanxi Guerre
and the accused be considered as proof against the latter. How
many children there are which bear not the slightest resemblance to
their father I No argument could be drawn from the circumstance
that the accused did not speak the Basque ; for, ui)on investigation,
it was found that Martin Guerre had been carried from Biscay at
the age of two years or thereabouts. The vicious character attrib-
uted to Amaud du Tilh, was likewise no argument against the
accused, for the reason that he had been shown to be Martin
Guerre. During the three or four years he had lived with Ber-
trande de Rols he had not been charged with being a libertine or
a debauchee.

Li reference to the corresponding marks and scars upon the ac-
cused and Martin Guerre, the prosecution argued that the fact was
not attested by a number of concurrent witnesses, but that for each
mark there was a special witness who testified to having seen the
same upon Martin Guerre. As to the prominent upper teeth, and
the same features and lineaments said to belong to both Martin
Guerre and the accused, does not histoiy give many instances of
resemblance equally remarkable ? Sura, while Pro-consul in Sicily,
met there a poor fisherman who had the same outlines of face and
features, the same size, height, and proportion as himself. The
gestures which Sura was accustomed to make, were natural to the
naherman. He had exactly the same expression of countenance, and

130 Bertrande de JRols. [Angnst,

opened his mouth in the manner peculiar to the Sicilian when laugh-
ing and speaking. What was more singular, they both, stammered
in speech, a circumstance which led the Pro-consul to remark that
he was surprised at so perfect a resemblance, since his father had
never been in Sicily, * Be not surprised,' replied the fisherman,
' my mother was several times at Rome.' Livy states that Meno-
genes, cook to Pompey the Great, resembled his master perfectly.
Many other examples might be given. If resemblance were an
irrefragable argument, how many celebrated impostors who have
availed themselves of it, would have escaped punishment I

Neither was the Court to be deceived by the perfection in which
Arnaud du Tilh had imitated Martin Guerre. He knew the same
persons ; and had been able to recall exactly the dates and circum-
stances of events in which Maitin Guerre had participated. Ar-
naud du Tilh, the prosecution argued, was a skilftd actor, who
had not attempted to play his part without having well studied it
beforehand. He was an ingenious impostor, who had cunningly
devised his plan, who had the art of clothing deception in the
livery of truth, and who could so cover with a veil of impudence
his evil acts as to prevent them from making their legitimate im-
pression upon the minds of othera.

It was also maintained that the accused could draw no advantage
from the refusal of Bertrande de Rols to testify against him. The
taking of an oath in a criminal matter not being m itself proof in
favor of one side, a refusal to testify could not be regarded as
proof in favor of the other. Moreover, were there not timid and
superstitious persons who, frightened by the solenm impressions
which an oath inspires, would not testify even for the truui itself?
It was easy, they averred, to account for the part taken by Ber-
trande de Rols during the three years. Her conduct had been
that of a timid, kind-hearted person, incapable of making a de-
cided resolution, and of proceeding against any one, least of all
against a person from whom she kept nothing in reserve, and re-
garded as another self. A woman of this kind disp>osition suffers
when she is obliged to seek even for justice at the cost of human
life ; her heart is lacerated ; she repents of having gone so far, and
attempts to retrace her steps. Such, the prosecution declared, was
the position of Bertrande de Rols, whose sympathy for an impostor
was stronger than her indignation against him.

These were the proofe and the arguments brought forward in
favor of and agsunst the accused, and on carefully considering the
facts adduced, was it possible to believe that he was not the veri-
table Martin Guerre? For, aside from the evident weight of
testimony on his part, humanity and a tender regard for the con-
dition of Bertrande de Rols and her infant were powerful pleas in
favor of an acquittal. The Court of Toulouse had, indeed, resolved '
to render judgment in favor of the accused, when a remarkable cir-
cumstance supervened. Unexpectedly, as if fiillen from Heaven^ a
second individual presented himself claiming to be the real Martin
Guerre, the husband of Bertrande de Rob. He came, he said,

1858.] Bertrande de Hois. 131

from Spain, and had a wooden leg, as when seen by the soldier
mentioned in the course of the tnal. In a petition presented to
the Court, he gave a history of the imposture, and asked to be ex-
amined. The Court ordered a farther investigation, and also that
the new claimant should be confronted by the accused, by Ber-
trande de Rols, by her sisters-in-law, and the principal witnesses
who had -so positively sworn that Amaud ^u Tilh was no other
than Martin Guerre. He was interrogated concerning the facts
upon which the defendant had already testified, and exhibited the
marks by which they could recognize him, but these were neither
so numerous nor so positive as those furaished by Amaud du Tilh.
They confronted each other in the presence of the court. The ac-
cused treated the new claimant as an impostor, a villain, suborned
by Pierre Guerre, and boldly declared that he would consent to be
hang'ed if he did not prove the charge and cover his enemies with
confusion. In the same confident manner he interrogated his ac-
cuser upon a number of domestic incidents which shomd have been
known to him if he were the real husband of Bertrande de Rols.
The latter did not respond with the same degree of confidence and
assurance of truth as had characterized the testimony of Amaud
du Tilh. Judging from the manner of the two claimants, it was
impossible to do otherwise than accept the assertion of the former.

Having caused Amaud du Tilh to withdraw, the commissioners
examined the new contestant upon a number of secret and particu-
lar facts not before alluded to m the trial ; and the answers bore
every evidence of being truthful. Amaud du Tilh was then ques-
tioned upon the very same points, and responded to the ten or
twelve questions put with the same promptness and assurance as
before.

To determine, if possible, the truth of this mysterious case, the
court then ordered that the four sisters of Martin Guerre, Pierre
Guerre, the brothers of Amaud duTilh, and the principal witnesses
should appear to choose between the two claimants. These all
presented themselves excepting the brothers of Amaud du Tilh, since
the injunctions of the court did not oblige them to be present. It
was deemed inhuman to compel them to testify against their
brother, but their refusal to appear was at least a circumstance
unfavorable to the cause of Amaud du Tilh.

The eldest sister of Martin Guerre came first. Afler a moment's
hesitation, she recognized in him her long-absent brother, and,
weeping, tenderly embraced him. Addressing the court, she ex-
claimed : ' Behold my brother Martin Guerre ! I acknowledge the
error in which this abominable deceiver,' pointing to Arnaud du
Tilh, * has for so long a time kept me, as well as all the inhabitants
of Artigues.' Martm Guerre mingled his tears with those of his
sister. The others recognized him in like manner as the veritable
husband of Bertrande, not excepting the witnesses who had so con-
fidently maintained the contrary.

After all these recognitions, the injured wife was herself brought
forward. She had no sooner cast her eyes upon Martin Guerre

132 Bertrande de Hols. [August,

than, overcome with emotion, trembling like a leaf agitated by the
wind, she sprang forward to embrace him, imploiing pardon for
her fault in having been seduced by the artifices of a base impos-
tor. As an extenuation, she declared that she had been led on by
her too credulous sisters-in-law, who had recognized Amaud du
Tilh as her husband, and that her great desire to see him again had
aided in the deception ; that she had been confirmed in her errors
both by the physical Iraits of the impostor and his recital of par-
ticular circumstances that could have been known only to her hus-
band. But when her eyes wore opened, she said that she had
wished for death to conceal the terrible mistake, and that if the
fear of God had not restrained her, she would have destroyed her-
self; that, unable to endure the shocking thought of having lost
her honor and chastity, she had prosecuted the criminal, and even
procured a judgment of capital punishment against him. The
touching air with which Bertrande de Rols spoke, her tears, and
the sorrow pictured upon her beautiful face, pleaded powerfully for
her. Martm Guerre, who had been so affected when recognized
by his sisters, remained insensible to the exhibitions of love and
penitence on the part of his wife. After listening until she had
finished, he regarded her coldly, and assuming a severe expression
of countenance, said : ' Cease to weep ; I am not to be moved by
your tears ; it is in vain that you attempt to excuse yourself by
the example of my sisters and my uncle. In recognizing a hus-
band, a wife has more discernment than a father or mother, or all
the nearest relatives, and does not permit herself to be deceived
only when she loves her error. You have brought dishonor upon
my house.'

The members of the Court on the side of the prosecution then
endeavored to convince Martin Guerre of the innocence of Ber-
trande de Rols, who was overwhelmed by the cruel conduct of her
husband, but they could not soften his heart or lessen his severity :
time alone could change his sentiments. It does not appear that
Amaud du Tilli was in the mean time disconcerted by these recog-
nitions, for he was one of those determined individuals who brave
the storm at the very instant it is crushing them. The deception,
however, was now clearly unmasked, and the truth vindicatecL

The Court, after a solemn deliberation, rendered judgment
against Arnaud du Tilh, convicting him of no less than seven dis-
tinct crimes in the perpetration ofthis daring imposture. He was
sentenced to ask pardon of God, of the King, and of Martin Guerre
and Bertrande de Rols, upon his knees, before the Church of Ar-
tigues, with naked feet, the halter upon his neck, and a wax taper
in his hand ; then to be conveyed upon a cart through the streets
of Artigues, to be hung before the house of Martin Guerre, and
the body afterward to be burned. The Court also decided that the
costs of the trial should be paid from the estate of the accused, and
that the remainder should be given to his daughter by Bertrande
de Rols, upon the attainment of her majority.

Nor, in the estimation of the tribunal, were Martin Guerre and

1868.] Bertrande de JRols. 138

Bertrande de Rols entirely free from guilt. The former appeared
culpable in having abandoned his wife and given occasion for what
had taken place. But his greatest crime consisted in having borne
arms against his king at the battle of Laurent, where he had lost
a leg by a cannon-ball. Yet in his conduct there had been more
of indiscretion than deUberate wrong. If he had given occasion
for the fault of Bertrande, it was but a remote occasion, at least
an error for which he could not be arraigned before a human tri-
bunal. His bearing arms against his country had also been a mat-
ter of compulsion rather than of choice. Being in Spain, he had
joined the suite of the Cardinal of Burgos, and afterward that of
the Cardinal's brother, who had carried him into Flanders, where
he had been obliged to follow his master to the battle of Laurent,
and where he had lost one of his limbs as a punishment for the
crime they imputed to him.

With regard to Bertrande de Rols, she appeared even more
culpable than her husband. It did not seem possible that a person
coi^d have been so deceived. The fact that for three years they had
striven in vain to convince her of her error, went far to indicate
that it had not been very disagreeable to her. On the contrary, the
good opinion they had of her nobleness of heart and sagacity, the
example of the sisters of Martin Guerre, and so many other per-
sons, the striking resemblance between her husband and the im-
postor, the relation he had given of circumstance the most minute
and mysterious — of events that are confided only to the hymeneal
divinity — the fear of bringing dishonor upon herself in prosecuting
Amaud du Tilh, not being certain of her error ; all these consid-
erations, joined to the rule tliat presumes innocence where no
guilt is proved, inclined the Court in her favor.

While awaiting the execution of the law in the prison of Ar-
tLraes, Amaud du Tilh made a complete confession to the Judge
ofRieux. He stated that he had been encouraged to perpetrate
the crime by the circumstance that on his return from the camp of
Kcardy, some intimate friends of Martin Guerre had mistaken him
for that person. From them he had informed himself of the pa-
rents, sisters, and relatives of the absent husband, and of many
other things concerning him. During his travels he had also met
Martin Guerre himself, who, an intimate acquaintance having
sprung up between them, had communicated freely matters per-
taining to his wife and family, even the most particular and cir-
cumstantial. He related the conversations they had held, and»the
times and occasions of secret events. Martin Guerre, had, in fine,
revealed to Amaud du Tilh the mysteries which a husband ordi-
narily covers with a veil of silence. The condemned had studied
well the character he was about to act, and one might almost have
said that he knew Martin Guerre better than Martm Guerre knew
himself. He denied that he had made use of charms, or attempted
to employ any kind of magic. Before the house of Martin Guerre
he begged his forgiveness and that of his wife, and seeming to be
penetrated with deep sorrow and contrition for his crimes, did not
cease to implore the mercy of God until his execution.

184 Stamen: Mother. [August,

H o T H s B

Tkars are falling fast and faster,

Shades are stealing on my paUi,
Shadows flit before my vision,
Shadows creep along the hearth ;
Mother sits so Uke a statue,
Mother, darling of the earth.

Sad reverses, with their burdens.

Load my weakened, fragile frame,
But I feel a giant^s prowess,
And I swear to fight the same !
Mother sleeps in holy quiet.
Mother, darling of the earth.

Homeless ! ere to-morrow^s sun-set,

And I cannot stay my sorrow :
Through the tears and shadows creeping
Comes the dreary, hated morrow.
Mother weeps, all unconscious,
Mother, darling of the earth.

Forth from home, returning never;
Tongues of fire would vainly tell
All the fears that throb my bosom,
But I cannot break the spell.

Mother smiles with angel sweetness,
Mother, darling of the earth.

Fears have vanished in the radiance

Of my mother's heavenly smile :
Surely mother is not dreaming
All this long and bitter while.

Mother speaks : * My Heavenly Father I
Mother, darling of the earth.

* Heavenly Father, faithful ever,

Try me as it seemeth best.
Faint and weary by the way-side,
Take me home into Tht rest.*
* Mother's prayer in deep afiUction,

Mother, darling of the earth.

Now the music softly swelling,
Take me to my father-lan<^
Let me walk within Tht temple.
Faithful to Tht least command.

Mother's prayer, ah I yes, 't is answered,
Mother, darling of the earth.
CamlridgStiMaat,) H w. F.

1868.] ITie Palimpsest. 135

•

THE NARRATIVE 07 A PATALI8T.

BT EDWARD 8PKK0KS, OF If AETUOn).

I RESUME Abdallah's narrative.

*When I had fully gained possession of my fateful secret, I
stepped forth from my books to seek one by whose favor I might
employ it to my own emolument. The KaUf of my father's time
was dead, and his successor a man of too generous a nature to
avsdl himself of my power. In a son of his father, however, a
true descendant of tne Bagdat Kalifs — by his father's side a son
of Abbas, from his mother a well-bom Emir — I found one who
would well serve my purposes. With all his vices, wliich were as
numerous as the wonders of Paradise, he had a glowing ambition,
ali-grasping, unscrupulous ; and the one virtue of a constant, un-
changing fidelity to his servants, counsellors, and parasites. I
sought him out as he lived in wasteful luxury in Damascus, became
his astrologer and alchemist, and made him the subject of long
study, and artfully contrived evil influence. I began to see, under
the cloak of his luxurious life, the dissatisfaction with circumstance,
and the half-moulded aspirations after power that struggled in his
breast. I gained his confidence, raised him from the grossness
into the rehnement of profligacy, warmed his hopes into being,
and filmed him to my will. When he was ripe, I said to him :
* Scherif, thou wouldst be Kalif ? '

* * Yes, my sage, I would be Kalif.'

' * Thou wouldjst dismiss thy brother to the bright houris, and
in his stead reign at Bagdat ? '
* Thou sayest it, Abdallah.'

* * Know, Emir, that the thing is impossible, for the stars have
forbidden it. The people love thy brother too well, and fear thee
as the children of the desert fear the lion. Thou wilt here but
waste thy life away in vain aspirings. Let us go hence, and I will
make thee Kalif.'

* * Where wilt thou have me go, Abdallah ? '

* * Beyond the seas, O Scherif! is a land where dwell the fiiithfiil.
There, are palaces that surpass those of Damascus and Bagdat ;
there, are dark maids that rival the Peris of Schiraz, and many
sages, wiser than any since the all-potent master ; there, is a great
city that is as fruitful as the date-palm ; a city with six hundred
mosques, from whose minarets the muezzin calls to prayers the
dwellers in two hundred thousand houses, with nine hundred baths,
to make the people subject to a sovereign will. Into that city

186 27ie PalimpMst, [Augtut,

mines of gold and silver pour wealth surpassing the adept's
dream. There, the revenue of the Kalif exceeds the palaced
treasures of the great Alraschid ; there, in that land, is a noble
river, upon whose floweiy banks nestle twelve thousand villages.
This shall be thine.'

' ' Thou speakest of Spain, of Cordova.'

' ' I speak of the inheritance of the children of Abbas, wrested
from them by the weak and effeminate hands of the Ommiyades.
I speak of the land whose Kali& are descended from the fugitive
Abdalrhaman, a son of Ommiyah in the inheritance and pleasant
places of the true heirs of the Prophet.'

' ' Abdallah,' said he joyfully, ' we will go to Cordova, and win
back our inheritance.'

'Then I told him my power over men. His ambitions 80fiil
leaped for joy.

' ' Thou shalt be my Vizier, Abdallah, when I am Kalif. Rnler
of Spain, I will go eastward through France, to hurl from his
throne the shaven dotard of Rome, to hold the pleasant iales and
vales of the Grecian sages.'

' But feite decreed otherwise.

* Even as he grasped his power, he offended me, and died. The
sons of Ommiyah feared me ; for I could raise up and cast down aa
I listed, and so I was powerful in Cordova. My palace was beau-
tiful as the one the genii of Solomon built for the ' master of the
lamp.' The slaves of my harem were more beautiful than the
chosen wives of the Kalif. The learned flocked to hear me talk ;
for my words were as wise as my heart was wicked. The people
feared me, saying, ' He hath the blighting power of the evil eye;'
and no one loved me. But joy fled from my heart. After the
full glow of accomplished purpose came remorse. Fair and smooth
without was I, as the apples that grow by the sea of death ; bat
within, like them, dust and ashes.

' In a battle with the Christian, I one day obtained a monk for
a prize. I gave him the drug with the purpose of torture ; for I
hated man, and loved to behold his wo, his agony, his debasement.
But I had never seen such as this man. When I reviled him, he
blessed me. When I tortured him, he prayed to his 6od for
me. I reflected. I asked him how he got this long-suffering,
patient serenity, so different from what I was wont to know. He
talked with me. My heart softened toward him. I alleviated his
sufferings as I was best able, but told him he must die, giving him
an explanation of the cause. With a smile he forgave me. 1 de-
manded how he was able to do this thing, and he said his Master
had so taught him ; and then he recited the doctrines of his &ith«
I felt that his was a greater God than mine ; and, being baptized,
desired to expiate my sins. He referred me to the devotions and
penance of a monastery, giving me a letter to the Prior of Saint'
Josephus in Asturia. He died blessing me.

<My wealth has gone to those from whom it was plundered*

1858.] The JPalimpsest. 137

To-morrow I go to the convent, seeking, in prayer, repentance, and
good works, to be pardoned. Amen.

* To my unlucky Heir, whomsoever thou shalt be, these things
further :

* My art ( for the devil is permitted to be true ) teaches me
three things.

* Fibst: That the mandate of the -stars is irrevocable, and must
be fuimied.

* (Therefore do I write out this narrative for thy use, that thou
mayst hasten the end.)

* Second : Thou wilt be a fatalist, for that is required to complete
the sacrifice.

* Thibd : Fate will guide thee to the possession of this that I
write, and the cipher ^\dll be as nothing to thine eyes.

* Therefore do I cloak this tliinff, that no curious one may chance
upon it. Perchance in thy day (as is not impossible ) an antidote
shall be found, and the thing be made harmless.

* I shall devote my days to the framing of this potent instrument
of death, into a comely present testimony to the power, and wis-
dom, and goodness of the only God.

* Farther : when it is done, and the bitterness shall come upon
thee, turn unto God. When the head throbs, and the pulse beats
wild, and the hand is eager with a thrust to end all forever, pray.
Bo thou patient, be thou fortified ; for in the strong will is the
true glory of manhood.

^ Let also the rich auguvy of the master, that thou art chosen an
expiatory sacrifice, the offering up of whom shall forever end the
thmg, console thee. For it is whispered unto me, that in thy day
men shall no longer despair.

* O my son I dear to me from a kindred wo, God have mercy
on theo. Amen, and amen.'

Then followed the Latin inscription, and therewith ended the
narrative of Abdallah — therewith termiijiated my Palimpsest.

My work was then done. Oh ! would to God I could here end
my narrative, making it simply the chronicle of a gratified curios-
ity I Yet I could not realize the thing in all its portentous grandeur.
It was impossible for my mind, specially engrossed with the various
steps of the process, so to generalize upon its magnificent conti-
nmty as to take in the horrible certainty of a result whose initial
developments had been so accurately predicted. The individual

I)henomena had so interested me, that I failed to recognize the
aw inevitably deducible from their verification. I was a Pliny on
Vesuvius, who, in studying the wondrous scoriaa, fatally neglected
to guard against the molten flood that seethed beneath. How
coi^ this thing be ? Was it not a dream, a fantasy, taking upon
itself the shape of a hideous reality ? Where was Science, that
she had been so blind ? Where was Fancy that she had not con-

188 ITie Palimpsest. [Augast^

ceived it ? Where was God, that such a thing should exist ?
And could such a catenation of circumstances so dissimilar, so
physically unsupposable in their individual selves, be at all pos-
sible ? Finally, was there such an all-dooming destiny as these
things proclaimed ? Reason forbade the supposition. O thou
fiendish Keason I from what sulphurous hell-vault didst thou come,
still to tempt me on, on to the end, the death, the danmation !
Curses eternal upon ' all thine impious proud-heart sophistries ! '
For that thou wert my bane, laying witheringly thy cold hand
upon my happiness, do I curse thee, curse thee with a curse that
shall cling to thee everlastingly I

Oh ! yes, it was destiny, destiny ! But thou wert destiny's in-
strument, saying to me with skeptic sneer : * Thou wilt be then
deceived by this old priest's mummeries, and accept as gospel
truth all his insanest ravings about the stars and fate. Thou^ who
called thyself Philosopher.'

The measure of my curiosity was not therefore filled up. The
last step in the process remained unverified. The last link of the
chain was yet to be welded on.

And therefore, with half-framed purpose of trying it, I prepared
the poison. It was easily made, i had a six-ounce vial full of it
ready for use in two days. Yes ; enough to slay a regiment of
men quietly rested aneath that glass stopper. O GrOD I why didst
thou permit — why did not some sudden stroke of Thy merciful
Providence smite me to death ere the wo came ?

It was a dark-colored liquid, most resembling laudanum in every
respect. I did not taste it, for there was danger even in a drop.

What then was to be done with it? Did I not combat thee,
thou Reason, thou with unceasing infernal taunts ? Did I not
wrestle with thee, even as Jacob wrestled by night with the
angel at the ford Jabbok : during six months did I not wrestle
with thee unceasingly ?

God in Heaven I I was vanquished I

There came to mj house one night a wretched wayfarer of a
beggar. Such a night it was, dark, wintry, storm-firaught, as
usually comes companion of our woes. The man came in ; and,
while he told his tale of wretchedness, I studied his appearance.
Dirty, ragged, miserable he certjunly seemed ; but through the dirt
and the rags, I saw the brawn of the blacksmith. Wiry muscle,
large bone, long limb, enormous chest — ah I enormous chest,
arched, high, deep — such a chest ! What a pair of lungs must
be underneath that chest ; competent to feed a forge, as that arm
is to handle the sledge-hammer, or to turn the sails of a wind-milL

' What a splendid suligect for your experiment : a perfect test and
eo^perimefitum cruets of your old monk's vaunted drug.* Avaont,
fiend ! tempt me not !

^ *• But see ! watch him now, as he stands by the fire warming
himself, with his arm resting upon the mantel : is that your watch
that lies there, so near to his fingers ? Notice him : how cupidity

1858.] The Palimpsest. 139

inflames his eye ; how he glances warily toward you ; how his
hand slides along, along : look at your book now for a moment — a
moment longer, while he still talks on in his whining tone. His
eyes observe you : there, now look up : the watch is gone I The
wretch repays your kindness by robbing you. To the experiment :
you '11 do no harm ! '
What a struggle it was !

* I must go now. Sir, havm' a long tramp afore me ; with many
thanks for your kindness ; and may the good Lord '

•Stop!' cned'I, starting to my feet, with burning eye-balls
and wild throbbing head. ' Stop I you will take — take — some-
thing — wa-warmmg before you go : the night is bitter.'

* Thankee, Sir : yes. Sir ; but I 'm in a great hurry, if you please.
Sir,' whined he in liis confounded tones.

* In a moment.'

It was but a step ; the next room, and the door open ; hardly a
thought's flight : the six-ounce vial labelled ^Laudanum ; ' thirty
drops only — the largest dose — a warm punch brewed, and — I
gave him the glass! He raised it to his lips like an amateur:
* Tour health, Sir,' drank it down, smacked his lips, and — was
gone ! Ay, gone ! and yet he was a murdered man — the intent ;
ffone, while I closed my eyes, to shut out of sight the deed I was
doing. Gone, gone : where to ? O my God I call him back :
onick ! to the door ! ' Ho, there ! for the love of God and your
life, come back ! ' With a stent or laugh from those bellows lungs,
he runs on the faster. He had taken the watch I

It is not my province to paint the bitter remorse that followed
this deed of mine. I know not how far culpable I was ; for at this
time, I will not pretend to say how far I was then convinced of
the genuineness of the poison. If I may judge the extent of my
guilt by the completeness of my punishment, I should pronounce
with infinitely greater severity than ever mortal pronounced upon
crime. But it is an impertinent spirit of casuistry only that calls *
up these perplexities ; for, behold, the expiation has been made. I
had done wrong ; and, ' as I measured, so was it meted out to me,'
is as good a solution as any. At any rate,

THE Storm-Blast came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong.*

I TREMBLE cvcu now, as I am about to put the last act of this
my drama upon the stage, though its culminating period, in the
onginal representition, dates four years back. It is part of my
punishment that Time, the general Pain-Killer, has wiped away
from my mind none of the vividness of recollection, has mellowed
not any hue, nor softened any line of those stern events. The
'pervading morbidness of my character, has given each day sharper

140 ITie Pcdimpsest. [Angosty

point to the cause of my anguish, made me each day tenderer to
Its fierce contact. As disease riots in its ripeness through my
frame, the ever-recuning blows of an anguished recollection Ml
upon chords more susceptible to jar and harshness, readier to
vibrate with intensest agony, and shnller each day in the key-note of
their woful strophes. Nor will opiates relieve me ; for the reflux
of dream brings back the actual past in such spectral vastness and
horrid amplification, that I am glad to awaken again to the less
fiightful reality. I am conscious of a rapid decay. Even since
I begun this brief narrative, my powers have failed me, and
what was at first continuous, can only be kept up now at inter-
vals, and with a sad distance between intention and performance.
I am warned, and must hasten.

I may say, that at the end of six months I had foi^otten the
beggar, and the haunting terror of the mortal harm Ihad done
him, though, in strictness, he was but for a time supplanted, as
when a friend sits in the lap of the spectral skeleton who visits
you, and, by the act of contrast, banishes him. For, in that time,
a culminating happiness rose sun-like over the shadowy phantom,
so that I saw it not* In the full life, blush, and glow of my June,
I forgot November. Huldbrand saw not Kiilebom, for Undine
was with him. In the June actually following that actual Novem-
ber, I brought in my Penates, and made of my cottage a home.
After a brief season of rose-hued courtship — to drop metar
phor — I married the woman of my choice, and the sun-shine of love
beamed in rich and calm effulgence into my heart. Irene 1 thy
name, dear one, was symbol of peace ; and peace was thy gift, the
office of thy ministration. Peace, peace, brief yet full ; temporal,
yet gloriously perfect. The daughter of an humble minister, she
had grown up in the seclusion of an intelligent home-circle, a
' perfect woman ; ' and when by chance I met ner, she struck me
as the prime ideal of manhood's mature dream. O thou angel t
in thy grace and beauty thou wert, as they named thee, of a
surety — Irene !

I dare not linger to think. I cannot say with the poet :

* But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies ;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.*

For woes with me, being dwelt on, acquire keenness and polish to
pierce yet deeper, and more searchingly to bare the sore spot to
the agony-gifled air. O Irene, Irene I when thou wentest forth
thou didst take thv name with thee !

We were married, and I took her, my cherished idol, to my
home. What of great happiness was mine during the first year
of our union, I shall not speak of: I was content. But the
year rolled by: it was my 'heichth of noon;' and, without
the waning even, the twihght, the gradual softening of soiir.
shine into shade, black mid-night came sudden upon the * garish

1868.] ITie Paiimpsest. 141

day.' Scarce had the second year travelled through half its
course, ay, even just as * drear November' crept on the yel-
low autumn — the second November from that hour of my
crime — I noticed my wife much troubled with a cough. This had
continued but a brief fortnight, when it was followed by a hem-

morrhage from the lungs. The doctor — you, dear B , who

will first read this — pronounced her disease consumption, incur-
able, most rapid. You saw my despair, you thought. You saw
it not I You Knew not one infinitesimal fragment of its profundity.
Eternal, inscrutable Providence ! how shall I interpret thy de-
crees ? Shall I think that lex talionis is the law of Tuins infinite
wisdom, as it is of man's narrow, passionate unpulse ?

Enough : I hurry on. I am hurried on by an aiid simoon-blast,
that scorches me if I fiilter but a moment.

I sought my poison, with a half-determination of administering
it, however perilous was the experiment, in its alleviative form,
should other resorts fail.

Bear with me, reader — I have suffered : the recollection of how
much, half-crazes me, even now. Tlie bottle was gone ! How I
put down the ghastly horror that seized me, steeled myself into
calmness, assumed a smile, I know not ; but I did all this, and
sought my wife, as she lay coughing upon a sofa in our bed-room.

* Irene, what have you done with the bottle of laudanum you
asked me for a couple of weeks ago ? '

* It is there, upon the mantel.'

Yes, without a doubt, there it was ! I looked at it, the dark
brown liquid resting so innocently aneath the glass stopper. There
it was : there, there ; yet Reason said, It can do no harm ! I tell
thee 't was not a thing : it was a devil that had cajoled me, and
was now devouring me. What ! hath not the fiend power of mul-
titudinous metamorphosis ? Then is his function of tempter but
a name, a sinecure, not an ofiice. Yes : there it was.

* Irene ! did you use any of it ? did you take it — swallow it,
I mean ? '

* Yes : I gave the baby three drops, to quiet him, he was in so
much pain, and took some myself for the tooth-ache, as the doctor
told me to do.'

* You do not want it any more ? '

* Not just now.'

My God I no ! for thou hast had enough, and more than enough,

poor rat, nibbling at the banc that was meant for ay, meant

ibr thee too; that being its office, to destroy, to ' kis9 all beautiful,
unsuspecting ones with its ' cancerous kisses,' even unto death in-
evitable.' And thou, too, little one ; even thou, slumbering in
thy cradle, wert not spared; for thou wert ' first-bom,' and the
sprinkling hyssop had set no token over the threshold.

I took the vial in my hand, and returned to my study.

The blow had fallen.

Wo absolute, unconditional ; misery eternal, whence there waa

142 The PalimpaesL [August,

no escape, of which there was no mitigation ; utter, final, perpetual
banishment from the paradise of my joys into a dark abyss of de-
solation, inexorable, decreed ; hell of the inner circle, of tne lowest
depth, with never a drop of Lethe water for my tongue ; a fiat
gone forth of the Interminable Wisdom, dooming me everlastingly.
All this I comprehended in that blow, and fell before it, crushed
by the weight of my ruin. I could not shriek out, or cry aloud ;
my agony was too deadening. Congealed with horror I lay upon
the floor, silent under a load of woes, each one of which, ' so many
and so huge, would ask a life to wail.' It was the benumbing
agony of one buried alive, that cannot call out and be saved.

O man ! how singular and perverse art thou in thy attributes !
"Why wilt thou clutch so eagerly, cling so fondly to thy little meed
of happiness, that, at any moment, may perish before thy face ?
Wliy dost thou ever build thy fair domains upon the perishable
sands, and cast about for an eternity of real benefaction, which is
but pictured upon the mutable clouds ? O thou foolish one I ever
dost thou embark in one slight hull all thine high-wrought hopes,
all the wide expanse of thine impassioned expectation, thy wealth
of life, thy life itself, that the quick-coming blast may overturn and
merge, wrecked, in the abyss forever I Ever dost thou, O im-
mortal. Error ! having formed a bright paradise, wherein whisper
angels and cluster hopes like flowers in spring, wherein abide all
that thou hast of past and of prospect, of bloom and of glow, of
sunny beauty and fantastic divine things — ever dost thou then be
made therefrom an exile, an alien eternally I Thou art ever the
child, which, when he hath laden his paper bark with every pleasur-
able toy, doth thrust it out into the stream forever, as tne dusk
mother by Ganges setteth her first-bom afloat to perish, and re-
tumeth nevermore to smile.

While I lay thus prostrate, there came to me a vision of one
dying, wasted by long disease. The scene took upon itself the
semblance of a hospital ward-room, where were many sick, groan-
ing and complaining, fevered and weary. One only form was there
for me, however : the form of a man, the shell of a man who had
once possessed the brawn of a blackmith. There were the long
lunbs, large-boned, over which the wasted flesh was now but
sparingly bestowed. Wiry muscle was not there — had long fled :
dirt and rags were not there : the man had been purified in form
and in spirit too, to judge from the tempered flicker of the eye.
Thank God for that I But the man was there^ and for that reason,
I knew, had libund the six-ounce vial, labelled ^Laudanun^ where
I had found it. For the enormous chest, arched, high, deep, was no
longer as of old ; but a hollow, rattling, shrunken chest, from under
which but a faint and painful breath could be drawn out of those bel-
lows lungs, and the Stentor voice was feeble as, ' ' Give me some
drink,Titinius,' like a sick girl.' No wind-mill, anvil power was there ;
but only power to cough, and to feed itself with gruel^ being raised up.

* Thou art the man ! '

1868.] The Palifnpsest. 143

0 Heaven ! save me from that cry, that chorus of the furies !
It was Abel's blood crying out from the earth, ever, ever, ever :

*Thou art the man ! '

Ay, I knew it. I had done that, and therefore, ' Behold this !
For, as the one was thy deed, so shall the other be thy deed — thi/
deed, man : not God's, but thine, thine, thine ! '

• • • • • . • •

Power fails me to paint even the quality of my suffering. How
long I lay there I do not know. Thanks be to God, I was at length
aroused, and in the most salutary manner, by the calling voice of
my wife. I mechanically told her I would shortly be with her.
Then I resolved to crush do\vn my grief, so that it might not give
her pain. A fearful effort it cost, but I succeeded. Recognizing
my vision not as a dream, but as a reality, which space had been an-
nihilated to enable me to witness, I bowed my head to the fate it
betokened ; and, seeing that it was inevitable, made it endurable.

1 will not prolong the recital. In less than two weeks, our child
died ; and this blow, combined "vvith the disease, made my Irene
sink 80 rapidly, that the doctor assured me she would not survive

two weeks. You will remember, dear B , and pardon the

wild fierceness with which I contradicted your assertion, saying
{hat she would live a year and more. In fine, I saw that no other
means could avail, so I gave her the aJleviative dose prescribed by
Abdollah, and which, I was persuaded, had been efficient in the
case of him who haunts me. You will recall, dear friend, how in-
stantaneously she seemed to improve, to recover; so that you were
disposed to doubt your own judgment in regard to the nature of
the case. But there was no elysium of a doubt permitted to me,
poor doomed one. I had proven all too certainly, and at too high
8oal-cost, to be able so to do.

She lived a year, during which

Well, I will not dwell on it. I must hasten, hasten, for the pulse
IB nearly gone.

Before Irene died, a day or two, when she was calm, and suffered
little, when bright hopes of the future had enrayed the gloomy
present, I ventured to tell her all, from the first, and she forgave
me. Yes : with a blessed forgiveness, that has since been the one
ray on a path of mid-night ; not only forgave me, but by a cheer-
ful acquiescence in my fatalism, seemed to relieve me from blame.

What surpasseth the love of a woman I

She died m my arms, her expiatmg breath murmuring a prayer
for her murderer I

You guess the sequel. Dare you blame me ? Was I criminal
in resortmg to that fate-fraught vial, with determination to suffer
all that they had suffered, and in all things to make their sad ordeal
mystem rule ?

Had I been as I am now, I mean in regard to spiritual impres-
nons, and knowledge of ethical duties, I might have

YOL. LH. 10

144 The Palimpsest. [August,

NoTB. — As the province of fiction is the probable, either of the end sought, or of
the means toward that end, all that is needed to vindicate the theory of the * Palimp-
sest ' is the establishment of the likdihood of such a poison as is therein mentioned.
This can be readily accomplished, for all through the ancient annals we find mention
of secret poisoning. Setting aside the more modern and well-known case of the
Marchioness db Brinyillieos, and also that of the Roman woman Tophania and her
deadly ' Manna of Saint Nicholas of Bari/ we need only refer to the accounts handed
down to us of the Bobgias to see the perfection to which the art of poisoning has been
carried.

But it was among the older nations of the earth that the knowledge of slow poison
was most horribly prevalent. And these poisons were the more deadly because com-
posed almost entirely of vegetable or animal substances, thus transcending modem
infamy, which has to rely upon the easily detected mineral poisons, or such vegetable
substances as produce unmistakable symptoms. Kalm, in his travels, mentions a
plant, the name of which he refuses to give, from which, he says, the American
Indians prepare a slow poison, which causes death by a lingering ^neumjption after
the expiration of years. In Plutarch's life of Aratus we find the death of that
Achaean general attributed to a like cause. Philip of Macedon desired Phaubiok,
one of his friends, to have him taken off in a private manner. * That officer, accord-
ingly, having formed an acquaintance with him, gave him a dose, not of a sharp or
violent kind, but such a one as causes lingering heats and a slight cough, and gradually
brings the body to decay. ^ Connected with this account, Plutabch makes especial
mention of spitting of blood as a prominent symptom.

QuixcTiLiAN {Declamat., zvii. 11.) speaks of a poison of similar effects in such Ian*
guage, that it is evident its uses were well known in his time. Again, Thbophrabtus
{Hist. Hant, '\x. c. 16) writes thus : * They say a poison can be prepared from aconite
so as to occasion death within a certain period, sttch as two, three, or six months, a
year, and even sometimes two years. .... No remedy has been found out for this
poison.' He also speaks of one Thrastas, a native of Mantinea in Arcadia, and a fa-
mous botanist, who could prepare a poison from certain herbs which, given in doses
of a drachm, produced death in a certain but easy and painless manner, the ^ects of
which poison could be delayed for an indefinite period.

* This poison,' says the learned Bbckman, ' was much used at Rome, about two hnn-
dred years before the Christian era.' ( Vide Litt, lib. viii. c. 18.) It was by snch a
poison that Sbjanus made way with Drusus : ' Igitur Sbjanus, maturandum ratas,
deligit venenum, quo paulatim inrepente, fortuUus morbus adsimuUtretur : id Dmso
datum per Lygdum spadonem, ut octo post annos cognitum est' (Taciti Annalium,
lib. iv. c. 8.) Such a poison did Aorippina cause Locusta to prepare for Claudius ;
but so great was her impatience, that she changed it into one more active. This Lo-
OUSTA (who, expert as she was, the satirist says was excelled by the Roman matrons :

' Instituitqub rudes melior Locusta propinquas
Per famum et populum nigros effere maritos. — Juyxkal, Sat L 70:)

also prepared the poison with which Nbro slew Britannious. The poison which the
Carthaginians administered to Rboulus, is supposed to have been one of a similar
character with that of Thrastas. We read in Avicenna, that the Egyptian kings
made frequent use of slow poison. {De viribus Cordis.)

A peculiar circumstance connected with these poisons is, that they were aU of a
Tege table or animal nature. Many were componnded from aconite, hemlock, or
poppy. The most remarkable animal poison, was that extracted from the sea-hare,
(Upus marinus,) of which we find numerous accounts in ancient writers, partionlariy
DioscoRiDBS, Galbn, Plint, ^lian, and Nicakdbr. Modem science has only begun
to reveal the terrible capacities of the vegetable kingdom in the undetected destniction
of human life ; and it is probable that the etnpirical inventions of Eastern pharma-
cists and herb-doctors is still far in advance of authentic science, so &r as regards
the specific effects of herb-decoctions and extracts, upon the animal economy. ■. a.
•ri»iM,1858.

1868.] 27ie Boatman of Whitehall 145

THE BOATMAN OF WHITEHALL.

TEB BIVALB.

r Oh I many a boat may cleaye the bay,
And many an oar may rise and fall,
But none can match the sturdy stroke
Of Ben the Boatman of Whitehall.

ffis skin ia as the autumn brown,
Through which there shows a struggling red,

And chestnut locks, that curl like vines,
Weave glossy garlands round his head.

There is no fear within his eyes,

No secrets underlie his lips :
The thoughts within his soul are plain

As on the sea the sailing ships.

And he ^s to me the fairest lad

That ever bent to bending oar :
And I to him the dearest maid

That ever trod the Jersey shore.

For one slow-footed summer's eve,
Upon Weehawken's splintered crest,

When shadows crawled across the bay.
And the great sun sailed down the west,

He swore to me eternal love.

And I to him eternal truth.
Till by the light of early stars

We sealed the warranty of youth.

I had my pet — my father his,

A jaunty youth called Willy More :

Soft-voiced, smooth-skinned, and dandified,
He yet could pull a dainty oar.

So WiLLT More oame wooing me.

With rings and chains and scented locks.

And talked my poor old father round
With mortgage-bonds and rail-road stocks.

And then to me he M prate and prate
Town-talk, how idle and absurd !

Of balls to which he had not been.
And operas I had never heard.

What cared I for his city airs.

His honeyed speech, his stocks and lands ;
Bin wealthier seemed in truth and love.

Although he sued with empty hands.

146 ITie Boatman of W?iitehaU, [August,

Thus, 'twixt my father and myself,

There blew a gale of constant strife ;
He favored Willy, while I vowed

That none but Ben should call me wife.

So steadily the struggle ran,

Until one day, to my surprise,
My father, as if wearied out,

Offered the strangest compromise :

*■ Willy and Ben,* the old man said,
* Were the best oarsmen in the bay,
Let them be matched, the victor one
To bear the prize (myself) away.'

*T was settled. More took up the gage,

And smiled as if he held success ;
While I, whose all in life was staked.

Went trembling for my happiness.

T H B B A 0 B.

Oh t brightly rose the summer's sim
Above the blue horizon's brink,

And tipped with gold the cedar crests
That crown the hills of Neversink.

And many a boat went down the b^y,
With coxswain keen and oarsmen tEdl,

To see the race 'twixt Dandy More
And Bin the Boatman of Whitehall.

As in and out between the throng
Of flitting skiifs Ben piUled his boat,

While now and then a snatch of song
Came bubbling from his brawny throat ;

He looked so full of youthful power,
Such manly sweep was in his oar.

That sudden peace fell on my soul,
And I was cheered, and sighed no more.

That arm, thought I, can never flag,
That heart can never know disgrace :

The light of coming conquest shines
In the brown glory of his face.

And I already seem to hear
The ringing thunder of the cheers.

As far ahead, his gallant boat
Hard by the winning-post he steers ;

And seem to hear hhn panting say.
While in his quivering arms I lie ;
«OLife! OLove! No happier lad

Breathes on Gk>D's earth this day than 1 1 '

1858.] Tlie Boatman of WhiteJiall 147

The word was given, and Ben and Will

Rowed slowlj to the starting-place :
I could not look, but kept my eves

Fixed on my father's stem-set face.

And as I gazed, there seemed to crawl

A sudden darkness over me ;
And hope sank — as the shotted corpHc

Sinks in the unrestoring sea.

The word was given : I closed my eyes :

A thousand voices yelled, *Away ! *
The thudding of a thousand oars

Went dully rolling up the bay.

♦They're oflf!' * He gains!' *W]io gains?' *Wliy, WillI'

* No, Ben ! ' * Hurrah ! well done, well done ! '
•Good Boy ! ' See, Ben 's ahead — brave Bkn ! '

* I '11 back the lad at ten to one ! '

So round me rolled a bubbling hum

Of broken speech. What right had they

To speak at all, when I, Bkn's love,
In agony and silence lay ?

But high above that meddling din,

I heard a sound that fainter grew ;
A sound of oars in measured fall,

A music that my spirit knew.

And then I prayed, oh I how I prayed I

I'orgive me, God, if earthly love
Freighted the hurried messengers

I sent that day to Thee above.

The hot, kind tears unsealed my eyes :

At first all sense of vision fled :
At last I saw : the boats were round.

And — horror I — Willy was ahead I

Ahead ! ahead ! on, on they came,
With bending backs and bending oars ;

Already Willtts comrades shook
With cheer on cheer the echoing shores.

On, on they came ; a length between

Their boats that, hissing, cut the sea :
Is this the way my prayer was heard ?

0 BsN t one stroke for life — for me !

They near the goal — one minute more,

Ajid Willy wins — and I am lost!
One minute more : 0 Ben t give way !

Full, though your life should pay the cost.

I breathe not : would I never breathed !

I — ah ! what 's that ? A snap, a cry I
Oar broken ! Whose ? Not Ben's ? No, Will's I

Joy ! Ben, brave Ben shoots, victor, by !

148 Something about Wine. [August,

If joy could kill, then I had died,

when on Ben*s brow I laid my lips,
And heard him swear he prouder was

Than if he owned a hundred ships.

And I so happy was, I smiled

Even on sullen Dandy More :
The fool who would have broke my heart ;

But only broke, instead, an oar.

Was this the end ? Ah I no ! though all

That youthful fire has fled away ;
Though Ben no longer tugs the oar,

And in my hair are threads of gray*;

The poem of our wedded life

Might still in sweeter numbers fall
Than e^en the tale, how I was won

By Ben the Boatman of Whitehall t

SOMETHING ABOUT WINE,

BT H. T. TUOKBRIfAB.

' Oh ! that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains.'

SOAKSPKABB.

' And wine that maketh glad the heart of man.' — Psalm av.

The extraordinary revelations of chemistry, which indicate the
mineral nutriment of animal life obtained through plants, have no
illustration so delicate and marvellous as that or the grape. That
magnesia is a constituent of oats, and was made by a speculative
Scot to account for the local genius of his nation fed on oat-cake ;
that the phosphorus abounding in fish is a cerebral stimulant, whence
a minute philosopher might infer the frequent coincidence of pis-
catorial and meditative tastes ; are £icts of physiological science
curious indeed, but not so refined and complex marvels as may be
found in those exquisite distillations of the soil conserved m a
grape-skin. When it is remembered how the peculiar flavor,
strength, and quality of wine is identified with distinct parts of
the globe, derived from special traits of soil, season, and atmo-
sphere ; and how, through ages, this individuality has remained in-
tact, we realize the aristocracy of vegetable race, the law of blood
in the vine. Grains, grasses, and fruit-trees — the commonalty
of agriculture — are reproduced identical in various countries.
Hie French emigre tastes the pear of hi» native province in an
orchard of New-England; the Italian finds in the aboriginal

i858.] Something about Wine, 149

maize of this continent the *• gran Turco^ of Lombardy; and

Clinton discovered in a wild cereal of Western New-York, a fari-

naceons product indigenoua on the shores of the Caspian. But

there are varieties of the grape, not only confined to a certain

latitude or island, but to a few acres of favored earth, whose

qualities alone, by an inscrutable and inimitable combination of

elements, produce an unique vinous result.

Sometimes a world-wide fame and vsiluc, as in the case of Madeira

and Champagne, and Chateau Margaux, is the evidence of this local

superiority and character ; and in others, the merit is known only to

a neighborhood, and the privilege monopolized by a single family.

The iamous poem of ' Bacchus m Tuscany ' celebrates two villas

thus &yored :

* Ma lodato
Celebrato
Coronato

Sia l*croc, che nelle Tigne
Di Petraja e di Castello
Fianti prima il Moscadcllo.'

In volcanic countries, these isolated gems of vine-yards are
of frequent occurrence ; and their secret treasure guarded with
jealous care. Out of Sicily, the wine universally known as
the characteristic product of that fertile island is Marsala : only
the long resident, or favored traveller is aware that a small frater-
nity of monks boast a row of vines springing from a few roods of
decomposed lava, which yield annually fifty gallons of a nectar,
which seems to unite the vital salubrity of Etna's salts with the
prolific glow of her hidden fires and the cool purity of her virgin
snow; these varied elements, 'so mixed' into a rich yet deli-
cate vintage, that no one who has shared can ever forget
the special flavor of the hospitality enjoyed at the convent of
San Placido. The Garonne's rushing tributaries have, during cen-
turies, brought from the Pyrenees deposits that form a soil whence
spring some of the choicest wines ; so hard is it two or three feet
beneath, that it must be broken before the vines will grow ; and
the best Medoc is bom on a pebbly ground of quartz ; the vine,
indeed, requires what is called stony soil, because it is more
retentive of heat by night.

There is an analogy between the customary beverage and the
character of a people, which suggests many philosophical infer-
ences. All travellei*s have noted the infrequency of ebriety, and
the cheerful, vivacious disposition of the peasantry in wine coun-
tries ; the social degradation incident to excess in alcoholical drinks,
and the heavy dogmatism and stolid temper observable among the
working-class of Great Britain, whose ' habitual drink is malt-
liquor. There is an intimate relation between German metaphy-
sics and beer. * It is little wonder,' says an acute writer, * that
the German nation should remain subject to the rule of thirty-six
petty tyrants, when, in fact, beer, by its properties, destroys all
fine distinctions, and its h*abitual use grinds the edge from our cri-

160 Somethmg about Wme. [August,

tical faculties.' But there is also a singular adaptation in these to the
climate. Englishmen who daily imbibe their ' Brown Stout ' with
impunity at home, find it productive of vertigo and plethora in the
United States, where the sun-shine and alternations of temperature
develop such a degree of nervous excitability, as to make solid
etimulants imwholesome. In Russia, a man exposed to the ele-
ments, and accustomed to labor, would find claret an ineffective
substitute for brandy. Tlie latter is seldom palatable in Southern
Europe, except in the diminutive cordial-glass, and after a meal ;
while the common wine, all things being equal, produces a glow
and exhilaration which only a water-drinker would realize in north-
em latitudes. We wonder, in France, how a glass of old Ma-
deira could have ever seemed otherwise than hery ; and, while
amid the fogs of London, Port has the taste of a seasonable re-
storative, in Italy its body and warmth are oppressive and heat-
ing. It needs an ascent of the Highlands and a Scotch mist, or
a January night in America, to develop the innate virtue of
* Mountain Dew. Orvieto tastes flat away from Rome, and Vino
(PAsti is a homely draught, except in the temperate latitude of
Lombardy. Old Rum, we are assured by Creole planters, can
never be fully appreciated except in the West-Indies ; and to duly
estimate the excellence of Schnapps^ one should be in Java or
Holland. This sense of the appropriate in dietetics is felt when we
first imbibe wine in the country of its growth. Panting with the
ascent of Vesuvius, we subscribe heartily to the extravagant
laudation of Lachyrma' Ghristi :

* What undisceming clown was he

Who first applied that doleful name,
A bugbear to good companle,

To wine which warms the heart like flame ?
A jsmilc were fitter word than tear

For what our generous grapes glye here.'

Dining at Bordeaux, we respond to the inspiration of her vintages ;
gazing on the picturesque scenery of Heidelberg, we think Rhenish
the best of vinous entertainment ; the saccharine Malaga and Mus-
catel are delicious in Spain, and the strength of Sherry is a happy
medium to brain and nerves at Cadiz. Tokay has its impenal
sway undisputed in Hungary ; and Sitka, if our explorers are to
be credited, is the best of toddies at Japan. The relish of wines
especlaUy is dependent upon time and place ; they seem to have a
local and untranslatable virtue, except in those species whicK
from inherent power, improve, like great souls, bv tpansit and
range. It adds to the mellow rareness of the strong wines, as it does
to the manly energy of the generous seaman, to ' double the Gape ;'
but the more delicate varieties, like the graces of feminine cha-
racter, keep and impart their choicest zest in the atmosphere of
home.

In the history of modem reforms, should such a work be ever
written by a philosopher, no chapter will yield more remarkable
&cts than that devoted to Temperance. The reaction inevitable

1858.] Something about Wine. 161

to all social revolutions and extremes of opinion, now throws an
apathetic spell over the subject: but the sinnultaneous crusade
against stimulating drinks undertaken in England and America ;
the means resorted to ; the eloquence and the treasure ; the banded
fraternities and the single apostles ; the tragic confessions and the
extraordinary reformations ; the intensity of the public zeal and
the abnegation of private rights of judgment and action, which
were dedicated to this movement, have no parallel in the social
annals of modern civilization. Probably the extent and demoral-
ization of intemperance in the use of alcohol, were not exaggerated
by the most fiery advocates of this reform ; probably the most
ultra measures adopted were requisite to the moral exigency ; and
doubtless a radical and permanent good has been effected. The
spectacle of domestic misery and personal degradation incident to
this vice, once so common, is now comparatively rare ; a better
habit has been initiated, and a more healthy public sentiment es-
tablished ; so that, although the statistics of intemperance are and
will be appalling, the evils — moral, physical, social, and indi-
vidual— are as clearly defined, and as generally recognized, as those
of war, pestilence, improvidence, or any other human misery. The
insidious nature of this scourge has been disclosed, the warning
has been proclaimed, and society awakened thoroughly to the per-
ception and consciousness of a foe which once desolated its ranks,
unchallenged and unopposed, save by isolated and ineffective
protest.

The grand primary fact to be recognized by the philosopher, is
that instinctive love of excitement, based on the very laws of
human organization, whereby the nerves and brain are susceptible
of an exhilaration that intensifies and sometimes absorbs conscious-
ness, wraps the intellectual in exalted dreams, bathes the volup-
tuous in pleasurable sensations, and fills the ignorant and debased
with animal complacency. And the next consideration is, the de-
gradation and brutalization incident to the habitual indulgence of
this possibility. Brain, appetite, and reason, to say nothing of con-
science and religion, have a subtle battle, and one the issue of
which, experience proves, cannot be foretold from the comparative
intelligence or will of individuals. Perhaps no temptation has ex-
cited so little sympathy, from the fact that it is so modified, both
in degree and frequency, by peculiaiities of constitution and of
consciousness. When such a man as Robert Hall descends from the
pulpit, which his pious eloquence has made a holy throne to millions,
to eagerly seek tne relief which tobacco and laudanum afford to
corporeal anguish; when such a vivid intelligence as kindled the
brain of Heine was voluntarily clouded by narcotics, as a respite
from nervous torment ; and the sensibility of Charles Lamb, which
trembled on the verge of sanity, made the artificial excitement of
alcohol a welcome though dreaded resource, we can scarcely won-
der that the unfurnished mind of a Japanese should yield to the
feverish charm of his rice-distillation ; the limited understanding
of a Chinaman dwindle to imbecility amid the sedative vapor of

l62 Something about Win^. [August,

opium ; the American Indian forget his woes in fire-water ; and
the idler in the gardens of Damascus fidl an unresisting victim to the
enchantments of Hasheesh. Ignorant, care-worn, anxious, disap-
pointed humanity, so often quelled by the fragile temple it inhabits,
or baffled by unrecognized aspirations, corrosive want, vain sacri-
fice— isolated, weary, discouraged, unbelieving, hopeless — how
natural, while imprisoned in blind instinct, unsustained by faith,
wisdom, or love, that it should rush to the most available delusion
and the nearest Lethe !

The woes of Intemperance have been said and sung ; but the
graces and the blessings of Temperance have yet to be appreciated
in northern lands. Science gradually but surely lights up the
arcanas of social economy ; she vindicates the use, while reproach-
ing the abuse of whatever created thing is obviously related to
human wants and welfare.

The author of ' Margaret,' that most authentic and profound, as
well as best illustrated story of New-England primitive life, at-
tributes the prevalence of intemperance among the descendants of
the Puritans, to the lack of amusements, gross physical being sub-
stituted, according to the law of compensation, for harmless and
intellectual or artistic recreation ; and in confirmation of this
theory, in the exact ratio that music, painting, the lyceum, the
theatre, the dance, regatta, horsemanship, rursd taste, and other
enjoyments, once sternly proscribed, have been cultivated, addic-
tion to intoxicating liquors has become less a social habit. The
once universal punch-bowl at noon, sitting over wine after dinner,
and array of decanters at funerals, have grown obsolete ; light
wines have taken the place of strong potations, a delicate flavor is
appreciated beyond alcoholic strength ; excess is deemed not less
vulgar than immoral ; taste in beverage is as potent as in art and
dress ; and the tippler is ostracised from good society.

On the other hand, the fimaticism of temperance has chilled the
glow of hospitality, and checked the frankness of intercourse ; if
there is less conviviality, there is more calculation, avarice holds
Carnival where appetite keeps Lent; colic instead of inebriety is the
penance of festivals, cynicism too often is the substitute for head-
ache ; and instead of ^ sermons and soda-water,' as the antidote for
indulgence, there is wanted charity and fellowship to hallow the
banquet.

There is no greater &l]acy than the popular notion which iden-
tifies wine and animal spirits. The cordial that re'invigorates the
exhausted frame and cheers the fainting heart, when neither are
in need of such artificial refreshment, confirms rather than changes
the existent mood ; melancholy grows deeper, irritation is aggra-
vated, and heaviness increased, oy more heat in the blood, and
excitement to the nerves already over-burdened by moral depres-
sion. All the praise of wine is involved in conditions : only ta the
temperate is it a genial stimulant. The man unfamiliar with the
remedy most certainly responds to its application. They who,
Kke the hale, fiiithftd servitor in ^Aa You JUke It^^ have not in

1858.] Something about Wine. 163

yoath habitaally known ' hot and rebellious liqaors,' feel the sana-
tive power of which they are capable, in the prostration of fever,
or the loss of vital energy through exposure, fatigue, and infirmity.
Ale and apoplexy, port and gout, cider and rheumatism, punch and
bile, have an intimate relation. Yet we are assured, that in the
cities of the Rhine, the apothecaries have a poor business, because
of the wine — there a general commodity ; and in point of physical
development, the bravest knights and monks of old, who achieved
wonders with muscle and brain, that make us their everlasting
debtors ; and the prosperous English of to-day, excel the average
of the race, by virtue of alternate exercise of their vital force, and
its Bustainment by generous viands and draughts. The oracles of
Temperance, when they bade men swear to taste only water, and,
as in the case of seventy Boston physicians, signed a declaration,
that the use of stimulants invariably led to increase in quantity,
and was never othenoise than an injury to health, exceeded their
commission and mis-stated the science of life. French people,
from childhood to age, are content with their petit verre of eau de
vie after the demi4a>s8e of coffee which closes the dinner ; and to
reach intoxication, an amount of the common wine of countries
where the grape is a harvest must be drunk, at which the capacity
of the stomach revolts. Beer and pipes are said to have obfuscated
the modem German brain ; yet the parsons meet in the public
gardens, and without conscious wrong, empty their frugal glasses
and send abroad lusty whiffs, with a quiet zest that disarms theo-
logical strife ; and the artists in Italy eke out their economical re-
past with unpoco de vino, as free from any sign of unspiritual hardi-
nood, as the peasant over his coarse bread, or the dowager at her
tea. The gin-palace in London, and the drinking-saloon in New-
York, tell quite a different story : abuse and use, motive and act,
the individual and the indulgence, are only confounded by the
bigot and the fanatic ; and the idiosyncrasy which leads a few,
through the mere taste of a drug or a drink, to rush into intoxica-
tion, is no more a precedent for mankind than the recoil from
water in the victim of hydrophobia. Any natural appetite may
becomie morbid, and the most unrecognized intemperance in
America is that of eating, and unscrupulous gain and ambition.

All legitimate praise of wine, therefore, pre-supposes temperance.
To the toper it is an impossible luxury ; those refinements of palate,
of nerve, of sensation and of sentiment, to which the quality, virtue,
and ffligmficance of wine alone appeal, are incompatible with other
than an unperverted body, and a discriminating taste : conditions
impossible, not only to the intemperate, but to the hackneyed de-
votee of Bacchus. There is something manly and quaint, as well as
cloouent, in the following defence of wine, by a late writer, classed
by Emerson among the modern original minds of England :

^ And if wine is good to drink, it need not be drunk on pretexts.
Men have drunk it from the beginning for that which is the best
and the worst of reasons — because they like it. ' Wine maketh
glad the heart of man : ' there lies the fortress of its usage. To the

164 Something about Wine. [August,

wise, it is the adjunct of society ; the launch of the mind from the
care and hindrance of the day ; the wheel of emotion ; the prepa-
rator of inventive idea ; the blandness of every sense obedient to
the best impulses of the hours when labor is done. Its use is to
deepen ease and pleasure on hiffh-tides and at harvest-homes, when
endurance is not required ; for delight has important functions, and
originates life, as it were, afresh from a childhood of sportive feel-
ing, which must recur at seasons for the most of men, or motive
itself would stop. A second use is to enable us to surmount sea-
sons of physical and moral depression, and to keep up the life-mark
to a constant level, influenced as little as possible by the circum-
stances of the hour. Also, to show to age by occasions, that its
youth lies still within it, and may be found like a spring in a dry
land, with the thyrsus for a divining-rod. A third use is, to soften
us ; to make us kinder than our reason, and more admissive than
our candor, and to enable us to begin larger sympathies and asso-
ciations from a state in which the feelings are warm and plastic.
A fouith use is, to save the resources of mental excitement by a
succedaneous excitement of another kind, or to balance the anima-
tion of the soul by the animation of the body, so that life may be
pleasant as well as profitable, and the pleasure be reckoned among
the profits. A fifth use is, to stimulate thoughts, and to reveal
men's powers to themselves and their fellows, for in vino Veritas^
and intimacy is bom of the blood of the grape. But is it not un-
worthy of us to pour joy's aid from a decanter, or to count upon
' circumstances ' for a delight which the soul alone should furnish ?
Oh ! no ; for by God's blessing, the world is a circumstance ; our
friends are circumstances ; our wax-lights and gayeties likewise ;
and all these are stimtdi, and touch the bein^ within us; and
where, then, is the limit to the application of Art and Nature to
the soul ? At least, however, our doctrine is dangerous ; but then
fire is dangerous, and love is dangerous, and life with its responsi-
bilities, is very dangerous. All strong things are perils to one
whose honor's path is over hair-breadth bridges and along giddv
precipices. A sixth use is, to make the body more easily industn-
ous in work-times. This is the test of temperance and the proof
of the other uses. That wine is good for us which has no fumes,
but which leaves us to sing over our daily labors with ruddier
cheeks, purer feelings, and brighter eyes than vrater can bestow.
The seventh use is, in this highest form of assimilation, to symbo-
lize the highest form of communion, accor^ng to the Testament
which our Saviour left, and to stand on the altar as the representa-
tive of spiritual truth. All foods, as we have shown berore, feed
the soul, and this on the principles of a universal symbolism ; this,
then, is the highest use of bread and wine — to be taken and assi-
milated in the ever-new spirit of the kingdom of heaven.**

From the stand-point of political economy, grape-culture is a
vital interest ; in France, Grermany, Italy, Switzerland, Madeira,

^ T<R Homaift Bodj vx\\ Its OooDtolioa vtkh Man, flhtsknttd by tht Prl&cl|»al Oricvu. Qy
jAsuBi Jobs Qjlbth Wilkijuos.

1858.] Something about Wine, 155

and elsewhere, the 'vine-rot' and 'grape disease' are national
calamities. Not only is wine the beverage of the peasant, and
often its most nutritious element, but the cultivation of the vine
and the manufacture of its fruit into wine, is their most profitable
labor, while the income derived from its aale is the chief resource
of the landed proprietors. In seventy-seven of the eighty-six
French departments, the vine is cultivated ; and in whole districts
it is the sole dependence. It has been estimated that it forms one
seventh part of the net product of the soil. A thousand million of
francs has been computed as the result of the annual sale, in pros-
perous years, of the wines sold in France and abroad. During the
last ten years a great diminution has occurred ; the mysterious
scoarge, apparently unknown in ancient times, has bred a &mine
in many parts of Southern Europe. Every season in France and
Hungary, along the Rhine ; in Spain, Sicily, and Asia Minor ; on
the lower Moselle ; in Wurtemburg, Baden, and Alsatia ; through-
oat Italy; in Switzerland, the Canary Islands, Portugal, and on the
Ohio, the prospects of the grape-crop are watched, discussed, and
proclaimed as the most important economical interest of prince
and peasant ; and this the more anxiously, since the advent of the
* vegetable cholera,' as the vine-rot has been aptly called.

* The vine occupies two belts on the earth's surface, both of
which lie in the warm regions of the temperate zones, the higher
the latitude the more inclined to acidity is the grape, hence the
difference between Sicilian and Rhenish ; its strength is manifested
by proximity to the equator, hence Madeira, m the fifth year
only vineyards begin to produce. The must or juice ferments at
65^ Farenheit ; spontaneously abates, when clear and exhaling a
vinous odor. Analysis discovers water, sugar, mucilage, tannin,
tartrate of potash and of lime, phosphate of magnesia, muriate of
soda, sulphate of potash. The saccharine principle, affinity with
oxygen and tartar are predominant characteristics. The grape is
susceptible of modification from quality of soil, exposure, inclina-
tion of ground, seasons, etc. The color of wine is derived from
the skin of the grape ; this and astringency and aroma identify the
species. The ancients thought the vine should ^ow high upon
trees, and the Greeks added salt-water to their wme.

In proportion as wine became a luxury and material of com-
merce, the best was exported, and adtdteration increased, so that it
is proverbial that there is no good Sherry in Spain. Burgundy pro-
duces the Constantium of the Cape. In England an inn-keeper was
detected in an habitual process of manufacturing impromptu from
two kinds, every variety of strong wines ; and wine-tasting is a
profession in France. The only way to secure even an average
quality at Paris, is to obtain specimens from various dealers, under
pretence of a large investment. One of the Diisseldorf painters
made a famous picture of connoisseurs testing the contents of a
wine-ceUar. In France, ' God's Field ' is a vineyard, in Germany
a grave-yard. Wine, however, is of Eastern origin ; its simplest
form is tiie juice of the palm ; hence the significance of the parable

156 Something ctbout Wine. [AugOBt,

in the New Testament : ' I am the vine,' etc. Pliny wrote its his-
tory ; Virgil describes its culture ; Horace glorifies its mellowed
product in his beloved Falerian ; and a more recent authority
says:

* One drop of this
Will bathe the droopiDg spirit in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise and taste I '

It has been asserted that of the four-score most generous wines,
more than two-thirds were produced on the soil of Italy. The
grape grew wild in Sicily, and brought no luxury to the savage
mhabitants.

The sweet and dry sherries are the product of the same grape,
although so diverse in color, odor, and taste ; the process of manu-
facture is also the same. The causes which modify what is called
natural Sherry, and make Amontillado, are mysterious. The secret
is hidden in the course of fermentation ; sometimes but a limited
portion of the juice will be thus affected. What adds to the charm
of the enigma is, that it is indicated by a fine vegetable fibre ger-
minated after the wine is placed in casks, which bears a minute
white flower, that soon dies and leaves behind this peculiar flavor.

Proved methods of grape-culture are now recorded in manuals ;
the choice of ground, pruning, manuring, staking, etc., are detailed
by experienced writers ; and then they declare, that ' to make
good wine, you must catch Jean Raisin at the exact point of ripe-
ness, concoct with celerity and decision, watch cask and bottle,
and in short, go through a process, each step of which is clearly
defined by science and custom.' Yet is there a secret in wine as
in genius, ' beyond the reach of art.' Vintages, like stars, difibr
mysteriously n-om one another in glory. You may pass months at
Troyes and keep vigil in the cellars where Champagne is fermented
in darkness, or haunt the vineyards of Burgundy, and yet the sun
and soil, the felicitous combination of agencies in nature's laboratory,
which achieve a miracle of wine one year and a common-place
product the next, shall baffle your insight. The vicissitudes of the
wine-culture, all over the worlds have indeed so multiplied, that
it has been prophesied some fiimiliar wines will become a tradition,
and that new species and new latitudes must supply the demands
of future generations. Dolorous for years have been the accounts
of the grape-disease in Maderia, Spain, and France ; and although
the microscope has detected an insect origin, no effectual remedy
has yet been devised against the blight.

' The first symptoms of it,' remarks an intelligent writer, * were
observed in England, on the warm coast of Margate, by Mr.
Tucker, a gardener, after whom the disease is called ^oidiom
Tuckeri.' ]U is to be noted that the vine was first attacked in a
country where the grape is not obtained without artificial means,
by forced culture, and in warm situations where the moist and
mild temperature prevails, described by Pliny. Human art is
sometimes pimished for having forced nature to produce what she
docs not give spontaneously. At first this phenomenon was only

1858.] Something about Wine. 157

an object of curiosity. Rev. Mr. Berkeley, a learned botanist,
studied this particular affection of the vine, marked its characteris-
ties, and gave a faithful description of it.

* Soon proceeding from the coast of Margate, the evil spread
into other countries. The atoms or small weeds of this parasite
and destructive vegetable, borne by the winds, crossed the sea in
1847, and the o'idium was found in the neighborhood of Paris. In
1848 the disease began to extend to Versailles, to Suresnes, in
Belgium, and elsewhere. But our Southern provinces were still
spared. In France, as in England, the scourge first appeared in
warm spots, and in green-houses, and m)t where the grape ripened
in the open field. Is not this a proof that the vine-rot would
have been avoided, if man had not tried to force the natural pro-
ducts of the ground ?

*In 1861 the evil increased prodigiously, and awakened proper
anxiety. Many vine-growers, reduced to extremities, had to aban-
don their fields, which were become unproductive, and resort to
other occupations for subsistence. The Bishop of Montpellier and
other prelates ordered public prayers in the churches of their dio-
ceses, to supplicate the Lord to stay the calamity. Agricultural
fiooieties, seconded by the French, German, and Italian govern-
ments, appointed committees to inquire into the state of the vines,
the cause of the disease, and the measures proper to stop it. But
human knowledge, alas! was found here, as elsewhere, to be
limited.

* The marks of the disease are every where the same. The
leaves and grapes are suddenly covered with small fibres, of a pale
white color ; a sort of vegetable or mushroom which creeps to the
sar&ce, attacks and surrounds the skin of the fruit, boon the
grape becomes black, wilts, dies, and drops off. The same with
uie leaves, which become yellow or brown, and fall off. The twig
wen is attacked, and becomes dry.

* Different causes are assigned for this evil. The peasants, ever
inclined to superstition, attribute it to the progress of science, and
fimcy that the air has been corrupted by the steam engine in rail-
road cars and manufactories ! for the vine is not affected in coun-
tries where there are no rail-roads. Others pretend that the dis-
ease is an organic weakness, a degeneracy^ as if the plants which
are constantly renewed, partook of the fate of human beings, who
decline, grow old, and die ! The only thing certain is, I repeat it,
that the evil begins in warm localities, or under artificial ciUture.

* As to the means of cure, various processes have been tried,
without satisfectory success. It is said, however, that sulphur, ap-
plied at the right time, stops the progress of the oidium, and
enables the grape to ripen. Some planters sprinkle sulphur powder
early in the sprmg, others mix sulphur and water, and water their
whole vineyards. After some days the leaves resume their green
color, and the grapes look better.

*But this remedy is inconvenient. First, it does not always
mooeed, and many vine-growers, either not applying the means

168 ITie Song of the Worldling. [August,

rightly, or from some other cause, have lost their time and money.
Next, the use of sulphur is very expensive, and requires great care :
it is good for tender plants, but for large "vdnos, is impracticable.
Lastly, the sulphur communicates to the wine a disagreeable odor,
at least when drank immediately after the vintage. Hence sul-
phur is not generally used. The true remedy, if there is one, is
not yet found. Some regard drainage as a good preservative.'

THE SONG OF THE W O B L D L I N Q

BT BKKKT OZ.APP, J B.

TnK glittering end of life is gold ;

The Golden Rule is the golden test ;
The Golden Mean means gold alone ;

And the goldenest thing is e*er the best :
Then bring me wisdom if you will ;
But bring me gold though you bring me ill.

Naught potent is on earth but gold ;

Love by its side is but a farce,
While beauty in its presence fades,

And goodness fails where gold is scarce :
Then bring me virtue, bring me truth ;
But bring me gold though you bring me ruth.

God 's but a sterner name for gold,

Or gold a softer name for God,
Who tempts us with a golden crown,

And rules us with a golden rod :
Then bring the crown though you bring the cross,
And bring me gold though you bring me dross.

We bow before a golden shrine.

And worship, all, the Golden Calf;
While those who weep are those who lose,

And those who win alone who laugh :
Then bring me honor, bring me fame ;
But bring me gold though you bring me shame.

* Give us this day our daily gold,'

Is evermore our djuly prayer ;
For gold will make the bad man good,

The good man — ah ! all good Is there :
Then bring me wisdom, bring me worth ;
But bring me gold, and I ^11 rule the earth.

1858.] Mrs. Potiphar and the Women of Homer. 16D

MBS. POTIPHAR AND THE WOMEN OP HOMER.

* Scilicet improbae
Crescunt divitise : tamen
Curtie neicio quid semper abest rei.' — Hoback.

Mrs. Potiphar was to issue cards for a grand reception. The
engraver had executed his commission resolutely. He had an-
nounced to whomsoever it might concern, with the enamelled ef-
frontery of rectangular pasteboard, that Mrs. Potiphar was to be
*At Home, on Wednesday Evening.' An event so startling, though
foreshadowed baldly, without a wherefore or a whereto, was des-
tined to disturb somewhat the nil admirari serenity of Fifth-
avennedledom. Mrs. Potiphar was to be ' at home.' That was
peculiar and promising. But what else ? Whom should she
g^ously allow to be witnesses of an occurrence so auspicious ?
Here was a problem. Mrs. Potiphar was famishing for the want
of a new sensation. She had g^own weary of seeing, night after
night, the same inanimate faces, and of hearing, over and over
again, the same heartless platitudes. The Rev. Cream Cheese was
getting a little mouldy, although she dared not say so aloud. Mrs.
Settom Downe was unbearably uppish, Gauche Boozey a driveling
bore, and Mrs. Gnu an old goose. She thought it high time to
do a bold stroke of social privateering, and put fresh life into the
sluggish veins of upper-ten society. Mrs. Potiphar had heard of a
group of feminine characters, living she knew not where, and
nardly cared to know, about whom poets and artists made no end
of extravagant raving. Geography and chronology had never
been her specialty. Without giving a thought to such trifling
obstacles as twenty-five centuries in time, or twice as many mUes
of distance, she put her imperial foot down, and declared, that her
Reception should be graced by the Women of Homer.

Kurz Pacha, the Sennaar embassador, happened in soon after,
and was consulted as to the whereabouts of said women of Homer.
Mrs. Potiphar would be happy to call upon them, and make their
acquaintance.

*A needless ceremony,' suggested the Pacha blandly. And
quickly maturing his plot for a rare bit of fun, he volunteered to
Bee that the cards were properly distributed. The Grace Church
sexton would help him through, in case of a perplexity. But there
would be none. He knew the ladies well. They were not stick-
lers for a small point of etiquette. Even if the matter made him
a little trouble, that was nothing to the classical pleasure he looked
forward to, of spending a social evenuig, curU expeditis^ with Mrs.
Potiphar and the women of Homer. A low bow hinted profound
thauKs, and the programme was settled.

VOL. LII. 11

1 60 Mr9, Potiphar and the Women of Homer. [August,

It boots not now to tell what manifold persuasions were used by
Kurz Pacha to wake up the ambition of his friends, in the matter
of personating the women of Homer. The great trouble was, to
organize his forces, and make a beginning. Ct^est le premier pas
qui coute. Many and merry were the nights spent over Flaxman's
illustrations and Pope's obscurations, before the several parts of
the forthcoming Homeric drama were fitly assigned and thoroughly
rehearsed.

At length, rosy-fingered Aurora, daughter of the Dawn, appeared,
announcing to the world and Fifth Avenue, that the portentous
day had come, when Mrs. Potiphar, by special effort, was to be
* at home,' and receive the women of Homer.

Nausicaa (by interpretation the Yacht-Gaited) was the first to
arrive. She appeared a trifle after sun-down, about the time ol
early gas-light, seated in a covered carriage of primitive pattern,
yet polished and ' well-wheeled,' and drawn by a span of mules
that rejoiced in the skill of their mistress, as they tramped out an
eager anapestic music beneath her steady hand. Xausicaa held
the lines and whip gracefully, and showed a practised hand in
guiding her mules through the tangled perplexity of onmibnses,
carriages, and vehicles of low degree that crowded the street.
Behind her, was a group of bright-eyed serving-girls, with neat^
turban-like head-dresses, who were only less fair than their mistress.
They kept their scats, when she reined in the mules and sprang to
the ground with a bird's airiness. She rang the Potiphar door-
bell, and turning back as the door opened, she told the girls in the
covered carriage they must look well to the linen, when they got
home, and see if it had been ftdly dried by the sun. Then she
asked the door-maid if her mistress was in :

' I will be afther seeing,' was the Celtic reply.

Up-stairs crawled the Celtic door-maid. Nausicaa was left
standing in the hall below. Mrs. Potiphar was taking an after-
dinner nap, preliminary to the social tribulations of the evening,
which, to her fashion-twisted fancy, was still a distant hill-sidje,
with a wide foreground of dreams, toiletings, and ante-mirror
rehearsals.

' Please, Ma'am, a woman below wants to see yourself Ma'am.
She 's nate-lookin', but quare. Ma'am. I makes it out she wants to
buy old rags, or sell home-made linen, or take in washin', Ma'amu'

' Tell her I am not at home,' fiercely growled Mrs. Potiphar, re-
suming the thread of her after-dinner ramble in the labyrinth of
dreams.

' Xot at Jiome ! ' echoed the Homeric chip of an antique block
of truthfulness, when the answer was drawled out to her. * Then
your mistress is not as good as her word. Here it is, in black and
white, that Mrs. Potiphar is at home this Wednesday evening.'

' Blessed Virgin ! then you have a ticket for the party. Plase
to come this way, and lay down your things. Ma'am. You '11 have
time to grow old a bit, Ma'am, before the crowd comes in.'

1858.] Mrs. Potiphar and the Women of Homer. 161

Next came Andromache, the Hero's-Battle-Prize, on foot ; close
behind her followed a well-clad nurse, with the boy, Astyanax,
' throned on her breast, like a radiant star.' As the door opened,
both quietly slipped into the parlor. The Celtic maid, glad not to
be sent up-stairs again, stood wondering whether the new-comer
was up for a situation as wet-nurse, or one of a rabble of guests
from by-lanes and cellars.

Arete, the Sought-For, soon after came in with her husband,
Alcinous: the latter looking somewhat tired, and sleepy, and
thirsty. You would not say he was hen-pecked, but conscious of
inferiority, and perfectly willing to follow his wife's sweet will.
Learning that the mistress of the house was elsewhere occupied.
Arete insisted that no one should be disturbed on her account.
Dropping into a chair in a corner of the parlor, she unrolled a
packi^e of sea-purple wool, which she began to twirl with her

nile, a wonder to look upon. Her white fingers quivered and
ed Uke the leaves of an aspen. Her husband pulled out a
goat-skin flask, and drank his wine with the serencness of a god.

Hardly was Arete seated at her work, when Calypso, the Her-
mitress, entered. The uniqueness of the occasion had led her to
break through a fixed habit of seclusion, and to pass an evening
away from her weird grotto, so cheerful with its fragrant fire of
split cedar and thyine-wood. Calypso was dressed more richly
than her companions, yet with becoming simplicity and sober ele-
gance. She wore a silver-white, sleeveless robe, finely woven, full,
and graceful. About her waist she had festened a girdle, elegant
and golden. It was modelled after the embroidered cestus of
Venus, wherein were inclosed allurements, and fondnesses, and
lovers' talk, that steals away the wisdom of the wisest. Beneath
lier feet she had tied light sandals, and had thrown over her head
a veil of foam-like texture. After a pleasant greeting to each of
her Homeric friends, she followed the example of Arete, and undid
a parcel containing simple contrivances for weaving. Nausicaa
admired her shuttle of pure gold.

* Mrs. Potiphar has been quite a stranger to us heretofore,' said
Calypso, glancing toward the door. ' Even now, she is slow to
make us welcome.'

* True,' replied Arete ; ' but hospitality is better late than never.
Every kindness, though small, should be gratefully received.'

Another guest now appeared, and, with her, what seemed like
the purple splendor of a day-break in June. The room was sud-
denly filled with a strange radiance, that drew all eyes to the new-
comer. Yet the sweetness of her countenance was interwoven
with sadness and self-reproach. The brightness of her look seemed
to struggle up through hidden sorrow, or to spring from the nu-
triment of tears, like a white lily with its roots in water. Calypso's
greeting was abrupt and hearty.

'You all-conquering witch,' said she, rising and coming forward,
* not content with turning the heads of heroes, you are caught play-
ing off your tricks of coquetry upon the hearts of trees. Near

162 Mrs, Potiphar and the Womeffi of Homer, [August,

to my grotto, I found a tall platan the other day, on whose smooth
pale bark was cut in Done phrase :

* Do me reyerence : I am Helsn*s tree.'

That platan owes allegiance to Calypso. It is guilty of high trea-
son, and botanic misdemeanor. I give you fair warning, that the
axe is laid at its roots.'

' Do n't hurt a leaf of the tree,' replied Helen, with a pleading
look. Think of its hamadryad, doomed to perish when the tree
falls. You would be guilty of a double murder. So long as the
platan is loyal to me, it cannot be false to you, whom I so much
love and revere.'

Thus saying, she took a seat, and spread over her lap a large
piece of embroidery. Already had many days of thoughtfiil and
curious industry been expended upon it. It had the appearance
of being intended for a soldier's cloak, woven of rich, heavy stuff.
She was patiently working upon it the crowded incidents of a
battle between Greeks and Trojans. Quite likely she was elaborat-
ing a pictured history of heroisms exhibited for her sake on the
tented field.

Nausicaa, the Yacht-Gaitcd, knelt beside her, with a child's con-
fiding freedom, and pointed to one of the completed figures.

' Who is that plumed hero, so valiant and lusty ; that one out-
topping the Argives by his head and broad shoulders ? If the
kind gods would only send me such a man for a husband ! '

Helen brushed aside a tear, and tried to speak. Her heart was
in her throat. Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance
of Polyxena, the Very-Hospitable, whom all were glad to see.
With her came also Apseudes, Hater-of-White-Lies,; Theano, the
Heavenly-Minded ; Kahanassa, Ruliug-by-Beauty, (delicious despot-
ism ;) Kasandra, Sister-to-Heroes ; Euryclea, the Widely-Praised ;
Rhexenor, the Man-Breaker, ( her face full of gentleness and sun-
shine.) A good many others came, with names equally significant
of praiseworthy qualities.

AH grew tired of waiting. Kalianassa was so self-foreetfol as to
disfigure her countenance with a yawn. Apseudes declared, with
a spice of indignation, that they were to be sold without a song or a
supper. Rhexenor proposed that King Alcinous should issue letters
of marque and reprisal against Potipnar's larder. Alcinous lazily
referred the matter to his wife, but rather favored the plan of a
levy on the wine-cellar. His goat-skin flask was nearly empty.
Supping with Duke Humphrey he had no relish for. At last, an
up-and-down rustling was heard in the hall, like the sound of a muf-
fled saw-mill. Tnit a hay-mow of silk flounces and furbelows, de-
corated as to its summit with ribbons, laces, nameless gew-eaws,
and rouge. Kurz Pacha was close behind. Acting as pilot to
this sailing tun of Heidelberg, he surveyed the scene, like Byron's
Corsair, with

* A laaghing devil in his sneer and look.'

1858.] Mrs. Potiphar and the Women of Homer, 163

As Boon as the first buzz of astonishment had subsided, the non-
ckalant embassador straightway addressed himself to the task of
presenting to Mrs. Potiphar her invited guests. If his intro-
ductions were made with some superfluity of flourish and wordi-
ness, it may be said in apology, that the whole affair had cost him
a heavy outlay of reading, costuming, and some contrivance. It
was no trivial undertaking to bring Mrs. Potiphar into the flesh-
and-blood presence of beings who had lived so far away, so long
offi and then it might be only in the wayward fancy of an itine-
rant Hexametrist. The hour for a set speech had fully come.
While his Homeric hearers literally held their countenances, lest
an ill-timed giggle should betray the Fifth Avenue frame-work of
their assumed character, the Sennaar Embassador stroked his
moustache, exordially opened his mouth, and thus began :

* Mrs. Potiphar, aUow me to make you acquainted with Miss
Naosicda, only daughter of Alcinous, King of the ship-renowned
Phaeacians. In spite of the royal blood in her veins, she thinks it
no shame to ride down to the sea-shore with female slaves, and
there to over-see that damp, starch-demanding horror of modem
house-keepers, that comes so befittingly after Sunday's renewal of
the Christian graces. Current report has it thajt Nausicaa is up
and about the house with the first blush of day : though fawn-
like and elastic, her shape tells you she was bom to do something
usefiil, and to be something more than a piece of ornamental
fomitore.

^ Miss £[alianassa, I know less than I would of your life and cha-
racter, but if they are true to your name, the beauty that serves
as your sceptre of authority must be something more than a thing
of mere shape and color and costume. It must bo a subjective
quality, having its home in the heart : a beauty that keeps renew-
ing itself but of the substance of generous qualities ; that is not
too bright for human nature's daily use ; that is not

* Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null ; *

that smiles out in cheerful serenity, with gleams of celestial ra-
diance, from the gray locks of sunny age.'

Mrs, Potiphar's embarrassed eyes began to look at vacancy.
Her fiicial muscles twitched uneasily. The Pacha proceeded as
unconcernedly as a clock ticking off the last moments of a
criminal.

* Ton will hardly believe it, Mrs. Potiphar, that Calypso there,
so busy with the golden shuttle, and loolang as though her
thoughts were humming a pensive tune, always relies upon her
own skilful industry and taste for replenishing her wardrobe. She
always follows the same patterns too. Poor benighted rustic ! we
must send her a monthly magazine, with colored fashion-plates at
the emd of it. You will be startled to hear of her singular whims
on the subject of dress. She is obstinate in her conceit that there
ought to be some relation between apparel and comfort. It is one
of her pet paradoxes that clothing should be adapted to climate

164 Mr a. Potipluxr and the Women of Homer. [August,

and season, to individual character and social position. K she
were tired of life, and wanted to throw it off, as a burden, it would
be just like her to hit upon some off-hand process, without drag-
ging through a tedious course of self-caused consumption. It never
entered her unsophisticated fancy that one part of her earthly mis-
sion was to remind tlie human race of its mortality by moving
about in the similitrude of an hour-glass, with lungs so pinched and
breath so short, that no great stretch of imagmation would be
needed to supply the scythe-bearing skeleton.

'The lady in mourning, whom your door-maid, not being
read in the classics, naturally mistook for a wet-nurse, is
Andromache, wife of Hector. She will never cease thinking
how her slain husband was dragged about the walls of Troy,
with his feet lashed to the chariot of Achilles. Had you seen
her when she parted from Hector, beneath the beech-tree near
the Scajan gate, the sight would have haunted you for life.
You could never forget her sobbing accents, heard during
the pauses of the roaring battle, as she hung upon her husband's
hand, telling him he was to her both father and mother and
brother, and begging him not to go again to that dreadful
field of slaughter. Could you have seen how her head drooped
lower and lower when Hector drew the dark picture of her pos-
sible future, in a distant house of bondage, plying the loom and
drawing water at the bidding of another ; or how her eyes ran
over with a painful pleasure, when Hector laid aside his nodding
helmet that had frightened their child, and taking him in his arms,
prayed the gods would make him a braver man than his sire ; or
how her frame shuddered when their last adieux were said, and she
moved homeward lingeiingly, looking often back, with floods of
weeping : you, Mrs. Potiphar, in spite of case-hardened sensibi-
lities, would have been melted to sympathy ; you would have half
expected to see her petrify into another Niobe — into a marble,
immortal execration of the horrors of war !

' The lady in the comer, bending over a piece of Gobelin tapestry,
(the genuine article, by the way, Mrs. Potiphar, and more epic in
its vein than your unhappy rabbits' with blue eyes and pink feet,
chasing lubberly butter-flies over narrow necks of corduroy mea-
dow, shaded by rheumatic willows ;) the lady you are now look-
ing at — notice her drooping eye-Uds, Mrs. Potiphar — is either
Mrs. Helen Menelaus or Mrs. Helen Alexander, I am not quite
clear which. In fact, public opinion has been divided. There was
talk of settling the question by a duel between the distinguished
claimants of her heart and hand. To tell you the blunt truth,
Mrs. Potiphar, without putting too fine a point upon it, Helenas
reputation is slightly cracked. She thinks so herself She has
been heard to cafl herself a ' dog-faced ' individual. Mrs. Potiphar
will be rashly foolish if she thinks the atmosphere of her p%rlor
will be polluted by such a presence. Before thmking that thought,
Mrs. Potiphar should have the charity to remember with Robert
Burns, not alone what has been yielded to, but also what has been

1858.] Mt8, PotipJiar and the Women of Momer. 166

resisted. She should read the eighth chapter of the gospel ac-
cording to John, and inwardly digest the proverb that cautions
people who occupy vitreous domiciles against the danger of con-
verting themselves into temporary catapults for assailing passers-
by with projectiles that are hable to be forcibly returned.' ,
Mrs. Potiphar began to grow red in the face, wondering to what
end all this unbridled talk would carry itself. She felt greatly re-
lieved at sight of the Celtic maid bringing in a delton or triangular
note on a silver waiter. The note happened to be written in Greek,
and Kurz Pacha was called upon to show the interpretation thereof.
Mrs. Penelope, the Web-Raveller, had sent a regret. She was much
occupied with domestic duties and cares. One of her tasks was the
weaving of a shroud (in accordance with a custom of her people)
for her father-in-law, the aged hero, Laertes. She hoped it would
be long unneeded ; already she had spent three years in weaving
this shroud, and would be glad to spend as many more, if she
could thus keep at a distance that coarse mob of roystering suitors
who pretended to be anxious to take the place, of Ulysses, now
twenty years absent and reported to be dead. She hoped Mrs.
Potiphar would not be in haste to think meanly of her weaving.
She had private reasons for wishing to pull a little wool over the
eyes of tfie suitors, who were so hearty and assiduous in their at-
tentions to the chess-board, the dinner-table, and the wine-cellar.
She was fully persuaded that any one of them was ready to marry
the princely estate of Ulysses, even with the melancholy incum-
brance of a grief-stricken widow, half-demented by sorrow, and so
fe,scinated with the work of ornamental shroud-weaving, that she
spent a part of each night in unravelling what it cost her a day's
labor to make. She would not dwell longer upon private griefs.
She was unfeignedly happy to be invited to share in the happiness
of Mrs. Potiphar. before her was what seemed to be a memorial
tablet, announcing that Mrs. Potiphar was to be ' at home ' that
evening. She had not been able to learn the ftiU particulars of
what it meant, but her womanly instinct, that seldom went astray,
led her to infer that either Mr. Potiphar, like her own Ulysses,
had been absent on a long and perilous journey ; or her first house-
hold had been desolated by fire, tempest, or war. Now she had
reached the end of her troubles, and could appreciate the force^ of
a remark once made by her long-lost companion : * There is nothing
sweeter or lovelier than for husband and wife to be keeping house,
like-minded in their plans.' It was delightful to be safely ' at home '
after unwilling absence or denial of its comforts. Home was the
dearest spot on earth, and he was a profane wretch of a punster
who declared that homely women were so named because their
mission was to stay at home. She was glad to believe that no
gifts of beauty or wit, no womanly accomplishment, no social or
intellectual endowment could be too good for adorning the domes-
tic fire-side. Though often spoken of by partial firiends as one of
the fairest of Homer's heroines, she the Web-Raveller, wouldprefer

166 Zdiies: Ambition. [Angiutt,

to be kindly thought of as one of the homeliest of home-loying
mothers.

It was plain that Kurz Paoha was improvising a kangaroo
codicil to Penelope's brief regret. He saw he was detected, and
hastened to resume his own character. * I see that Mrs. Potiphar
is disappointed.' (In point of fact, the tun of Heidelburg looked
as if every inch of its vast circumference was full of amazement
and vexation.) * I supposed it would be so. Nearness is apt to dis-
enchant. Familiarity breeds contempt. "We are told by an old
writer, whose name adorns one of the empty gilt covers in your
husband's never-opened library that what is unknown passes for
grand. Tgnotumpro magnifico. Seldom is a lady angelic to her
chamber-maid.'

What was said and done thereafter — shall it be told, or not ?

H B I T I o N •

* SraiK for me bat one word that If unspoken I
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken 1 '

' Let my spirit drink in something,
Something from the well of lore,

That no other soul has tasted,
In the long years gone before.

This the craving of Ambition

As the lamp of life burned low;
This the earnest, wild petition :
' Grant me something e*er I go.'

Ah I in vain the high up-lifting
Of a soul on lifers wave tossed :

Toward eternity 't was drifting,
To the world forever lost.

Thus it is : with wild aspiring
To the hill-tops we would climb,

With unsatisfied desiring.

To transmit their names to time.

Vain the strife ; for lifers hours dwindling,
Keep each from the long-sought goal,

Though the fire seems newly kindling
That so long has lit the soul.

Is there not a life eternal,

Waning not with fleet years' flight,
Full of knowledge deep, supernal.

For such souls as seek the light?

1868.] Br, Francisi* Address. 167

DR. P R A N 0 I S» ADDRESS.*

Mb. President Sloan and Regents of the College Hospital :

It demands a hardy constitution to add;-ess so formidable an as-
semblage of the learned, the liberal, and the philanthropic as I now
see before me. Your courtesy has invited me, on this occasion,
as one of your guests. I recognize the honor with the fullest ap-
preciation. The circumstances which have led to this meeting of
the friends of medical science and humanity, are of no ordinary
character : it is the first time, I apprehend, that the patriotic and
benevolent inhabitants of this distinguished city have gathered to-
gether in their strength and power to do especial honor to an
event which, in its consequences, must prove of mighty benefit to
the interests of precious knowledge and the eflicient principles
which philanthropy sustains. Your general circular address has
most fittingly announced vour beneficent intentions, to found a
Hospital for the relief of physical suffering and for the promotion
of the great art of healing. I have studied with care the plan of
your work as set forth in your comprehensive exposition, and the
rules and ordinances by which the government of your noble insti-
tution is to be regulated. I think they will receive a hearty re-
cognition from aU quarters. They are characterized by much
knowledge in the premises, and are marked by a maturity of judg-
ment to which the most experienced will give their assent. They
reflect honor upon the heads and hearts of the disinterested pro-
jectors of the great measure. Solomon has said there is a time for
all things ; I believe that time has arrived when you may put into
active operation the plans which doubtless have repeatedly ab-
sorbed your deliberations, and which you have but recently deter-
mined to make known to an enlightened community, for their pat-
ronage and support. You might have begun even earlier, but you
are not too late. Prudential reasons are to be well scanned, and
projects, however wise, when dependent for success on fiscal
means, are never to be hastily entered upon. Yet your great and
commanding city has long felt the want of an estabUshment, such
as you this day have inaugurated, notwithstanding the benefits
which you have long secured to the afflicted poor ; and the most
skeptical must yield their doubts to the policy which at this time
prompts you to the performance of so great and praiseworthy an
tmdertalang as the organization of the Long Islaiid College Hos-
pitaL

I am informed that Brooklyn exceeds considerably two hundred
thousand inhabitants ; and where, tell me, will you find a city of
that numerical population, in civilized society, without the organi-
zation of a hospital ? Inspect the numerous county towns or cities

* Dklitbrkd at the Inaagaratlon of the Long Island College Hospital, Brooklyn, on the third
of Jane, 1858.

168 Dr. Frauds'* Address, [August,

of Great Britain, many of them even of far less inhabitants, and
you will learn that provisions of a like Christian character pro-
claim the wisdom and humanity of their people. So, too, you will
find like demonstrations on the Continent. What was the popu-
lation of Philadelphia when the great American sage, FrankUn,
projected the foimdation of the Pennsylvania Hospital in 1762?
Not twenty thousand. What was the population of your neighbor,
the city of New- York, when Bard and Middleton, with Lieutenant-
Governor Moore, and the countenance of John Fother^ll and other
philanthropists, projected the world-renowned hospital on B/oad-
way, the first institution of that character in that metropolis ? Cer-
tainly in numbers at that period not twenty thousand people. On
the score of numbers, therefore, you have not been premature in
your operations.

Your mighty increase in inhabitants, your fiscal capabilities,
your intelligence, your Christian character, the denizens of a city
of churches, your kindly nature, and your moral culture, all cried
aloud for the organization of the Institution we, at this time, are
convened to celebrate. Moreover, there are other reasons which
must work a happy influence in all time in behalf of your proceed-
ings. You justly boast a city whose location seems blessed with
almost every physical advantage. Your topographical situation is
signally advantageous ; your soil, your temperature, the very site
and structure of your ample Hospital, give a very fiivorable verdict
touching the sagacity and forethought that have controlled your
achievements, and demonstrate that yours is no tentative measure.
These are indeed striking facts, but too apparent to be longer
dwelt upon, and what is self-evident supersedes prolonged discus-
sion. Your enlightened head, with your Board of Regents, must
have been well apprised of all these circumstances while selecting
the grounds and modifying the edifice you have now at conmiand
for your public-spirited undertaking.

Yet there is another light in which I would look at your import-
ant work. The name you have assumed for your great chanty is
significant. Long Island is not unknown in our patriotic history,
nor in the annals of American science, in medicine, in surgery, and
in the kindred departments of knowledge. It is in a remarkable
degree prominent as the birth-place of many of the most distin-
guished individuals who have, during the past two or three genr
orations, flourished in our profession as able and enlightened culti-
vators of the divine art of healing. On this occasion I am neces-
sarily restricted, and must be satisfied with the briefest notice of
your native worthies who have signalized themselves in other
walks of life. There is assuredly an intellectual atmosphere among
you, judging from your products. You have given the nation
ijien of high eminence in jurisprudence, and in legislation : Jones,
Edssam, Colden, Furman, and your present representative at a for-
eign court, who has manifested in the most indisputable manner his
claims to the title of a lover of American history, by his liberality
in diffusing the early history of De Vries and other rare works 11-

1858.] Dr. Francia'* Address. 169

lustrative of our colonial condition. Your roll is ample with the
inscription of many of our most renowned medical worthies. Some
of those who have added to the glory of scientific and practical
medicine, whose birth-place was Long Island, and others who by
a long residence with you have become identified with your an-
nals, men whose memories you delight to cheiish, have flourished
in that vocation with signal benefit to the common weal. For ex-
ample, Ogden and Muirson and John Bard ; the last named pre-
enunent for great practical sagacity, and as the author of an elabo-
rate paper on your fevers : the two former imiversally known for
their active and successful innovation on the therapeutical man-
agement of the once foimidable malignant sore-throat distemper.
Then you justly boast as their birth-place of those two surgical
worthies, Wright Post and Richard S. Kissam, so long in the
foremost rank in surgical skill in New- York. You claim Val-
entine Seamen, the early and zealous promoter of vaccination in
New- York, and as if to crown the column which records your in-
digenous worth, you summon to recollection the philosopher so
prominent for varied knowledge and for excellence in natural
science, the late Samuel Latham Mitchill, the prolific author on
physical investigations, and whose reputation fills both hemispheres ;
and the illustrious surgeon, Valentine Mott, the founder of Clinical
Surgery in America and still in the exercise of his great calling in the
adjacent metropolis. Will you tolerate me if to these great names
I add the honors you have received by your Island being selected
as the chosen residence in their declining years of Lieutenant-Go-
vernor Golden, that savan of many sciences, the associate of Kalm
and Bartram, and of Franklin, and who was the first who taught
Americans the Linnsean System of Botany ? Moreover, you can
record that the last years of a long life were passed by the pa-
triotic and incorruptible Judge Egbert Benson at your famed Ja-
maica ; that here Rufus King, the statesman, sought repose from
public cares ; ai>d that the late Governor Clinton, the founder of
your vast system of internal improvement, deemed Long Island
the most gratifying of residences, in his hours of leisure. If so be
that this fflustrious patriot could ever secure hours of relaxation
from great public responsibilities.

Facts of this nature speak in loud accents of your healthy Island.
But for a moment turn to another proof in behalf of your benig-
nant soil and your salutiferous clime. You cannot have forgotten
the once flouri^ng Botanical Garden, established at Flushing, by
William Prince, once rich in native and exotic plants, a place of
familiar resort by the eminent naturalists of the time, and where
scientific botany was furnished with the richest specimens for illus-
tration of the then aln^ost universally adopted system of the great
Swede. Where did the naturalist, Alexander Wilson, find some of
his richest specimens for ornithological illustration, but in your na-
tive woods ? Was not the piercing eye of Audubon in like man-
ner gratified ? Where did Michaux obtain some of the proudest
forest trees to enrich the botanical garden of Paris, but among
your native oaks and lofly sycamores ? Of the four or five thou-

170 Dr, Francis* Address. [Aagnst,

sand varieties of the apple noticed by the pomologist, is not the
Newtown pippin the first in excellence ? And if the scientific ich-
thyologist penetrate the ample and beautiful waters which sur-
round you, such a naturalist, for instance, as your late Dr. De Ejiy,
do you not learn that the rivers and the bays within your sight are
more prolific of the various tribes of fishes than perhaps any other
region yet discovered ?

it is now almost a century and a half since Dr. Golden, after-
wards Lieutenant-Governor, wrote his account of the climate of
this district of coimtry. He pronounced it to be most excellent
of its kind, pure, free from pestilential sources of disease, of sur-
passing efficacy for the relief of pulmonary disorders ; and De Vries,
lately translated from the Dutch by your Minister at the Nether-
lands, the Hon. Mr. Murphy, and other writers of an earlier date
than Golden, promulgated similar doctrines. All this gives coun-
tenance to what has so often in our day been asserted, and just-
ifies the policy of your selection for this site of your great charity.
Many of this audience doubtless retain a strong recollection of the
high estimation now perhaps some thirty or forty years ago, which
the Bath House at Bath enjoyed, as a most fitting institution for
the resort of invalids from even remote parts of the Union. The
shore of Bath was selected as the spot for the institution which
was there established, an institution of that nature among the ear-
liest in our country. The late Dr. Richard Bayley had the saga-
city to make the choice, and in lus decision he received the coun-
tenance of those two practical men, Drs. John and Samuel Bard,
and I know not that the topography of the place has forfeited its
renown. Bayley, who may be deemed the originator of our quar-
antine system, was of all men best qualified to give a safe opinion,
botli ftom his professional knowledge and his minute acquaintance
with contiguous localities. I state these popular facts, not in the
possession of all, as still further tending to confirm your wisdom
in recognizing Brooklyn as the very place for your GoUege insti-
tution.

But I here pause. If in the economy of human affairs there be
any thing like an elective affinity or an associate relationship, does
it not seem apparent from even our hasty and imperfect review,
that there is a remarkable fitness in your patriotic attempt to es-
tablish a hospital in a location so characterized in its topography,
so bountiful in its products, so rich in healthy influences ? Na-
ture and art, God and man, seem to indicate the propriety of
your proceedings, and to justify that wise energy with which you
have consummated vour labors. You need no laudations of mine
in behalf of the work of beneficence you have erected. The apos-
tolic principles which have controlled your movements have found
an issue at which the Ghristian philosopher congratulates himself
and he who is a proper disciple of the Hippocratian art, rejoices
with unspeakable satisfiiction ; for hospitals are an emanation of
Ghristian promptings. I will detain you but a moment longer.
You have, with professional discrimination, in your circular, stated
the vast importance of your new institution as a school for clinioal

1868.] Lines: Necessity. 171

instruction, and you have reechoed the sentiments of every sound
medical man that the safe and profitable knowledge which must
govern the physician must be derived from clinical experience.
The bedside is the fountain from which must flow that wisdom
which the disciple of Hippocrates summons to his aid in order to
fulfil the vast trusts confided to his care. Herein is it that the
Hospital is to prove a mighty blessing to the people. Thousands,
indeed, may enter it as a refuge from poverty and common infii-m-
ities; but your great triumphs are to be announced in the re-
storation of tens of thousands of the sick inmates who, in the pro-
gress of time, may occupy your wards ; triumphs secured by a
sound pathology and the clinical wisdom of your enlightened pre-
scribers. Within your collegiate walls the student is to look for
practical medicine and surgery, and the records of medical science
receive new confirmations by the illustrations of your clinique, or
be rejected as fabulous by the result of your bed-side revelations.
You may receive collateral support in divers ways to sustain your
charity : the rock upon which your Hospital is to stand, is clinical
science : no other foundation, in this day of acute inquiry, will be
safe either for the prescribed or the prescriber. The Hospital is
the College for the physician and the surgeon, says John Aber-
nethy. I have said on more than on one occasion, that you might
as well attempt to teach practical navigation in a sylvan retreat as
the art of healing without clinical instruction. Without the gift
of prophesy I think I foresee that national blessings must be de-
rived from the Long Island College Hospital, both to the profess-
ors of our high calling and to the afflicted participators of your
disinterested bounty. The galaxy of female excellence which
graces this meeting, gives a double assurance that the virtuous and
the humane are enhjBted in the support of your beneficent plan. I
will add no more.

KB0E88ITT.

No claims lay I nnto the art

Which make a poet's name divine :

In idle moods 1 weave mv rhyme,
Nor hope to reach a single noart.

Where crimson blooms bend down the boughs,

And lush and green the grasses crow,

I see the brown-thrush come ana go,
And hear him chant his love-sweet vows.

I know he cannot help but trill

His golden songs upon the air ;

The broad earth is so grand and fair,
He cannot help it if he will

And so I sing these useless songs,

Although no rare and golden thought,

Upon the tangled web is wrought
That to the poevs work belongs. R. a. Oaxo.

172 Our Portrait. [Augiwt,

OUR PORTRAIT.

OuB readers will agree with us in thinking that no more appro-
priate ' counterfeit presentment ' could grace the Knickkrbockkb
than that of the benign, intelligent, and venerable features of a son
of New- York, than whom no one has done more to illustrate her
local history and signalize her public spirit. Those who desire a
more elaborate portrait will do well to subscribe to Mr. Jackman's
beautiful engraving just published. Dr. Francis was one of our
earliest contiibutors, and has always been the staunch friend of
Maga. Some of his most genial and valuable reminiscences of
character and famous men originally graced our pages ; and to
them we add, in the present number, the latest specimen of his
felicitous improvisation on a recent most interesting occasion in a
neighboring city. A written sketch of the traits and career of
Dr. JFrancis is almost superfluous. During half a century of
practice in the healing art, the lives of some of our most emi-
nent citizens in exigencies of great peril, have been saved by his
promptitude, sagacity, and vigilance ; and two generations of
mothers behold m him a benefactor in the hour of their greatest
anguish and joy ; and thus the name of the ' Good Physician ' has be-
come a household word, and his presence a famiUar blessing ; but, as
caterers to the Uterary public, we recognize an enthusiastic cultiva-
tor of letters, and a disinterested lover of genius, in our favorite
son of Esculapius, and cannot avoid accompanying his portrait
with some account of his character as a man of society and author-
ship. Mr. Poe, in a graphic but slightly over-colored sketch, thus
admirably paints the address and conversational powers of Dr.
Francis :

* His address is the most genial that can be conceived — its bonhommU irre-
sistible. He speaks in a loud, clear, hearty tone, dogmaticallj, with his head
thrown back and his chest oat ; never waits for an introduction to any lady ;
slaps a perfect stranger on the back, and calls him *■ Doctor* or *■ learned Theban ; *
pats every lady on the head, and ^if she be pretty and petite) designates her bj
some such title as * My pocket edition of the Lives of the Saints.* His conversa-
tion proper is a sort of Roman punch, made up of tragedy, comedy, and the
broadest of all possible farces. He has a natural, felicitous flow of talk, always
over-swelling the boundaries and sweeping every thing before it, right and left.
He is very earnest, intense, emphatic ; thumps the table with his fist ; shocks the
nerves of the ladies. ' .

Our friend Dr. A. K. Glardner writes :

* Who docs not know the venerable Doctor ? — the m^tor of the profession, the
kindly assistant of the young aspirant in any pursuit, particularly in that most
difficult of all in which to get a start, the medical! The Doctor is the centre of
New- York, and his presence is necessary to every public meeting. The antiqua-
rians, the printers, the politicians, the literati, the artist, the Knickrrbockkr,
gentle women, the men in rule, his own profession, all look to him as an essential
to their counsels, their circles and their wcU-bcing. As an antiquarian, his long
life, his acquaintance, friendly and professional, with all the men of note who
have ever visited New- York, and his extraordinary memory of dates, persons, and

1858.]

Our Portrait. 173

events, combine to place him, independently of his being the second oldest mem-
ber of the Historical Society, at the very head of the antiquarians of New- York.
As a printer, he has himself *" composed * his own composition, and has handled
the composing-stick as deftly as subsequently the lancet. A politician, an uncom-
promising and straightforward Clat and Webster Whig, he is respected by all par-
ties, and is consulted professionally by all grades, from Senator Fish to Bancroft
and Saunders. His house is the general meeting-place for the literati, who in him
have always found a ready friend, a Hberal patron, and a judicious critic. While
revolying in various orbs, here the Doctor is the centre. Perhaps a literary life,
if it were necessary to eschew all but one, would be the most to the Doctor^s
taste. He is an exceedingly able writer ; while strength of thought most charac-
terizes his literary productions, faw would pass them by without particular notic-
ing the Johnsonian elegance or his language. Somewhat pollysyllabic in his
words there is an aptitude of expression and an affluence of language which never
wearies by its tautology, or tires by its sameness. His literary productions are as
diversified as science, and almost as numerous as the days of his life.* In almost
all branches of human inquiry, he has roved with wandering foot, plucking here
a flower to adorn his own mental cabinet, and there dropping a fruitful seed to
be observed blossoming and fructifying by the pext traveller in that region. To
him might be applied with more than usual pertinence the old line :

* Nihil tetigit quod non omavit. '

* He is therefore an appropriate centre for the intellectual galaxy of this metro-
polis. Occasionally this position is held in public, when the distinguished are
gathered together in solemn conclave, and daily at his hospitable board may bo
seen some visitor in New-Tork. But of an evening one may drop in and find a
genial gathering, surrounded by the smoke of their own cigars. One is at home
here — and so is the Doctor, if not professionally engaged. Tuckerman keeps his
classicality for his Addisonian books, and is full of anecdote and humor ; Gris-
woLD, fiery, sarcastic, and captious ; Dutckinck critical ; Melville (when in town)
taciturn, but genial, and when warmed-up, capitally racy and pungent ; painters
and sculptors, men of deeds, not words, and among them, rarely seen abroad, the
friend of Shelley and Btron. The Doctor himself is glorious, when no lumbago
or fresh bronchial attack dispirits. We want to learn something respecting some
person now dead and gone. We have but to start the hare, and he is soon run

down : * Born in 17 — , died in 18 — , married to Miss , third daughter of ,'

says the statistical and ever-prompt Mr. Rapelte, (who, the Doctor remarks, is
the lineal descendant of the first white child born on this island.) The Doctor
professionally attended the family through several generations, and thus a stream
of valuable information is poured out upon the desired subject.*

One of his friends, who will be recognized by his initials, has, in
the following impromptu verses, written some years ago, in the
album of one of the family, sketched very faithlully a portrait of
the medical Nestor of New- York :

* Dr. FRA27CI8 was a frequent contribator to the earlier Tolomes of the Knicksrbocksb Maoa-
siKR. la one of bis articles there is a rich display of anecdotical matter touching the career of
both CooKK and Krah. The Doctor's epitaph on Cookr*9 Monument in St. Paul's Church-yard is
widely known and appreciated for its correctness. Dr. Francis, in connection with Dr. Hosack,
edited the American and Meaical Regi&ter^ and with Drs. Dtckman and Bkck the KcW' York
Jfedical and Physical Journal. The Familu Magaein^^ Knopf b Amerioan BioQraphy^
Wat«on'$ Annals^ and Du/nlap's Uistoriet of the Stage and ArU ojDeHgn^ also owed much to
his fertile pen. The following is an Incomplete list of the Doctor's writings. We have recently
heard that his medical papers will shortly be gathered for publication :

Firtst: An Address before the Horticultural Society, New- York, 1880.

Second : An Address delirered on the Annirersary of the Philolexlan Society of Colombia
College, New- York, May 15, 1931.

TMrd : Letter on the Cholera Asphyxia, New-York, 1882.

Fourth: Obserrations on the Mineral Waters of Avon, Lirlngston County, New- York, 1P84.

Fifth : Discourse upon the opening of the New llail of the New- York Lyceum of Natural HIs-
•tory; New- York, 1S51.

Sixth : Anniversary Discourse before the New- York Academy of Medicine, New- York, 1847.

S^iventh : Inaugural Address before the Academy of Medicine, 1848.

Eighth : Address to the President-elect, VALKimif ■ Mott, 1819.

Ninth : Old New- York ; or, fteminlscences of the Past Sixty Years, 1853.

174 Out Portrait. [August,

'TBS DOOTOB.

' Who roams tb^ town from mom till night,
Dispensing health from left to right,
And doing good with all his might ?

The DocTOB.

* Who with facetious word and smile,
The heart of patients doth beguile,
More than the flute of Mr. Kyle ?

The DocTOB.

* Who bears the living features strong,
That to our country's sage belong,
Whose praises are his constant song ?

The Doctor.

* Who bj the hour can facts relate,

Of men who ruled the schools or state,
A votary of the truly great ?

The DocTOB.

* Who old physicians by the score.
With Clay and Kane, or Hannah MoBt,
In fond remembrance will explore ?

The DocTOB.

' Who on the sick-bed oft hath seen,
Trumbull and Garcia, Cooke and Kban,
And other geniuses I ween ?

The Doctor.

* Whose head by waving hoar-locks crowned,
With varied knowledge doth abound,

And thoughts vivacious and profound ?

The DocTOB.

' Who, on some memorable night,
Gives mental epicures delight,
And fills all envious rogues with spite ?

The DocTOB.

* Who, with a never-failing zest,
In pleasant intervals of rest,

Gives hearty welcome to each gnest ?

The DooTOB.

* Who on the sofa loves to sit.
And see his wife beside him knit,
While scintillates her ready wit ?

The Dootor.

* And when the cruel bell doth ring.

Who frowning from the couch doth spring,
Doff his gray Jacket and take wing ?

The DocTOB.

* Who comfort often doth forego.
And meet the rage of sun or snow.
Because he never can say no t

TheDQCTOB.

1858.] 77ie Blue^BeUs of NeuhMigland. 176

* Who thinks that Pleasure comprehends,
Books where great truth with reason blends,
Green tea, cigars, and genial friends ?

The DooTOB.

*■ What ornithologist so strange,
For all the birds that air do range
His darling Hawks * would ne^er exchange ?

The Doctor.

• Who wears the academic bay, f

For honor more than gold doth pray,

And likes a chat with Rapelte ? t

The booTOB.
* Nmo- Tark, (Mob&r Uih^ 1800. K. t. t.^

THE BLITE-BELLS OF NEW-ENGLAND.

The roses are a regal troop,

And humble folks the daisies ;
But, Blue-bells of Kew-Eogland,

To you I give my praises :
To you, fair phantoms in the son.

Whom merry Spring discovers.
With blue-birds for your laureates,

And honey-bees for lovers !

The south-wind breathes, and lo I ye throng

This rugged land of ours :
Methinks the pale blue clouds of May

Drop down, and turn to flowers I
By cottage-doors, along the roads,

You show your winsome faces.
And, like the spectre lady, haunt

The lonely woodland places !

All night your eyes are closed in sleep,

But open at the dawning ;
Such simple faith as yours can see

GoD^s coming in the morning.
You lead me, by your holiness,

To pleasant ways of duty :
You set my thoughts to melody,

You fill me with your beauty.

And you are like the eyes I love,

So modest and so tender.
Just touched with morning^s glorious light,

And evening^s gentle splendor.
Long may the heavens give you rail),

The sun-shine its caresses,
Long may the little girl I love

Entwine you in her tresses I t. B. Alduob.

• Rer. Dr. Hawks.

t He WAS long President of the New-Tork Academy of Medicine.

X 6k>rob B. Rapbltb, Esq., a venerable KncKKBBOCKsa firiend, of Hogaenot desoent and anti>
qoarian knowledge.

VOL. LII. 12

176 T/ie Golden Ingot. [August,

THE GOLDEN INGOT.

I HAD just retired to rest, with my eyes almost blind with the
study of a new work on Physiology, by M. Brown-Sequard, when
the night-bell was pulled violently.

It was winter, and I confess I crumbled as I rose and went
down stairs to open the door. Twice that week I had been
aroused long after mid-night on the most trivial causes. Once, to
attend upon the son and heir of a wealthy family, who had cut his
thumb with a pen-knife, which, it seems, he msisted on taking to
bed with him. And once to restore a young gentleman to con-
sciousness, who had been found by his horrified parent stretched
insensible on the stair-case. Diachylon in the one case, and am-
monia in the other, were all that my patients required ; and I had
a £amt suspicion that the present summons was perhaps occasioned
by no case more necessitous than those I have quoted. I was too
young in my profession, however, to neglect opportunities. It is
only when a physician rises to a very large practice that he can
afford to be inhuman. I was on the first step of the ladder, so I
humbly opened my door.

A woman was standing ankle-deep in the snow that lay npon
the stoop. I caught but a dim glimpse of her form, for the night
was cloudy ; but I could hear her teeth rattling like castanets, and
as the sharp wind blew her clothes close to her form, I could de-
tect from the sharpness of the outlines that she was very scantily
suppUed with raiment.

^ Gome in, come in, my good woman,' I said hastily, for the
wind seemed to catch eagerly at the opportunity of maunff itself
at home in my hall, and was rapidly forcing an entrance through
the half-open door. ' Gome in, you can tell me all you have to
communicate inside.'

She slipped in like a ghost, and I closed the door. While I was
striking a light in my office, I could hear her teeth stiU clicking
out in the dark hall, till it seemed as if some skeleton was chatter-
ing. As soon as I obtained a light I begged her to enter the
room, and without occupying myself particularly about her ap-
pearance, asked her abruptly what her business was.

^ My father 1^ met with a severe accident,' she said, * and re-
quires instant surgical aid. I entreat you to come to him imme-
diately.'

The freshness and the melody of her voice startled me. Such
voices rarely if ever issue from any but beautiful forms. I looked
at her attentively, but owing to a nondescript species of shawl in
which her head was wrapped, I could discern nothing beyond
what seemed to be a pale, thin face, and large eyes. Her dress
was lamentable. An old sUk, of a color now unrecognizable, dung
to her figure in those limp folds which are so eloquent of misery.
The creases where it had been folded were worn nearly through

1858.] The Golden Ingot, 177

and through, and the edges of the skirt had decayed into a species
of irregular fringe, which was clotted and discolored with mud.
Her shoes — which were but half-concealed by this scanty gar-
ment — were shapeless and soft with moisture. Her hands were
hidden under the ends of the shawl which covered her head, and
hung down over a bust, the outlines of which, although angular,
seemed to possess a certain grace.

A nameless air of mystery which seemed to hang over this
wretched edifice, created in me a certain curiosity. Poverty, when
partially shrouded, seldom fails to interest ; witness the statue of
the Veiled Beggar, by Monti.

' In what manner was your father hurt ? ' I asked in a tone
considerably softened from the one in which I put my first ques-
tion.

' He blew himself up, Sir, and is terribly wounded,'

' Ah I He is in some factory then ? '

* No, Sir, he is a chemist.'

* A chemist — why, he is a brother professional. Wait an in-
stant and I will slip on my coat and go with you. Do you live
fiir from here ? '

' In the Seventh Avenue, not more than two blocks from the end
of this street.'

' So much the better. "We will be with him in a few minutes.
Did you leave any one in attendance on him ? '

' No, Sir. He will allow no one but myself to enter his labora-
tory. And injured as he is, I could not induce him to quit it.'

^ Indeed I He is engaged in some great discovery, perhaps ? I
have known such cases.'

We were passing under a lamp-post, and the woman suddenly
turned and glared at me with a look of such wild terror, that for
an instant I mvoluntarily glanced round me under the impression
that some terrible peril, unseen by me, was menacing us both.

' Do n't — do n't ask me any questions,' she said breathlessly.
' He will tell you all you want. But do, oh I do hasten — good
God ! he may be dead by this time I '

I made no reply, but sJlowed her to grasp my hand, which she
did with a bony, nervous clutch, and endeavored with some diffi-
culty to keep pace with the long strides — I might well call them
bounds, for they seemed the springs of a wild animal rather than
the pace of a young girl — with which she covered the ground.
Not a word more was uttered until we stopped before a shabby
old-fashioned tenement house in the Seventh Avenue, not fir
above Twenty-third Street.. She pushed the door open with a
convulsive pressure, and still retaining hold of my hand, literally
^^i^gg^^ me up-stairs, to what seemed to be a back offshoot to
the main builmng, as high, perhaps, as the fourth story. In a mo-
ment more I found myself m a moderately-sized chamber, lit by a
single lamp. In one comer, stretched motionless on a wretched
pallet-bed, I beheld what I supposed to be the figure of my patient.

178 The Golden Ingot. [August,

' He is there,' said the girl ; ^ go to him. See if he is dead — I
dare not look.'

I made my way as well as I could through the numberless di-
lapidated chemical instruments with which the room was crowded.
A French chafing-dish, supported on an iron tripod, had been
over-turned and was lying across the floor, while the charcoal, still
warm, was scattered around in various directions. Crucibles,
alembics, and retorts were confusedly piled in various comers, and
on a small table I saw distributed in separate bottles a number of
miaeral and metallic substances, which I recognized as antimony,
mercury, plumbago, arsenic, borax, etc. It was veritably the
apartment of a poor chemist. All the apparatus had the air of be*
ing bought second-hand. There was none of that lustre of exqui-
sitely annealed glass, and highly polished metals, which dazaes
one m the laboratory of the prosperous analyst. The make-shifts
of poverty were every where visible. The crucibles were broken,
or gallipots were used instead of crucibles. The colored tests
were not in the usual transparent vials, but were placed in ordi-
nary black bottles. There is nothing more melancholy than to be-
hold Science or Art in distress. A threadbare scholar, a tattered
book, or a battered violin, are mute appeals to our sympathies.

I approached the wretched pallet-bed on which the victim of
chemistry was lying. He breathed heavily, and had his head
turned toward the walL I lifted his arm gently to arouse his at-
tention.

* How goes it, my poor Mend ? ' I asked him. * Where are
you hurt ? *

In a moment, as if startled by the sound of mv voice, he spraoff
up in his bed, and cowered up against the wall ufce a wild ammiS
driven to bay.

' Who are you ? I do n't know you. Who brought yon here ?
You are a stranger. How dare you come into my private rooms
to spy upon me r '

Atid as he uttered this rapidly with a frightful nervous energy,
I beheld a pale distorted face, draped with long gray hair, glaimg
at me with a mingled expression of fury and terror.

* I am no spy,' I answered mildly. * I heard tibat you had met
with an accident, and have come to cure yon. I am Doetor
Luxor, and here is my card.'

The old man took the card and scanned it eagerly.

* You are a physician ? ' he inquired distrustfully.

* And surgeon also.'

^ You are bound by oath not to reveal the secrets of your jmi*
tients.'

* Undoubtedly.'

* I am afraid that I am hurt,' he continued &intly, half ^king
back in the bed.

I seized the oppportunity to make a brief examination of Ms
body. I found that the arms, a portion of the chest, and some of

1858.] 7%e Ooldm Ingot. IW

the &ce terribly scorched ; but it seemed to me that there was
nothing to be apprehended but pain.

* You will not reveal any thing that you may learn here ? * said
the old man, feebly fixing his eyes on my face while I was applv-
mg some soothing ointment to the bums. ' You will promise me r*

I nodded assent.

* Then I will trust you. Cure me — I will pay you well.'

I could scarce help smiling. K Lorenzo de Medici, conscious of
millions of ducats in his coffers, had been addressing some leech
of the period, he could not have spoken with a loftier air than this
inhabitant of the fourth story of a tenement house in the Seventh
Avenue.

* You must keep quiet,' I answered. * Let nothing irritate you.
I will leave a composing draught with your daughter, which she
will give you immediately. I will see you in the morning. You
will be well in a week.'

' Thank God 1 ' came in a murmur from a dusk comer near the
door. I turned and beheld the dim outline of the girl standing
with clasped hands in the gloom, and projecting eager eyes
through the dim chamber.

* My daughter I ' screamed the old man, once more leaping up
in the bed with renewed vitality. * You have se^n her then ?
when ? where ? Oh ! may a thousand cur '

* Father I &ther ! Any thing — any thing but that. Do n't,
do n't curse me I ' and the poor girl, laishing in, flung herself sob-
bing on her knees beside his pallet.

* Ah ! Brigand 1 you are there, are you ? Sir,' said he, turn-
ing to me, * I am the most unhappy man in the world. Talk
of Sysiphus rolling the ever-recoiling stone — of Prometheus
gnawed by the vulture since the birth of Time. The fa-
bles yet Uve. There is my rock, forever crushing me back.
There is my eternal vulture feeding upon my heart I There —
there — there I ' and with an awful gesture of malediction and
hatred, he pointed with his wounded hand, swathed and shapeless
with bandages, at the cowering, sobbing, wordless woman by his
side.

I was too much horror-stricken to attempt even to soothe him.
The anger of blood against blood has an electric power which par-
alyzes bystanders.

' Listen to me. Sir,' he continued, ' while I skin this painted vi-
per. I have your oath. You will not reveal. I am an alchemist.
Sir. Since I was twenty-two years old, I have pursued the won-
derfiil and subtle secret. Yes! to unfold the mysterious Rose
guarded with such terrible thoms, to decipher the wondrous Table
of £merald, to accomplish the mystic nuptials of the Red King
and the White Queen, to marry them soul to soul and body to
body forever and ever, in the exact proportions of land and wa-
ter, such has been my sublime aim — such has been the splendid
feat that I have accomplished.'

I recognized at a glance in this incomprehensible farrago the

180 The Golden Ingot, [August,

argot of the true alchemist. Ripley, Flamel, and others have sup-
plied the world in their works with the melancholy spectacle of a
scientific Bedlam.

* Two years since,' continued the poor man, growing more and
more excited with every word that he uttered ; * two years since,
I succeeded in solving the great problem — in transmuting the
baser metals into gold. None but myself, that girl, and God knows
the privations I had suffered up to that time. Food, clothing, air,
exercise, every thing but shelter, was sacrificed toward the one
great end. Success at last crowned my labors. That which Ni-
cholas Flamel did in 1382, that which George Ripley did at
Rhodes in 1460, that which Alexander Sethon and Michael Scudi-
vogius did in the seventeenth century, I did in 1866. I made

fold ! I said to myself: ' I will astonish New- York more than
'lamel did Paris.' He was a poor copyist, and suddenly launched
into magnificence. I had scarce a rag to my back — » I would rival
the Medicis. I made gold every day. I toiled night and morn-
ing — for I must tell you that I never was able make more than
a certain quantity at a time, and that by a process almost entirely
dissimilar to those hinted at in those books of alchemy I had
hitherto consulted ; but I had no doubt that facility would come
with experience, and that ere long I would be able to eclipse in
wealth the richest sovereigns of the earth.

* So I toiled on. Day after day I gave to this girl here what
gold I succeeded in fabricating, telling her to store it away, after
supplying our necessities. I was astonished to perceive that we
lived as poorly as ever. I reflected, however, that it was perhaps
a commendable piece of prudence on the part of my daughter.
Doubtless, I said, she argues that the less we spend the sooner we
shall accumulate a capital wherewith to live at ease ; so thinking
her course a wise one, I did not reproach her with her niggardh-
ness, but toiled on amid want with closed lips.

* The gold which I fabricated was, as I said before, of an inva-
riable size, namely, a little ingot worth perhaps thirty or forty-five
dollars. In two years I calciilated that I had made five hundred
of these ingots, which, rated at an average of thirty dollars a piece,
would amount to the gross sum of fifteen thousand dollars. After
deducting our slight expenses for two years, we ought to have
nearly fourteen thousand dollars left. It was time, I thought, to
indemnify myself for my years of suffering, and surround my child
and myself with such moderate comforts as our means allowed. I
went to my daughter and explained to her that I desired to make
an encroachment upon our little hoard. To my utter amazement
she burst into tears and told mo that she had not got a dollar ;
that the entire of our wealth had been stolen from her. Almost
overwhelmed by this new misfortune, I in vain endeavored to dis-
cover from her in what manner our savings had been plundered.
She could afford me no explanation, beyond what I might gather
from an abundance of sobs and a copious flow of tears.

* It was a bitter blow, Doctor, but ' nil desperandum » was my

1858.] The GMden Ingot. 181

motto, so I went to work at my crucible again with redoubled en
ergy, and made an ingot nearly every second day. I determined
this time to put them in some secure place myself; but the very
first day I set my apparatus in order for the projection, the girl
Marian — that is my daughter's name — came weeping to me, and
implored of me to allow her to take care of our treasure. I re-
fused her decisively, saying that having found her already incapa-
ble of filling the trust, I could place no faith in her again. But
she persisted, clung to my necl^ threatened to abandon n\e, in
short, used so many of the bad but irresistible arguments known to
women, that I had not the heart to refuse her. She has since that
time continued to take the ingots.

' Yet you behold,' continued the old alchemist casting an inex-
pressibly mournful glance around the wretched apartment, * you
see the way we live. Our food is insufficient and of bad quality ;
we never buy any clothes ; the rent of this hole is a mere nothing.
What am I to think of the wretched girl who plunges me into this
misery ? Is she a miser, think you ? or a female gamester ? or —
or — does she squander it riotously in places I know not of? O
doctor, doctor ! do not blame me if I heap imprecations on her
head, for I have suffered bitterly 1 ' The poor man here closed
his eyes, and sank back groaning on his bed.

This singular narrative excited in me the strangest emotions. I
glanced at the girl Marian, who had been a patient listener to
these horrible accusations of cupidity, and never did I behold a
more angelic air of resignation than was spread over her counte-
nance, it was im oseible that any one with those pure, limpid
eyes, that calm, broad forehead, that child-like mouth, could be
such a monster of avarice or deceit as the old man represented.
The thing was plain enough ; the alchemist was mad — what al-
chemist was there ever who was not ? — and his insanity had taken
this terrible shape. I felt an inexpressible pity move my heart for
this poor girl, whose youth was burdened with such an awful sor-
row.

' What is your name ? ' I asked the old man, taking his tremu-
lous fevered hand in mine.

* William Blakelock,' he answered. * I come of an old Saxon
stock, Sir, that bred true men and women in former days. God I
how did it ever come to pass that such a one as that girl there
ever sprang from our line ! '

The glance of loathing and contempt that he cast at her, made
me shudder.

'May you not be mistaken in your daughter?' I said very
mildly ; ' delusions with regard to alchemy are, or have been,
very common '

' What, Sir ? » cried the old man, bounding in his bed. * What ?
do you doubt that gold can be made ? Do you know. Sir, that
M. C. Theodore Tiffereau made gold at Paris in the year 1854 in
the presence of M. Levol, the assayer of the Imperial Mint, and
the result of the experiments read before the Academy of Sciences

182 27^ Golden Ingot. [Aiigiiit,

on the sixteenth of October of the same year ? But 6ta^, you shall
have better proof yet. I will pay you with one of my ingots, and
you shall attend me until I am well Get me an ingot I '

This last command was addressed to Marian, who was still kneel-
ing close to her father's bed-side. I observed her with some curi-
osity as this mandate was issued. She became very pale, clasped
her hands convulsively, but neither moved nor made any reply,

^ Get me an ingot, I say I ' reiterated the alchemist passionately.

She fixed her large eyes imploringly upon him. Her lips quivered,
and two huge tears rolled slowly down her white cheeks.

* Obey me, wretched girl,' cried the old man in an agitated
voice, ' or I swear by all that I reverence in Heaven and earth,
that I will lay my curse upon you forever I '

I felt for an instant* that I ought perhaps to interfere, and spare
the girl the anguish that she was so evidently suffering ; bat a
powerful curiosity to see how this strange scene would terminate
withheld me.

The last threat of her father, uttered as it was with a terrible
vehemence, seemed to appall Marian. She rose with a sudden
leap, as if a serpent had stung her, and rushing into an inner apart-
ment, returned with a small object in her hand, which she placed
in my hand, and then flung herself in a chair in a distant comer
of the room weeping bitterly.

' You see — you see,' said the old man sarcastically, * how re-
luctantly she parts with it. Take it, Sir, it is yours.'

It was a small bar of metal. I examined it carefully, poised it
in my hand — the color, weight, every thing announoea that it
really was gold.

' You doubt its genuineness, perhaps ? ' continued the alchemist.

* There are acids on yonder table — test it.'

I confess that I did doubt its genuineness, but after I had acted
upon the old man's suggestion, all further suspicion was rendered
impossible. It was gold of the highest purity. I was astounded.
Was then, after all, this man's tale a truth ? Was his daughter,
that &ir, angelic-looking creature a demon of avarice, or a slave
to worse passions ? I felt bewildered. I had never met with
any thing so incomprehensible. I looked from father to daughter
in the blankest amazement. I suppose that my countenance be-
trayed my astonishment, for the old man said :

' I perceive that you are surprised. Well, that is natural. You
had a riffht to think me mad, until I proved myself sane.'

' But, Mr. Blakelock,' I said, ' I really cannot take this gold. I
have no right to it. I cannot in justice charge so large a fee.*

*Take it — take it,' he answered impatiently, 'your fee will
amount to that before I am well ; beside,' he added mysterionsly,

* I wish to secure your friendship. I wish that you should protect
me from Her,' and he pomted his poor bandaged hand at MftriftTj.

My eye followed his gesture, and I caught the glance that re-
plied. A glance of horror, distrust, despair. The beautiM fiskce
was distorted into positive ugliness.

1858.] 27ie Golden Ingot. IBS

* It 's all true,' I thought, * she is the demon that her father re*
presents her.'

I now rose to go. This domestic tragedy sickened me. This
treachery of blood against blood was too horrible to witness. I
wrote a prescription for Ihe old man, left directions as to the re-
newal of the dressings upon his bums, and bidding him good night
hastened towards the door.

While I was fumbling on the dark, crazy landing for the stair-
case, I felt a hand laid on my arm.

' Doctor,' whispered a voice that I recognized as Marian Blake-
lock's, ' Doctor, have you any compassion in your heart ? '

* I hope so,' I answered shortly, shaking off her hand — her touch
611ed me with loathing.

* Hush I do n't talk so loud. If you have any pity in your na-
ture, give me back, I entreat of you, that gold mgot which my
father gave you this evening.'

' Great Heaven 1 ' said I, ' can it be possible that so fair a wo-
man can be such a mercenary, shameless wretch ? '

*Ahl you know not — I cannot tell you! Do not judge me
harahly. I call God to witness that I am not what you deem me.
Some day or other you will know — but,' she added, interrupting
herself ' the ingot — where is it ? I must have it. My life de-
pends on your giving it to me.'

' Take it, impostor I ' I cried, placing it in her hand, that closed
on it with a horrible eagerness. ' I never intended to keep it.
Gold made under the same roof that covers such as you, must be
accursed.'

So saying, heedless of the nervous effort she made to detain me,
I stumbled down the stairs and walked hastily home.
^ The next morning while I was in my office, smoking my matu-
tinal cigar, and speculating over the singular character of my ac-
quaintances of last night, the door opened, and Marian Blakelock
entered. She had the same look of terror that I had observed
the evening before, and she panted as if she had been running fast.

' Father has got out of bed,' she gasped out, ' and insists on
going on with his alchemy. Will it kSl him ? '

'Not exactly,' I answered coldly. 'It were better that he
kept quiet, so as to avoid the chance of inflammation. However,
you need not to be alarmed, his burns are not at all dangerous^ al-
though painful.'

' Thank God — thank God ! ' she cried in the most impassionate
accents, and before I was aware of what she was doing, she seized
my hand and kissed it.

' There, that will do,' I said, withdrawing my hand, ' you are
under no obligations to me. You had better go back to your
father.'

' I can't go,' she answered, 'you despise me — is it not so ? '

I made no reply.

' You think me a monster — a criminal. When you went home
last night, you were wonder-struck that so vile a creature as I
should have so fair a face.'

184 The Golden Ingot. [Angust,

* You embarrass me, Madam,' I said in my most chilling tone.
* Pray, relieve me from this unpleasant position.'

' Wait I I cannot bear that you should think ill of me. You
are good and kind, and I desire to possess your esteem. You little
know how I love my father.'

I could not restrain a bitter smile,

* You do not believe that ? Well, I will convince you. I have
had a hard struggle all last night with myself, but am now re-
solved. This life of deceit must continue no longer. Will you
hear my vindication ? '

I nodded my head. The wonderful melody of her voice, and
the purity of her features were charming me once more. I half
believed in her innocence already.

* My father has told you a portion of his history. But he did
not tell you that his continued failures in his search after the secret
of metallic transmutation nearly killed him. Two years ago, he
was on the verge of the grave, working every day at his mad pur-
suit, and every day growing weaker and more emaciated. I saw
that if his mind was not relieved in some way, he would die. The
thought was madness to me, for I loved him — I love him still as
a daughter never loved a father before. During all these years of
poverty I had supported the house with my needle ; it was hard
work, but I did it — I do it still ! '

' What ? ' I cried startled, ' does not *

* Patience. Hear me out. My father was dying of disappoint-
ment. I must save him. By incredible exertions, sitting up all
night, and working with enormous rapidity, I saved about thirty-
five dollars in notes. These I exchanged for gold, and one day
when my £ither was not looking, I cast them into the crucdble in
which he was making one of his vain attempts at transmutation,
God, I am sure, will pardon me the deception, I never anticipated
the misery it would lead to.

* I never beheld any thing like the joy of my poor &ther, when,
after emptying his crucible, he found a deposit of pure gold at the
bottom. He wept, and danced, and sang, and built such castles
in the air, that my brain turned to hear him. He gave me the in-
got to keep, and went to work at his alchemy with renewed vigor.
The same thing occurred. He always found the same quantity of
gold in his crucible. I alone knew the secret. He was happy,
poor man, for nearly two years, in the belief that he was amassmff
a fortune. I all the while plied my needle for our daily brea£
When he asked me for his savings, the first stroke fell upon me.
Then it was that I recognized the folly of my conduct. I could
give him no money. I never had any — while he believed that I
had fourteen thousand dollars. My heart was nearly broken when
I found that he had conceived the most injurious suspicions against
me. Yet I could not blame him. I could give no account of the
treasure, I had permitted him to believe was in my possession. I
must suffer the penalty of my fault, for to undeceive him would be,
I felt, to kill him. I remained silent then and suffered.

1858.] TTie Golden Ingot 186

* You know the rest. You now know why it was that I was re-
luctant to give you that ingot — why it was that I degraded my-
self so far as to ask it back. It was the only means I had of con-
tinuing a deception on which I believed my father's life depended.
But that delusion has been dispelled. I can live this life of hypo-
ci*isy no longer. I cannot exist, and hear my father, whom I
love so, wither me daily with his curses. I will undeceive him
this very day — will you come with me, for I fear the effect on his
enfeebled frame ? '

* Willingly,' I answered, taking her by the hand, ' and I think
that no absolute danger need be apprehended. Now, Marian,' I
added, ' let me ask forgiveness for my having even for a moment
wounded so noble a heart. You are truly as great a martyr, as
any of those whose sufferings the Church perpetuates in altar-pieces.'

' I knew you would do me justice when you knew all,' she sobbed
pressing my hand, ' but come. I am on fire. Let us hasten to my
father's, and break this terror to him.'

When we reached the old alchemist's room, we found him busi-
ily engaged over a crucible which was placed on a small furnace,
and in which some indiscribable mixture was boiling. He looked
up as we entered.

* No fear of me. Doctor,' he said with a ghastly smile, ' no fear.
I must not allow a little physical pain to interrupt my great work,
you know. By the way, you are just in time. In a few moments
the marriage of the Red King and White Queen will be accom-
plished, as Greorge Ripley calls the great act, in his book entitled,
^27ie Ikcelve GatesJ* Yes, Doctor, in less than ten minutes you will
see me make pure, red, shining gold I ' And the poor old man
smiled triumphantly, and stirred his foolish mixture with a long
rod, which he held with difficulty in his bandaged hands. It was
a grievous sight for a man of any feeling to witness.

' Father,' said Marian in a low, broken voice, advancing a little
toward the poor old dupe, ' I want your forgiveness.'

* Ah, Hypocrite I for what ? Are you going to give me back
my gold?'

* No, father, but for the deception that I have been practising
on you for two years '

' I knew it — I knew it,' shouted the old man with a radiant
countenance. * She has concealed my fourteen thousand dollars all
this time, and now comes to restore them. I will forgive her.
Where are they, Marian ? '

* Father — it must come out. You never made any gold. It
was I who saved up thirty-five dollars, and I used to slip them into
your crucible when your back was turned — and I did it only be-
cause I saw that you were dying of disappointment. It was wrong,
I know — but, mther, I meant well, x ou 'U forgive me, won't
you ? '

And the poor girl advanced a step towards the alchemist. He
grew deathly pale, and staggered as if about to fall. The next in-

186 27ie Golden Ingot. [Angost,

stant, though, he recovered himself, and burst into a horrible sar-
donic laugh. Then he said in tones full of the bitterest irony :

* A conspiracy, is it ? Well done, Doctor ! You think to re-
concile me with this wretched girl by trumping up this story, that
I have been for two years a dupe of her filial piety. It 's clumsy.
Doctor, and is a total failure. Try again.'

^ But I assure you, Mr. Blakelock,' I said as earnestly as I could,
* I believe your daughter's statements to be perfectly true. You
will find it to be so, as she has got the ingot in her possession which
so often deceived you into the belief that you made gold, and this
you will certainly find, that no transmutation has taken place in
your crucible.'

* Doctor,' said the old man in tones of the most settled convic-
tion, ' you are a fool. That girl has wheedled you. In less than
a minute I will turn you out a piece of gold, purer than any the
earth produces. Will that convince you ? '

' That will convince me,' I answered. By a gesture I imposed
silence on Marian, who was about to speak — as I thought it was
better to allow the old man to be his own undeceiver — and we
awaited the coming crisis.

The old man, still smiling with anticipated triumph, kept bend-
ing eagerly over his crucible, stirring the miicture with his rbd, and
muttering to himself all the time. ' Now,' I heard him say, * it .
changes. There — there's the scum. And now the green and
bronze shades flit across it. Oh I the beautiful green I The pre-
cursor of the golden-red hue, that tells of the end attained. Ab !
now the golden-red is coming — slowly — slowly I It deepens, it
shines, it is dazzling ! Ah ! I have it ! ' So saying he caught up
his crucible in a chemist's tongs, and bore it slowly toward the
table on which stood a brass vessel. ,

* Now, incredulous doctor ! ' he cried, ' come, and be convinced,'
and immediately commenced carefully pouring the contents of the
crucible into the brass vessel. When the crucible was quite empty,
he turned it up, and called me again. ^ Come, Doctor, come, and
be convinced. See for yourself.'

' See first if there is any gold in your crucible,' I answered with-
out moving.

He laughed, shook his head derisively, and looked into the cru-
cible. In a moment he grew pale as death.

* Nothing!' he cried. 'Oh! a jest! a jest! There must be
gold somewhere. Marian ! '

' The gold is here, father,' said Marian, drawing the ingot from
her pocket ;' it is all we ever had.'

' Ah ! ' shrieked the poor old man, as he let the empty crucible
fall, and staggered toward the ingot which Marian held out to
him. He made three steps, and then fell on his j&ce. Mariftn
rushed toward him, and tried to lift him, but could not. I put
her aside gently, and placed my hand on his heart.

' Marian,' said I, ' it is perhaps better as it is. He is dead I *

1868.] The. Atlantic Telegraph. 187

THE ATLANTIC TELEGBAPH

BT BoaamT t. iCAooonir, 0. ■. v.

Thk subtile fluid that was tamed
By Franklin^s magic skill ;

That MoRSS by Science has enchained,
To serve the human will :

Whose lightning course has banished Space,

And leaves slow Time behind.
Is destined soon two kindred lands

By closer ties to bind.

Old England and her goodly son,

So near allied by blood,
Are soon to press each other*8 hands

Across the mighty flood :

IV.

And through a slender nerve of thought
Stretched from each kindred shore.

Perpetual peace and harmony
Shall flow for evermore.

The great Atlantic Telegraph

A golden link will be
In bold Progression's lengthening chain —

A step in History t

▼1.

Yet this long cord stretched o'er the sea,

By Albion and her son,
Is but a tithe of that great work

The world has just begun :

vn.

Around the globe, from east to west,
The electric road shall run.

Spreading each day to all mankind
The work that has been done.

LITERARY NOTICES.

T!bb Paba Papkbs. 67 Gborob Lbiohton Ditson. Paris: Fqwlbb, 6 Bae Mont-

pensier. New-York : Mason Bbothebs.

In christening this delightful record of trayels, the author gare eridenoe of ex-
cessive and unnecessary modesty ; for a parOy as the reader will understand, is
one of the smallest of Oriental coins. Such delicacy on the part of the author,
however, shall not tempt us into under-valuing his pleasantly written-down
experiences in France, Egypt, and Ethiopia. Mr. Ditson passes over ground
that has been worn nearly smooth by pilgrim feet ; but he gives us fresh and
duirming pictures of the fiuniliar places. The &ct is, it is not of so much im-
poitance where a man has been, as what he says about it 1 An observant man
win be new and entertaining any where, whether he is fishing o£P of ' Pier IHne^
East-River,' or walking around the Pyramids. Mr. Ditson, then, has managed
to make a &scinating book out of materials that may be said to have * a Tery
ancient and fish-like smelL' He was wise enough to travel with his eyes wide
open, and oonseqjaently (having a gift of pen) does not put his readers to sleep.
We say this much for the present The volume came to us as we were going
to press, or we should have ventured on a criticism more commensurate with
its many and peculiar merits.

Thi Histort and ANTiQirrnss of thb Citt of St. AuQUsmn, FioinML Bjy Qaoasa
R. Fairbaxks. New-Tork : CHAaLss B. Norton.

The ancient and siempre fiel Civdad de San Augustin has fbaad a most
admirable historian in the Vice-President of the ' Florida HistoricBl StxkijJ
It was a happy suggestion which led the author to turn a brief lecture on tiie
antiquities of the *pleas8nte citie' into a volume like this. The events wRh
whidi the author deals are among the most romantic passages of oar eariy his-
tory. The wild search of Ponce de Leon for the waters of perpetual yoolii;
the discovery of Florida ; the inhuman cruelty of the fimatical Adebntido^ and
the sad fortunes of Bibault, Sandonniebe, and other nobl^ genUemeo, liaTe
an enchanting air of fiction about them. Since Pbescoits 'OooqaflBl of
Mexioov' we have read nothing of the kind with sucll deep interest.

JUterary Notices. 189

A Fbw Ybrsbs for a Fbw Friends. By James T. Fields. Biyerside Press : Printed
bj N. 0. Houghton and Company, Cambridge.

Next to being *a dear, delightful poet,' we should most desire to be a printer
like Houghton. Was there ever any thing so dainty (if we except the poems)
as this antique type, this ivory paper, and these distracting little tail-pieces ?
Apropos of the poems: we do n*t know if we are quite at liberty to praise them.
The volume is not published * in the old orthodox way,' but was gotten up and
adorned entirely by Mr. Houghton, the Cambridge printer, as a specimen of
his art The fortunate author had no hand in it — only his * poetical feet t '
Even though we touch on delicate ground, and have to * walk through Time '
unpardoned, we must ask the readers of the Knickerbockeb if there is n't the
tremble of dew-drops with the smell of young leaves in these delicious verses:

' Sit and talk with the mountain streams

In the beautiful spring of the year.
When the violet gleams through the eolden sun-beams,
And whispers : * Come look for me nere/
In the beautiful spring of the year.

' I will show you a glorious nook

Where the censers of morning are swung
Nature will lend you her bell and her book
Where the chimes of the forest are hung,
And the censers of morning are swung. •

* Come and breathe in this hearen-sent air, ^

The breeze that the wild-bird inhales.
Come and forget that life has a care,
In these exquisite mountain eales :
The breeze that the wild-bird inhales.

* 0 wonders of God I 0 Bounteous and Gk>OD !

We feel that Thy presence is here :
That Thine audible voice is abroad in this wood
In the beautiful spring of the year :
And we know that our Father is here.'

A Haitd-Book ON Property Law. Bv Lord St. Leonards. New-York : D. Applx-
ton and Compant. Philadelphia: T. B. Petbbson and Brothebs.

Ip we may credit the titles of several modem publications — * Every Man
his own Architect,' * The Household Physician, * Greek without a Master,' etc.,
etc. — there will eventually be ^ a dying out ' of the professions. As &r as the
law fiiculty goes, this little book wiU not cause the suspension of that amiable
body, though it is a useful work, conveying practical information on ques-
tions which arise daily in mercantile and domestic relations. In many cases,
a careful reference to this volume would render legal advice superfluous. The
author does not perplex his text with technical phrases, and any man who can
read * English undefiled' will be able to infer his meaning.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

LiTEBABT Occupations of Stdnet Smith's Eablt Yeabs. — The other day,
while awaiting dinner at ^BrooJcaidey the pretty name of a tasteful residence
and liberal estate of a country neighbor and friend, we passed a pleasant half-
hour in his small but well-selected library : and so it was that we came across
a book, printed long ago, the contents of which came from the late Stdnet
Smith's brain and lips, before we had emerged from the ' dim backward and
abysm of time : ' namely : his ^Elementary Sketches of Moral PhUosoplhy^
originally delivered before the Royal Institution of London. Eight years have
elapsed sinc^the book was published, yet we now saw it for the first tima Yezy
eagerly did we devour it : for Stdnet Smith never wrote any thing which was
not characterized by originality of thought and a felicity of execution altogether
ewi generis. Immediately after Stdnet Smithes death, his excellent widow,
with a loving regard for her departed husband^s fame, had the volume befcn^ us
privately printed, * in the hope that his remaining friends would feel some m-
terest in the occupations of his earlier years : ' whereupon many eminent persons
counselled their publication ; among whom was Lord Jeftbet, who had years
before entertained a yery different opinion : but in a letter to Mrs. Smra,
written only three days before his last sudden and &tal illness, he revises his
former literary judgment : confesses that he finds the book much more origina],
interesting, and instructive than he had anticipated ; adding: * I cannot rest,
until I have made some amends for the rash and I fear somewhat ungradoos
judgment which I passed upon it, after perusing a portion of the manuscript
some years ago. I must have been unfortunate in the selection, or chance^ fay
which I was directed to them. However that may be, I am now satisfied that
in what I then said, I did great and grievous injustice to the morit of these
Lectures, and was quite wrong in dissuading their publication.' Lord Jetibit
even goes &rther, and frankly alfirms it as his opinion that they were cakmlatedi
many of them, to do the author as much credit as any thing he ever wrote ;
conveying, as they did, a stronger impression of the force and yivadly of his
intellect, as well as a truer and more engaging view of his character, than moat
of the world had yet seen of his writings : * The book seems to me full of good
sense, acuteness, and right feeling ; very dearly and pleasingly written ; and
with such an admirable mixture of logical intrepidity, vrith the absence (^ aU dojp-

JEditor'a Table. 191

matism, as is rarely met with in the conduct of such discussions.' This ^ tardy
confession ' was due not less to Jeffrey than to his friend ; and it is greatly to
the honor of the eminent reviewer that it was so cordially rendered. But
proceed we to a consideration of the volume before us. In his opening lecture,
announcing the character of the course, the * moral philosopher ' remarks :
* There is a word of dire sound and horrible import which I would fiiin have
kept concealed if I possibly could ; but as this is not feasible, I shall even
meet the danger at once, and get out of it as well as I can. The word* to
which I allude is that very tremendous one of Metaphysics ; which, in a lec-
ture on Moral Philosophy, seems likely to produce as much alarm as the cry
of fire in a crowded play-house, when Belvidera is left to weep by herself
and every one saves himself in the best manner he can. I must beg my au-
dience, however, to sit quiet, till they hear what can be said in defence of
Metaphysics, and in the mean time to make use of the language which the
manager would probably adopt on such an occasion : I can assure ladies and
gentlemen, there is not the smallest degree of danger.' Speaking of the vigor
and acuteness which the science of Moral Philosophy is apt to communicate to
the fiiculties, he observes : * The slow and cautious pace of mathematics is not
fit for the rough road of life ; it teaches no habits which will be of use to us
when we come to march in good earnest : it will not do, when men come to
real business, to be calling for axioms, and definitions, and to admit nothing
without fuU proo^ and perfect deduction ; we must decide sometimes upon the
slightest evidence, catch the faintest surmise, and get to the end of an affiiir
before a mathematical head could decide about its commencement' This
brief tribute to the science he was about to discuss in his lectures, closes his
introductory:

* Moral Philosopl^ gradnally subjects the most impetuotis feelings to patient ex-
amination and wise control : it inures the youthful mind to intellectual difficulty,
and to enterprise in thinking ; and makes it as keen as an ea^le, and as unwearied as
the wing of an angel. In looking round the region of spirit, from the mind of the
brute and the reptue, to the sublimest exertions of the human understanding, this
philosophy lays deep the foundations of a fervent and grateful piety, for those intel-
lectual riches which have been dealt out to us with no scanty measure. With sensa-
tion alone, we might have possessed the earth, as it is possessed by the lowest order
of beings: but we hare talents which bend all the laws of nature to our service;
memory for the past, providence for tiie future : senses which mingle pleasure with
intelligence, the surprise of novelty, the boundless energy of imagination, accuracy
in comparing, and severity in judging; an original affection, which binds us to-
gether m Bociet^r ; a swiftness to pity ; a fear of sname ; a love of esteem ; a detesta-
uon of all that is cruel, mean, and unjust. All these things Moral Philosophy ob-
serves, and, observing, adores the Bkinq from whence they proceed.*

In the second lecture, opening the history of Moral Philosophy, allusion is
made to Socrates, and a slight sketch is given of his moral doctrines, which
comprehended no more than every person, of education, of the present era^ has
been accustomed to hear from his childhood :

' Brr two thousand years ago, thev were great discoveries : two thousand years
since, common-sense was not invented. If Orpheus, or Linds, or any of those melodi-
ous moralists, sung in bad verses, such advice as a grand-mamma would now give
to a child of six years old, he was thought to be inspired by the gods, and statues
and altars were erected to his memorv. In Hksiod there is a very grave exhortation
to mankind to wash their faces : and I have discovered a very strong analogv between
the precepts of Ptthagoras and Mrs. Trimmer : both think that a son ought to obey
his rather, and both are clear that a good man is better than a bad one. Therefore,

VOL. Lll. 13

192 Editor' 8 Table. [August,

to measure aright this extraordinary man, we must remember the period at which he
lived ; that he was the first who called the attention of mankind from the pernicious
Bubtilties which engaged and perplexed their wandering understandings, to the

Sracticul rules of life; he was the great father and inventor of common-sense, as
BRES was of the plough, and Bacchus of intoxication. First he taught his cotempora-
ries that thej did not know what they pretended to know ; then he showed them
that they knew nothing ; then he told them what they ought to know. Lastly, to
Bom up the praise of Socrates, remember that two thousand years ago, while men
were worshipping the stones on which they trod, and the insects which crawled be-
DQpcath their feet ; two thousand years ago, with the bowl of poison in his hand, So-
crates said : * I am persuaded that my death, which is now just coming, will conduct
me into tlie presence of the gods, who are the most righteous governors, and into the
society of just and good men ; and I derive confidence from the hope that something
of man remains after death, and that the condition of good men will then be much
better than that of the bad.' Soon after this he covered himself up with his doak
and expired.'

This, while it embodies a truth not definitely considered by the minority of
Christendom, is exceedingly chcoracteristic of the playfully-satirical style of the
author's later writings. To Plato, the most celebrated disciple of the * Aca-
demic schooV he renders due homage for the 'majestic beauty of his style, the
vigor and the magnitude of his conceptions ; ' but his philosophical tenets are
pronounced * a ha' pennyworth of bread to an intolerable deal of sack.' Hia
* philosophy ' is thus set forth :

'His notion was, that the principles out of which the world was oomposed
were three in number ; the subiect matter of things, their specific essences, and the
sensible objects themselves. Tliese last he conceived to have no probable or durable
existence, but to be always in a state of fluctuation : but then there were certain
everlasting patterns and copies, from which every thing had been made, and which
he denommated their specific essences. For instance, the individual rose which I
smell at this instant, or a particular pony upon which I cast my eye, are objects of
sense which have no durable existence ; the individual idea I have of them this mo-
ment is not numerically the same as the idea which I had the moment before; inst as
the river which I pass now is not the same river which I passed half-an-hour Before,
because the individual water in which I trod has glided away : therefore these ap-
pearances of the rose, and the pony, arc of verv little importance; but there is some-
where or other an eternal pony, and an eternal rose, after the pattern of which one
and the other have been created. The same with actions as with things. If Plato
had seen one person make a bow to another, he would have said that the particular
bow was a mere visible species ; but there was an unchanging bow which had existed
from all eternity, and which was the model and archetype and specific essence of all
other bows. But, says Plato, all things in this world are individuals. We see ik%%
man, and thai man, and the other man /but a man — the general notion of a man — we
do not and cannot gain from our senses ; the^pfore we have existed in some previous
state, where we have gained these notions of universal natures.'

The witty satirist would seem to have had no very exalted opinioa of the
Epicureans, and the doctrines which they taught : * A set of gramniTorous
metaphysicians, living together in a garden, and employing their whole time
in acts of benevolence toward each other, carries with it such an air of rcHnance,
that I am afraid it must be considerably lowered, and rendered more tasteless^
before it can be brought down to the standard of credibility, and the probabili-
ties of real life.' The absurdity of some of the pseudo-philosophical ideas of
Epicurus are admirably hit off: as for example : * Sense, he was of opinion,
could never be deceived; though the judgment founded upon the representa-
tions of the senses might be either true or false. For instance, if a person of
imperfect sight were to mistake the head of a post for the head of a cow; Epi-
curus would contend that the eye conveyed to the mind a notice of every ray
of light that acted upon it in this instance, and that the mind had determined
hastily upon the evidence presented to it Every opinion he thought to be

1858.] Editor' 8 Table. 193

true which was attested, or not contradicted, by the senses.* And thus with
justice : * If one boy abstain from taking away another boy's pie, it is not bo-
cause he receives any pleasure from not taking away the pie, but because he
wishes to avoid certain consequences which would follow the seizure. Such
was the idea Epicubus had of virtue.' In closing this lecture, there is a very
characteristic * touch ' of the witty prebend : * I might say a great deal more
upon the philosophy of Epicurus ; but I must not forget one of his habits in
philosophizing, which I dare say will meet with the hearty approbation of every
body here present ; and that was, never to extend any single lecture to an un-
reasonable period : in imitation of which Epicurean practice, I shall conclude,
and finish the history of moral philosophy at our next meeting.* The con-
densed knowledge embraced in the ensuing lecture, will remind the reader of
certain matter-full pages of quaint old Burton. The beliefs of the entire race
of so-called * philosophers ' pass in rapid but intelligent review. This was one
of Descartes* theories : * Rejecting the doctrines of the Peripatetics, he con-
jectured boldly that the heavenly bodies of our system are carried round by a
vortex or whirlpool of subtile matter, just as straws and chaff are carried round
in a tub of water. He conjectured, that the soul is seated in a small gland in
the brain, called the pineal gland ; that there, as in her chamber of presence,
she receives intelligence of every thing that affects the senses, by means of a
subtile fluid contained in the nerves, called the animal spirits ; and that she
dispatches these animal spirits, as her messengers, to put in motion the several
muscles of the body, as there is occasion. By such conjectures as these,
Descartes could account for every phenomenon in nature, in such a plausible
manner, as gave satisfaction to a great part of the learned world for more than
half a century.' Touching one * principle' of the * metaphysical lunatics'
whom he had been discussing, as Berkeley, Collier, and two or three others,
he observes: * Bishop Berkel^ says, * There is a moon, an image coining
from the moon, an idea excited by that image, and a mind in which that image
exists. You allow that you do not see the objects themselves, but only certain
representatives of those objects : therefore, as you never see the objects them-
selves, what proof have you of their existence ? You have none : and all your
notions on this subject are fallacious. There is no sun, no moon, no stars, nor
earth, nor sea : they are all notions of the mind.' ' To which the acute lecturer
replies, that such reasoning may be applied with equal justice to every radical
truth : * Who can prove his own personal identity ? A man may think him-
self a clergyman, and believe that he has preached for these ten years last past:
but I defy him to offer any sort of j!>r<?^that he has not been a fishmonger all
the time I All reasoning must end in arbitrary belief We must^ at last, come
to that point where the only reply can be, */ am so : this belief is the constitu-
tion of my nature : God willed it' I grant that this reasoning is a ready asy-
lum for ignorance and imbecility, and that it affords too easy a relief from the
pain of rendering a reason : but the most unwearied vigor of human talents
must at last end there : the wisdom of ages can get no &rther : here, after all,
the Porch, the Garden, the Academy, the Lyceum, must close their labors.'
Very impressive and beautiful, to our conception, is the subjoined tribute to
the great British masters of the science of Moral Philosophy:

194 Editor's Table. [August,

* Wb will allow to other countries the most splendid efforts of jgenios directed to
this object ; but thcr hare passed away, and are now no more than beautifal and
stupendous errors. ' We will give up to them the masterj in all that class of men
who can diffuse over bad and unsocial principles, the charms of eloquence and wit ;
but the great teachers of mankind, big with octter hopes than their own days could
supplv ; who have looked backward to the errors, and forward to the progresa of
mankind ; who have searched for knowledge only from experience, ana applied it
only to the promotion of human happiness ; who have disdained paradox and impietr,
ana covctca no other fame than that which was founded upon the modest investisa-
tion of truth ; such men have sprung from this countrv, and have shed npon it toe
everlasting lustre of their names. Dbscartbs has perished, Lbibxttz ia fading awar ;
but Bacon, and Lockb, and Nbwton remain, as the Danube and the Alps remain : the
learned examine them, and the ignorant, who forget lesser streams ana humbler hills,
remember them as the glories and prominences of the world. And let us never, in
thinking of perpetuity and duration, confine that notion to the phrsical woriu of na-
ture, and forget the ciemitv of fame. God has shown His power in the stars and the
tirmament, in the aged hills, and in the perpetual streams ; but he has shown it as
much, in the minds of the greatest of human oeings. Hombr and Yikgil and Miltox,
and LocKB and Bacok ana Xbwtox, are as great as the hills and the streams; and
will endure till heaven and earth shall pass away, and the whole fabric of natnie is
shi^en into dissolution and eternal ashes.'

In opening his lecture ' On the Powers of External Perception,* we find these
peculiarly SMirnisn or Smithy remarks: *I promised, in the beginning of
those lectures, to be very dull and unamusing ; and I am of opinicm that I have
liitherto acted up to the spirit of mj contract ; but if there should perdumce
exist in any man s mind the slightest suspicion of my good fidth, I think this
day s lecture will entirely remove that suspicion, and that I shall turn out to
bo a man of unsullied veracity.' In the course of this division of his sulgect
are mentioneil several remarkable instances of the substitution of one sense for
another : one especially of a blind man almost from infancy, who was at first
a wagoner through intricate, snow-covered roads, and then a pnjector and sur-
veyor of highways in difficult and mountainous parts of the coontiy. The
lecturer had often seen him, with the assistance only of a long sta£^ traversing
roads, ascending precipices, exploring valleys, and investigating their several
extents* forms, and situations ; presenting afterward the most accurate estnoate
and exhibit of each. lie constructed some of the most important roads in
Great-Britain, and alter^xl the line of others, such as that over the great P^ak
in Derbyshire. Speaking of the manner in which the blind were tangfat to
read by raised letters* 'feeling their way through Homer and Vibgil,* the
lecturer remarks, whimsically enou^: 'Just in the same manner, I should
r. >t be surprised if the alphabet could be taught by a series of wdL-eoatrired
t:avv>rs ; and we may even live to see the day when men may be fann^t to
siiiell out their learning, and when a fine scenting day shall be oonadered as a
d-^y peculiarly fiivorable to study.' Adverting to the mode of disoovering dis-
tance by the distinctness or invlisiinccness of color, as a roason why we mistake
the size of v^bjects in a fo*, he remarks in the same amusing vein : * A little
ir>ntleman who understan^ls optics may always be sure to enjoy a tempomy
elevation in a f>* : and by walking out in that state of the weather, win be qmte
ivrtain of tvin.; mistaken for a man six feet high.' To which it mig^ be
alUsl tlut, iatolUvtually speaking, many a small man has a similar laocj,
whoihor therv* be fvh; or not — v^ut^ide of his own head, at least He ooiits
tv^ sjH^ak of 'the wk»^.i.* metho^l of measuring distances; the distance firom
li.^!uc to soluvl, in the vUys of vxir youth, being generally double the dis-

1858.3 Mlitor'3 Table. 195

tance from school to home ; and so with all other passions which quicken or
retard the feeling of time.'

A fragment only is given of the lecture * On Conception,' portions of it hav-
ing been misLud or destroyed. JInough, however, is preserved to make us la-
ment the loss of the remainder. Observe the * side-hit' contained in the follow-
ing illustration of the comparative effect upon the mind of sound and light
sleep : * A person may, in some cases, sleep so soundly, that the firing a pistol
close to his ear will not rouse him ; at other times the slightest sensation of
light or noise will rouse him. A sort of intermediate state between these two
is that where the sensation comes to the mind in so imperfect a state, that it
produces some eflfect upon the current of conceptions without correcting them.
If there is a window left open, and the cold air blows in, the sufferer may
think himself on the top of Mount Caucasus, buried in the snow ; or the cat
making a noise shall immediately transport him in imagination to the opera ! '
We trust that our old friend Barnum's renowned Lumley Opera Troupe may
disabuse the music-loving reader of this last impression, asleep or awaka In
the division of his series which treats upon * Memory,' Sydney Smith expresses
his lack of fidth in the usefulness of habitually writing down &cts and events
which it is desirable to remember ; that are taken down for future consideration,
and consequently receive very little present consideration. He contends that
we should carry our knowledge about with us, as we carry our health about
with us : the one should be proved by the vigor of our thoughts, as the other
should be exhibited in the alacrity of our actions. * I would as soon call a
man healthy,' he says, *who had a physician's prescription in his pocket
which he could take and recover from, as I would say that a man had know-
ledge who had no other proof of it to afford than a pile of closely-vnitten com-
mon-place books : * a well-deserved rebuke of the habit of * atoning for the
passive indolence of the mind by the mechanical labor of the hands.' "We
make no apology for the space occupied by the annexed splendid passage,
which concludes the lecture on * The Conduct of the Understanding : '

' While I am descanting so minutely upon the conduct of the understanding, and
the best modes of acquiring knowledge, some men may be disposed to ask : * Why
conduct my understanding with such endless care? and what is the use of so much
knowledge ? ' What is the use of so much knowledge ? — what is the use of so much'
life! — wnat are we to do with the seventy years of existence allotted to us — and
how are we to live them out to the last? I solemnly declare that, but for the love of
knowledge, I should consider the life of the meanest hedger and ditcher, as prefer-
able to that of the greatest and richest man here present : for the fire of our minds is
like the fire which the Persians burn in the mountains ; it flames night and day, and
is immortal^ and not to be quenched. Upon something it must act and feed ; upon
the pure spirit of knowledge, or upon the foul ^regs of polluting passions. There-
fore, when I say, in conducting your understanding, love knowledge with a great
lo^e, with a vehement love, witn a love coSval with hfe, what do I say, but love inno-
cence; love virtue; love purity of conduct: love that which, if you are rich and
^eat, will sanctify the blind fortune which has made you so, and make men call it
justice : love that which, if you are poor, will render your povertv respectable, and
make tne proudest feel it unjust to laueh at the meanness of ^our fortunes ; love that
which wilTcomfort you, adorn you, and never quit you ; which will open to you the
kingdom of thought, and all the boundless regions of conception, as an asylum
against the cruel^, the iniustice, and the pain that may be your lot in the outer
world ; that which will male your motives habitually great and honorable, and light
up in an instant a thousand noble disdains at the very thought of meanness and of
fraud. Therefore, if an^ voung man here have embarked his life in pursuit of know-
ledge, let him go on witnout doubtine or fearing the event ; let him not be intimi-
dated by the cheerless beginnings of knowledge, by the darkness from which she

196 Editor's Table. [Angast,

springs, br the difficulties which hover around her, bv the wretched habitations in
which sbedwells, bv the want and sorrow which sometimes Joumej in her train;
but let him ever folfow her as the An^el that guards him, and as the C^enins of his
life. She will bring him out at last into the light of day, and exhibit him to the
world comprehensive in acquirements, fertile in resources, rich in imagination,
strong in reasoning, prudent and powerful above his fellows, in all the relations and
in all the offices or lite/

In his remarks * On Wit and Humor/ the lecturer expresses a contemptu-
ous opinion of puns, as being of a low order of wit, and held *in bad repute in
good company, as thcj ought to be.' He cites one * good in its kind,' how-
ever:

* Miss Hamiltox, in her book on Education, mentions the instance of a boy bo rery
neglectful, that he could never be brought to read the yiford patriarchs / bat when-
ever be met with it he alwavs pronounced it partridges. A friend of the writer ob-
served to her, that it could hardlj be considered as a mere piece of negligence^ for it
appeared to him that the bov, in calling them partridges, was making gams of tbe
patriarchs. Now here are two distinct meanings contained in the same phrase : for
to make game of the patriarchs is to laueh at tuem ; or to make game of them is, by
a very extravagant and laughable sort of ignorance of words, to rank them among
phea^sant.s, partridges, and other such delicacies, which the law takes under its pro-
tection and calls ffam< : and the whole pleasure derived from this pun consists in
the sudden discovery that two such different meanings arc referable to one form of
expression/

With all his dislike of puns, our ' dissenter ' sometimes sinned in that kind
himself: as when (after having been * bitten ' by Pennsylvania stocks) he said,
in reply to a friend who expressed envy of his eminent position in the church
and in society : * I would that thou this day were not only almost but alto-
gether such as I am, except these londsJ* . Another scriptural pun is contained
in his reply to a letter from Landseer, the celebrated animal-painter: * Is thy
servant a dog, that he should do this thing ?' "We hold with Sydney Smith,
however : a * play upon words' merely, is the poorest and easiest species of mis-
called wit In the same lecture, adverting to that species of humor which con-
sists in the incongruous * conjunction of objects and circumstances not usually
combined,' or what would generally be considered as ' rather troublesome, and
not to be desired,' he discriminates as follows : * If a tradesman of a corpulent
and respectable appearance, with habiliments somewhat ostentatious, were to
slide down gently into the mud, and dcdccorate a pea-green coat, I am afiraid
we should all have the barbarity to laugh. If his hat and wig, like treacher-
ous servants, were to desert their falling master, it certainly would not diminish
our propensity to laugh ; but if he were to fall into a violent passion, and
abuse every body about him, nobody could possibly resist the incongruity of a
pea-green tradesman, very respectable, sittii^g in the mud, and threatening all
the passers-by with the effects of his wratk Here, every incident heightens
the humor of the scene : the gaycty of his tunic, the general respectability .<^
his appearance, the rills of muddy water which trickle down his cheeks, and
the hiumless violence of his rage.' * But,' he adds, * I should like to know if
any man living could liave laughed, if he had seen Sir Isaac Newton rolling
in the mud ? Where is the heart so hard that could bear to see the awkward
resources and contrivances of the poor turned into ridicule ? Who could lau^
at the fractiu'ed, ruined body of a soldier ? Who is so wicked as to amuse
himself with the infirmities of extreme old age ? — or to* find subject for humor
in the weakness of a perishing, dissolving body ! ' There ensues a 'slap ' at
^ charades,' the smallest kind of small humor, which we are glad to see, and in

1858.] MUor'8 Table. 197

the justice of which we cordially concur : * I shall say nothmg of charades, and
such sorts of unpardonable trumpery : if charades are made at all, they should
be made without benefit of clergy, the offender should instantly be hurried off
to execution, and be cut off in the middle of his dulness, without being allowed
to explain to the executioner why his first is like his second, or what is the re-
semblance between his fourth and his ninth.* Much more is there in the two
dissertations upon wit and humor which we reluct at passing, but pass them
we must : all save these admirable thoughts upon the uses and influence of
true wit and humor :

* When wit is combined with sense and information ; when it is softened by benero-
lence, and restrained by strong principle ; when it is in the hands of a man who can
use it and despise it, who can be witty and something much letter than witty, who
loves honor, justice, decency, good nature, morality, and religion, ten thousand times
better than wit ; wit is then a oeautiful and delightful part of our nature. There is
no more interesting spectacle than to see the efiects of wit upon the different charac-
ters of men ; than to observe it expanding caution, relaxing dignity, unfreezing cold-
ness ; teaching age, and care, and pain, to smile ; extorting reluctant gleams of plea-
sure from melancholy, and charming even the pangs of grief. It is pleasant to ob-
serve how it penetrates through the coldness and awkwardness of society, gradually
bringing men nearer together, and, like the combined force of wine and oil, giving
every man a glad heart and a shining countenance. Genuine and innocent wit like
this, is surely the flavor of the mind. Man could direct his ways by plain reason,
and support "his life by tasteless food ; but God has given us wit, ana flavor, and
brightness, and laughter, and perfumes, to enliven the days of man's pilgrimage, and
to * charm his pained steps over the burning marie.' '

In his remarks upon * Taste,' * Sir Stdnet ' takes occasion, in Aw way, to
refute the doctrine of certain Scottish moral philosophers, that the senses, ac-
cording to the scheme of nature, are the channels of intelligence, never the
sources of gratification :

*■ I SHOULD like to try a Scotch gentleman, upon his first arrival in this country,
with the taste of ripe fruit, and leave him to judge *after that, whether nature had
confined the senses to such dry and ungracious occupations, as whether mere matter
could produce emotion. Such doctrines may do very well in the chambers of a
northern metaphysician, but they are untenable in the light of the world ; they are
refuted, nobly refuted, twenty times in a year, at Fishmongers* Hall. If you deny
that matter can produce emotion, judge on these civic occasions, of the power of
^usts, and relishes, and fiavors. ... Is there here nothing but mere sensation ?
IS there no emotion, no panting, no wheezing, no deglutition ? is this the calm acquisi-
tion of intelligence, and the quiet oflSce ascribed to the senses ? — or is it a proof that
Nature has infused into her original creations, the power of gratifying tnat sense
which distinguishes them, and to every atom of matter has added an atom of joy ? '

Alluding, in this connection, to sensations which are sometimes ludicrous,
sometimes sublime, arid sometimes pathetic, according to their associations, he
says : * So with a hiss : a hiss is either foolish, or tremendous, or sublime. The
hissing of a pancake is absurd : the first faint hiss that arises fix)m the extremity
of the pit on the eVening of a new play, sinks the soul of the author within
him, and makes him curse himself and his Thalia ; the hissing of a cobra di
capello is sublime — it is the whisper of death ! ' How strikingly discrimina-
tive are these Olustrative comparisons I The next lecture is upon * The Sub-
lime.' It is illustrated by many instances of true sublimity ; and among the
examples cited is this : ' The death of General Wolfe is sublime, firom the
love of life being so entirely swallowed up in the love of glory : toward the
end of the battle he received a new wound in the breast ; he was immediately
conveyed behind the rear rank, and laid upon the ground. Soon after, a shout
was heard, and one of the officers who stood by him exclaimed : * How they

198 Editor's Table. [Angnst,

run ! ' The dying hero asked, with some emotion, * W7to nm ? ' * The enemy,'
replied the oflScer ; ' they give way every where.' * Now, (Jod be praised ! ' says
Wolfe ; * I shall die happy ! ' He then turned on his side, closed his eyes;, and
expired.' Now we once heard, when a lad, a red-nosed toper, with a ' cold id
his head,' represent this same scene, and in verse too, with the charm of * diffi-
cult music' in addition : yet Sydney Smith himself would scarcely have pro-
nounced it sublime. It ran as follows :

' D'nb lifte'nd nmp inz 'ead,

N'wile the cad nod'ns did rattle,
Ad'nd tu hinz Nadekamp d'ne sajd,

* X'dhow goes the Bantle ? '
D'niz Nadekamp re'mplv*d,

* Tinz id D our fa-vor : '

* N*do then/ brave Wolfe he sayd,

* I die with much pled-znre ! '*

It would give us pleasure, in which our readers would share, to quote from
the argumentative and dosely-rcasoned dissertation, in two * sections,' upon
^ The Beautiful ; ' but we must needs rest content with this exempliflcatioDy
from the first, of the immense effect which it produces on human life :

* What are half the crimes in the world committed for ? What brings into action
the best virtues? The desire of possessing. Of possessing what? — not mere
money, but every species of the beautiful which mone^ can purchase. A man lies
hid in a little, dirtj, smoky room for twenty years of his life, and sums up as many
columns of figures as would reach round half the earth, if they were laid at length:
he gets rich ; what does he do with his riches ? He buys a laree, well-proportioned
house : in the arrangement of his furniture, he gratifies himself with all the beanty
which splendid colors, regular figures, and smooth surfaces, can convey; he has the
beauties of variety and association in his grounds ; the cup out of which he drinks
his tea is adorned with beautiful figures ; the chair in whi(m he sits is covered with
smooth, shinine leather ; his table-cloth is of the most beautiful damask ; mirrors re-
flect the lichts from every (quarter of the room ; pictures of the best masters feed Us
eve with aU the beauties of imitation. A million of human creatures are employed in
this country in ministering to this feelins of the beautiful. It is only a barbarous,
ignorant people that can ever be occupied by the necessaries of life alane. If to eat^
and to dnnk, and to be warm, were the onlv passions of our minds, we should all be
what the lowest of us all are at this day. f he love of the beautiful calls man to fresh
exertions, and awaken him to a more noble life ; and the glory of it is, that as painters
imitate, and poets sing, and statuaries carve, and architects rear up the gorgeous tro-
phies of their skill — as every thing becomes beautiful, and orderly, and mmgnifi*
cent — the activity of the mind rises to still greater, and to better objects.'

And with the annexed illustration of an action, which to the lecturer, (as
well, doubtless, to his auditors,) * conveyed as distinct a feeling of the beautiful
as any landscape whatever : '

' A London merchant, who, I believe, is still alive, while he was stayinff in the
country with a friend, happened to mention that he intended, the next Year, to bay a
ticket in the lottery ; his friend desired he would buy one for him at the same timey
which of course was very willingly agreed to. The conversation dropped, the ticket
never arrived, and the whole affair was entirely forgotten, when the country geBtle-
man received information that the ticket purchasecTfor him by his friend, aaa come
up a prize of twenty thousand pounds. Upon his arrival in London, he inquired of
his fnend where he had put the ticket, and why he had not informed him that it wts
purchased. *I bought them both the same aay, mine and your ticket, sod I Anns
them both into a drawer of my bureau, and I never thought of them afterward.' * BS
, _. .... .. ..^.. ., „ . p , I the holder of the

into the drawer, I

' Now this action,' adds * Sir Sydney,' 'is the heau-ideal of morals, and gLves
that calm yet deep emotion of pleasure, which every one so easily receives frtxn

1858.] Mitor'8 Table. 199

the beauty of the exterior world' The anecdote reminds ua (by parity) how-
ever, of a similar * present ' which toe once divided with a twin-brother : two
* hlanh^ lottery tickets, after the drawing had been held, of which present we
had our first notice, after it had proved to be valueless. We pass, with re-
luctance, the lectures upon * The Sublime ; ' the * Faculties of Animals and
Men ; ' the * Faculties of Beasts ; ' the * Conduct of the Understanding ; ' * On
the Active Powers of the Mind,' etc. : pausing for a moment, however, to dte
this brief yet comprehensive passage from the closing reflections *on The
Passions : '

* What we do see and know with certainty of any human creature, is, whether he
is lodged in marble or in clay ; whether down or straw his bed ; whether he is clothed
in the purple of the world, or moulders in ra^s. The inward world, the man within
the breast, the dominion of thought, the region of passion ; all this we cannot pene-
trate : we can never tell how a kind and benevolent heart can cheer a desperate for-
tune; the comfort which the lowest man may feel in a spotless mind ; the firmness
which a man derives from loving justice : the glory with which he rebukes the bad
emotion, and bids his passions be still. Theretore, not to the accidents of life, but
to the fountains of thought, and to the springs of pleasure and pain, should the
efforts of man be directed to rear up such sentiments as shall ^uard us from the
pangs of envy ; to make us rejoice in the happiness of every sentient being ; to feel
too happj oursclTes for hatred and resentment ; to forget the body, or to enslave it
forever ; seeking to purify, to exalt, and to refine our nature.'

In some desultory thoughts on * Surprise, Novelty, and Variety,' we find
the following, in illustration of the disposition which exists to class objects to-
gether which affect the mind in a similar manner. It is hardly possible that
we can see any thing, without likening it to something which we have seen
or conceived before : * The inhabitants of Owhyhee had no n.nima.1g larger than
hogs, and when they saw a goat on board Captain Cook's ship, they called it
a bird. Some white travellers, seized by the natives in the interior of Africa,
were immediately pronounced to be a species of the monkey ; and as the Indian
com had been latdy very much plundered by that animal, they well nigh es-
cacped being stoned to death.' The effects of suddenness, contrast, variety,
and novelty upon the mind, in a state of rest, are forcibly depicted in the suh-
joined passage from a letter describing the earthquake at Lisbon :

' I WAS sitting playing with my kitten, and fust going to breakfast. I had one
slipper on, and the other was in pussy's moutn ; wnen my attention was roused by
the sudden sound of thunder ; the floor heaved under me, and I saw the spire of the
church of the Holv Virgin come tumbling to the ground, like a play-thing overturned
by a child. I rusned into the street, unknowing what 1 did, and where! went ; and
beheld such a scene, as made it come into my mind, that the end of all things was at
hand, and that this was the judgment-day appointed by Gk>D ! By this time the tAr
was filled with the screams of the mangled and the dying. The dwellings of men,
the trophies of conquest, the temples of Gk)D, were falling all around me, and my es-
cape appeared quite impossible. I made up my mind for death.'

A single characteristic illustration, firom the closing lecture *on Habit,' must
bring our already extended review to a dose : * If a person, by accident, had
lived with a great nimiber of snuff-takers, and had been accustomed to perceive
that in any little pause of conversation, they all took out their snuff-boxes, tho
silence would immediately produce the idea of snuff; and this we should call
association of ideas ; but if he were a snuff-taker himself the silence would pro-
bably animate him to a pinch ; and this we should call habit' We have ^us
brought a pleasant task to its conclusion; and have only to hope that our
readers have enjoyed, as we have, a volume mainly new to us, and doubtless
an equal novelty to them.

200 JEditor^s Table. [August,

Gossip wrra Readers and Correspondents. — If you happen to lose your
port-monnaie in a rail-car or on board a steamer, while on your summer-travels,
reader, do n^t make yourself too unhappy about it, imless it contained your ' little
all : ' but just open your travelling-bag, and take out ^PuncKs Pocket-BooJc^
which you will find/iiZ?. We are assuming that the Appletons have supplied
you with it before you shall have started. It contents present a curious medley,
' as you shall partly see' from the following desultory scraplings. A few paiar
graphs from the ''Young Lady^a Dream-Booh ' are in order : a work intended
as a * Dreamer's Manual,* and containing several new dreams by the editors, who
arranged express night-mares, exclusively for this publication. *No lady's
dressing-table can be considered properly furnished ' without the work :

' AxT Eater : To dream that ^ou were taken to see it meaDS that you will soon be
invited to dinner with jour cousins. The dream is therefore good or bad according
to the terms on which vou are with your relatives.

' Babt : To dream that you, being single, are affectionately caressing one in the
presence of Fbederic, implies that you are a prudent girl, and will ere long meet
your reward.

* Moustaches : To dream of, if the wearer be under forty, is good. If he be over
that age, bo warned : he is a traitor of the deepest dye.

* Bhinocebos : To dream that you are seated in a silver car on the back of a, with
Prince Albert holding a brown gingham umbrella over you, and Mr. Hablbt and
the Lord Chancellor strewing sugar-plums in your way, and that thus you go riding
to St. Paul's to deposit in triumph a golden crochet-hook and a raspberry tart,
means that Fbedbric's salary will be raised one-third, that his uncle will furnish the
house, and that his dear old mamma will present you with such a dinner and break-
fast service. But you will be very lucky to dream this dream in the exact order
required.

* Zbbba : To dream you see, means that Fbsdbbio has gone and bought himself
such a lovely striped waistcoat, just because you said you liked the pattern. Is n't
he a dear ? '

There is a palpable * letting down ' of a celebrated naval hSro, in the anzifized
moving* sketch :

'Axoxo the numerous popular errors that descend from generation to generation,
is the absurd notion that Nelson was alwavs sea-sick in a naval engagement. We
take leave to deny the preposterous supposition, for we defy any body sufferinjg from
sickness at sea to ffi^e an order for an v thing — except perhaps a glass of orandy
and water — which be miffht accomplish by a convulsive effort. If Nblsok had really
been sea-sick at the batUe of Trafalgar, his celebrated speech delivered just b^ore
going into action, would have come down to posterity in the following form : 'Eng-
land ( here Steward!) expects (a basin/) that every man (Steward. Itayf) this day
will do {Steward/) his duty (basin/)' '

Also, there is a sly but potent satire in the subjoined brief extract There
are cases, with both sexes, single and otherwise, in which its undeniable tmth
will * bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder : '

' If he is irritated by anv misfortune in his affairs, do n't pursue the ' soothiiic
system * with him, but put down his complaints by arguing that the^ are unfounded
and by ascribing his affliction entirely to his own fault. If, in one instance, he ham
been especially prudent, attribute the calamity to his over-caution *, if enteiprisi&g,
to his recklessness. Whatever line of conduct you observe him to pursue. buuneU ;
80 that when anv disaster occurs to him, you may be in a position to tell him that it
would not have nappened if he had taken your advice. In all discussions wherein
you may be engaged with him, if a word or action of his own can possibly be referred
to either of two motives of opposite character, never fail to impute the meaner end
the more foolish.'

The foregoing might be read to advantage in connection with this Puhohish

1858.] JSclitor'3 Table. 201

aphorism : ' Kindnesses are stowed away in the heart like bags of lavender in
a drawer, and sweeten every object around them.' We have next some ex-
amples of '^Froverhial Philosophy^'' in imitation of that * Solomon in ordinary
to the British nation,* the immortal Tupper, whose intensely platitudinarian
* utterances ' contain few things in many words :

* An umbrella upon thine arm may make it ache, but should rain come, the um-
brella will preserve thy clothes. Choose betwixt a trifling pain and a tailor's bilL

II.

' Thb girl who is destined to be thy wife, although now unknown to thee, is sure to
be Uring somewhere or other. Hope, therefore, that she is quite well, and otherwise
think politely about her.

III.

. ' 0 HOW good was Nature, that placed great rivers near great towns I

IV.

* I DO not say to thee, * Marry, for it will exalt thee ; ' yet was there subtle meaning
in those whose usage it was to say : * Marry, come up.'

* Br a conceit, a certain red fly hath been called a Lady-bird, and bidden to fly-
away home. The counsel is good, even to her who is neither bird nor fly. There is
no place like home.

VI.

* The weather-cock, working easily, can tell thee the way of the wind ; but if the
weather-cock sticks, the course of the wind will not be influenced thereby. Remem-
ber this.*

* Something too much of this : ' much better though it be than its model
Punch himseli^ in his ^JSude and Crude Observations^'' has a score of proverbial
sayings, which are worth the * sum-tottle ' of Tupper's labored and pompous
nothings. Take only two as an example ; * The Truth, with * Pure Coimtry
Milk,' lies at the bottom of a welV As a corollary from this, may be con-
sidered this stanza from * The Song of the Milk- Jug : '

* I KNOW I am a mockery,

I loathe my very name :
Into the world of crockery
I scarce know how I came.

'A milk-jug is an article

We mignt as well put down :
For, oh ! there *s not a particle
Of genuine milk in town.'

This state of dubiety, among us, is not a little enhanced by the righteous
crusade which has been waged against * Swill-Milk.' This is the second * pro-
verbial ' specimen, and it invokes and evolves a momentous truth : * The dissi-
pations that persons resort to, to drown care, are like the curtains which
children in bed pull around them, to keep out the dark.' The hump-backed
philosopher's poetical approval of * Green-and-Black Mixed,' evinces an authei^
tic taste. He ^hits the mark ' to a Tea :

* Yes I *T is in the tea-pot life's type may be seen,

Reflection should on it be fixed ;
Existence is neither all black nor all green,
Our joys and our sorrows are mixed.'

Our friends among the portrait-painters, especially if disposed to flatter their
sitters, will be likely to appreciate this scale of prices, by one of their English
brother-artists :

'A FASHiOKABLi Portnut-Painter, whose name it would not be fair to his manv

202 Editor's Table, [August,

rivals to mention, when asked what are his terms, inyariably answers : ' I hare no
scale of prices. In fact, I generally leave it open to the liberality of my patrona. I
have but one rule to guide me in taxing likenesses, and that, to be candid, is, * Hand-
some Uy who handsome does,* *

Now, reader, we think we have made amends for the supposititious lo6S of
your port-monnaie, unless, as we have hinted, there was too much in it, which,
in these * times,' is scarcely a supposahle case. - - - The reader will doubt-
less regard the accompanying flash of the Pepperian genius with some sur-
prise, by reason of the very remarkahle changes observahle in the author's
style. Sentiment will be looked for in vain, in this effusion. Happiness al-
most seems to haye *spilet * his genius, in so far as the power of moving and
touching his readers is concerned. He consoles us, however, hy the cheerful-
ness, nay, even sprightliness and vivacity of his manner, and his homely at-
tempts at joking ; all of which would nearly have shocked us, in any former
composition of his. Possihly some sudden affliction may yet throw him back
upon his former wretched stand-point Mr. Podd informs us that Mr. Pepper
finds himself much exhausted ; the result, as he infers, of the gradual increase
in unctuousncss, from the heginning of the poem; its best being its latest
strokes. This is unusual, except, perhaps, with kindred geniuses^ like Milton
or TcppER :

PETE:

AN lYBBIQ POMB, (FOR LESQTH:) DKDIOIT TO L. OILEBD OLi&K.

BT MR. Z. X. PSPPXB, X«4

Sing Pbte, 0 Muse I — he bein mi litle Boy —
Mi oanly sun — with short k strait wite hare,
k (at present) the Mezels. wot he wil

So into next, peraps you no, but I doant.
[is culler isent good, k the saim remaro
Wil apli to his apctite. the Docter sea
Fbtb hes got the moast Mezels he ever see
onto a boy. ho likewais ses, gudgin bi the stoe,
Hcle wip em, k gir em haf to start with.
(Warcin i asre with doc, and go him sum beter.)
Now go it Muse — giro us a good 1 on Pits.

Paws, strainger, k taik a looo at a Oradel
about 1^ yere ago. wot do you se into it ?
(as the man sed wen he saw the feller a lookin into Fatooritr.)
1st obserr that lovly Form, a rockin ov it.
thats Hanah oaxb, a mvld woman, woke as a fool,
k thinkin or Baby, ile bet 50 sents.
theres a wooman, now, a man ken be proud ov.
But taik a nuther looc into the ittel Cradcl I
Se suthin Red? thats the present Pbtb —
' Say 1 day oald I hes a yellin. taint much

Fur a yel, but as good as moast yung yels.
A smilin kind ot plesent, Hanah settels him,
k presently gits him so ho doant even srunt.

Wot a uncomon IotIv thing is a yoothfle infan !
Drool in doant spile it for its pa k ma !
its a kind ov Bud — a ignoran Bud —
A no-nothink Flour, wich aint no Flour —
A inosent Aingle, a chaingin into a Man
k a ^cttin cuite smal wUe a goin throo !
its littel hcd is al smooth ; it haint no teth ;
its fcchers aint worth menshunink, thaym so
teanty. diffcren frum dog, it ken se
to onct. (Cat doant se wel, long at Ist.)

1858.]

JEditor'8 Table. 203

Wot is rich, yoam releved, the rery 1st thing,
about thajr bein bom Dum, kc. 4th.
How the uttel cusses wil yel, sumtimes !
Petes a good ex&mpel ov the yellin kind.
But thats pane in Bowls — Genuses complaint
i hed it, this mornink, so i thougt ide di.
thats wi ime a ritin this minit. But
to return, as the Comec sed.

TAiK a nuther vew. . 4 dozen at saim pns
(as the man sed wen he giv his boy a lickin.)
Wot doo you call that a wigglin onto the floor ?
theres the Potry ot Moshun, dun up smal.
thats Pete, at 6 munths. How he crepes tho I
Few Babys air smart at 6 months,
its nothink but yel, yel, yel, with moast on em.
Hoi^ diferen Pete f Pete incuires, Pete lems.
Wot is he a lookin at now ? a hole into the carpit.
He noas it otto be fixt. He almoast ses so.
fix H Pete, wile your hand is in. (He
dus it throo Hanah; hear she cums, with a nedel.)
industry k Pete ! — wot a site for a farther !

the contemplashun of Babys at 6 munths is fiue.
How interestin, to se a littel rip gro I
How Astonishin that Milk is ai he wonts !
Wots ham k egs, or sider, or a pipe to him ?
He thincs ov nothink but groin, wot a pity
Hese got to go throo so much, incloodin Sicnes !
80 much a goin throo him at the saim time.
Hanah gane sties to it Pete sed pa
as plane as eny body, at 6 months. His
i's wos a kind or blooish wite at that perid.
not a hare onto his hed eny wares.
Hanah sed his noas wos exacly like mine,
or wil be wen he gits a noas, 1 replide.
At wich Hanah laft moast mewsicle. But
to cum agin, as the Collery sed.

Looc onct moar, pervidin time aint presin.
Wot doo you se now ? as the mise sed to the Owl.
in a comer ov the Gardin (the north comer)
A Angeli^Form under a plum tre, hoaldin a
Baby. (Pete at 12 months.) looc twist;
2nd time a good wile, with boath i's.
Aint the Bud a cumin on Grand ?
Hanah 2 is uncomon wel you se.
everythink is a smilin, incloodin the smal dog.
Sorry to trubbel ^ou, but looc gest over-hed.
Without a strainm ov your i*s much, youl probbly se
A clowd blacker than wot scairt Abneb, wen he cut.
thats cuttin teth and canker Rash, boath rayther haisty.
the clowd comes doun : you se nothink : but
Mit^ I how you ken A«r«, tho I
A rip with good lungs stans a good chans.
Petes chans is uncomon good. 1st clas.

Babys at 12 months air plesent to looc at.
Thair is sumthink fine in a ^rere oold Boy.
Hare cums on good ; likewais teth k noas.
Thay begin for to swel I sumtims wock I
Thay say ma k pa cuite distinct ! thay
Doant drool much ; thav ete masht tater :
k engoy life pooty cumferbel, considerin.
Wot a gurl dus at 1 yere i doant rely no.
ef Pete now wos a ^url i supoas i snood,
i doant talk no interist in gurls. But
to leve that pint, as the man sed to the Bagnit.

204 JSoUtar^s Table. [Angusl,

TAiK 1 moar looc, as the drownin man sed
Wen he cum up fur the 8rd time,
thairs a Yew ! (Pets at 18 months.)
Air jou struc much ? as the litenin sed to the man.
Wot a cus,^ at a yere & haf, aint he ?
oanlj 18 months I wot a chain^, in 6 !
taik awaj the Mezels, & wair is his ekal t
How the Mezels spots a boy tho ! How Hakah
lafl, wen I ask ef Godprys Corial wos ^ood
fur the Mezels ! opodildoc maid her agin,
i thine i tooc sulfer & molasis, but aint shoor.
Pbte is pashinitly fon dv Caster ile I^
Becos i supoos it is sech an egspensiv drinc.
He rayther prefers coald Prest lie.
(Worm, witn milk : i taik it coald without)

At 18 months, Babys air a rich site.
With sum ateosbun to noas, kc. 4th,
(not moam a minit in a day at that,)
You ken maik em shine / thayr conversashun
isent wot you may coll instructiy ; but
it kind ot melts into a parrens felinks,
&pleses al but uther parrens, with yung Is —
Wich thincs thay aint no grait shaiks after al,
Compaired with sum thayve sene. (Haxah
Herd Missis Lbfbss say them very werds
to Her Husban, wen thayd ben a collin hear.
Afore thayd farcly got to the gait ; thay
Hevin 2 or 8 squockers ot thare oan i beleve.
Youd thine twos k dozen bi the nois.^
Wen thay git a littel oalder thayre kind ov handy
About a lilous ; fedin pigs Ac. 4th, fcchin wattcr,
Splittin kindlin wood, £ a dozen uther choars.
i shel fele bad the 1st time i wale Pete.
i rely doant no as i ever ken, hese so pooty.
i ges ile let Ha>'ah doo it wen nessary,
A tri A kepe onto the rite side. But*
cnuf onto that bed, as the man sed wen hede
kild his wife. Muse much ableeged. Fairwel.

Wot doo you thine ov Pete ?

What do you think, reader ? - - - Crueltt could no farther go, it seems
to us, than in the case of the young German rascal, the other day, in our city.
He had swallowed three or four counterfeit bills, 'on a sudden,' and when he
was taken to the station-house, no proof of guilt was found upon him ; but it
cunning official administered to his inner man two powerful emetics ; and after a
short time, lo ! the spurious currency made its appearance among the <2^5rw of a
luxurious dinner, just achieved at a fashionable restaurant How ' woraer *
far than the awful nausea marina must have been that medicinal '(^Mrmtion.'
VHio can depict the reversed motions of his stomach, or the emotions of
his mind ! He was in as bad a * fix ' as the man who wrapped aroond his
legs, under his * over-alls,' sheets of zinc, stolen firom on board a shipi where,
with an accomplice, he had been at work putting down the leaden carpeting
upon the cabia-stairs. In walking across the shore-plank, at ni^t, by aooie
unavoidable accident, ' accoutred as he was,' he plunged in * the dock.' He ^ad
not reappear. * Get a boat ! ' exclaimed the by-standers : ' the tide is gcnng
out : run to the end of the dock ! He '11 come up ! — he 'II come up 1 ' Hiii
companion, whose own drawers were of the same * heavy goods,' shook his head
mournfully, and exclaimed, 'Never! — he's gone!' and the 'why and tiie

1858.] Mitor^s Table. ^Q6

wherefore,' so well known to the thieving prophet, was distinctly shown, when
the body was subsequently discovered. The friend who tells us this, says he
never heard such expression given to a word before — * Never ! ' But speak-
ing of bills, and thinking especially of the unrolling of the undigested coun-
terfeit lumps aforesaid, we are reminded of a circumstance once mentioned to
us by an * Old Coimtry ' legal friend. If we remember rightly, it was Lord
Eldon who was presiding upon the bench of a London criminal court, before
whom the incident occurred. A man was upon his trial for the murder of a
man who was found dead on Hampstead Heath ; and a bullet in his body
showed the manner of his death. He had been last seen in company with the
prisoner ; but as there was no other testimony bearing against him, he stood
with unabashed front before the judge, and smiled in ridicule at the attempt
of the King's counsel to convict him of the homicide. Lord Eldon was
holding in his hand, and listlessly rolling between his fingers, the ball which
had been extracted from the body. Presently he beckoned to an oflBcer to ap-
proach the bench, which he did : when his lordship inquired in an under-tone,
if the man had been searched. * He has, your lordship ; but no money was
found upon his person ; nor is it known that the deceased had any money in
his possession, beyond about a sovereign in change. The only thing we found
was part of a street-ballad, from which a large piece had been torn.* * Let mo
see it,* said the judge. It was handed to him by the officer. In the mean
time, in manipulating the bullet between his fingers, his lordship detected a
piece of blood-dried paper : moistening, and gradually unrolling it, it was found
to be a three-cornered piece of a street-ballad ; and on comparing it with the
torn ballad which had been laid before him, it was found to fit exactly, and to
complete the whole I This piece of paper, which had formed the wadding of
the gun, was at once put in evidence ; the man was convicted ; and afterward
made a full confession of his crime. We have never heard a more extra-
ordinary confirmation of the truth of the saying, that * Murder will out: * and
it is an incident well confirmed. - - - From far-off Desmoines, in the * late '
State of Iowa, and from the auditor^s office thereof * cometh greeting * the fol-
lowing bill, exhibiting the &ct that the writer, a German wagon-maker, re-
paired a wheelbarrow, and put a hoop on an * old oaken bucket that hangs in a
well* thereby. It is a literal orthographic specimen of the * sweet German
accent:*

' Dksmoixbs the 8 of May 1858. Dr.

* Januar the 25 ei repert a Weehlbarrow for the Staat of Iowa 1.50
' and but a Hoobband on for a Weellpocket 25

1.75
JoHK N. HoHBBBGBB, Wagon-makcr.'

*Seem-lich goot,' as ottr correspondent says: but 7i>er6 is a similar bill that
* knows not seems ' — it m good. It was rendered by two Italian ' bust* -ers,
for heads of Washington and Shakspearb, which they had * sculped ' for
the late lamented Philip Hone :

*Mb. Huon, Squab, To Julian Q b, Dr.

* Busto Vaccenton, $2.00

' Busto GuisPiBB, 2.00'

200

Editor's Table.

[August,

Pronounce the Italianized names quickly, and the * intent of the bill * will
readily bo discovered. - - - Burns has exhausted the Poetry of the
Tooth -Ache, we think : and teeth-extraction seems to be a theme incapable of
raising the * divine afflatus.' Wo pity but slightly the writer of the crying
lines to 'i/y Tooth,^ Instead of repairing to such eminent dentists as Dr.
Eleazer Parmelee, or Dr. Nehemiau Dodge, our correspondent betakes him-
self to an * operator' of the old-school, who uses the old-fashioned instruments.
Observe the result :

' Tm time had come : I sudden oped

This mouth of mine, when in there went
A TuRKKET ! Oh 1 but I had hoped

He would not use that instrument :
But 't was too late to argue now ;

I glanced at him — he glanced at me :
Biff drops of sweat were on my brow,

Upon my tooth a big Tubnkby I

< He gave a turn, / gave a yell,

And then he gave me one turn more:
Another screech, and then I fell —

Fell sprawling flat upon the floor !
I thought he'd torn my" jaw away —

I tout him so : ho said, * 0 pshaw] '
I vowed he had — but all he 'a say

Was : 'Look o' here, none of your jaw ! ' '

It was a fortunate accident, no doubt, that he did n^t leave a portion of the
sufferer's jaw in the fangs of his instrument of torture. Such things have
been, and not long ago. - - - A correspondeiit who evidently does
not lack the * native ore' in his composition, says, among other things, in a
note to the Edftor : * Although held by inexorable fete in my unrising positioii,
I have always had an upward sort of aspiration : I have longed, with a feeling
beyond utterance, for that development and expansion which Education im-
pixrts to the most * common mind.' Then perhaps I might have talked with
Washington Irving and his compeers, (to my mind he has no peer^) not as
if telegraphing from an immense distance, but as a fiiend, oonsanguineous ia
the appreciation of * divine things,' although not in creating or ro&rrangiDg
them ; fearing no loci: which should disparage a Man in Ms own esteem. But
ah, me! Ignorance! — how like the * striped garment' and the 'hed-dog'
of physical degradation ! It pulls down one's ambition : it is like malfing one
amphibious ; putting him under water, yet permitting him to live^ and even to
see out into the ambient atmosphere, where Men walk and talk, and enjoy
themselves, but not prepared to permit him to breathe their air for a moment
Thus night-mared, do n't you think you would make one struggle f<ff enlarge^
ment ? And yet, how many thousands are * under water,' who long to get
out, but who struggle to as little purpose as would Leviathan to escape the
ponderous fluid that surrounds him! Don't think me, however, altogether
eel or sucker, satisfied with my native mud and cold-blooded companions ; for
I have bin on the surface a good deal, and secured not a few tid-bita 'found
afloat,' and without the purview of fish content with the stream in which it was
their fate to be spawned.' We were not at all surprised to learn, toward the
end of this epistle, that notwithstanding the lack of * advantages,' so feeling^
deplored, the writer has * scribbled,' and been * honored by the perusal of ]U$
public.' lie will do so again, doubtless ; for he writes like one who has
tlioughts that * must and will out' - - - MrcH has been said, but modi
more ^hinte^i in the journals,' touching the Lady Loliby-Memhers at TFoaUi^
ton, during the past session of Congress. We hope, for the reputation of the
sex, that those reports have been exaggerated. But that the * gentle creatons '
do sometimes improperly meddle with politics, partisan *policy,' and paUk

1858.] BclUor's Table. 207

and private pecuniary appropriations, there is very little doubt ' T is true,
'tis pity, and pity 't is H is trua' Apropos of this, is an anecdote in point,

told us by a New-England friend. Word was sent by Mr. H , a defeated

candidate, to a married lady, (who was supposed to have changed the expected
vote of her husband, on election-day, to the opposite party,) to the following

effect : * Qo and teU Mrs. F , that I will send her, by the first opportunity,

a pair of pantaloons^ for her political services.' * Gb and tell Mr. H ^,' was

the reply, * to send them along at once : do n't forget to tell him that I want a
new pair — not a pair that his wife has half worn out ! ' This -being told to

Mr. H in his store, when it was crowded with customers, did not serve

to enhance his equanimity, nor very greatly to lessen his repugnance against
female political influenoa - - - Op our friends the * Little Folk,' the
anecdotes and ' sayings' which ensue, are authentic : which is more than can
be said of at least one-half of the inflated puerilities attributed to children by
the would-be imitators of the juvenile contributions, heretofore, to the Kkicksr-
BOCKEB. From the &r south-west comes the following:

' Dbivino oat one day last fall to see a relation of my wife, we took with us
the little daughter of a particular friend, a child of some six years old. While
my Wife went into the bouse (the family being sick) 1 remained out in the garden
with * Fan,' and strolling into the summer-house, we sat down. I was whittling
a stick aiid she was sitting alongside of me, very attentively watching the process.
Afl^r a few minutes' silence, looking up in my face, in her inquisitive way, phe
asked : * Charlie, what are you cutting that stick for ? '

* * Oh ! just fOT fun,' was my reply, more to answer the child than amy -thing
else.

'She said nothing for several seconds, but appeared to be intently thinkuig;
evidently revolving some momentous question in her little brain. Finally, with a
longing for information on every expressive feature : * Well, if you are cutting
just for fun, Charlie, why do n't you laugh ? ' . ' '

'Imagine the same question addressed to yourself I I fancy you would have
done as I did — said nothing.'

'The following incident (writes a correspondent, a pastor in a distant 'down-
east' village) is less than a month old: Mrs. L had lost her little pet

lamb — her only one — of only six summers, by scarlatina. Hler neighb^s
chUd, not quite so old, went over to spend a Saturday afternoon hour or two : and
as she was the dead Lizzie's play-mate, Liizie's play-things were brought out by
the bereft mother for her young visitor's amusement ; Mrs. L dropping fre-
quent tears at the sight of the familiar sport. When at night, and at home, the
little girl was going to bed, she asked her mother to let her for once say her
prayers alone in her bed-room instead of at the maternal knee : and she did so.
Coming back from her brief devotions, her mother said she should like to know
what was the reason of her darling's unusual wish. Artlessly, as though a violet

could speak, the almost-baby said : ' I asked the Lord to give Mrs. L a

little baby like yours. Mamma, instead of Lizzie, so she won't cry any more I '
But the prettiest part of it is, that the first thing on Monday morning, our sweet

little petitioner wanted to ' run right over to Mrs. L 's, to see if the baby is

coTM^^ as prayed for I How would this do as an illustration of fedth f '

' The artless utterances of Childhood : its ifild, fantastic imaginings of the
incomprehensible,' writes a lady-correspondent from Northern Ohio, ' are a charm-
VOL. LH. . . 14 . .

• • •

208 JEiitOT^s Table. [August,

ing study for the thoughtful obserrer. A few days ago one of Fbahk's play-
mates, an interesting litUe boy, whose life had been but a Joyoufl play-time of
eight summers, was drowned while skating upon the river. The event brought
mournful thoughts to all who were familiar with the circomstances, and to our
little Frank was peculiarly suggestive. * Ma,' said he as he sat beside me on the
evening of the day, looking earnestly into the fire, * how long will it take Obaxlkt
to go up to heaven ? '

* His little sister, much younger, yet very complacent in her ideas of things,
hastily answered : ^ Of course he won't go up till after the funeral.'

' * How could I make plain to those little minds what was yet so incomprdieiisible
to my own ?

* * How shall I know Gharlst up in heaven, unless somebody calls Um ont?*
continued my little questioner. I tried to teach him, that he would recognise his
little friend in another world. * Then,' said he, * I 'm going right up to him and
ask him all about it.' . . . Amusino themselves one day with the pictures in
the large family Biblx, I over-heard them debating upon one engraving represent-
ing the descent of angels. Alics persisted that they were * dead people g<^ng
up ; ' Frank assured her that they were not, for people <Ud n't have wings to go
to heaven. She seemed quite vexed and puzzled at his version : and after a mo-
ment's pause, with a most characteristic toss of the head, exclaimed : * Well, I
an't going to heaven 'less I can have some wings.'

* I am often reminded, by these juvenile colloquies, of my own yearnings tsa ilie
solution of this great enigma of the soul.'

* I HAVE, beside the Babt,' writes a friend nearer home, ' three chfldren :
Hart, about six years old; Annie, whom, from her way of looking intently at
one, and opening and shutting her eyes, we call Blinker ; and Fbkddib, both
younger. Not long ago I called Blinker to take her morning bath: ' Gome here,
you little Hebe ! '

* * Am I Hebe, Papa ? — what 's sisser Mart ? '

* * She 's Psyche.'
♦'What's Fred?'

* I went on, giving names to all the personages for whom Blinkkx ssked tiiem,
until my wife broke in : * Why do n't you call any body Jupiter ? •

' I replied that Jupiter was a hard case ; and enlarged about his fdam in the
matter of Europa, of Leda, etc. I did not notice that any of the children were
listening. The next Sunday Mart came to me : ' Papa, read us up a whole lot of
stories out of the Bible ' — to them the treasure-house of all story.

' * Whom shall I read about. Mart ? '

' * Oh ! read about Judah.'

* ' About Judah ! Who was he ? '

' * Why, the one who turned into a white bull and carried off the lady I '

'Each of the little girls has a ' Mrs. Harris,' whom she calls her Julia Oitbbakos.
Not long ago my wife over-heard them. * Annie,' said Mart, * my Juui. OuB-
RANCE is taller than yours. She is as tall as the top of the room.*

' ' My Julia Ourrance is as tall as the top of the house,' retorted Bunon.

' ' But mine is as tall as the sky,' replied Mart.

' Blinker was not to be put down so. Intently reflecting a moment, and most
vigorously winking her eye-lids, she closed the contest thus: *But my Jvua
Ourrance is so tall that her hei^ goes through the clouds, and comes up al the
foot of Goo's bed ; so she can peek over the foot-board.'

1858.] Editor's Table. 209

< Both little girls seem greatlj exercised to comprehend the idea of God. ICabt
lately brought me a picture, which she had made, of a house. Through a hole in
the roof a large round face was peeping into the room below.

»*What's that?' I asked.

' * That 's God ! ' replied the little girl, in a subdued tone. I was the more
struck with this, as it recalled to me that my own early idea of God was the
same — that of a BxiMO on His hands and knees, gazing through the top of the
room.'

Little cluldren, oome again. - - - An invalid New-Yorker, lying on his
side-bed in New-Orleans, was * greatly relieved ' by one dose of Fun, adminis^
tered by a fellow-Gothamite on this wise : * He had been reading to him the last
number of the Enickerbocksr, and had just taken up the Herald : from which
sheet he read, among other things, the account of the conversion of * AwruL
Gardneb,' the pugilist, and of his having ' exhorted the multitude ' at the
John-street church. *Ah!' he exclaimed, * Gardner has become an ex-
pounder, eh?' I was too weak for this : it prostrated me at the time: but

the shock did me good' Since this was placed in type, we find the annexed

in the ^Eoening Post, daily journal : *■ Among the numerous copies of the
Bible in the American Bible Society's Library is the one used by the preachers
of an African church in this city, which presents a very dilapidated appear-
ance ; it is literally worn to shreds by the blows which those fervid and sable
divines havcf%ivested on its covers. The cause of this phenomenon is wittily
chronicled in the following language, which is inscribed on the title-page:
* This is the Bible from which the pure Word was literally ex-pounded by our

colored brethren in street' - - - The * Triune ' daily journal of to-day,

June the twenty-third, speaking of the recent tempest and tornado, remarks :

'Ax obserrer of this phenomenon says, that the storm seems to have collected on
the mountains lying west of the Hudson, and was obsenred hovering for several hours
over the northern part of the city. At three o'clock in the afternoon it had com-
menced its progress. In its van a laree dusky cloud had gathered, in form somewhat
like the head of a large elephant with its proboscis extending to the sround, as if
feeling to find the proper route of the destrojer. A furious whirlwind attended its
progress through tne northern part of the city. It was of such a density, that the
observer could scarcely behold any object which it had enveloped ; and buildings too
slightly put together, were torn aown, unroofed, and in some instances transported
to consiaerable distances, scattering along the way the ruins thus made. The course
of the tempest was sonth-eastwanD

The editors should have seen this storm, * pregnant with earthquake and tor-
nado,' swoop down from the border-hi^ihuids of Rockland, the ' High Tom '
and the ^ Hook' mountains, upon Haverstraw Bay, and the broad Tappaftn-
Zee, on its way to the metropolis ! Its march was grand : it was more — it
was suUime ! The dim blue-green mass of dense cloud, impenetrable to si^t,
sw^t onward, extinguishing as it were a lighted candle, all the sunny land-
scape before it; blotting out alike the ^assy mirror of the Hudson, and Its
lovely shores, while the gray rattling ndn hid its backward ravages frcon view.
We knew, when we walked out upon the sanctum-piazza, to survey its course,
what would be its wild mission in the near metropolis, whither it wns hasten-
ing * on the wings of the wind : ' how it would at length dart upon the deep,
and ' scoop the ocean to its briny springs.' That tornado and storm should
have been seen in its sudden inception and terrific progrees, to heprcperif

210

JScUtar'8 Table.

[Attgnst,

appreciated. Apropos of Storm : did you eyer encounter the 8i»rited lines
which ensue ? We read them while the tempest above described was brewing,
or * being' brewed, *'i the North,^ before it proceeded onward, to 'seire its
sovereign T the South : '

* I AM Storx — the King I
I lire in ft fortress of fire ftnd cloud :

You may hear ray batteries sharp and loud

In the Summer night,
When I and my warriors arm for the fight ;

And the wiliows moan.

And the cedars groan
Ajb they bend beneath the terrible spring

Of Stobm — the King!

* I am Storm — the King I

My troope are the winds, and the hail, and the

rain:
My foes the woods and the feathery grain ;

The mail-clad oak
That gnarls his front to my charge and stroke :

The ship on the sea :

The blooms on the lea :
And they writhe and break as the war-cries ring

Of Stokm — the King I

* I am Storm — the King I
I drove the sea o'er the Leyden dykes :
And, a deadlier foe than the burgher pikes,

To the walls I bore
The *Ark of Delft * firom the ocean shore,

O^er rale and mead,

With war-like speed,
Till the Spaniard fled from the deluge-ring

Of Stobm — the King I

* I am Storm — the King I
I saw an armada set sail firom Spain

To sprinkle with blood a maiden a reign :

I met the host
With shattering blows on the island coast.

And tore each deck -

To shreds and a wreck :
And the Saxon poets the praises sing

Of Storm— the KingI

* I am Storm •— the King I

My marshals are four — the swart Bhnoon,
Sirocco, Tornado, and swift Trslhoon ;

My realm is the world.
Wherever a pennon is wared or ftirled.

My stem command

Sweeps sea and land ;
And none unharmed a scoff may fling

At Storm — the King !

* I am Stokm— the King I
I scour the earth, the sea, the air,

And drag the trees by their emerUd hair.

And chase, for game.
With a leap and a scream, the prairie flame.

The commerce ark

And the pirate bads,
And none may escape the terriUe siMrinff
Of Storm — the King f*

Stirring pictures, these. - - - Oub old friend and ^BometitM ' goesipping
correspondent, Mr. Stephen C. Massett, has arrived in our metropolis bj a
late English steamer ; and * when time and place shall serve,' our dtizens will
have the pleasure to hear him in his unique entertainment^ ^Beminiiceneei of
Travel in Many Land^^ which we have reason to believe will afford to many
a rich and rare treat Mr. Massett observes well, and he records well: he
has been every where, it seems to us : for he has written us from the wilder-
nesses of Oregon ; the mountains of Califomia ; the Sandwidi Islands ; Anstr*-
lia, (Melbourne, Hobart-Town, Sydney, etc. ;) fi^m Bombay, Calcutta, Cairo,
and Constantinople ; and we did expect to hear fix>m him at Jerusakm ; but
circumstances changed the direction of his travels, and we heard from him last
at London, whence he wrote: *I suppose you heard that I was neariy 'dooe
for ' in Bombay — eh ? My trip across the desert was delightful, and the Arab
girls in Cairo fearfully enticing ! I dined at the Garrick Club dinner in bonor
of the birth-day of Shakspeare, recently. Charles Eean in the cliair. He
made a superb speech. Dickens, Thackeray, eta, were there. Thackisat
can't speak ; but I helieve he can write. Dickens is a capital after-dinner
speaker ; and, * which is more,' he is now pocketing five hundred doOars a
night by reading his Christinas books. I am going to-day to see Lkioh Hijkt.
Just tlunk how gently time deals with him ! Seventy-eight years old, yet l»^]f>
and hearty as a boy 1 ' Our metropolitan public must give * Stephen' a oor>
dial welcome. His repertoire of songs, recitations, etc, has been largely aug^
mented ; he is in good *■ condition ' and voice ; has didted the applause and tbe
more substantial guineas of the highest nobility and gentry of Colonial Britain

1858.] MUw^s Table. 211

every where, as well as in the * great Metropolis ;' and the Pbess, wherever he
has appeared, has been almost unanimous in his praise. Let us cheer CoL
Pipes with * a bimiper I ' - - . Among the entertaining and instructive
features of Forney* 9 Philadelphia ^Frese ' are the occasional sketches of pro-,
minent English notabilities, religious, political, legal, and dramatie. These
sketches are from the pen of R Shelton Mackenzie, Esq., whom long resi-
dence and professional and personal position in London, and dose observation
of *men and things,' render eminently qualified for the task, if that may be
called a task, which seems accomplished in so easy and pleasantly-gossipish a
manner. In a late issue of the popular journal with which he is connected,
Dr. Mackenzie gives the readers of the ^Freis ' some interesting items of the
personal history of the * Long-lived Law-Lorde of Britain : ' of our Boston
Lord Ltndhubst; of Mr. Canning; of Lord Campbell; and of Lord
Brougham : proving, in the case of the latter, that Sir Edwabd Sugden's sati-
rical remark, that *it was a pity Brougham did n't know a little law, for then
he would know a little of every thing,' was much more satirically witty than
trua Does our friend remember this cockney verse upon his baronial title,
(Bbouoham and Vaux,) which appeared at the time of his elevation to one of
his prominent dignities ? K we remember rightly, it appeared as a squib in
the London * Morning Chronicle ; ' for which journal, by the by. Lord Camp-
bell was £)r a long time, in early life, a parliamentary and theatrical reporter :

' Vr is Lord Grat like a syeepinff man,

Yot close by the crossing stalks?
'Cause, Ten lie 's made as eood sreep as he can,
He takes up his ' Bboom^ and ' Yaux.' '

The Doctor will ' take the idea.' - • - A toung lady writing home from a
female literaxy institute, in the southern part of New-York, thus indignantiy
discourses, in true feminine wise : * You must know that there are limits fixed
to our walks. ' Thus far can we go, and no &rther.' I wonder that the exact
number of steps we must take is not prescribed ! All the feminine artifices to
which we resort, to lengthen our walks, are of no avail No representation
which we can make, of the immediate, pressing necessity of ribbons, shoes, or
even hoops, avails us in the least We are either told to * do without,' or to
send by * Mr. Smith ' for them. Mr. Smith is our steward, and (happy man !)
can go into town as ofi;en as he likes. I must n't omit to tell you that he is a
very portly gentieman, almost Pickwickian in size. "Well, the other day I
thought I had a ' splendid ' excuse to go into town. I asked the matron if I
could n't go out to the dress-maker's, to have a dress fitted, (my new blue
dress, you know, which I am having for Commencement) Now what do you
think? Sheaskedme if *Mr. Smith couldn't do the errand!' I told her
that I would trust him to get my hair-pins, handkerchief, hose, and hoops,
but I should prefer to have my dresses fitted to myself instead of him I Do n't
you think me justifiable ? He may be a model of manly beauty, but I am
afraid hia fit would n't quite fit me/ ^ - - - What a wonderful event
is the first view of Death to children ! We well remember — and it is as &r
back as our memory of any event goes — when two litUe twin-brothers, hand-
in-hand, with new figured linen jackets and trowserlets that rustied as we
walked, went to a funend, and ^aw for the first time the work of the Great

212 JSiitor^s TaNe. [August,

Destroyer. It was the ftmeral of a good old man, a nd^bor, who was kind
to little bojs, and had often given us to eat of the choicest apples in his abun-
dant ordiard, and of the most hisdoiis melons in his mellow fields. Not a
si^t or a sound, seen and heard on that day, has eyer departed from us: tlie
pale, cold, inmiovable fiu» ; the sad looks taid sadder moans of weeping relft-
tires; the ministei's solemn tones, *deep«tamped on the dead sUenoe;' the
peculiar smell of the coffin ; all are before us, or with us, now. So that we
enter, through a child's experience, at once into the feelings of our own little
peq)le, when they talk of the good old Lady, that fine, affectionate, Friend4y
spirit, whose demise we lecorded in our last number. We read, a few moments
ago^ these lines aloud :

' AiTD she, the ased one, bereared.
Sat lonely in ner old ftrm-dudr,
Submissire to Gton's will, yet erieyed ;
Raising to Heaven her silent prayer :
Her fiuth, and love, and hope were there : '

when two 'wee ones' immediately 'made the application.' Yet, as Spraous
has beautifully expressed it, they * cannot make her dead.' They welcome her
still to the cottage ; they see the plain Quaker bonnet laid on the bed ; the
spotless pale-drab shawl spread oyer it; they dasp again the libenl hands
that neyer came empty to her loyed and loying pets ; they recall that placid
&ce under the thin lace cap, still beaming with afifectionate interest in tbeir
little joys and sorrows: they 'cannot but remember that such things were^
that were most pleasant to them : ' and it almost seems a blessing that tfaej
should neyer haye seen those liying eyes closed in darimess, and those ever
open hands pale and cold, cross-folded on the mlent breast: for now, they
'cannot make her dead I' - - - Bt-and-bt, say by the beginning of
early winter, our metropolis will be brou^t up yeiy nearly to ' Cedar-Hill
Cottage' by the ^West-Shore BaU-road^^ Which runs along the loyely inLuid
region, bade of the Palisades. Under the energetic management of the oon-
traotors, Messrs. Sethoub and Toweb, it is adi^ancing toward completkm with
rapid strides. The line is adnurably located; much of it is now ready for tlia
ties and rails, which are already contracted for; ditdies, culyerts, and stone
bridges in progress, axe obseryable along the line ; so that the work, eren now,
seems to be a thing adiieyed. So good-by to any more winter paflsages by
rail 'around the Horn ; ' farewell to short (and yet long) yoyages thxoug^ tbe
thick-ribbed ice of the Hudson I When the ' West Shore' roars with the naih
of*its iron horses, we shall be able to do many things hitherto 'not conyenient*
in the winter-time : to forgather with our brethren of the Saint Nicholas So-
dety, the ' Centurians,' and the Press-Club, for example; compare notes, and
eijoy remiQiscenttal reyerie or oon&b. Few of our fellow-metropolitans ave
aware of the yariety of natural beauty which preyails on the western aide of
the Palisades, whose perpendicular walls look down upon the Hodscm. Dis-
tant ranges of hill and mountain ; riyers moying seaward ; and a ridi and
yerdant yalley spreading out between. 'Thousands of intelligent trayaOen,*
says an able correspondent of the ^Bocklomd County Journal,^ 'pan eon.
tinually up and down the Hudson-riyer, who little suspect that behind the
«tem, rocky walls of the Palisades there exists a seduded, happy little worid,
liying in a paradise little short of Eden. Nearly the whole length, the line di

1858.]

EdiUn^s Table.

218

the road runs timmgh one of the most charmmg, healthy, and fertile of yalleys,
ooTered with fiums in the highest state of cultivation on the rising grounds of
its genUy-flloping side, with rich meadows and pasture-grounds toward the
riyer. A sunrey of the heautiftd landscape would almost lead to the helief
that the respectiye owners of the soil were striving with energy and persever-.
ance to rival one another in giving their places every possible appearance of
improvement, neatness, beauty, and comfort Poverty and want seem to be
strangers to that prosperous region.' - - . Wb have been made possessed
of a ' poma' There is no doubt as to its authenticity : for it bears this intro-
duction: 'These lines was wrote concerning the Shipwrack of Schooner
Hail, and Captain Cobb, and two of his Crew;' which heralds the name of
PoLLT S. WixoN, n^ Bakeb, as the author, lliere are twenty-eight verses,
in all, but the segregated stanzas below are the best :

' There was a voanff man, neighbor to me^

William W. Wixon was nis name,
And I was always glad to see him
When in my nonse he came.

' And now I think why it was so,
And why he seemed so near :
It was to be his dreadful fote
To be lost with my brother dear.

* And to you I say, young friends,

By this a warning take,
Ana tiT to make a preparation
For the future, future state.

' I often think of those dear ones.

How dreadful they must feel.
When the Sch. Mail did part in two,
And thej was clinging to the raiL'

' I HBViB did no lines compose.

But these did come to me
Early in the mom, as I awoke,
Aboiit my bityther lost at sea.

* And when that dreadful storm arose,

How little did we know
Of the awM dolefbl story
That was broof^t to us and told I

* When Avof B. Baxib did come home,

And taU US the dreadful tale,
Oh I bow it made our hearts to ache,
And how it made us feel 1

'My brother did write home and aay,

Tell mother not to worry ; n
But, oh I no, he neyer thought

'Bb most go in such a hurry.

It Is with no design to cast ridicule upon the aflection which forms the subject
of the doggerel that we present it to our readers : for the writer, in advert-
ing to the &ct that she shall never * hear the steps ' of her brother's 'dear feet'
any more ; that wh^a she worked for him, he never would *find &ult with her,'
but would say that 'it was well done;' in these little domestic touches, she
even awakens our sympathy : but what could have induced a sane young
woman to fimcy that such 'poetry' as we have quoted, was calculated to in-
crease her reputation, or excite commiseration f And yet, after all, we i20
commiserate any one who .oould be so misguided, whether through vanity or
afibction : sorry for her. - - - Thebb were some ' strong-minded women'
speakers at a recent New-England reform-convention: one, especially, being
a perfect brickess. She was very pkin-spoken: and she 'aired her mind'
foDj — what there was of it She manifested no little cont^i^ for the entire
male gender : and not a little reminded us of a scene which we once witnessed
in the old Park Theatre; The play for the evening was that lugubrious pocket*
handkerchief pieoe^ ' The 8Pr<mger,^ Directly before us sat an elderly married
couple. The gentleman, a narrow-shouldered, high-eared, long-nosed specimen,
'most meke of his visage : ' the dame, a very plump lady, with head erect,
cheeks glowing, and eyes wandering, beneath an exalted turban and above a
ponderous ' burst,' which almost threatened escapement The man was much
moved at the distresses of Mrs. and Mr. Hatj^bb, Tears trickled down his

214

Editor's Table.

[Acigast,

long nose and white pinched nostrils ; and eyer and anon he would jog Ma-
dame, that she might assist his melancholy enjoyment of the scene with her
own sad sympathy, But not so: she told him, three seyeral times, to
' Hush ! ' — and at length responded to an appreciative * punch ' f rcxn the elbow
of her lesser half: * Do stop I — 'f I 'd a-known you was goin' to act in thU
way, I would n't ha* fetcKd you 1 ' He smothered Ips reflected sorrow, and
* dried up' instanter. - - - Upon the whole, we think we shall ofl^
no apology for giving insertion, contrary, as our readers know, to our unifi)rm
custom, to the following. It may seem to savor of egotism: but it is only
an act of gratitude. The second extract, we may farther remaik, is simply a
deed of justice to an obliging correspondent The first is a passage ftoai a
gifted lady-correspondent in New-Haven, Connecticut:

* One daj in a summer that is past, I was wandering down the Strand, London,
when mj eye was suddenly arrested by something familiar in the window of Jobk
Chapman, Number 142 Strand. * I stopped; I gazed : it was! it was! ' — the Old
Gentleman of the EInicksbbockxr, with the pipe m one hand and the pen in the
other ; Fussy slumbering at his feet, and all the accompaniments of a literary
purveyor picturesquely grouped around. I instantly seized upon the old gentle-
man, paid on the spot for several fac-similes of * His Excellency ; ' and forthwith
' Old Knick * accompanied me in many wanderings by land and sea.

* I might tell you how many tedious hours of sea-sickness he enlivened, how
many days of travel, in stage-coach and rail-road car, he brightened, for ma and
others ; but time would fail me. I left him at last in l^e cozy library of a joUy old
Professor at Leyden, who had enjoyed a * feast of fat things ' between his covers ;
inwardly resolving that if I ever survived to see Xew-York again, I would renew
my acquaintance most cordially with the old gentleman.*

And tTiese kind words, too, it would seem, proceed firom a lady. They are
sent to us marked in the * Toledo Blade^ a well-known joamal, and are ad-
dressed to * J. M. S ^ Esq.,' of that flourishing city :

* When epicures loudly are praliing

Some triumph of cookery art,
At the * jBOtUor** TbMa' I *m foMtliiff,
And getting the rare-bite bj heart.

' Though gallants may leare me n^iiollotd.

My sanctum can nerer be dark ;
While congregate genius is near ««,
In the train of our Gatloid OLaas,

' While artists, and poets, and sagep,

Appear 'tween those corers of UoB,

For the pleasure of seeing their &eee,

I must surely feel grateml to you.

* DiAS firiend, from my sick-bed I 'm sending

Full many kind thoughts after you,
And prayers for yoor welfare are blending
With memories faithful and true.

* Love may be forgotten in absence,

But friendship, like yours, cannot fail ;
Since each month I receive a firesh token,
Whose coming with pleasure I hall.

' While others, more fisrored, are straying.

Enjoying some fair winter scene ;
At home I 'm contentedly staying,
Quite bledt with the new magaxine.

^Tery much obliged,' Ma'mselle I - - - The letter fit»n which the Bdl|joinecl
is an extract, was received (in a certain town in Iowa, which shaU be Damekn)
in response to a somewhat urgent dun. It is the * hottest day of tiie eeiuoo,'
thus far, as we write ; yet this letter is as * cool' as if it were mid-winter. It k
hardly a month old :

* * Dear Sib : You talk like a book about op%u peeunia^ and all that; aad yoa
talk feelingly, as if from experience. It is well to have experience in the vielMl*
tudes of life ; it so enlarges our sympathies, and moderates oar expeotations: end

X858.] JEditor'a TahU. 215

if your expectations are not moderate concerning the subject-matter of your letter,
your realizations, I fear, will be, for :

* 'F1B8T : The * Company * owe me over three thousand doIUrs for money ex-
pended for their benefit, which I have been in yain besieging them for, mnce last
November. I *11 pay no more of their bills until I myself am paid: which time, to
wit, the day of payment, may they speedily hasten.

* * SscoNDLT : Those of the Company, to whom I have read your epistle, con-
Terse in a manner exceedingly unbecoming in Christians; using objurgatory
ejaculations, and declaring dogmatically that Mf it is adjudged honest and right
for them to pay the fees charged for three days' labor of an attorney, they wlQ
make a tender of the property to the court, and ask to be released £rom further
UabiUty I ' w. o. l.'

The collection of the * little bill ' in question will doubtiess demonstrate the
* pursuit of money under difficulty.' ... MAmr good things have come
out of braye ' Old Virginia : ' but few that ware better, in their way, than the
^OJd Dominion Coffee-Pot^ in which you may boil coffee for any length of
time, without a particle of the strength or aroma escaping. The taste of coffee
made in this patent vessel is delicious. One third less of the ground material
is required, while the full flavor of the berry is retained. It is exceedingly
simple in its construction and action. Our friends of the * North Woods Wal-
ton Club' must have a half-dozen of these social and simple * improvements.'
What a cup of Mocha or Java, Commissary^ Ad ak Stohte' would turn out
for his 'Speckled '-devouring compeers, from the hissing spout of the 'Old
Dominion I ' Take good light bread, made of good flour, and raised with
'Whatcheer Hop-Yeast Cakes,' the n« plus ultra of ' emp'tins ; ' milk that ha sn't
lived, like Truth, in the bottom of a well ; and good fresh butter, cold as ice
from the 'shanty ' spring — and with fresh trout ! But the very thought^ on
this meltingly-hot day, is oppressive ... Few readers of Charles
Lamr will have forgotten his dearly-conceived exposition of the latent
fun contained in the question asked by an Oxford scholar of a porter who was
carrying a hare through the streets : ' Pr^ithee, friend, is that your own hare,
or a wig ? ' ' There is no resisting this,' says Lame : a ' man might blur ten
^ sides of paper in attempting a defence of it against a critic who should be
laughter-proo£' Looking through the thick masses of red and white roses that
shade and 'shimmer' the floor of our cottage-piazza this lovely June mormng,
we see 'the girls' a-shooting vrith bow and arrow a red-and-blue straw target,
which rests in the lower branches of a deep-green cherry-tree, bending at this
moment with its wealth of ruby fruit, on our littie lawn. The elder of those
laughing archers, in a second's space, has disappeared in our backward-looking
mind, from the fiuniiy history. She 'was not yet^' at the time whereof we
write, although daily 'anxiously expected:' insomuch that her prospective
unde, the lamented 'Ollapod,' wrote: 'Write to me, L— — , the moment
the event takes place. I shall be stretched on the tenter-hooks of impatience^
until I know whether I am an unde or an aunt I ' Now, why did this come into
our head, in connection with this thing of Charles Lake's f ' By the mass,
we cannot tell ! ' yet it was suggested. - * - - When our old friend,
President Hallett, of the Nautilus Dvoing-Bell Company^ w^t to Europe

216 jEdUar'8 Table. [Aagnst,

with his great inyention, we predicted his suooesg in the vast enterprise. In
England, as the readers of the Enickerbockbr have ahready seen, his triun^
was complete. The * Nautilus,' after ^ doing duty' to entire acceptance, in the
Thames, is now in Paris. It has been engaged by the Government to perform
important subterranean services on the marine fortifications of the French sea-
board. We find the following in the Paris correspondence of the London
Daily New9 :

'Ax immenM crowd lined the western parapet of the Pont Boyal tfaia aftemoon, to
witness the performances of the * Naatilns * diying-bell, which has lately been broaght
here from London. Mr. Hallbtt^ the President of the Naatilns Sabmarlne Com-
pany, had issued cards of invitation to sereral French, English, and American g|en-
tlemen connected with science or literature, to 'assist* at the experimenta. An
awning was erected on the quay for the accommodation of the visitors. Several
ladies were present, but the inexorable proportions of their crinoline made it impos-
sible for any of them to get into the * man-hole ' bj which access is obtained to the
diving-beU. If any lady could be persuaded to divest hers^ of the ridiouloiia and
uncomfortable costume which fashion ordains, she might undertake a snb-aqueoua jour-
ney in the * Nautilus ' without the slightest derangement to her nerves. The interior
is as comfortable as an opera-box, and the air breathed in it is mnc^ better. I was
ajB^reeably surprised to nnd myself at the bottom of (he Seine, without any of that
tingling in the ears which I remember feeling in the old-fashioned beU. 9%e intro-
duction of the air was so nicely managed, that no one was sensiUe of any dilferenoe
between the atmosphere of the diving-bell and that outside. It would be a work of
supererogation for me to attempt to describe the * Nautilus ' to the readers of the
Daily N&ut, 1 will only say that it is now the most attractive novelty in Paris.*

The Paris journals agree in this. - - - Why are not Otstbbs permitted to
associate vrith their fellow-citizens of the watery world, in a sdect ' aqoarimn f
Are they not received, eveiy where, into the best society t Are they at all
disposed to breed contention in a 'Happy Family?' Not at all: they are
peaceable^ quiet^ tractabla They have their affections, their strong attadi-
ments : we have known a loving Saddle-Rock follow a friend aU round a
room: still they are * not too tame, neither.' And yet these gentle creatmWi
if we are to trust John Honeywell, cannot be received into an aquarium on
terms of equality :

' Within this narrow lake I see

The life that ocean dwellers live,
Where infusoria is the meat,

The only meat their markets give :
But, ah I I miss my bivalve friends.

And search in vain the shallow sea,
To find the high-bom oyster maid,

That loved a clam of low degree.'

The history of that bivalyulous 'subject' is however promised by our
pleasant * aquatic ' bard. - • - * Yon seem to walk more erect than wnt^
my friend.' ^Yes: I have been itraightened by drcomstanoes.' PRnnsa^
in his odumn of * Wit and Wisdom ' in Bonneb's ^Ledger* weddy jomnal, Is
responsible for this. But we know a man who was hent from the same caoaei
* Why, what makes you so crooked f ' asked a travelled Ne w- Yoricer of a ftOow-
Gothamite, on returning from Europe^ after the late * tin-panic : * 'how cama
your back so bent ? When I went away, you were as stnight as an iD^tan.'
'I know it: but I bent my back in lifting notes ; and I don't know that it wifl
ever come straight again 1' ... Can it be possible that so old and
experienced a journal as the ^Edinburgh JSoview^ has not yet foond out tiwt

1858.] MU(yi^8 Table. 217

such slashing * criticism ' as the following utterly defeats itself hj its over-ade-
quate severity ? It occurs in a short review of Pofi^s poetical and prose writ-
ings : ' Edgar Allan Poe was a blackguard of undeniable mark. He was in-
contestably one of the most worthless persons of whom we have any record in'
the world of letters. Many authors have been as idle ; many as improvident ;
some as drunken and dissipated ; and a few, perhaps, as treacherous and un-
grateful : but he seems to have succeeded in attracting and combining in his
own person all the floating vices which genius had hitherto shown itself cap-
able of grasping in its widest and most eccentric orbit' Now * these be par-
lous words,' Mr. Reviewer ! - - - Oub common relative, * Unde Samuel,'
when he has any thing done, will always have it well done, if he only employs
sudi conscientious, trustworthy agents as Mr. John Disbbow, of Haverstraw,
Rockland county. He has recently secured for the United States Navy-Yard
ftt Broddyn, a copious supply, present and prospective, of pure fresh water,
for the uses of the yard, from a great Artesian well, which he is as skilled in
boring, as 'his &ther before him.' Adjoining this, he is erecting numerous
arches, exceedingly imposing in their architectural features, and so strong and
massive, that they excite the * solid' admiration of all who examine ihem.
Upon these ardies wiU rise and rest the tremendotis iron reservoir, to be sup-
plied from the well'by a steam-engine, from which the water will be drawn for all
the demands of the government locality. - - - ^The Bums Chib of the
City of NtfiD'York^ (Joseph Cunningham, Esq., President, and Robert Bur-
nett and Joseph Laing^ Vice-Presidents,) have done themselves honor, in pass-
ing unanimously the following comprehensive preamble and fervent resolutions :

'Whbbxas, The meeting has heard with indignation that an attempt has been
made by Mr. Jamis Baird, of Gambusdoon — tne classic jgrounds embracing the
scenery immortaJizod in Tam 0' Shantsr, and in the deathless lyrics of Scotland's
duriing poet — to obscure the prospect and destroy the pictorial beauty of the Corinth-
ian Monument erected to the memory of Robert Burns in the place of his birth :

' And Whbrsas, The meeting has marked with unbounded satisfaction the noble
and manly stand taken by Mr. Robsrt Chambers and others of our countrymen
against this gratuitous ana wanton act of high-handed and heartless Vandalism :

' AxD Whereas, The meeting has learned, with deep regret, that in spite of all re-
monstrances. Mr. Baird persists in his unhappy resolution, and has given orders to
posh on the building now in course of erection to completion with all dispatch :

' Resolved, That the meeting not only unanimously approve and indorse the course
taken by Mr. Robert Chambers, but consider his warm-hearted and determined con-
duct in the whole matter worthy of all honor, and deserving of gratitude and admira-
tion, not only from themselves, as admirers in a distant landof their national minstrel,
but from all who bear the Scottish name, in whatever country their lot may be cast

'Resolved, That the meeting waste no exertion in the shape of memorial, protest,
or otherwise, to induce Mr. Baird to reconsider his ill-advised determination, but
leave him to reap at leisure the fruits of the whirlwind he has sown — an unenviable
notoriety, the scorn of his own age and the contempt of a generous posterity.

'Resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be transmitted by the Chairman to
Mr. Robert Chambers, also to the ScoUith American Journal, and other American
papers ; also to the leading journals in Scotland.'

If this Mr. Baibd is not too weazen; if he is not a man of metallic nerves
and blunt entraHs; i^ in short, he has any * withers,' they cannot remain 'un-
wrung ^ much longer. Was it not enough that Burns ^ould have been neg-
lected by his countrymen, and half-starved while living, that a mean-spirited
self-interest should desecrate his monument, and obscure the scene of his re-
flected and perpetuated glory ?

218 JSditof^s Table. [Aogost,

Si (Sdmtt at Ntl» ^tdlttaKons.

Mb. Jamis'8 Nbw Romanoi : * Lobd Montagub's Pagb/ — We are glad to find the
annexed literary announcement in Fobvbt*s Philadelphia 'PntB:* 'Mr. G. P. B.
Jambs, the English novelist, who is now British Consul in Virginia, announces a new
noTel — or rather Ghilds and Pbtbbson, of Philadelphia, do so for him. Mr. Jambs
has been several jears in this country ; has written two or three different novels
upon American subjects ; has voluntarily pitched his tent among us ; and may claim
to be an honorary, as he is an honorable, member of our Republic of Letters. His
forthcoming work is a romance of the seventeenth century, entitled ' Lard M<nUagui»
Big«* The book, in one volume, will have a fine portrait of Mr. Jambs, engraved on
steel, with a vignette on the title-page, and will be put before the world in that ele-
gant and tasteful manner for which his publishers are distinguished. With engrsy-
ings, and handsomely bound in muslin, it will be sold at a dollar and a quarter: in
London, spread over three volumes, without the engravings, and in fragile boards,
the price would be a guinea and a-half ; equal to seven dollars and fifty-six oenta.
Mr. jAMtt is undoubtedly the most prolific of modem novelists. He has published
nearly one hundred and fifty volumes of prose fiction, beside numerous biographical,
historical, and poetical works. In all that he has written, there cannot be ibund

* One line whldi, djring, he would wish to blot.* •
His purity of language and plot has been among the leading causes of his popnlaritj.'

'Thb Nbw-Englandbr.' — The last issue of this Quarterly well sustains the satii-
factory reputation which was before increasing. It has three or four especially well-
written papers ; and particulariy one upon *Dr, Taylor and Ma Sjfdtm,' Kow of the
'system' portion of the article we do not consider ourselves qualified to speak; bnt
the biographical sketch with which it opens is admirably simple^ direct, aiid pietor-
esque, if we may employ the latter term in such a connection. Permit the e&Boiiig
passage to prove the justification of our praise:

* Texbs stands upon our table a bust which* had we seen it for the first time in the * Hall of the
Philosophers,* in the lioseum of the Gapltol at Kome, would have divided our attentiion with
ttie busts of SooBATis and Plato. The extraordinary breadth and helj^t of the forehead, the
depth of arch in the brow, the fine symmetry of the features, the stamp of intellectaaUty and
of benbmity upon the face, would have commanded the homage we instlncttvely roMler to great-
ness. That homage is not in the least abated by the fact that this bust, whldi. if unknown,
might stand uacbaUenged in the hall of the philosophers of antiquity, is known to be that of an
ethical philosopher seated in the chair of Ohristian theology in a scho<4 of the nineteenth cen-
tury. For those who know what an intellect was enthroned within it, and what a soul looked
out through its portals, the ages could add no weight of dignity to that brow. Bnt tlM brain
does not Uurob beneath this arch, the eyes do not speak from these sockets, the weeds of wisdom
and of power will not flow firom these lips ; and we turn away from the bust to remember sad^j,
that all which it would picture is now cold as the marble of the sculptor.

* Upon the wall of our study is a portrait, in which the engraver's art has well preserved --what
the sculptor cannot give — the life-expression of the same countenance. The forattead, tiie
brow, the mouth, the symmetry of feature are here, as given in the bust ; and boride, the eye
illuminating the Csce, and speaking from the inner depths of the soul, and an outline of the per^
son, shoving a vigor of the muscular system proportionate to the devdopment of the brain.
Bnt this is the countenance in repose ; and years of study, and physical Infirmities, have traoed
upon it their inelEftceable ridges and depressions. This picture inll not bring to us the sOMa we
seek.

* We go back a few days, and stand with venerable and reverend men — the teachers of our
vouth, the friends and counsellors of riper years— by the yet unclosed cofln; and look with
lingering gase, upon the repose of a great soul in death. All trace of labor and of suflRwrlng has
passed away; and that forehead In its serene msjesty, and those lips with their voiodess swsst
ness, still ' rule us from the sceptred urn.' Bnt In this yery room, where the rdation of Disohile
was absorbed in the higher relation of Friend, and where in familiar conversation, the TeaoMr
and the Preacher were lost in a chlld*like eathosiasm for truth and its discoveries — in this roon
so animated by his presence that he lives in its every object — we cannot accept the sUttittiioafh
majestic impress of death, as the permanent recoUectlou of him whom we snail meet on eanh
no more.

* We go back a little earlier, to look upon that countenance made wan and saOow 1^ dlseass,
and to listen to that voice broken and hesitating through weakness and pain ; and though the

1858.]

Editor's Table. 219

eye Is not dim, nor the intellectnid force abated, as he eonrerte his bolstered bed into a didactic
chair, and with clear discrimination and earnest emphasis recapitulates the grand points of
€k>spel troth elaborated in his lectures — we cannot bear to cherish the image of moral and
inteUectnal strength orer-mastering physical weakness, as the abiding Impression of the de-
parted sage.

• We vast go back more than twenty years, and look upon him in his manly Tigor, as with an
eye that riveted whomsoeyer it glanced upon, and a voice that reverberated like a deep-toned
bell, and an earnestness that glowed through every feature and fibre of the man, he first stirred
our mind with the overwhelming argument and pathos of his sermons, or lifted us up into mid-
heaven by the magnificent sweep and attraction of his lectures. An older pupil of his, at our
side, insists that to know Dr. Taylor as he was, we should be able to go back forty years, and
listen to htm as he came fresh from the pulpit of the Centre Church to the chair of Theology in
Tale OoUese ; that only his firti class can fully appreciate his vigor of thought, his reach of in-
tellect, and his power of inspiring others to tread with him the sublimest mysteries of divine
troth. And one of his latest pupils insists, that no one of all his thirty-six classes could ever
have known him so firesh, so intimate, so earnest, so clear, so thorough, so profound, as did that
little drcle who gathered in his parlor to read together his lectures, and Uien listen to his exposi-
tion. There could be no higher tribute to the intellectual and moral greatness of the teacher,
fhan these rival claims of pupils nearly forty years apart, each to have known him best, and to
have loved him most. No bust or picture can ever compare with the likeness cherished in Uiese
living hearts.*

Here is a succession of pictures, which bring the man, < in his habit as he lived/
directly before us. The paper on Parton's ' Life and Timet of Aaron Burr,* is able
•nd severe. *8pirUuali8m tested hy Science * is another * searching ' article.

CoLc's Rio, tob Rxducing and Furling Sails from thb Dsoi^ — Captain Jamks
E. Cou, the author of a pamphlet before us, we apprehend, will be running his ' Riga '
upon many a sea-captain hereaway, before many months have gone by. The very
title of his nautical, seaman-like publication, must awaken new and stirring thoughts
in the minds of our sea-faring readers ; nay, in the minds of ship-owners, and pas-
sengers, as well as in those of captains and their men. What I a Bif^, by which all
the sails of a ship, be it in calm or storm, can be spread to the wind, and quickly
withdrawn from its influence, without a man going aloft, or any of the fatigue or
peril of the system hitherto found to be unavoidable? Yes: a i^t^ by which the
turning of a crank on deck quickly and effectually accomplishes what has hitherto
tasked the muscles and periled the lives of seamen. There is no mistake: the
pamphlet and the drawings leave no room for doubt. Practical experiment has con-
firmed the theory. Patents have been secured in this country and in England ; and
we hear that the British Board of Admiralty, on examining the ' Rig' — the descrip-
tion, drawings, and model — expressed their full conviction that it would work suo-
cessfiilly. We have not room to expatiate on the humane tendencies, or on the com-
mercial benefits of this new labor-saving machinery. We recommend the pamphlet*
which is published by Barton and Compant, Number 111 Fulton-street, to * all
oonoemed.'

HouBRHOLD Edition or ths Waykrlxt Notils. — It is txat good fortune to possess
a noble copy of the Ahbotsford Edition of Scotia NbveU, with its profusion of au-
thentic and exquisitely-executed engravings ; a treasured present from that open-
handed, generous publisher, Rorsrt Gadbll : but our reading copy is Tioknor and
Fibldb' exceedingly beautiful * Household Edition of the Waverley Novels ;* convenient
in flixe, admirably printed upon the best paper, and each volume illustrated with a
fine engraving on steel. ' All things considered, it is the neatest and most service-
able edition which has ever been published, not even excepting the recent English
editions in duodecimo. Not to mention the elegant manner of their publication, the
fine press-work, smooth paper, clear type, neat binding, it may be said that they are
very carefully edited, and comprehend all the additions of notes, prefatory letters,
explanations, with which Sir Waltbr Soott accompanied the issue of nearly every
one of them from the press. To say one word in praise of works which are as origi-
nal as was the * Iliad,' and which, after the lapse of many years, are still the best of
ttieir class, seems not merely useless but absurd; and yet, amid the flood of
second-rate novels and romances with which the press for the last four or five years
has teemed, it may not be wholly superfluous now and then to recall attention to the
works of the acknowledged masters. *Quenbin Dwwxrdi which constitutes the la§t

220 MUor^s Table. [August, 1858.

month's addition to the Warerlej series, is a romance which acquired a great popn-
laritj at home and on the continent, and has been included, in the world's judgment,
among the half-dozen best of the Warerley series.'

< Pbabls of Thought.' — We recognise, in this smaU, neat volume, which reaches
our table fh)m the press of our fHends Messrs. SrAinroRD and Dsusssr, Number 508
Broadway, the good taste and handiwork of the clever author of ' A Salad for the
Solitary.' The religious and philosophical ' pearls ' which the book contains, are
gathered from numerous and various ' Old Authors,' and are selected and arranged
with excellent judgment. The author has been a most successful gleaner in the old
fields of sacred literature and learning. ' Sacred learning,' remarks the compiler,
' is among the most elevating and pure of intellectual pursuits : it qualifies us for both
worlds ; and these thoughts, maxims, and aphorisms, are among its spoils. Many
a suggestive thought, long buried in the dusty folios of the school-men, is thus
exhumed, and rendered fertile of interest to many appreciative minds.' These
'pearls' have been collected from the writings of such authors as Jbbsmt Collikr,
OwBX Fblthah, Bishop Hall, Thomas Fuller, Sir Thomas Bbowkk, Johk Dovkb,
Franciip Quasles, Pascal, Fbnslon, Jbebmt Tatlor, etc. The 'Thoughts' herein
embraced will supply materid for reflection to all meditative minds : and such wiU
reverently and lovingly cherish these relics of the past with grateful regard. Odd
intervals of time cannot be devoted to better purpose than to these suggestive pai-
sages ; while their variety constitutes them an epitome of good things — a library in
miniature. Those who can appreciate the gift, will be inclined to adopt the words of
good old Bishop Hall : ' Blessed be Qod, who hath set up so many dear lamps
in His Church : none but the wilfully blind can plead darkness; and blessed be the
memory of those, His faithful servants, who have left their blood, their spirits, their
lives in these precious pages, and have willingly wasted themselves into these endnr-
ing monuments, to give light to others.'

Ursula, a Tale or Countrt Life.' — This latest work of Miss Sewill, author of
' Amt Herbert,' * Ivors,' etc., is from the press of the Messrs. Appletom. It has met
with general and well-deserved praise. Our weU-endowed and capable contemporaij
critic of the 'Albion* weekly journal says of it :

* There is nothing liokly nor sentimental in the book. On the contrary, It Is written with a
genuine appreciation of what if honest and true in the character of an ordinary mortal, after
making due alloirance for the irregularities and imperfectiona of human nature. Ursula Is a
life-drawn specimen of an energetic, sensible, healtbfUl, and devoted woman — ezeellent asa
firiend, a sister, and a wife. An orphan, with two brothers, she is exceedingly Jealous of the af-
fection of the younger, Roon Gbant, who ultimately falls in love with and marries a thonglit-
less and penniless but very pretty girl, one Jissib Lbb. A curiously eonstituted family, to iraott
RooxB acts as bailiff, is introduced among the principal personages ; and nnder the name of
MnxioBMT Warn, we recognise one of the masculkie creations of Aotoh Bell, a woman with the
most tender feelings and the roughest hands, a village SuiauiT, a ruiitlo Die YEaaox, Roaas
succeeds his blind and widowed brother In the management of the farm ; marries, and Is almost
reduced to a state of hopeless misery by the foolish conduct of his wife before h«r marriage^
which she conceals from him. An interesting delineation of sterling friendship and wneelnsh
kindness brings one JoHif Hxbvkt on the scene. Ursula, thrown off her guard by an erroneoos
Idea that he is engaged to a village fHend, Mart Kbmp, confides in him, remecls, loves, and
finally marries him ; and we think the real charm of the work will be foond in the gradnal deve-
lopment of this honest and slowly formed attachment.'

'The Quaker Soldier: or the British in Philadelphia.' — The manly and out-
spoken preface to this book first attracted us to its contents. It is written with a
good degree of ability. The * Quaker Soldier' (an anomalous term) is the oolj Mm
of a wealthy Quaker fomHy, who is driven from home by his father's strictnen. Hit
experience, both at home and abroad, when he entered on a high career of fiuna^ and
his adventures in Philadelphia and in the American army during the war, teveal to
the reader that part of our history in a new phase. The action of the tale eOHk-
mences with the entry of the British into Philadelphia, and closes with their depar-
ture : and we have in this interval a series of vivid pictures of the times.

l'^i

C^^^ .>£^^^,,<s-««^^^

THE KNICKERBOCKER.

YOL. LII. SEPTEMBER, 1858. No. 8.

SOMETHING ABOUT WINE.

OONOLUOBD.

Without being a borirvivanty and simply by virtue of the associa-
tion of ideas in which sensation and sentiment bear an eq^ual pait,
the places of a traveller's sojourn are identified with certam wmes,
so that a special vinous flavor in after-days, conjures up the image
of a favorite companion and the scenery of a picturesque locality.
The very name of Orvieto revives the artistic companionship of the
trattoria Lepri at Rome, or the pic-nic at Albano or Tivoli ; Vtno
d'Asti^ in its golden effervescence, whispers of the enchantments
of Lake Como and the battle-field of Marengo ; the glow of old
Marsala is warm with memories of ^tna, or breezy evenings on
the Marina at Palermo, whence we retired to a hospitable palazzo
where, on a marble table, stood the decanters ii^mersed in the old

volcano's snow ;

* Son le nevi il qninto elemento
Che compargono il yerro beTere.'

Whoso has studied in Germany, will greet the sight of an old
emerald glass sacred to Johannisberg, and hear in fancy the Rhine
song; the twang of choice Claret transports another to the Trots
Freres or Cafe de PariSy or makes him respond to the poet's bene-
diction :

'Benedetto

Quel Claretto

Che si spilla in Avignone.'

Old Port beams with the reflected tints of London mahogany and
coal-fires ; Mettemich and old castles reappear in the mirror of a
dusty bottle of Hock; Burgundy inspires dreams of Southern
France, the day at Nismes, or the quays at Bordeaux ; Malaga is
sweet with Spanish memories, and the nabob at home regrets the

VOL. ui. 15

222 Something about Wine. [September,

zest of his Sherry at Calcutta. A vinous amateur could indeed
designate eras by vintages, make landmarks of vineyards, and most
vividly keep alive local memories by the diversified flavor of the
grape. Lebanon wine would hallow Bethlehem to his imagination
more than monastic relics ; his London banker's Port, the Duke
of Nassau's Steinberg, the bottle of St. Peray hastily purchased
while the steam-boat tarries on the Rhone, the Brousa of Stam-
boul grown imder the snows of Olympus, blend with and identify
these scenes forever to his epicurean reminiscence ; and Beaume
and Chambertin are names as classic in his estimation as Racine
and La Fontaine ; he knows the Dukes of Burgundy only as the
Princes des bons Yins ; and honors Madam Cliquot more than the
Maid of Orleans, because she is the largest Champagne grower of
Rheims ; the amber of Muscat is more precious in his eyes than that
found in the torrent's bed ; and he descends into a crypt of Naza-
reth to choose a jar, escorted by some modem Miriam or Ruth,
with more zestful expectancy than Belzoni an unexplored cata-
comb.

The French speak of a Bordeaux which talks ; the ruins of the
Rhine are, as it were, set in an ever- renewed garland of vineyards
and mellowed, in the retrospect, by the song, the flavor and cheer
of the wine. Burns' John Barleycorn ; Faust in the cave ; the
Dutchman's Schnapps; the Englishman's 'Old Particular;* the
Jerseyman's Cider ; the Buckeye's Catawba, and the Bavarian's
Beer ; all places and poets, all nationalities and literature exhale
this convivial element, more or less refined and characteristio.
From the wine-stain yet visible on a Pompeii slab to the silver
punch-bowl which in some of our few remaining country mansions
IS the heir-loom of femilies ; from Cleopatra's pearl dissolved, to
Clarence drowned in wine ; from Horace to Tennyson ; from Noah
to Mettemich — history and humanity are reflected in wine.a How
apropos to these two last convives are Miiller's quaint verses : *

*We forfeited by eating—

Not drinking — Paradise :
What once we lost through Adam,

And his confounded vice,
Good wine and joTial chorus
Abundantly restore us.

* And when again, in yileness,

The world corrapted sank,
And eyery earthly creature

Death in the deluge drank,
To Noah life was granted,
'Cause he the grape had planted.

* Within his biggest cask he

With wife and children did get :
It floated on the waters,

And not a soul was wet ;
All saved by wine so oddly
From watery grayes, the godly.

• Translated by 0. T. Bioois.

1858.] Something about Wine. 223

'And when the flood abated,

There stood the round house then,
High and drj on the top of a mountain,

And all came out again,
Thanks for deliTerance chanted
And straight new grape-vines planted.

* The cask for a memento.

Stood on the mountain's brow ;
At Heidelberg on the Neckar,

You lUl can see it now ;
It needs no further guessing
Who gave us the Rhine-wine's blessing.

* And whoso dares disparage

The sacred wine we drhik,
He in a waterj deluge

Shall miserably sink !
Sing, brothers, 't is before us,
Brave wine and jovial chorus.*

Noah planted a vineyard ; Solomon and David praise wine ; and
in Job it ifl prescribed for the weary. The grape is the most an-
cient of Egyptian symbols ; Montaigne calls its jnice, the ^ last plea-
sure of life,' and says ' it takes the place of natural heat ; ' while
Liebig declares it the * milk of the aged.' Hear Redi :

* Sb dell 'uve il sangue amabile
Non rinfranca ognor le vene,
Questa vita 6 troppe rabile
Troppo breve 4 sempre in pene.'

The Tuscan proverb says :

' II vino 6 la poppa de vecchi.'

There is a curious analogy between the process whereby wine
reaches its perfection, the vicissitudes to which it is Hable therein,
and human life ; a mysterious blending of original elements, the
pure but crude juice, when new, Hke childhood's unadulterated as-
pect ; then the hazardous fermentation, parallel with the impas-
sioned development of youth; the product, if weak, liable to
become sour and vapid, and if strong, reaching through time and
change, a mellow richness, like the genial force of a noble charac-
ter, or the mature grace of a vigorous mind.

Within a few years those indigestible mixtures which, under the
name of punch, made our ancestors dyspeptic and bilious, and the
strong wines that detained gentlemen so long from the drawing-
room after dinner, have given place to the more salutary hygiene,
long prevalent in Europe, that makes the light and pure wines of
France and Germany the accompaniment instead of the finale of
the chief diurnal banquet. As nervous stimulants, tonics, and aids
to digestion, thci milder and least adulterated juices of the grape
are sanctioned by adaptation to climate, individual constitution and
states of health, under the best medical counsel. In France espe-
cially, the science of nutrition in this regard has reached a bright

224 Something about Wine. [September,

point of discrimination ; the best quality of cheap red wine, blended
with mineral waters, has been prescribed with excellent effect.
Alsatico and biscuits prove a salubrious regimen for invalids in
Tuscany; and a popular writer of Paris remarks that 'Z« mn CTiam-
pagnefrappBy non point aprea^ mais pendant le repos^ serait^pour
laplupart des estomacs un precieux atcxiliare de digestion? The
arbitrary succession of wines ordained by custom at American
dinners, is a serious interference with the personal hygiene so
desirable in a luxury which should be used according to the taste
and requirements of each guest ; limited quantities of various spe-
cies is the rule ; whereas those who consult health and inclination
prefer adequate supplies of one kind, a privilege which is often un-
attainable under the present code of prandial entertainments. An
American traveller entertained at the grand ducal table of Weimar,
records the custom dictated by enlightened hospitality in this re-
gard : ' No sooner was a glass emptied than it was replenished by
the watchftil attendant. Through this silent savory sim your pre-
ference, if you had one, was learned and hospitabty mdulged.
You had, for instance, but to leave your Claret and Rhenish and
Champagne unfinished, and to drain your Burgundy glass ; so often
as it was found empty it was re-filled with Chambertin or Clos
Vougot, to the number of a dozen or more fillings, should any
guest be rash enough to trust his head with so many.'

It is with wine as with other luxuries of life, association has
more to do with relish than either quality or quantity. The poor
artist with whom I used to clink glasses of vino nostrdle at Flo-
rence, which cost five-pence a pint, when he had risen to fame and
married a fortune, slyly indicated to me across the table at his first
banquet, his little fiask of our frugal beverage, concealed behind a
splendid array of aristocratic wdnes. The taste acquired in those
days of self-denial survived the advent of prosperity. Few casaal
visitors at the Tuscan capital, however, understand how to procure
even the cheap common wine in perfection ; the wine-shop and
the restaurant are not to be trusted ; but the good graces oi some
Principe's steward must be won, and he will fumiim from his per-
quisite of the family vintage cobwebbed fiasks, passed mysteriously
tnrough the stone loop-hole of the cellar; and when you have
pulled out of its slender neck the wisp of tow, and dasned away
the thimble-full of oil that has kept it from the air, you taste that
pure juice of the purple grape of whose virtues Redi has smig
with a melodious eloquence, that links its remembrance with &e
hills around Florence, the winding Amo, and the handsome
peasants, in one harmonious picture of rustic plenty, grace, and
cheer.

* II Dio del yino
Fermato avea Tallegro suo Bogglormo
A i call! Etrosclii intomo.*

Gensano gives a 4ocal habitation and a name ' to a wine that vonr
Roman padrone believes, when taken warm with roast apple, is an

1858.] Something abaiU Wine. 225

infallible remedy for ^e farestiere^s catarrh. The bard of Italian
wines calls Montepulciano mannOj and of Chianti sings :

'MVKSTOSO

Imperioeo,

Hi passeggia denteo 11 cuore,
E ne scaccia senza strepito
Ogni afiSemo e ogni dolore/

One of our countrymen has sung the praises of a wine encoun-
tered at a little town in Provence, and a sagacious wine-merchant
of Gotham has made the cordial stanzas a matter for the arabesque
label of his favorite brand :

'Whin to anj saint I pray,
It shall be to Saint Pkiut ;
He alone of all the brood
Eyer did me any good.' *

The social relations of wine have an interest for the conservative
as well as the joviaL The cobwebbed bottle produced on rare oc-
casions and in honor of a &vored guest, or household festival ; the
^ dozen ' preserved as a birth-day deposit against the bridal-feast ;
the ancestral relic of mellow wine with the memories of the loved
and noble who quaffed its virgin iuice, appeal to something beyond
the mere gusto of the palate. I once heard an honest and bene*
volent veteran declare that, could he dictate a tribute to his me-
mory, his friends, instead of useless tears and idle reerets, should
talk cheerfully of him over a bottle of his choice old wine, and
thus consecrate a genial and hospitable hour to pleasant recollec-
tions. The peculiar intellectual flavor of those admirable criticisms
which insured its dawning fame to *' Old Ebony,' sprang from the
abandon^ freedom, and conviviality of the intercourse over which
Kit North and the Ettrick Shepherd so memorably presided. As
we read them, despite of modem temperance fanaticism, we recall
with zest Plato's extravagant declaration, that a sober man to no
purpose knocks at the door of the Muses ; and, with another phi-
losopher of anti(][uity, recognize Bacchus as the good deity who
molUfies the passions of the soul, restores to young men their good
humor, and to old men their youth.

Therefore has art and literature celebrated the vine. From
Anacreon and Yir^ to Tom Moore and Beranger, its praises have
been memorably sung ; Bacchus, when he ceased to be a recog-
nized divinity, l>ecame the myth which statuaries loved to embody
and poets to revive. The convivial is an essential element of mo-
dem romance and old English dramas, as exhibiting the convivial
side of genius, the freaks of imagination and outbreaks of heart
otherwise inconceivable to our restrained civilization. What were
Horace uncheered by Falemian ; FaLstafE^s wit bereft of his sack ;
Don Quixote without the adventure of the wine-skins ; the Vicar
of Wakefield's hospitality devoid of Mr. Primrose's gooseberry-
wine ; Ivanhoe without Friar Tuck's flagon ? ^La mgne^ says a
French writer, * a mxrtoMt^ depuis bien <&s Heeks, fait fieurir en

-1-1 ■ ■ J_ 1__MM 1 I I I I ■ , ^m I KJ - M M I IJ L - _».-■■ I ■■ ■ ■ I ■ ■

• T. W. PAnom.

226 Something about Wine. [September,

Fran4^ la chanson, Le vin et la chanson sont commefrire et soRur?
Among the acknowledged hygienic properties of ripe grapes are,
to cool the blood, facilitate its circulation, remove obstructions
from the liver and kidneys, and impart vigor, tone, purity, and
freshness to the vital principle.

The act of taking wine together, like the Eastern superstitions
regarding salt, hath in it a domestic significance, and, as it were,
a challenge of love and loyalty. 'If Bacchus often leads men into
quagmires deep as his vats,' says Douglas Jerrold, ' let us yet do
him this justice — he sometimes leads them out. Ask your oppo-
nent to take another glass of wine.' ' Tin poco de vino f ' melli-
fluously asks your Italian neighbor, and thenne wishes you a life of
a thousand years and figli maschi — a sentiment bom of the old
feudal primogeniture ; the viva which precedes the draught is re-
sponded to by its own vital glow: how perfectly has Donizetti
embodied in music the festive idea of abrindisi^ in the &mous
song of ' Lucrezia Borgia ! ' Ben Jonson's yet current ditty, * To
Ladies' eyes around, boys,' is instinct with sentimental joTialty ;
and of American lyrics, few have been greater favorites than the
' Health of Pinkney.' ' Port, if you please,' says the English girl,
when you ask her to join in a glass of wine ; how long the draught
of the Catalonian peasant, as he keeps poised, in silent content, the
collapsing wine-skm ! and what a picture of animal epicurism is a
venerable English squire, seated in his comfortable parlor, with a
boon companion, holding up to the light, and then to his lingering
lips, the glass of Madeira, whereof, between the sips, he tefis the
* adventurous tale.' Not less enjoyable, and far more generous, is
the sight of a group of Tuscan peasants at their noon repast beneath
a tree, passing round the red vino^ with ready carol and greeting.

It is with wine as with scenery, pictures, and love, as with SSL
the rare elements of human pleasure — the best, or at least the
most enjoyed, is often encountered unawares, and, as it were, by
some happy accident. At a pension initiated by the first Italian
opera company that visited New- York, for years could be found
the most pure and cheapest claret, annually exported in the wood,
by an old friend of the house. Who does not remember the
agreeable sui*prise given him in his travels, by some complacent
native, who, m out-of-the-way nooks, has caused to appear the
choicest vintage ? Almost all statesmen have been connoisseurs
of wine : Fox and Webster, Sheridan and Talleyrand knew the
twang or recognized the age at a sip. 'The wretchedness of
human life,' said Sydney Smith, ' is only to be encountered on a
basis of beef and wine ' — an unspiritual precept, bom of a na-
tional instinct. Addison's constitutional reserve, we are told,
could only be thawed by wine. One of the relics of Washing^
ton's campaigns, presented by a member of the family to Lentze,
in honor of his noble painting of the * Passage of the Delaware,*
is a silver can, bound with leather — the drimdng-cup of the rare
and moderate official entertainment ; the bottom is scratched with
the sword-points used to mash the sugar : it is probably the only

1858.] Something about Wine. 227

trophy of those men and times nnassociated with privation.
There is an effervescent Hock identified with the bantos of the
' Blue Moselle,' as much as the pensive-eyed and gray oxen are
with the Tuscan vintage, St. JnUen with Paris saban)an cabarets,
or Steinburg with a Rhine estate. The favorite lunch of one of
our most gifted and genial artists, was Chablis and oysters ; no
one who ever shared it with him &iled thenceforth to associate
the wine with intellectual fellowship. Dr. Franklin philosophized
over a fly found in a bottle of old wine ; and that kindly bard,
John Kenyon, says :

*LiLT on liquid roses floating,

So floats yon foam o^er pink Ohampagne :

Fain would I join such pleasant boating
And prove that rubj main,

And float away on wine ! *

Of native Anacreontics, none is comparable with ' Sparkling and
Bright' — a song, which to hear from the author's lips on a moon-
light night by the Hudson, with a chorus of good fellows, is
memorable, and is now endeared as the eclipsed hilarity of a
shattered harp. Tennyson indicates with a line the hour of
thorough English self-content and * breathing-time of day,' of
retrospect and ideal comfort, as ' over the walnuts and the wine.'
Modem science has detected, and popular ioumalism exposed, the
adulteration of wine : the Greeks mixed with it resin, tar, cypress,
and almonds ; chalk, alcohol, sugar, and sulphur are modem ex-
pedients, and to destroy the taste of the latter, cloves, thyme, cin-
namon, and other spices are added ; putrescence and acidity are the
conditions it is thus attempted to neutralize or avert. Chemistry
has analyzed the normal qualities of wine, only to demonstrate
that there is scarcely such a thing in commerce as pure grape-
juice.

From the calcined leaves of the vine is made the ink wherewith
bank-notes are printed. Franklin was assiduous in his endeavors
to introduce the Rhenish grape into our nascent horticulture,
doubtless anticipating, from his experience in France, the temper-
ance and invaluable economy involved in successful vine-culture.
The accounts of the early colonists agree in representing the wild-
grape as abounding in our forests ; Bishop Berkeley, in his letters
from Rhode-Island, alludes to its luxuriant growth m that region ;
the French colonists cultivated the vine in Carolina before the
Puritans came to New-£ngland; there were flourishing Jesuit
vineyards among the flrst settlers, and vignerons were imported
into Virginia as early as 1630 ; Penn attempted wine manumotare
in his province fifty years after ; and about a century ago, it is re-
corded that a band of emigres made a hundred hogsheads of wine
in Illinois. Numerous experiments, in widely distant localities
throughout the country, have resulted in producing it on a smaJl
scale, and as a matter of curiosity rather than luxury and profit.
The great desideratum was to fix upon the best quaUty of grape
which could attain perfection in the open air, ana then to invest

228 Somdhing obcMt Wine, [September,

enoagfa in land and labor to warrant liberal and sacceaaiTe Tin-
taget. Thus far the enterprise has been adequately realized onfy
on the banks of the Ohio ; statistics there indicate a regular staple,
and profitable as well as reiy ext^asire interest in the wine mana-
factore fA CincinnatL ^ At last,' says a genial anthoritT,* * our na-
tional Tines haTe become so far popolarized, that the Talne of the
home production exceeds that oi the consumption of foreign wines
in the proportion of nearly two to one, and that with a ocHiatant
increase in the home market : '

* For the richest uid best
Is the wine of the West,
That grows by the Beaatifol Rirer.'

Crabbe eulogizes Port, Prior Claret, Moore Champagne, Boflean
Burgundy, and Redi Mnltepulciano : how analogous these prefer-
ences with their respective genius ! The comic writers of Charles
the Second's time, we are told, ^ worked on Claret ; ' and a cask
of this wine always stood in the hospitable halls of old Scotland.
Sack, Canary, SherrLs, Malmsey, are the fiimiliar drinks in the old
English plays : ^ Set a deep glass of Rhenish wine ' is a phrase in
Shakspeare ; and coffee has been lately called ' the coup d*ei€U to
drinking after dinner ; ' Sherry, ginger and biscuit is a fiiTorite
lunch in British India, and ChabUs and oysters in France ; thus
universally is wine identified with places and periods. Byron,
although he sang of the Samian wine, and spurred his ^SLgging
muse with ein, declared that the most exhilarating of draughte to
him was a dose of salts ; Dr. Johnson's &vorite stimulus was tea,
and so was Cowper's ; De Quinccy has made opium and its effects
the subject of memorable psychological revelations ; Schiller wrote
under the inspiration of Champagne ; and Malibran gained spasmo-
<Uc voice and heart bv means of porter and Cologne-water ; while
the most affecting of homilies is Lamb's ' Confessions of a Drunk-
ard.' These and countless other ^ infirmities of genius ' indicate,
on the one hand, the exhaustive conditions of intense mental life,
and on the other, point a moral in regard to the weakness inherent
and inalienable, of the most nobly endowed human beings, appeal-
ing both to sympathy and to science ; for the latter has interpreted
the physiology of man in its relation to that craving for and addio-
lion to these moans of renovation and excitement, common alike
to the savaffo and the most highly endowed of the species. Per-
haj[)B no wnter has more fully brought out the philosophy of the
suujoot than Shakspeare : Rodrigo's self-reproach and reprobation
of that invisible spirit of wine ; the effects of that cask that came
unbroken to shore in the ' Tempest ; ' Falstaff^s excess ; Bardolph's
noso ; and ospociallv the incidental allusions of the ^eat poet, as
when ho speaks of treachery ' false as vows made in wine,' and
whilo ho csuls wine ' a good familiar creature, if it be used well,'
explains a quarrel by, ^ it was excess of wine tJhat set him on,' and
makes disenchanted and forlorn Macbeth exclaim : * The wine of
life ia drawn.'

1858.] ' S/iaU I be crowned P 229

■ 111 I » . I _ M— ■ ^^MJUM-W. ^m m _!-■ .Mill I- I ■■■■■IMII ■ - - ■"

It is owing to these charming though often vague associations,
that the vine is so pleasing an object m rural scenery, whether it
covers rude angles on the stone cottage, twines as the emblem of
conjugal devotion around the stately elm, spreads its leaves of
lucent emerald between the sunshine and the lattice, wreathes the
hospitable porch with graceful ornaments, whence the finest of ar-
chitectural devices is borrowed, rears itself on stakes, as in France,
as if to assert its capacity for homely productiveness, festoons
* from tree to tree ' in scenic beauty amid the mulberry orchards
of Italy, or twines in gigantic convolutions around the prone and
massive temples of Central America, it is always in the exuberant
flexibilitv oi its growth, in the exquisite contour of its leaf, as
well as m the poetic and recreative ideas it suggests, one of the
loveliest and most endeared phases of vegetable life. What or-
nament for the brow of the Mr, or the arabesque of an urn, or
the crowning of a column — for wreaths, sculpture, robe-pattern
or dish excels the vine-leaf ? With what more beautiful emblem-
atic token do the pietra-dura artists of Tuscany inlay their marble
than amethystine grapes ? The very dying foliage of the vine
detached by autunm's oreath is golden ; and the shadow of a flut-
tering vine, its picturesque stalk, finely outlined lea^ and curling
tendril is the perfection of evanescent photography.

SHALL I BB OBOWKXD?

If I, * along the cool, sequestered yale of life,'

Shall * keep the noiseless tenor of mj way: '
If I shall shun the scenes of earthly strife,

And only liye to meditate and pray :
Or if, contented with an humble lot,

I shun the busy city^s tempting round.
And seek seclusion in a cave or grot,

Shall I be crowned ?

If I shall be content to carve a selfish way

To golden gates, and hope at last to stand
In the full brilliance of eternal day.

Not having lent a brother once a helping hand,
Not having dried a tear, or caused a smile

On the wan faces which on earth abound.
Nor felt for any sin the siren^s luring wile,

Shall I be crowned ?

Not so : I must of strife and labor bear an honest part:

*T is not by cowards that the laurel 's won ;
The while I keep a pure and spotless heart,

*T is sin and not temptation I must shun :
I must, while here, maintain the faithful fight —

In the front rank of (tOD^s array be found :
Live in the world a champion of the right,

And then be crowned t l. s.

230 JvhaX^ the Ringer. [September,

JUBAL, THE RINGSR.

High in the brown belfry of the old Church of Saint Fantasmos
sat Jubal the Ringer, looking over the huge town that lay spread
below. A great black net-work of streets stretched far away on
every side — the sombre web of intertwisted human passions and
interests, in which, year afler year, many thousand souls had been
captared and destroyed.

Sleeping hills with clear-cut edges rose all about the dark town,
which seemed to be lying at the bottom of a vast purple ffoblet,
whose rim, touched with the whiteness of approaching day, looked
as if they were brimming with the foam of some celestial wine.
Deep in the distance rolled a long river, musical through the night,
and shaking back the moon-beams from its bosom as if in play.

It was an old belfry, the belfry of Saint Fantasmos. It sprang
from a vaulted arch with four groinings, which hung directly OTer
the altar, so that one above in the bell-room could see, through
the cracks in the stone ceiling, the silver lamps that lit the shrine,
the altar-railings, the priest, the penitents below. Old flat mosses
clung to the weather-beaten sides of the belfry, and the winds
went in and out through it wheresoever they willed. From the
very summit, which was pointed, there arose a tall iron rod, on
which stood a golden cock, with head erect to catch the morning
breeze, with feathers spread to bask in the morning sun. A golden
cock, I said : alas ! golden no longer. Wind and weather had
used him badly, and he had moulted all his splendor. Battered,
and gray, and rusty, with draggled tail and broken beak, he was
no more the brave cock that he had been of yore. He had a male-
volent and diabolical aspect He looked as if he had made a com-
pact with the demons of the night.

How blame him, if he had ceased to be an amiable cock?
For years he had done his duty bravely to the town in all weathers,
telling the points of the wind with unerring sagacity. The winds
furious at having their secrets betrayed, would of^iea steal softly
down upon him m the disguise of a delicate breeze, and then burst
upon him with the roar of a lion, in the hope of tumbling him
from his sentinel's post. But they never caught him, for he was
then young and agile, and he glided round at the slightest breath,
so that the winds never could succeed in coming upon his broad-
side, but went off howling with anger to sea, where they wrecked
ships, and buried them under the waves.

;but the town neglected the poor cock, and he was never re-
gilded or repaired, so that in time his pivots grew rusty, and he
could no longer move with his former agility. Then the storms
persecuted him, and the Equinox came down on him savagely
twice a year, and buffeted him so that he thought his last hour was
come ; and those who passed by Saint Fantasmos on those tern-

1858.] Jubal, the Einger. 231

pestaous nights heard him shrieking with rage, through the wild
aerial combats, till thinking it the voice of a demon hi^ up in the
clouds, they crossed themselves, and hurried home to oed.

So the cock, and the belfry, and Jubal the Ringer grew old to-
gether ; but Jubal was the oldest of all, for the human heart ages
more quickly than stone or copper, and the storms that assau it
are fiercer and sharper than the winds or the rains.

JiiBAL sat in the window of the belfry, looking over the black
town, and moaning to himself. The day had not yet risen, but
was near at hand.

* This mom,' he said, shaking his long hair, which was al-
ready sprinkled with gray, 'this mom she will be wed. This
mom she will stand in n-ont of the altar below, the light from the
silver lamps shining on her white forehead, that I love better than
the moon ; and her lover will ^ut the gold ring upon her finger,
and the priest will bless her with lifted hands, w£ile I, through
the cracks in the vaulted ceiling, will behold all this : I, who adore
her : I who have loved her for years, and followed her with my
eyes as she wandered through the fields in May, toying with the
hawthorn hedges, herself more firagrant, whiter, purer than the
blossoms which she gathered. I, who used to spend the early
dawn traversing the woods, gathering the red wild strawberries
while the silver dews still lay upon them, in order that I might
place them secretly at her door I Ah! she never knew how in
the cold winter nights I sat in the fork of the apple-tree outside
her chamber-window, watching her light, and gazing on her
shadow as it fell upon the blind. Sometimes the shadow would
seem to lengthen, and come across the walk and climb the tree,
and I would strive to fold it in my arms, as if it was my beloved
in person ; but it would suddenly recoil and elude me, and I could
do nothing but kiss the branches where it had fallen, with my cold
lips.

* One day, she went to gather white and yellow water-lilies, that
swam on the surface of a pond. She held a long crook in her
hand, with which she reached out and endeavored to bring them
to shore. But they were cunning and slippery, and did not wish
to be captured, by even so fiur a maid as she ; so when her crook
touched them, they ducked their pearly and golden crests under
the waters and escaped, coming up again all dripping and shining,
and seeming to laugh at the eager girl. Being vexed at this, she
stretched out her crook still farther, when the treacherous bank
gave way, and my Agatha went down into the deep pond. I was
near — I was always near her, though she knew it not — and I
plunged in, and sought her amid the loathsome weeds. I brought
her to shore, and chafed her fair forehead, and revived her. Then
when she had recovered, I said to her : ' I am Jubal, the Ringer :
I love you Agatha : will you make my lonely life happy forever ? »

232 Jvbal^ the Ringer, [September,

With a look of wild horror she broke from me, and fled to her
home.

^ And I am despised, and she weds another. While the bless-
ings are being given, and the church is white with orange-wreaths,
and the poor wait in the porch for the nuptial bounty, I, who
adore her, must sit aloft in this old belfry, and ring out jubilant
chimes for the wedded pair.

* Aha I they know not Jubal, the Ringer. I can work the i^Ils
my mother worked, and I know the formulas that compel spirits.
Agatha, thou felse one, and thou, smooth-cheeked lover, who
dreamst perhaps of her now, and thou, sacred priest, who givest
away to another that which belongs to me, beware, for ye shall
perish ! '

Then Jubal laughed horribly, and spread his arms out as if he
would embrace the night, and muttered certain strange sentences
that were terrible to hear.

As he muttered, there came from the west a huge doud of bats,
that fastened themselves against the sides of the old belfry, and
there was one for every stone, they were so numerous. And pre-
sently a ceaseless clicKing resounded through the turret, as if
myriads of tiny laborers were plying their pick-axes ; a hail of fiJl-
ing fragments of mortar tinkled continually on the tin roofing of
the Church of St. Fantasmos ; and the bats seemed to eat into the
crevices of the old belfry, as if they were about to sleep forever in
its walls.

Presently the day rose. The sun-beams poured over the edges
of the hills as the molten gold pours from the caldron of a worker
in metals. The streets began to pulse with the first throbs of life|
and Jubal, the Ringer, laughed aloud, for not a single bat was
visible. The entire multitude had buried themselves in the walls
of the belfry.

The street leading to the Church of $t. Fantasmos was by nine
o'clock as gay as the enamelled pages of a pope's missal. The road
was strewn with flowers, and the people crushed the tender lily of
the valley and the blue campanula and the spiced carnation under
their feet. In and out between the throng of loiterers ran persons
bearing boughs of the yellow laburnum in frdl blossom, until the
way seemed arabesqued with gold. The windows on either side
were filled with smiling faces, that pressed against the panes, like
flowers pressing toward the light against conservatory oasemeats.
The linen of the maidens' caps was white as snow, and their cheeks
were rose-red ; and each jostled the other so as better to see the
wedding procession of the fair Agatha and her gallant lover on its
way to the altar of St. Fantasmos.

Presently the marriage cavalcade came by. It was like a I^ige
from a painted book. Agatha was so fidr and modest ; the bri&-
groom was so manl^ ; the parents were so venerable with their
white locks, and their feces lit with the beautifrd sun-set of depart*
ing life.

1858.] Jubaly the Singer. 238

-, „ ^ _ «

As the procession passed beneath the windows, bnnches of rib-
bons and nowers and bits of gay-colored paper, on which amoroos
devices were written, were flung to the bride and bridegroom by
the bystanders ; and a long murmur swelled along the street, of
' God protect them, for thev are beautiful and good I » And this
lasted until they entered the gates of the church, where it was
taken up by the poor people of the town who awaited them there.
So, with benedictions felhng upon them thick as the MUng leaves
of autumn, they passed into the Church of St. Fantasmos ; but as
they gained the threshold the bride looked up to the belfry, and
there she fancied she beheld a man's head glanng at her with two
fiery eyes, so that she shuddered and looked away. The next in-
stant she looked up again, but the head was gone.

The people who were not invited to the ceremony loitered in
the yard without, intending to accompany the bride home when
the sacred rite was concluded, and cheer her by the way with
songs composed in her honor. While they waited, the chimes in
the belfry began to peal.

* How now I * cried one. * It is too soon for the chimes to* peaL
The couple are not yet married.'

' What can Jubal be dreaming of? • said a second.

* Listen,' cried a third ; * did you ever hear such discords. Those
are not wedding chimes. It is the music of devils.'

A terrible fear suddenly fell over the multitude as they listened.
Louder and louder swelled the colossal discords of the bells. The
clouds were torn with these awfiil dissonances; the skies were
curdled with the groans, the shrieks, the unnatural thunders that
issued from the belfry.

The people below crossed themselves, and muttered to one
another that there was a devil in the turret.

There was a devil in the turret, for Jubal was no longer man.
With his eyes fixed on the crack in the vaulted ceiling, through
which he saw the marriage ceremony proceeding, and ms sinewy
arms working with superhuman strength the machinery that moved
the bells, he seemed the incarnation of a malevolent fiend. His
hair stood erect ; his eyes burned like fire-balls ; and a white foam
rose continually to his lips, and breaking into flakes, floated to the
ground.

Still the terrible peals went on. The tortured bells swung now
this way, now that, yelled forth a frightful diapason of sound that
shook the very earth. Faster and &ter Jubal tolled their iron
tongues. Louder and louder grew the brazen clamor. The huge
beams that supported the chimes cracked and groaned. The air,
beaten with these violent sounds, swelled into waves that became
billows, that in turn became mountains, and surged with irresist-
ible force against the walls of the turret. The cock on the sum-
mit shivered and shrieked, as if the equinoxes of ten thousand
^ears had been let loose on him at the same moment. The stones
m the walls trembled, and from between thdur crevices vomited

236 The Member Three. [September,

Africa, etc., having their apex at the south ; while the oceans are
consequently of the same form, with their bases south. Moun-
tains nave a cone shape. There are but three pure colors — blue,
red, and yellow. In nistory, the Triumvirates were striking. The
battle of Horatii and Curatii was decisive. Richard the First
was admonished by Curate Falk to give up his three &vorite
daughters (vices) — Pride, Avarice, and Voluptuousness ; and the
truce between Richard and Saladin was concluded for three years,
three months, three weeks, three days, and three hours. A signal
is given by three claps. When a duel is fought, the order is
ffiven : ' Five I one, two, three, halt I ' Who does not recollect his
first lesson in Csesar: 'Gaul is divided into three parts.' The
nose is one-third the length of the face, so with the forehead*
Three notes constitute a chord in music, the fourth being the
octave. It is a curious fact that the finest airs in music are iu
waltz time. In grammar we have active, passive, and middle
voices ; verbs, regular, irregular, and defective ; first, second, and
third person ; masculine, feminine, and neuter gender. The sim-
rfest sentence must have three words, a noun, verb, and object.
Franklin felt complimented at being called a man of ihree letters,
(fur ;) and Horace proclaimed the praises of his Lydias by * three
times three.' Man comes of age at twenty-one — three times
seven ; and woman \^ freer at eighteen — three times six. Do we
not all revere our grand-fathers' three-cornered hats ? And what
effect was produced at one time by the ' tricolor.' Three criminals
are placed in the same cell to prevent a conspiracy. Mephistophe-
les requested Faust to call him three times. Columbus sailed in
three ships, and made three voyages. A ship has three masts.
Sailors, when pulling ropes on a man-of-war, are only allowed to
say, one, two, three. A dog turns round three times before lying
down. Court is opened by ' Hear ye ! hear ye I hear ye I ' And
a criminal is sentenced to be hung till he is ^ dead, dead, dead 1 '
Only three of the Sybilline books were saved. The three witches
of Shakspeare are famous. Who does not, when pleased with a
political speech, exclaim, ' Three cheers ! ' without the * tiger.'
The banns of marriage are published three times. The fiunous
speech of Mr. Burke was followed by * I say ditto I ' Mother
Goose, in reply to Wordsworth, wrote about three jolly Webh
men. A horse, it is said, lives three times the age of a dog ; a
man three times the age of a horse ; a camel three times the we
of a man ; and an elephant three times the age of a camel. I7a-
poleon's last words were, ^Tkte d* armie t ' 'Die celebrated words
on the wall were, ^Mene^ Tekel^ Vpharsin t ' The last words of
our Savioub were, * It is finished I » What credit Caesar received
for his laconic ' Veni^ Vidi^ Vici I ' ^Punch^ has one also, Pecoavi,
'I have (zind) sinned.' In France the watch-words of the Revo-
lutionists were, ^Liherte^ Egalite^ PratemiU!^ Trajan's fiunous
saying is worthy of remembrance : ^Pro me / «* merear^ in me?
There is another evasive reply : 'iVbn mi ricordof* And our own
national motto is, ^E Flurwue Unumt^

1858.] J%r and Near. 287

VAB AND KXAB.

Sim NO bj mj open window,
Looking out where day is waking,

I remember him who left me,
As a gloomier dawn was breaking.

Here before me, green and fragmnt,
New-mown lawns stretch into distance,

While the elm-trees, wooed bj breezes,
Palpitate with lovers resistance.

Trembling to the zephyr kisses.

All the dewy foliage glistens.
And the oriole sings his matin

Where the charmed thrush sits and listens.

Birds of gay and glittering plumage
On triumphant wings are soaring,

Songs of joy and exultation
Oyer all the young dawn pouring.

Sofb translucent clouds are floating,
White as wool, or amber-tinted.

Where celestial robes of wonder
By their lustring folds are hinted.

Far beyond the skjrward warblers,

I can hear angeUc Yoices :
Through the blue my viBion reaches.

And my lifted soul rejoices.

All sublimed, up^prings my qMiit,

Mounting on seraphic pmions,
Gazes on the loTed and lost one.

Meets him in supreme dominions.

There, in Loye's eternal mansion :
There, where Death is lost in distance,

I can see my own sweet darling —
I can join his new existence.

Thus my strayed but cherished first-born,
Gk>ne, I could but wonder whither.

Draws me with electric forces
From earth*s grossness upward thither.

His the hands that mine are clasping ;

His the Yoice that hails my greeting ;
His and mine the olden rapture.

The remembered joy of meeting.

Waking from that radiant yision,
Shrinking into saddest musing.

All around are jarring noises,
My bewildered brain confusing.

VOL. Lll. 16

238 The Meddah of SUunb&uL [September,

Comes again the fruitless yearning,
Gomes the sound of woe and warning,

Comes the thought that chills existence,
Comes the cloud that darks the morning.

Birds may charm the ear with mmdo,

Blue skies bend in beauty o*er me ;
Meadows, rich with buds and blossoms,

Ware their starry plumes before mo ;

Sun-rise on the waters quiyer,
Floods of crimson bathe the mountain ;

But my day is shut in darkness,
Life is hindered at the foimtiin. o s. o.

THE MEDDAH OF STAMBOUL:

OB THB OBIBMTAL BT O BT- T BLLB B.

Nothing is more erroneous and unjust than the idea that the
Orientals are indolent or inactive. The apparent idleness which
some persons have attributed to them, is more the effect of a
spuit of resignation to external circumstances, than of a desire to
be unemployed. Indeed incLctivity is against the spirit of the
Ottomans, for with them there are no rerUterB^ but eyerv one must
have a calling ; even the Sultan is traditionallj supposed to belong
to the toothrpick trade I

Although there is no national drama in Turkey, the love of the
marvellous is too powerful in the warm and imaginative nature of
the people of that sunny clime, to remain without some develop-
ment

There are professed story-tellers, called Moddaha^ who acquire
the most wonderful popularity, and who are not destitute of dra-
matic power, entranciuj^ their attentive audiences bj the nuuznet-
ism of highly-wrought fiction and exaggerated descriptions. They
exercise certain oot^ de thecUre of their own, and are, by the ex-
cited fsmcies of the people, invested with a genii-like power, as
they condense into the passing hour the scenes of an eventful lift,
or detail the enchantments of fidrydom. Yet their tales generally
have some good moral, and their comicalities hold up some popu-
lar vice to public derision.

On festival occasions the Meddahs provide a most wdcome
part of the entertainment. We happened to be present at the
palace of Adil6 Sultan, the sister of the present Sultan, and the
wife of his late Highness Ahmed Fethi Pasna, on one of these davs
of pleasure. As usual, the side of the spacious apartment of the
Selamlak, adjoining the harem, was partitioned off bv a latticed
screen, behind which were assembled the Sultana and her suite,

1858.] I%e Meddah of BUmhouL

239

"witii many other ladies, to enjoy the entertainment. The gentle-
men were also present on the other side of tiie screen ; this bebg
the only style of miaed asBembly in the £ast, the advantage being
always on the side of the ladies.

The hall was beantifhlly illuminated by large chandeliers, whose
brilliancy was reflected in the sparkling gems that adorned the
persons of the distinguished Effendis and the beautiful amber
mouth-pieces of the long chibouks, from wMch they wafted ambro-
sial gales.

.AAer the performances of a number of Circassian dancing-girls,
a large arm-chair was placed at the end of the hall, opposite the
lattice, and an individual was conducted to this temporary seat of
honor.

He was a man of middle age ; his gray beard was carefully
trinuned ; and he wore the modem costume in the European style,
with the national fess upon his head. Having seated nimself, he
carelessly threw his large painted muslin handkerchief over his
right shoulder, so as to be ready for use, and taking his wand of
office, which lay by, much resembling an aldermanic sta£^ gave
three portentous knocks on the floor.

Bismjg firom his seat, he now made a profound obeisance toward
the lattice, where was supposed to be the presence of royalty, and
then resuming his former position, slowly clapped his hands three
timee, uttering the invocation Sack-Dost^ Aliah befriend us !

A breathless silence pervaded the apartment, for this was the
fiuBious Meddah !

We will attempt to relate the story which fell from his lips, with
<mly such modifications as may render it acceptable to Western

^Who has not heard of the wonderfhl cream-tarts of Beder-
Eddin Hassan and his mother, whereby hangs a tale, which fell
from. the lips of the enchanting Schehrazade ?

*But once upon a time, in toe seat of felicit]^, this city of Stam-
boidf there was sold a more exquisite, a more incomprehensible, a
more soul-stirring, in a word, the most exquisite confection of
idiioh we have ever seen any record.

^The history of this wonderful pastry has ofben been the theme
of the Meddahs, and is worthy oi repetition, for it teaches all the
wofld the great necessity of possessing some practical trade, which
may some day be usefril to either rich or poor.

'Kassim Pasha, bedreyee
Tup-tup eder jureyee.

'EIassbm Pasha*8 pastry sweet
Pit pat makes the heart beat.*

So cried a &mous Beorekgee as he travelled along the quiet
thoroughfiures of this metropolis ; poising on his head a great round
tray, upon which lay tempting heaps of the &r-&med pastry
manufactured only at Kassem Pasha.
^Selim was tall, young, and handsome ; his eyes were dark and

238 The Meddah of Stambotd. [September,

Comes again the fruitless jearaing,
Gomes the sound of woe and warning,

Gomes the thought that chills existence,
Gomes the cloud that darks the morning.

Birds may charm the ear with mnsio,

Blue skies bend in beauty o*er me ;
Meadows, rich with buds and blossoms,

Ware their starry plumes before me ;

Sun-rise on the waters quiyer,
Floods of crimson bathe the mountain ;

But my day is shut in darkness,
Life is hindered at the fountain. o b. c.

THE MEDDAH OF STAMBOUL:

OB THB OBIBMTAL 8 T O BT- T BLLB B.

Nothing is more erroneous and ^^st than the idea that the
Orientals are indolent or inactive. Tne apparent idleness which
some persons have attributed to them, is more the effect of a
spuit of resignation to external circumstances, than of a desire to
be unemployed. Indeed incLcHvity is against the spirit of the
Ottomans, for with them there are no rentterB^ but eyery one must
have a calling ; even the Sultan is traditionallj supposed to belong
to the tooth-pick trade I

Although there is no national drama in Turkey, the love of the
marvellous is too powerful in the warm and imaginative nature of
the people of that sunny clime, to remain without some develop-
ment

There are professed stor^^-tellers, called Meddaha^ who acquire
the most wonderful popularity, and who are not destitute of dra-
matic power, entrancinjz their attentive audiences bj the miuznet-
ism of highly-wrought fiction and exaggerated descriptions. They
exercise certain coupe de theatre of their own, and are, by the ex-
cited fancies of the people, invested with a genii-like power, as
they condense into the passing hour the scenes of an eventful life,
or detail the enchantments of fidrydom. Yet their tales generally
have some good moral, and their comicalities hold up some popu-
lar vice to public derision.

On festival occasions the Meddahs provide a most welcome
part of the entertainment. We happened to be present at the
palace of Adil6 Sultan, the sister of the present Sultan, and the
wife of his late Highness Ahmed Fethi Pasna, on one of these davs
of pleasure. As usual, the side of the spacious i^artment of the
Selamlak, adjoining the harem, was partitioned off bv a latticed
screen, behind which were assembled the Sultana and her suite,

1888.] I%e Meddah of BktmbouL

239

"witti many other ladies, to enjoy the entertainment. The gentle-
mesk were also present on the other side of the screen ; this behig
the only style of mixed cuisenMy in the East, the advantage being
always on the side of the ladies.

The hall was beantifdlly illuminated by large chandeliers, whose
brilUancy was reflected in the sparkling gems that adorned the
persons of the distinguished Effendis and the beautiful amber
m^oth-pieces of the long chibouks, from wUoh they wafted ambro-
sial gales.

iSier the performances of a number of Circassian dandn^-girls,
a large arm-chair was placed at the end of the hall, opposite the
lattice, and an individual was conducted to this temporary seat of
h6ii<»r.

He was a man of middle age ; his gray beard was carefully
trimmed ; and he wore the modem costume in the European style,
wtth the national fess upon his head. Ebiving seated himself he
oarelessly threw his large painted muslin handkerchief over his
light shoulder, so as to be ready for use, and taking his wand of
office, which lay by, much resembling an aldermanic stafE| gave
tkoree portentous knocks on the floor.

I^smg firom his seat, he now made a profound obeisance toward
flli^liittice, where was supposed to be the presence of royalty, and
tub; resuming his former position, slowly clapped his hands three
tiilem uttering the invocation Hack-Dost^ Al&h befriend us!

^iA. breathless silence pervaded the apartment, for this was the
&inous Meddah !

We will attempt to relate the story which fell from his lips, with
oidy such modifications as may render it acceptable to W estem

^Who has not heard of the wonderfhl cream-tarts of Beder-
Ettin Hassan and his mother, whereby hangs a tale, which fell
from the lips of the enchanting Schehrazade ?

^But once upon a time, in the seat of felicity, this city of Stam-
bcrfd, there was sold a more exquisite, a more incomprehensible, a
mem soul-stirring, in a word^ the most exquisite confection of
wiioh we have ever seen any record.

^TRie historv of this wonderful pastry has often been the theme
of the Meddans, and is worthy oi repetition, for it teaches all the
werid the great necessity of possessing some practical trade, which
miy some day be useftil to either rich or poor.

*Kas8im Pasha, bedreyee
Tup^up eder yiireyee.

*Ka88vm Pasha's pastry sweet
Y\\ pat makes the heart beat.*

So cried a &mous Beorekgee as he travelled along the quiet
tbcKfough&res of this metropolis ; poising on his head a great round
tniy, upon which lay tempting heaps of the &r-&med pastry
manu^ictured only at Kassem Pasha.
^ Selim was tall, young, and handsome ; his eyes were dark and

240 7%e Meddah of SiambouL [September,

piercing, his sose aquiline, his moustache undefiled hj any razor,
soft as silk, and uie ruddy glow of youth was upon his
countenance.

' His muscular arms were bare almost to the shoulder, the ample
sleeves of his white gauze shirt being carefully secured, so as to
expose the most elaborate tattooing, ^e insignia of the Janissary
corps.

^He used to wear ample trowsers of crimson broadcloth, with
a splendid vest of the same hue, both gayly embroidered with
gold thread ; and an immense Persian shawl was round about his
waist.

*• His turban was made of a tarahouhua^ or lon^ and heavy silk
scarf, of the most brilliant hues, from Tripoli, which was fimtastir
cally wound round a high fess ; his legs were bare and muscular,
and his large shoes of bright red morocco.

' Right boldly and confidently the handsome Selim glanced on
every side, as he sang out in full round tones :

* Kassem Pasha beoreyee
Tup-tup eder yureyee.'

Strange praise that 'Pit pat makes the heart beatP Mouths
have been known to water for a delicious morsel, the mere odor
of a savory mess has been next to a taste thereof; but why should
this pastry make the heart to palpitate I Was it the song of Selim
which broke upon the stillness of the thoroughfiires like the musical
cadence of the muezzin ? Was it the bol^ dare-devil beauty of
the gayly-accoutred vendor himself? or was it really the taste of
the pastry ? Who can tell ?

' A jewelled hand taps at the latticed casement, and Selim tarries
a moment at the portd, at the adjoining dwelling ha stops, over
the way, every where, until the last morsel is disposed o^ and he
wends his way back to Kassem Pasha for a new supply.

'They taste, they look at each other, taste agam, until their
hearts really beat with anxiety. ' How delicate, how melting, how
unsurpassed I ' every one exclaims ; ' but why do our nearts
tremble?' Yet day afler day Selim appears, always sinking out
the same incantation, always dealing to eager cnstomers &e same
entrancmg morsels.

' There is mystery, but intrinsic excellence also, rare compound !
Incredible ! yet all classes of the great community are astir about
this pastry ; wondering, talking, partaking.

' When Ahmed entered his lowly dweUing at night, of course
brin^g his loaf of bread for the evening meal, and a candle, thus
providing for his &mily according to the rules of the sacred
Koran, Fatma said : ' All day long have I been dying to taste that
pastry.'

' ' fiut, my dear soul, I have just twenty paras in my purse.'

' ' It matters not, Allah Eerim, God is powerful, the morrow will
take care of itself.'

And the humble couple feast upon the far-&med pastry.

1858.] 7%e Meddah of Stambaul. 241

^ Yes, beggars eat of it, artisans taste it, EfEendis swallow the
fiusoinating monsels, Pashas regale themselves, and ladies of all
ranks and classes tremble and eat.

^ The royal palace is not exempt from the mania. The Sultan and
the Mr Sultanas declare all the confections of their own hitherto
tumvaUed pro^assors of gastronomy unworthy to be matched with
the Kassem Pasha bedreyee. Every day increases the demand ;
aU are enraptured with tms morsel of delight, and without ever
Imowing the reason why

* K488IM Pasha's pastry sweet
Fit pat makes the heart beat.'

* Halfway up the Golden Horn, just after passing the Old Bridge,
there is a sort of bay right opposite the cit^, on me Pera side, the
Acres of which form the quay for three different Quarters of the
city, namely Pera, Tataula, and Kassem Pasha. The Divan, or
Ehll of Admiralty, stands prominently on one point of the bay,
and upon the other are the Dry Docks ; between these buildings
are the Marine Barracks. The principal Navy-Yard of the Otto-
man empire is located all along this shore, as far as the village of
Haske^i ; while the new Naval Academy is conspicuous on the as-
<$ent of the neighboring hill. As these places are government pro-
Mr^, they are bordered by a wall which extends from the Old
nmge to the village of Haske5i. Passing through the gate-way
of this wall, which is always closed at night, you come upon a
ravine, inclosed by the hUls upon which the above-mentioned
suburbs are built. In this ravine a &mous Turkic dignitary once
erected a mosque, which was called by his name ; indcM the whole
quarter has ever since been known by the same title of Kassem
IPasha. Yet we may safely aver that all honor was concentrated

' in the little spot of terrd firmer upon which the temple of Allah
stood ; for no odor of sanctity pervaded the adjacent localities.

* Here live the &milies of the reckless sailors and of the laborers
and mechanics of the Navy-Yard, forming a noisy, independent,
care-for-nau^t community, untrammelled and untainted by the re-
Mraints 6^ civilization. The rain, mud, and filth pour down from
the adjacent hills, carrving in their course all the refuse of the
houses into the bed of the ravine, creating a stream foul, black,
and disgusting. Upon the banks of this dark river, are innumer-
able dingy coffee-shops, low eating-houses, green groceries, dry
groceries, fruit-stores, and other marts of commerce. Here love
to congregate aU the outcasts of society ; the iU-designed to prey
upon ULC vices and follies of humanity, and the low and vulgar to
indulge their dispositions in sympathy with their kind. The astro-
loger loiters here, pipe in hand, ready to reap his harvest from the
superstitious multitude ; not to trace the hand of destiny by the
ftr-olT evolutions of the stars, but to tell the issue of earth-bom
passions as they dash tumultuously, like tempest waves over the
great ocean of human life.

^ In the darkest comer of the dimly-lighted shop, closely huddled

242 TTie Meddah <jf Stambaul [September,

together, sit a group of evil-looking men, in cantions whispers and
flash jargon plotting their coming misdeeds of thefi, assassination,
blood, and death, when darkness shall cast its mantle over the
great city. In these purlieus the more war^ villains find ready
tools, bold men who reckon gold more precious than any man's
life, and for a price, will unhesitatingly accomplish any desired
scheme of ruin or of death.

* Once in this atmosphere, once in the company of these devils in
human form, no one would travel further in search of the infernal
regions.

*' Here then, strange to tell, among these shops and these inhabit-
ants, stood the famous establishment whence emanated the deli-
cious pastry once so popular amon^ all classes of the ^eat metropo-
lis. Notwithstanding the reputation of Kassem Paima, by degrees
this shop became a place of resort from all qoarters of the city for
those whose epicureanism and curiosity overcame all other ob-
stacles. All the shops in the East are unincumbered by windows
or panes of glass, and the one in question, though otherwise most
conspicuous, m this respect resembled all others. Its whole &9ade
was open, bein^ only protected by movable shutters, which were
suspended by hmges from the top of the cornice. These shutters,
when raised in the morning, were hitched upon the projecting
e^ves of the shop, forming an external ceiling, or sort of awninff
above the heads of the customers. This awning was gayly painted
in the most diversified hues, as well as the whole exterior and in-
terior of the popular establishment; the garb of most gaudy
Oriental fresco strangely contrasting with the dingy and sombre
surroundings. Just within the front of the shop, and extending as
fiir as the door-way, there was a wide counter, made of black
walnut, which was much deepened in hue, and polished in surfiMse
by its gradual assimilation to the nature of the wares it constantly
held, namely, great trays of the tempting pastry, hot and unctu-
ous. A few feet from the counter was the oven, the front of which
was fantastically covered with tiles of Chinese porcelain, while
below the door was a slab of pure white marble. Over the oven,
on one side, was an aperture, through which trays of prepared
pastry were continually issuing to be baked. Between the counter
and the oven were some hidf-dozen men, with arms bared to
the shoulder, variously employed. Two were shoving fresh trays
into the oven and removing those that were already oaked ; and
the others were near the counter, serving the impatient customers.
Each man held a pair of scales suspended by bright brass chains
three feet long, while with a semi-circular knife he cut up the
pastry and weighed it. Long and constant practice had made
them so dexterous, that one cut of the knife seldom fidled of the
requisite measure, while the regularity and uniformity of these
movements produced a sort of mechanical music, constantly vihnt*
ing, click, clack, click, clack. Along one side of the shop there
was a raised platform, about two feet high, for the accommodation
of those who could afford to sit down awhile and prolong their

1858.] The Meddah of StambouL 243

epicarean tastes. There were several active bovs who found con-
stant emploTment in serving these customers ; while Mustapha, the
preffiding genius and luchy proprietor, paraded to-and-fro in attire
of crimson and gold.

*The crowd in attendance was motley and numerous ; men in
loose robes and huge turbans of every hue and form ; men of quiet
respectability and of busy haste ; men of piaatresy and men of
paras. Women in white veils and green, yellow, pink, and blue
feradg^es, of somewhat dubious rank and caste. iBoys and girls,
with the undisguised enthusiasm of childhood ; all in tneir way dis-
onsBiDg the products of the establishment. Some were outside,
some within ; some greedUy swallowing the morsel in hand, smack-
ing their lips, and ficking the clinging &t and savor from their
fingers, so absorbed in eating, and regardless of publicity ; while
ot&rs, more fortunate or more dainty, were seated unon the plat-
form in the shop, with smaU trays before them, and with more
jiretension to epicureanism ; but one and all graphically and practi-
cally demonstrating the assertion of the wisest of men:

* * There is nothing better than to eat/ '

Hie Meddah here personated the various greedy characters in
iliis i^up with wonderful aptitude and comicality, with such a
▼arymg expression of countenance, such life-like intonations and
idiomatic phrases, that one would have supposed the whole crowd
before Mustapha's shop had suddenly entered the hall.

There was created tne most dramatic effect, to the perfect satis-
&otion and exceeding merriment of the august company. The ap-
plause having subsided, the Meddah thus continued :

^ A little distance from the crowd two persons had for some time
been lingering, apparently well amused by the eagerness of this
multitude. Tall caps, in the form of sugar-loaves, constituted their
head-gear, and ample cloaks of coarse brown cloth, fell in graceful
folds about their persons. They wore striped vests of Damascene
fobric, with full trowsers of Angora shalley, and their waists were
ffirdled by shawls of unpretending value, in which were displayed
uie long-handled ebony flesh-combs generally used by the mem-
bers of their order. Their feet were encased in yellow buskins,
over which they wore the customary pahooches^ or yellow slippers.
From this external appearance it was evident they belonged to the
order of the Mevlevee dervishes.

^ By degrees they drew nearer to the shop, and entering, seated
themselves with the rest of the company upon the elevated {riat-
form, and a tray upon a low stool was placed before Uiem ccmtain-
ing the &mous pastry, fresh and hot.

' There was a remarkable lightness, an incredible expansion of the
delicate fibres of the mingled flour and butter, as it lay in innumer-
able flaky folds, inclosing the most delicate force-meat ; indeed,
the dervishes were more than ever delighted with their favorite
pastry, and could not refrain from expressing their satis&ction to
each other. After discoursing some time as to its ingredients,
they at last called Mustapha and began to question him aa to how

244 ITie Meddah of Stamboul. [September,

it was manufactured. Bnt the Beorek^ee, with a solemn &ce, only
admonished them to suppress all curiosity, and enjoy the repast
before them. Supposing the man was afraid of competition, one of
the gentlemen answered him, that they had no idea of setting up
a rival establishment, but were only desirous to have it made at
their own houses. As Mustapha was inexorable, they tried to
overcome his reluctance by the offbr of a goodly sum of piasters.
Whether the refined appearance and polite demeanor of these der-
vishes, or the apparent length of their purses, suddenly dianged
the word of the man of the wonderful pastry, is uncertun; but he
promised to show them the peculiar process after thev had finished
eatin?. Much amused by tne prospect of having tneir curiosity
ratified, the dervishes soon arose, and were conducted to the
fountain for the purpose of washing their hands. This fountain
was in the back part of the shop, behind the oven, within a closet
so small that but one person could enter. After some time had
passed, the dervish who was awaiting his turn outside, gently
opened the door to see what his friend was about, when fo 1 he
found the closet deserted. Much alarmed at the disappearance of
his companion, he summoned the Bedrekgee, who assured him that
there was no cause for alarm ; his Mend had only gone to the place
where the pastry was prepared, and that if he had the same
curiosity, he had only to perform his ablutions, and he would also
be conducted there. He accordingly entered ^e closet, and as he
was washing his hands, suddenly the floor beneath his feet seemed
to give way, and in a moment more he found himself in a large
subterranean hall. The atmosphere was humid, cold, and redolent
of noxious vapors, too heavy to breathe, where terror alone almost
sufficed to stifle respiration.

' Several lamps suspended from the ceiling oast a lurid light on
the scene before our trembling dervish; huge figures flitted
before him, now and then a deep sigh or stifled groan came
heavily to his ears ; yet there were no human voices. Almost
paralyzed with fear, he tried to call out for his friend, but his
speech failed him. What were those naked forms hovering about,
knives and hatchets in hand ? What meant those severed Ihnbs,
those scattered hands and feet, those trunkless heads with starting
eye-balls ? He stepped forward into a pool of blood I he reeled
back over a dead body I he listened, and only caught the echoes
of the axe or the knife !

^ Bound hand and foot, he saw several men standing, of so marble-
like hue, that he doubted whether they were men or oorpses ;
among these he discovered his own companion.

' Along one side of this charnel-house was a long table, at which
several individuals were busily employed, and at one end was a
vast heap of human bones, which were gathered together by a man
who seemed to be in attendance for no other purpose.

' The flimous pastry-maker now appeared, and taking our two
terror-stricken dervishes by the hand, began to initiate them into
the mysteries of his work-shop. Selecting a man from the groups
he summoned the principal butcher of these regions, who, in a

1858.] Ihe Meddah of Siambina. 245

t%dnkling, with his glittering axe, sefvered the head from the body
to which it had so many years belonged. Fearful silence pre-
yailed, and an icy shiver pervaded the life-blood in the veins of
tbe lookers-on. They now turn to the tables, where the men
dexterously strip the yet quivering flesh from the human limbs,
freeing the bones from the olinginff morsels, and with wonderful
dispatch creating but two heaps of the late body : one a pile of
flesn, the other of bones. This meat is^iow carefuUy chopped up
and placed on trays, which are borne away.

^ ^ Here, then, my Effendis, is the secret of the Elassem Pasha
BiOrekyee,* said the proprietor of this i^mous establishment. ^ No-
tlm^ so savory, nothing so delicate, nothing so meltingly deli-
cious as the flesh of a genUeman — a well-fed, &t, pampered gentle-
muL Does he not live on the rarest viands, quaff the purest
wuies, sip the most cooling sherbets ? He is never wearied with the
toUs of ufe, nor does his body suffer from fatieue. He strolls in
tweetly-peifrimed gardens, and lingers by cooUng streams, or re-
poses on silken couches. The pastry you eat just now,' continued
Mustapha, * pleased you well, mv fnends; it so surpassed all you
had ever before tasted, that prudence was overcome, and curiosity
became a passion in your breasts. No wonder you liked it, it
was the pure white flesh of the Mir Akhor, or Master of the
Hfmse of the Palace, they called him Abdullah, which, enveloped
ID a tissue of flour, so tickled your palates.'

^ ^ Hafiz Allah I ' (God preserve us,) exclaimed the dervishes in
m breath : for they knew Abdullah very well, and a sudden &int-
ness almost overcame them. ' Take all our money, all we have,'
they cried, ^ only send us away from this awful place.'

* *' None go from here alive,' said the BeOrekgee. ^ What t to tell
my secret, to spoil my business ! Tour money is mine, and your
bodies too. Mashallah ! you will make even better mince-meat
than Abdullah himself. Yon look very tempting, your flesh is
firm, and will surpass any I have ever had,' said this con-
noisseur in human meat, as he rudely pressed his fingers upon the
rounded forms of our dervishes. ^ Oh 1 no I to-morrow my gay
SeUm will have good reason to sing out :

* * Kassem Pasha's pastry sweet
Pit pat makes the heart beat.* '

^Now the names of our dervishes were Ali and Hassan.
Ali seemed to be of superior rank, if one might judge by
the deference rendered to him by his companion; but Has-
san was very shrewd, and in this awful emergency besan
to consider in what manner they could be saved from their un-
pending fate. After a little pause, he thus addressed the Be5 rekgee *

^ * Master, to kill us would be of little use to you, coinpared to
the great profit you mi^ht make by keeping us alive. Our dead
bodies could only serve fi)r a tray or two of pastry, but by saving
us, your gains would be prolonged, and constant from day to day.'

^ * It cannot be,' said the stubborn Mustapha. ^ To let you escape

246 The Meddah of Stambctd. [September,

from here is impossible, miless, like your predecessors, in the form
of minced-meat and pastry, to regale the subjects of our great
Padischah, the sultanas, the honris of the harem. By Allah, yon
shall be sent direct to the royal palace : a special order has come
for a supply of Kassem Pasha's beoreyee for the Saltan's harem.'

' Hassan almost lost his ^ang-froid at this new threat ; but life
was too sweet to be parted from without another effort.

^ ^ Now, friend, let m»tell you,' he again said to Mustapha, * how
you can make your fortune much sooner than by mana&cturing pas-
try. My companion, Ali, is a man of surprising skill ; he knows how
to weave a certain style of carpet which excels the fibnest tapestry in
curious and exquisite workmanship. Now, only keep us alive a
few days, and try how much you will gain by selline tnese carpets
as fast as Ali can weave them. If you do not find them profitable,
you still have us in safe keeping, and can then make us into any
thing you like. G^t the loom, the silks, and let Ali make but one ;
take it to the bazaars, and you will get more for it than for a
whole year's work at pastry.

^ ^Ah ! you think to cheat me,' said Mustapha; ^I have seen too
many men like you, full of expedients to spin out the thread of
life, even for a few short hours. No, I can't afford to let your
fine flesh deteriorate by staying here : to-morrow's pastry must be
the best that was ever made at Kassem Pasha's ; ' and, so fsaying,
this hard-hearted monster left our dervishes to all the agony of
anticipating their awful doom.'

The Meddah here rose from his seat, announcing that he was
somewhat fiitigued, and would take a moment's repose. He ac-
cordingly withdrew to an adjoining apartment, where the eager
attendants served him with a pipe and cofEee, over which he
seemed to linger most unreasonably, much to the chagrin of the
ladies, who began to be clamorous, declaring that the Meddah
was too long refreshing himself.

For aught we know, he might have tarried till morning, had it
not been for the appearance of the black eunuchs of the Sultana,
holding in their hands the most persuasive arguments, in the form
of sundry embroidered handkerchief, in the comers of which
were tied up certain valuable pieces of gold. These having been
presented to the Meddah in the name of the Sultana and her
ladies, did not fail to remind him that his tale was not yet finished ;
so taking one last long puff of the all-inspiring weed, he again re-
paired to the hall, and resumed his seat and his story, saying :

^ The situation in which we left the dervishes is not to be envied,
and we shall learn in the sequel what destiny was in store for
them. The unfortunate Ali and his ingenious com{>anion spent all
the wearisome hours of this horrible day in bewauing their fi^ ;
now cursing their too &tal curiosity, and anon deprecating the
unparalleled depravity of Mustapha: even Hassan, with w his
shrewdness, all his apparent sang-froid^ felt a deep despair taking
possession of his soul. Were they indeed to be sacrificed ? they 7
Could it be that Ali, the redoubted, the honorable, the powerful

1858.] 2he Meddah of StambmL 247

Afi was thus to perish in this execrable den, by the hands of these
cold-blooded wretches ?

^ ^Istah Aif^Utk^ / ZavS lOyiOa hocvet vlKkihl ' deyontly
ezdaimed Hassan, folding his hands upon his breast, as all human
resources seemed to fiul him.

^ ^ God forbid I There is none, none, no power but in Ood Ai>

* It was now eyening, and the dervishes thought their last hour
was approaching. They seemed to hear the mittering wings of
AEra^I, the Angel of Deal^ ; they felt as if the idiadows around
them were deeper, the darkness more profound; and excluding
the world from their thoughts, as it seemed to be from their bodily
^senses, the}r commended their souls to the keeping of .^lah. F^-
ing on their knees, they solemnly repeated tne ^ Fatiha,* or the
Lord's Prayer of the Mussulmims.

^ ^ Praise be to God, the Lobd of all creatures ; the most merd-
fhl, the King of the Day. of Judgment. Thsb do we worship, and
of Thsb do we be^ assistance. Direct us in the right way, m the
wmy of those to whom Thou hast been gracious ; not of those
against whom Thou art incensed, nor of those who go astray.'

* Then addressing the Angel of Death : ^Take not our souls in
% rough and cruel manner from the inmost recesses of these our
bodies, as the souls of the wicked, but as the souls of the Faithfiil,
gently, and without yiolence.'

* All and Hassan, without anj more lingering desires after earthly
objects, now calmly fixed their thoughts upon the joys of Para-
dise, which await all true belieyers.

* They had almost forgotten their real condition, when suddenly
another visitor was introduced into this hall of horrors — a youth
of tiie noblest proportions, and in the beauty and freshness of per-
fect health, and eyid^ntly of high rank. Mustapha made his ap-
pearance also, and immediately ordered him to be sacrificed. All
and Hassan now expected that their time had come ; but the
Be5n^gee had determined otherwise.

* ^ Tou are to live a few days longer,' said he, addressing them.
* I shiUl make a trial of your skill.' The loom and the sUks were
procured, and the work was commenced by Ali He was most
asdduous ; for with the boon of life, even for a few days, hope
again returned. One beautiful shade was mingled with another
in varying tints : there were exquisite intertwinmgs of threads of
gdd and silk in &ntastic shapings, and around Uie whole a rich
border in arabesque, until by great diligence, working day and
night, the carpet was soon finiimed. It was a seddjade^ or small
praying-carpet, such as the fidthfrd use in their devotions, and ex-
cited the highest admiration of Mustapha, who was almost tempted
to keep it for himself; as if such as he ever addressed the throne
of AUoh.

^ But avarice was too strong a passion in his breast, and ac-
cording to Hassan's directions, he took it to the Besesden, to be
•old at public auction. It was there examined and admired for

248 The Meddah of Starnhmil. [September,

some time, nntil at last one of the ' Hodjakees,' or licensed stall-
keepers, ventured to offer an enormous price, as a start. The
bidding was now kept up pretty lively, much to the astonishment
and deught of Mustapha. There was great emulation, as each one
of the Hodjakees was desirous to carry the carpet to the palace ;
for they considered it one of those gems of art which ought to
pass into the possession of royalty itself. Perceiving this, Mus-
tapha resolved not to part with it at any price. The Hodjakees
then offered to accompany him, if he would take it himself to the
palace, assuring him that his majesty would remunerate him
highly, even for a sight of it, if he did not choose to part with it.
They accordingly repaired to the royal residence, where their ar-
rival was announced to the Lord Chamberlain, who ordered that
they should be ushered into his presence. After requesting them
to be seated, he evinced the greatest anxiety to know whether
they had brought him any important tidings. One of the Hod-
jakees, making a respectM salutation, thus addressed his Excel-
lency :

* ' We are not the bearers of tidings, my lord ; but it has been
our good luck to fall in with a beauti^l praying-carpet at the Be-
zesden. As it is of the most exquisite workmanship, we were
anxious to purchase it for the use of his majesty. But the owner,*
and he pointed to Mustapha, ^ by some caprice or other, having
changed his mind, concluded not to part with it. We have per^
suaded him to bring it here for the royal inroection.'

' So saying, he unfolded the carpet, and held it up to view.
When the Lord Chamberlain saw the carpet, he was astonished
and agitated ; for he knew but one person who possessed the
skill to weave such a wonderftil aeddjade.

* ' Can it be ? ' he suddenly thought : ' if so, there most be
some characters interwoven among tne figures, which would be
unobserved by vulgar eyes.'

' He then eagerly approached the carpet, and seemed to touch
it with an indennable reverence. He anxiously scanned it, while
all regarded him in profound silence. Then suddenly he seized
it from the hands of tne Hodjakee, and rushed from the apartment
into the presence of the Silihdar, or Sword-Bearer, and spreading
it upon the floor, pointed to the arabesque characters in tiie bor-
der. They both knelt, and began to decidher the inscription, with
frequent exclamations of: ' Hafiz Allah ! Hafiz Allah ! '

* The Sword-Bearer now anxiously said : * But is he yet alive ? '
' *' We shall soon find that out,' said the Lord Chamberlain, and

returned to the room where were left the Hodjakees.

* ' Friend,' said he to Mustapha, * nnce you refiise to part with
your carpet, can you not procure me another just like it r *

* Mustapha replied : * That depends on circumstances, my lord ;
there is no limit to the mimificence of our august sovereign.'

^ He again left the room, ordering the attendants to offer refresh-
ments to Mustapha and the Hodjakees, stationing a guard at the
door with injunctions to let no one pass.

1858.] ThA MecUah of Stambouk 249

* ^ By AUah ! no time is to be lost, he is jet aKye,' said he to
the Sword«Bearer.

^We will leave the Hodjakees and Mostapha regaling them-
selves in the Itoval Palace, and proceed to the chamel-honse at
Kassem Pasha. There was great consternation in that locality, for
the &r-&med establishment instead of being surrounded by the
ordinary crowd of customers, was now encompassed by troops of
sclent. To their great surprise all the inmates of the shop were
made prisoners, the flooring was forcibly torn up, and a body of
armed men, headed by the Lord Chamberlain, rushed into the
subterranean hall, to the amazement of the busy fiends, whose
deeds had never borne the li^ht of heaven, and to the glad sur-
prise of those who were awaitmg their awful doom. The Cham-
Wrlain frantically rushed to-and-fro over the pavement all slip-
pery with gore, over the heaps of bones, rolling before him the
truncated heads like foot^balls, and anxiously peering into the faces
of ail who had life in them, until in a distant comer he spied our
dervishes. Like lightning he sped on, and fell prostrate at the
fbet of Ali, the doomed, the rescued Ali I the skilfrd weaver I One
AaSl cry of joy burst from them: ^Elhamed Allah. Hbaven be
pndsedl'

* They now conducted the dervishes to the palace, where our
Bdorekgee was awaiting the reappearance of the Chamberlain. For,
although he expressed his desire to depart, he was assured that
he could not leave the palace without again seeing the Lord
Chamberlain. Whereupon he swore to himself that he would be
sore to make mince-meat of that Chamberlain if he ever caught
him at Kassem Pasha.

*BBs anxiety did not last much longer, for the Chamberlain
himself now entered and summoned him and the Hodjakees to the
presence of the Sultan. His heart bounded within him at the
prospect of the royal patronage. High-sounding titles were
sweetly whispered bv excited fsmcy, visions of palaces and houris
suddenly floated hetore him, and his soul blessed the enchanted
earpet.

^ Ue seemed to tread on mt as he walked along the corridors of
thepalace.

^He entered the audience-hall, and raising his eyes to the throne,
suddenly became of the hue of death, and with one long shriek
of wild despair, * Mercy, oh I mercy I ' fell to the floor.

^ For he saw before mm, upon that throne in those regal robes,
the dervi^es of his own charnel-house, the all-powerful, absolute
Sultan and his Grand Yezir.

^ The truth is, that as was customary in the days of Haroun al
Reshid, so it had continued to be for Sultans to perambulate the
dty incognito. Sultan Murad and his Grand Yezir had person-
ated the dervishes of our story, and penetrated into the secrets of
the Kassem Pasha pastrv.

* We have seen how they would have perished like many others,
if a wonderlul ingenuity had not, by the interposition of Allah, been

250 Ihe Ifandng of the Baby. [SepteBaiber,

the meaof of their presemitian. For the SoHan had m m cnrknu
nuumer mterwoyen the history of his awfbl accident among the
arabeaqaea iip<m the carpet, whidi was carried to the palaoe mere
it odIt could have been deciphered.

^ Mj atorj is done,' said the Meddah, * and donbtlefls 7011 are
all convinced of the value of the mechanical arte.

* The Sultan himself would have perished if he had not pos-
sessed the art of weaving, and the wond would never have known
why

*■ KAsmc Pasha's pMtry sweet
Fit pst made all besrts best.'

TRS HAMIHO OP THX BABT.

ST »XS aVTXSI.

PiLOBiMs, Eblis-bonnd, like Tathk ;

Scholars, vexed with metrea Attic ;

Patienta, stretched on rack rheumatic ;

Fathers, plagued bj sons erratic :

When snch pains would be beguiled,
T^ the naming of a child.

Bards propose sweet names undying.

History with song is Tying,

Bomance to be heard is trying,

Holy Writ brooks no denying ;
Oh I what dire perplexity
Brings the baby on your knee ! ^

Blessed aunts and rich grand-mothers,
Oouidns. friends, and countless others.
Each with name that suits, yet bothers ;
How the list appals and smothers,
Till you fear, with all the fuM,
Babe will stay anonymous.

Then how much of joy and grieving ;

Foetus rage, soft lyrics wearSig;

Lover's hope, all others leaving,

80 a maid's name may be cleaving :
Sure the christening of the elf
Costs more pain than baby's self !

Oould a name but hint the story

Of thv blue eyes* oratory,

And thy new smile proouMry

Of ripe beauty's coming glory.

Love and lore should meet to frame.
Sweetest babe, thy fitting name I

186a.] The DeaOi of VirgiL 251

THB DEATH OF TIB OIL:

▲ PHIL080PHZ0 FANTA8T OF THB MXDDLB A O B 8.

Lit a spacious manfflon in the suburbs of Rome, at the twilight of
the day preceding the nones of March, in the year of the city 784,
sat two noble and thoughtful men. The eldest, who was about
fifty, was clad in a white tunic. He was thin and tall, with a
scholarly stoop in the shoulders ; his &ce was pale and worn, but
more, it seemed, with sensibility than time. Hjs companion, who
was some five or ten years youne^er, was wrapt in a purple toga.
Between the two was a small taole of citron-wood, the legs of
wUdi were of ivory, and curiously wrought. Upon this table
stood a bEusket of fruit. The walls of the apartment were covered
with pictures and statues; the spaces between were filled with
carvings in wood, some of cypress and box, others of ebony, inlaid
with tortoise-shell and pearL The floor was of different colored
marble ; the ceiling was adorned with ivory, and richly painted
and ffilded. It was the Corinthian room of Virgil, the poet and
yY^^gmLiatij who was couverslug with the knight Publius, his friend.
They had finished the coBua a few minutes before, and adjourned
firom tiie triclinium, bearing their frugal desert.

^ I have been looking at the sun-set, and thinking of my past
fife,' said the poet, after a brief pause. ' It has not been altogether
wasted, like the lives of so many ; still, I cannot but reproadi my-
idi^ I have accomplished so little. A tree bears in its time hun-
dreds of baskets of fruit ; the great deeds of the greatest men can
be counted on the fingers. Why should man be so sterile, and
Kature so prolific ? '

^The lower the life,' the knight answered, * the more lavish its
issue. The oak sheds a thousand acorns, each one of which con-
tains a germ of itself; the bird that sings in the oak lays but a
few speckled eggs. Life narrows as it ascends. Birds and trees,
the grass of the fields, the sands of the seanshore — these are the
base of the pyramid, the apex of which is man.'

* So we letter ourselves, PubUus. But did we know what the
birds and trees think of us, we might not be so proud. ^ I can fly
over land and sea,' methinks the bird sings ; ' over miles of field
and wood, and the long, long leagues of water. I soar in the
great arch of the sky, up, up to the clouds. What is this thing
called man, who creeps so slowly on the ground, and is so driven
about by the waves r ' 'I grow broad and high,' the oak mur-
murs with its oracular leaves ; *' ever broader and higher, wedding
the years with my rin^. I hold out my great brawny arms, and
wave my green flags m the sun-shine, llaugh at the wind and
the rain, and fear nothing, not even Jove's thunder. It is a fearful
bolt that slays the mighty oak. But these pigmies aroimd me,
who cannot span my bole with their arms, I ouUive whole genera-

252 The Death of Virgil. [September,

tions of them.' Then there are the rocks and hills, Publius, and
the seas and skies. They could tell a tale of longevity which
would humble us, their betters. Your figure of the pyramid is not
a happy one. But if you must use it, let it be inverted. Life
should not narrow, but broaden as it ascends.'

* I was not thinking of man's body,' said Publius, * when I placed
him above the lesser intelligencies, but of that mysterious some-
thing which we call his soul. That he should have that, and not
have the hardy life of the animals, which he needs so much
more than they, puzzles and saddens me. Why should the inani-
mate oak endure a thousand years, and the most god-like man
scarce three-score and ten ? '

* There are reasons, Publius,' said Virgil, handing the knight a
peach from the basket on the table before him ; ' many excellent
reasons why the life of man is so short And not the least is this :
we eat too little fruit. The animals follow their instinct, and it
leads them to their proper food ; we follow our debauched appe-
tites, and gorge ourselves with poisons — the fore-runners of dis-
ease and death. Thou hast supped with Lucullus, and know
what beasts we Romans can mate ourselves. We drag the sea
for its fish, and empty the air of its birds. We bake and roast and
boil them, and huddle them together, course after course, washing
the compound down with draughts of fire. Instead of cooling our
parched throats with grapes, we press out their juice, and hoard it
away in our cellars until it becomes maddening and murderous. I
loathe our Roman banquets ; there is nothing innocent or natural
about them, except the roses which crown our cups. And they,
poor things, soon &de, blasted by the foul breath or fouler jesta
of the dnnkers.'

* It is easy,' Publius replied, * for you poets and philosophers to
live on fruits, delicate and spiritual thinkers that ye are ; but the
tillers of the soil, the ploughmen of the waves, the stout haryesters
of battle-fields, the workers of the world, need, methinks, a
stronger diet — something that will make blood, and bone, and
sinew.'

* The vitality of flesh,' the philosopher answered, * is weaker than
that of grain, because it was originally derived firom grain. It is
life at second-hand. We know nothing of grain. It germinates
mysteriously in the soil, quickened in the bosom of our Univeraal
Mother. She brings her life to bear upon it in darkness ; it is fed
with secret moisture, warmed with internal fire. Is it not reasoii-
:\ble that it contains more of the life of the earth than the beasts
which feed upon it ? There is a slave on my &rm at Mantua, an
old man, whose years more than eoual our two lives, who has
never tasted flesh, but has lived on n-uit from his birth. There
are no signs of age about him, except his white locks ; he stands
as straight as a man of thirty, and is as broad-shouldered as die
Grecian Hercules. Match him for bone and sinew among tlrf
flesh-fed athletes. I have seen him fell an ox with one blow of fan
fist. We are degenerate fellows, we Romans of to-day ; even our

1868.] 7%e I>eath of Virgil. ' 443

slaves excel us. If this continues much longer^ what will become
of Rome ? Ah ! Home I Rome I ' he murmured, * if I should
nfver see thee again I ' He threw himself back on the couch and
ganed upon the scene before him.

It was a grand and beautiful sight, that sun-set picture of Rome.
A wilderness of roojfs, palaces, temples, and baths, with glimpses
of gardens and groves. Here was the palace of Csesar, built of
wbite marble, and adorned with statues and porticoes ; there the
forum of Augustus and its gilded pillar, at tne base of which all
tlie roads of Rome ended ; and there the steep ascent of the
Omiital and the temples of Jove, Juno, and Mmerya. Beyond
if0re the theatres of Pompe^ and Marcellus, the stadia and hippo-
dKMne, and the Circus Maximus, a city in itself. Here and there
roee a triumphal arch, dedicated to some great general or empe-
ror ; the public squares were peopled with colossid statues, and
lifting its shaft serenely in the air stood the ^eat obelisk which
Angostus had brought from Egypt — a gigantic needle of granite,
covered with hieroglyphics. On the north lay the Tiber, a dark
and duggish stream ; and around all was the great wall of Rome,
wifeh its multitude of gates. Beyond this, stretching into the coun-
tqf on every side, were the public roads, the great highways of the
enmre. And over all, like a low-hung dome, was the deep blue
Ituan sky. The west was red with sun-set, but the veil of dark-
ness was descending in the east, where a few fidnt stars were
twinkling.

'Is not Rome beautiful, Publius ? ' exclaimed the poet in rapture.
^ I am never weary of gazing upon it. I know every inch of its
soil, every stone in its streets. I have travelled in foreign lands,
in Greece, Egypt, and India ; have seen Athens, and Alexandria,
and the j&mous cities of the desert, but nothing like old mother
Rome. She is the queen of cities, the mistress of the world. Her
atinoq>here is divine.'

*Tnat Yir^ should love Rome, is no marvel,' said the knight,
with a smile, ' for all the world knows what he has done for her.
I have heard the barbarians of Gaul speak of his statues. ^ The
Tnagioian has made,' said they, ' as many statues for Rome as there
are kingdoms tributary to her. And around the necks of these
Btalues nang bells of magical power. For when a kingdom revolts,
the statue which represents that kingdom strikes the bell, and
summons the Roman legions to arms. And these statues are
cdled The Preservers of Rome.' I have heard, too, of his lamp,
by which the whole city is lighted, (Per Bacche ! but there have
been nights of late in whidi it was needed,) of his blooming
orchards on the banks of the Tiber ; and of the palace he built for
the Emperor — that dangerous but convenient palace in which
Augustus sees and hears whatever is said and done in Rome.'

^ It is not by things like these that I would show my love for
Rime. I have written a poem, Publius, in honor of JSneas, our
gveat ancestor, and, unless I deceive myseli^ it will preserve her
glory when my statues shall have crumbled into dust. Follow me

TOL. Ln. 17

264 The Death of Virgil. [September,

to the libraij, and I will show it to thee. Thou shalt read it, if
thou wilt : if not, we will converse till mid-night. I have some*
thing I would say to thee.'

He summoned a slave, who entered with a bronze lamp, and led
the way into the atrium. The oiled log was blazing on the hearth,
and by its flickering light they saw the Lares and Fenates. IVom
the atrium they proceeded to the library, which was already
lighted. From the centre of the gilded ceiling swung a massive
silver lamp, of a fantastic pattern. It was shaped somewhat like a
boat, with the head and fore-legs of an ox on each side. On its
deck were a couple of swans, looking to the prow and stem, which
were slightly raised ; through their arching necks ran the chain by
which tne lamp was suspended. Under this lamp was a couch,
and a table of Egyptian marble. The floor was inlaid with mosaic,
and here and there were mats of grass, brilliantly dyed. Statues
of marble and alabaster stood on ^e shadowy mches, IOlc ghosts,
and in the comers of the room were dusky figures of bronze.

But the glory of the library was its manuscripts, which were
lying round in all directions ; strewn on the couches and the floor,
and piled up in their cases. Here were the writings of the Greek
poets and philosophers, and there the mysterious lore of Egyptian
and Indian sages : volumes of papyrus and parchment rcmed on
ebony cylinders, and sheets of vellum fastened with leather thongs.
The name of each work was emblazoned on its back in red letters.
The voluminous authors were bound with ribbons, and preserved
in boxes and cases. Upon a small desk by the window stood a
silver ink-hom, and beside it lay an Egyptian reed, and some hal&
written sheets of parchment.

^ I sent for thee to-night, Publius,' said the poet, when the pair
had seated themselves, ' as a man sends for his friend when he reels
that his end is near. Start not when I say that my last hour is at
hand. It will be here at mid-night.'

^Thou ait to die at mid-night? ' inquired his companion anxi-
ously.

* I said not that.'

' True : I had forgotten. To us, philosophers, there is no such
thing as death. It is merely change. We change our bodies as
we do our garments, putting off our old, worn-out robes for a new
suit, fresh from the wardrobe of the gods. You assume the sprit-
ual toga at mid-night then ? I am sorry for it. You will doubt-
less gain by the change, for they say we have nothing in Rome
like the Elysian fields. Still, I prefer Rome, and, Jove vrilling, I
do not mean to quit it for many a long year.'

' In my new epic,' said the poet, ^ 1 take .^Sneas through the
kingdoms of the dead. I follow the priests in my description of
his journey through the shades, partly because it would not be
safe pust now to question their stories, and partly because I have
nothmg better to offer in their stead. Invention is a rare ^ft,
even among the poets. But, under the rose, dear Publius, Hades
j^d Elysium are fables. That the soul of man exists after this

-m

1868.] 7%e Death of Virgil 266

change which we call * death,' I believe ; but beyond that, I know
nothing. We may guess, but we cannot know ; knowledge is the
fruit of things seen, not of traditions and dreams. You will see
what I have written as a poet ; what I shall write as a philosopher
thou wilt know hereafter.'

* I doubt not, Virgil, but that thou wilt walk with Plato in the
world of souls, and interpret his wisdom cunningly. But the dead
know already what thou wouldst teach them. It is not the dead,
but the living, from whom the secret of death is hid.'

^ Listen, Publius, for what I am about to say to thee has never
been breathed to man. From my earliest youth, as thou knowest,
I devoted my life to philosophy ; not merely studying what the

ghiiosophers have written, but travelling in many lands. I have
stened to the Greek philosophers in Athens, in the very grove
where Plato taught : questioned the priests of Egypt in the shadow
of the Pyramids, and even traced the stream of thought back to
its fountain-head in the East. I have learned something from all,
but more, Publius, from myself. I studied at first the nature of
the gods, for upon that, I was taught, all knowledge is based. I
mastered all the known systems of mythology — a thousand differ-
ent charts of the same sea. I could track my way through the
pathless forest of Error, under which the Truth lies buried, and
erect its fidlen columns with a semblance of their ancient beauty.
I saw the gods of the world, Jove, Osiris, Brahma, sitting above
the clouds, in the serene regions of the air, but I could not wor-
ship them, majestic though they were, for I felt there was some-
thing beyond them. As they did not go back to the beginning,
they could not endure to the end. There was another God to
whom the end and the beginning were one. Of this God I knew
nothing. He was, is, and ever will be. The Unknown. Unlike
Jove, whom we figure to ourselves as a bearded, majestic monarch,
we cannot embody or conceive Him. Hb is a Cause, a Principle,
an Essence.

*Here I stopped, andlwisely, for this is a shoreless sea, and turn-
ed my thoughts to man. It matters little in this world, I some-
times think, whether our conceptions of gods are true or false, but
it is essential to us to understand men. We have but one life in
which to do our duties to ourselves ; we shall have many to wor-
ship the gods in. I studied man profoundly in his spiritual and
physical nature, and much that was before obscure became clear.'

* What a strange dream,' said Publius musing, ' this life of ours
is ! Yesterday we were children in our nurses' arms, to-day we
are strong-limbed men : to-morrow we shall totter about on our
sta&, the next day all will be over. The life of man is the buz-
zing of a summer ny.'

'It was not so in the early ages,* answered Virgil. * There was
once a time, we read in the poets, when men lived a thousand
years. The world considers this a fiction, but I hold it to have
been true. When I was in India I saw a Yogi who was said to
be two hundred years old. He lived on fruits, and drank from a

266 The JhaOi of VtrffO. [September,

\ifcoo\t. that ran past his hat : his bed was the bare gionncL The
earth strengthened him, as it did Antsens. Yoa should be ini-
tiated into the mysteries of Elensis, Pablins, if you would learn
the virtues of the earth. There is a deep meaning in the myth of
Ceres and Proserpina. Would men but liye on grain instead of
flesh, they would live longer ; could they but know themselves
and their powers, they need not grow old and die. Oar bodies
grow old in a few years, because we break the laws which govern
them. The matter of which they are composed takes a new form,
because its old one will endure no longer. The guest that vio-
lates the mansion that harbors him, as we do our bodies, most be
ejected. The slaves that have hitherto obeyed him (I mean his
passions) grow riotous, and thrust him from the banquet ; away
from the hghts, and the wine, and the laughing &cesof his friends,
out into the terrible night. Such is the doom of the fool, but the
wise man can escape it. The truth which has baffled the world
for thousands of years, will one day appear suddenly, and remain
forever. It is this, Publius : Men need not die I *

The knight started at these wild words as if a thunder-bolt bad
fallen at his feet.

' Thou thinkest me mad,' said Virgil with a pitying nnile, * but
thou art mistaken. I repeat it: Man need not die. TheUNKKowv,
of whom he is an emanation, makes him at his birth the lord of the
body in which he is inclosed. This body has its laws which can-
not be broken, (for matter, Publius, is not created, as many think,
but is eternal and self-existent ;) but to obey these laws is to mas-
ter them, and render them powerless. ^But what are these
laws ? ' I asked mysel£ ^ That is Nature's secret,' my soul replied,
' and we must wring it from her.' Then I began to study the
Earth. I planted my garden, and watched the germination of
seed. I stocked my ponds with fish, and watched their spawn.
I filled my aviaries witn birds, and watched their incubation. I
learned much, of which our naturalists are ignorant, (I believe my
pastorals are praised,) but not the secret of life. It evaded me
for years. But my pursuit of this Proteus was not without fruit.
For out of my baffled studies, my sleepless nights and days — now
prying into the earth in the gloom of caves, and now ffltering the
rivers at their source — burning in the hot noon sun on unshel-
tered plains, and freezing on the tops of mountains in the cold
nights of winter — in my library poring over ancient scrolls, or
in my laboratory melting rocks and metals ; from all this, Pab-
lius, and from dreams which were vouchsafed to me in answer to
my prayers and fasts, came glimpses of what I sought, like flashes
of lightning at night. But how stands the clepsydra ? The slave
of the night has neglected to give me the time.'

' It wiS not be mid-night for an hour.'

^ Much may be done in that time. I will give thee a speoimai
of my knowledge.'

He opened a casket and took out a handful of seed which he
planted in a vase. Then he sprinkled the vase with water, and

1858.] The Death of VtrgU. 257

muttering an incantation, waited for the charm to work. In a
Aiw seconds the seed germinated, and a tuft of light green shoots
midied its way throum the soiI« At first the stalks were single,
nke spears of grass, out ere lon^ they put forth branches and
leaves, risine and spreading the while until they reached their full
ffiowth, and were crowned with buds. ' Behold this flower,' said
he, plucking a blowing rose, and handing it to his wondering
eompaiiion.

* It is indeed maryellous, if it be not a delusion ; but I dare not
tmsl; my eyes.'

^ Trust them, they do not deceiye thee : the rose is real. Smell
it*

* Its odor is delicious. But what else canst thou do ? Turn
tke rose back into a seed ? '

^ Nothing easier, as thou shalt see. But since thou hast doubted
the naturalness of this flower, step into the garden and pluck one.
I am no priest that I should juggle with thee.'

The knight soon returned with a Ifly.

* Thou hast selected a flower whose .virtues are potent at night ;
flo much the better for my art.' He dbut the lily up in his hand,
iud muttered the charm backward. ^ What is it now ? '

* Bv the gods, Virgil, it is a seed I '

' This is only child's p^lay to an adept in the art of ma^c. Our
neeromancers can do this, and more. There is one now m Rome,
I am told, (he is probably an Egyptian,) who can instantly turn

i egg into a bird. I can do better than that.'

^ Canst thou change a bird into an egg ? '

^ Better than that even. I can kill a bird and bring it to life

But how is the clepsydra now ? '

*It is still half an hour to mid-night.'

Behind a screen in a comer of the library hung a cage, tenanted
by a pair of sleeping sparrows. Virgil opened the cage^oor
•oftly, and taking one of the birds from its perch, bore it to the
^;ht where it awoke with a sudden chirp. ^ Kill it, PubUus.' The
knight wrung its neck, and handed it to the magician. He sprin-
IdM it with water, and breathed into its bilL The bird stirred
and opened its eyes : at last it rose and flew about the room. A
peooliar chirp brought it to the hands of its master, who kissed it
and placed it back m the cage.

' Canst thou recall the dead ? '

* No, Publius, I cannot restore the dead to life, but I can save
the Uving from death. Or rather, they can save themselves, when
they learn the laws of their being. What the Universe is to its
MiksB, man's body was meant to be to him — not a garment
which waxes old with time, but a palace built for Eternity. That
we have ruined these noble palaces of ours, is the sorrow which
burdens the world. But there are means of rebuilding them,
Publius, and making them immortal. We can repair the ravages
of our passions, the decay of time. Did not the enchantress Me-
dea restore her &ther to youth, in the in&ncy of the art ? I

258 The Death of Virgil. [September,

know the herbs that she used, and much beside that she was ig-
norant of. I met a Brahmin in the East in my travels, who could
die and come to life again. He let me shut him up in a tomb
once for thirty days, without food or water ; at the end of that
time he was alive and merry. He taught me his secret so that I
too can die at my pleasure. I mean to die to-night, this beautiful
spring night, when the earth is full of life. It rises from the rich,
damp mould, and falls from the mists and clouds. It breathes in
the scented wind, heaves in the swelling river, throbs in the fer-
off stars. What the Soul of the World is doing with the world
around us, my soul can do with my body. As I have preserved
it from decay for years, I can preserve it still. As I moulded it
once from dust, I can mould it again and into a diviner form. It
will be plastic in my hands. Follow me to my laboratory, and
when I bid thee, depart and shut the door. Then seal it with wax
so that no one may open it. When nine days are past, (it will
then be the Ides of March,) I will rejoin thee.'

' But if thou shouldst not ? '

* Then I have deceived, myself, and deserve the death I shall
have found. Bury me in the tomb of my ancestors at Naples, or
throw me into the Tiber, I care not which : I shall not be worth
a thought. Bum my manuscripts, especially my epic In the
mean time read it. It is yonder in that cedar scrinum : the last
sheets are lying on the desk. If it prove tedious, tmn to Homer
instead. When I shall have corrected my story of JSneas, it will
rival the Wars of Troy. But we shall see. I have commanded
my slaves to obey thee in every thing. Thou shalt have banquets,
if thou wilt, even of flesh, although I detest them. There is still
some Marsian wine in the amphora. Eat, drink, and be merry.
But see, the last drops of the clepsydra proclaim the mid-night.
Come.'

He lighted a taper at the lamp of swans, and they proceeded to
the laboratory. It was in the coenaculum, or upper story of the
house. They passed through a range of chambers crowded with fur-
naces and crucibles, and stopped at a small door. It was made of iron,
and seemed to have been let into the wall after the house was
built. As Virgil touched a secret spring, it flew back, and showed
a dark room beyond. This room was without a rooi^ for on en-
tering, Publius felt the night- air, and saw the stars above him.
The floor was strewn with earth, and exhaled a rich, damp smell.
What with the unexpected sight of the stars, and the uncertain
light of the taper trembling in the hands of the poet, it was some
time before the knight could realize where he was. He stood in
a circular chamber representing the celestial spheres. The wall
was divided into twelve compartments — the number of signs in
the Zodiac — and adorned with astronomical figures. Between
these compartments were ciphers, composed of numerals, and the
letters of various alphabets, and above and below were belts of
mysterious signs — the lotus of India, the winged globe of the
Egyptians, and the sacred triangle of the Cabbala u the figures

1868.] ITte Death of Virgil 269

on the wall were calculated to astonish Publias, what must have
been his bewilderment when the wall itself seemed to move I He
Tabbed his eyes to make sure that he was not dreaming, and
looked again. Again it moved ! He was in a revolving chamber !
Looking at the floor, which he feared would open beneath him, he
8aw at ms feet a sarcophagus. It was half full of earth, and beside
it was a basket of plants and two large braziers for burning in-
cense.

* My hour is come,' said Virgil feintly. * Place me in the sar-
cophagus, and cover me with the magic herbs. Light the braziers
and stand them at my head and feet. Then leave me. Seal the
door, as I commanded, and expect me on the Ides of March.' A
sadden tremor ran through his frame, and he sank back in the
arms of his friend.

He was placed in the sarcophagus and covered with the plants,
and the braziers were liffhted. ' Vale ! Virgil, vale ! ' said Pub-
lios, and retreated from the chamber. In the laboratory he found
a jar of wax, with which he sealed the door. He stamped the
seal with his signet-ring, and retraced his steps, starting from
ids own shadow which the dying taper threw on the wall. At
last he reached the library, and, to distract his mind from what he
had heard and seen, he took the manuscript epic and began to
read it. He fell asleep in the sixth book, leaving ^neas in the in-
fernal re^ons, and wandered in a labyrinth of dreams. Now he
was in the Chamber of the Zodiac, lying in state in the sarcopha-
gus, drenched with the dew, and stifled with the smoke of the in-
oense ; anon he was a ghost in the awful world of the dead. He
stood on the flirther bank of the Styx beseeching Charon to carry
him back to the earth, but the grim old ferryman was inexora-
ble. He was awakened in the morning by the sparrows. * Tlie
bird that was dead is singing,' he said ; ' and the rose, I see, is
Hving. There is hope for Vir^.'

On the third of the nones there came a message for Virgil from
the Emperor. The messenger was admitted into the atrium,
where Publius received him. * The poet,' he said, ' cannot be
seen.' He was followed by a second messenger, and then Augus-
tas came.

* How is this,' he demanded, * that Virgil denies himself? '

* Be not angry, Caesar, it was I who dismissed thy messenger.
I told the truth. Virgil cannot be seen till the Ides of March.'

* But where is he ? and why do I find thee here in his stead ? '
Then Publius related to the Emperor all that had happened ;

Virgil's conversation in the Corinthian room ; the marvels that he
perrormed in the library ; and his immolation of himself in the
Chamber of the Zodiac.

* This is a strange tale,' said Augustus thoughtfully. * Where
is the room in which you say he lies ? '

* I dare not show it, CsBsar, for I have sealed the door for nine
days.'

260 Hymn of the Early Christians. [September

* Show me the room ; I must see him,*

* He will appear on the Ides of March.'

* Slaves ! | shouted Augustus to the domestics of Tirgil, who
came hurrying at his call, ' lead me to the laboratory of your mas-
ter* 1 am the Emperor*'

The terrified slaves obeyed him.

He tore the wax from the door^ and Hot finding the sprint
which opened it, he bade theffl break it dowli, They battered it
with beams until it cave way, and drew back for the £mperor to
enter. He found the chamber as the knight had described it:
there were the signs of the Zodiac on the wall, and there the bra-
ziers and the sarcophagus. The Zodiac, however, had ceased to
revolve^ and one of the braziers was overturned. The sarcopha-
gus wJEW empty I ' He is not h^re, after all,' he thought. * It must
be that t'ublius hath murdered him;'

But now on^ of the slaves drew his attention to a pile of with-
ered plants on the &rther sid^ of the chamber. He ordered him
to scatter it that he might seel if there was aily thing beneath ; but
before he could do so, he was Suddenly (Confronted by the figure
of a naked child. It stamped its feet, and tore iUI hair^ and shrieb-
ing, ^JLostl Lost I ^ disappeared. At that mometit the wall fell
in. The Emperor sprang through the door and escaped, but the
slave was crushed in the ruins.

When Augustus returned to the library of Virgil he found Pub-
lias burning a roll of parobment. ^ I am obeying the last wishes
of the dea^' be said st^^y, ^ as thou shouldst have done. Hadst
thou but hearkened to me, the dead wonld soon have been living,
and Borne wonld not now deplore her poet. But it is too late,
and I have burned his manuscripts.'

' Madman ! thou hast not destroyed them all ? *

^ No ! I could not destroy this, it was 90 beautifnl,' and be held

out the cedar scrinum.
It contained the JBneid,

H71CH OF THB BA&LT CHBI8TIAX8.

YLcU 6t fuv&Q /c T. A.

0 BL18BID God ! to Thu I bring
My humble Toice Tht praise to sing ;
And when my voice I cease to raise,

1 will Tht name with silence praise :
For voice and silence both are heard
Alilte by Thsb, thou sovereign Word :
Fathkb divine, inefOaible,

Almighty God unsearchable. ■.»,▼.&

1858.] Hhymers^ Quacka^ and Svmkug. 261

'bhymebs, quacks, ahd humbug.'

Some bards collect and give the worid their Tene,
So middling bad *t were better if 't were wone ;
But, puffed in papers by their priyate diqiie,
The first edition scarcely lasts a week ;
A second's oaUed for — and so, out it oomes
With a new rattle of admiring drums.
Then certain honest persons, green and good,
Go buy the book, because they *re told they should :
But that is all — it were too much indeed
To ask that any should both buy imd read.
The bard, elated, elevates his nose
At common persons, who converse in prose ;
Looks wild, abstracted, wanders through the town,
And, d la Btbon, wears his collar down -^
Lets his beard aiow and never combs his hair,
Talks to himself and gestures to the air,
Till sober lovers of the public peaee
Esteem him mad and summon the police.
Mistaken men I who never learned the rule
By which to tell a maniac from a fool !
Of fools the shallowest, idiots most complete,
Wiser than wisest in his own conceit,
Victim of pu£b and dupe of partial praise.
Like some vain hen, he cackles o'er his latft ;
Till lime has addled his poetic eggs.
Pulled off his wings and set him on his legs.
Convinced at last that poets are not made,
He rails at letters like a new Jaok Oaob ;
Or if perverse, he stall keeps twisting prose
Into loose lines like onions strung in rows ;
Makes songs for prizes, oandy^onring rhyme,
Mottoes for kisses, which witii ' blisses' chime ;
* Breeze ' follows * trees,' and ever alter ' love,'
Comes the soft cooing of the plaintive ' dove.'
Ah t luckless baord I had he not known * the Muse,'
He might have ftimidied valuaUe shoes,
And, when his days of usefulness had passed,
StUl proudly turned and pointed to his laU.

Plato, the golden-minded, in Us youth.
Loved trifles better than pursidt A truth ;
He wrote two trage^es and several songs
Full of such nonsense as to verse belongs ;
But when on wisdom he resolved to bend
His mind, and con our being's aim and end,
He broke in pieces his poetic lyre,
And wisely threw his verses in the fire.
Oh t that small poets In our modem times.
Would make a bonfire of thdr early thymes,
To serious tasks their fiu^uMes compote,
Study philosophy and write in prose !

No age in literature was ever known
One-Sftieth part so * gifted * as our own :

262 Ithymers^ Qitacksy and Humbug. [September,

At least yoa *11 think so, if you but believe

The journals critical, that ne^er deceive.

One that with care I Ve conned these six years past,

(Long may it flourish ! ever may it last !)

Precept on precept, line succeeding line.

Has told its readers every book was fine.

The latest volume was the very best,

Until one more exceeded all the rest.

0 brilliant era ! in so long a time,

Not to produce the least poor prose or rhyme !

*Tis surely golden^ not a bit of brass,

And wholly lighted by the sun, not gas I

Not only authors, but our statesmen, too,
Are splendid fellows, and they 're not *• a few/
Each country village does the most it can
To have its one remarkabUf great man.
Ah I there he goes I the wonder of his age !
Tremendous talents ! yes — he *s * all the rage t '
Strong with the pen and stronger at the bar.
Of biggest magnitude — a first-rate star t
Bee vrhat profundity his looks express !
Of manners heedless, sloven in his dress.
Wears his slouched hat upon his hinder head.
Seeming just risen ready clothed from bed :
Went once to Congress ; there he won renown,
Bullied the speaker, knocked a member down ;
Now he*s reposing on his laurels here —
^ We 're going to make him (Governor next year ! '

Another portrait, now my hand is in,

Here will I draw before the paint grows thin ;

Should it lack coloring to the common eye.

Who knows the sketch can all the hues supply.

Some folk there are by Nature doomed to parove

That man was bom incessantly to move.

Such is that biped, rather tall and slim,

Who deems few places good enough for him ;

No spot contents him but a year or so :

Ask where he is, you 're answered, * On the go.'

Where he was ' raised,' and dwelt some years at least,

Is that queer country which is called *• down East ; '

Thence on a * shingle ' was he known to glide,

A human waif on Time's resistless tide.

First through Connecticut his way he took,

Retailing something which he named * a book '-—

A book, half bound, with lines that looked like ruts,

And illustrated with distressing * outs ; '

Serious and stupid, moral, mean, and mild.

With useful reading for the littlest child.

Ask next what occupies his busy brain :

He goes conductor of a railway tnun.

But soon, grown weary of the rushing car,

He * hires at taverns and attends the bar.

Ere twelve-month passes he resumes his wings,

Scorning to mix perpetual punch and slings.

The next you hear, he 's settled calm and oool,

Pursuing physic while he teaches school,

After some lapse again he stirs his stumps

Through various cities, lecturing on bump.s,

1858.] BhymefB, Quaekij and JRumbug. 263

Or hydropathy, or some other core,

All very different, but very sore.

At length comes out * New Work by Dr. Svooks! *

BeghiB with peddlhig ; ends with making books.
*■ A self-taught genius ! ' cries the weekly press ;
' His book on biibies meets with vast success ;

The regular faculty are much perplexed ;

His life and portrait wiU adorn our next !

By every person be his notice read

On our last page : * No Humbug I ' at its head.'

Immortal Humbug ! at thy call arise

Shapes without number, forms of every sixe :

Produced by thee in denser throngs they sweep

Than e'er were smnmoned from the * vasty deep.'

The very mention of thy name invokes

The puff, the brag, the falsehood, and the hoax ;

Each a Plmdora with a Jar in hand.

To scatter worse than evils through the land :

Notorious nostrums, candies, drops, and pills,

g'ake them, 0 friends t but first indite your wills ;)
ew creeds, new codes, new systems of expense,
(Adopt them aU, and say * farewell ' to sense.)

How dolts and dunces love transparent Ues I
They trust assertion sooner than their eyes ;
To them one promise is worth twenty acts ;
Imagination takes the place of facts;
Folly their pleasure, nonsense their delight.
To those they dedicate each day and night.
Where they abide, Truth's lamp is never lit ;

* The curfew tolls the knell of parting ' wit ;
Reason, disgusted, flies where Humbug rules,

* And leaves the world to darkness and to ' fools.
Yet things like these have long ceased to amaze ;
Ho more astonishment can Fakehood raise ;

'T is g^own too common ; Truth were much more strange.

If it were only for the sake of change.

Few marvels now the busy mind engage

In this gold-seeking, gold-discovering age,

Where Love himself forsakes his bowers for mines,

And all our fire-sides turn to MAikMON's shrines.

I used to wonder at the strife for wealth.

The reckless sacrifice of peace and health,

The tireless treading of the daily mill,

Incessant work, and all of it up hilL

But that was when my years were young and green.

And through a glass mankind were darUy seen ;

Since older grown, distmcter views I trace,

And see my fellow-sinners face to face.

This truth I 've learned — a truth of sternest stuflE^

There lives no man, who ever had enough ;

Enough — the horizon that forever flies.

Recedes in distance as you near the skies ;

Enough — the rainbow, whose alluring hues

Fade as man gazes, melt while he pursues.

264 A Common Woman^B Moperienee. [September,

A COMMON WOMAN'S BXPEBIENCE.

A WBiTBB in some modem magasdne, speaking of his heroine,*
has said : ' She had an ideal of lire and love, as all women have ;
but, like almost all women, had neither the courage nor the integ-
rity to cleave to that ideal.'

It is a truth. He was a subtle student in woman nature. And,
had he generously added that woman may not go forth and search
out her ideal as man may, and may not openly strive to win it as
man may, we women would have read his words without writhing.

I live in a quiet, inland town, and know no people whose histo-
ries are callea romantic and thrilling. Still I know stories of com-
mon lives which prove how difficult it is for women, unless they
be surpassingly beautiful, or wealthy, or gifted, to obey their best
impulses of action, and to live up to the code of conduct laid down
for them by men who think finely but have never suffered.

If Amelia Hall had not the beauty which belongs to the com-
plete woman, she had her nature and her pecuKar genius. And I
hold it is the most poetic order of genius which makes home a
beautiful and happy place. The painter and the writing poet have
always exquisite and abundant mateiial with which to work. But
woman (we speak of her in common homes, not of her in a palace)
has often dingy things and doled supply with which to deal ; but
if she has genius, she always creates a place to which man comes
for rest.

All women are said to resemble some flower, as all men some
tree. Amelia HaU was like a rose, one of those roses which have
a centre of fkiot star-color and single circle of pink petals as they
spring up wild on road-sides and meadows, but which burst out
with gorgeous, golden hearts and prodigality of crimson corolla
if they are transplanted to cultured gardens.

She was an English girl, an orphan, and a dependent on the
bounty of her uncle, a rich old man who lived in my native town.

I think it is a trait of all girls, whether gay or pencdve, to tell to
each other their aspirations and ambitions.

^ How often I remember what Amelia Hall used to say,' re-
marked a ftiend last week, recounting to me the &te8 of various
dreamers. ' While some of us hoped to be poets, and one a queen,
and one an actress, and another a traveller, and many content to
be rich men's wives with splendid wardrobes and jewel-cases, the
foreigner used to say : ^ O American girls I None of you speak
of your homes nor of your husbands, unless to say they must be
rich and handsome. Hear how I could be happy. I would have
a home in a village of white houses, wide, cool streets, parks, and
many gardens and fountains. Half a mile from the village each
way, there should be woods, and every where streams of water and
rustic bridges. I wish I might have a husband dark, tall, fine, and
athletic as an Arab chief, chivalrio as an olden knight, tender in

1858.] A Common Woman^s Ssq)erience. 265

heart as a eentle paffe, and gifted as the Grecian poets. And un-
less I can have such a home and husband, I will always remain
Amelia Hall, and work in uncle's dairy-room.' I remember bow
we used to laugh at the English girl for being prosy and domestic'

Until she was twenty-ft)ur, Amelia Hall waited for her noble
lover to arrive from the picturesque village. She was content the
while to make butter and cheese, and to chat with the rustic
yomig men of the adjacent farms. Until then she was content,
sandalled with the fairy shoon of fancy, to walk in the folding par-
lors of her porticoed and balconied mture home, to arrange the
flowers, pictures, and furniture, and at twilight to sit in the white-
piUared portico, or to go down the avenue of trees and watch at
the Gk>thic gate for the noble one beloved. As firmly and coolly
as if already affianced, she refused offer after offer from the
wealthy and honest &rmers.

At this period her uncle lost his property, and then his wife.
Ilien they two were penniless — he an invalid old man, and she a
poor, poor orphan. On her twenty-fourth birth-night, as she
walked in the orchard as usual at sun-down, her uncle, lame and
qaemlous, joined her and leaned on her arm. She saw hope on his
poor old face. His voice was cheery as he began : ' Well, Millie.
Feel old maid-like ? Twenty-four this minute and no loser I Is
it well, lassie ? '

Millie smiled in her subdued fashion. She looked down at her
fiM>e in the mirror of the brook. It was oval, smooth, and deli-
cately rosy.

* I see, 1 see. You English keep well,' said the old man quickly.

* But you '11 alter, lassie, when you have to work night and day
for bread and calico. What do you mean to do to get these two
thines ? ' and he eyed her cunningly.

* r shall work at something and take care of us. I could teach,
I think,' she replied.

* Keep school for eight or ten shillings a week ? Starvation
wages, girl. It would n't keep us both. If I was out of the way
it might do. But I 've a much better way, Millie. Old Yale's
son — the one with horses, and chariots, and farms, and mills, and
houses — wants you for a wife. He's been to-day talking with
me about you. Why do n't you smile, girl ? '

* I never could marry a man like George Yale,' she said.

* He '8 the comcliest young man in town,' the old man continued.

* He 'd worship a Ifttle lady-hke woman like you. You could wind
him around your little finger easier than you can that ribbon.
He 'U always be a home man. Consider him.'

She considered the stalwart &rmer six feet hi^h, with his sun-
bornt face and still, constrained demeanor. ^ I dislike to think of
him,' she said.

* Consider him, I say. I can 't bear to see you a slave for me ;
you '11 soon be a miserable old woman. Marry him and have a
home, and let me have a quiet room to die in. Yes, I 've heard
the girls tell how you was going to marry a grand talking gentle-

266 A Common Woman^s JSxperience. [September,

man. But I '11 warn you you '11 live a disappointed old maid if
you wait for this iancy man. Stop, not a word. Think of it,
think of it, before you make a tow,' and he hobbled to the house
muttering.

Instead of Fancy, Reason spoke that evening to Miss Hall.
* Romantic young woman,' Reason said, ' do you know that you
have never even seen this man whom you prettily call ' mate ? '
There are no such men in your town, and I assure you, you will
never be known beyond its boundaiies. Better accept the most
eligible offer you have while it is open.'

*• But it is not in me to guide a man to beauty and wisdom,' the
heart earnestly plead ; ^ I would be led to higher summits. I shall
only go back mto the low-lands if I obey you, for I know I am in-
finitely superior to Greorge Yale and all his comrades.'

' Do n't talk metaphysics to me,' said Reason coldly. * I had
rather know what you think of working day and night to support
yourself and your uncle while you wait for this fancy man. What
do you think of your old uncle's dying in the alms-house ? What
do you think of becoming a faded, old maid, eh ? — a faded old
maid, at whom, if he should meet her, the great gentleman would
not look ? '

Millie sighed wearily. More softly Reason continued : ^ Is it
not better to be mistress of that comfort-full establishment? Is it
not better to give your poor uncle a home, even at the sacrifice of
a few fine sensations ? Would it be too much for his years of care
for you ? Be assured,' Reason concluded in an awful tone, * be as-
sured I have looked every way, and there is no wonderful knight
on the road coming to rescue you.'

Amelia Hall wtdked once more ^ sad and slow, sad and slow,'
through that porticoed and balconied house of the future ; she
paced once more down the avenue of maples, and bathed in tears
the hand of the prince-like one who would have led her back to sit
with him in the white-pillared portico. She locked the Gothic gate,
and brushed from the mystic sandals the dust of the cool, wide
streets of that lovely village, and laid them away in a lonely room
of her heart, whose doors she barred.

Then she prepared to marry George Yale. She wore no sacrifi-
cial air. Her old uncle laughed like a boy and blessed her with
tearful eyes. She was womanly and sympathetic with her lover.
She interested herself in his roughly-told plans. He lost some of
his ruggedness of manner under her touch, and a little poetrr
latent m his heart flamed into life beneath her gentle breath. With
some pleasure she mused : ^ I can change him. May be my life
will not be so dreadful'

She was married to him, and smiled as some intimate friend re-
minded her of her ideal home and husband.

In beautifying and keeping her home beautiful, in infusing her
delicate tastes mto her husband's nature, Mrs. Yale found a real
and womanly pleasure. But she ever grew pure and angel-like.

1858.] A Common Womari^s .JExperience. 267

She was not strengthened ; she did not develop into the luxuriant
double-rose.

They had been married three years when they were visited by
a distant kinsman of Mr. Tale. Stanwix Mason was a professor in
a Southern academy. He was a man of genius, and also a tho-
rough man of the world. He was like Amelia Hall's ideal
husband.

Of course he at once read the peculiar disposition of the husband
and wife. Then he noticed the lady's still blue eye kindle at a
picture he drew of a Southern scene. He watched the veins throb
m the white, swelling temples as he talked on in the picturesque
style which characterizes his books. A temptation glided to his
side.

He saw how little her beautiful arts of house-keeping were appre-
ciated by her husband, (who, though he did love nis wife, was ex-
tremely matter-of-fact,) and he dared to talk to her in this wise as
they sat in the parlor one day : ^ I think you are an exquisite artist,
Cousin Amie. Do you know I have been admiring the drapery
of your rooms and your vases ever since I came ? I seldom see
their like, save in pictures. I can read dreams of yours in every
bouquet you make for me. Poets compose other things than
poems. I know something of your nature and your history per-
naps from that special little library in yon white-draped cabmet
that looks like a chapel where a lovely, lonely lady might go to
weep and pray.'

* I do not know why you talk to me so strangely,* said Mrs.
Tale coldly, her pride starting up in arms before the locked doors
of her heart.

* Pardon me, fair cousin,' he responded. * Become acquainted
with me, and then, if I am worthy, confide in me.'

There were many evenings in which the three sat together on
the stoop, Mr. Tale balancing his books, and the cousin reading
aloud to the lady of the house from the Greek of Homer, and from
Shakspeare and the Brownings. The young wife was exhilarated
in the new atmosphere. She grew gay and beautiful. Her hus-
band was happy of the change, and the guest grew more genial.

One night, when this cousin had read and talked to her until
she was bewildered by the beauty and light he poured upon her
soul, and when at parting for the night, he raised her hands to his
mouth and kissed them, and murmured : ' Poor, poor little
Amie ; » that night the thrilling truth burst upon her. She was
beloved by her cousin.

^ Too late, too late I' she cried sharply as she fled along the pas-
sage to her room.

An hour later, Stanwix Mason, pacing up and down the garden-
walks, as was his wont, saw through the open casement Amie
kneeling by her bed-side in prayer. He saw her rise serene and
kiss the swarthy brow of her husband. He understood the peace
in her eyes and turned away with a thwarted face. The next day
he smilingly bade them adieu for the South ; and the husband and

268

7%e Chriatiari^a MeveUU.

[September,

wife took up again the even tenor of their still-gliding lives ; the
honest husband happy and contented with his home and wife, liv-
ing his best possible life, and she with half her nature in chains
and darkness — her greatest happiness that she has made others
happy.

^d multitudes of women like Amelia Hall are called cowardly
and mercenary, while they are really brave and unselfish. They
are true to what they deem duty, if not to the instincts of their
hearts.

THE

christian's

bbvsillA.

Wht in anguish
Dost thou lan^ish,

Cbristian ! while such bhss awaits thee ?
Why lamenting,
Though tormenting,

Cometh oft the toe that hates thee ?

Jbsus lireth !

Strength He giyeth
To the soul that needful prayeth :

Lo ! He blesses

Him that presses
Strong his suit, and ne'er delajeth.

Oh! to-morrow,

No more sorrow
Shall with awful weight oppress thee,

If not grieying,

But beueving,
Tbou wilt ask Him to caress thee.

Be not fearful,

E'en though tearful
To Him now thine eye uptumeth :

Cloud-drops lighten,

Dark souls brighten,
When in Heaven His glory bnmeth.

Oft His fin^r

Near will linger
In the hour of death's fierce trial,

Backward tracing

Shadows chasing
Moments graren on life's oial.

Or if ever

Life must sever.
O'er the yawning grave He hovers,

And the spirit

Takes t' inherit
Homes where saints are guests and lovers.

Child of Heaven I

Though thine even
Ever be to darkness leading.

Still life's zenith

Star-lit leaneth
O'er thy soul some radiance spreading.
May, 185S.

Make petition

In contrition
O'er thy sins the past inhnmeth ;

For thy spirit.

Through TThrist's merit.
See I in ftiture glory bloometh I

Bright suns rise on

Thy horizon,
And thine, though veiled with waning,

Jov-beams catcheth.

While it watcheth
For the promised light of morning.

Rise, and arm thee I

If alarm thee
All the threats of Time while fleeing :

Never drooping.

Never stooping.
Spam the weights of present being.

Neither weepings

Neither sleeping.
Be thoa found when Christ i^peeretb :

Seek thy pleasures

Where its treasures
Heavenly Hope in wisdom beareth.

Ever fighting, ^

Though aff^hting
Satan's shafts around thee rattle,

Stand thou steady.

Bold and ready —
Drive him from the field of battle !

And

For life gasping,
God's swora grasping,
thy loins girt, keep thy stMi

Never flying.

E'en though dying.
Wear the helmet of salvation !

Onward ever 1

Faint thou never,
Though thy brow be dimmed or hoevy ;

Till in Heaven

Shall be given
To thee harp and crown of glory !

18S8.]

I^t in yirgifiia.

hits IV VIBGINI

To A. 0. B : /iuguwr ^inffi, IM* Jiilg, 18S9.

Mt De&b Friend : Tou ask me to write you a very brief sketch
of my Impressions of Country Life in Virginia. How can you make
no unreasonable a request to a man who for thirty years of bis life
has been accustomed to prose in three volumes ? Had you not
put in that little word ' bnef,' I might perhaps have made some-
thing of it. ' Impressions of Country Life in Virginia, in two

TOL, UL 18

270 Life in Virginia. [September,

volumes quarto, by etc.,' would have been much more in my way,
and would have been an imposing title : but a brief sketch ! Good
Heaven I it is a frightful undertaking ! Moreover, there are a
thousand other objections. I have no amanuensis here — no living
pen — and my own hand-writing is so delicately fine, that printers
have the greatest difficulty in discovering whether ' Constantinople'
means ' Kamtschatka, or if * St. Petersburg ' is intended for * Sebas-
topol.' Beside, where is the story ?

• Story ! God bless you, I hare none to tell, Sir ; '

and what can I do without a story ?

Again, consider the variety of phases in Virginia country life :
the farm life ; the village life ; the watering-place life ; the negro
life ; the Eastern Virginia life ; the Western Virginia life ; the Pan-
handle life ! My dear friend, it cannot be done ! You might as
well call the history of a Ring-tailed monkey 'brief tale.'

Above all, am I not the laziest man in the world, especially in
hot weather ? It is true, I am here in one of the calmest and
sweetest spots in the world, where the beauty of the scenery, the
gentle but well-marked undulations of the landscape, sink quietly
into the spirit, and dispose to peaceful thought ; where the gay,
musical carol of the ' miserable, down-trodden,' happy, contented
slave gives that vein of thought a far more calmly-cheerful turn
than can ever be received among the sons of toil in great cities.
True, also, that at Fauquier, cool shade from ancient trees can
always be found without going five steps from your cabin-door,
and that a delicious breeze plays in and out continually among the
unencumbered trunks, while the fallow deer in the park sport
about close by, as if they wished every one near to come and
sport with them. True, the eye and the ear receive nothing but
what is lovely from the hand of Nature. But alas I with me, this
disposes only to greater laziness; and it is in the din of cities alone
that I am disposed to shut out horrid sights and sounds, by the
creations of fancy and art, or by the memories or treasured stores
of the past. What makes me like this place so much — far more
than any watering-place I have seen m Virginia — it would be
difficult to say. Probably it is the shade and the trees. I remem-
ber, some twenty years ago or more, writing a little piece of verse
on my thirty-fifth birth-day. It was composed — if that can be
called composed which cost no trouble — ma fine grove of well-
i^rown trees standing upon clear turf; and the beginning, if I re-
member rightly, was as follows :

* Now half through lifers allotted space,

I stand upon the brink
Of latter days' sere autumn-tide,

And pause a while to think :
To think and ask, of all that I
In the long past have seen,
What, had the choice been left to me —
What, what I would have been ?
Of all conditions and degrees, on this side of the flood.
Oh I make me a king's forester in some old shady wood I ^

1868.] . lAfe in Virginia. 271

The same tastes have remained with me. I love the shady
wood as well as ever ; and if I am to be any body's forester, let
me be a king's. Not that I would imply that Fauquier is seated
in the bosom of a forest, for there are wide fields and sunny glades
between ; but there are trees enough, and those well enough dis-
posed, to afford shade at every hour to every walk. If there be
salamanders, they can find sunshine enough. Heaven knows, to
warm even their cold natures. For my part, give me the shade
from beneath which, on ' the tall eastern hill,' I can see the wide
expanse of glowinglandscape in its rich harvest dress, and catch
sweeps of the Bluc%idge, with its magical and ever-varying gleams
of light and shadow.

The Rappahannoc, too, gliding along in its fair valley, just be-
yond the park-like Touniamcnt-ground, ought to make thought
run sweetly on along with its flowing waters ; but this, with me,
only induces greater idleness. A running stream always does so.
I am inclined to sit upon the bank and let time flow with the
river : not without thoughts, not without fancies ; but without the
energy to put them down. Vague impressions of beauty and
pleasure come over the spirit, without the aid of Hachiz ; and the
mere lapse of pleasant moments seems to bring us nearer to that
Heaven, where the mere consciousness of the glory and goodness
of the Almighty may form the beatitude of those wlio have
served Him faithfully on earth. Moreover, the comforts of this
place, the absence of those wants and necessities which afflict one
m many other waterjng-places — the scramble for a bed that one
can sleep upon, or a dinner that one can eat, or a pitcher of water
that one can drink, or a towel wherewith one can wash — leads to
the same lazy result. Delicately fed without paying the waiters
for every dish ; promptly attended without feeing the servants
beforehand ; civility amounting to kindness ; and readiness instead
of dull indifference, render these Springs ' a pleasant land of
drowsyhead,' to use good old lazy Thomson's words, into which
I would not advise any one to enter who is bent upon labor, but
where the spirit freed from the load of business, or the mind
absolved from the load of care, may find a month's Sabbath, and
return refreshed to the duties and the toils of life.

And yet you ask me to write * a brief sketch of, etc. I ' How
can I do it ? How can I write at all in such a place ? The only
way, I suppose, will be to £sdl into the old strain, and make a pic-
turesque story of it, thus :

' One beautiful summer's evening when the movement of the
gentle waters of the Rappahannoc brouffht a sweet refreshing gale
to temper the heat of the July sun, and the over-hanging trees of
the lovely valley afforded shade to the temples of the weary tra-
veller ; when the singing of the birds and the murmur of the
doves spread a pleasing and musical tranquillity around, and the
slowly-moving masses of light cloud, throwing blue flitting shadows
as they passed, gave infimte variety to the fields golden with the

272 Life in Virginia, [September,

wheat, or verdant with the yet immature com, a solitary horse-
man ' ^

Stop : that will never do. I intend to make some capital out of
that solitary horseman yet, if it be but in favor of my good-nature :
but I must not bring him in here ; and while the pen is still run-
ning on upon the paper, I will try to give a few of my impressions
of Virginia Country Life in a more sober and solenm form.

VIBOINIA C O n N T B T LI7B.
PLAKTATION LIPX.

HosprrALiTY, in one shape or another, is spread over the whole
United States ; but its form varies much, according, I believe, to
the different races from which the adjacent population sprung.
In great cities, indeed, there cannot be much true hospitality shown
by any citizen, unless he be enormously wealthy, or one of those
benevolent persons who loves to entertain the pertinaceous drop-
per-in at dinner-time. It is a curious thing that the near proximity
of human beings, like the approach of the reverse ends of mag-
nets, produces repulsion and not attraction ; but so it is. The
country is the only real scene of hospitality, and this is very general,
I might say universal, throughout these States. In the North,
peopled principally by the descendants of the old Lollards after
they had gone through the phase of Puritanism, it is a more
square and angular virtue, sometimes impinging a little upon other

i)eople's rounds and curves. But still, lrom*Maine to Connecticut,
'. suppose there are few men who would refuse some entertainment
to the weary wayfarer. In the far West there is not a cabin where,
as long as there was a place left upon the floor, the traveller
might not lie down to rest, and be welcome to a meal, if it were
to be had.

The Virginians, sprung for the most part from the old Cavaliers,
retain the more frank and profuse spirit of their face. They will
in general eat with you, drink with you, fight with you, or let you
do the same with them, without the slightest ceremony. To them
hospitality seems a mere matter of course. There is no ostenta-
tion about it, no parade. Every now and then there may be a
formal dinner-party, it is true ; and it is possible, nay, I think it is
likely, that every one at the board feels himself more or less im-
comfortable at a certain degree of ceremonious restraint. But the
usual course is quite different. In every well-to-do planter's
house there is a dinner provided for the family, which may consist
of five or six. Now, in this quarter of the world, what will do
for five or six will do for five or six and thirty, and there will be
no want. There is always plenty^ though perhaps we could not
add no waste. There is a lavish abundance, which in some degree
smacks of the olden time in the green island, and still farther back
was not unknown in England. The day's round is simply this :
all rise early ; then, in most families, come prayers ; then the
ample breakfast, to which the household drop in one by one, as it

18£8.]

X^6 in Virginia.

278

fioitB them ; and then the Beparation to various pursuits, according
to the various eeasons of the year. The studious man takes up
Ilia book ; the sporting man shoulders his gun ; the miatress of the
house seeks her basket of keys, and puts her household in order ;
the master or his sons go out to see that the blessed labors of thn

plough or the hoe are not neglected by the servants in the field ;
the daughters have the piano or the song. About, or rather aftei'
noon, the visitors begin to drop in — sometimes neighbora and in-
limatc ftiends, sometimes strangers with letters in their bands.
'ITien comes the universal 'Will you not stay to dine? Of
(Xtnrae you are going to remain the night.' It is to be remarked,

274 lAfe in Virginia, [September,

that Virginia houses and Virginia tables are all made of india-
rubber, and stretch to any extent. I speak of course of the
country, where you are not ' cabined, cribbed, confined ' by strange
masses of brick and mortar.

The walk, the ride, the book, are often varied, it is true, by
special business or amusement. It may be a fox-hunt ; it may be
a drill of volunteers ; it may be a public meeting ; for Virginians,
God save the mark ! are not free from the curse of politics, or the
drudgery of self-imposed and often infructuous functions. Beside,
I think there are some six or seven hundred elections in the year,
from watchmen up to Governors, where few men of public spirit
would fail to exercise the inalienable rights of American citizens,
even were their devotion to cost their health, wealth, and re-
pose. If some wise person had not devised the plan of putting
a dozen or two of candidates for various offices upon a partv ticket,
the poor citizens would have had nothing to do all their hves'but
to dect.

There is no lack of amusement, however, in a Virginian country
house. Many, indeed most of the country gentlemen are well
read, though not profoundly learned ; and the character of the
popular mmd, discursive and expatiating, renders conversation
lively and interesting. There is, beyond doubt, a fondness for
abstraction, but it is by no means carried to the extent which
some of their Northern fellow-citizens impute to the people of this
State ; and one great blessing is, that we never find that tendency
lead to discussion o^ free grace and predestination.

Thus, in easy toil and pleasant amusement pass the hours of
summer daylight. The autumn — the finest but least healthy
season of the year — has also its enjoyments. More exercise can
be then taken, either on horse-back or on foot, and life runs as
smoothly on the large plantations as it does in any country of the
earth. True, the intense heat of the summer, musquitoes, and every
winged pest that lives, detract a little, especially from the enjoy-
ment of foreigners ; and sometimes, toward night, a little dnlness
comes upon the march of Time. But then, for the gentlemen, at
least, and sometimes for the ladies also, come the 'coon-hunt or
the 'possum-hunt. Both must be pursued at night, and are full
of sport. For the latter, the party must set out in the early dark-
ness. Dogs, gentlemen, negroes, all assemble at the house or near
it, and then forth they issue to the spots most frequented by the
cunning vermin. On they go upon the darkling path, till suddenly
the sharp eyes or sharp scent of the dogs discover the night-wan-
derer, and they rush after him, tracking every step. The opossum
does not usually run far, but betakes himself speedily to the first
little tree he meets with, after he has found out that he is pursued.
Up he goes to some thin branch above, and clings, well satisfied
to think that his four-footed enemies cannot come after him ; bat
there are the cunning bipeds too upon his trail. He is besieged
in his fortress ; the little tree is either bent down to the ^ound,
so shaken that he can hold no longer, or cut down by the blows of

1868.] lAfe in Virginia. 276

an axe. Down flounders Master 'Possum, and lies quite still, as
if he were killed by the fall : not a sign of life in him — hands,
feet, tail, all still — on his back, on his side, just as he fell. But
he is only ' playing 'possum ; ' and the negro gourmand or expe-
rienced hunter knows the trick right well, and they soon carry him
off to grace the spit the following day.

The raccoon hunt is pursued in much the same manner ; but
good coon-dogs are indbpensable, and the chase takes place in the
oarly morning. More active and more game, he gives more sport,
runs faster and farther, and when brought down from his tree, shows
fight, to the detriment of his canine, and sometimes his human
pursuers. But 'Coon's fate and 'Possum's are both the same in the
end, and the skin is the trophy of the victory.

But a Virginia marriage is perhaps the highest exemplification
of the country life in this State. Form, ceremony, are abandoned,
though many a good old custom still prevails. Friends, relatives
pour in from all quarters : no regard is had to the size of the house
or the sort of accommodation. Abundance of every thing is found,
and if there be a defect, it is never noticed in the universal hilarity
that prevails. Nor are the rejoicings restrained to one day I I
have Known them last the week, and the whole bridal party cross
a broad river to renew on the other side of the water the merri-
ment of the preceding day, with some distant friend or relation.

But enough of plantation Ufe. We need only pause to remark
that there is a class of smaller planters, who represent the sturdy
yeomanry of England, from whom, in all probability, they spring,
as happy probably as their richer neighbors, not so learned, but
endowed with that good, hard common-sense which is the best
every-day wear in the world. They have competence and ease, if
not wealth, and most of them feel with the merry statesman who
exclaimed : ' Give me the otium^ hang the dignitate,'*

There is another phase of Virginia country life, where we do
not have rus in urhe^ but rather wnere the town finds its way into
the country. Let us call this. Village Life. At some particular
spot, the crossing of two or three roads, a rail-road depot, the
passage of a rivdr, or the neighborhood of a tavern, the solitary
house takes unto itself a companion ; another and another follow.
Then must come a store, generally furnished with a vast variety
of heterogeneous articles, such as hard cider and buttons, tape and
butter, bacon and pins, to say nothing of needles, thread, and calico.
Moreover, there is a little store of the most commonly-used medi-
cines : tincture of ginger, hive syrup, and castor oil, a good deal
of laudanum, and a barrel of whiskey. But in the constant mu-
tations of this transitory world, the store is found wanting in some
respect for the needs or caprice of the neighbors. Mrs. Perkins
declares that she never can get any thing she wants at the store :
* Really, Mr. Catskin, who keeps it, should be better supplied.'
In the end, down comes a rival to Mr. Catskin — ' a nice young
man, just married.' He builds himself a house; and the new
■tore IS greatly patronized, especially if Hhe nice young man, just

276 Life in Virginia. [September,

married,' adds the faculty of preaching to that of selling bobbin
and other diy-goods. The place becomes popular ; more dwellings
are added ; the tavern grows into a hotel ; a bar-room gives the
opportunity and inducement to drunkenness ; a row or two takes
place ; and the magnates of the village meet together, and consult
as to what is to be done. They are not at all ambitious : they
would prefer being in the village condition still ; but they are be-
coming populous ; there are at least a hundred and fifty souls in
the place, including women and children ; something must really
be done to keep order; and nothing can be done, till an act of in-
corporation is obtained, and the village turned into a town. Now
there is not a single legislator in the whole State, who has the
least objection to its being a town, the moment that* it likes it :
but a mighty fuss is made over the matter ; the member for the
district is intrusted with the passing of the measure ; it is brought
forward, debated, argued, speeches are made pro and con; and
the inhabitants are delighted with the importance attached to
their bill. At length the measure is carried, and the good souls
obtain the right of electing their own officers, regulating their own
affairs, and managing their own business as unto them seemeth
good. Next comes the first election ; and only fancy the dignity
and satisfaction of every man, woman, child, and little dog in the
Town, There are eight officers to be elected, seven trustees, the
chairman of whom is mayor, and one sergeant, and the number
of electors is eighteen. But, alas ! the contest is neither fierce
nor exciting. Good Virginian common-sense comes into play. A
gentleman of high literary attainments, a good knowledge of law,
and a house with two wings, is the choice of his fellow-citizens for
mayor ; and after a proportionate amount of mint-juleps, the very
best men, probably, who could be selected, are named for the
various offices.

It is a very curious fact, and one worthy of notice, that such in
Virginia is the virtue of mint, an amount of brandv which would
obfuscate the intellect if imbibed in a crude state, is so corrected
and directed by the salubrious herb as to acciminate the perceptive
faculties. There must not be too many glasses, however ; and who
shall say that too many are not sometimes dfank ?

In the mean time, while the election has been going on, neigh-
bors and friends have been pouring into the town of Doodledum-
ville ; the evening shades fall round ; the bar stands invitingly
open, and sundry minor offences are committed which might call
for interference on the part of the mayor ; but happily for himself
and the public, he is not yet in a position to exercise his magis-
terial functions. But those functions must soon be exercised :
municipal laws are enacted, municipal taxes are determined, and
the awful face of justice is unveiled. Now, with the lady of the
scales and weights, as with other people, it does not do to show
her teeth without biting. Some public assemblage takes place.
Heaven knows for what; Mr. .Jeremy from the neighboring:
country gets drunk — very drunk — exceedingly drunk indeed.

IBfiS.]

Idfe in Virginia.

277

He beoomeB pngoacious ; sets mayor and sergeant and even justice
of the peace at defiance ; he draws a bowie-knife ; cares for nobody ;
Mwears he will cut somebody's throat — no matter whose. The
mayor is determined to do his duty; he will have no throats cut
there. The sergeant is equally determined, and, after a stout but

ill-directed resistance, Mr. Jeremy is arrested. What is to be
done with him ? Heaven knows. There is neither prison, cage,
nor lock-up in the whole place. There is not a house strong
enough to keep in a sparrow. The sergeant cannot keep holdin;;
on to his neck all night. But a bright thought strikes the mayor.
Luckily there is the raU-road hard oy, and eke the tavern. The

278 Life in Virginia. [September,

mayor, with a grave and determined countenance, walks up to the
dehnquent and thus addresses him : * Mr. Jeremy, you have com-
mitted a serious offence, which cannot be tolerated in the town of
^ Doodledumville. You have got drunk, and misconducted your-
self: you have damned the chief magistrate, cursed the trustees,
and assaulted the sergeant. The majesty of the law must be vindi-
cated. Sir, till you are sober I shall commit you to prison.'

Then responds Mr. Jeremy: *Go to h — 11, you old coon,
(hiccup.J ftisoni I should like to see your prison, (hiccup;)
where tne devil is your prison ? I care no more for you than for
that nigger boy, (hiccup.) You 've stolen my knife, or I 'd give
you four inches of steel medicine. Did n't I fight in the Mexican
war ? — tell me that (hiccup) — and d 'ye think I care a cuss for
you or your prisons ? Where 's your prison ? You han't got
such a thing, (hiccup.) '

The mayor then replies with dignity : ^ Sir you stand committed !
But as the whole spirit of our laws requires us to temper justice
with mercy, I give you your choice, whether you will oe incarce-
rated in the ice-house or shut up in the box-car of this depot.'

Mb. Jeremy : * I do n't care a straw. Shut me up wnere you
like, and keep me in if you can.'

The box-car is judged preferable, and Mr. Jeremy is marched
off with all the honors ; but alas ! for the impotence of even official
will. Mr. Jeremy had not only served in the Mexican war, but he
had worked on a rail-road, and the next morning the box-car is
found empty, and Mr. Jeremy is ' over the hills and far away.*

Such is one phase of Virginia village life. There are others and
&irer ones where the native kindness of heart and true Christian
benevolence, which find no where greater room for exercise than in
those small communities, are displayed in their brightest light. I
must needs hurry on, however, or fail in obeying your behest.

The negro life of Virginia differs very little, I believe, firom the
negro life all through the South. In return for food, clothing,
house-room, medical attendance, and support in old age, about one
third of the labor which is required ot the white man in most
countries is demanded of the black. He performs it badly, and
would not perform it at all if he were not compelled. The rest of
his time is spent in singing, dancing, laughing, chattering, and
bringing up pigs and chickens. That negroes are the worst serv-
ants in the world, every man, I believe, but a thorough-bred
Southern man, will admit ; but the Southerner has been reared
amongst them from his childhood, and in general has a tenderness
and affection for them of which Northern men can have no concep-
tion. Great care is taken by the law to guard them against op-
pression and wrong ; and after six years' residence in the State, I
can safely say, I never saw more than one instance of cruelty
toward a negro, and that was perpetrated by a foreigner. TTiat
there may still be evils in the system which might be removed by
law, and that there may be individual instances of oppression and
even bad treatment, I do not deny, but those instances are not lo

1858.] lAfe in Virginia. 279

frequent as those of cruelty to a wife or child in Northern lands, as
displayed eyery day by the newspapers ; and in point of general
happiness, it would not be amiss to alter an old adage and say :
* As merry as a negro slave.'

I must not pursue this branch of the subject farther, for.I can
pretend to no great love for Doctor livingstone's friends, the Mako-
lolos. There are, beyond all doubt, some very excellent people
among them ; but, as a race, the more I see of them the less do I
think them capable of civilization, or even fitted to take care of
themselves.

To give any general view of Virginia country life in a brief
space, IS impossible, on account of the great variety of character
which the various parts of the State present. It is only to be
done, if at all, by separate sketches, like that which I have at-
tempted to give of the rise and progress of a Virginia village in
the east. As a pleasant pendant to that picture, I may give you
the portrait from more western life in the State, furnished to me
by a friend who knows well the district of which he speaks, pre-
mising merely that the great Valley of Virginia, stretcmnff nearly
from one side of the State to the other, is one of the richest dis-
' tricts that the sun ever shines upon. He may be a little prejudiced
perhaps ; for according to the old Italian proverb,

* Ad agne uccello
Suo nido e bello ; '

bat let us see what is his portrait of

THB VALLBT VABMBB.

The Western and Eastern Virginian, he says, differ as absolutely
from each other as either does from the New-England Puritans.
Their lineage, their tastes, their habits are directly opposite. A
Valley farmer is a noble specimen of the yeoman. He has little
Latin and less Greek, having derived his education in an ^ old field
school-house,' from a stern Scotch school-master, who was con-
tented with hammering into his knowledge-box the three great
keys to other knowledge, reading, writing, and arithmetic. But
though not learned, the Valley farmer is shrewd, sensible, and re-
fined, with just views of human afiairs, generous to others, but
frujgal himself; industrious and attentive to business, but frill of frm
in ms hours of leisure ; a Democrat in politics, a Presbyterian in
religion, and a colonel in the militia.

As you approach his residence, you will be struck with the neat-
ness and cleanliness of his system of farming, so different from the
more slovenly course pursued on a large Eastern plantation. His

fates, his fences, his out-houses, are all substantial and neat. Hb
am is always three times as large and handsome as his house. He
is hospitable without display, and you would wound his feelings to
the quick, if you refused to accept it. His table is loaded with
abundance, and almost every thing is the product of his own farm.
Even the liquor which, though temperate as he is, he presses upon

280 Life in Virginia. [September,

you with no sparing hand, is whiskey, or ^AjipLe-Jack^ distilled on
his own or a neighbor's estate. His dress, too, is made of domestio
cloth, unless on Sunday, or on some important occasion, such as
court-day, election, or muster. On these, he appears with a well-
kept blue coat, glittering with brass buttons, and surmounted by
one of those immense, stiff collars, which belong to the style of the
court of George the Third.

He hardly ever leaves home, except on the occasions above re-
ferred to, and now and then to ' the store,' where, with a few old
cronies, he discusses the crops, the weather, and the news from
Richmond. On Sunday,

* At church, with meek and unoffended grace,
His looks adorn the yenerable place.'

But the church itself is worthy of some notice. One of the oldest
of these buildings, in that part of the Valley which I have in my
eyes, is built of the native blue lime-stone. It is large and substan-
tial, and has a great antiquity for this comparatively new land, having
been erected more than a hundred years ago. All the iron work,
the glass, the sashes, were, they say, carried across the Blue-ridge
from Williamsburgh on pack-saddles : and, situated just on the edge
of a noble forest of oak, walnut, and hickory, it presents a very
picturesque appearance to the passing traveller. Here, every Sun-
day, appears the Valley farmer, to thank God sincerely for blesa-
ings past, and pray with hope and trust for others to come.

A remarkable contrast to this quiet life of useful moderation is
afforded by the watering-place life of Virginia, and as Virginia
has probably more watering-places than any other of the United
States, this sort of life is peculiarly characteristic of the people and
the country. Some people go to wateiing-places in search of
health, but many more go for change of scene, and still more for
amusement. To the Greenbrier White Sulphur, multitudes, espe-
cially from the far South, have resorted, during the summer, for
very many years. Doubtless the water of that Spring is highly
beneficial in a number of cases. I cannot, however, think it so to
all who drink it ; and I imagine that the great amount of advan-
tage is derived from the gay society, the fine scenery, and the
pure air — not omitting to mention the enforced hardships which
every visitor has to bear. But scattered over the State are springs
of every quality, and the searcher for health may always find some
suited to his peculiar condition. Not so those who go to the water-
ing-places for amusement. There is a good deal of sameness in the
daily life of the Springs, and the variety must be produced by the
visitors themselves, and depends somewhat upon the taste and ur-
banity of the proprietors. The morning walk, the conventional
drinking of a certain quantity of water, the idling through the hot-
ter hours of the day, the ball at night, with flirting and coquetry,
are common to all watering-places. But certainly the more bud-
stantial comfort (the good food, the comfortable rooms, the atten-
tion of the servants) varies very much. The most comf6rtable

1858.] Life in Virginia. 281

Springs I have been at are the Old Swab and the Faaqaier, and, as
I am at the latter now, I may as well give some account of it as a
good specimen of a Virginia watering-place. The house itself is
one of the finest buildings I have seen in the country, large, well-
built, with spacious and lofty rooms, a splendid ball-room, with
large ante-rooms, good parlors, an extensive dining-room, and
chambers such as can hardly be found in any gentleman's dwelling
in the land. The cabins, too, are much more spacious and conve-
nient than at most of the Springs \ and then there Ls, stretching
before the eye, down to the very valley of the Rappahannoc, that
beautiful open grove, which, with its herds of fallow deer, has
very much the appearance of a gentleman's park in England. The
spring is one of sulphur-water, light, easy of digestion, and cer-
tainly powerful in its effect ; but surely, that which does the most
Sod IS the fine, free air, the morning walk to the well or the
ths in that octagon building on the other side of the grove.

After the walk, and the drinking of the waters, comes the break-
fiut at one of the innumerable little tables in the dining-hall ; and
there, every thing that the skill of excellent cooks, served with
qoiet but unremitting attention by well-taught servants, can do to
refresh, is put before you. Oh ! the mutton I the excellent, tender
matton I would that it could be had in Lower Virginia I Mutton
is the favorite food of Englishmen, and a literary friend once aptly
remarked, after a visit to the little island where he was received
and feted as any American gentleman will, I trust, always be : They
ought to call my countryman ' John Mutton,' rather than ' John
Bml ;' for it is only when he is very much provoked, that he shows
his horns.

After breakfast, comes the stroll again, or, better still, the ride :
and here we know no impediments. Good saddle-horses are to

be procured at any- time, and in abundance. Mr. A is never

reaoired to stop till Mr. B has done his ride ; but the horse is

ordered, and the horse comes, so that the exercise of which Vir-
ginians are so fond, is always at hand. Games at bowls, and per-
haps a little sleep, diversify the day, and then, with the shades of
evening, comes the merry dance, with the best music Washington
can afford.

To quiet and sober people, whose toes are neither ' light nor
fiuitastic,' conversation, light or serious, fills up a part of this time ;
and happy is he who is permitted to hear the words of wisdom
&]! from the venerated lips of a Taney — varied, often plajrfiil, but
always full of that quintessence of wisdom, common-sense. Hav-
ing mentioned the name of the Chief-Justice in his favorite retreat,
I cannot but remark, that two of the most remarkable men whom
the United States have ever produced, have sought to wile away
their leisure hours at Fauquier. ChiefJustice Marshall's cabin
stands nearly opposite that of his great successor, and the good
taste and good feeling of the proprietor of the Springs has loft it
untouched, though it does not altogether harmonize with the plan
of the grounds, or the luxurious finish of the other buildings.

282 ^Euman Life,'* [September,

There it stands, however, with an empty dog-kennel at the door,
and brings pleasant remembrances of the simplest but most acute
of the great lawyers to which this country has given birth.

In their general outline, the amusements of Fauquier are those
of the other Springs, with all those advantages which greater
shade, and proximity to Washington, can superadd. One can en-
joy one's self here in weather when there is no eiyoyment any where
else. But there is one peculiarity in the way of amusement, which
must not go without notice. It is true, that what is called the
Tournament is not confined to Fauquier; but where can such
another tournament-ground be met with ? A broad, flat arena,
of several acres, surrounded by high banks, shaded by embower-
ing trees, under which the judges and the spectators sit, would
inspire to something like the ancient feats of arms, and we might
expect to see the lances shivered, and the helmets dashed away,
were not the age of chivalry really past. The tournament, how-
ever, of the present day, is confined to one of the minor sports of the
olden time — mere running at the ring; the amusement of novices
and pages. Some opportunity is afforded for the display of good
horsemanship ; but the really attractive part of the scene is the dis-
play of youth and beauty beneath the green boughs, and the happy
faces that look on, fondly thinking that they gaze upon the sports of
those chivalrous ancestors, whose deeds oi gallantry and daring
civilized dark ages, and gave the sublime to wars often unjust an<i
barbarous.

I have now, my dear fiiend, given you what you asked, a brief
sketch of my impressions of Virginia country life. Those who
know it better, might have done it better, and the only value it
can have, lies in the fact that it is a picture of the impressions of
a foreigner. Even I may be prejudiced ; for, when one has re-
ceived so warm and hearty a welcome in every house, hard most
be the heart, ungenerous the mind, that does not view every phase
of society through a pleasant medium. I would fain have ^ven
one sketch more — that of the militia-muster ; but alas I I have
never seen one ; and I dare not venture to go beyond my depth.
I remember, in years long gone, when I was a mere lad, hearing
inimitable old Mathews, in one of his ' At Homes,' describe most
humorously the scene ; but times have changed since then, and I
little thought, in those days, that the warm-hearted kindness of
Virginians, to which he did full justice, would ever be personally
witnessed and enjoyed by

Tours ever, q. p. r. j^«.

HUlfAN LZFB.

' Oxm life is bat a winter's daj :
Some only breakfast and away :
OtherR to dinner stay, and are riill fed ;
The oldest man but sups and goes to bed :
Large is hia debt who linsrers out the day
Who gota the toonest has Me least to pay.

1858.]

Idnea: ThanatoB. 288

N ^ T O 8 •

U»V« WmiTTBH in TBB MBW OBlCXTBmT AT XaVOVTOV. !(▲■•.

How common, how inscrutable la Diath I

We meet him every day,
We see our fellow-travellers by the way
Resign to him their breath ;
We know he is not far from any one :
That, ere the set of sun,
This body he may turn to lifeless dust,
(And brief the longest time before ho must!)
We see the child go to his out-stretched arm,

As if it feared no harm ;
And lusty Manhood render up his strength,
Beauty her rose-hue, and Old Age at length
Sink at his touch as on a mother's breast.
Death ravages and pauses not to rest.
But, present and familiar though he be,

No other mystery
Rises stupendous to the human thought
So veiled in triple folds of darkness wrought I

And yet the Soul has seasons

When doubt-dispelling reasons

Oome forth like stars upon the vault of night :

Has, in its secret sessions,

Ineffable impressions.
Illumined with a flood of tender lieht,
Making the very grave a portal bright I

Even as the bird has instincts for the sky
Before it dares to try

The empyrean's slope :

So the immortal hope
lies folded in an instinct of the Sool I
And clouds of unbelief may o'er it roll,
The speculative intellect reject
All that the Soul securely may expect ;
And yet its very life-spring be supplied
By that most precious hope, faithful even when denied I

Were it not so, 0 grave t

We could not stand so brave
Beside thy verge, and mark the narrow room

Where, when this mortal mould

Is motionless and cold :
It shall be laid to help the wild flowers bloom.

Were not the Soul upheld

By inward confirmations:
Refreshed, inspired, impelled

By heavenly ministrations,
Making its immortality a part
Of present life — heart of its very heart
The dread of utter death would surely bo
Itself death's agony I

284 Idnes: TTuxnatoi. [September,

Ever to righteous souls the voioe diTine,
Above all doubts, and dangers, and ^rms.
Hath whispered, * Peace ! the everiasting arms
Are underneath thee : cease then to repine I '
Nearer the voice and surer
As the pure heart grows purer.
This, through the long procession of the ages,
Has been the stay of prophets and of sages :
Without it Socrates had never spoken

A word too true for Greece :
And Plato, wanting an immortal token,
Had lacked the sought-for peace.
. But high beyond their blind and feeble gropings.

Their glimpses and their hopings, *

A fuller measure of the truth of heaven,

God, through His seers of purer eyes, had given:

Heralding Him whose perfect revelation

Shall make His people wise unto salvation:

Whose word celestial spans
The seraph^s duty and the humblest man's ;

Who the last foe overcame,
That we, through faith in Christ, might do the same ;
Who died, that we the life divine mi^t live ;
Obedience to whose law of love shaU give
Faith, confident as sight.
And asking no more light ;
Who to the Sours eternal needs shall bring

All its progressive destiny can crave ;
Who takes from death the sting,

The victory from the grave I

The grave ! the bound where mortal vision ends,
Which faith alone transcends!
Oh ! well it is lifers mortal goal should stand
Where Nature decks it with no sparing hand :
*Mid groves, and dells, and fair declivities.
Sacred to thought, and grateful to the eyefl ;
Here Meditation fondly shall retreat,
And measure every path with devious feet,
Winning, ANT^us-like, new power from earth —
From death the promise of a second birth !
Up through embowering trees the eye shall glance,
Where clouds are floating on the blue expanse —

Floating like sails that bear
Returning spirits through our upper air !
The oak shall wave aloft its varnished leaves.
And waft no discord to the heart that grieves :
These pines shall whisper only words of cheer :

The evergreen, beneath the winter snow.
Shall typify that inner prescience clear.

Which, underneath all thoughts of death and wo.
Confirms God's promise to the soul sincere.
The little Mayflower * shall its head uprear '

(Ere yet the wintry winds have ceased to blow,)
And make the sod all sweetness where it litis
Its flushed corolla through the melting drifts.
And, in these woods, ere flowers and birds are rife.
Preach of the resurrection and the life I

* Tn epigaa repsnt^ somttlmcs called the grpond-laurel, also the trafllof arbutoa, it ksMTD
AS the Mayifioui^r tn the nelKhborhood of Pljmoath and Kingston, Manachosetts. It U oflea
found blooming through a thin corering of snow, and is remarkablj flragrant.

1858.]

Stanzas: The Hose, 265

Then shall this hollow vale
Be luminous with glory to the eye
That looks beyond to immortality,
Where amaranths bend before the heavenly gale !
Then shall the soul, uplifted and serene,

Piercing the sensual screen,
Enow that our lost ones find an ampler sphere :
We call — they answer not — but they may hear !

And so shall hope be quickened, like the rose,
From roots that find their nurture in decay ;
So shall the sepulchre itself disclose

A path all radiance to diviner day ;
So shall we see in Death, as he draws near.
No threatening monster with an upraised spear ;
But a kind pitying angel, with a palm
And sainted looks and calm ;
Who, as he beckons, whispers of the dear
Departed ones, impatient to appear.
And lead us with our ever-marvelling eyes
Up to the purple hills of Paradise :
With whom it shall be ours to see revealed
All that the mortal senses have concealed :
To wander through the cities of our God,
By saints and seraphs trod ;
To have the purpose of the Infinitk
Unfolded to the increase of our sight ;
To find in countless worlds for evermore
New cause to love, to wonder, to adore.

T H B B O 8 B .

The Sun, who smiles wherever he goes,

Till the flowers all smile again.
Fell in love one day with a bashful Rose,

That had been a bud till then.

So he pushed back the folds of the soft green hood

That covered her modest grace,
And kissed her as only a lover could,

Till the crimson burned in her face.

But wo for the day when his golden hair

Tangled her heart in a net ;
And wo for the night of her dark despair,

When her cheek with tears wa^ wet :

For she loved him as only a maiden could ;

And he left her crushed and weak,
Striving in vain with her faded hood

To cover her guilty cheek.

VOL. UI. 19

286 Homeward Bound from CaUfomia, [September,

BONNET TO

Thine is an ever-changing beauty ; now
With that proud look, so lofty yet serene
In its high majesty, thou seem'st a queen,

With all her diamonds blazing on her brow !

Anon I see, as gentler thoughts arise
And mould thy features in their sweet control.
The pure, white ray that lights a maiden^s soul.

And struggles outward through her drooping eyes ;

Anon they flash ; and now a golden light
Bursts b*er thy beauty, like the Orient's glow.
Bathing thy shoulders* and thy bosom's snow.

And all the woman beams upon my sight I
I kneel unto the queen, like knight of yore ;
The maid I love : the woman I adore I

HOMEWARD BOUND PROM CALIFORNIA.

Dear reader I have you visited California, or listened to a
truthful description of a trip to, or from, the golden shores of the
El Dorado of the world ? The voyage is so long, and attended
with so many annoyances, if not actual dangers, that we never
think of it as one of pleasure ; yet one cannot take a more profit-
able tour, if desirous of learning the good and evil of human
nature. Many travel in search of knowledge the world over ; but
few, however, visit California, except to retrieve a ruined fortune,
or in search of gold. The Californians are also proverbially sel-
fish, but where will you find on record such noble, adf^acrijicing
generosity, as exhibited on board the ill-fiited * Centr^ A^ierica ? '
Lion-hearted men perished, that those helpless beings, the women
and children, might be saved. They did not leave them to their
fate, as on the 'Arctic' How great the contrast I

Now turn aside from this sad picture, and, in imagination, be-
hold the beautiful Bay of San Francisco — the most splendid
harbor in the world. Before you lies the city — a city of hills,
thickly studded with small white houses — the wharfs uned with
large and small vessels of every description, receiving and dis-
charging cargoes. Tou see moored along-side, the commodious
steamer, ' John L. Stevens,' advertised to saiL The effect is novel
and pleasing.

The day of our departure is pleasant, and not so hdt as you
sometimes find it in June, in New -York. We are somewhat sur-
prised to find the crowd greater than usual, and, upon inquiry,
team that a number of those distinguished gentlemen, who have

1858.] Homeward Bound from Calif omia. 287

r^idered themselves obnoxious to the good and quiet citizens of
San-Francisco, are to be honored by an escort of the Vigilance
Committee, and sent home to their friends, with strict injunctions
not to return^ unless they aspire to a yet higher honor.

Hme speeds on ; the hour is at hand ; yet no sign of leaving.
The crowd increases, and every body begins to show symptoms of
impatience at the delay. The clock strikes four, and a loud cheer
announces the arrival of the captain. Soon a carriage is seen driv-
ing rapidly down on the wharf ; out step two of the distinguished
gentlemen, to whom we have reft^red ; then another carriage, and
another, until the number of fomteen completes the company.
They walk in silence up the plank — each one under a special
escort — and several of them ornamented with very pretty steel
bracelets. When asked, ' If they will sign a paper, confessing a
perfect readiness to come on board, and that they will behave pro-
perly until they reach New -York,' they give ready assent — who
would not, with the pleasant prospective of a hemp-cravat in
view ? — the bracelets are unclasped ; they all sign their names ;
and now we are ready to depart.

As we move out in the Bay^ the loud-mouthed cannon boom out a
fiurewell I Now, indeed, we feel that we are homeward bound I
How many glad hearts throb with joy I — long-absent ones return-
ing to the loved home, to settle down in peace, and enjoy the lich
reward of honest toil ! The husband, perchance, going back to
his devoted wife and darling children, to return with them, and
oheer his humble ranch among the mountains. All seem happy.
The view from the glorious Bay is imposing. Telegraph-Hill to
the left rises &om the surface of the water, bristling with cannon,
and surmounted by a light-house, while beyond. Angel Island
looms up to the height of nine hundred feet. We pass the Pre-
sidio, and are soon abreast of Fort Point. Passing the Golden-
Ghite, we see Point Boneta and Lobos. On gazmg back, old
Monte Diablo rises up grandly from the dbtant waters. This is
the highest point, and the most remarkable peak, of all the coast-
range, having an elevation of almost four thousand feet There
is a curious old Spanish legend attached to this king of the
mountains.

It is quite impossible to describe the scene of con^sion on board
the first night, and the ensuing day. If one happens to claim an
acquaintance with the purser, and has the forethought to secure a
seat at the captain^s table, he is fortunate. Not that he fares any
better, only (aside from the honor) he receives a little more atten-
tion ^om the waiters, who dare not show the slightest neglect
under the keen eye of our captain.

Among the passengers we have some singular personages ; for
instance, a strong-minded woman, well known in our city — if one
can judge from the glowing description of the lady herself. Next
worthy of notice, is a clown — some think him ' a jolly good soul ;'
he is constantly displaying his wit at the expense of every one
around him. We have an Ex-Governor — a real Governor — not

288 Homeward Bound from CcUi/bmui, [September,

one of those titled gentlemen, whom every body dubs as * Grov-
emor ' or ' Colonel.' We have also among us missionaries, physi-
cians, and a worthy divine. Lastly, those fourteen professional
gentlemen of different grades, from the trifling occupation of re-
lieving the pockets of loose change, to the accomplished and
talented ' Faro Dealer.' They are genteel in appearance, some of
them quite &shionable, sporting a long mustache of rather singular
appearance — a long, wiry appendage, with a graceful curi at the
end, which seems to serve two purposes — one, the adornment of
the upper-lip ; the other, to keep the fingers busy, in cultivating
an elongated style. But as they have signed the parole of honor,
they are permitted to mingle freely with the ' upper ten ' on board.
The keen eye of our polite captain, however, takes note each day
of their bearing.

It is really quite amusing to witness the drill of our amateur
Fire "Company. Out of politeness, we ladies must attend, as the
most trifling amusement on board is sometimes very acceptable to
break the monotony. To change the programme, now and then
the fire-bell rings out a loud and startling yet felse alarm ; the cry
of * Fire ! ' is heard ; up rush the firemen, with a large hose, and
most manfully battle with an imaginary foe ; while men labor hard
at the pumps, others patrol the deck, and two are stationed near
the life-boats, with drawn swords, to defend them against a rush,
until they are lowered and ready to receive their precious freight.
Sometimes we have lectures. A strong-minaed woman has
given us one on Spiritualism : she is not on^ an enthusiast, but a
strong devotee I Our clown follows suit, but lectures on a graver
subject : * The learned men of America I ' Only think of it I On
Sabbath-days, our ecclesiastical friend reads that most beautiful
and inspiring service, the Liturgy of the Episcopal Church.

When the weather is fine, the evening is the most charming part
of the day. The little ones have frolicked all da^, and, gStd to
seek their resting-place, soon sleep soundly, the noise of Uie ma-
chinery, and the surging of the waters, soothing them with a sweet
lullaby. The company gather in groups, some promenading the
decks ; others smoking segars ; others singmg home-ballads ; but
all happy.

Among this multitude, we must not omit to notice a gentleman,
who, from his dignified mien, is conspicuous among all those who
surround him. He is well known at home, and noted, not only
for his wealth, but urbanity of manner, and genuine benevolence.
Many will recognize his noble bearing — that frank and beaming
countenance, on which the soul is stamped so plainly ; in person
tall, well-proportioned ; dark hair and thou^html eyes, that light
up in conversation ; lofly forehead ; splendid teeth — the lames
pronounce him handsome ; in truth, he is one of nature's noble-
men, and numbers, perhaps, more warmly-attached friends than
any other merchant m the mercantile community. Thanks to his
great generous heart, he is one of the few who deem it a pleasure
to contribute to any thing that will promote the good of others.

1858.] Homeward Bovmd from California, 289

A pbrenolo^t would pronounce his head woi*th a ' king's ransom.'
He abides oy his friends through evil as well as good report
Attractive as this portrait may be, it is not so beautiful as his
chi^'acter.

Bv chance, it is mentioned to this gentleman, to whom we have
alluded, that there is a poor bo^ on board, homeward bound to
die. Consumption has marked him out as a victim, and the seal
Oif death is stamped on his white forehead. When our friend first
saw him, he was walking slowly through the saloon toward the
deck. The sufferer was very pale, emaciated, and rather shabby
in drBSS ; yet bore a respectable appearance. Our friend inquired

his history, and learned that his name was Francis from

San-Francisco ; that his brother had come down with him from the
mines, given him all he had to ^ve — money to purchase a ticket
home in the steerage, and ten dollars in gold. His means did not
permit him to accompany the sick brother, and thus they parted ;
poor Francis hoping to reach his boyhood-home before he should
ffirow worse. Crradually his strength forsook him. Manfully he
battled with the ^fell destroyer.' Sad, very sad, grew the poor
aajflfbrer's heart, and he began to fear he would die alone, uncared
for, in this crowd of human beings. Is there no one to pour con-
AC^Ation in that distressed heart ?

Mr. A (by this name we must desi^ate our friend) saw

how &t^ued the poor boy seemed, and kindly addressed him ;
TOoposed that he should go with him to his state-room and lie
down to rest, where he could enjoy the cool, refreshing breeze.
The sufferer looked up in perfect amazement, doubting ifhe heard
aright As soon, however, as he was conscious that he had found

a real friend, he sank like a helpless child, and Mr. A obtained

the services of a young man to watch by the couch at night, and
carry him in his arms up-stairs in the morning.

We reach Acapuloo at ten o'clock on a beautiful evening, enter
the harbor, and anchor to await passengers from the city of
Mexico, six hundred miles distant. The harbor is one of the best
in the world, protected on all sides by mountains rising almost from
the water's edge. We gaze with admiration and wonder on the
beautiful landscape before us. The moon shines in this tropical
climate as it shines no where else, tinging all with an indescribable
ffolden hue — indescribable, not that silvery brightness seen at
home.

Yonder lies the city : we hear the distant shouts of the natives,
see the glimmer of lights, and soon perceive the small canoes push
from the shore. Hurried preparations are made by those who
will avail themselves of the opportunity to leave the vessel, and
once more step on terra firma. The river is soon dotted with a
multitude of small boats. Strange, discordant sounds salute our
ears, like the chattering of monkeys and parrots. We are greeted
with the salutation of ' Hombre I hombre, boat I ' ' How much ? '
we ask. * Hombre, two dime, four dime,' is the reply — two dimes

290 Sfnmas: 7%e Bridal.

for each passenger, being the usual rate. We must of course go
with the crowd. We descend the ladder, and step into the litUe
boat.

A few minutes bring us to the low sand-beach, and several young
natives plunge in to push up our frail bark. We permit the civu
boatman to take us up like dainty dolls, and place us on the dry
ground.

A novel sight here meets our view. The long ranges of low
adobe houses, tile-roofed and weather-stained, with latticed veran-
dahs in front ; the long line of booths, exposing for sale fruits of
every description — cakes, coffee, and specimens of their handi-
work, in shape of cups, curiously carved ; the motley group of
natives, many-hned and &iitasticatly-attired ; all these interest and
delight us.

The fair and dark Senoritas have their hair braided in two long
locks, that hang down behind, very fanciftilly decorated with
flowers or beads ; the jfashionable lady wears satin-slippers without
stockings. Some of them have the gaudy ' rebosa ' thrown care-
lessly over the head. ' Saah Senorita, buy ? * exclaims a little
dark-eyed damsel of seven summers, holding up a tiny white
muslin bag. We inquire what it is. She unties the thread, and
carefully empties in her dark little palm the most beautiful shells
imaginable.

The doors of the queer little houses are all open, as it is a sort
of holiday to the inhabitants when a steamer arrives. In all of
them you will see the hammock suspended between the front and
back entrance, to catch the cool evening-breeze.

THB BSXDAXi.

(hroi in a quiet covntry town,

All in the month of Maj,
Two loYera dreamt the sweet old dream

That haonts the world for aye.

But oft did the lilac droop its plmnefl,

And the somach leaf turn red.
Oft was New-England wrapt in snow

Ere the patient pair were wed.

Time came, and the bridal roses blew,

And the robins sang like mad.
And the little brown nbUts leapt in the field,

And the summertime was glftd I

LITERARY NOTICES.

Two MiLUORS. By William Allah Butub. Kew-Toik: D. Applbtok and
CoMPAHTy 846 and 848 Broadwaj.

The popular tuithor of ' Nothing to Wear' has presented the public an epic
of ninety pages in heroic yerse, full of trenchant satire upon the follies of the
day, and especially those characteristic of New-York society. The metre is
more iq>propriate to the subject than the tripping dactyls of/ Nothing to Wear,*
enabling the author to accommodate himself to the graye and the gay, the par
tiietic and the ludicrous. A genial play of humor and polished inyectiye are
alike indispensable to the satirkt ; and in these qualities no American poet
excels Mr. Butleb, if indeed any one equals him. The hero of the story is a
certain magnificent Fibkin, who r^oioed in the possession of Two Millions, a
merchant of renown, whose name was a luminous act of credit, and whose
praise was in all the banks. His portzalt is drawn in a few burning couplets:

* In his principality,

Worae than high treason was all liberality ;

No ray of bounty, with unselfish cheer,

Threw its bright beam across that dark frontier.

Where every mendl^ grace of heart or hand

Was seized and forfeited as contraband.

Ton read it in his eye, dull, daik, and stem,

Which clutched the light, but grudged a kind return,

In ffenial glances, through the open day,

Ana with a shrewd suspicion turned away.

His hard, square £Batures, like an iron safe.

Locked in his thoughts; no chance^ unnoted waif

Of fugitive feeling, unawares betrayed

The inner man, or mental stock in trade.

The portly figure, with its solvent air,

Proclaimed to all the woild the Millionaire,

His purse and i>er8on both at fullest lengtn,

And even the higher law which he obeyed,

WiUi all his heart and soul and mind and strength.

To love his maker, for he was BBLP-MAna 1

Self-made, self-trained, self-willed, self-satisfied,

He was, himself^ his daily boast and pride :

His wealth was all his own ; had he not won it

With his own cunning skill f There shone upon it

No mteful memories of another's toil,

No flowers of friendship graced its sandy soil,

292 Literary Notices. [September,

No ties ancestral linked it with the past,
As in his hard, close hands he held it fast.

* He had a coat of arms, a very grand one.
Bran-new besides, and not a second-hand one ;
A coat of many colors and devices^
One of the kind which bring the highest prices,
Bouffht at a Heraldry slop-shop, where they take
One^ measure for such coats of every make.
And give the pick of all the crests and quarteringa
Of ancient Barons, famous for their slaughterings,
And modem Dukes, famous — for nothing at alij
With points and bars and bearings, great and small.
Lions and unicorns, and beasts with wings,
And all the sinister bends of all the kings.
To pay his way, he thought he scarce could miss,
Into the best society, with this
Depreciated scrip of sham gentility ;
And. really, the artist showed a great facility
In cleverly managing to put as much on,
As could be crowdeaupon one escutcheon :
Instead of ilaming shield, with fancy pattern,
And golden gules, bright as the rin^s of Saturn,
He chose a silver Dollar, fleshly minted,
And with bold touches and desi^s unstinted.
Traced with all manner of mystical ft*ee>maionry,
Made it a rampant, stylish hit of blazonry.

'His creed was simple as a creed oonld be,
Firkin believed in things that he could see;
Things that were palpable to sight and touch.
That ne could measure by the test ' how much,'
And grasp securely in his mental clutch.
He had a lively faith in the Five Senses,
They never cheated him with fidse pretences,
Nor put him off to doubtful evidences :
These and his mother wit were all his light-—
What could be safer than to walk bv sight?

* He had been young, and now was old,' he said,

' But never haa he seen the self-made man
Forsaken, nor his children begging bread.
Provided they pvursued their ftmers plan.
All through their lives, as he himself^ hadf done.
And kept a sharp look-out for Nmnber One! '
A golden rule, iiRKnr had early learned.
And every hour to ^pod advantage turned :
This, ana such precious maxims as abounded
In that pure word of riohee, wisdom, health.
According to poor Riobard, as expounded
By Doctor Fkankuk, in his Way to Wealtk,
Served him for law and gospel and tradition,
And he himself their luminous exposiUon.
These were the fiscal liffhts, in whose clear ray
He could divide the Universe, s^aightway,
Into the things that would and would n't pay.
"Br these he steered through all the straits of trade.
Where something must be risked, or nothing made ;
These oft through Wall-street, with its reefs and rocks.
And phantom ventures, lanncned fh>m fluey stocks,
Had brought him safe from many a hazard rash.
His compass — caution, and his pole-star — cash.

* It was his boast, he never lost a penny,
And the old bov, the brokers would repeat,
Was quite the keenest shaver in the street

1858.] LUerary Nbtioes. 293

Thus aotive practice kepi his fidth alive.
Faith ia. bisMeLf and in the aeiues five.
The almighty Dollar, and it« powers incessant.
In read/ monev* and a paying rresent;
However fi^r, he trnst^ no mtnritj
Which could iM>t give ccdlateral security ;
Some men, he knew, believed, at least professed,
Faith in hereafters, which they dimly guessed :
The substance, he preferred, of things possessed !

'And yet, he seemed devout: without much search,
Ton might have found, on any Sundav morning,
His visible coach outside the visible churchy
With green and sold its sacred front adommff.
A gorgeous coachman, somewhat flushed with sherry,
A footman, portly witn perpetual dinners,
Waited, wtule Firkjk in the sanctuarv.
With many other ' miserable sinners,'
Oushioned the carnal man in drowsy pews,
Dozed over ffilt-ed^;ed rubric, prayer and psalter,
Bose with the music, looked with liberal views
On prima donnas, never known to falter .
In cnant or solo, oymn. or anthem splendid.
And still enchanting wnen the chant was ended ;
Then sat or knelt, grave as the altar bronzes,
^ And went through all the usual responses.

* His politics took on the Neutral tints,
A safe complexion for a Merchant Prince,
Who valued Government for its protection
To wealth and capital a^nst insurrection.
He thought that legislation should be planned.
And the great Ship of State equipped and manned.
Solely with reference to the property owners.
Those cabin-passengers, our American Peerage;
WhUe you and I. and other luckless Jonahs,
Who work the ship, or suffer in the steerage.
He reckoned danserous chaps, who raised the gales
Which roared and rattled through the spars and sails.
As for the rest, his hate was warm and hearty.
Against all politicians and each party.

No club or council held him in communion ; *

No doubtfol canvass lured him Into bets ;
He never even helpefd to save the Dnioi^
, Or to pay off our greatest Statesman's dfebts ;
Those fields of Golden Cloth, on which, 't is said.
The WsU'Street heroes very often bled 1 '

FmKiN was childless. His wife drooped and died ; bat before her deatii,
had adopted an orphan child, whom the lifillionaiie determined in g^ood time
to marry to some Bank-Director :

* Sn was a foir New-Bn j^and maiden, bom.
Not where broad fields of yellow wheat and com
Through sun-lit valleys wave, and gayly tinge
The qmet homesteads with their golden fringe.
While Nature blends their warm and genial lush
In girlhood's budding glow and virgin blush ;
Nor on the hiU-sides of the distant Norths
Where, from the unfenced forests gushing forth,
O'er rocky beds, sweep the swift mountain-streams,
Whose sparkling torrent, as it leaps and gleams.
Is kindred to the keener flash that beams
From langhing eves on pure unsullied faces.
While, like the Naiads, crowned with fobled graces,
They haunt and gladden those dark maple shades.
Our fidrer wood-nymphs, the Green-Mountaiii maids I

;/■"

294 Literary IToHces, [September,

But on the Eastern shore, where the wmves breftk
On rocky headlands, and the night-winds wake
The monmM echoes of the forest pines.
Which stretch along the coast their dreary lines;
And the sea-breezes, as they come and go,
On beauty's cheek have left a deeper glow,
And the eye kindles like some far-off ship,
Stmck with a sudden sunbeam, and the up
Wears the sad smile of those whose calmer moods
Are nursed by Ocean sands and solitudes ! '

Rachel is spumed from the door, and retires to a misenilde garret where, in
time, she is discovered by Firkin, when looking after his tardy tenants.
Want of space precludes &rther extracts, but the supposed death of the heart"
stricken mOlionaire with the torn will in his hands, the premature quarrel of
the heirs, the watching of Rachel by the lonely bed-side, and Firkin's return
to life, and the tenderness with which he afterward cherishes the lordy and
faithful being he had driven from his door ; these and many other toaching
as well as ludicrous incidents woven into the plot| have brought out the best
qualities of the gifted author.

Thb Dutch at tbe Norts Poli, awd thb Dtttch nr Maini : aPuier read before the Niw-
York Historical Socibtt. By J. Watts Da Pbtstbb. rooghkeepsie : Press of
Platt and Schram.

The excellent pamphlet, briefly noticed in our July number, up<m ' The
Dutch Battle of the Baltic,' by the author of the production before us, will
insure for it attention, and its perusal will secure for it deserved praise. Ifr.
De Petster says truly, (and, after all, the statement is a gratifying one^ al-
though tardily made true,) that it is only recentiiy that the people of the United
States have been awakened to a just appreciation of the marvdloiis deeds^
stirring enterprise, and indomitable spirit, which actuated that ^orioos litUe
nation, the Netherhuiders, or Hollanders, in establishing their independence.
We have yet to learn how mudi of the world's progress is due to their ex-
ample, and the practice of every manly virtue. In the course of their attei^pts
in the Polar Seas, they found their way to our Atlantic border, and thus be-
came aware of the advantages presented by the rich lumber districts of Maine ;
and made several attempts, by peaceful oobnization and by fbroe of arms, to
place themselves in a position to share the prolific fisheries ; the misiirpassed
masting and lumbering fibciUties ; and, at that time, the ridi fur-tiade affbrded
along the coasts and upon the shores of the rivers and estuaries of Maine, flien
the province of Acadie. It would seem that the Hollanders were among tiie
earliest colonists of Maine, and at one time displayed their ensigns, victorious
in all the four quarters of the globe, at more than one point of that then re*
mote province. Hendrick Hudson, before he landed * hereaway,' scraped his
keel on the shores of the Penobscot, and remained a week in that hay, cutdng
and * stepping' a new fore-mast, repairing his rigging, damaged by ppgviocB
tempestuous voyaging, and holding firequent and firiendly intercourse with the

IMSB.] Literary N6Hee$. 295

II I H — IM»^— ^»J— ■»— ■ I I ■ III.

natives. And Uurte^i years before this, Babbntz, another indomitable Hol-
lander, defied the terrors of a polar winter, and planted the blue, white, and
^Mrange stripes 6f the United Proyinoes on Spitzbergen, the most n(»rthem
group of Eurcqpean islands, and on Cape Desire^ the almost maooeasible ex-
trcmitj of NoYaia Zemlia. To B arentz is conceded the h<mor of having been
the finst to winter amid the horrors of the Polar cold : deprived of every com-
fert wfaidi could have ameliorated the sojourn; dependent even for vital
warmth on the fires which are kindled in an indomitable heart ; and uncheered
£rom the beginning to the end by the sight of^ or intercourse with, any human
TJsitor& Our lamented Kanb often refers to this early Dutch navigator and
eiplonr, and always in terms of admiration and praise. The reader of the
Hbebv^' explorer's narrative may perhaps recall this passage: *Barsnt^s
men, seventeen in number, broke down during the trials of the winter, and
ttiree died, just as of our eighteen three had gone. He abandoned his vessel
as we had abandoned ours, took to his boats, and escaped along the Laplimd
eoMt tor lands of Norwegian civilization. We had embaiked with sledge and
boat to attempt the same thing. We had Hie longer journey, and the more
dlflknU^ belbre qb. He lost, as we had done^ a cherished oomi:ade by the way-
ilda : and, as I thou^t of this dosing resemblance in our fortunes also^ my
alnd left but one part of the parallel incomplete — BarenU Mmseilf perUhsd,
Br Kamb gives Babentz the credit of having foreshadowed, to some extent, by
liBtuiil dfeoovery, an open sea, or basin, near the Pole. It is established, to the
mriaftftion of authentic writers, that the old HoUandish ship-masters pene-
: tMled through icy barriers beyond the dghty-ninth degree of latitude, and to
wHyn twenty miles of the North Pole itself Connected with an Arctic ex-
fw^Ktkn whidi sailed from Holland in 1594^ the following anecdote is- related :

' Oxa incident of this voyage is bo amusing, that it is well worthy repetition here.
Alibongh beaten in a pitched battle against the sea-horses or sea-cows, at the Orange
ilfai, ttte Hollanders appear to have had but little conception of the ferocity and
po#«r of the Poli» bear : one of which, having been wounded, they sueeeeded in
gftoaing^ in the idea of leading him about like a dog ; and eventually carrying him back
aa a tropl^ to Holland. They found, however, that they had caught a JbHar; {qt
tile forioos animal not only routed the party, but boarded and made himself mas-
ter of their boat. Luckily for them, his noose became entangled in the ironwork
dbdnt the rudder : and the crew, who had been actually driven over the bows, pre-
ftrrhig i& trust tiiemselves rather to the mercy of the icy sea, than to the jaws and
dawi 4tf the monster, finding him caught, mastered courage, fell upon him in a body,
and diapatohed him.'

The danger and suffering experienced by Barentz and his men, when driven
info a small Arctic haven, now known as * Icy Port,' scarcely M short of the
hicrd experience of Dr. Kanb and his party. Take the subjoined as an
example :

* Ko sooHXB was the Hollandish bark within the jaws of that harbor, which thi^y
deemed a place of security, than the pursuing ice closed up the entrance, and even
fillowed them within it, and lifting up the one end of the beleagured vessel, threw
itfaito an almost perpendicular position, with the other extremity neariy touching
Hie bottom, so that it was partially submerged. From this critical and extraordinary
.attitude, they were providentially rescued, the very next day after it occurred, by
dianges in the ice-fields, brought about by the infiux of fresh masses, driven in by

296 Literary Notices. [September,

the pressure of the outer bergs, which soon formed a complete encompassing bul-
wark ; and precluded all hope of erer being able to rescue the reasel, eren if the
crew should surrive to the ensuing spring. Graduallj, by jamn^pg in of snccessiTe
cakes of ice, orer or under the original field, first one side and then the other of the
yessel'was raised bj the insertion of these ice wedges beneath the bilge ; until, first
canting to port, and then to starboard, the groaning and quivering ship was raised
to tiie top of the constantlj-increasing ice-eleTation, as if by the scientific application
of machinery. While thus the minds of the crew were agitated by the erer-present
dread of the instant and complete destruction of their frail bark, they were stunned
and deafened by the noises made by the ice without, around them, throughout the
harbor, and upon the adjacent shores. The thunder of the icebergs, hurled against
each other by wind and tide, mutually crushing their mighty masses together, or
toppling oTer with a din as if whole mountains of marble had been blown up by
some ezplosiTe force ; together with the creaking, cracking, and groaning of the ship
itself^ arising from the freezing of the juices of the timber and liquids in the hold ;
all this created such a churme of confusion that the crew were terrified lest their ship
should fkll to pieces with every throe, which seemed to rack it firom deck to kelson.'

Whoso pauses to contemplate the position of the mariner of Amsterdam and
that of our own country's Arctic hero, can hardly fitil to note the dose resem-
blance of their situations, although occurring at q[)och8 centuries apart : a re-
semblance heightened by the similarity of their vessels and crews, both as to
burthen and number : a parallel more perfect than that presented by any other
reoent polar expedition. Like Kane and his party, Babxhtz and his fertile
company braved an Arctic winter and a Polar night ; and this too in a hastily-
constructed hut, short of provisions, fuel, and every thing which oould make
their existence hopeful : all the while patient, and adl the gloomy ^Hiito rdying
with unabated fidth upon the overruling care of a merciful Pbotidbmcx.
Ev^ true Kmickebbogkeb should regard the Patriaidi of Arctic naTigitUirB
with scarcely less affectionate remembrance than that which warms bis bosom
toward Kane. * A three-fold cord should bind the New-Netherlander's sym-
pathies to Babbntz, whose corpse, bedewed with manhood's burning teaxs,
sleeps tombed within the Arctic Circle : his trophy, obelisk, and aepuldire
the undissdving glacier and the eternal iceberg : his dirge^ tiie holding of the
polar bear and roaiing of the fearless walrus, the thunder-tones of the ice con-
flict, and the wild music of the Arctic gale, amid the monumental ice I '

But we must bring our notice to a hasty conclusion : not^ however, without
yielding our meed of praise to a fiUher-land spirit, and an unwearied, in-
domitable researcL We are gkd to learn, as we do from a friend, that our
author is engaged upon another and somewhat kindred pamphlet, which will
relate to the most stirring periods of Dutch history, and place in an entirely
new light the greatness of the Hollanders of old times : to whom, by-tfae4)y,
England thrice owed her preservation : first, in 1840 ; second, in 1468 ; and
third, in 1688 : and ^ wliat is more,* a Dutch sailor himself made one of the
G JCSARs coemperor of Rome, and sovereign of En^and. Is n*t this * g^ay
enou^ * for a little country, which appeared so v«ry insignificant to Sultan
Amukath the Third, that when told of the immense losses sustained by tike
Spaniards in their contests with Prince Maubicb, he remarked that had *Atf bem
the King of Spain, he would have sent his pioneers, and shovelled Hdknd into
the sea ? ' Since the An^o-Puritan history of the New-Netheriaods has h&m

1858.] Literary Notices. 291

written, and My written, and since that of the ScuDon Ehieherhoeher remains
to ^ written, we nominate for historian of the latter the author of the pam-
phlet before us : for he will exhibit the desiderated * Mthful and laborious re-
seaardi,' and is evidently endowed with ability commensurate with the sulject,
oombined with the fidelity and ardor of a matured judgment

hmmnaa of Lola Montk, nroLUDnro hib Auto-Biocirapht. New-Tork : Rudd and
Oablbtov, 810 Broadway.

Thb enterprising firm of Rudd akd Gableton have recently published the
leotores <^ the celd»rated Countess of Landsfeld, including the * Heroines of
Bktcaj ; * 'Beautiiul Women ;' * Gallantry;' the * Comic Aspect of Loye ; '
tlha ' Wtts and Women of Paris ; ' * Romanism ; ' and a short but racy sketch
of ilia idngnlar career of the authoress, purporting to be an auto-biography.
i^nji is ddubtiess a better woman than the world has been willing to believe
bir; and liar book, issued in the best style of Rudd ahd OAioAToir, may be
roild ftom Oorer to cover without the least harm. Many of her * points ' are
etoflent and well expressed. We select the following at random :

^Tn mat evil of Paris is, that there is no inch institntioii there as home: -as a
IpBeral net, that sanctifier of the heart, that best shelter and friend of woman,
Bat bMutiful feelinff called ' home.' does not exist. The nearest approach to this
dMxrable state of tnin^, is found among the business people of the United States.
l-tiare notioed this particularlj in Kew-Tork, where the merchant is never at home,
tse^ to sleep, ana even then his brain is so racked with per cents, advances or de-
Mgafions in prices, the rise and fall of stocks, etc., that he brings no fond affection
whia tenOy. The husband's brain is a ledger, and his heart a ooanting-room. And
nlwn ia woman to find, in all this, the response to a heart overflowing witii affec-
%mf And this is as true in New- York as in Paris. Indeed, as for intrigues, New-
Ti^ may almost rival Paris. There is no ooiintrv where the women are more fond
qf^toaa aikl finery than in the United States ; ana history shows us tiiat there is no
Mik depraver of women as this vanity A hundred women stumble over that block
ff vanify, where one fitdls bj any other cause ; and if the insane mania for dress
aiMl iiio# does not end in a eenend decay of female morals, then the lessons of his-
taiy aod the experienoe of aU ages must go for naught.'

Qmomam Kilvilli : an American Novel New -York : W. B. 0. Clark and CoMPAirr,
ArpunPONS* Building, 846 and 848 Broadway.

Wi have in this ^rightly and readable noyel the first issue of a new firm
in the worshipful craft of publishers. We have also reason to believe that it is
tha first publication, in book form, of the author. Yet many an ezperienoed
hMMl has written a less interesting book than ^Geobob Melvuul* A great
aomber of diaracters are introduced in the somewhat involved plot, but the
intenst is sustained to the last The scene is laid chiefly in Oentral New-York.
^Qbobob ICsLviLLB,' we think, will become a fiiYorite with summer tourists.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

A Good Lessoit in * These Hard Timbs.* — We indine to tiie belkf tfattt
we have many readers in the metropolis, as well as many readers otherwhere,
who will agree with us, that there is a lesson in ^A Letter to Jonathan from
Mi Brother Samuely'' which, especially in * these times,' will be found wmtiiy
of heed. Let a few passages from the epistle alluded to, decide the matter.
' Samuel ' is certainly phiin-spoken, as wdl befits his theme :

. . . * I HAYi learned, brother, that the crops on your estate have been
large during the last year, and that the prospect for the harrest of this year it
equally encouraging. I am right glad to hear it ; for after the great financial
storm which has passed over the laud, and which has proven so deetmotiTo to so
many a field of promise, it is but right and proper that we should hare a brief
resting-spell ; that the crops should prove abundant ; and that the times should
become easy once more. . . . You know that when we were boySi oar fiither
scarce allowed us the sum of money in one year that your sons and daughters
now spend in one week ; that any habit of extravagance would hare kindled
* holy horror * in the breasts of our good parents. Tou say, *■ Times are sadly
changed,' and ask : * How will it end ? ' Now you know as well as I do^ Joiu-
THAN, what the finale will be. Tou know that unless you are made of gold, (I bare
no doubt your family think you are^) that you will not be able to stand it. And
let me ask you, what do you want with servants in livery, and a box at the Opera,
so seldom used ? Your house is a sham ; your equipage, pictures, and library are
all shams ; and you are the greatest sham of them all. If what I say seems harsh,
recollect that it is only because it is true. It makes me sad to see in how many
ways you are cheated and humbugged. I remember the time when you would
sooner have cut off your right hand than to do a wrong thing ; when your life mig^t
be summed up in the words : *■ Honesty and Fair-dealing.' Examine your present
career, and sec if you can now justly claim that proud distinction. You hare re-
peatedly told me in private, that you felt * lost' in your great freenrtone manrion;*
that the people received there were not the people you liked to see ; that there
was too much aflTectation, too little dncerity, in their social intercourse ; that yoe
felt ill at ease while in their company : yet you still * keep the ball in motion.*

^ You know as well as I do, dear brother, that when Mrs. Jonatkajt gives her
weekly Tuesday eoirSee, they are not given for the purpose of strengthening
the bonds of social good-feeling with her acquaintances, but with the object of
displaying her handsome house, her diamonds, her wealth ; and that those who

Mitar's Tabk. 2Q9

••wi

OOBM there, who dance, break yaur famiture, eat yoxa suppers, and criticise your
pictures, care not a copper for you, but only curse the luck which made you richer
than themselves. Do n*t you know that the moment your back is turned, young
Alphohss Dx Noblk (your daughter Yirginia^s beau-ideal of a gentleman, and
bosom-friend of your eldest son) commences to laugh at your attempts at gen-
tOity, and pretensions to * aristocracy ? ' It is a fact. Young Tttx, who is caus-
ing the Tivacious Miss Simpir nearly to explode with laughter, has this very mo-
meot perpetrated a ' bong^mot * (as your eldest daughter calls it) at your expense.
Such things as these, as I hare said, make me sad. I am vexed to see a person
^ your naturally good sound sense so imposed upon.

' Ton say that such things must be, that your children may be well established
in the world. Now I ask you, in all seriousness, would you like to see your
dw^ter Virginia married to young Pxrcemt ? — especially when you shall have
learned that he is a profligate, idle vagabond, who drinks, gambles, and *• sprees,'
and has not one spark of manly feeling about him ? . . . Tour children have
alirays been taught to feel that they were rich, and being rich, that there was no
nipd of any exertion or stimulus on their part toward their future advancement.
I^MBy have consequently grown up * fine ' and listless beings, who if cast upon the
WVrid to gain their livelihood by their own exertions, would assuredly fkiL Now,
MusBAir, is this the proper basis upon which to build an education ? When
fine ^uighters grew older, you placed them in Madame Di Boulxvsrskxemt's
'flidshing Academy,' where young ladies were taught, as Madame's card an-
a^oaeed, * BSstory ; Mental and Natural Philosophy ; Ethics ; Mathematics in all
iti Branches; Chemistry; French, Italian; and all the Accomplishments neces-
nry fi>r a highly Finished Education : ' where, after remaining three years, they
Wini returned to you as having ^ completed their education ! ' Now do nH you know,
tllKt to become really proficient in only one of these sciences or ' accomplish*
ni^MMSk^ would require all the time that your daughters have given to cUl of them ?
And what has been the result ? Why, only ask your daughters the simplest ques-
tloii of common life, and they can't give you a rational answer. They speak
fl0ach and Italian in such a manner as to cause natives of those lands to open
iMr eyes in well-bred astonishment. And as for their musical proficiency, a mu-
tltuH friend has told me (* in confidence,* of course,) that * it gave him the night-
adaie to think of it 1 ' And in those very things wherein women should most ex-
eeli ahej ten lamentably deficient In fact, the utmost they are fit for, is to sit in
the drawing-room, read novels, and talk sentiment to one-idea'd young men, and
ilil|»eiing ndsses, whose intellectual powers are on a par with their own.

*It comes hard for me to speak disparagingly of my nephews ; but if the truth
nutt be told, I never saw any other young men, in their sphere, so ignorant. To
be Bore, they are well ver^d in the mysteries of horse-racing, poker-playing, and
dik&ing. There is your eldest son : I have no doubt you think him a model of
propriety. Do you know how his days and nights are spent ? I could preach
yon a sermon from this text, which would open your eyes. In our days, boys
and girls were taught solid things solidly ; and the consequence was, that when
fh^ grew up to maturity, they were ornaments to society : they were people
opon whom you could place reliance, and with whom it was a pleasure to asso-
elHte. There was more cordiality and good feeling manifested toward each
oiher in those days than at present. In short, there was more honesty, and less
dWmnlation, then than now.'

For wealth well dispensed ; for true art and true art-culture ; for ^aooom-
pUunents,' properly so called ; fi>r literature, sdeaoe, hnowUdge : fiar these,

300 JEditor^s Table. [September,

as well as for the means of their procurement, we desire to infer that our cor-
respondent is a not indiJOferent advocate.

A Voice fbom the * North Woods.' — Right cordially do wo welcome the
new correspondent who addresses us from the &r * North Woods ; ' from a
tangled solitude, ^ where Nature is just entering her teens of cultivated ooun-
tryhood.' He evidently describes what he Baw^ and expresses what h»fBeU:
and our own experience enables us to testify that he does both with a rare
faithiulness :

' This is a new country ; and, like all new countries, nature and the inhabitant!
are in that poeticallj-visioned state, so captivating to the student of geography ;
the half-6avage, half-civilized ; where you miss every thing, want little, and find
much. For instance, I miss the mercury at a hundred in the shade — * shade' of
cities I I miss the use of ice ; but lie down to any rivulet, and drink always a cold
draught. Shade I Here U shade : enter it, and the outside world seems suddenly
to suffer an eclipse ; but you know the sun shines there, and you know yon are
cool, with wood-scents about you, even at noon-day ; for here moisture is per-
petuaL The sand and evergreens and mosses which cover every thing, appear-
ing even in the field for the strawberries to lie on, and ferns that reach to your
throat, keep the brooks cool and full ; and the little venturesome trout knows it,
and knows his safety here, in the slightest runnels, where he is found. He dips
from your notice like a dart ; yet he is autocrat of the brook. What brilliant ia-
sects are his ! Large and gaudy, he attacks them with a tiger-like ferocity, and
their beauty is gone. Such dainties are his ; and to look at him yon would al-
most say, he is worthy of them. What ferns bend over him ! What flowers bwk
at him to view his turtlc-grcen back and spotted sides, and his eyes, great eyes
that look forever I His floor is sanded. White and yellow and crimson roots of
herbs, like the hair of Nereids, tuft his habitation. I lie and watch him for
hours ; note the unceasing motion of his jaws, the soft slight movement of his
tail, and his tiny fin-hands feeling his element, and — splash ! like a shot, spatter*
ing the drops on your face — an insect life has ceased.

* Let the tiny tribe beware of him : day and night he watches for his prey : his
vigilance is unceasing. At night, often, I hear his splash, when moths are abroad.
Those eyes see every thing at all times. Yes, for hours I watch him, iHth none
to reproach the sluggard : * in solitude there is no crime.' This dght yon miss in
Gotham. You have live fish — in your jars — it may be Trout, even: *batyoa
did not bring home the river and sky.* The fern scent is not in your nostrils, nor
the breath from sun-lit dells of raspberries. The spruce and the larch open no
glimpses of blue sky to you and at night-fall pour their odors upon yon.

*• One hundred Fahrenheit, say the papers, and many sun-strokes. Here yoa
are almost in darkness at noon-day, so close is the net-work of leaves. Talk of
sun*«trokc here ! This is the high ground where spring, on a mere patch of eartii,
most of the largo water-courses of the State ; on your left cournng down to tlis
St. Lawrence, on your right to the Mohawk: in front, to the Lake Geoi|{e
country. In this common home the Hudson has its birth : Aos, I say, for Is it sot
< DDMtnntly born, over new ? Aro they not all ever new? Yon would say m, la
witnessing this doubtful birth-place of the streams ; doubtful, for they might hatt

iai».] JEcKtar'a Tbbh. 301

ehanged their mind, and the St Lawrence streams gone to the Mohawk, and viee
vfTM. But the parent Powib wisely distributed them : and now we hare Trenton
Mto, and Watertown, and the finest trout, in the head-waters of Black Riyer,
thftt ever sounded the ancient music of Salmo JF^imtenalis : great black-backed
MowBy the Grim8on-4ind-gold spots on their sides intense in the dark setting, with
a (now-white line running through the centre of the dusky-saffiron belly, the
wlttla body shinhig with a bronze lustre, bright as metal !

*So much for the trout of this region : now for the water. Of all earth's water-
piotnret, none can approach the coves of the Black River here : secluded, smooth
•• |^asi^ and black as ebony. • The foliage around them is dense, the cones of the
imAom evergreens — spruce, balsam, tamarack — conspicuous; but all softened
d0im by the prevailing green of the maple and birch and wild mountain-ash,
yil in blossom, friftging the water^s edge, water and blooms often meeting. You
iM nrpiised to see such beauty : you fStdl in love with the extreme loveliness of
Afttee, wUh these mirrors. This is the home of the trout : do you wonder at his
biHrtf f I indnde the feeder (of the Bhusk ^ver Oanal) running parallel with it.
Kim «f6& the ^raging' traffic can contaminate its pure current, unimpeded by
looks. What is Venice to this ? Ah 1 I will yield to the gondolier (when I thhik
Oftfiiir own * craft') not the canals-— not even with the spell of the great misan-
llBNipe upon them — of ^Adriac's gondolier.' I am located upon the banks of this
Ytttit% for the season. I am denied every thing — so goes the prescription — pen,
m>^, books, newspapers ; yet I now and then hear from the world. A printed
lllf looks wdl among green leaves : it is white ; we love to see white things. And
thtta you have the world's events acting before you — human nature there in your
hands. If you would value a newspaper, read it in the woods, by chance, once in
a week or two, far from the advantages of intelligence. Even advertisements are
welcome. It is then, if ever, that you appreciate your author.

'A thunder-storm passing over the wUdemess, and you at an elevated distance
to note it ! This is a sight. You have heard the crash of thunder : but did you
ever hear its echo in the wide forest? It is a cadence like the sound of a
iHnidred locomotives, lessening in the distance, and exten^ng in all directions
over the forest, permeating it, dying at last in the leafnspaces and rock-clefts.

^Qf one thing here one never gets tired: the odor at nigbt-fiUl; so various
and blended, that I have found it only here. There are most of the evergreens,
the mosses, ferns, a variety of spices, and the red raspberry, which covers every
ttlag not occupied by the plough. You never fail to be reminded of these the
moment you step out of your door ; and, unconsciously, you are drawing copious
inspirations. How soon a friendship is formed for your invisible visitor, convers-
ing with so delicate a sense ! What then of the morning, with the dew and the
birds (now silent with maternity) and the great bright siin, and buoyancy, and
freshness, with the aroma of oxygen-breathing vegetation — all in the dead forest,
ever shaded, ever still: for even the soaring effulgence of the sun, the great
animator, cannot wake the echoes, dormant from the creation : even in the wind
and babblix^ of waters is silence : under all is the deep, pervading stillness^ Man
ahme makes a noise. The neighing of his steed, the low of his herds, speak of
him: not so the cry of the puma, nor the scream of the loon. This is the
nUnee of the earth, as yonder the mtuie of the spheres. This silence is a cha-
raeteristic of the wUdemess, and most emphatic to the newly-initiated.

* To-day, July the fiftii, the strawberry is in its prime — long since out of sea-
son with you. Tardy is the season here, with frost, at this high elevation, in
entf month of the year, often : frost the last night of June, Just past, and the

VOL. LH 20

302 JSditor^a 2hble. [September,

flrnt of Julj. In wintor the snow is five feet deep, driving the deer into the re-
ceiwoK : tlio fly novr drivcB them out, and we see them repeatedly croas the clearings,
ummlly nt inornliif^ or night-fall. Shots are frequently made by the unpractised,
ami are unsiicccsRAil. No hunter goes abroad now. And the deer are tame: you
nnn paiw them within a few yards in their coverts. Not so in winter, when the
Lrn'nti*Mt oare must be combined with the bullet. But the great depth of snow
horo iit a bar to the nportsman, while it greatly aids the slaughtering pot-hunter.

* The air and the sky are purer here than elsewhere generally. Oh! the loveli-
uoM of Huch a sky over such aflSuence of foliage, having the fresh appearanoe of
luid-Junc ! The gra89 in the meadow-clearings is tender, the clean timothy con-
tracting with tho blackened stumps, and waved by the slight July breexe, the two
olovom blendhig their strong scents, even at noon-day. Here nestle itrawberrieB
tinniAtohod, at Icaxt in quantity ; tall stems with large fruit^ picked but one.
They aro every where ; every body uses them ; and the consequence is, they are se-
loot^ frilly ripOt served (partly from necessity) without cream or sogar, and I
<<ometimeA think it an improvement But the berry must be ripe, thoroughly
Hponed in thf tun^ till it rt^aches that point of * (Ussolving nature* which makes it
T\e\'t;(r« jio w«ll apprtH?iat<.«d by the ant. The insect is a tesL Then sogar Cub
to improve : and the flavor, the aroma of a ripe strawberry ! — yon touch it only to
it\juro it : you cannot improve it ; improve the most exquisite flavor by the pro-
duct of the dairy ? It will do to aid an unripe berry. We 'seeaon' our fi>od too
:uueK« I foAr. Habit l* potent : e«|ually so when applied to simplicity of food, as
v>ne at lea^t can testify from experience. Have I (^intmtiOBaHy) wearied yon?

Tnc Nvw-Wmu: Hrfnx'^iucjLi. Srvmr. — A ootittpciidept of die BMwumd
\ y^^ ^VTkif' Y^xs a hTirh and weQ-merited oompfinMsit to tiie A«»- Jerdb JK*-
>^jk<\9i c^*>ffjt'. The writer shivold aKi have visdted the JUtor Ltbrmrjf^ one
^ the noMo^ aavl mv>fit OLxnpleft^ irt^dnitScvis of its kixMi in Aman : sod
xrl;\')v xiThkr the c^>ah3e s;iwrvv3^\n of Mr. Cogswcll. is oonsttndj faSupx^ 0

Tav ^ew-^^^Tl n-;<T.v;«-«I ^viety :jt ^tj^ ,>f ^^ oSdess asid idms SDaoeuM of the

.i^'wvs IV. ¥^R^^^^TJv Mr V.^msvl. Itfr. 'Rfr.^^Fr.^^s Vr. Sraxu.. and nuasy cdMcs of
;>i4<:»«'i9An« viiiQ; it 4^Mn«if> f^r, tar m a.iranc!f t*^ ar.|r Kxcilar sHAii^nSm a

^^r ,v" t>»<» Tir« l«»Sr*T7 Bijj-.i.r.^ f.^r vbf ^.x-jr-ry rir tbe comer af ^
sr.-, S^.^■*ni Av«>ne. »r. Ailjtjw wfcinh » ax. aaA-nmrai t^ the orr aad
:v^ «h.^k *■^^tt^^n Tht bir.:^:r.ji: «-» AMnmrTt.^pi wi^bMH n&e dVkOar. i
,'«::vv. «^t^<^nt 'srr^^rr.r^t'.'^r.. anc )t aN>ai 4«v yoa.'^ frracihe daiecf Iniag
'^ r-snM^. :i ink* .trv^noA ^.\y fr-Nti f^Ttmrvt.j' Anc vhat d.-^ tub siiiijMm i
-'I -v <>eiii* l'rW*ttis)* A!* eurhiv Lh/«<rs«ii£ d.i21a?» Ttiv i* aa imiaBae ef
^•^.•. or«/»"r7*-MN». »-*:)Kn-!» « 7««rulifi. -.n ihc ^ln\\t fjyuTizrr Tiat bnijdii^ ia fnit

vV»-.> .r. tiw oMx Thf ci!f*;.ior. m»x br a«i.-<< \y utmtt nf icTTiicfadiW^' "^
;>>t-^ mkfcniiCf V Vaot nr iW >M:/»?«»l "i wiV. 1*J; y^u; ChioeainnatA'
« •■nA^J'nt »)w hn^5* c*!****^. <«•*".. aTT th-.-'^T. oi»cT. anc hriliia&ih'

1858.] Mlitor's Tabh. 803

Gossip with Rbaobrs and Oorbbspondsnts. — We have lately oome into
the pofisession of a rare literary performaDoe ; a production such as is seldom
met with, in our present era. It had its origin in Great-Bend, Tennessee :
and is entitled * The Romance of R^orm : * its author, Edwin H. Tbnnbt.
With the aid of the excellent friend and time-honored correspondent from
whom we reoeiYe it, let us proceed briefly to consider its extraordinary claims
opoDi the wondering admiration of our readers. * Dictionary Johnson,' * Ram-
bler Johnson,' * Rasselas Johnson,' * Hebrides Johnson,' once wrote a tract
entitled, * Taxation no Tyranny.' Ghreat writers, like himself more especially
tiiose who flourish now-a-days, are often said, by a figure of speech, to tax the
powers of the English ton^e, or to * wreak their thoughts upon expression : '
Gabltlb, for example, who cannot be bored by what is American, more than we
aie by his English. Some, like Cablyle, are said to have * a despotic power
orer language.* It is, however, no tyranny, but rather an attempt at the
same : because the great Republic of Letters, before tolerating any such Act,
by Gbobgb, or any body else, will first throw all its Ts overboard, whether in
posseasicm of the said Thomas, or Tennet, or TrrrLEBAT Titmouse. To set
constitutional law at defiance, and to levy arbitrarily on the capabilities of that
gfeit store-house whose treasures have been kid up by our fore&thers for the
neoBBsities of all, is done in various ways, some of which we may mention.
ImprimiB^ by a sort of sequestration of epithets, turning them away from their
d^inal sense, and slipping them into a new collocation : which, when ingeni-
ously efiected, adds grace to style, and is a practice alluded to in the/^^
Poetica^ of HoRATTus. Again, our * Mother Tongue' is taxed: but this is
oiDed 'murdering the King's English,' by straining its flexibility, or by an art
of re-coinage. This was done in old-&shioned times by Mrs. Slipslop, (who
had a tongue of her own^ which she exercised with great eantrol, not in the
sense of controlling it,) in Joseph Andrews, when she used frequently to say,
* I am codMous that Joseph,' etc., etc. Those excellent ladies, Mrs. Rams-
bottom and Mrs. Partington, may be referred to, in illustration of the same.
Some members of Congress even now might be mentioned, if we could think
of their names : one especially, whose private letter was recently indecorously
polilished — politicians, it seems, having little delicacy in such matters — for
its violations of the English tongue, very properly took up the pen in his own
defence : * I writ it,' said he, (a form of expression a little antique, but to
Which no exception can be made,) * I writ it, but it is d bly mueilated f
We have some poets among us also, who, intending to be most exquisite, lay
a tax on the dictionary for all the poetical words which it contains. Poetry, it
is well known, has its own distinct aerhictge^ without which it can neither be
crystalline, diaphanous, nor luscious: its darling pet syllabifications; Mts
lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon : ' nor have common words availed even a
sin^ fig, except in such compositions as Grat's Elegy, and the poems of
Robert Burns, now pretty well out of date, and buried in the hearts of those
who have read them. We have read a little book of poems by a Mr. ChiVers,
(what a crisp, sparkling name !) which is a casket overbrimming with the most
incomparable gems that ever sparicled in Heaven's light The author re-

304 JEditor's TcMe. [September,

markH in his preface, which is itself a prosaic bewilderment of all that is most
precious in the ycrhal domain : * As the diamond is the crystalline Revdator of
the acroniatic white light of HBAVBy, so is a perfect poem the crystalline rere-
lation of the Divine Idea. There is just the difiference between a pure poem
and one tlmt is not, that there is between the spiritual concretion of a diamoDd,
and the more glaciation of water into ice. For as the irradiancy of a diamond
depends upon its diaphanous translucency, so does the beauty of a poem upon
its riiytlimical crystallization of the Divine Idea.' We concur with the auttior
in those views, although we never had the power to express them. A sing^
verse fmm Mr. Chi vers, which is all we shall quote, as we would not violate
the ct>py-riglit, will show that he does not lay down principles by which he is
not himself guided :

' Ox the berrl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby

Brought Yresh from the hvaline itreams.
She played on the banks of' the Taba

Such songs as she heard in her dreama.
Like the heavens when the stars from their fljri«s

Look down through the ebon ni^t air.
Where the grrores br the Ouphantic Fairies

Lit up for mv Lilt Adair,

For mr child-like Lilt Adaik,

For my hearen-bom Lilt Adaie,

For mV beautiful, dutiful Lilt AotAia.'

There is immortality in these verses^ unless immortaUtf is ' a figmoil' llaoy
of oiur writers arc wont to press all the 9e^uipedaUa terba into tfaeir oooipo-
sitivm.s leaving nothing but paltry monosyllables to othenL Bat notwith-
stamding tliis immense drain, the groat well of pure EngKah nndefitod is abund-
ant fi^r c^uumi'^n U9e« or extraoniinary occasioD. On some Fomtli-Qf-Jii^ tre
hare thiHight that it wouM be exhausted of efHthets : but there are plenty
more when any great effort is to bo made ; as is always the cne in our win-
tCT lociunKi ; <or we have heard no lectures for some years past wfaicfa wen
not too grmt for their topics,, while we har£y know of any topic gnat cnoo^
ftvr sxK^h treatment VTo ha^ somcdnies written with a pen mads finxn an
eagW s quill but accvwdin^ to the * Romanoe of Refonn ' we nmt hnnt about
^v the pinkw of an ArchanpciL Tbe pamphkc is a perfect oatanct cf forensic
<4^>q\wtKxv It wiBfs rcH^wts^^ of its aooxnpKshed aotbor for pnblicitipn by the
ViMmg gontk«nen «^ iircat-Bend. and dtaractcriaed in their note at botii able
and c}i\)uc!nt >Vo itid n«^ extmd our wetsiem journey so fia> at that looality :
Im;( it is at ^^ne of tb^vsc $)idden tumin$^pohlls of ilie ^raat ^'^"■"■'fl'^ which
^N bv the name of ' RcintW a$ f^v in5«aKXk 'littk Beod," ^BigBend,' 'Shirt-
Tail lVi>(i' cto. It is nv% wonkier ihax thosie on soch a bend dMnId be pnal
«^ thoir TV^noy *M^ with such an oreior ' in their nudst." To ipnk at lit fan
<V%n<v in an «>Hv^)rc p)ao<v is an al^^ttc wasae of TertaagQi if diat oniion had
b<y«n tV^nvTKv) in NcwA'tvk or Washii^t^"^ <v in «iy other |daiM alMiin«>—i
arc o.Mnfrre^toii th<<9T is no rcvif whkJti would not have been tooi off by^ ikt
m^'Kt ih)r.vVq<injr a^v^maiiovfes : but in jsnc^ aaaadieDoe
f«^nd ai <h<' ' 1VvHi« ' it is no( i^'tSable that tiKre wv a
nnti«>rst«\\) it \ pr^Nvkr vindication ci ^ o^iaatias of ibe
toT\)r<i«'' tivv niV ^\t4 than in tho ^vi^voias periods of ilns
si4i<H). Alth^'M^ i( i» a little uv moti^f^Ky^^oal for our tasia. (vtadi, htm ikt

1858.]

JEHitor's Table. 805

pfeceding remarks, it wOl he seen is a very plain one,) and its richness of Ian.
goage is so great, as we are borne along on its Toluminous swell, that we
hardly pause to take in the ideas ; yet we would not invidiously detract from
merits which have no parallel in the whole range of classic oratory. In proof
of which, let extracts be subnutted to a candid world. In his second division,
he says:

' BoxAVOB of Reform being revolutions commenced in the fanciful bounds of human
probabilities, without recognizing the standard of national worth, which are eflfectu-
ted by convictions ever accompanjing a distorted fancy is ethicdUy unwarrantable.
The commission it arrogates, tne aggression it fosters, or the coffencj it wields can
not vaporize its resentment or mitigate its severity. If yon indorse its authority
jou must ratify its prowess ; if you descant on its efficiency you must concede its
usurpation ; ir you nle off its acerbity you must christianize its resentment ; and if
Toil analyze it, nothing but the cold equity of retaliation will dissolve it. It is then
thai the casuist ashamed at vindications of reform from wonder and curiosity opens
his immortal scroll. He reads in vain of a Jonah leaving in penitence his oily cavern
ibr the dreaded rebels beyond the sea : no waving flag or booming cannon hailed his
resurrection ; no martial band or Hebrew brother proclaimed his welcome, ere he
announced with stirring eloquence their awful doom. He reads in vain of Elijah
with his mantle dividing the Jordan ; to his son bequeathing his spirit, and to the
grinding teeth of the forest he resigns his scoffers, to be wafted by steeds of fire to
mansions of bliss. He reads in vam of Sampson with his fatal jaw and flre-brands
ehterinff upon that reform for the sake of which he lost his sieht, and was bound in
brass ; for the sake of which he was robbed of strength and Tauffhed to scorn ; and
Ibr which he laid down his life in that temple whose massive columns he was hug-
ging when its bellowings were lost mid dying howls 1 '

Contrast with this clear exposition, the * puffing arrogance' and * nimble
hq[M8* which *no theodolite can span* of a pseudo Realitt, 'oscillating 'mid
etherealities,' and * things of that description, of that sort : '

* Bbautt to the student tumbling the lumps for a whiskey toddy, and reforming
his elass-inate by holding his head ; reality to tne savage pickmg the leeches from his
craral net trappings to reform by their bites foul-blooded humanity ; reality to the
gambler pickling bis dice in infamies bottles to throw double sizes from romance
ms bowl ; reality to the sailor trifling with the whirlpool on lifes' giddy ocean to be
wrecked with the waves for his feelingless home ; reality to the warrior tossed by the
roddnffs of times furrowed billows to garnish his sabre, with romance his goal. To
some tms stands to our theme a? the marrow to the bone, as the setireme to the beetle^
their motor and major : as the cloud by day and pillar of fire by night to the host of
Isi^AiL in tiie ancient wilderness.'

If our orator is grand in his lingual displays, he is sublime in the figurative
6egKrtmeaat Listen to his illustration of an * unyielding aspiration.' We
commend the passage to the especial attention of our rail-road firiends :

'It may answer as the toood to death locomotive ; but oil and water are lacking.
This oil and water, the worm-wood of their hopes, and gall of their fears, are a nullify
to their commodities of Inseparable fruition; they are the clergymen in their paradise
dr intoxicated bliss ; they are the cholera in their summer of vigorous bloom. To the
true patron it is a pacificator which checks the cries of restless frenzy, mounts the
waves of battered grief, and stems the tides of error. They would feed death's looo-
EQotive with oil and water; and when with nimble wheels, limber joints, and snorting
pipes, it is fired for the track of glory, as the draw-bridge of life is closing, they
would fly for the glassy portals ; and when with shiverins fear, aching hope, and
pallid cheek, they approach mortalities Junction, they would join the express of Jor-
dan, and having entered immortalities depot, they would wrap them in the icicles of
deaths cold mantle^ and lay them in tiie grave-yards of endless wo.'

The entire address is more Miltonic than Milton, more Byronic than Btrok,
more Websterian than Webster, and more transcendental in its obfuscated di-
dactics than all three of them put together : and if the author will send us the
pen with which it was written, though made of a common goose's quill, we will

806 Mlitor'8 Table. [September,

have it sot in gold, and encased in a casket of porphyry. The * Bomance of
Reform * is a good subject May we suggest to the eloquent author, as another
suitable theme for the expenditure of his genius, at such time as he shall leave
the Great-Bend — where he may take our word for it he will never be appre-
ciated as ho should be — Tue Reform of Romance, so as to ^reform it alto-
gether ? * Masculine authorities are fest protruding it into the ground-work of
elaborated immoralities, absorptive of adult progresdveness, and of adolescent
proclivities, not only excoriating to the mental aliment, but actually detersive
to the iino-strung fibres of the moral sensibilities, while a febrile action discovers
no prophylactic in all the range of its prolusiveness, and no diuretic in aU the
conglomerations of its pseudo-philosophical arbitraments. Feminine pariaven-
tions have not meliorated, on the other hand, the prostrating tendencies of its
engcndereil corruptibilities, nor modulated tlie twang of its harping phUantfaro-
pics. It is Hyperion to a sat}T. Let Mr. Tennet dissect and cauterize it to
the very depth of its amphibious volubilities, tracing it throo^ all the streamB
of its arterial circulations, and gerrymandering it into all the procreativaiess of
its diurnal vicissitudes. From Hvlax to ALDEBOROXDKFOsnroRHioencxM, kt
him sway it into the category of diluted immaterialities, and sweep it as with
the ^ing of a Gorgon into the boiling abyss of demolition. Then shall we have
a literature which the countr}' may be proud o^ and oratoirs who will endiant
us like the wand of a Jullien. Wo have done : our eliminated eztractioDS,
above promulgauni with prelusive and intermingled oonuneDtuial scmtiDatiODS
and idiosyncrasies ' it is lK>pod may please.* . . . < Near the office when
your ilainty * Table ' U monthly spread,' writes a wdoome town-ooReqKindeDt,

* is the businoss-plaoo of tlie King of the Shoc^ealers. Yean ago^ wiien living at
Milforvl^ not half as rich as he is now, and of course not half as reqiectable, be
went ti> a militia-tnuning at W<xvtor. The Maine Law was not tboog^ of then
in the * Bay State,' and the liquor dnrulated finedy. Our friend entering into
the spirit of the swne, ' tr«>ateil ' every K>dy — himself not exoqitod Two or
thiw days after, he ivtumcd to Mntbid. and putting a bold &oe on the "***^

walkc^l into IXiacon T ^'s slK^p and cried out : * Wdl, Deaoon, I mide one

hun\livd and fifty di>1laz^ by giMu:; to Woostcr ! " The strong Yankee curioeity
kept back the s<4emn Icctuzv in stor(> ; and looking at him^ as faia appMimce
ga^ nMvr sijfms of an aching he«ul than a full pockety the Deaoon asked, 'Howt'

* Why,' :>4ud the returned pi\>diiril * I had a s|-treie worth two bandied end fifty
iVvlars. and it vHily cvv>t me a huuxinxl' v.Ho d«>es n t take aoooimt of stodc in
that way now^-dax-s.") Speaking: i^this : there ant some * haid ohmb ' m Hattmift
shvv>-trat)e. A hn!*e iktder, not vvlobrated for mudi piety, Ihea ofcr tliB Bh(
RiwT, in one of thi\» ' Plaofts* so nunH'rc<as in the • Cin* of ChnrciMK.' An eflbrt
was beii^ maiW to erect a drareh f%>r the piXY. and a gentkntfu, ipw»»i^ of
his irbanotor, calk\l ^^n him Ivr a s;:lk!ivTiptiiXL Bemg ixsbend «rf^ iht r*^i»'^
ixwvYTsatiKNn ufvx) tl)o wmther ark) Kisine^ w:k^ quke fiTdr for a fei
when the sxib^iVt of the \isij w;as tuavvl and the sabftcriptM^book
Ho t,\>k it, a:vl V\4;M at it anxivxj*!) ; ih*>« hasrlhr j^Md the
tinnt^ cn.lius bv thnjsti;>ji iIk K\>k i^i. ;;,to the hani irf the
cit*v *M* olvantx . sa> u>ji a.^ Iv^ ,li,; s.n * ^.^ ' w»\r;t c.vo a wd cent; then anH
^.M«faxn>a(\\ ^wNj^V jr.^ r*^ h U */.'w as ha»l ^xu^t to!' Raiber a sn^ibr
riM^MX *» *kvUi>»i\jj u^ take nU\^ v.\ a uuxNiix^^x;^^ : IX) at jx« tiAi^ ^f*

1858.]

MlUor'a TaNe.

301

Jpropoi oi the loeak of the subject of the foregoing anecdote, (the Leather
Mart of the Great Metropolis,) is this tribute to * The Swamp^ which we dip
from the ''Evening Fo$t ' daily journal We have a shrewd suspicion as to who
is the author, but we will insinuate naught *at this present writing.' * The
SwAKP,' a name well known to all old residents of New-York, and not un&mi-
liar in business circles, is a r^on which Jacob, Glifi^ Ferrj streets, and the
easterly part of Beekman and Frankfort streets, trayerse. Within twenty«>fiye
years it was covered with tan-yards, and it is still the head-quarters of the hide
and leather trade. The high commercial character of its business people is well
in^cafced by the Unes which ensue. In earlier times it was called * Beekman^s
Swamp.* Some of the oldest and most genial of our Mends are business-resi-
dents of this locality ; and not a few ^ good things ' have found their way thence

to our readers. Forgather for half an hour with L ^ or the P s or

Y , or F , and it will *go hard* but you shall be made the recipient

of mudi that is worthy of remembrance. There, in that same * Swamp,' are
men whose liberal purses, conjoined with refined and educated tastes, have dcme
•a much for art as any others in Gotham. There, too, are the open-handed
bene&ctors of our public charities ; and eke captains of ' Genturians,' * Column *-
nar supports, and old * Sketch-Club '- ers, honored and honoring alike. A great
* institution* is * The Swamp,' and greater still the Swampites :

*Tb3B is the Swamp. On maps of old

New-York
'Tia laid down * BeekmarCs Swam^f* and

Beckman-street
Bans through it now. The Leather Trade

has here
Ita home ; and piles of * Sole ' and ' Upper '

fiU
The shops, into which mild cart-meii back

their drays, ^

And swear the while not much. Preten-
tious stores
Are absent here. The men and their

demesnes
Do wear no airs: and Broadway swells

come here
Bat rarely. Yet, I like the place and

men:
And, on my way to printers Grat and

JBLuipaa,
And the seldom-coming Clark, *who

writes
The KinoKxaBOCKaa, this leathery maze
I thread content; and meet the men in

scores
Whose notes are good as gold : who with

good sense
Hare made their money, and whose money

has
Not made fools of them. Financially they
Are solid and substantial men,
Bat. for the most part, corpo-r^o^y slim :
In tiiis unlike the * solid men of Boston,'
Whom I've seen shake the flags State-
street along,
With slow fat tread, and swinging sweep

of watch-seal:
Withal a little wheezj in the breath.
This sort of men i' the Swamp would go at

what
They 're worth, and not at Boston prices.

' The Harpers have encamped

Hard bj, behind the printing-house of

Gray,
And vex the auiet air with noisy hum
Of presses, wnich print their Monthly in

its course,
And dviUzatiofCa Journal also :
They 're scarcely held as regular denizens
Of {he old Swamp, but squatters only on

its outer marge,
Who may, perchance, by long behavior

good,
Gkt rank among the favored of that ilk,
And come to be directors in S. Enapp's
Mechanics' Bank. Smells multifarious
Herefrom ascend to Heaven. Of which

the chie^
The scent of honest commerce, breathes

i' the breath
Of ruddy sole-leather : and next to this,
Ajid far more questionable, the odors

stronff
That rise from hides of all sorta, fresh and

Of cattle wild and tame, as well the beasts
That frftk upon the Pampas of Brazil
As those that come athirst, close-packed

and hot,
Over the wide-gauged Erie, killed on

Bergen Hill,
Or sold at the Bull's Head, whereof there

is a bank
And three-cent stages upon Avenue Third.
Other smells there are, and smells of

power, that rise
From ^tters which the Groton Board de-

cbne
To wash ; where Celt and Teuton, sallying

forth
From basement and high story, eke spill

slops

:)0H

EdUof^a liMe.

[September,

UjHMi ilU|(U4Uid oobbl«-fton««. If to be
Nnw YiirC WHru goverued, things of this

iMirl liAit ctttMod,
tliil nil t Nttvr- Yurk nIiaII know no gorern-

lllKHi

Till fliitivM«Uiill thmng no mora the Oitj

lUII I
Wiitfii tM*ii iiUiUl hqtpou, tho good Mackat

iiKiY wrltn
On0 M(in Hong more about tlie GiXki Timu

Till \\m\^ (he Ood of Uathor, If in the

lii»Ath(tn
PAiilhiHui iiu««h Ihoro Im, m o*or (h« Swiuup
Uo JMMid*, hUN|uti of ohit^fdolitfht, inrntont
Mual bo \\\ ainoUi ^i\\\ «tvut of bidM and

If oommon phraae be tnu^ ibidM in ten-

jards.
Of such a itrong'jawed beut the nip is to
Itistoric sesrcE unfitvorable, and his

teoth.
Well set in celf, or higher up, are apt
To 'mind us of the tiungs that are, rati

than
The things which may hare been.

* On lanes and oomers near the Swamp^

th* Iron Trade
Has found a home ; and names tliat tben

on signs
Are seen, are heard in blacksmiths^ shops.

Of these
A part are colonists from honses British:

Vho iMH^Ving (\im«« of foulest water, and . 0* their clerks, some oocknejssxe,(7oa11

llio i\«H\«Mi hear them as ron pass,)

\\\ \ (^»ulU<^ iu rank d«vav ; suoh ax ' Who drire their hoocapations with ao A—
Iio^mUoui huoVater« rtiujs/atloweM rates. Their 'orse withonC Th* iron-moagen
t\» uuW Aud AmuaU IVUa, and Teuton* t<x\ ax>» mmt the Swamp,

>> h^v on \\\* HightA \4rs*uu\ia>:!k do Mek
V.^^ oh«vA)H»l suUU «\f OAilkariue and

|^<\ aiv ihet^ iu of\^w>ila. and riN^ <>f

^Mk^^K

Not i*/ it. Manr trades and crafli Iwft

pitched
Tbeir teats npon the bnsr margins ef this

Mat
Of thrift. Bttt those, the mb IVa

>pi.>ke& oC
WVm« tt^>9es are good*

U.>).U k'^>\ )¥ VWii^ near v> IVaH :
;im V,\>,v<v'^«'' M'v«^ aaiki %^a* vats is

^\>e^>k,>it vtrjix <weie w

^^s*gw»»^ >>c ft,v,: «i^ ^"^r* i4«r ^fi^ S,Y imi.

.^MiacK tvtMtNNBMr Atmnik ;^ i^ihfWL*tr^ I '1«sk-I ;ut>c luw a
•^«v>u a ^owiuc Vt^tfe^ "a^*^ m^ jicr^'t 1/ ^su^m^ % 3dfe ic

."^Vlii^S^Y V ~ ' IfeA :ti^^ iM^<!!tT94 tt out 7f MC aULUJU^ ft

>..«\.v\'V \' >iaasc< « mt XN>&.<a«Lxn Jlt^ iMinuQ^ !3

.Nte^f^ Jtsa^ it x^mI a /Snsn^wr k — ^ K tmi k WKEoa; t;I& %

*. -u IK "36>- ^. ^ « %-•>".* tai wv-;*

MM^.C^ «"1^ ^teklVX OMAUuitVM ^v XSlSM ^r: VfUWIV VI^L t
- - .■ H»- -^g*^ -^^ "^^ J

18(18.] JSdUav^s TaNe. a09

ono of the ftuditors, ^ I thought there was some repetition in the ranarics I '
'.Ah I' said another, * that might have been very good sport to their reverences,
but it was death to 'the frogs' in the pews! * By the by: 'Speaking of
lectures^ reminds me that ' Parson Jack,' a colored celebrity of this 'ilk,' in-
teods to enlighten this community by a lecture on ' Jfiman*,' as he says :
mlBsions generally: admissions, om&sions, commissions, permissions, andinter-
mismons.' - - - If any one of our readers, male or female, young or old,
has at any time considered it within an ' honorable proyince' to sneer at ^Old
Maid9^ and to bring reproach upon their class, let him or her draw near, and
peruse this sketch of ^Aunt SalJ^y who, we may presume, is only an exemplar
of thousands of the great fraternity to which she has the honor to belong :

* As I repeat the name of ' Aunt Sallt,* a vidon of the neat old lady in a
mwiin cap of spotless snow, surroanding a &ce beaming with kindness and
arg^w with good hamor, rises before me. A blaok apron is tied neatly about her
waist, from beneath which fall the graceful folds of a dark bombazine frock, con-
laining an immense pocket, which to us children is a perfect marvel ; the teem-
hig store-house whence issue the most delightful candies and raisins, fennel and
earaway in abundance ; the prettiest little cookies, with seeds in them ; together
Wf& fUH the appurtenances of a doll's wardrobe. But I need not enumerate : any
<iBe who has ever had an 'Aunt Sallt' (and I do pity the one who has not!)
kliows as well as I what that wonderful magazine contained. And yet, even in
Oiur younger days. Aunt Sally's charm lay not so much in her pocket — a perfect
wtmteopia though it were : the generous heart looking out from that dear face^
witii peculiar tenderness, on the little ones, was the true magnet.

' How as I pretend to give a faithful sketch of this good Aunt of mine, there is
» wOrd which must be spoken : she was and is an OLn Maid. She is my Grand-
aiother's sister, and lored my mother as if she were her own chUd. She would
often say to her, by way of advice : ' Never be in a hurry, Emilt, to marry : a
^ood husband is worth waiting for ; and if you get a had one, you will have quite
limg enough to live with him.' It has been suggested by a mischievous belle
eonsin of mine, in her curls and teens, that she may yet live in anticipation of the
advent of her liege lord : but I know * Aunt Sally' has never indulged in any
mdanoholy sentiments upon that subject.

*ldo think, of all the exhibitions of ingratitude in the world, one of the great-
est is that of deriding unmarried ladies of ' an uncertidn age.' Tht Old Maid !
What a void would there be in the world without her 1 Who covers all the balls
for the boys, and dreeses all the dolls for the girls ? Who turns aside the rod of
eorrection from the little culprit, with the assurance that she knows ' he did not
mean to do any thing out of the way ? ' Who mends the ugly rents in new
dresses, without letting * mother' know any thing about them ? Who ' do n't be-
lieve sugar-plums hurt children,' and always knows where the sweetmeats are ?
Who knits warm stockings for poor little ones, and lends a cheerful helping hand
on every busy occasion ? Who arranges the bridal dresses ? — and who so fiuth-
fblly watches by the bed-side of the sick, or smooths the pillow of the dying so
tenderly ?

*■ Aunt Sally's home is an old neat, trim, white Oonnecticnt fitrm-house, nest-
ling beneath the shadow of tall elms with graceful sweeping branches. There she
lives, where she always hca lived, with a bachelor brother and maiden sister.
My earliest recollections jncture forth the ancient mansion, with all its attractions,

810 Editor^s Table. [September,

80 fasoinating to my budding childhood. The pantry abounds with delicacies
Hercr to be found elaewhere. The kitchen rejoioeth in a bright ragHsarpet and
fiddle>back chairs. The garret is rich in relics of by-gone years. In the bam we
tossed the hay, and hunted for eggs ; in the farm-yard the chickens flew to eat
from our hands ; and in the brook at the foot of the hill, we sailed our tiny boats,
or fished with a tin cup tied to a pocket-handkerchieil How yiyidly all these
scenes glow in my memory ! Those who have not yet forgotten the joys of child-
hood, can appreciate * Aunt Sallt,* with her kind face and gentle words. She
stands ever near, ready to help on my happy sports. She Utcs yet in the old
place : and although eighty-one years have stamped their impress on her brow,
and cast their frosts upon her hair, she is still just as happy, and her heart bounds
just as cheerfully, if not as lightly, as when in by-gone years my mother sought
her side for sympathy in her childish sports, or poured into her tender bosom her
childish joys and sorrows. Who enjoys more love on earth than * Aunt Sally ?*
and who with her noble self-forgetfulness and broad mantle of oharity, has a
brighter prospect of happiness in the * Land of the Hereafter ? '* '

If it be indeed ^ A School Oirl * who sends us the foregoing, * Aunt Sallt,'
if she be yet in the land of the Hying, will surely appreciate the heart-wsim
tribute : as will many another * Old Maid,' who has * uen the time^ when she
was as good as ever she was.' ... We find in this mornings ptHt^ere the
sad announcement of the death of our old friend and contemporaiy, Willulx
T. Porter, of ^Porter's Spirit of the Times.^ Mr. Pobteb has not been in
good health for many months : and although apparently in no critical situatiOD,
it was yet evident to his friends, from the paleness of his fikoe^ and the dear
watery-blue of his failing eyes, that his days were not long in the knd.
William T. Porter was a kindly, courteous, generous Gentluah. ' I have
wintered and summered with Porter,' said the lamented Inman to ns one day,
not long before his death, * and I know that a truer or more genoons spirit
does n't exist among us.' And this will be the cordial testinumj of all who
bad the pleasure well to know the lamented deceased. From an obituary in
the ^ Times ^ daily journal, we take the annexed life-sketdi and Just tribute to
his memory:

* TwBKTT-sBVBK ycars since, Mr. Portsr started a paper, devoted to field-sports,
racing, hunting, fishing, and the like, called The Spirit of the Tunee, Its snooesi fiv
some time was doubtful : but the energy displayed by its editor, and the talent wfaieh
he engaged in its pages, soon gained it a wide and ultimately a permanent reputation.
Mr. PoRTBR (who was a native of Vermont, bom in 1806,) was the leoond of four bro-
thers, who were all distinguished for their literary ability. His eldest brother, Dr.
T. 0. PoRTBR, about the year 1845, in connection with Mr. N. P. Willo^ stuiad a
weekly paper called The Coraair, which did not meet with the sueoees it merited.
Another brother, Gbobob Porter, connected himself with the New-Orieans /VdnyMM^
and died in that city. • After his death, a stUl younger brother, Fravk PoBm, pfe-
yiously connected with the revenue service, repaired to New-Orleans to snpp^ Us
place, but fell sick there ; and after a voyage to Europe, in search of health, retaiMd
and laid his bones by the side of his brother. Of all the family, only the sii]^|aet of
our present notice survived. He had been assisted by his brothers in the eatabUah-
ment of his paper, and had also enlisted the best talent of the country in its aid. The
Spirit of the Tiinee obtained a reputation second only to that otJBeiWtLif^iiiLmiom,
Its circulation extended to England, India, and Australia, and was dittinguialiod la
those countries for the originality of its articles, especially those derotad to tha fiald

1958.] Mlitor'8 ToMe. 311

«l)d liyer-sportfl of ^e Western world. For twentj-flre jears Mr. Portbb devoted
his •Uention to this pi^r, ftnd retiring from its management about three jears ago,
itarted on September sixth, 1856, another publication of a still higher character, bat
devoted to ^e same interests, which he called Ibrter'a Spirit oftJu Time$.

'Mr. Gboagb Wilkbs was his co&djutor in this enterprise, which, from the first,
Mmmanded public attention, and speedily became a decided success. For a few
weeks past, Mr. Pobtsb was unable to write more than a simple paragraph for each
number of his paper. The work which he had in hand^ and to which he intended to
derote himself, was a biography of his friend, Hskbt Williaic Hbrbbbt, (Fbank
VdBBBTBB,) whose melancholy suicide, about two months ago, must be fresh in the re-
eoUectioB of our readers. He had been gradually failing for three or four years past :
when, on Thnrsday of last week, he was seized with chills, repaired to Ms bed, and
.never after left it. 2£r. Wilkbs, and other friends, remained with him during his
idckness. His last words were : * I want to go home,* He died without pain, uncon-
wious of the presence of those who were gathered about him. Few men hare had
'inter and warmer friends, and fewer men haye deserved them more. William T. Fob-
cut, it is scarcely too much to say, was beloved by all who knew him. His tongue
mmae nttered a word of scandal. Two or three times in his life it has been his lot to
4i|rer with some of his acquaintances : but never, although he ceased to communicate

nith them, was he known to censuse them.'

■■■,4

His funeral, <m the afteraoon of the day on which the report of his decease
letclied our oountry-fianctum, was solemnized at St Thomas', after the beauti-
|bl Mrvice of the Episcopal Church. The edifice was crowded by friends of the
deceased, who desired to honor his memory, as they had honored him while
living. Rest in peace, gentle and endeared Spirit I - - - Likb unto
^Tbagkarat, who fell dead in a never-to-be-forgotten love with a Hibernian
trtedi *a-scouring of her kettle' in Skibbareen, our Mobile bard has 'Men
a^ame ' touching a certain ^Maiden at the Well^* in years gone by. He *■ lets
on' how it was:

'I've mingled in Life's stirring scenes ;

I 've heard the glorious shout of Mabs,
And breathed the sulph'rous cloud that
screens

His horrors and his scars :

< I 've wandered far in foreign lands.
To where the cruel Oanges flows ;

I 've trod Zahara's burning sands.
And Alps' eternal snows.'

'*TwA8 on a sultrv, summer day,

1 asked for driuK ; she save it me :
* T was but a simple act,^you say.

And so, no doubt, thought she.

'Long, weary years have passed since
then.
And aU th«r various changes wrought:
I *J9 striven with my fellow-men,
. Aa every true man ought.

Yet it seems that go where he would, the * Maiden at the Well ' followed him.
We]], what is gomg to be done about it ? We trust * E.' has not wedded
ano^r maiden: if so, we shouldn't like to stand in her shoes. She might
better have ' trod' with him ' Zahara's burning sands,' or accompanied him to
the * cruel Ganges,' and joined the unappreciated wives who have populated with
tfaear corses that renowned stream. - - - We cannot resist the inclination to
quote the following passage fix>m a recent letter of an old-time friend and feUow-
atodent, delightfully resid^it in one of our noble midland counties : * I was
reooTering from sickness lately, and needed something to tempt my i^petite.
I thought woodcock, weH cooked and served, would move my dormant palate.

My Irish servant was told to go down and purchase a pair. Mr& B said

to him : * I suppose you know what they are ? — those birds with very long
biUs ?' * Yes, Mem, I do.' Then turning to the cook, she gave directions for
their preparation for the table. After the lapse of an hour, the man returned

312

Editor's Table.

[SeptembeTi

with the diange. ^ Well, Jix, did you get the woodcocks V * I did^ Mem.'
* But how is this ? — how much change have you brou^t ? What did tfa^
cost? 'Sixteen cents, Mem.' *WhatI sixteen cents kxthepairt' ^Te^^
Mem' ' Why, that is extremely cheap I ' He stood in a he^tating way fbr a

moment, and then asked Mrs. B if she would not step down and see them.

She walked down to the kitchen, and Jim stepped up to the table^ took iqp a
small package, which he unfolded, and handed out a couple of the longest kind
of wooden faucets ! *' Why, bless you, man, these are not woodooda I Did nt
you hear me give directions about eoohing them?' 'I did^ Mem.' ^Bot
do n't you see ttiat I could not cook one of theee f I might keep* them in the
pot a whole hour, and they would not be cooked.' * I see, Mem : I made a
mistake. Shall I take 'em back, Mem ? ' * Certainly 1 ' Was there ever any
thing so thoroughly Irish ? - - - We would respectfully advise Mr. Mm
S. Isaacs, who writes for the '^ Jewish Messenger^ to lay aside his sham-' pea'
He is a plagiarist of the meanest type : for he steals that whidi is good, attoB
and * mixes it up' with his own feeble platitudes, until it is ridiciilous, and
then palms the whole upon the public as original In the ^Messenger ' for the
eighteenth of June, is a piece purporting to be by Mr. Isaacs^ entitled ' Tk§
Remembrance of the Dead^ Open Irving's * Sketd^Book,' reader, at *'Bwrol
Fun&raU^ and make the subjoined comparisons, commencing with the ^ecj
first sentence :

nviKQ.

* Thb love which survives the tomb is
one of the noblest attributes of the soul.'

' Whbn the sudden anguish and the con-
rulsive agony over the present ruins of all
that we most loved is softened away into
pensive meditation on all that it was in j
the days of its loveliness, who would root '
out such a sorrow from the heart ? '

'Thi sorrow for the dead is the only
sorrow from which we refuse to be di*
Forced. Every other wound we seek to
heal — every other afiSiction to forget;
but this wound we consider it a duty to
keep open — this affliction we cherish and
brood over in solitude.'

'Though it
passing cloud

may sometimes throw a
over the bright eye of
gayety7or spread a deeper sadness over
the hour of gloom ; yet who would ex-
change it for the song of pleasure or the
burst of revelry?*

' Who can look down upon the grave,
even of an enemv, and not feel a com-
punctious throb that he should ever have
warred with the poor handful of earth
that lies mouldering before him ? '

< Thb love which survives the tomb ii
one of the noblest attributea of the tooL'

' Whkit our sadden angpish and oon-
vulsive agony are softenM into penaiTe
meditation on the being whose lOM we
mourn, our sorrow beoomea, aa it were^
healing and sacred. It teachei ua tiiat
though we ^eve, though oar rami eaa
never be stifled, he for whom we mI aad
is enjoying a state of bliaa, and knowa no
sorrow.'

*■ Thu sorrow we feel for the dead is tfaa
only affliction for which we iifaae to be
comforted. Every other troabia w« atiive
to foreet ; we exert everv meaaa to diqiaL
But the memory of the departed we
cherish. A voice within as aeema to
warn us that now the aabstaaoetegOML
the remembrance remains^ aad wa aSoold
not seek to cast it oft'

* Though the remembranee of the di-
ceased throw a passing dead ovw tlw
bright hour of pleasure, thoogh it eagm-
der sadness at a time we intended to to
mirthful, it neverthelesa [
more potent than gmtj or
pleasure. We ooum not attaioh
value to our present pleaaow ttea to i
memory of those who were wont to

our joys.

Pbbchakci it was oae with when «•

had been at emnity; whose deatiL wbM
we saw him in the enjoyment ofniL v*
may have wished for. Tel, when we look
upon that poor piece of olar a>oolderiM|
before us, we then refleot Xow wrom§ m
toot to act as tB€ did r

1B58.] JEdUw^8 Table. 813

Our * Original Isaacs ' has ^ no connection* with the ^ party over the way/
(now reading his morning paper on the shady western piazza of * Sunnyside,*)
80 fiff as style is concerned. ... We beg to remind our esteemed friend
and correspondent, John Phoeniz, that The Pbock was first brought to the
knowledge of American naturalists by the Knickerbocker. Tes, Sir — years
ago : and now here comes us up a United States Topographicalist, who affirms,
of his own motion, that this singular animal was discoyered long before it
was beheld sideling along one of the Rocky Mountains, by our dd-time oor-
nspondent Hear him :

' If I reoollect rightlj, the first person who made mention of ' Tbb Pbock/ althoogh
not by name, was Captain Jonathan Gabybb, whose royage to the Bockj Mountains
in 1665, is quoted hj Mr. Gbbbnbow, and in whose book the name of Oregon was
first given to the rirer now known as the Columbia. Oabybb, in his appendix, de-
leribing the various animals inhabiting that region, states that : * In the country of
OsDobians (Assinoboins) there is a singular beast, of y* bigness of an horse, and
having hoofe, whereof two legges on one side are alwaies shorter than y* other, by
which means it is fitted to graze on y« steep slopes oi the monntains. It is of
amazing swiftness, and to catch it the salvages doe head it off: whereby it cannot
ran, but falleth over and so is taken.' And further : * I was also told of one which I
dtd not see. This is like unto a bear in size, but covered with a shell, as is y« tor-
toiae, with many homes along its back. It has great daws and teeth, and is ex-
eeeding fierce, eating man and beast.'

We join issue with our new philosopher. We deny, stimultuaneously, that
'reoently-discoYered' specimens of *The Progk' demonstrate that the existence
<xf the animal, as described below, * is in entire accordance with the usual laws
of Nature, and its singular adaptation to the circumstances imder which it
liTes.' Let any surgeon tell us, if the 09 hwmeri can be elevated and depressed
by the "biceps mtiacularii in the manner described. A weak invention :

'Thb Pbock {Barocktui OreganMmB) is about the size of a mule, and like the
qaagga and zebra, is properly to be included in the genus equuty having entire hoofs.
Its structure differs, however, from that of any known animal in the mode of articu-
lation of the shoulder and hip-joints. This peculiar formation allows to the limbs a
dc^gvee of lateral motion, enabling the animal to elevate or depress them at will : thus,
when standing upon a sloping surface, giving it the appearance of obliquity, as de-
aeribed by Gabvbb, and enabling it to run with singular swiftness along steep moun-
tain-sides, where otherwise an animal of its size would find no foo^old. In fact, it
is hardly surpassed in agility by the Bighorn, or Rocky Mountain goat. I need
soarcely say, that the tradition of its being unable to turn, and the consequent method
of capture, are mere inventions.'

When a jack-ass shall be discovered standing on a steep declivity of one of the
Rocky Mountains, to illustrate this theory, he will be seen shrugging his
shoulders, like a Frenchman, and pulling down Ihe under-lid of his left eye
(par la gauche) with his right hoo^ and at the same time will be heard, in
musical tones, to ezdaim, *Do you think that led will grow shet?' But *to
the argument' The alleged Carver would be right, if he were not an antique
male * Mrs. Harris.' We hold, with Betsbt Prio, that * there aint no sich
a persoa' The Knickerrocker's Prock, is the Prock I - - - Wb gather
the following from a correspondent who writes us from Princess Anne, Mary-
land : * Yesterday, during the session of our County-court, his Honor, Judge
S — felt a craving for something to appease his hunger. Beckoning to one

314 Editor'' 8 Table. [September,

of the tipstaves of the court, he requested him to go to a neighboring hotel,
and tell the landlord to send him a sandwich. *A tohatf^ asked the tip-
stave — *a sangatee? Ohl yes, of course: certainly, Sir, ^th pleasurs.'
'No, Sir — a sandwich.' *Ohl yes: a little sugar-and-water : certainly, Sir,
with pleasure.* ' No, Sir : a sandmeh : do n't you know what a sandwidi
is ? ' asked the Judge. ' I beg your Honor to pardon my ignorance.' So the
Judge was obliged to explidn what a sandwich was : and off the tipstave went
tb the jovial Bonitace, and ' told the tale as 't was told to him : ' ' His Honor,

Judge S , desires that you will send him a sandwich.* ' What 's that V

inquired Boniface. * Just you tell Judge S if he wants any of his law-
books, he must come and get 'em : I do n't know nothin' about 'em I ' An
explanation ensued : and His Honor finally got his sandwich.' * Smart' court-
officials in those ' diggins I ' - - - It was a * right pleasaunte' trip whidi
we took the other day, in company with a small but most agreeable party, to
*^Th6-Battle Grounds of Saratoga.^ Our main object, too long deferred, was
to visit an esteemed friend, residing at the beautiful homestead of his boyhood,
in old Stillwater, county of Saratoga, a short distance only from Bexb'
Heights ; a name rendered &mous by great events in our Revolution. ^Tke
Commodore ' steamer bore us delightfully and delightedly, on a lovely nighty
up the Hudson ; but a slight * aground ' in the morning, above Albany, pre-
vented our reaching Troy in time for breakfast before the Saratoga train was
to take its departure ; so that we were presently ofi^ *• with a rush, a roar, and
a rumble,' for the neat little village of Mechanicsville, on the Saratoga road,
where we were to take one of the half-dozen kinds of excellent private convey-
ances of our friend S , for his most enjoyable residence near the village of

old Stillwater, Mn the coimty aforesaid;' a homestead with *all the modem im-
provements,' added to clustering associations that the Present could not fbmish,
and scenery of such variety, extent, and magnificence, that no Abt oould ever
approach it : as we shall endeavor to shadow forth, in a few sentences descrip-
tive of the famous Bemis' Heights, (which rise with a very gentle indiDatioa
some two or three miles to the northward,) by-and-by, when we come to them.
For the present, reader, you will please to group our little party mider the

* shady shadow of umbrageous trees ' on the lawn, watdung now the distaDt
landscape ; now scanning the beauty of the nearer views ; now maiklng the
liappy little girls swinging in the adjacent arbor ; all the while having sndi
recreation and varied converse among ourselves, that it will long be pkeniit to
remember. Toward night — an evening of Saturday it was — there came up
from the dim-blue, thundery west a storm of wind and thick ndn, a iHg miiiy
u prolonged rain, such as had not before had its equal this season. Very
•:!;lorious it was to look out upon, yourself meantime luxuriously housed : it
a mischievous kind of sublimity, however, in the detail ; for (be * floods
so suddenly, that grain was prostrated, streams fearfully swdlen, bridges
ried away or greatly injured, eta But Sunday morning dawned deer and
balmy ; and afior hearing a good sermon at the village, (it was ' The Ihurtk^^
the Sabbath-Day of Freedom,) delivered on *holy ground ' in our history, with
an old building dose by, which was piercoil with British bullets in the lUffdbk-
tion, wo returned; and after dinner, Mn the cool of the day,' we visited a

* Foil,' on a stream in an ailjaoent wood, swollen with the recent rain, whidi k

1868.] mitor'8 Table. 815

■^ — — — — — —

the depth of its gorge, and picturesqueness of its tumbling descent, is second
only to some of the lower falls of the Gennesee, below our neighbor Colonel
Silas Setmour's marvellous Bridge at Portage. On our return to the mansion,
we repaired, alter tea, to the parlor, where we listened to, and * j'med in ^ with
several old sacred airs, which brought * the light of other days * aroimd us.
There was a deep-toned parlor-organ, and a most effective base-viol, both well
performed upon; wcU-trained voices 'carried' aU parts: and it awakened
almost the old emotions, to hear again old * Windham,' * Limehouse,' ^ Wells,'
* Brattlestreet,' * Old Hundred,' and — last, but by no means least — ' Norwich.'
While we listened to these lines, sung so often on Sunday evenings by mater-
nal lips, long since dust in the grave, tears, unbidden and irrepressible, swelled

to our eyes :

' Gbktlt glides the stream of Life,

Oft along the flowery vale ;
Or impetuous down the cliff,
Rusning roars, when storms assail.

' 'T is an ever-varied flood.
Always rolling to the sea ;
Slow or swift, or wild or rude.
Tending to Etirnitt I '

Find old * Norwich,' if you have Lowell Mason's ancient collection, and if
there are singers enough in the family, dng it^ with all the * parts : ' if it
should be Sunday evening, ah ! so much the better. It is wonderfully pathetic
to us, and melodious also, to our poor taste. But let us hasten on. A brighter
or lovelier day never dawned upon our glorious heritage, than that heralded
by the dawn which broadened and brightened over old Saratoga, on the morn-
ing of the Fifth of July. In the cool breezy air from the North-west, our
party started on a short ride to Bemis' Heights, in a conveyance scarcely less
luxurious than it was spacious and * accommodating.' As we rode along, we
oould not but again and again remark and admire the beautiful forms of the
TOimded green or yellow grain and grassy slopes, terminating in level plateaus
on the eastern bank of the Hudson. It was fortunate, that on our arrival, by
a scarcely-perceptible grade, at the summit of the Heights, we had the excel-
lait good fortune to meet, and to be presented to, Charles Neilson, Esq., as
he was just departing from his residence ; itself so marked a feature in the re-
volutionary history of the neighborhood ; and AtT^-self, we may add, a fine re-
presentative-man of the patriotic *men of mark ' of that day; six feet five in
height, as we should judge, and erect as a statue. From this silver-haired
patriot (who several years since, as we learned, wrote a valuable and reliable
work upon the great deeds hereabout enacted) we derived most intelligent and
interesting information ; which, on our return, we solicited him, by letter, to
assist our memory in recalling : with which request he very kindly complied,
in the communication which ensues. Let us, however, before presenting it to
our readers, join our distinguished correspondent, in the hope, that no long
time will elapse, before a Legislating of the Empire State shall cause a M(mur
ment on Bemis' Heights to uplift the glorious deeds of our &thers to all eyes
which shall survey the vast region round about If any member of our next
Legislature should desire to do an act which will reflect honor and popularity
upon himself, let him introduce a bill for the erection of such a monument

816 Editor's TabU. [September,

Propose it, Sir : * do something for your cowU/ry^ while your •aBOCiitai m
working for party. Let them

'TalkI talk! talk!

Till the trickling windows swim :
Talk ! talk I talk I

Till the lights in the hall wax dim :
Clause and section and line,

Line and section and clause ;
Till on their benches thev fall asleep,

And dream of making'laws :
Amend, divide, and report.

Report, diyide, and amend :
Till each 'Section's a riddle, the 'Act' a maw,

And ' a muddle ' from end to end 1 '

Let them do this, while you. Sir, bring forward the proposed bilL Our wofd
for it, it will, as it should, meet with a hearty reqKmse: hut we keep our
guests waiting :

* L. Gatlobd Clark, Esq. :

* Mt Dear Sir : In reply to your note of the ninth instant, I idll, by way of pre-
lude, give you a brief descriptiye account of a few of the interesting vmim from
my place of residence on this hallowed eminence, some of which yon probably
might have noticed on your flying visit to this prominent locality on the fiilh : as
follows :

* In giving a descriptive account of the numerous and splendid prospects from
this great ^ObservcUoryy commanding as it does, an extensive view of ahnosl
every variety of feature necessary to the perfection of a beautiful and pictmeaqes
landscape, I would remark, that from this spot the eye of the spectator can C(»h
pass a circuit of more than three hundred miles in ciroumierenoe. What a
splendid site for a monument I At its foot the noble Hudson rolls on hi all Its
pride and beauty, winding its way from small lakes at the north tiU it mlngi^ ft.
self with the waters of the Atlantic. At its foot, as it were, like a beaatlfiil pano-
rama, lies the antique village of Upton, or modernized Stillwater, inth its nnme-
roos churches, its flourishing Academy, and its greatly-improved private dwell-
ings in view, indicating the existence of a liberal spirit of well-erected entezpriss.
At the north and north-west, a distance of some forty miles, and in plain view,
are the lofty mountains around Lake Horicon, the Saddndaga or Bcandanaga
Mountains ; and still onward in the dim distance, the azure sumndts of the ekNid-
capped Adirondacks terminate this very romantic scene. Often when viewing
this extensive wilderness of wonders, where dame Naturb, in some of her mad
freaks, seems to have turned every thing within the sphere of her frncy * top^
turvy,^ I can almost imagine to myself that at some former period of the woild
this must have been the great battle-field of the enraged Elimxhts, and in tliefr
fury, for the want of less powerful engmes of wrath, must have torn np the roehi
in their feverish strength, and hurled them at one another in almost immeasmabb
masses, and with such terrific force, that

* Whbc rock met rock *iiild battle ground.
They fell In heaps with thandering soand,
Till the towering peaks which now we see,
Reared up their heads in majestj:
While In the vales from whence were torn,
These massive ' chunks,* and off were borne,
Are awAil golfs sunk far below,
Where maddening streams in torrents flow/

1858.] Editor' 8 Table. 317

Ozi the east, and strctchiug far iii the distance to the north and ^oiith, and termi-
Kratiog the view in that direction, is the long chain of the Green Mountains, the
zzxoat prominent of which is the much-noted Mount Tom., whose towering peak
'cni9 to point out to the far-distani spectator tiic very romantic locality of tliat
nowned scat of literature, known and distinguished by the appellation of ]Vcl'
Unrnt College,

* Then, in the north-east, is the smoke-encircled Bald Mountain, from whose
X^iipturcd sides the ponderous rocks are rolled down into the numerous liuic kilns
surrounding its huge base, the dazzling splendor of whose bright firc^, in a dark
x^ight, glitter in the distance like sparkling brilliants around the chaste bosom of
Some rich Hindoo^s bride. About six miles farther south is WillanTx Mountain^
So distinguishingly noted on the historic page, as the lofty eminence from which
9LT\ American spy, by the name of Willard, with a good glass, watched the
xr&ovements, and ascertained tlie probable force in Bdrgoyne's camp, some four
Tdiles distant; and from thne to time, through messengers employed for that ser-
'Vice, made his reports to General Gates, who was thereby enabled to anticipate
a.luiost every movement of the British army. About equidi:*tant from this en-
during Monument, and the great * Index,^ or Mount Tom, and in plain view from
trlic great Observatory, (Bkmis' lleights,) is that very celebrated ground called
Bennington HeiijhtSy where the indomitable General Stark so triumphantly cap-
tured a thousand of Burooyne's mercenary troops, and saved hia beloved Molly
from becoming a widow that night.

* Within the broad circle, or rather semi-circle of this extensive prospect, an
apparent plain, spreading even to the base of those mountains, and covered with
highly-cultivated farms, neat mansions, and thriving villages, presents to view to
the delighted beholder one of the most beautiful and picturesque landscapes to
be found, perhaps, in the world.

' Then again, on the west, is another beautiful, variegated, and extensive view
of a rich and highly-cultivated portion of country, including the memorable
ground where the first and most important battle was fought, on the seventh of
October : I say, the most important, as its result not only dampened the ardor of
the British, and inspired the Americans with renewed courage, but was the first
bright dawn of American Liberty.

' On the south, and in front of this venerable mansion on the * Ileiglits,' where
your humble servant first saw the light of day, is a broad expanse of country,
spread out before the astonished spectator, like a rich and beautifully- variegated
carpet, and terminated only by the lofty range of the CatskiU Mountuins, or
* Kaatsbergs,* stretching away in the dim distance some ninety or an liundred
miles, where the far-famed Mountain Uouse is distinctly to be seen with a good
glass, like a pearl in its lofty crest, at an elevation of some three thoui:and feet
above the level of the Iludson. A little to the right of this line of observation,
and bearing away to the north-west, is seen a spur of this lofty range called the
' Helderbergs,' so famed as the seat of the late Indian War !

* Then, on a less distant view, the eye of the delighted spectator roams in end-
less gratification over farms, villages, and towns, and takes into the scope a goodly
portion of the oldest city in the Union, 'Albany on the Hill ; ' and if the whidows
of the Capitol should happen to be raised to cool the ardent temper of some fiery
politician, he can take a peep into the legislative hall, and sec the representatives
of the people, in their parliamentary discussions, contending more for the ' loaves
And fishes * of office, than for the good of the country.

VOL. LU. 21

318 Editor's Table. [September,

* Thus I have cndeayored to give a general though brief outline of the most
prominent riews, so Tichly and numerously displayed within the circumference of
this great circle ; and which, no doubt, at some remote former period of the
world, was covered with one vast sheet of water, and bounded only by the lofty
ranges of mountains already mentioned, including the Matteawan, the Highlands,
and Shawangunk. The outlet of this grand and beautiful sheet of water must,
I think, from the appearance of the soil, and make of the land from Fort Edward
to Fort Ann, have been at the north, till some powerful convulsion of nature burst
asunder its prison-doors at the Uighlands ; when, by the mighty rushing of its
waters, the channel of the Iludson was excavated down to its present level, and
the alluvion filling up the bed of some former stream, or arm of the sea below,
caused the great expanse of waters at Haverstraw and Tappaan. But whether this
vast and majestic lake, for such it must have been, dotted with its numeroua
Islands, and dashing its waves against the rocky barrier which I have been de-
scribing, was^ or whether the present rich and magnificent landscape presented
to view from the great Observatory on Bkmis' Heights m, the most worthy of ad-
miration, I shall leave for the more speculative to determine ; and will close with
the following lines :

* Ir taste for gr&ndeur, or the mere sabUme,
Prompt thee, zny friend, these geutle HKioinn to climb,
Here f^tisc attentive on the scene around.
But tread with holy awe this hallowed groond I '

Simply premising that the views here so grapliically described, in all the
varied coloring bom of the sunshine and shadow of a summer day, are visible

from the lawn of our hospitable host, Mr. M. T. S , we pass to the BatUe-

FUlda of Old Saratoga :

* Not knowing (continues our esteemed correspondent) what particular infonn-
ation you may desire, I will simply and briefly state that the Battle on the nine-
teenth of September took place principally on what is known as Hhc Free-
man Farms ' on the map. Tlie first battle, on the seventh of October, was fought
along the line of the American entrenchments, on the left, a little west of and
near my own dwelling, where the action lasted one hour and a quarter, when the
British were driven from that position to a rise of ground about half a mile to the
north-west, when Burooynk coming on with reinforcements, made a second
stand. Tlic Americans now Feeing the enemy in full force, fell back till they
were reinforced from the right wing on the river, when they again attacked their
whole line from right to loft, and in forty-five minutes drove them from that po-
sition back to their fortified camp. Soon after the British had retreated behind
their works, the Americans again rallied, and boldly marching up under a shower
of grape-shot and bullets, attacked their whole line, and drove them across the
north-branch of the * middle ravine.^ The darkness of night having now put an
end to the bloody conflict, and fresh troops having been ordered out to hold pos-
session of that part of the camp from which the enemy had been driven, those
who had been engaged in this hard day*8 work, retired to their quarters, while
shouts of Victory I Victory! ! rang triumphantly through the American camp.

* On retiring to their quarters, the victorious Americans having collected to-
gether the ten pieces of cannon captured on that day, placed them in line along
the road, a little south of my house, when all, in one bright blaze, proclaimed In
touQs of thunder to an astonished nation the first bright dawn of American
Liberty !

1858.] Editor's Table. 319

* To be more particular, I would say that, General Poor and Colonel Morgan
quartered in the east wing of my house ; the only building now standing that
was in existence on any part of the battle-field at the time of those memorable
engagements. Major Ackland, who commanded the British grenadiers, was
brought to the same room, wounded and a prisoner, where he remained till the
twelfth, and where he was visited by his interesting wife, Lady Harriet Ack-
land.

* General Gates' quarters were about eighty rods south of my house. General
Arnold's quarters was a log-cabin standing at the north-west comer of my door-
yard, on the site of which, when I was a small boy, I planted a twig of Lombardy
poplar, as a memorial of that fact, and of ray birth-place. The tree is now fresh
and green, and can be seen for miles around.

* With respect and esteem,

* Yours, etc., Charles Neilson.'

It was our intention to have made mention of the pleasant circumstaiice of
attending a Fourth-of-July celebration at Stillwater ; of the uproarious laughter
which a troop of Fantatticals^ from the neighborhood of the * Field of the
Grounded Arms ' near Schuylerville, occasioned, in the procession ; of the un-
expected but most grateful tribute which was awarded to our^faithful course
fi>r twenty-four years in our Magazine,* by a Knickerbocker (byname and
nature) of * Old Schaghticoke,' over the river ; but these things must be re-
served. Wo. ought, in justice to Esquire Neilson, to state, that he accompanied
his interesting communication by an excellent original map of the localities
described, which, we arc sorry to add, came too late for the engraver, to be
made available. While at Mr. Neilson's house, we were shown many and
various precious revolutionary relics, picked up from time to time, in newly-
ploughed fields near the adjoining sanguinary lines of defence. One of the
most extraordinary collections of these hallowed relics, however, is preserved
by Mr. Samuel G. Eddy, of the village of Stillwater. With pious care, this
gentleman has arranged, in the best manner, a Patriotic Retolutiona/ry
Museum^ which, with great courtesy and kindness, he points out, and permits
to be examined, by hLs grateful and gratified visitors. To show the richness
of this collection, let us mention a few only of the interesting ^remains' which
it embraces :

*Th« field-sword of General Philip Schuyler, and the wedding-shoe of Mrs.
ScBUTLER ; a British spontoon, taken at the battle last fought, the ninth of Oc-
tober, 1777 : the remainder were plonc:hcd up on the battle-field on Bkmis' Heights,
where the battle of the nineteenth of September was fought: short-swords ; gun and
matol-barrels ; tomahawks ; hatchets ; axes ; bayonets ; buttons worn by Xinth,
Eleventh, Twentieth, Twenty-First, Twenty-Second, Twenty-Fourth, Forty-Seventh,
and Fifty-Third Resfiments of Burgotxe's army; grenadiers* buttons of King's
Eighth Regiment; piece of an officer's blanket of the Twenty-First Rei;iment, with

Sart military coat, including buttons (;^old-plated) ornamented with the Crown, Rose,
hamrock, and Thi-^tlc ; miiiiary can-nlates ; an American Ka^lc — motto, * Unity is
Strength;' gnn-locks and fiints ; snells, cannon-balls, lead balls, and grape-shot;
Hessian pistol ; pockct-knive^s ; slioe-buckles of various devices ; triangle ; screw-
drivers: oullet-moulds ; silver knee-buckles; gold, silver, and copper coins, found
within three or four years past — dates, 1770 and *74 ; powder-horns ; piece of the
plank on which General Fkazigr died ; breast-plates marked G. R. ; one of Wasu-
ingtok's militarv buttons ; and nutos^raph letter of General Gates, when he assumed
the command ot the Northern army, etc., etc'

Lest we tire the reader with so extended a subsection of * Gossipry/ we
purpose to make present pause. ... The * Little People * came into the

320 Editor's Table. [September,

sanctum the other afternoon, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, eftch
tr3'ing to out-talk the other in delivering the wonderful news: *0 fiithisr!
there ^s a inan out on the grass by the school-house, with a big white tent^ and
a great Tellyouskoap on three legs : and he 's going to sleep in the tent with
his little boy, and he 's a-going to see stars, and moons, and oometBi and cometBi
and moons, and sun.s and stars : 's going to see 'em to-night ; and he says we
may look through the great big hollow thing, and see 'em too 1 Won't UuU
be fun ? ' It was as the children stated. Professor Htatt, an enHnisiaatic
student of astronomy, had pitched his white tent upon a grassy mound in a
field adjoining a little upland meadow, that bounds ' Cedar-Hill Cottage' on the
south, where he was to make observations on the glorious evenings which then
prevailed We found the Professor a man of very modest demeanor, thorou^y
conversant with his great theme, and glad to oonmiunicate information to all
who desired to look through his telescope, an instrument magnifying sixtj
times. It was well worth a visit Mercury and Venus, (Saturh onee^
evening stars, the red planet Mars, and Jupiter, &s a morning star,
greatly enjoyed; as was the Moon, when she 'took up the wondrous tale* of
the night-season. We confess, however, to a deeper interest in the double-
stars, nebulse, clusters in the Milky Way, lunar moimtains, and volcanie
craters ; all of which were easily discerned. There is something sublime in
directing a telescope toward a point in the evening sky where nothing is dis-
ccniiblc to the unassisted eye, and to see within the deep blue abyss of tbe
heavens countless stars ^ shining clear and young, as when gazed upon hj the
shepi icrds on the plains of Shinar.' It was a very great lesson to the little ftik :
nnd 11 ley really seemed to feel with the enraptured Psalmist: * When I sur-
vey the heavens, the work of Thy hands, and the moon and stars whidi Tbov
ha^t ordained, then I say, * What is Man, that Thou art mindful of Mw^ or
tVic Son of Man, that Tnou visitcst him ? ' ' Surely there never wuld be wbl
Mindevout astronomer.' - - - How defective are the Biblical medinp
of sonic very respectable church-members, was amusingly illustrated at m
church-meeting discussion a while since, in a large religious society, not thirty.
miles from the modem Athens. The question concerned the rostcnftion of Ml
excommunicated person upon the acknowledgment of his &ult A menibflr
was strongly advocating the measure, and wound up an appealing senfcenoe to
the sympathy of those present by saying that, according to the great
o^^ n word^, so long as the unfortunate offender lay under the oensim^ he
nothirig better than a ^heathen man and a re-publican.' The sudden tninUB
in the wide-awake moderator's eye, and a wicked twitching at the oomen of
his moutK did not happen to catch the speaker's notice, who, wanning 'WttT
Ins thcTite, tor)k another pull at the hearts of the brethren by dilating oil tt»
veiy unhappy condition of his client, which he clinched at lengdi bj m ffi«iQt
appeal, whether the church could consent to let a man, who seemed to be tt^Skf
penitent, remain any longer as just nothing else than *a heathen man aiidm
77 -publican ! ' This second blunder fairly upset the gravity of the meetiiw;
not ex(?epting that of a large number of regular Fremont torch-lifters Qi WM
in those lI-ivs) who quite relished the joke, and none the less because their efi*
dently unef)nsrioiLS lampooner happened to l>e a stiff * Old-line ' Whig ItwM
all decidedly rich ; and the appeal proved to be irresistible.' We onoa nr^

1868.] Editor's Tabh. 821

iMfised a similar circumstanco. ... A world of reminiscence arose to
mind, as we perused the subjoined Familiar Letter from an Old Friend.
Of nothing here recorded have we lost a single recoUectioa All seems as frcsli
to us as if it were only of yesterday*s occurrence. * Columbia Villa,* and its
inmates, are before us now, as in days of yore : and that mistake, arising fix)m
twin-resemblance, how well we remember it I ' W. G. C* used to say that ^
' nerer knew us apart, imtil he looked at a school-day*s scar which he had on
his right arm, near the wrist I * With all this lapse of time, somehow or other
W6 do n't feel a year older than we did thea And this, we suspect, is a weak-
ness which will always hang around us. Looking at our embryo * Leviathan *
kite, and the trip-hammer wind-mill rattling in the peach-tree where we have
nailed it, and whose evolutions and revolutions we watch on a breezy day with
a curious kind of reflected interest, we can't help thinking that we shall never
oetae to be a boy. But listen to our friend :

* Dear Olark : Tell me if it is an evidence of advancing age, when one is per-
petoally recalling some image of the past, and being continually startled by re-
membrances of things which liavc been packed away in Memory's cell for many a
year ? What else docs it indicate ? Pcradventure you will reply, that it is time
fiir me to make my will, for assuredly I have had an unusual number of interest-
ing reminders of the lapse of time lately. I was at the Academy of Design the
Other evening. I went in alone ; but soon found myself confronted by well-re-
membered faces, whose owners I had known in my youth ; and I was presently in
the midst of a crowd of old friends. Here was a * Portrait of a Lady,' by Ingham.
What! Charles Ingham, whose White Plume was the admiration of the critics
at the Academy almost a quarter of a century ago ! Docs he paint yet ? Ay,
and admirably too. Oh ! how that brilliant complexion recalls one of my youth-
Ail tormentors ! — and the hair too, and the eye-brows, are her own : yes, I am
qniokly transported to my old haunts, and once more

* *T u mi(I-Rummer*s eve, and fond dreama of my youth
Are clustering thickly around my lone path,
Recalling lo8t pictures with life-giving truth,
Whose colors once mingled love, mischief, and mirth.
0 Kmii.t Lanolt ! sweet Emilt gay I
Again I behold thee, bright image of May I '

I kx>k a little farther, and lot Hallece peers down from the walls, as benignant
and as unpretending as of yore. The face was so natural and communicative,
that I was almost tempted to address it, and inquire : * Where are your works,
manly spirit, and what have you been doing in your intervals of leisure these
twenty years past ? Where arc the results of those long and solitary rambles on
Weehawken Heights, and around Fort Lee ? ' And I seemed to receive this an-
swer : ' Wait until my port-folio is unlocked by some survivor by-and-by, and you
shall know what I have been doing.' Let us hope so, if he open it not himself
before.

* I pass on. What 's this ? A jovial crowd of revellers : Bryant, Verplanck,
OozzENS, Tatlor! Why half the * Century' is here : old and young, grave and
gay, master and scholar. But how strangely grotesque is their costume ! They
are celebrating a nuptials : and whose ? No, 't is a masquerade. But where arc
the masks? Ah! I sec how it is: the artist has been giving expression to a
dream, and tossed in the familiar lineaments most fantastically. Anon I find my-
self in a comer. Bcfore'me id a flashing stream, leaping in uproarious foam over

322 Editoi^a Table. [September,

picturesque rocks: while fifthing-roda, flies, and whirling lioea, indicate Trout
The Artist and liis Friends.' One of them wears that same white hat, iHth a
mouming-wecd upon it, in which I well remember him, (shall I say how many
years ago?) the friend of many friends, *Old Emick.* There he stands, instinot
xritli life, evidently in fine spirits, and enjoying the sport, as he does erery good
tiling, with exceeding relish. Ah! bonami! how well do I remember the first
tiino I ercr saw you. It was in St. Paul's Church, on a summer Sabbath mornings
in a club-pew, with good Bebbian in the pulpit. I had just returned from a Tint
to riiiladelphia, made memorable by an introduction and pleasant converaation
with your brother Willis, which I had greatly enjoyed only two eveningB belbre.
I was seated alone before you came in; and was fully satisfied that yon were
Willis himself. You returned my recognition; and after a while, exhibiting
signs of impatience under the close and pungent appeals of the preacher, I wai
led to scribble some verses in the blank leaves of a prayer-book, descriptiTe Bome-
wliat, and deprecatory likewise, of conclusions too rapidly forming in the ndnd of
a stranger, as I thought, derogatory to New- York pulpit eloquence ; and wrote
above them, * To W. 6. C* Carefully you read them, smiled, and drew forth
your vinitc ; and under-scoring with a pencil the word * Louis* on one of the cardfl|
handed the latter to me. I was amazed, and doubtless became very red in the
face, as you tore the leaves, covered with my hasty rhymes, from the book,
folded them together, and placed them in your pocket : an exprefisive complimenti
and as characteristic, let lae say, as any thing could well be. I saw you often
afterward at * Columbia Villas where a club of lively bachelors kept honse ; and
many a brilliant sally of wit have I listened to there, from such practitionere ai

D O M, Jr. (then;) T M n; S S t; old G—

H t; J T S QtQ\ E S d, *an' the laire,* some of

wliom have faded from my remembrance : and many a frolic scene was thane
hibitcd, when you were present to prick them on.

' I have a son now, who is about the age I was tlien, and he is a loyal
of the Knickkkdockkr, especially of the * Editob^s Table.* He often cafla my at-
tention to my favorite writers ; and I have misgivings that he will be boring yon,
as I did in those days, to print his inspirations. If he does, I hope he will get tha
same timely admonition from you which his father did in those days ; for, wUle
permitting my contributions sometimes to appear, you plainly but kindly eoi^
veyed to me a suggestion, which could readily be interpreted to mean wft^hfng
else than : * Boy, stick to your ledger, and leave poetry to the poets.* Yoa do
not know how great a kindness you did me, and probably never wUl. If yon havp
Volume Twelve of Maoa within reach, look on page 462, and see how fgmmfom
you were in other days to the rank and file in the literary army.

' But where is * Columbia Villa ^ now ? — and where are all the oholoe- Ifiiita
who congregated there, and whom your brother designated, in the intenrlewjwt
referred to, as of ' the Salt of New-York?' He, too, had been there. The vflk
not only is gone, but the very ground on which it stood has disappeared.
Colloge-Green, against which it abutted, and which was one of the loreUeife
our city ever hid away in its stony bosom, is obliterated. Of all the residettt !■-
matos of that pleasant house, (which was built by William L. Stoke, of ^C^mawr-
ciul Advertiser* memory,) not one survives: all arc gone to give up their aoeomt :
and the lant communication I ever sent to you, was an invitation to the fnneral of
one of the worthiest of them all And this brings me to the concluaion, ^ipro-
priatf'ly, of my rcmimscences of old times, and my purpose in addressing Hum to

1658.]

Editor's Tabic. 323

joo, which U contained in the accompanying paper, and wliich you will oblige luc
by disposing of as you think proper.

* Iliere were other faces at the Academy of Design which greatly interested me,
beside William H. Prescott^s and Duncan Iniiraiiam's, ospecially as they ex-
hibited eridences of beauty, genius, talent, and iinproveincnt in those whom I
highly priie: but, as they belong more particularly to the present, and as I am
now considering the past, I IcaTC them for the future. Believe me,

* Ever yours, Tenaciously,
*irci9 - Xktrk^ Junet Sl«l, 16&8. e. s. o.

' (Danitoool} Cxatl)ctmj}5 .

* * Tub friends of my boyhood, oh ! where arc they gooe f *

Thiu spoke my sad heart as I tftrayt-d
By a freshly-inaik* grave, near a path-wuy well worn,

In the midst of a licautiful ghule.
*T was May-day — all nature had put on new life,

And smiled in the wliite-blos«ouied trees ;
The ifpliyr that fanned nic, with perfume was rife,

And gently blew landward the brecxe.

' In full view b'.'fore me, the Islaud-gemmed bay

Was sparkling beneath the suu'.i glance ;
By fort and by ferry Uie myriad barks play,

Ur speed on their rapid advance:
Around me, the emblems of mortals at rest.

Were gleaming on hill-aide and plain,
Uow strange that uiy heart with new pain was oppressed

Aa drew near a funereal train.

* Oft, oft had I witne«Hed the pageant of wo,

Unmoved by the muurner's dull tread ;
Ueard tremulous voices repeat, sad and slow.

The last solemn prayer o'it the dead ;
Then why should that out-gu>h of sorrow and tears

Cause my soul thu.s witii anguish to strive T
Ah ! memory leaps over tlic chaHm of years.

And scenes in my young life revive.

* I see In that concourse the last of a band

Of comradesi, who entered, with me.
On the battle of life, with all means at command.

To cope with its toil.-* manfully :
And here, close at hand, in the tomb's cold embrace,

The mo»t of them refuge have founri.
While others from dii^iance their home-cuurse will trace,

When only the last trump itliall sound.

* But whoso Is the form they have brought to tlie grave,

Surrounded by bearers well known ?
TIs one of the fln<t of the inatjiy and brave,

Whom Dkatu has Just sealed for his own.
I knew him a boy — in the i>pring-tiuie of life

Uow oft have we stood ride by ^!de I
I knew him long after, a hero in strife,

by the far Missis.-ippi's swift tide.

How proud was hU bearing, how buoyant his step I

His frame was of Nature's best mould ;
His laugh was tlie gayest, the smile on his lip

E'er told of a soul free and bold.
In the roll of young hoMIers a leader was he—

On the green, with a maid by his side,
None more gallant witli fair-tue or mess-mate could be,

None more faithful by each to abide.

' He sank far away and beneath a strange sky.

No loving coiiip:ioion wa4 near.
No children leant u'er him to catch his last sigh,

But now their tears rain on his liier.
Abl ye who return from sojourning abroiid,

l>o you long your old comfieers to greet 1
The loved of your young hearts? — go follow the road

To Greenwood's ftist-llUing retreat I

324 Hiitor^s Tabk. [September,

* Tes, here they all gather, here find th^ a home,

School-fellowi, compatriots, friends;
In youth and in manhood, ah I hither they oonMt

Fast grareward each winding road tends I
The sharers of camp-life, the rirals for fsme,

Here mingle, whaterer their grade,
Awaiting the summons which calls them by name.

To march to the final parade.

* They rest in the cold ranlt, the grare and the tomb:

No marble need tell where each lies.
For we '11 see one another in youth's brightest bloom,

When our CxrTXin shall bid us arise.
Ah I would that we all could lie down round one stone,

Companions in friendship and lore.
And wait for the signal which comes firom God's throne,

To mount to the ramparts aboye. B. •. Ol'

Let US hear from * K S. 0/ again. - - - There are oertain * argumentB,* so
called, that might he easily controverted, if 'the principle' were made ' patent'
(to use a hackneyed and not oYer-felicitous term) to the human under-
standing. A friend mentioned to us a case in point, up in old Saxatogai the
other day. Some one had made the apothegmic remark : * Two wrongB do n*t
make a right' * Sometimes they do,' interposed a seedy-looking by-Btaader,
with a deown-east nasal twang : * they did with me once.* * How was that V
asked his interlocutor : * it is ag'in the very natur* of things.' ' €^ *t he^
that : there was a fellow passed onto mo once a one-dollar bill, and it was m
counterfeit Was n't that wrong ?' * Certainly it was wrong, if he hnew it
to be a counterfeit' * Wal, expect he did : / did, any way, when I passed it
onto another chap. Neow wasn't that wrong?' 'Wrong I — of oomae:
very wrong.' ' Wal, it made me 'all right! ' ' was the triumphant rejoindflt:
' so two wrongs dooa make a right, sometimes ! ' The 'argumait' was ended
by this precious illustration! - - - Tns annexed, which announces m
sometimes questioned fact, is attributed, in the professional journal wheooe we
take it, to ' a distinguished medical authority : ' 'It is a popular enor to np-
pose that scholars and literary men are shorter lived than other men. Baft the
fact is, ' on the contrary, quite the reverse.' Consider for a moment that ihe elmi^
compared with what are called the ' professions,' Ls a small one, and, ooiii|Mrad
with the ' trades,' is very small indeed ; and then mark the result Hazdly an cnit
nent author of modem times but affords an example of longevity. Braov and
Keats, it is true, died young — the latter by consumption, the fimner bj ine-
gularitics that would have killed any body. But Wordsworth, Southxt, Teak
MooKE, and Jasies Montoohery, lived to an advanced age. Rooaaa^ aft Ue
decease, was above ninety, and De Quincey, Walter Savage Laiomi^ and
Hi'MBoi.DT, are still alive and at work, at past three-score and ten. Our own
country furnishes similar examples in Siluman, Irving, Halleck, and FUa*
PONT — all old men, but still strong in health and mental vigor. The tnifli ^
men oftcner nist out than wear out ; and there is no doubt that habStosl am^
til employment tends to keep the body young, both in fiict and in appearaaoK*
Unanswerable fact no doubt - - - Tub subjoined postscript of a latter te
the Editok, from a Connecticut correspondent, has somewhat sorprised
' For why V ' Because, where such men a.s IIenky Barnard have labored
successfully for the extension of the blessings of common schools, such things
' ought not so to bo : ' 'Speaking of the tender passion : our hostler is m lovek

1868.] JEditor'8 Table. 826

For the last three hours he has been inditing a letter to his Dulcinea, who
lives in Goshen, Conn. He has just come in to inquire if he has *got the di-
rections on right' As the subscriber liveth, he has spelled that ancient town
Ghotion I ' This is almost equal to Yellowplusii : * Gentil reader, ave you
ever been on the otion ? — * the sea, the sea, the hopen sea,' &s Baknet
Cromwell the poeck sings ?'---* Doubtless few persons are aware,'
writes an IllinoLs correspondent, 'that the cuirent phrase, ''Too much Pork f of
a Shilling^^ had its origin in the experience of one who for a quarter of a cen-
tury has been one of our best-known literary ceJebrites. It came into exist-
ence in this wise : The gentleman in question, then a youth of twelve or four-
teen, was a home-pupil with Rev. Dr. M , of C ^ New-Hampshire.

On the Fourth of July, the festivities of the day were to consist of a fishing-
party on the Merrimack, with a dinner in a grove on the river's bank. The
dinner was preordained to consist of the fish caught by the party, fried with
slices of salt pork, coupled with a suitable addendum of punch, the popular
beverage of the times. The fishing of the day, as might have been expected
WBS not over-successful, and the prandial honoi's were done with the pork and
the punch. Wlien our young participant in the feast thus abridged, reached
the door of his worthy preceptor, he was decidedly the worse for something^ as

was manifest in his gait and utterance. * Why, N ^,' exclaimed the as

tounded Doctor, *how could you get so * excited ?' ' * It was the pork — the

pork, Sir — taken on an empty stomach.' *But N ^,' continued the

Domine, alarmed on another score, * have you spent all your pocket-money ? '
* Oh I no. Sir, I only spent a shilling ; but — but. Sir, there was too much porh
for a shilling I ^ You can learn at ' Idlewild,' above you on the Hudson,

* Whether or no
These things be so.'

I pronoimce it to be 'founded." - - - Did you ever remark, reader, the
curious kind of wandering which characterizes a rail-road passenger, on awak-
ing fipom a long nap in the cars, on a hot summer's day ? If you have, you
wDl appreciate a circumstance mentioned to us by an entertaining friend the
other day in the country. A fellow-passenger, who had * laid himself out ' on one
of the wide unoccupied seats of the Erie Railroad cars, (there are a good many
of that kind 'about these days,') had fallen asleep, and snoozed for two hours.
At length, however, when the engineer suddenly ' drew rein ' on the iron-
horse at a station, the sleeper slowly aroused himself stretched back, and
with a drowsy half-groan, yawned until his head seemed coming off: at the
same moment he caught sight of a basket hanging over the travellijig-bag rack
above his head, and something coming out from under the top-lid. * Wha'
wha' — what be them ! ' he exclaimed, with unmistakable terror, motioning
crazily toward the basket with his hand. * It 's pups,' said a man in an ad-
joining seat — ' a basket of pups.' ' Oh I — I was afraid they was nH!^ was
the reply of the terrified passenger, accompanied by a long-drawn sigh of relief.
Much laughter then ensued. - - - A good-natured friend, who ' appreciates
and admires the efforts made in the Editor's Gossipry, to bring our language
up to the modern standard of Highfalutination^^ sends us a translation, from
the mother tongue, of ' The House that Jack Built' We present two illustra-

■iiC^.^.

1858.] JSditor'B Table. 827

the Republic in 1849. Among the legends of the place is one to the efifect that
he and the King of Naples, who had come to visit him in his exile, went on
board of an American vessel The commander welcomed them in these terms :
*PoPE, how are you? Kino, how d'ye do? Here, Lieutenant Jones — you
speak French: parley-vous with Pope, while King and I go down and
take a drink. King, come an ! ' Likely as not : and not unlike the nil ad-
mirari spirit of another American, who, standing on Ludgato Hill, near Saint
Paul's, said, in reply to a friend who asked him ; ' Well, what do you think of
London, now ? ' * Wal, it 's pretty thick-settled here abedut the meetin'- house ;
but I 'd ruther live in Bosting I ' - - - The Dutch Justice, described by
Deidrich Knickerbocker, who sent his tobacco-box by way of summons, and
hiB jack-knife as a warrant, was out-done by a 'cute Yankee younker, in a small
Tillage in the western part of our ^ Empire State.' A law-suit was coming off
in the town, and a young * Spoon' (as he is called) was engaged to subpoena
the witnesses. ^ The roads were almost impassable on account of the mud, and
two of the witnesses living some three or four miles away, a bright idea struck
his muddy pate, and was forthwith acted upon. He sat down and wrote each
a ktter, stating that a sum of money was deposited in his hands, which they
oould have by calling upon him. They called, and got a subpoena and twelve
and a half cents each ! ' - - - The early pcnod at which each number
of our Magazine passes to the stereotyper's, has prevented a mention in these
pages of the recent lamented decease of our esteemed friend and frequent cor-
respondent, Hon. Robert T. Conrad, of Philadelphia, of which city he was an
ex-mayor. Judge Conrad has been widely known for many years, both as
an editor, dramatic writer, and a jurist, and possessed in a remarkable degree
a brilliancy, fertility, and racincss of intellect, and a full-hearted generosity,
that made him the centre of a host of attached friends. He was a bosom-friend
and for some time an editorial associate, of Willis Gatlord Clark, whom he
always regarded with an affection ' passing tlie love of woman.' At last, * in
death they are not divideil' - - - A very beautiful thought of Sir
TnoMAS Browne is containc<l in the annexed brief sentences : * Light, that
makes things seen, makes some things invisible. Were it not for darkness and
the shadow of the earth, the noblest of creation had remained unseen, and the
stsrs in heaven as invisible as on the fourth day, when they were created above
the horizon with the sun, and there was not an eye to behold them. Life it-
self is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the liv-
ing. All things fell under this name. The sun itself is but the dark simu-
lacrum, and light but the sliadow of God.'

'SiKQ-SoNO AND Chtt-Chat,' OR INCIDENTS OF Travbl IK MANX Lands. — The ftbove
is the title of our friend Mr. Stbphbn Massett's ( Jbbms Pipbs, of Pipeville) original
Entertainment, which he proposes giving at Niblo's ahout the middle of September.
We are enabled to assure the readers of the Knickbrbockbr, that the diversified nature
of the Entertainment will gratify and satisfy all tastes. Mr. Massbtt has recently
returned from India, and his reminiscences of the Orient are imbued with the deep-
est interest. Some of his recitations we have never heard surpassed ; while he is in
the best voice for the vocal portion of his Entertainment.

328 Hditor^s IbMe. [September,

^ Cclanct at Ntto puiltcatfons.

Spttroeos's Sbbmoxs: Fourth Skries. — Messrs. ShbldoNi Blakeuas, avd Oox-
PANT have issued a fourth volume of Spurgboh's Discourses. Its perusal has con-
firmed our previous impressions of the author. Of one thing we hare become
convinced ; and that is, that SpDRaEox derives more than one half his power, and hit
influence as a scrmonizer and pulpit orator, from his familiarity with the Soripioras,
tliat great store-house of knowledge divine and human. His illustrations, drawn
from tliis unfailing source, are almost always remarkably felicitous and effectira.
His taste is far from good, oftentimes, when lie chooses familiar objects to enfi>roe ,
his life-sketches ; but with the Bible for his model, he seldom foils in bringing home
a ncene or a lesson to the eyes and minds of his hearers. Bead this passage, wbioh
has no * new thing' in it, from his sermon on ' The Parable of the Ark : '

* Wr do not find that it ever sprung a leak while it was out at sea ; aha oertalnlj nerar vent
into liarbnr to mend her bottom, lor she had no harbor to go to. We never read that NOAB
called up ^hkv, II 4M, and Japhkth to work at the pumps, nor yet that they had any, for tliare
W.1H not a hit of leakage about her. No doubt there were storms during that year; bat we do
not hour !b:it the ship was ever in danger of being wrecked. The rocks, it is true, were too low
down to touch her bottom; for Ufct^cn cubits upward did the waters prevail, and the moiiB-
tuinit were cnyered. Kiting twenty-seven feet above the loftiest mountains, she had no qiii<^
sand<< to {aur: they were too deep below her keel. Rut of course she was ezpoMd to the winds;
sometimes the hurricane might have rattled against her, and driven her along. DoabtleM at i
other time the hail beat on her top, and the lightnings scarred the brow of night; bat the

sailed on : not one was cast nut from lier, nor were her sailors wearied with eoustant pmnplni,
to keep (lut the water, or frequtMit repairs to keep her secure. Though the woild was InuadatM
and ruined, that one ark mailed triumphantly above the waterji. The ark was safe, and all wtae
were in her were !<afe too. Now, sinner, the Christ I preach to you, la such a ref^ura as tliaL
lIiH (i>Hpt'l h:i!4 no Haw In It. As the ark never sank, and the elements never prevailed agalMt
It, (ti> CiiitiST never failed — Hb cannot fail —all the principalities and powers are sal^eot «■!■
UiM. Thdse who are in Christ are sheltered safely from the storm: thej shall never inrMl,
neither shall any pluck them out of His hands.*

In the same discourse, he tells his ' beloved ' ( a frequent phrase with him ) that
he counts all 'brothers' who are in the ark, no matter to what denomination of
Christians tlicy may belong : * Wc cannot expect all to be in one room. The d9-
phants did not not live with the tigers, nor did the lions lie down with the aliMfu
There were different rooms for different classes of creatures ; and it is a good thing
that there are different denominations. Do not let me condemn those who nre taking
refuge in the same vessel with myself.' He calls his hearers' attention to the tad^
that although there were many rooms in the ark, there was only one door,*

* *And the door of the ark shalt thou set In the side thereof.* And so there Is onlj
leading into the arif of our salvation, and that ii* Ciikist. There are not two Ohuri p
one in one chap<*l, and another in another. * If any man preach any other dootriae
have received, let him be accursed.* There is hut one (}ospel. We take in the righteons ovtof tt
pections; but we do not take in all sections. We pick out the godly from among then all, M
T^e believe there is a remnant in the vilest of them. Still, there is only one door; and * hetfeaA
cometh not In by the door, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a i
There wafl only one dour to the ark. Some animal.H, like the camelopard, whose bMI
higher than other animals, might have to bow their necks, to go in by the same eatraaoe
waddling duck.4, who naturally stoop, even as they enter a barn ; and so, some of thaloAy i
of this world mu:it bend their heads, if they would enter into the Ohurch by OaaifT.*

Portions of this last illustration may seem too familiar for the great theme; Iwl
the forcible inculcation of the passage robs it of this objection. Another ^eoovipe^
* T/u: f^oo'i Sh'phcrd,* is marked in parts by some of the reverend author's hepylirt
characteristics. * The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,' he opens bj eejjiBg^
was natural to David, who had hims<>lf been a shepherd-boy. He remembered bov
hi3 had i<Ml his flock by the waters of Jordan in the warm summer, and how he bed
mad"^ them Ho down in shady nooks by the side of the river; how, on snltry daj%
lit' had led thcin on the ]ii(;h hills, that they mi<;ht feel the cool air; and how, when
llie winter had set in, ho led thorn into the valleys, where they might be hidden from
the stonuy bla<<t ; he rr'nombored the tender care with which he protected the InmbSj
and how he licd tended the wounded of the flock,'

1868.]

JEdUor'8 Tabk. 323

joa, which ia contained in the accompanying paper^ and which you will oblige me
by disposing of as you think proper.

* There were other faces at the Academy of Design which greatly interested me,
beside William H. Prescott*s and Duncan iNGHAnAM's, especially as they ex-
hibited evidences of beauty, genius, talent, and improvement in those whom I
highly prize : but, as they belong more particularly to the present, and as I am
now considering the past, I leave them for the future. Believe me,

* Ever yours, Tenaciously,
'JTtf 10 - York^ «/iMM, 21«<, 1858. a. 6. o.

' Cccuninoollf dKatttrtnjSB .

* * Ihs friends of my boyhood, oh ! where are they gone ? *

Thus spoke my sad heart as I strayed
By a freshly-made grave, near a path-way well worn,

In the midst of a beautiful glade.
*T was May-day — all nature had put on new life,

And smiled in the white-blossomed trees ;
The sephyr that fanned me, with perfume was rife.

And gently blew landward the breese.

* In full view before me, the island-gemmed bay

Was sparkling beneath the sun's glance ;
By fort and by ferry the myriad barks play.

Or speed on their rapid advance :
Around me, the emblems of mortals at rest,

Were gleaming on hill-side and plain,
How strange that my heart with new pain was oppressed

As drew near a funereal train.

* Oft, oft had I witnessed the pageant of wo.

Unmoved by the mourner's dull tread ;
Heard tremulous voices repeat, sad and slow.

The last solemn prayer o'er the dead ;
Then why should that out-gush of sorrow and tears

Cause my soul thus with anguish to strive ?
Ah ! memory leaps over the chasm of years,

And scenes in my young life revive.

* I see in that concourse the last of a band

Of comrades, who entered, with me,
On the battle of life, with all means at command,

To cope with its tolls manfully :
Aud here, close at hand, in the tomb's cold embrace,

The most of them refuge have found,
Wliile others from distance their home-course will trace,

When only the last trump shall sound.

* Bat whose is the form they have brought to the grave.

Surrounded by bearers well known f
'T is one of the first of tlie manly and brave.

Whom Dkath has just sealed for his own.
I knew him a boy — in the spring-time of life

How oft have we stood side by side !
I knew him long after, a hero in strife.

By the far Mississippi's swift tide.

How proud was his bearing, how buoyant his step I

Uis frame was of Nature's best mould ;
His laugh was Uie gayest, the smile on his lip

K'er told of a soul free and bold.
In the roll of young soldiers a leader was he—

On the green, with a maid by his side.
None more gallant with fair-one or mess-mate could be,

None more faithful by each to abide.

* He sank far away and beneath a strange sky.

No loving companion was near.
No children leant o'er him to catch his last sigh.

But now their tears rain on his bier.
Ah I ye who return from sojourning abroad,

Do you long your old compeers to greet?
The loved of your young hearts ? — go follow the road

To Qreenwood's fast-filling retreat I

330 Editor's TMe. [September, 1858.

James's ' Lord Montagu's Pagk.' — As the Knickbbbockkb is ready for Mr. Gbat*s
stcrcotypcrs one mouth iu oUrance of its date, this last work of Mr. Jambs will doubt-
less have secured a ^vide perusal, before the present number will hare been issued.
Such of oar readers, however, as may not have enjoyed this pleasure, will find in the
following a comprehensive nsumk of the work in question :

* Tub Lord Montagit, whose Page Is the hero of this capital book, is the associate and intimate
fricDd of the famous Dcke of HncKiNunAX, though the former does not flgara at any great length,
and thu latter '\^ not introduced at all. Edwakd Lamodalk, the Page, or Bfaiter Nid, ai !m is
generally teniicd, carves his own way to diei'inction in serrice that Is mostly rendered apart. He
Is intrusted with dispatches to Rochelle, just at the commencement of the memorable eiege by
RicnEi.iKC and Loniii XIII., and chance throws him into frequent intercourse with the great (ordi-
nal of France him-telf, and into an unconscious aiding of hi4 schemes. Without dcTiaUng, In fact,
from his duty to his master, his country, or his religion, he becomes a proteg6 of Ricbbubit; and
the historical interest of ttie talc mainly turns upon Mr. James's new and ndlder riew of Richi-
liec'h character and motives. The author thinks that he scarcely did him Justice in one of hia
own earlier novels, which bore the Cardinars name, and herein, without falsifying the tmth,
make.s an atn&nde by no means unacceptable. The new portraiture, though in lighter e<dori
than of yore, is sketched with a master's hand ; as are also the mere outllnea of sereral real per-
sonay;os of thu time, such as the Pkixib dx Soubisb, the Due ok Bohah, the Ducbmb !>■ Chkt-
BRU8K, and Uurro.v, the VHliant defender i»f Rochelle. The love portion is pretty, and fkill of un-
expected turns ; tlie wind-up is very gracefuL The scenery is for the most part Vreneh, and
shows Mr. James's familiarity with that land.'

* MoiTKT Yebxon Ladies' Associatiox of thb Union. — Our readers will hsTe
been made aware, ere this, of the character of this Association for the purchase of
Mount Vernon, and Washington's Tomb. The following are the lady-offioers of the

Association :

BEGBNT.

Miss Ann Pambla CuNNnrouAM, 8oath*Carolina.

TICB-BBOBNTS.

Mrs. Anna Goba Brrcnii, ... For Yirglnia, Riehmond.
Mr.i. Alice H. Dickinson, - - . . " North-Carolina, Wilmington.
Mrs. PiiiLOOLRA Edobwobth Evk, - " Georgia, Aoguata,

Mr?. O0TA.VIA Walton Le Vert, - • " Alabama, Mobile.
Mrs. Catharine Mo Willie, ..." Mississippi, Jackson.
Mrs. Maroarbt S. Morsk, . . . . " Louisiana, New-Orleana.
Mrs. May KirTLEooK Fouo, . . . ** Tennessee, Nashville.
Mrs. Elizabeth M. Walton, - . . ** Missouri, St. Louis.
Miss May Morris Hamilton, . . . *• New-York, New-Tork Oltj.
Mrs. Louisa Inoerholl Orrenduoh, - - ** Massachusetts, Boston.
Q. W. B1GO8, Esq, Treasurer, Washington City.

New Music from Messrs. Uall and Son. — We are indebted to the conrtesy of Mr.
Warren Hill, who has charge of the musical department of the widely-known and
popular establishment of Messrs. IIall and Son, comer of Park-Place and Broad-
way, for the following pieces of music, which we have * heard praised, tad tbat
highly, too,' by the musical members of our cottage-home : ' Summer Nigfafs CarMi|'
by W. Vincent Wallace : Variations of Wallace : * Happy Birdling:' 'LoTO and
Memory : ' and ' Smile On,' by Charles Grobb. The same publishen hare iaaoad
the following songs of Mr. Stephen Massett, the well-known and popular ToeaUiC
and composer : ' Take Back the Ring : ' the words by Jambs Linex, Esq., of
Francisco; and six ballads that met with such success in England, and war
published by Cramer, Addison, and Bbalb, of London: *When the moon on the
Lake is Beaming : ' ' I Remember : ' 'A Sabbath Scene : ' < It is Not as it Uaad to Ba:'
' I 'U Ijook for Thee, Mart : ' and * I would not have Thee young Again.' Theio OOB-
positions cannot fail to be popular in this country; and when our frianda Iforffa, .
South, East, and West shall hear * Colonel Pipes ' sing them, as we have dona^ Hbtf
will, we think, admit the justice of this adyancc criticism.

BfouNT Washington Collegiate Ixstititr. ^-Messrs. Clarke and FAKHZir^ of the
Mount. Wa*hinyton CoUufiatt Institute, are monthly adding to the reputation of their
extensive and well-known school. In February the pupils, by means of a charity ex-
hibition, raised nearly three hundred dollars for the benefit of the poor. An Omni'
bus is employed daily to carry the younger pupils to and from the schooL

■iir-^cJkj.

THE KNICKERBOCKER.

Vol. LII. OCTOBER, 1858. No. 4.

FBASEB RIVER.

California and Australia owe their existence as populous States
to the gold in their rivers and rocks. British Columbia owes to
the same cause the sudden growth of its population from a few
hundreds to many thousands. Events like these, which have oc-
curred within a boy's remembrance, are nothing new in the history
of the world. Cupidity, the lust for gold, the desire for great
wealth with little labor, have both peopled and discovered States.
Not to pass beyond the history of our own continent, the bravery
and daring of the old Spanish adventurers were inspired by the
same desire. With the visions of abundance which Ponce de
Leon saw, as the groves of Florida rose before him in the west,
on that Easter Sunday, Tradition and Poetry have mingled some
visions of resurrection, and pictured the aged Spaniard searching
after a secret fountain of youth, in which to bathe and draw the
forces of a fresh life. But it was ' the wealth of Ind,' conquest,
and treasure which drew the long line of adventurers who suc-
ceeded him — Vasquez de Ayllon, Gomez, Pamphilo de Narvaez,
De Soto, descending upon the Atlantic coast, and De Cabrillo and
his pilot, Ferrelo, coasting the Pacific shore. Even with the purer
purposes of the Plymouth, Maryland, and Virginian colonists were
mingled some baser instincts. But in the grand result, all these
movmg impulses, of however base an origin, whether in the Span-
iard, the Frenchman, or the Englishman, have been overrtiled in
a more beneficent disposition of events ; and out of the perplexing
and difficult problem of mingled good and evil arose, in due time,
the clear solution — a new world.

A course of events, in some sort like these, though on a smaller
scale, has been the history of Australia and California. It requires
nothing of prophetic ken, and little of sagacity, to foretell the
same result in British Columbia ; and if the discoveries of gold in
the Eraser River region are judged to be the beginning of a series

VOL. ui. 22

332 IfVaser River, [October,

of events of even greater significance and importance than any
series which include the history of our own first Pacific State, or
that of Great Britain's island continent, such a judgment is clearly
compelled, by a due consideration of the geographical character
and position, and the political relations of the colony in which
those discoveries have been made, and is in no respect inflamed by
the fever which possessed the Csdifomians for a brief season, nor
even by the belief that the gold-bearing regions of British Ame-
rica will so much as approach those of the United States, in rich-
ness or extent.

British Columbia, which includes the Fraser River region, may
be roughly described as that portion of British America west of
the Rocky Mountains, and between latitudes 49® and 66<> north,
and including Queen Charlotte's and all other adjacent islands,
excepting Vancouver's. Little was ever known of Fraser River,
which, with its tributaries, is the largest river of the colony, till
1793, when it was discovered and reported to the British Govern-
ment by Alexander McKenzie. Captain Simon Fraser, an em-
ploye of the Hudson's Bay Company, traced its course for six hun-
dred miles, in the year 1812 : and from him the river has taken its
name. He committed suicide twenty years ago in San-Francisco ;
and when excavations were making for new streets a few years
since, in a place afterward called Commercial-street, the old man's
coffin was by chance exhumed.

In 1855, discoveries of gold were made near Fort Colville, which
is a few miles south of the international line, on a branch of the
Columbia River and in Washington Territory. The Indian diffi-
culties in that quarter, then and since, have prevented an extensive
working of them, or a careful estimate of their value. When
these difficulties had partialljr ceased, however, some persons who
knew the richness of the mmes, ti-ied to reach them by the way
of Fraser River and the Hudson's Bay Company's trail from Fort
Langley to Fort Colville. The current rumors are, that it was
durinff this ascent of Fraser River, on the way to the mines in
Washmgton Territory, that the discoveries of gold in its vicinity
were made. Douglas, the Governor of Vancouver's Island, com-
municated the fact to the Government in 1856, and speaks of the
discoveries as having been made on the upper waters of the Colom-
bia, in British Territory.*

* Thi Hudson's Bat Company offered protection against the Indians to persons ffof nc ap by way
of Fraser River, and the United States gave none on any of the routes through Washin^n Ter-
ritory. Therefore, these miners preferred the northern route, and when gold was discovered tlier*
In apparent abundance, a rush or emigration of course ensued. Col. Btkptoi was on bis way to

frotect the miners at Fort Colville. His defeat is not to be wondered at. Good faith with tb«
ndlann would have saved it all; saved, too, the long, bloody, and expensive Indian war whlA
that defeat is initiating. Contrary to established usage and to natural right, the United Stafeea
have assumed to grant absolutely the lands of the Indians In those two territories, wlibont {MVTioos
purchase firom them. They are driven hither and thither by white settlers until they bave Iltlto
means of support, and at length the treaties negotiated by authorized agents of the government la
which some small patches of their own territory are secured tar them, are either rejected, or pniaed
over In silence and forgotten. Five treaties with these Indians alone remained unacted npcm
when the last Congress atiUoumed. Who can blame them for distrusting the good faith of our
government or their agents In making treaties at all f Extensive preparadons had been made on
the Oolumbia River for a road to the Colville mines, from PorUand, the Dallea, and Fort Walli^

1858.] Praser Miver. 333

A Scotchman named Adams, an old California miner, and a
party of three sailors, are said to have been the only white per-
sons at the mines daring the last winter. Early in the spring, the
San-Francisco papers began to publish rumors of remarkable suc-
cesses in suri^ce-diggings on this remote and almost unknown river.
The rumors grew ; a few old miners hanging about San-Frailbisco,
and a hundred or two from Oregon and Washington Territories,
who had experience but no capital, made their way thither, and
found very rich surface-diggings. Their success reached therears
of others, who, like them, had experience, but no capital to build
the machines without which mining is unprofitable, now that the
surface-diggings are removed, in California. Presently the crowd
of emigrants began to swell to larger numbers ; a line of steamers
to Victoria, the capital of Vancouver's Island, was started, other
lines were speedily added, and then every available ship or boat,
new, or cast aside as too poor for other lines, was chartered for
the same purpose. Emigrants from all the towns and counties in
California came pouring down to San-Francisco by hundreds and
thousands ; property fell, and labor rose in value ; San-Francisco
alone profited, and all other places in California suffered seriously ;
and still the emigration went on, each week doubling the number
of the week before. From April first to June twenty-first,
over fifteen thousand people left CaUfomia; up to July fifth,
twenty-five thousand had left, each at an average expense of two hun-
dred dollars a head. During this brief period, ten steamers, making
the round trip between San-Francisco and Victoria in ten days, had
been plying back and forth at their best speed, taking five hun-
dred passengers and fall freights up, with only thirty passengers
and no freight down. Clipper-ships, and ships that were not clip-
per-built, in scores, were crowded alike — the Custom-House
sometimes clearing seven in a day. Many of the steamers and
vessels went up with men huddled together like sheep — so full
that all could not sit or lie down together, and had to take turns
at the feeding-tables and at the soft six-feet-by-two bed of pine-plank
on deck. All this went on for months, the California papers, es-
pecially those of the interior, meanwhile decrying the value of the
new diggings, and describing the country as cold, barren, and in-
hospitable, and the persons who went as poor deluded fools.
But the mania possessed all classes. Nothing else was discussed
in the prints, nothing else talked of on the street ; all the merchants
labelled their goods 'for Fraser River:' there were Eraser River
clothes and Fraser River hats, Fraser River shovels and crowbars,
Fraser River tents and provisions, Fraser River clocks, watches,
and fish-lines, and Fraser River bedsteads, literature, and soda-
water. Nothing was salable except it was labelled 'Eraser River.'
Late in July, the reaction came, and the tide turned ; but not

WaU& Who can wonder that, seeing an engineering partj making a road tfaroogh the heart of
thcAr territory, theee Indians concluded they were to oe cheated oat of their laads, and driven
away as their fathers had been before them ?

834 Fraser Hiver. [October,

until California had been drained of half a hundred thousand of
its population.

Victoria, Port Townsend, Whatcome, Sehome, and all the other
ports in the vicinity of Eraser River, felt the extraordinary im-
pulse of this emigration. Lots in Victoria and Esquimault went up
to &Bulous prices faster than those of Sacramento had gone down.
Excepting the gold dust, Mexican dollars, and the ffaim>ling, &ui-
Fi*ancisco in 1849 was reproduced on Yancouyer's Island.

rf^ to the time of writing, the emigration from the Atlantic
States has not been very large, though it is rapidly increaaing.
The last few California steamers have gone out crowded to over^
flowing, and the tickets, suffered to get into the hands of specu-
lators, have doubled and trebled upon the usual price. Com-
panies for Fraser River are forming in all the large seaport and
inland cities, and in many of the smaller towns. £2yery oonuner-
cial paper has its advertisements of Fraser River ventures.

St. Louis has sent out several companies over-land to the new
mines ; Philadelphia and Chicago, likewise ; and St. Paul, in ICn-
uesota, while domgthe same thmg, is urging the importance of a
Northern Pacific Railroad, and threatening to help the British
build one through the valley of the Saskatchewan, unless the needs
of the North-west are fSurly considered, as they notoriously have
not been hitherto, in the determination of its eastern terminus.

The approach to the gold regions from the Pacific is through
the Straits of Juan de Fuca, to the north of which lies Vancou-
ver's Island, and to the south Washington Territory. The southern
shore of the Straits, which are named after an ancient mariner who
visited these seas in advance of Captfdn Cook, is in latitude 48^,
one degree south of the international boundary. The entrance. of
the Straits is twelve miles across. At the south-eastern part of
Vancouver's Island they are near twenty miles wide. These dis»
tances, however, seem smaller from the high, bold character (tf the
hills or mountains on either side. About one hundred miles from
the Pacific, on the inside of Vancouver's Island, and the norih
side of the Straits, is Victoria, the seat of government. Nearly
the same distance from the Pacific, on the opposite side, in Wash-
ington Territory, is Port Townsend, the port of entir tcft the
Puget Sound district, and the recent unsuccessful rival of Victoria
for the honors of the metropolis of the region.

Both places are equally near to Fraser River and Bellmgham
Bay, the latter distant about fifW-five miles. The Gulf of Gtooi^
separates Vancouver's Island nrom the mainland on the west.
Into this Gulf Fraser River empties, a few miles nordi of latitade
49^, the international boundary, and fifty miles from BeUingham
Bay. For a few miles from its mouth, its course is nearly east md
west, and for the remainmg part, it deflects very consideimUj to
the north, taking its rise in the western slope of the Rodr^ Moun-
tain range. One of its principal tributaries, flowing in m>m the
south, is Thompson's River, where also gold is said to exist.

1858.] Fraaer River. 335

From Garry Point, the north headland of the mouth of Fraser
River, to Fort Langley, it is thirty miles. Here the river averages
halfa-mile in width, and is navigable for a ship of the line even
for fifty miles. The main difficulty in passing the channel, is from
some sand-heads, which lie about its mouth, to the mainland, a dis-
tance of about seven miles. The Hudson's Bajr Company's steamer
* Beaver ' has made an annual voyage from Victoria to Fort Lang-
ley for the last twenty years, and recently the ' Otter ' has visited
that station quarterly. Fort Langley will always be the head of
navigation for vessels of any size. From Fort Langley to Fort
Hope the distance is sixty miles. This part of the nver is navi-
gated by steam-boats of light draught. Rapids are frequent, but
the water is deep. One rapid about twenty miles below Fort
Hope, is especially difficult of passage. On either side are moun-
tains and lulls, some so high that the tops are covered with snow,
and many of them as rugged as the Adirondack. Timber abounds
in the greatest profusion. The spurs of the mountains touch the
river, and green intervales are between. The boats cut for fire-
wood the large trees of pitch-pine which skirt the shore. Fort
Hope, ninety miles from the mouth of Fraser River, is as high up
as steam-boats go, though it may be navigable a few miles farther.
About ten miles above Fort Hope is a place called Boulder Point,
opposite which is one of the worst rapids in the river. Canoes
m&e their way up with difficulty. Fort Yale is fourteen miles
above Fort Hope, and between the two, it is hardly possible to
propel a canoe up-stream without the assistance of a line from shore.
Two miles above Fort Yale is the Devil's Gap, the beginning of a
long canon. The walls are more than two hundred feet in height,
and the water rushes through its narrow and broken passage
with terrific force. The pass around it, called Douglass Ix)rtage,
is ten miles long. The water is said to rise in the Canon at times
from forty to fifty feet. At very low stages, the Hudson's Bay
Company get their goods through to Fort Thompson, though not
without the greatest difficulty, by frequent portages, and by hauling
the boat from the shore. From Fort Yale to the mouth of Thomp-
son's River the distance is one hundred and ten miles ; to Big Fall
is seventy-five miles farther. Beyond Big Fall, small canoes only
can be used. The principal mining-ground is between Fort Yale
and Big Fall, though it is continually extending with the explora-
tion of the tributary rivers.*

Not to weary the reader with details, we may add, that the dif-
ficulties of the river-route are in a great degree shared by all the

* From San-Francfaco to Portland, O. T^ the fkre bj steamer baa been fifteen to twenty-flre
dollars; from Portland to tbe Dalles by steamboat, twelve dolUrs. A.t the Dalles horses can be
obtained for from thirty to sixty dollars, from which point to tbe mines tbe cost of travel iB about
tbe same as land-travel any where else In tbe western terrltorleA. From San-Frandsoo to Vic-
toria, the fare by steamer is from thirty to forty dollars ; from Victoria to Fort Hope, by the * Sor-
prise ^ or * Sea-Bird * steam-boat, the faro Is from twenty to twenty-five dollars. Many miners have
bailt their own canoes at Victoria. Beyond this point the expense of travel ean not easily be oal-
enlated. By any route it is dear, however, that not less than from two hundred to two nandred
and fifty doUars cash will pay the way for one person from San-Franoisoo to the mines.

336 Fraser River. [October,

routes starting from Bellingham Bay or Victoria. The land-route
through Oregon Territory has many advantages. The distance from
Portland to the Dalles, by steam-boat, is about one hundred miles ;
£ire, eleven dollars. Here horses can be purchased, and the neces-
sary equipments. From the Dalles, the road strikes out into the open
country, skirting the eastern base of the cascades to Fort O'Kana-
ean, crossing Columbia River at Priest's Rapids, thence up the
O'Eanagan River to the Sammilkimo River, then along Xake
O'Eanagau to its head, and thence north-east to Shuswap Lake,
which supplies one of the tributaries of Thompson's River. The db-
tance from the Dalles by this route is three hundred and thirty miles.
Another route, by the way of Walla-Walla, lengthens the distance
forty miles. Or, again, the water-route by the Columbia may be
taken as far as Fort Colville. If the statement be a true one, it is
a great argument for this route, that the Hudson's Bay Company,
though having forts all along Fraser River, have for years shipped
their goods by way of Fort Vancouver, the Dalles, and Columbia
River, to Fort Colville, and through the mining country.

At the very threshold of the inquiry as to the richness of the
gold-fields and their extent, we are staggered by the most
conflicting accounts. The California papers teem with letters
from special and transient correspondents, from miners and
the Mends of miners, and after sifting the grain of fact out of
bushels of imaginative chaff, there stul remam singular contractic-
tions in the testimony of apparently equally well-informed sources.

One writer pronounces the whole Fraser River excitement a
grand humbug, first started by real-estate ovmers in Victoria;
another swears that he has handled twenty-seven pounds of gold,
the product of a few weeks' labor. To-day we are told of a man
who offers eighteen dollars an ounce for Fraser River gold, and
cannot get a grain ; to-morrow of another who sits with boots, like
those of Brian O'lann,

* With the woolly side out and the skinny side in,'

and saturated with quicksilver, swinging in the stream a day,
and at night wrings them out, and finds one hundred and fiffy
dollars stuck to the hair. After a very extensive perusal of all the
testimony which has appeared in tJie letters of fraser River cor-
respondents to the newspapers of California and of the Atlantic
cities, and a somewhat careful consideration of its weight and of
the influence of a mania in helping gold-finders to see double,
we arc impelled to the conclusion that ^old exists in Fraser River
and its tnbutaries, in sufficient quantities to make it an object
of profitable search for a portion of the year. That it exists in
quantities such as were found in the surface diggings of earlv Oali-
fomia days, we do not believe ; but that it pays better K>r ex-
perienced miners who have not the capital to buy the expensive
quartz-crushing machines with which gold is obtained in CambmiA,
we are compelled to think.

1868.] Fraser River. 337

Reputed discoveries, and the geologic structure of the strip of ter-
ritory west of the Rocky Mountain range, seem to indicate beyond a
doubt that the northern boundary of British Columbia and the south-
em boundary of California are the two brackets which inclose a vast
gold- producing area of similar if not of equal productiveness in all
its parts. The correspondence of Governor Douglass with the
British Colonial Office and the officers of the Hudson's Bay Com-
pany, submitted to the House of Commons, shows that Governor
Douglass, although he had been informed of the discovery of gold
in April, 1856, has not up to this date, an interval of more than
two years, ascertained how much gold there is. in the mines, and
refrains from expressing an' opinion even more cautiously than we
have thought proper to do. To the British Consul at San-Fran-
cisco, however, he has stated that the mines were far richer than
he had had any idea of. What Governor Douglass's 'idea of'
may have been, we are not informed.*

In February last the Derby ministry came into power. Sir E.
Bulwer Lytton having the office of Secretary for the Colonies.
Under date of July first, he communicated to Governor Douglass
a general approval of his course in asserting the dominion of the
Crown over this region, and the right of the Crown over the pre-
cious metals. He instructs him, however, that it is no part of the
policy of the Government to exclude Americans or other foreigners
irom the gold-fields, emphasized the necessity of caution in dealing
with the international questions which are likely to arise, and
wherein so much must be left to his discretion.

On the eighth of July Sir E. Bulwer Lytton introduced a bill
for the formation and government of a colony in this district, to
be called New-Caledonia, afterward changed to British Columbia,
both alike misnomers. The bill, which passed without opposition,
empowers the Crown for a period limited to five years, to make

* DrmoiTLTiiES of a serloos natare have been anticipated with the native Indians of Britlah Oo-
lambia. One year ago Governor Douolass wrote to Mr. LABGuonsRc, the then Secretary of the
ColonlefS that they had 'taken the high-banded though probably not unwise coarse, of eskpelling
all the putlea of gold-diggers, composed chleflv of persons f)*oin the American territories, who
had forced an entrance into their country .* The Uadson^s Bay Company did not oppose the
Indians In this matter, bat allowed their servants and the early diggers to be hustled out, and to
lose the reward of their labors many times. During the year some few difficulties have occurred,
and there has been blood shed ; but whether because of the discreet conduct of the miners or the
native perception of their own permanent Inferiority, in view of sach an Influx of a more power-
ful race, the collisions have not been so frequent or disastrous as were anticipated. It is clear that
In a fight between the miners and the Indians, however successful the latter might be at first, in
the long run the former would win, and eventually the process of extermination of a once pow-
erful race, begin and go on to a rapid end.

It appears from the commonly received aathoritles, that the Indians of British Golambla, like
those of Washington and Oregon Territories, are fierce and intractable; civilized to the extent of
clearly comprehending the distinction between mtum and iuum ; willing to steal, yet anxious to
prevent theft of their gold; active, brave, well-formed, and skilful in the use of weapons, of
which they have a good supply. Their principal article of food is salmon. In summer they live
In shanties of slabs, and in winter, in holes in the ground, covered with slabs and dirt. Their min-
ing la rude and intermittent Tbe Indians in Puget's Sound (Chenooks) are said to be an inferior
race. Those up the river are the most elevated. The latter demand chastity of their women,
build forts large enough to hold six or seven hundred families, and canoes that will hold a hundred
persons. They use little paint and no tattoo. There are two principal tribes, and these hate each
other as badly as CooPKRa Delawares and Hurons. The number of Indians in British Columbia
it la impossible to compute. Excepting the few factors of the Hudson's Bay fJompany, they have
teen the only inhabitants. Tbe inhabitants of Washington and Oregon Territories number about
89,T12. There are nearly as many to the square mile in the more northern territory.

338 leaser River. [October,

laws for the district by order in council and to establish a l^ida-
tare ; such legislature to be in the first instance the goremor slcme,
but with power to the Crown bjr itself or through the Govemor,
to establish a nominated council and a representatlTe asaemblj.
We do not exaggerate in the least when we saj that the recent
debate in the House of Commons on this bill shows the present crisis
to be regarded as one of great interest.

The gold of Australia was the magnet that drew saigas thou-
sands from England and peopled her largest colony. The gold
in California drew an emigration thither which has createa our
Pacific States. The gold of Fraser River, be it much or little, has
drawn the attention of the world to the unexampled richneBS of
the north-western areas of this continent, and given already a
stupendous impulse to their settlement.

V ancouver's Island, from a hitherto insdgnificant existence upon
maps, looms up in a not distant future to the proportions of a Bri-
tish naval station, whoso arms may stretch across the seas yet, and
grasp a portion of the swelling trade with China and Japan, the
Indian Archipelago and Australia. British Columbia, hitherto
considered an inaccessible and remote region of wild territory,
given over to the Hudson's Bay Company's trade, selfidi and
exclusive, and to Canadian jurisdiction, which was no jurisdiction
at all, feels the same impulse, and grows into the last link of a
chain of British States, or perhaps of another united oonfederatimi
like our own, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pftdfic seas.

These will not be the results of a year, perhaps not of a decade,
perhaps not of scores of years. But if we consider that the popu-
lation of the United States has grown in Ififty years, from nve
and a half to thirty millions, and the population of the Oanadas
from much less than two hundred thousand to over two minions,
it requires less than the foresight of these British statesmen to see
that on events which now seem local and confined, imperial issues
wait, though they are now but dimly foreshadowed.

Here is the great fact of the north-western areas of this oonti-
ncnt. An area not inferior in size to the whole United States east
of the Mississippi, which is perfectly adapted to the fullest occor
pation by cultivated nations, ^et is almost wholly unoccupied, lies
west of the ninety-eighth meridian and above the fi>rty-wird par-
allel, that is, north of the latitude of Milwaukie, and west of Ae
longitude of Red River, Fort Kearney, and Corpus ChristL (hr,
to state the fact in another way, east of the Rocky Mountains and
west of the ninety-eighth meridian, and between the fortieth snd
sixtieth parallels, there is a productive, cultivable ares of five
hundred thousand square miles. West of the Rocky MountsiniL
and between the same parallels, there is an area of three hundred
thousand square miles.

It is a great mistake to suppose that the temperature of fhe
Atlantic coast is carried straight across the continent to the
Pacific. The isothermals deflect greatly to the north, and the

1868.] Fraser Biver. 339

temperatures of the Northern Pacific areas are paralleled in the
high temperatures in high latitudes of Western and Central
Europe. The latitudes which inclose the plateaus of the Missouri
and the Saskatchewan, in Europe inclose die rich central plains of
the continent. The great grain-growing districts of Russia lie
between the forty-fifth and sixtieth parallel, that is, north of the
latitude of St. Paul, Minnesota, or Eastport, Maine. Indeed, the
temperature in some instances is higher for the same latitudes
here than in Central Europe. The isothermal of 70* for the sum-
mer which on our plateaux ranges from along latitude 50* to 62%
in Europe skirts through Vienna and Odessa m about parallel 46°.
The isothermal of 60° for the year runs along the coast of British
Columbia, and does not go far from New- York, London, and Se-
bastopol. Furthermore, dry areas are not found above 47% and
there are no barren tracts of consequence north of the Bad Lands
and the coteaux of the Missouri : the land grows grain finely and
is well wooded. All the grains of the temperate districts are here
produced abundantly, and Indian com may be grown as high as
the Saskatchewan.

The buffalo winter as safely on the Upper Athabasca as in the
latitude of St. Paul's, and the spring opens at nearly the same time
along the immense line of plains from St. Paul's to Mackenzie's
River. To these facts, for which there is the authority of Blodg-
ett's Treatise on the Climatology of the United States, may be
added this, that to the region bordering the Northern Pacific the
finest maritime positions belong throughout its entire extent, and
no part of the west of Europe exceeds it in the advantages of
equable climate, fertile soil*, and commercial accessibility of coast.
We have the same excellent authority for the statement that, in
every condition forming the basis of national wealth, the conti-
nental mass lying westward and north-westward fi-om Lake Supe-
rior is far more valuable than the interior in lower latitudes, of
which Salt Lake and upper New-Mexico are the prominent known
districts. In short, its commercial and industrial capacity is
gigantic* Its occupation was coeval with the Spanish occupation
of New-Mexico and California. The Hudson's Bay Company
has preserved it an utter wilderness for many long years. The
Fraser River discoveries and emigration are facts which the Com-
pany cannot crush. Itself must go the wall, and now the popula-
tion of the great north-western areas begins.

Another effect of the Fraser River discoveries is their deter-
mination of the route for the great Pacific-Railroad. In view of
the facts which we have just stated, it becomes clear that if the
population of the United States were evenly distributed from the
Gulf of Mexico to the great lakes, the existence of these north-

* Thk London TlmM has fiercely controverted these facts regarding the valnQ of tho north-
west«rn areaa, bat as there is evidently no Intention to set at the truth of the case, and as Its con-
duct Is prompted by Interested motives, no notice need be taken here of Its arguments. In books
written by the verv officers of tho Company, upon whose statements alone the ^m^ can found
Its arguments, will be found thuir fullest contradiction.

840 Fraser JRiver. [Ootober,

western areas would draw the lines of travel to the Pacific sensi-
blj to the north. But the northern States are by &r the most
densely populated. The centre of population is west of Pittsburgh,
of productive power to the east and north of that city. The
movement of these centres is slowly to the west and to the north
of west. At our present rate of increase, in less than fifby years
they will be near Chicago. Their line of direction indicates the
track of westward empire and the general route along which vil-
lages, towns, and cities will arise, and therefore the first raU-road
be built to the Pacific coast.

Beyond and above all possible interferences and obstructions of
political or sectional zeal, beyond human control these great move-
ments of nations and peoples go on, without their foresight, and
without the knowledge of the earlier generations, yet working out
in beautiful order, and as if with universal consent and the con-
spiracy of all the secret forces of nature, their grand and best
results.

If we now recall in this connection the precise position of the
Mauvaises Terres, and the rainless, sandy, and uninhabitable areas
of the continent ; the nature and location of the mountain chains,
exclusive of the Rocky Mountain range, extending from latitude
47*" to 33% headed at the south by the Gila River, on whose south-
em side are the arid, uncultivable tracts of Sonora, and headed at
the north by the Missouri River, on whose northern side lie these
vast cultivable and inhabitable areas ; if we recall the remarka-
ble deflection to the westward of the Rocky Mountain range in
this latitude ; if we recall also the course of that gigantic stream,
which is far greater than the river to which by a mistaken nomen-
clature it is made tributary, a stream extendmg to the very base
of the Rocky Mountains, in the region where they are lowest and
.transit is easiest, navigable for steamers two thousand four hun-
dred and fifty miles from its mouth, and for smaller vessels almost
within sound of the Great Falls ; if we recall also the remarkable
deflection to the north of the isothermal lines from the west of
Lake Superior, already mentioned, and the position of Columbia
River, and remember withal that the first and the great routes of
travel are always where nature has scooped out valleys for the
passage of great rivers ; if we combine all these conceptions wbii
the one fir^ advanced, of the direction of the movement of the
centres of population and industrial activity, there remains no
room to doubt, even without naming the north-western areas,
that along the valley of the Missouri, over the Rocky Mountuns,
in the low passes of latitude 47'', and thence by the Columbia and
its tributaries to the Pacific, or through the passes of the Cascade
range to the splendid harbors of Puget Sound, lies the greai
route to the Pacific, the belt on which towns and villages willfirst
arise, the strongest link in the union of the Atlantic and Pacific
States. The Fraser River discoveries have hastened the reanki
they have not diverted it.

1868.] Lines: Expose. 341

lines: bepose.

Flow on, 0 Lifk ! all glorified and blest :
Upon thy waves I lie in perfect rest,
As on the pillowing of a mother^s breast.

They say an infant seeth heaven in dreams ;
And lying here so calm it often seems
Ab if I see beyond the blue serenes :

As if the soul with love-enlightened eyes
Looks in upon its home — no strange surprise
Ck)mes o^er me — the gladness satisfies.

I never knew a joy that grew to fear :

The deepest glory of existence here

Is but the star-light of my native sphere.

Tet climbing oft to some unclouded height,
I see the day-dawn of the Infinite
Out-blossoming to my enraptured sight.

But never, never is the air too clear ;
Never too warm the radiant atmosphere :
It is my Father^s smile, and home is near.

Home ! Home ! But earth is very bright and fair ;
And such a day as this, without a care,
I lie, rejoicing but to breathe the air.

It is so sweet to live — to live and love —
To find two lives in perfect music move.
Preluding higher harmonies above.

And so in lifers green valley, far below

The heights where marshaled clouds move to-and-fro,

Yet just as near the holy heavens, I know :

In this sweet spot, which birds and blooms delight in.
To tender joy and harmless mirth inviting,
And Nature's love by Nature's life requiting :

On such a day, in such a mood as this,
My life out-blooms, a red rose from a kiss,
Rounding itself to perfect loveliness.

With light for music in the silence deep ;
And tenderly I * lay me down to sleep,'
And only ' pray the Lord my soul to keep.'
Cinchmatty {Ohio,) August, 18dS.

842 The Jasper Signet. [October,

THE JASPER SIGNET.

It was the dusk of a summer evening. I sat in my chamber,
puffing my segar, and gazing listlessly into the street. I saw the
flitting figures of the passers-by, and my neighbors over the way
on their stoops, with their children playing around them. The air
was ^ill of con^sed sounds — fragments of conversation, the patter
of feet, and the rumble of distant wheels. It was not an unpleas-
ant evening, I owned, but I was not in the mood to enjoy it. I
took up my pistol, which lay on the table before me, and handling
it curiously, wondered if any thing would ever drive me to ahoot
myself.

It was a dark time in my life, the darkest, I thought, that I had
ever seen. I was out of money, out of friends, out of hope. And,
worst of all, my child, my darlmg little Ambrose, was sick. He
lay in the next room in a raging fever ; the folding-doors between
us were closed, but his low moans reached me, and struck a pang
to my heart. From time to time through the day I had sat by his
bed-side, holding his burning hands, but when evening came I
could bear it no longer : I was sick with pity. I took up a book
to forget myself, but I could not make sense of what I read ; my
mind would wander off in the middle of a paragraph. How in-
deed could I forget the child, when every thing m the room re-
minded me of him ? Within reach stood his rocking-horse ; his
toys were scattered over the sofa. Under the edge of the book-
case I saw the toes of his little shoes, and on ^e table lay a
withered posy, which he had gathered a day or two before.
It was only a bunch of wUd flowers, and they were withered and
dead, but I could not throw them away. I would have preserved
even a weed, if his hand had touched it I ^

I sat and smoked until it grew too dark to see distmi^dy. The
neighbors withdrew into their houses, and lighted the lamps.
The sounds in the streets died away, but the air was noisier tluin
ever, for innumerable crickets were chirping. * Ah ! well,' said I
with a sigh, * there is no use in my sitting here idle any longer : I
may as well go to work.'

I turned on the gas, and drew my table up to the lidit. I have
not mentioned, I believe, that I was an author, but as I said I was
poor, the acute reader may have guessed it. Yes, I was an author
then, a poor author, a miserable Hterary hack, turning my pen to
every thing. I was equally good (or bad) at prose and po^iy. I
wrote heavy articles for the reviews, and light paragraphs for the
journals, to say nothing of sensation-romances for the weeklies ;
and poetry for every thing. I had a poem to write that night, a
comic poem ; the cuts with wliich it was to be illustrate^ and
which were supposed to be drawn for it, (of course at a great ex-
pense I) lay before me, not yet transferred fr^m Punchy toacbing
the ^ed flowers of my sick child. I pressed the posy lo my

1858.] The Jasper Signet. 843

lips, and breathing a prayer for his recovery, took up my pen and
began to write. The contrast between my circumstances and
what I was writing — a pane^ric on wealth — sharpened my wits.
I rioted in a world of fantastic creations, scattering jokes and puns
broad-cast. ' There,* said I after one of my biilliant coruscations,
* that will delight the editor of the Barbarian, The poor man
thinks me funny.' I remembered the last poem that I had offered
him, and smiled bitterly. It was a stately and noble piece of
thought, jret he declined it, and ordered the trash which I was
then writmg. I would not have touched it but for my little Am-
brose, but a sick child must have a physician and nurse, * And
happy shall I be,' I thought, * if it ends there I ' Walking out that
day I had seen a little coflSi in the window of an undertaker hard
by, and now it came back to my memory, and filled me with solemn
forebodinffs. I imagined that I saw it on the table, with my child
in it, holdmg the withered flowers in his folded hands 1 I laid
down my pen and Hstened, but I could not hear him. * Perhaps
he is dead,' I whispered. The thought gave me a shock, and the
tears rushed to my eyes. I was certainly in fine trim for writing
a comic poem !

At that moment there was a tap at the door. * Come in,' said
I, drying my eyes hastily. The door opened, and in walked
Arthur Gumey. I did not recognize him at first, for I had seen
him but once before, and that was at a large party; beside, my
eyes were dim with writing. But when he came to the light, I re-
membered his face, and shook him by the hand.

* I see you are at work,' he said. * If I am ^ ^rop, say so
fi-ankly, and I 'U be off at once.'

* Don't,' I replied ; * I can spare an hour or two as well as not.'
He seated himself in my arm-chair, and cast his eyes around the

chamber. I could not teU whether he was taking a mental inven-
tory of my worldly goods and possessions, or whether he was col-
lecting his thoughts before commencing conversation. I looked
at him intently for a few minutes, I knew not why, but I felt a
strange fascination drawing me toward him. There was a subtle
communication, a mesmeric telegraph, as it were, between us.
His soul flashed messages to mine — mysterious messages in
cipher, which I received and read, but could not understand.
H^d he been a woman instead of a man, I should have understood
his power over me. His face was pale and delicately cut ; his eyes
were large and black. There was something Spanish in his ap-
pearance, but no Spaniard could have been so Mr. A sentimental
young lady would have called him romantic-looking ; but he would
have scorned that cheap distinction. He was a gentleman, a noble
gentleman in grief.

* Well,' said he, ' have you finished staring at me ? ' I was not
aware that he had noticed me, he appeared so oblivious of my
presence.

* I *beg your pardon, but I could not help it. But pray, Mr.
Gumey — I am sure you wUl not think me rude — to what am I
indebted for the honor of this visit ? '

344 7%e Jasper Signet. [October,

' Like you, I coald not help it. I sat alone in my room thinldng
of many things, when suddenly you came into my mind, and I
thought I ought to come and see you. It seemed to me that yon
could do something for me, or I for you, I knew not which. Can
you help me ? '

* But what is the matter with you ? You appear well, and well
to do — one of the sleek darlings of the worla ; as Evelyn says in
' Money.' I will give you advice, if you insist upon it, which I
take to be a pretty good proof of friendship. I will even write
you an acrostic, if you think your lady love can be won by poetry.
In short, I will do almost any thing but lend you money ; that I
cannot do. But that, I &ncy, is the last thing that you would ex-
pect from me.'

He shook his head. ^Have you any thing to drink?' The
suddenness of the question made me smile in spite of mysel£

' What will you have. Monsieur Gumey ? Chateau Margeau,
or Yerzeney ? But perhaps you would like some Hungarian wine,
or a bottle of Johannisberg ? '

* Whatever you have. Sir, whatever you have.'

I remembered that I had a bottle of schnapps in the next room,
and rose to get it. I passed out into the hall, and groped my way
along the entry until I reached the door that led into the sick-
chamber. There was a candle burning in the corner when I
entered, but it was shaded so effectuaUy that I had to light a
match. The flask for which I came, standing in a little cabinet at
the head of the bed, I moved on tip-toe to tne bed-side, and bent
my &ce close down to that of the child. I could not see him dis-
tinctly, but I felt his short, quick breath : it was like the blast of a
furnace. I touched his hand ; he was consumed with feven 'He
is no better. Sir,' the nurse whispered, ' but he is sleeping somidly,
and so is his mother : she is worn out.' Turning my eyes in the
direction of the lounge, I saw my wife stretched upon it. I stole
softly toward her, and kissed her forehead. She moved her Hns,
but no sound came : she was breathing in sleep a silent prayer for
her darling.

When I reentered my chamber my heart was sad, and so. Seem-
ingly, was that of Arthur Gumey, for his &ce was buried in Iiis
hands.

He roused himself with an effort, and taking a segar-case from
his pocket, offered me a segar. I placed the bottle and glasses on
the table, and proceeded to twist a paper-lighter, but he aiitid^
pated me with the blank side of a letter, which, I notice^ Wtts
ed^ed with black. As he bent forward to light it at the lead^
which hung between us, I saw a large ring on his finger — Usa eOr
graved seal-ring, with a curious settmg.

^ That is a strange ring of yours, Mr. Gumey,' I observed, after
we had lij^hted our se^rs ; * may I look at it r '

* Certainly,' and he handed it to me.

It was a jasper signet of large size. The stone was remarlodi^
fine, and apparently clear, but on scanning it closely, I saw that it
was flecked with red spots. They were small and dim, ^xbqvt

1858.] The Jasper Signet. 846

where the stone had been engraved ; there they were larger and
brighter. It was as if the stone had been inserted in a bloody
foil, which had been pierced by the cutting, I conld not make
out the cutting, whether it was a crest or merely an initial letter.
It was probably a cipher. The workmanship of the setting, which
was of red gold, betokened an early state of the art. It was fan-
tastic and rude, but quite in keeping with the stone, the cipher of
which it repeated amid a variety of cabbalistic characters. Had
I met with it in the cabinet of a collector, I should have said it
was the seal of some magician of the middle ages.

Mr. Gurney had moved the bottle toward him, and was filling
his glass when I made a motion as if I would slip the ring on my
finger. ' Stop ! ' he said suddenly ; ' what are you about ? '

His tone was so abrupt and fierce that I stared at him in sur-
prise. * You object to my trying it on ? ' I asked.

' Indeed I do ; it is unlucky.'

I handed him back the ring, a little piqued by his manner.

' Fill your glass, and I will satisfy your curiosity concerning it.
You must not be annoyed with me because I prevented you from
trying it on. It was on your account, not my own.'

We touched our glasses, and he began,

* This ring has been in our family lor generations. I know not
when, or by whom, the curse was entailed upon us, but as far back
as our records reach — and we have authentic documents reaching
back five or six hundred years — we find it mentioned as one of
the heirlooms of the race. It has come down from father to son
with all our broad lands and possessions, being frequently specified
in our ancient wills. Our lands and possessions have passed away,
as such things will, but the ring remains, as you see. It has be-
longed at times to various branches of the family — men of widely
difierent minds and temperaments. Some lived in peaceful days,
and died at a ripe old age ; others perished young, slain in battles
or broils. Many fell by their own hands. But it mattered not
what was the fortune of its possessor, he was the slave of the ring.'

' But in what sense ? ' I inquired. ' What you have related may
be plain to you, but I must confess it is vague to me. In what
manner, and to whom, has the ring been a curse ? '

* To all who have worn it, myself among the rest. As to the
manner of the curse, it has taken a thousand shapes. Some of us
have been hurled from the pinnacle of wealth and power, others
have been raised to almost regal dignities. This was in the old
time, when we ranked among the nobility. In these later years
of buying and selling, our fortunes have been more stable : the ma-
jority of the Gumeys are rich.'

' Then you have one thing,' I said, ' to counterbalance the curse
of the ring. I would I had your wealth ; I lack nothing but that.
I have health and strength, a light heart, and a clear head. I have
no inordinate desires, no impossible longings. I possess myself
thoroughly, my heart, ray brain, my will.'

* And yet you sigh for wealth ! You must be mistaken in your-

846 The Jasper Signet. [October,

self; you are not so strong as yon think« What coold money
give you that you do not a&eady possess? '

* Many thmgs, Sir,' said I bitterly, thinking of my past priva-
tions and present sorrows. * It would give me the books that I
need, the pictures that I love. I could build myself a cottage in
the country, or, if I were fool enough to desire it, a palace in
Parvenu Square. I could go to Europe, to London, Paris, or
Rome.*

* Any thing else ? '

*• Yes,' I -answered sharply, provoked by his coolness, ' I could
probably save the life of my child.'

* I had forgotten that you were married, Mr. Tracy. Tell me
of your wife and child,'

He spoke kindly, tenderly even, but I repulsed him. ^ There is
nothing to tell, save that my child is sick, perhaps dying.*

* Poor fellow.' He fell into a brown study, twirling the jasper
signet in his fingers.

* I gather from what you say,' I resumed, * that you think the
Gumey family an unlucky one, but you have not XxAdi me what
the ring has to do with it. I am not disposed to admit in human
afiairs either the capricious interference of Fortune, or the iron
despotism of Fate ; still less can I admit the influence of so trivial
a thing as a jasper signet. I can imagine that your ancestors were
fooled or terrified into such a superstition in the age of astrology,
but it is unworthy of you, and this age of enlightenment. If your
&mily has been unfortunate, Mr. Gumey, it is because' some mem-
ber of it has transmitted some weakness to his descendants.

* The fault, dear Brvtits, ia not in our stars,
But in ourselyes, that we are nnderiings.'

^ As you please : I did not expect you to believe me. But the
facts are the same nevertheless. None of our fiumly have ever
been happy, or ever will be. Wretchedness is our doom. Our
motto should be ^MiserrimuB^ our crest a bleeding heart. We
are rich, but we take no pleasure in our riches. We are loving,
but we are seldom loved, or what we love dies. In short, we are
miserable, thanks to the jasper signet.'

^ In the name of common-sense, then,' I exclaimed, ^ why keep it
among you ? Why not destroy it, or give it away ? You can

Eowder it in the fire, I suppose, or throw it into the sea? It will
urn, or sink.'

' It will do neither, sagacious poet. For one of my ancestors
who dabbled in alchemy a century or two ago, baffled in his seEffoh
for the Philosopher's stone, the impossu>le Avrum JPaiabite^
wreaked his vengeance on the ring, which he conceived to be the
cause of his disappointment, and threw it into his crudble ' it a
white heat. It would have melted granite, but it &iled to consumie
the jasper signet, for when the fire died out it was found unin-
jured; the setting was not even tarnished. Another member of
the family — my Uncle Bernard — dropped it into Uie TSber, but
it came back to him, like the ring of Polycrates.'

1868.] The Jasper Signet. 347

* But you could give it away,' I persisted.

' It has been given away many times, but it has brought so muoh
misery on its new owner, that he has always returned it to the
giver.'

* Suppose you should give it to me, how would it affect me ? '

* You would not believe me if I should tell you.'
' Try me.'

* It would make you rich.'

* Come, I should like that.'

* But it would rob you of your identity.'
' That is impossible.'

* I said you would not believe me.'

* Do you mean to tell me, Arthur Gumey, that if I should wear
this jasper signet, I should cease to be Richard Tracy ? '

' So runs the tradition.'

* I have no faith in traditions, and to show you that I have not,
I will, with your permission, wear the ring until we meet again.
Shall I?'

* By no means. If not for your own sake, for that of your wife
and child, beware of the jasper signet. You could not help me by
knowing and sharing my lot. It would increase your misery,
while it would not lighten mine. I must meet my doom alone.
Be content as you are, for no exchange that you could make would
benefit you. Leave all to God and time.'

It was late that night when we parted. I followed him to the
door to get a breath of air. The night wind was sweet and fresh,
breathing of the green woods and the salt sea. It flowed around
us we stood on the stoop, laying its cool fingers in benediction on
our heated brows.

* Good night, and pleasant dreams, Arthur Gurney.'

* Farewell, and a long life, Richard Tracy.'

We shook hands and he departed. I lingered a moment and
watched his retreating form. It was a bright night, and I saw him
for some distance, now growing dim as he entered the shadows of
the trees, and now becoming distinct as he crossed the spaces of
moon-shine. He turned the comer, and I saw him no more, save
in his shadow, which trailed like a dark pillar behind him. It dis-
appeared, and the sound of his steps died away. I locked the
door and returned to my work.

The visit of Arthur Gurney, unexpected though it was, was of
service to me. It kept me from thmking too much of my sick
child, and it rested my weary mind. I could not have finished my
task that night but for his interruption. I matured my plan as I
talked with him, and worked it out as I listened. When he rose
to depart I was within a few lines of the end. There was nothing
to do but to write down what I had composed — some twenty or
thirty lines in all — and give the whole an epigrammatic turn. I
seized my pen and dashed it hurriedly across the paper, making a
series of hieroglyphics, which would have delighted Champollion or
Layard.

VOL. LH. 23

7^ Jasper Siffnet. [October,

It was soon finished, and I proceeded to put the table ui order,
piling up the books and arraoging the papers in my portfolio. In
BO doing, I happened to moved my pistol, when I discovered the
jasper signet, which Arthur Gumey had left, whether through
forgetfiilness or design I never knew. I took it cautionsly between
m^ thumb and fin^r, as one might take some strange instrument
01 death, and held it close to the light. It looked quaint and curi-
ous, as an old signet-ring should, but by no means dangerous or
formidable. The ciphers in the setting were unchanged ; the
stone was as clear as ever. I saw no duTerence in it, except that
the blood-spots appeared a little redder and larger, but that might
have been my Taney. It is tme that I felt somewhat nervons as I
handled it, but any imaginative person would have fdt so after
listening to the strange narrative of Arthur Gumey.

* How absurd that poor fellow was,' I aaid, ' to talk as he did
about this poor, old harmlesa ring. It must have been the Byronio
beverage tnat he drank, for certainly no man would believe such
nonsense in his sober senses. 'If yon wear the ring,' he said, ' you
will lose your identity.' I 've a good mind to try it.' And I pat
it on my finger.

As it slipped down, joint after joint, the most singnlar sensation
came over me. At first a sharp tTuill ran through my frame,
beginning at my heart, and pulsing outward like the waves of an
electric sea. This was followed by a sadden tremor of the nerves,
which ended in an overpowering iaintness. What took place next
I knew not, for when I recovered I had no remem.brance that any
thing unusual bad happened. How could I have, when my identity
was gone ?

I awoke in a richly-fumisbed chamber. The light of the chande-
lier was turned on full, and I saw every thing as clearly as if it had
been day. The walls were hung with b^ntifol pictures — the
master-pieces of the finest modem masters, Scheffer, Delaroohe,
and Horace Vemet, with here and there a choice impression of
the rarest engravings of Raphael Morghen. But the gem of the
collection was a p^r of Turners — a morning and evening at sea.
In the one you saw a noble barge, crowded with lords and ladies,
fiying before the wind, with her sails all set and her streamers
flying; in the other, the fragments of a wreck, drifting over a
measureless sea : the son was iust plunging in the gloomy waves,
a world of fire and blood I The mantle was loaded with Sevres
vases, and rich ornaments in ormohf and bronze, and tables of
rose-wood and ebony wore strcBTi with objects of virtu. High-
backed Gothic chairs, covered with royal bi-ocade, were scattered
around. I might describe the soft carpets and the tufted mgs;
the bcavy-hanging damask curtains, with their fluted, pillar-Jue
folds; the brilliant mirrors reaching from floor to ceiling ; but to
what end ? It is enough to s.iy that I was in the (duunber of the
rich and voluptuous Arthur Gumey. I was Arthur Gumey !

I sat in a fonteuil, holding in my hand n lady's miniature. It
was ihat of Diy Cousin Beatrice, bhe was na fair as an angel, but

1868.] I7ie Jasper Signet. 349

a deep sadness had settled on her face, shading its beauty and
brightness. She was pale and ghost-like, with thin, spiritual lips,
and earnest but melancholy eyes.

*■ How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
Sorrow more beautiful than beauty^s self.'

I took from my pocket a letter. It was the fatal letter from
England, telling me of my cousin's death. ' Here,' I murmured,
ponng over the miniature, ' here is my dear Beatrice as I saw her
a little month ago, the sweetest soul that ever tabernacled in clay ;
and here,' looking at the letter, ' is that which tells me I shall see
her no more I How coidd she die, when I needed her so much ?
She was my hope, my life, the only thing that I loved. How weak
and unmanly Tracy was, to repine as he did to-night ! He has a
wife that loves him, and a child — his child, and hers — a little
angel, still in the light of Heaven. But I am alone, alone ! Were
Beatrice living, my Beatrice, my beloved, my betrothed, my wife,
I would not shrink from poverty as he does^ but would battle with
it royally, crowned with the great diadem of Love I But it is too
late I it is too late I There is nothing left me but to die ! '

I crumpled the letter in my hand, and kissed the miniature of
Beatrice for the last time. As I rose I caught sight of my face in
the mirror. It was haggard, and ghastly pale. 'Come, come,
Arthur Gumey, be firm ; it will not do to play the woman now.'
I strode up to the mirror, as I have seen men do when excited by
wine, and took a long look at myself How black my hair was I
and what a wild light glared in my sunken eyes I *Good-by,
Arthur Gumey ! ' I smiled and walked to the window. The sky
was sown with stars, and the full moon hung over the tops of the
trees. * Farewell, O moon, and stars, and summer night ! a long
ferewell ! '

I cocked my pistol and placed it to my heart. ' Beatrice,' I
shrieked, ' I come.' My finger was on the trigger — another second
and I would have been in Eternity. But suddenly my hand was
seized, and a woman's shriek rang in my ear : ^Ricliardl ' I strug-
gled violently, determined not to be balked in my purpose.
^Richard! Richard I ^ I heeded her not, but tore off the hand
that held me. At that moment the jasper signet dropped from
my finger, and the charm was broken. I was no longer Arthur
Gumey, but Richard Tracy 1 I was saved from death by my
wife, who came into the room to tell me that my child was better.
' The doctor has been here, dear husband, and he says that the
crisis is past. Our little Ambrose will live.' I threw myself into
her arms and burst into tears.

* Look at the watch, Bessy,' said I, trembling at my narrow es-
cape, ' and note the time carefully, for Arthur Gumey is dead.
He died to-night, and by his o\vn hand.'

It was even so. For in the morning he was found in his cham-
ber dead, with a bullet through his heart ! His watch was in his
pocket, stopped I It pointed to the very minute when Bessy ar-
rested my hand I

MooK-StuUing in a Cana^an Wmter. [October,

M OOBR-BDXTI^Q Iir A GAHADIAV VIVTBB.

Whei lh« vinlo' sM>w-&Il Bcs boKT; md de^

In rosDded UOoek ud drifted b«Kp,

And Uw Erortj flakea Kkc diaaoBdi iUne

Oa theboBgfaaof ibe bemlock and |te>T pine ;

ncD forth to tbe oortbon vildcmea

ne hud* tupperi uid famlen foim.

• bdcU;
mdl&M

Tbe now ieth deep, Ibe d

It fiQi Um boOosa. it tops I

Tite Ennea riTcr, tbe icj-boaad li

Arc eoTeted o*er br tbe T~'*"*-g fikea ;

Tbe brook Ea anw and t^obed B in bed,

Tbe n^u hnncb ■■ bai lo Ibe gfttaad,

TIm (|ir«ce vitb k svigiitT ti«i rti ■ ie ovaaed;
A&r (pnkds ■ aleoi uid cr^alnrtu,
Wbm tbe IntBrea of Bive an ■! ebeed.

Whwfc thro Mid wo**»fc»»;ltaJ:

- -* r " " '"

■ i*!^ aa • *«K, w flMd M^ Mate :

Ik «K t* OTM «ii*MM« «•* aT ^te

■^

1868.] ITie Ottoman Mnpire. 351

The stalwart wood-cutter pitches his camp ;

In his cabin of logs trims his winter lamp,

And oft when the Moose-herd hath formed its * yard/

And trampled the snows like a pavement hard,

The woodman forsakes his sled and his team,

And this harvest of logs by the frozen stream ;

And armed with his axe and his rifle, he goes

To slaughter the moose blocked in by the snows ;

And many a savory banquet doth cheer

The fire-side joys of his wintry year.

With the haunch of the moose and the dappled deer.

ITeW'Tork^ Augwt 9th, 1S5S.

THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE.

In one of the wildest regions of the Alps an immense glacier,
the accumulation of centuries, impends oyer a hamlet far below.
The mountaineer whispers as he passes over it, lest the huge mass
part from its icy fastenings. Men go up from year to year to
measure the fissures, always widening, and ever report the ava-
lanche as near at hand ; but the Alpine glacier remains, and the
villagers live on, like their ancestors before them, in a state of
awful insecurity, threatened with swift destruction every moment.
Such, for more than a century, has been the condition of the
Ottoman Empire.

Osman, when but the leader of a nomadic band whose progeni-
tors had wandered from the banks of the Oxus to the western
confines of Asia, foresaw in a dream the future greatness of the
Osmanlis. He beheld the leafy tent under which he reposed, ex-
pand until it rested on those four magnificent pillars of empire, the
Atlas, the Taurus, the Hsemus, and the Caucasus. At nis feet
rolled the Nile, the Tigris, the Euphrates, and the Danube, covered
with ships, like the sea. In the valleys sprang up cities crowned
with pyramids and gilded domes, while in cypress-groves the
prayers of the Imaums were mingled with the songs of innumer-
able birds. Above this leafy tent, grown from the body of Osman
himself, rose the crescent, the symbol of Ottoman dominion. Its
sabre-like branches pointed to the different cities of the earth, and
especially to Constantinople, which, lying at the union of two seas
and two continents, like ' a diamond between two sapphires,'
formed the clasp to a ring of empire seeming to embrace the
world. This ring fell into the hands of Osman, and the Turkish
Empire was founded, to shoot with meteor-like brilliancy into the
first rank of temporal powers.

The flood of the Ottoman invasion, following the retiring ebb
of the Crusades, rolled beyond the Hellespont, and inspired terror
in imperial Rome, even before a successor of the Caliphs came to
occupy the throne of the Constantines. Owing to the dismember-

362 7%€ Ottoman Empire. [October

ment of the Eastern Empire, the fairest seats of civilization fell an
easy conquest to the Osmanlis, and the Turk sat down amid the
fallen temples of ancient cities, like Marias among the ruins of
Carthage. The reminiscences of Grecian history, and the triumphs
of Grecian art — what were they to the simple child of nature,
trusting in Fatality and wedded to an Eastern system of govern-
ment and religion as unchangeable as the mountains ? The match-
less eloquence of her orators and the fine frenzy of her poets could
no more touch those brains of lead and hearts of stone than
move the marble statues hewn from the quarries of Pentelicus !
As a conaueror, the Turk learned nothing from the conquered ;
nor would he heed the voices of civilization, until the Sibyl had
opened her book and read from its illumined pages the certain
lesson of his destiny.

Islamism is an Asiatic institution, and the attempt to establish it
permanently on European soil has proved a failure, from the fact that
there is no sympathy of race, or religion, or otherwise, between
the East and the West. Nor could that simple system by which
Mohammed sought chiefly to convert a few Arabian tribes to the
belief in one God, expand like the tent of Arabian fiction, so as to
embrace the entire regions and people of the earth. The idea of
universal, or even oi extensive dominion, was pureljr an after-
thought with the Camel-driver of Mecca, or rather with his suc-
cessors. This is evident from the precepts of the Koran, and the
' acts and sayings ' of the Prophet. During the lunar month of
Ramazan, the Turkish Lent, a rigid fast is enjoined upon the faith-
ful. No one is allowed to eat, drink, smoke, enjoy the fragrance
of a rose, or gratify any appetite whatever, from sun-rise to the
time when, as Mussulmans say, ' a white thread can no longer be
distinguished from one that is black.' Trpng as this abstinence is,
under the burning sun of Southern Asia, it would be unendurable
in regions where the days are several months in length.

The ablutions, also, which are so intimately connected with the
worship of Islam, can be practised only in a warm climate like that
of Araoia. The absolute necessity of pilgrimage, as expressed in
the declaration of the Prophet, ' He that does not visit Mecca
onoo in his life, is an infidel,' could have had reference only to per-
Hons living at least within a few hundred miles of the holy citjr.
Another proof is the occurrence of the month of pilgrimage m
winter as well as in summer — the Moslems computing time by
lunar months.

In the first war of the Rusrians and the Turks, the latter were
obliged to raise the seige of Astrakan. They then projected an
expedition into Russia, but were deterred by the Khan of the
Cnmea, who feared that the success of the Turks would inaugurate
his own entire subjection to their authority. He represented to
them, that in the regions of the Don and the Volga, the winter
extended over nine months, and in summer the nights were only
three hours long: whereas the Prophet appointed the evening
prayem two hours i^r sunset, and the morning orisons at the

1868.] The Ottoman Empire. 853

break of day. The Turks, terrified at this seeming contradiction
between nature and the ordinances of religion, embarked at once
for Constantinople.*

The unity of God (of Allah) is the prominent doctrine of the
Koran ; but there is no spirituality in that confused imitation of
the Holy Scriptures. Islamism materializes man; Christianity
spiritualizes him — the former by extinguishing thought, the latter
by awaking it. The one system degrades existence to an idle
dream, and promises a paradise of sensual gratification ; the other
exalts life into a heroic struggle for ourselves and our race, and
promises a heaven of spiritual delight. The teachings of Moham-
med leave man where they found him, while the teachings of
Christ raise him to a sublime height of virtue, and make him
worthy of the promised reward. Yet Mohanmiedanism is not
altogether a system of error ; if so, it had long since passed away.
Among the hundred and ten million Moslems who receive the
Koran, it has destroyed caste and abolished idolatry. It has
taught that man can worship God without an infallible church and
sin-forgiving priest. Stripped of all the tissues which Asiatic sen-
suality has woven around the system, it has much of the naked and
austere grandeur of Protestantism. In Mussulman temples dwell
none of the mystic shadows and reveries peculiar to the old Cathe-
drals of Europe. The iconoclastic genius of Islam forbids all those
embodiments of the theatrical, the idolatrous, and the sensual,
which, in Greek and Catholic churches, materialize the idea of
God. All ecstasy and enthusiasm are proscribed. The thoughts
of the worshipper are distracted and menaced by no theatrical ex-
hibition of the mysteries of the faith ; they are restrained by no
formal liturgy. Like other religious systems that have moulded
the Oriental mind, Islamism contains some elements of truth.
From these it has derived its vitality. Error is weakness. Truth
alone imparts immortal vigor.

The superiority of the Arab race to that of Osman, enabled
it to rise for a time above the despotism of the Koran. Endowed
with more spirit and imagination, the Arabs became the instructors
of the world in science and art ; but it was only to sink to a greater
depth of ignorance and darkness. After the flush of Ottoman con-
quest came the period of decay. When the proud descendants of
Osman laid down the sword, unlike the Magjrars and other conquer-
ing nomads from the East, they took up the pipe, and made of life one
long delicious kief. From a nation of enthusiasts and conquerors,
the Osmanlis became a nation of sleepers and smokers. They
came into Europe with the sword in one hand and the Koran in
the other : were they driven out of their encampment, it would be
with the Koran in one hand and the pipe in the other, crving:
*' Kismet I Kismet ! Allah kehrim ! ' (God hath willed it I God is
great ! )

When in the great Mosque of Eyoub the new Padisha has

* Bascboft's MUcellanies.

354 T/ie Ottoman JSknpire, [October,

girded on the sword of Osman, the illustrious founder of the Ot-
toman dynasty, turning to one of his ministers, he exclaims :
^Keyzylelmada giorua chelem/^ (May we see each other in
Rome I) Though now a mere formality, this ceremony shows how
the haughty sultans once meditated supplanting the tiara by the
turban. It carries our thoughts back to the time when the taking
of Otranto caused as much terror as the appearance of Attila on
the Mincio ; when there was trembling in the Vatican, and the
Papal power almost determined again to remove its seat to
Avignon.

Tunes change. We have seen the throne of the Osmanlis, be-
fore which the representatives of great kings once bowed the
neck and held the voice subdued, threatened to be submerged by
the returning waves of invasion ; and the hand which formerly
issued the buSetins of victorious armies and the recitals of conquest,
stretched forth supplicatingly to the powers whose subjects were
a few years ago termed dogs of infidels.

^ Let him that gives aid to the Turks be excommunicated,' stands
written in the canons of the Church. But in the late war, the
Gallic defender of the Catholic faith became the firm ally of the
Sultan. The kyrie eleison and Allah illah Allah rose together,
while the followers of Chbist and the followers of Mohammed
went into combat shoulder to shoulder, bearing side bv side the
crescent and the cross. Yet in this crusade of Louis N apoleon,
the Occident and the Orient have been brought together on a
magnificent scale. Thus are made acquainted men who have
hitherto met only on fields of carnage, and seen each other only
through the smoke of battles. Thus also is made to Ml the ancient
enmity of races.

To sustain the Ottoman Empire has been the great problem of
European diplomacy for the last fifty years. Careful, however,
have the Chnstian powers been to impart no elements of strength,
but to maintain the falling Colossus in weakness,

* Ever trembling on the verge of fate.'

Block after block has been ruthlessly removed from the magQifi-
cent arch of empire which once extended from Belgrade to Bas-
sora, until the dominion of the Sultans has virtually passed away.
The Ottoman Empire was great and glorious when the nations
of the West were weak and semi-barbarous. But what has she
not lost ? Greece and fair islands in the ^gean no longer hers ;
Egypt, Syria, and the land of Mecca retained only by the inter-
ference of Christian powers ; the richest provinces in Europe and
Asia incorporated into other realms ; the haughty Moslems virtually
excluded from Servia and Wallachia; Bosnia and Albania es-
tranged, and Epirus and Macedonia held by the feeblest tenure ;
invasions from without which she cannot repel, and dissensions
within, which, unaided, she cannot crush ; heterogeneous and re-
bellious populations in three-quarters of the globe to govern and
asidmilate, yet without powerful armies, or fleets, or treasures, or,

1858.] The Ottoman Empire, 365

« > —

indeed — save an illustrious history — any of those elements of
strength which constitute the greatness and the enduring glory
of a State — behold the humiliations of the Padisha !

Nor is the Mohammedanism of to-day by any means what it
was, even a quarter of a century ago. Fanaticism has, in part,
given place to infidelity, to that absence of religious ^th, which
is better than error, and may be followed by a healthy Christian
belief. The faithful admit that converts may be made by convic-
tion as well as by the sword. An elastic interpretation of the
Koran, inspired by the unyielding force of events and excused by
the linguistic pliabilities of the Moslems, declares that the apos-
tate to Christianity may live, although his presence is not to be
endured. Already a venerable American missionary has taken up
his residence in Stamboul. Already Oidour Effendi%^ no longer
called ' Christian dogs,' are admitted within the mosque of Omer
in Jerusalem ; and, reader, ere ten years have passed away, the
Christian traveller shall visit Mecca and Medina without disguise.
Already the Protestant Bible is sold in more than a hundred
places in the Turkish Empire. The call of the muezzin to prayer
IS often unheeded. Instead of the ablutions, a little water is
sprinkled on the hands and shoes. A few words are hastily mum-
bled over for prayers. Many of the Moslems drink wine, and eat
the flesh of animals slain without the bismiUah^ (' In the name of
God,') and piously ignore the difference between mutton and pork.

But while this drama was being acted on the seat of the Eastern
Empire ; while England, inspiring the genius of great enterprises,
carrying civilization to the remotest regions, and seeking to unite
all the people of the earth by the ties of commerce, strove to
whiten the sea with ships and clothe the world in cotton ; while
all the schemes floating in the undefined limbo of French politics
had for their one great object the glory of France ; while France
herself electrified the world with magnificent ideas, which, if not
her own, she could so infuse with her genius as to captivate and
enthral ; while the princes of Germany were struggling for the
imperial crown, lost amid the surges of revolution — m the tumult
of these multitudinous events, with slow and solemn tread, a co-
lossal power was merging from the North on the arena of
European politics.

The nation of Ivan sprung originall v from a small territory below
the Woldai, and, insensibly enlarging m every direction, became the
Russia of to-day, occupying a seventh part of the habitable globe.
Her colossal proportions, resting upon both hemispheres, call to mind
the empire of Genghis Khan, and of Rome in her palmiest days.
Like Charles Y., the Czar can boast that the sun never sets on his
dominions ; but that his rays daily encircle the earth with the
sheen of Cossack spears. Presenting every variety of climate and
soil, from hyperborean regions covered with eternal snows, to val-
leys bloonung perpetualljr with the flowers of the Orient ; from
thunder-riven peaks to illimitable prairies, washed by four inland
seas and the most magnificent rivers of the eastern world ; her

356 TTie Ottoman Empire. [October,

cities and plains are inhabited by sixty-five million human beings,
speaking almost every language, and exhibiting almost every type
of the human race.

Russia, lying between the Occident and the Orient, extends her
arms to both. On one side she has the enlightened nations of
Europe, on the other the nomadic tribes of the Asiatic phuns.
She has the energy and civilization of the West ; but in soil, m
climate, in political and national characteristics, is fax more dosely
allied to Asia than to Europe.

It was to be hoped that Russia would enter upon the mismon which
Turkey should have undertaken — the blenoing of the Eagt and
West. Becoming thoroughly civilized herself she might arouse
the Asiatic nations from their lethargic sleep of centunea, engraft
upon them the civilization of the West, and impart to our too
material conceptions something of the dreamy imagination and
mystic spirit of the Orientals.

During the forty years of peace that preceded the present
struggle, all the conservative hands of Europe were at worK upon
the northern Colossus. Nationalities were crushed b^ieath her
tread. Owin^ to a marvellous power of assimilation, every terri-
torial acquisition augmented her strength. Poland, Finland, the
immense, provinces wrested from Turkey and Persia, multiplied
her armies and gave her additional momentum in the course of
conquest. Conservative at home, she became revolutionary abroad.
More disorganizing in her policy than ancient Rome, she scrupled
not to avail nerselfof Punic faith and Scythian violence. The spell
of Russian invincibility bound the nations.

The Pope of Rome is the spiritual head of multitudes in every
quarter or the globe. Sixty million Moslems, of whom but dx-
teen million are under the temporal authority of the Sultan, look
up to him as a descendant of the Prophet and the leader of the
&ith^l. A like ambition seized upon tne Autocrat of the North,
and forthwith the self-styled maintainer of the order and peace
of Europe became the protector of Christians in the East. Had
not every wave of innovation been dashed into foam before the
ramparts of her social svstem ? Had not her legions been re-
peatedly marched into Central Europe in the cause of peace and
order ? Had not two of the most illustrious sovereigns of modem
times, Charles XII. and Napoleon Bonaparte, made shipwreck of
their fortunes on the rock of Russian power ? Had not the Oos*
sacks of the Wol^ watered their horses on the banks of the Sdne,
and the fleets of Russia appeared in the Mediterranean and in the
Pacific ? Napoleon first saw his star of empire pale behind the
lurid flames of Moscow, and with the &me of a mythical demi-god,
sunk, to be chained, like Prometheus, to the rock of St. Helmm;
but the Czar Alexander, in Paris, became the arbiter of nationSi
and held in his hand the destiny of Europe. Was it, thereforcL
unnatural that these flaxen-haired children of the North shoula
aspire to descend to the Hellespont, and shake the rupee trees of
India?

1858.] The Ottoman Empire. 357

As we follow the Eastern war, through seas of blood and seas
of ink, through the entanglements of cabinets and the stratagems
of camps, through the arcana of diplomacy and the imbroglios of
policy, we come to the conclusion that the ways of courts are in-
scrutable, and the follies of kings past finding out. And to-day,
after the sacrifice of half a million of men and unnumbered mil-
lions of treasure, we are apparently no nearer the settlement of
the Oriental question than when the Russians first crossed the
Pruth.

Russia, whatever may have been her secret purposes in the past,
whatever may be her aims in the future, has been of lasting service
to European Turkey. With incalculable evils she has also brought
incalculable good. The Northern Enchanter has aroused her
sleeping nationalities, has reanimated her expiring strata of civili-
zations. More than all other powers combined, Russia has brought
back to the Greek the thought of his heroic origin, and awakened
in the Slave the remembrance of his ancient dominion. She has
given law and organization to the klephts of the mountains, and
inspiring somewhat of her own barbaric courage in the timid
Wallachs and Bulganans of the plains, has taught them to aspire
to equality with their Turkish lords. Even the rude shocks of
war have tended to arouse the dormant energies of these Christian
races.

Western Asia belongs to Islam. Of the fifteen million Christ-
ians living under the Ottoman government, more than thirteen
millions belong to Europe. Of the sixteen million Turks, more
than fourteen millions live on Asiatic soil, leaving less than two
millions encamped in Europe.

In view of humanity, in view of preventing an outbreak of the
old Moslem fanaticism, in view of protecting the germs of Christ-
ianity springing up on Asiatic soil, the forcible expulsion of the
Turks from Europe cannot be entertained for a moment. Nor, as
is generally supposed, has the Turkish Empire its centre of gravity
in Asia, but in Europe. This is evident from the want of sympathy
between the different Moslem races, as the Arabs and Turks, from
the advance of Mohammed Ali almost to the gates of Stamboul,
and also from the events of the late war.

Yet even now there is an appearance of life in Stamboul ; for
as the blood leaves the extremities of the Empire, it flows to the
heart. As the Paleologus promised to latinize the Eastern Empire,
so Abdul Medjid attempts to regenerate the Osmanlis by repro-
ducing French civilization along the Bosphorus. But the different
types of civilization cannot be transplanted, like exotics, from
country to country, and be made to flourish upon any and every
soil. The elements of civilization are indeed thus transferable ;
but its peculiar and distinguishing type, the essential entity, must
be a spontaneous development. So far as the Turks are concerned,
the attempt of Abdul Medjid will prove a &ilure. The political
institutions of the West cannot flourish uuder the aegis of Otto-

358 2%e Ottoman Empire, [October,

man protection. Foreign means and foreign elements may be em-
ployed with advantage, but the plant itself most be native and
not exotic.

The so-called Turkish reforms are the carnival of civilization.
To reduce the folds of the Turkish Turban ; to diminish the am-
plitude of Turkish pantaloons ; to remove the veil from the face
of Turkish beauty ; to substitute wine for water ^ven by Allah ;
to exchange polygamy for French prostitution — ao not Christian-
ize the Turks, but they do destroy what is peculiar to Ottoman
civilization, and excite the contempt of the green-turbaned hater
of the Tanzimat. It is one thing to read magnificent firmans in
Stamboul removing old abuses, and equalizing the Christian and
the Turk ; it is another thing to execute them in the distant pro-
dances of the Empire. The Beys and Pachas, who talk pompously
of reforms beside the walls of the Seraglio, become different in-
dividuals when dispensing life and death in Syria and Macedonia.

How then are the Turks to be regenerated ? The Bible must
be placed in their hands, and a germ of civilization be developed
that shall be peculiarly Turkish, and consequentlv adapted to the
Oriental mind. But is the Porte willing to take this initiatory
step ? So fitr from it, a converted Moslem could hardly live in Stam-
boul, were the fact of his apostasy generally known. . That Ar-
menian and Greek, Catholic and Protestant, are permitted to
worship freely under Ottoman protection, results not so much
from reli^ous liberty or toleration on the part of the Turks, as
from a sovereign contempt for Christianity^ more blighting even
than persecution, from that laissez /aire policy which nas crushed
the pillars of Ottoman civilization, and under which the well-
chiseled monuments of ancient art have mouldered away.

Never before has Turkey been in so unsettled a condition ; never
before has she so required the interference of the Christian powers.
The recent outbreaks, extending through whole provinces ; the
massacre of Christians in various parts of the empire ; the growing
hostility between the Christians and the Moslems, as well as be-
tween the Mussulmans of the new school and the old, and the
feverish fanaticism which seems to pervade the Mohammedan
world ; all these plainly indicate that the days of Moslem rule, in
Europe at least, are numbered. The Turks have proved them-
selves to be out of place west of the Bosphorus; and it is the duty
of the Christian powers to see that they are peacefully removed to
Asia, and the place they have occupied given to others.

* Qon help me,* cried the poor man,
And the rich man said, *Amen.*
The poor man died at the rich man*8 door :
Goo helped the poor man then.

1858.] Thomas Jeffers(yiu 859

THOMAS JEFFERSON.*

The romance of American history yet remains to be written.
We have tomes of economical facts, of public and private data, of
material memoranda ; but scarce a half-dozen works which, while
they tell the real story, also lift the veil and let us into the house-
holds and hearts of the people, into the daily life and associations
which proved the mother of the great events that followed. Of
the Puritans we know much, but no ^ historian ' has brought the
real Roundhead before us, with his relentless theology and stub-
bom nature ; it remained for the novelist to present us the social
and personal picture of those New-England ancestors. Hawthorne
is a truer chronicler than Bancroft. We learn from the volumi-
nous * Documentary History of New-York ' all about New-Amster-
dam, as it is historically recorded ; but it is to Irving that we are
indebted for our familiarity with the Manhattaners, the original
Knickerbockers, the queer Mynheers ; and what a charming story
it is ! Would that Penn's Colony, Lord Baltimore's Domain, the
Virginia and Carolina Plantations, Oglethorpe's Settlement, and
the early San Augustine occupation bj^ Spain, had as faithful and
loving chroniclers ! Charles Guyarre, m his romance of Lousiana's
history, has performed for his State the beneficent service ; but
who has written up the romantic in Kentucky's wild history, in
Ohio's most exciting settlement, in Indiana's and Michigan's long
wrestle with barbarism ? Who has recorded the fearful tragedies,
the wonderful adventures, the singular life-experiences of the Mis-
sissippi Vallev colonies ?

Fiction wnters, who are casting about for the * thrilling » and
* exciting,' need no longer torture their poor brains for their story's
ghost, since here are novelties and romances, real life and heart-
histories, which shall cause the eye to fill with tears, the soul to
shudder in horror, the mind to recoil from the very thought ;
which can, too, stir the sweeter sympathies within us, by the con-
templation of scenes of innocence and love and repose.

The Virginia and Carolina plantations produced many men of
renown. The rich tide-water country, from the seabo^d to the
Ridge lands, and from this to the range of Blue Ridge mountains,
was dotted with splendid estates, whose proprietors lived in all
the dignity of barons of the realm, as they virtually were. These
men gave to Virginia the ' Chivalry ' and those ' First Families '
which, for so many generations, were her boast ; and from these
baronial homes came those noblemen of our history — the Wash-
ingtons, the Lees, the Randolphs, the Fairfaxes, the Harrisons, the
Carys, the Pendletons, the Wythes, the Carters, the Henrys, Madi-
sons, Jefiersons, and many others whose names are a rich in-
heritance. Economists may reason that primogeniture and large
estates are not productive of good fruits to the common country ;

* Life of Thomas JirrmflOK. Bj Hbvbt 8. Raxdaix, LUD. ThrM Tolames, octaro. N«w-
York : Dbbbt axo JAOKeoir.

TTiomaa J^erton. [October,

but that they do produce great spirits for tiying times, the war oi
onr Revolution and the later Crimean war, prove.

The lather of Thomas Jefferson was one of the bravest and best
of his time. Hewasa person of giganticproportiona, of Herculean
strength. His life of surveyor and ot colonel of the county,
proved him a brave man ; his experience as jnstice proved him a
lost man ; his service in the Virginia House of Burgesses proved
him a wise man ; while the integrity and independence of charac-
ter which marked his constant intercourse with men, rendered him
of the type fitted to produce a revolutionary son.

Tbomas Jsfpb&bok was horn at Shadwell, in Albemarle county,
Vii^lnia, on the second day of April, a.d. 1743, (O, 9.) ms.
Randall says: 'The lather of Thomas died when the boy was
fourteen years old, but be had already taught him to sit his norse,
fire his gun, boldly stem the Rivanna when the swollen river was
' rolling red from brae to brae,' and press his way with unflagging
foot through the rocky summits of the contiguous hills, in pursuit of
deer and wild turkeys. But his attention was not limited to phy-
sical training. Though his son was kept constantly at school, ni
the evenings he put good books into his hands for reading, taught
him to keep accounts, instructed him in his own beautiiiil penman-
ship, and impressed upon his mind lessons of system, punctuality,
energy, and perseverance.' And further : ' There was some phy-
sical resemblance between them. According to tradition, the
calm, thoughtful, firm eye of the son, and the outlines of his &ce,
were those of his father ; his physical strength, too, was beyond
that of ordinary men ; but his slim form and delicate fibres were
those of his mother's family, the Randolphs. His mind, too, gave
evidence of both parental stocks — of the auspicious combination
of new strength with courtly culture, of the solid with the showy,
of robust sense with the glitter of talent.'

In this extract (blunderingly composed* though it be) we have
a good characterization of Thomas Jefferson, as he grew to man's
estate.

At seventeen he entered William and Mary College, at Rich-
mond. He remained but two years, yet his acquiremeDts were
numerous. In 1762 he entered as a student in the law-oflice of

• Tn Kjlt of Ur. Budili 1i UB»dtB|t1r looH U Umo, ind gn^lr mm Um Snt hilTof lb«
AntTalame. In thABaoond Kod third tdIdiima vvDnd Ibm to oompUji o( tliongb thsuli maeh

lutHd of: Thoiui imixsiii, ni bom. 'Lindi **» obUIued frmn Ongurninrnt uid otln-
wtwi'JVu" '>■*'•'■>''■ l> not prKtasljimuniniUlcsl. Snab tipmMasm 'comMu^l Into,' 'cm-
bodied Inln,' 'liialgbt lD<ii,'da not toanJ walL Usuuki of nrduia 'bfattly armmaBUd,' i

twra^-fcor THn ] onnni, Omiai WiimnaToi.' ilo. And Uila: 'Bit tnnln; amvij on tba
pWD, tint It ijvi aitamtsd up tiM deollvlllu of tba hllln, ambnolnR tba tJiW'r i<n» dtmnrd
B*IMd HoDllcalla.' Dom 'osa' »l^ lot lu pradlntg to plnln, or met, nr )ili:a r And thai:
■PmtfBShli war wltliiuiflw(bwliMltlitoDghltaanHkT>nminlti.' Ooln^Urr»^t i.iekrum-
tnlHiiniut baraiatded u ntlitT ngaratlr& AnlB: 'AiaTHTainald bo wu plnrtJ itUia Kdi-
Itab Kkool,' alD, Inatawl of. At flie jttn of hh h* wai pltcad In Uie T.n&A^ KtinoL Thb
upK«l0D,a< 'TSUI old' btreqBaiiL Of ?nin Jiirm*o!i ba wrllai; 'Trm.l!il.ni bineaua
doTB of hiB cnatlBiLlnft hia Jlnoa ia a uawjttt throBgb aavaga wllilpmaiarH. tXurt bka a^lalann

rTlii<ninl«,nb»nolli*rr.)oit(kll«l,>liwp1n* In abollow ttoa' Ht.om. n™ mnui iniitoa OMild
naarrjfti aguutlDn. Tbeta, and a mulUcuilBor Uka rhaloilsal and nnjpniMblB I b hjliu aiita ,
mat lb* Dwratlia.

1868.] Thomas Jefferson. 861

the celebrated George Wythe, where his college studies were still
pursued. Ere he ceased these elementary labors he became mas-
ter of, or acqusdnted with, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and
Anglo-Saxon. Against 'metaphysics' he inveighs strongly, yet
we find him earnestly recommending a favorite nephew to read
Epictetus, Plato's Socratic Dialogues, Cicero's Philosophies, Anto-
ninus and Seneca ; while he commends ' the writings of Sterne
particularly, as the best course of morality that ever was written I '
The mind of Mr. Jefferson, at this early day, betrayed some of
those * crotchets ' which afterward led him into singular inconsist-
encies of judgment and feeling. He formed sudden opinions, and
gave expression to them in strong language, at times when it was
a matter of wonder how he could be so bhnd to counter evidence.

Mr. Randall says : ' In the cognate branch of poetrv, somewhat
strangely, it might seem, in view of the preceding,' (referring to
the list of histonans and prose writers whom the subject especially
treasured,) ' and of his utilitarian tendencies, he was a pretty gen-
eral reader. His particular favorites among the classics were
Homer, the Greek Dramatists, and Horace ; and, of later times,
Tasso, Moliere, Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, the old English
ballad, pastoral, and lyrical writers, and lastly, Ossian. He ad-
mired Virgil and Dante, but read them less. The same may be
said of Comeille in contrast with Moliere. ^He had a decided
taste for pure comedy.) Petrarch, ever ringing his changes on
Laura, was not to his taste. Metastasio was enjoyed by him in
lighter moods perhaps quite as often as Tasso. fie loved the dul-
cet melodies of several of the minor Italian poets, and neatly-
written copies of several of their songs, in his early hand-writing,
are yet preserved. This song-copying seems not to have been an
unusual amusement with him. Lying before us, thus traced, are
* Lovely Peggy,' ' Tweedside,' ' Mary of Tweed,' an English pas-
toral, commencing, ' It rains, it rains, my fair,' etc. Scraps of
Shenstone are scribbled on some of his early manuscripts, but he
admired the author of the Leasowes more than any of the pas-
torals 1 '

Add to this Jefferson's further accomplishment of amateur viol-
inist, whereby he fiddled his way into the esteem of the Governor
of Virginia, and into the heart of the lovely widow, Mrs. Martha
Skelton, and we have a pleasing insight into his tastes and mental
pecuUarities.

Mr. Randall's volumes are so filled with what is new, in regard
to Mr. Jefferson's earlier life, that we find it difficult to pass over
the pages where minute reference is made to the life led m Gover-
nor Faquhier's social circle; to the courtship of, and marriage
with, Mrs. Skelton, on January 1st, 1772 ; to the bridal tour to his
half-finished house in Monticello ; to his farm life there, with its
many incidents illustrating his energy, his tact, his inventive genius,
his most astonishing attention to detail and system ; his love for
and command over horses, of which he was possessed of several of
great value for speed and beauty ; of his command over those
around him ; of his increasing personal popularity. These fresh

362 Thomas Jefferson, [October,

and original personal memoranda constitute the chief interest
which the volumes possess for us ; and, notwithstanding the bio-
grapher has introduced innumerable pages* which have little
reference to the ^ Life,' there yet is so mu3i of interest in his vast
fund of purely new matter, as to make the volumes saVor of novelty
and value.

Previous to his marriage (in 1769) he was chosen a member of
the House of Burgesses. The first session of the young^ legislator
was an important one. Already was the storm of the Kevolution
brewing. In reply to the Address of Parliament to the King, on
the Massachusetts Colony proceedings, the Virginia Burgesses
reasserted the right' o^ self taxation, the right of petition, the right
to cooperate with other Colonies in measures destined for the gen-
eral good. They also remonstrated positively against the Parlia-
mentary recommendation to the King to transfer to England the
trial of persons accused of treason in the Colonies. While a stu-
dent-at-law, in Williamsburgh, Jefferson had heard the immortal
Patrick Henry's speech, in the Virginia House of Burgesses, in
1765, on the Stamp Act ; and had been so thoroughly penetrated
by the eloquence and truth of that master effort, as to become
strongly biased in fiivor of the popular side. Now that he was a
member of the House, he threw his influence into the cause of
Freedom, which, at that date (and, indeed, down to 1776) only
meant the right of the people to make their own laws ana levy
their own taxes, still acknowledging allegiance to the King, still
contributing to the support of their common country, still accept-
ing their Governors n-om royal hands, still holding offices by
roval commission. It was only after the receipt (on November
9th, 1774) of news of the King's rejection of the second petition
of Congress, that steps were taken for the ultimate disseverance of
all allegiance to the British Crown.

From Jefferson's entry into the Virginia Burgesses, in 1769,
dates his career as patriot and statesman. With a reputation for
fine scholarship, with acknowledged eminent legal attainments,
with a fine command of language as a writer, he soon became the
coadjutor of the leading minds, occupying seats on important
conmiittees, drafting papers whose mfluence was to De felt
throughout the country and by the Crown itself. Mr. Randall
delineates the history of Virginia legislation through the years
next succeeding 1769 in a graphic manner, giving 2l resume of
events which were hurrying on the grand drama so soon to try
the strength of patriotism, the wisdom, the power of endurance,
of leaders and people alike.

* Thus In Chapter I. we have narrated the genealorr of the Randovh famtlj, with their
▼arloas marrlogea, offices held hy them, eta Pages 128. 194, 12S, 188, 127, 12tf, 129, 180, diaeonne
upon the Hiatorj of the Revolution, and refer more to Johm Aoamb and Lbb than to Jvvbmov.
And this earnest disquisition is doeed bj the rather hamorons introdnotion of JnTBUov*ft Tlolin t
Pages 144 to 164 are deroted to the position held hj Johh Adamb and RtOHARo HnrsT L», and
arKQment on Jeitxrson's feeling toward the latter, where amiment was whoUj nnneoessarj ; tibe
whole being more proper for BANoaorT*8 History than for JarrBBsoir's blographj. The dosing
pages of the chapter are also entirely foreign to the work. Tbroagbout the whole three Tolames
there is mach of this * aside* writing, whioh greaUj detraots from the nnltv of the Life. Mr. K.
presumes entirely too mudh upon the ignorance of nistocy, upon the readerHi part

1858.] Those Vesp^ BeOs. 368

THOSB VSSPEB BELLS.

T IS Summer^s pensive twilight reign,

The world seems one embodied thought ;
Silence and shadows fill the plain,

And Nature to the flowers has brought
Refreshing balm of crystal dews ;

And Zephyr leaves its place of spells,
And with a voice of music woos

The modest flowers that love the dells.

The spirit of the hour awakes

To luxury of thought and truth,
Pure as the waters of those lakes

Where spirits drink immortal youth ;
And through the silent Sabbath air

A heavenly music soars and swells,
Making a glorious Eden here —

The music of the vesper bells.

I heard those bells at morning hour.

Summoning worshippers to pray ;
And felt their holiness of power,

As though from heavenly harp a lay
Of promised mercy had awoke,

Such as on that redeeming mom
Gladly upon Judca broke.

Proclaiming the Redeemer born.

And then, as grew the golden light

Of day to fulness and to gladness,
I shared the bliss of sound and sight,

And felt not e'en one pulse of sadness :
But change of time brought change of soul ;

And now I love these lonely dells
Where, with a saddening cadence, roll

The echoes of those vesper bells.

0 God ! how full of bitter tears

Of agony the very thought
That they, the friends of fondest years.

Whose sympathies the heart has sought
As its best refuge, solace, home —

Where love enshrined 'mid virtues dwells —
Must part ; and I, within the tomb,

Nor hear with them those vesper bells.

When earth is past, and I am gone

On that far journey, which the mind
Of man may oft reflect upon,

But which has never been defined ;
When on that journey I depart,

Friendship e'en now my spirit tells,
A thought of me will reach thy heart

Whene'er thou hear'st those vesper bells.

VOL. LII. 24

864 The BulgarianB. [October,

Dews will not be the only tears,

Upon the grass above my head,
For some will mingle with thy prayers,

To tell of sorrow for the dead ;
And as some angel wafts above

Thy prayer to Him who highest dwells,
ThouUt hear thy God's rewarding love.

In sweetness of those vesper bells.

Then, when the rosy Sabbath mom,

In glory treadeth o'er the hills,
Or evening gems the fragrant thorn.

And with her dews the blossom fills,
Whisper thy friend, who low and lone,

Sleepeth amid the silent dells,
And he will know thy music tone.

Oft heard beside those vesper bells.

When in their beautiful array.

Through Time's bright vista shine the hours,
In which our steps rejoiced to stray

Through avenues of odorous flowers :
Oh ! wilt thou not in fancy deem

The whisper of my spirit dwells,
Like echo of some tuneful dream.

And mingles with those vesper bells ?

THE BULGARIANS.*

The death of Attila, in the year of our era 463, gladdened the
civilized world. Upon this event, the great Hunnic Empire, in
obedience to the stem Nemesis that for the deepest crimes visits
nations with speediest destruction, experienced the &te of the em-
pires suddenly erected by Alexander and Tamerlane. The noma-
dic Huns, no longer held together by a powerful arm, fell into
their ancient discords. The vast region from the Alps to the
Volga, became one great battle-field, and it seemed as if the name
and the race itself were about to be effaced from the world. At
the end of the fiflh century, some of the Hunnic tribes had dis-
appeared, and others wandered to remote regions.

A large body of Huns had, in the mean time, encamped on the
left bank of the lower Danube. Finding themselves shut out from
Moesia, the bulwark of the Eastern Empire, these indomitable
remnants of the race turned elsewhere in pursuit of conquests or
of allies. On the vast plains, whence flow the Dnieper, the Dnies-
ter, and the Bug, they found a barbarous people, too poor to ex-
cite their cupidity, yet powerful enough to serve them as friends.
An alliance was wrmed, and for the first time the Slaves, of whom
the Antes, these new associates of the Huns, were the Eastern
branch, appeared on the stage of European history.

1858.] 27ie Bulgaricma. 865

The Slavic race inhabited that immense region north of the
Carpathians, and between the Euxine and the Baltic, known only
by strange names in the geography of the ancients. The word
Slave^ supposed by many to be synonymous with glory^ signifies
speech. With the race, the Slave is he who apectks that language,
which, from its earliest history, has united by a sentiment of fra-
ternity its scattered fragments, however different in social life and
political condition : the foreigner is mute. But the name which
now designates the creature of servitude, is appropriate to the
early condition of the race. Exposed to a double current of in-
vasion— from the Asiatics at the east, and the Germans and
Scandinavians on the west — the Slaves have rarely enjoyed free-
dom. At the commencement of the Christian era, they were
held in bondage by the Sarmatians. In the fourth century, the
Scandinavian Goths subjugated the Sarmatians, and, with them,
their serfs. In the year 375, Goth, Sarmatian, and Slave became
the vassals of Bolamir, King of the Huns.

By a remarkable combination of circumstances, the death of
Attila emancipated for a time these slaves of slaves. The Goths
departed for a course of adventure in the south of Europe, while
the remnants of the Sarmatians became confounded with the Huns
of Denghizikh and Hunakh, the sons of Attila. Thus abandoned
by their masters, the Slaves assumed a place in history. As the
race exists to-day, from Dalmatia to the Polar regions, so at this
early period we find it divided into three great branches: the
Antes upon the rivers flowing into the Euxine, the Vendes near
the Baltic, and between them the Sclavones.

The Antes are properly regarded as the ancestors of the Rus-
sians. The object of the Hunno-Slavic coalition was the conquest
of the Eastern Empire, ' To the City of the CsBsars I ' was then,
as it is now, their battle-cry. How often do great events repeat
themselves in the cosmorama of history I

The apparition of the Slaves, however, foreboded evil rather
than good to the civilized world. Long accustomed to the con-
dition of serfe, they had acquired the habits of stationary life ;
but their industry was confined to narrow limits. What the
Slaves called cities, were merely collections of wretched cabins,
scattered over vast spaces, and concealed, like the haunts of savage
beasts, in the forests and swamps, to guard them against the rapa-
city of man. Families, or groups of families, swarmed promis-
cuously in huts rendered hideous by squalid misery. They lived
naked within these, and clothed themselves, without, in the skins
of wild-beasts, and rags of coarse cloth manufactured by the
women. In some of the tribes, the men besmeared their bodies
with soot, so as to give themselves the appearance of being clad in
garments.

The Slave refused the flesh of no animal, however unclean ; but
millet and milk composed his ordinaiy food. With a strong pro-
pensity to idleness and pleasure, he united the virtues of a rude
but genuine hospitality, and boasted of the sacredncss of his

866 Ths BtUgariana. [October,

word. His natural apathy was not nnfrequently followed by the
most terrible outbursts of passion and of violence. Then the Slave
became a pitiless monster, thirsting for blood, and delighting in
the infliction of the most inhuman tortures.

With naked head and breast, the Slavic warrior carried at his
side a long cutlass, and in his hand a bundle of javelins with
poisoned points, whose wounds were fatal, unless the affected part
was speedily removed. War was to the Slave what the chase is
to the hunter. His tactics were those of the ambuscade. To
crouch behind rocks and trees ; to creep upon the belly ; to pass
entire days in rivers and swamps, plunged in the water up to the
eyes and breathing through a hollow reed, to patiently await the
enemy until the proper moment, and then spring upon him with
the suppleness of the panther ; this was the manner of war&re in
which he delighted.

The Slaves had scarcely an idea of marriage. Among many
of their tribes, community of wives prevailed until after the intro-
duction of Christianity. Their vague religious conceptions were
obscured, on the one hand, by the practices of sorcery, and on the
other, by a rude fetichism. Some of them, unwilling to believe
that the world was governed by chance, had indistinct ideas of a
Supreme Being, who invisibly controlled men and things. Others
professed the dualism of the Orient. The white divmities were
the source of all good ; the black, of all evil. To the latter only
were erected rude temples. With the Slaves it seemed useless to
bestow a thought upon those benignant beings who never did
them harm.

Before turning southward, however, the Huns formed a second
and more po werftil alliance. A barbarous people, of Finno-Hunnic
origin, haa, a few years previous, descended from the cold plains of
Siberia, and pitched their tents along the Athel, which henceforth
became known as the Volga, from the Voulgars, or Bulgarians,
encamped upon its banks.

We must refer to the epoch of the apparition of the Huns of
Attila, to picture the terror inspired by the appearance of this
barbarous horde from the solitudes of Siberia — a people as brutal
and ferocious as the wild beasts with which they nad lived in the
hyperborean forests. Compared with them, the Huns who for
more than a century had been brought in contact with the Rom-
ans, might have been termed civmzed. Their filthy, uncouth
forms, and ferocious instincts, surpassed even the most exaggerated
descriptions of barbaiism. The Bulgarians destroyed merely to
destroy. War was their pastime ; and wherever they wandered,
it was their supreme delight to efface every work erected by the
hand of man. They had neither religion nor worship, excepting
a species of chamaniam^ practised with bloody and superstitious
rites. More hideous than the people themselves, were their sorcer-
ers, who, with terrible convulsions, evoked the spirits of darkness.
These were the priests and political counsellors of the rude Bul-
garians. In battle they were believed to have the power of mis-

1868.] The Bulgarians. 867

leading the enemy by means of illusory visions, and overpowering
them with a terrible enchantment. The Bulgarians had the lust-
ful passions of brutes, without the least restraint in gratification ;
and there is one crime to which they have the infamous honor of
having given a name, in almost eveiy European language.

Among these barbarous strangers, with whom war was synony-
mous with murder, no one could command without having slam
an enemy with his own hand. Their manner of warfare, and won-
derful skill in the use of weapons ; the enormous bows, and long
arrows, sure to reach the mark ; the gleaming cutlasses of cop-
per, and the long ropes which, with unerring aim, they wound
about the bodies of their flying enemies ; the mention of these
inspired terror. Of all the barbarians who ravaged the Eastern
Empire, the Bulgarians were regarded with the most fearful appre-
hensions. ' The accursed of God,' is the epithet by which tney
became known in history.

Eleven years before the appeal from the Huns of the Danube,
the Bulgarians, then just arrived in Europe, had attempted to
reach that river, but were repelled by Theodoric, who hastily com-
bined the Roman and Gothic forces, and himself, in battle, wound-
ed Libertem, the leader of the barbarians. This check, however,
they had forgotten ; and when invited, hastened to complete, in
the last year of the fifth century, the most powerful coiUition yet
formed against the Roman Empire.

The following winter the Hunno-Slavo-Bulgarian host appeared
on the lefl bank of the Danube. They chose this season for an irrup-
tion into Moesia, for the reason, says Jomandes, that ' the Danube
was frozen over every year, and its waters, taking the hardness of
stone, could give passage not only to in&ntry, but also to cavalry,
and to great chariots drawn by three horses — in a word, to eveiy
species of convoy; so that in winter an invading army needed
neither rails nor boats.' Then also the Roman flotillas became
useless, and the barbarians had only to avoid the fortified posts, in
order to penetrate far into the country. The piercing cold, of
which Ovid complained, almost paralyzed the legions accustomed
to the soft winds and softer skies of Southern Europe, while it only
stimulated to activity the children of the frigid North. Returning
ft*om these winter expeditions into Moesia, the barbarians, laden
with booty, would recross the frozen Danube in their rolling cha-
riots, or if the sun had dissolved the bridge of ice, upon leathern
bottles, fastened to the tails of their horses.

The sudden appearance of the barbarians took the Romans by
surprise. Arbtus, the commandant of Illyria, could scarcely unite
fifteen thousand men, but supposing that the tumultuous rabble
would easily be put to rout, stationed his cohorts in front of the
little river Zurta, instead of ranging them upon the opposite side,
where the deep current and precipitous banks would have served
as an effectual bulwark. The hideous visages, the savage cries,
and the novel modes of warfare practised by the barbarians terri-
fied the Romans, and in attempting to escape, four thousand of the

$08 7K« Suigaridnt. [October,

le^onaries periehol in the Znrta and nnder the storm of poisoaed
arrowH and the hoafs of the Hiinno-Biilgarian sqimdrons. But the
vanqoished, instead of attributing their defeat to incapacity and
the terror ioBpired hy the barbarians, explained it as the effect of
mi^oal illusions cast upon them by the Bulgarian chamans and
the paralysis produced by their mysterious charms. Laden with
booty, the aUied aritiy withdrew to the Carpathians to prepare for
another expedition. The successive invasions during the opening
years of the tdxth ccntuiy, though not so disastrous to the Ronons,
were scarcely less advantageous to the barbarians. The civilieed
world, long accustomed to the terrors of Gothic and Hnnnic war-
fare, shuddered at the mention of the unparalleled atrocities com-
mitted by the Slaves and Bulgarians, The former of these, ene-
mies invisible but always present, cronched in stealthy ambuscade,
and concealed even in the rivers, fell upon their enemies Ukc con-
suming fire, when least expected ; and where they appeared not a
soul survived, TJHtil they had learned from experience that the
mother or child of a wealthy &mily, or the magistrate of a city,
had a value in silvtir, tbey made no prisoners. Then, however, in-
stead of slayinff all, the survivors were led into a captivity mor»
dreadful than death itself. Contemporary writers attribute to the
Slaves the invention of flaying alive, that most dreadful of indio-
tions. The inhabitants of Moesiawereterror-Btriclien at the sight
of long lines of stakes garnished with the agonised bodies of vic-
tims left behind as living trophies, but whose skins were exhibited
in triumph at barbnric revels. Such of the vanquished as could
not be removed were crowded with bulls and horses into inclo»-
ures surrounded with straw, and the whole set on fire. This was
the &vorite amusement of the Slaves, who mingled their shouts of
joy with the groans of dying men and women and the cries of
beasts, maddened by the fiery torture.

Nothing conld escape the light squadrons of the Bulgarians.
Harvests were swept away as by clouds of locusts. Not a living
thing survived that perfection of ruin which left not one stone upon
another. The savage horsemen sought diversion in fastening their
lassoes to the saddle-bows, and at Ihll gallop dragging the en-
tangled victims to ntoms. Thus were laid waste the nch pliuns on
the northern slope of the Balkans ; and while wandering over this
unfortunate land, the now peaceful descendants of thS barbaric
race have more thati once mournfiilly pointed out to us ' the deserts
of Bulgaria.'

But why, the reader will inquire, did not the Eastern em|nre
rise to a man and forever expel those barbarians from her borders?
Other thoughts then agitated the Romans of the Orient. To dfr
termine whether the human and divine natures were united in the
person of our Saviour, and their relative importance in the work
of redemption, were questions which for more than half a century
had occupied the subtle Greek mind, and shaken the Chnrch to its
very centre.

While the priests and the people were for the most part inclined

1858.] The Bxdgarians. 369

to the views of the Romish Church, the soldiers, with drawn swords,
were made to chant a doxoloCT in the style of the emperor. In
the anarchy of doctrines and the tumult of passions that succeeded,
military banners waved side by side with those of the Church, and
the chants of litanies were mingled with the cries of combat.
Civil war broke out, not first, however, along the Golden Horn,
but beyond the Balkans, in the very province then scourged by
the Huns and their ferocious allies. Yitelianus, an Illyrian general,
raised the standard of Catholicism. The Roman garrisons deserted
their posts along the Danube, and the zealous Moesians leaving
their homes and &milies exposed to the barbarians, hastened to
defend the faith in the city of the Constantines. From these
circumstances we may understand why the bloody scenes along
the Danube in the opening years of the sixth century attracted so
little attention in the Roman world. It was necessary that the
capital of the Eastern empire should itself be threatened by the
barbaric foe.

One has to read Procopius in order to form an idea of the wealth
and power and taste which a history of a thousand years had de-
veloped in the ancient colony of Byzantium. Within those ram-
parts, believed by the fooUsh Greeks to be impregnable, beat
the heart of that great Roman empire which, beginning with a
single city on the Tiber, overspread the greater part of the known
world, to shrink again to the dimensions of a single city on the
Bosphorus. There the empire of the Csesars was to survive long
centuries until the formation of new societies, prolonging antiquity
down to the middle ages, and forming a grana connecting-link be-
tween the world of Rome and the world of the present. On that
'two-fold river and triple sea,' immortalized by classic story,
dwelt a people inheriting the combined treasures of Grecian and
Roman civilization, and delighting in public games, in glittering
pageants and in statues of bronze and Parian marble. There the
Orient and the Occident were brought together, and the stately
grandeur of the north was soflened by the gorgeous arabesques
of the sunny south. Nature had exhausted her resources. History
lavished her choicest associations, and Art piled up her chiseled
wealth in the work of ennobling those enchanting spots — so en-
chanting that the Oriental poets sing of their renown in heaven as
terrestrial abodes. In that grandiose Constantinople, reposing on
her couch of seven hills and garlanded by daughter cities, on the
terraces washed by lapsing waves, in groves of orange and jasmine,
upon the heights of Asia and Europe, which, overlooking the sullen
Euxine and ' the sapphire thread » of the Bosphorus, lay, with al-
ternate homage, their shadows at each other's feet, were palaces
and villas built of every kind of porphyry, marble, and granite, and
ornamented with gold and cedar. As the temples of nearly all
the old religions had been despoiled to aid in the construction of
her churches, so the splendid religious systems of the ancients had
contributed to the mysteries whose celebration inspired with awe
the ambassadors of barbaric kings. The Immacolate Virgin had

370 The Btdgarians. [October,

usurped the place of the artful Yenug, and the tablets once relat-
ing the labors and loves of the gods, were inscribed with the
Pater and the Credo. The patrician, who, a Sejanus at home and
a Yerres in the provinces, had ffrown rich by extortion in some
distant part of the empire, sought to live in eastern magnificence
on the j^osphorus. The wealth of Constantinople had long excited
the cupidity of the northern barbarians ; and when the dwellers in
these voluptuous retreats saw in their very midst squadrons of
Huns and Bulgarians, they forgot for a time the quarrel concern-
ing the two natures. Danger aroused them from their luxurious
repose and religious turmoils, and led them to bestow a thought
upon the unfortunate inhabitants of Moesia.

About the year 475, during the reign of Leo, three Illyrian
mountaineers, clad in goat-skin mantles, came to the Imperial City
to seek their fortunes. One of them, well favored in form and ad-
dress, was enrolled in the Guards of the Palace, and made his way
both by personal bravery and native tact. From the condition of
a soldier he soon became Captain of the Guards. Upon the death
of Anastasius in 518 from a stroke of lightning, the Chamberlain,
wishing to incline the choice of the army to one of his fiivorites,
sent the Captain of the Guards a large sum of money to distribute
among the soldiers. But the recipient distributed the money on
his own account and caused himself to be proclaimed emperor
under the name of Justin. And frequent was the laugh at the
trick played upon the great Eunuch by the crafty shepherd of the
HsBmus.

Justin called to himself his sister, the wife of a peasant of Taure-
siuro, and her son, whom he wished to educate as his own. They
laid aside their goat-skin garments and assumed sonorous names.
Even a genealogy was found for them in a branch of the noble
family of Anicius long before implanted in Dardania. Beglenitza
became Yigilantia, and the Emperor adopted Upranda under the
name of Justinianus, a name destined to become immortaL Justin,
scarcely able to write his own signature, provided the best masters
for his nephew, who soon surprised them by his insatiable acUvity
and the universality of his acquirements. Eloquence, poetry,
theology, art — nothmg was neglected. He became enamored of
Theodora, who then astonished Constantinople both by her marvel-
lous beauty and odious manner of life. The refusal of his unde
imd the prohibition of the law, which rendered marriage with a
prostitute or a comedian void, did not avail against the indomit-
able wiU of Justinian. And the people forgave this alliance from
the tender love he always bore ' to the very respectable wife which
GrOD had given him,' and those great qualities of Theodora to
which on one occasion her husband owed his throne and his life.

When Justinian became emperor in the year 527, at the age of
forty-five, he began that inunortal work of legislation which is still
employed for the government of mankind. In the gorgeous palace
of the Constantines he lived the life of an anchorite, rising at mid-
night to elaborate those laws and great deigns with which his

1868.] ITie Bulgarians, 871

fame is associated. The reports to the Senate were written by him-
self, and the Church still chants his hymns to music of his own
composition. The rude Dlyrian accent of the emperor, his ability,
like Domitian, voluntarily to move his ears, the pleasure he took
in occasionally attiring himself in barbarian costume, and the vul-
gar report that he neither ate nor slept, frequently gave rise to
ridicule. But this energy and faculty of doubling the hours of his
life enabled him, though late arrived at royalty, to accomplish
more than many other sovereigns combined.

Not satisfied with having given a code to the empire of Augus-
tus, Justinian determined to replace the statue of Julius Caesar
upon the Capitol ; to repel the enemies of Rome wherever they had
seated themselves upon her spoils. Carthage was wrested from
the Vandals, and Rome from the Goths. Expeditions were medi-
tated to Spain and to Gaul, to portions of the eai-th so distant that
the prefect of the Praetorians declared in the imperial council,
that a year would be required to send an order to the armies and
obtain a response.

During the reign of Justin, the Bulgarians and their allies had
not ventured across the Danube. After the coronation of Justin-
ian they menaced Thrace, but withdrew, having been defeated by
the Romans. In the year 538, while the armies of Justinian were
engaged in Italy, the barbarians again ravaged Moesia. Thirty-
two fortified posts in Illyria were reduced, Greece was over-run as
far as the Gulf of Corinth, and even the coast of Asia Minor
devastated by bands which crossed the Hellespont at Sestos and
Abydos.

Then began that great system of defences by which the Romans
of the Eastern empire thought to exclude the barbarians forever
from their territory. Not only the defiles of the Hsemus, and the
right bank of the Danube were fortified, but also several import-
ant points in Dacia, which had been abandoned more than two
centuries. Cities rose from their ruins. Below the Iron Gate we
visited the ancient Tower of Theodora, and at many points along
the lower Danube traced the fortifications with which Justinian
strengthened that natural barrier. To place a living bulwark be-
tween themselves and their enemies, the Romans induced the
Lombards to leave Bohemia and settle on the right bank of the
Danube.

In the old age of the Emperor his ungrateful subjects no longer
thought of him as Justinian, the invincible, the sovereign who had
made his country glorious, but as Upranda, the son of Istok and
Beglenitza. In 537 and 538 an accumulation of calamities visited
the Eastern empire, which led the superstitious to suppose that
the destruction of the world was at hand. The plague, after hav-
ing desolated the coasts of Asia and Greece, broke out in Con-
stantinople with such violence that the dead lay unburied in the
streets. A terrific earthquake, whose victims were numbered by
thousands, ruined the wall of Anastasius, threw down the dome
of St. Sophia, and it is said that marble columns were projected

372 Moon-Light on the Saranac Lake, [October

into the air as if by the force of ballistas. War only was wanting
to complete the measure of misfortunes, and it came with terrible
violence until the year 680, when the Bulgarians took possession
of the country they now inhabit, and united with the christianized
Slaves already dwelling in that region, so far as to adopt their
language and religion.

KOON-LIGHT OK THB SABAKAC LAKE

The moon is over the Eaglets Breast,*

Like a burnished lamp of gold ;
It brightens the Panther's* soaring crest,
It touches the top of the high Hawk's Nest,*
And over the lake, bj the breezes pressed,
In a rippling path is rolled.

Sweet joy ! it is a most lovely night I

Our boat has a quiet glide ;
For the breezes have ceased their fanning flight
Where the island beetles in wooded might,
And darkens the deep from the pearly light

With the robe of its stately side.

What bliss we bear on this lonely lake !

Our bosoms are warm and true :
What reck we now for the cares that shake
The blossoms of hope, for the griefs that break
On the rocks of life : our songs we wake

Till echo awakens too.

* Hurrah t the oars in the moon-light flash !

The lake is of silver made :
But in bubbles its bosom we merrily lash.
And away, away, o'er the splendor dash.
Till the lunge of our boat yields pebbly clash

Where our camp-fire lights the glade.

Hurrah ! hurrah ! launch loud the song !

We are rollicking, bold, and free !
Let the moon-light list as we roll it along.
And the g^ms of islands aroimd that throng —
Louder, lads, louder, blithe and strong !

Till the night is aroused with glee.

See how the loon dives flashing down

Where the brilliance so richly plays :
The catamount cries from the mountain's crown.
But we turn the point where the forests frown
To the glade where the leaves are a golden brown,
In our camp-fire's dancing blaze.

* Ifonntaini aroimd tiie lake.

1858.] Jerks: Ancient and Modem, 873

JERKS: ANCIENT AND MODERN.

Fbom the earliest periods of history and tradition, the rites of
worship, especially among heathen nations, have been very gene-
rally attended by bodily contortion and spasmodic action. The
idea seems to have taken fast hold of the worshippers, that the
divine afflatus could only manifest itself by unusual nervous and
muscular activity. This element of worship the mercurial Greek
seems to have derived from the Oriental portion of his conglomerate
mythology, rather than from that of the more staid and impassive
Egyptian.

Thus, at the Oracle of Dodona, the earliest locality where the
Indian mythology established itself, the answers at first transmitted
through the whispering of the leaves of the ancient oak, or an-
nounced by the brazen clangor of the chain-smitten caldrons,
were presently communicated by the lips of the priestesses, who,
rushing from the temple with glaring eyes, dishevelled hair, and
foaming lips, uttered in broken and incoherent sentences the words
on which, at times, hung the fate of empu'es.

At Delphi, also, the priestesses on the accession of the prophetic
fury, leaped from the tripod, and amid frantic cries, beating of
their breasts, and terrific spasms, gave utterance to the messages
of the gods.

The magicians, or magi, who for ages controlled the destinies
of the Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, and Median king-
doms, uttered their prophecies, and performed their miracles only
when in the state of ecstasy.

The evidences of this condition being deemed indispensable by
the diviners, soothsayers, and priests of heathen nations, for
successful prediction or malediction, are abundant in the Old
Testament Scriptures. Thus, when Balak summoned Balaam to
pronounce on the hosts of Israel the blighting, withering curse
which should whelm them in utter ruin, Balaam required fiat the
conditions most favorable for the induction of a trance should
be observed ; and his repeated prophecies give internal evidence,
apart from his own assertion, that he was, while uttering them,
in the ecstatic state.

Again, when Elijah had assembled the priests of Baal, almost a
thousand in number, for the contest which should decide the
question of supremacy between Baal and Jehovah, his mocking
apostrophe, and their subsequent action, denote that the expected
condition of ecstasy had not manifested itself.

Even among the Romans, whose fine physical development and
unimaginative temperament were less favorable to hysterical
emotion than any of the other nations of antiquity, the augurs,
diviners, and soothsayers, from the time of the priest-king Numa
to the merging of the republic in the empire, seldom uttered their
predictions with positiveness, except when under the influence of
the ' divine afflatus.'

374 Jerki : Ancient and Modem* [Oetober

Christianity recognized no such adjuncts in its worship, and
though occasionallY the utterance in unKnown tongues threatened
the introduction of a false inspiration, and the admissioii of reve-
lations not bearing the stamp of divine authenticity, yet these
sources of error were soon detected, and driven from the Christ-
ian Church, finding not unfrequently, however, a resting^plaoe
among some of the sects of errorists, so numerous in the second,
third, and fourth centuries. With some of these, the phenomena
of the ecstatic condition, in all its intensity, formed no mconsider-
able portion of their worship. Among the unenlightened natioiis
of the earlier centuries of the Christian era, these manifestatioiis
still retained their ascendency. In the Scandinavian tribes, the
Scald, who combined the functions of priest, prophet, and bard,
uttered his ' sagas ' only in the trance state ; and not mifireqaently
the Berserker, under the influence of this preternatural enltation,
rushed forth to deeds of wonderful prowess, or of fearftd orime.

The Indian fakir, the howling and dancing dervishes of I^^ypt ;
the gree-gree man, and the obeah of the African tribes ; the * great
medicine ' of our North-American Indians, are all examples, wiiksh
have come down to our own times, of the supposed neoesstty of
this condition to the sacerdotal character.

But it was not solely among the priests that this idolenl and
apparently involuntary ^asmodic action occurred. It fbrmed no
inconsiderable feature of the early Greek festivals. Not to qieak
now of the original ' Bacchantic Fury,' which we deem of a some-
what different character, the Dionj^'sia, or festivals in honor of
Bacchus, the Saturnalia and Floraha, and above all, tbe festivals
in honor of Cybele, were marked by the most violent maA BEtrm^
ordinary displays of muscular and nervous action. The Oory-
bantes, the Galii, and the Bacchantes, who were the n>ecial de-
votees of Cybele and Bacchus, danced, shouted, ran aoovt widi
loud cries and bowlings, beating on timbrels, dashing eyndMls,
sounding pipes, and cutting their flesh with knives.

JambUcus, a Syrian, who died a.d. 383, a prot^i of Jnfian the
Apostate, and an earnest advocate of the Neo-Flatonio theologTt
wnose writings are rather valuable for the extracts from eSj
writers they contain, than for any originality or profonditj in his
own speculations, has given us in his ^ De Mysteriis ' an aooonnt
of a fountain at Colophon, near Ephesus, whose waters prodneod
in those who drank, this ecstatic state. After giving an exphnar
tion of the causes of the inspiration thus induced, wfaidi is so fUQ
of the absurdities of the Neo-Platonic school as to be altogetlMr
unintelligible, he proceeds : 'According to these diversitieSi then
are different signs, effects, and works of the inspired : thnsi
will be moved in their whole bodies ; others, m partioidar
bers ; others, again, will be motionless. Also they will _
dances and chants — some well, some ill. The bodies, aaiB^ «f
some, will seem to dilate in height, others in compass ; andollMMBSi
again, will seem to walk in air.' *

* Jambuccs, De Mytt. Agypt pp. 561, 5T. Id. Lufi. IMT.

1858.] Jerks: Aficient and Modem. 376

Remarkable as these phenomena were, and doubtfiil as we may
be of the particular cause which had induced them, there is room
for belief that they were in many, perhaps in most cases, volun-
tary ; that the persons affected could induce, control, or discon-
tinue the spasmodic action at their wiU, if that will were vigorously
exerted.

There is, however, another class of cases bearing considerable
resemblance to these, where the will has less power, and the
amount of hallucination is much greater. To the epidemic ap-
pearance of these, we have apphed the homely but expressive
Saxon word, Jerks^ as expressing more fully and thoroughly than
any other, and with less hinting at causes, the characteristics of
these maiufestations.

The first jerking epidemic of which we have any account, oc-
curred so far in the remote past that we cannot give its precise
date. The traditions of it are interwoven with the Greek and
Indian mythology, and it is a matter of no little difficulty to se-
parate &ct from fiction in the narrative.

When the Bacchus of the Greek mythology (the Siva of the
Hindoo) made his riotous journey westward, there followed in
his train a mighty host, mostly women, dancing, shouting, bearing
aloft the thyrsus, often whirling rapidly for hours, and only ceasing
these frenzied motions from sheer exhaustion, when they sank
down on the spot where they were, in a profound slumber, to
awake and renew their frantic dance on the following day. Every
city and town added to the number, and the contagion spread so
rapidly, that, in many places, the female population was seriously
diminished. No opposition availed to stay the course of the epi-
demic : whoever attempted it, was torn to pieces by the women,
under the influence of the hallucination that they were destroy-
ing wild beasts. Mothers slew their sons, sisters their brothers,
and fathers their children.

Though represented as occurring under the leadership of the
God of Wine, this epidemic had few or none of the features of
intoxication ; and the ancient historians have named it ^ the
Bacchantic fury.'

In the ages that followed, the Corybantic dances, which, as we
have already noticed, as well as those of the Telchini, the Curetes,
and the Dactyli, partook somewhat of the same character, occa-
sionally assumed, over a limited region of country, the epidemic
form, and were attended with similar hallucinations; but for
several centuries, there was no repetition of this wide-spread and
terrible disorder.

The prevalence of what the Jews regarded as demoniac pos-
session, about the period of our Saviour's advent, is by many
writers considered as an example of this peculiar ^enxy. That
in many particulars, it bore a striking resemblance to the pre-
ceding and succeeding epidemics, must be admitted ; but there
were also important points of difference, and we are not willing,
therefore, to disturb the faith of those who see in it an exemplifi-
cation of special Satanic malignity.

316 Jerks: Ancient and Modem. [Ootober,

The advent of ChristiaQity, though in itself famishing no en-
oooragement or countenance to such eztravagancesy was yet, in
some instances, made the cloak for fanatical excitements, that
rivalled the Corybantic dances in violence and in the character of
their hallucinations. In the second century, the Manianieta had
drawn all eyes to Phyrgia by their fierce fimaticism and apparent
insensibility to the most cruel tortures ; in the fourth century, the
CircumceUimeSj by their violence and fury, almost made mankind
believe the Bacchantic era had returned ; and the FlagellantSi oom-
mencing in the same century their self-inflicted stripes, wasted
bolder and bolder, till, in the twelfth and thirteenth c^itories,
under Ralner's leadership, they traversed the streets of die conti-
nental cities in puris ncUurdbilvSy inflicting at every step Uowb
upon their own shoulders, so severe as to lacerate the flesh.
These excesses and improprieties finally led to the prohiUtioii <tf
their public exercises, by the Papal authority. In their case
there was, according to their own statements, an entire insensi*
bility to pain, and an evident cheromania, or mental exaltation,
which partook of the character of insanity.

But perhaps the most strongly-marked epidemics of this afie^-
tion that occurred during the middle ages, were die TaratiUiU'
mus of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and the Donee qfSL
John or St. VUus^ in the fourteenth and fifteenth. The 2liraiilJa-
mu8 was long attributed to the bite of a spider — the Aranea Tob-
rantula of the naturalists. It is now, however, conceded that tlus
had nothing to do with the phenomena, which was really a spjMdea
of insanity. Its symptoms are thus described by Bafflier : ^ Thoae
who are affected with Tarantismus are prone to seek out soiStaiy
places, grave-yards and the like, and there stretch themsdvea
upon the graves as if they were dead. Sometimes they howl like
dogs, groan, sigh, leap and run wildly about, strip themaelves en-
tirely, express strong liking or dislike for certidn colorS| and take
great dehght in bein^ soundly beaten, pleading for stronger and
Sturdier blows.' Other writers state, that tney would aak to
have the blows inflicted with iron bars, and that the^ would nu-
tain, and apparently be relieved by, pressure with weightSi which
would have crushed them under ordinary circamstanoea. The
cure for this singular affection was music, under the inftaenee of
which they danced for many hours together for four or siz dajii
and after violent perspiration recovered.

The Dance of St. John was almost a counterpart of the ' Bae-
chantic fury,' and was probably induced by sinular caosea. The
terrible pestilence, known in history as the Black Death, had xar
vaged most of the countries of Europe in 1372 and 1S73, and
been followed by flimine, terror, and great nervoua excitement.
On Midsummer's Dav, a.d. 1374, a large body of men and women,
from various parts ol Germany, appeared at Aachen, (Aix4ftC!har
polle,) hi the market-place, and joining hands, danoed for many
tiours, paying no attention to those around them, till finally thqr
fell to the ground in a state of trance, "nieir abdomena were

1858.] Jerks: Ancient and Modem, 877

greatly tumefied, and upon the application of powerful pressure
by lacing, bandaging, or other means, they appeared to be greatly
relieved, and some came out of the trance state. On the next
day, however, they again commenced dancing, and exhibited
similar symptoms. During this trance condition, they professed
to receive communications from Heaven, and presently added
prophesying to their dancing. The contagion spread by sympathy,
and soon almost every city in Germany and the Netherlands had its
corps of Corybantic dancers. Medicine seemed powerless in treating
a disease so novel ; and the baffled physicians turned their patients
over to the priests, who tried in vain their most potent ^rmulaa
of exorcism upon them: the demon would not come out, and
priestly authority seemed sadly waning, when the secular authori-
ties, disgusted with the gross licentiousness which had followed in
the train of the epidemic, took the matter in hand, and banished,
without pity or exception, every one who was attacked with the
disease. This prompt treatment, aided, no doubt, by the re-
action which followed the intense excitement, was effectual in sub-
duing it for a time ; but a few years later, it again appeared at
Stra^urg, and for more than two hundred years, its occasional
out-bursts caused no little anxiety among the authorities of the
cities of Europe.

In its subsequent appearances, the priests returned to the attack,
and having experienced the inefficiency of exorcisms, they impro-
vised a saint, Veit or Vitus, who, though he had died a thousand
years before, and had had no connection with dancing manias, un-
less, perchance, he were a Circumcellimist, which they would
hardly have pretended, yet possessed, so said the legend, the
power of curing all those who, by liberal donations to the priests,
secured their intercession with him. The prayers were to be ac-
companied with a prescribed formula of food, and procession
around his shrine. This, or the effect on the imagination, restored
some to health, and St. Vitus grew so greatly in reputation, that,
to this day, his name is connected with a spasmodic affection
bearing some resemblance to the original dance of St. John, but
without its hallucination.

The north of Scotland, the Hebrides, and the Orkneys have,
from the earliest times, been fiimous for these mantic convulsions,
as the German writers term them. Not to speak of the Sagheirmy
or torture and sacrifice of black cats, with its fearful accompani-
ments, and the power of prophecy and second sight supposed to
be thus attained, under the terrible influence of which the sacri-
ficer often experienced the most violent convulsions, there has been
for ages a convulsive affection, endemic in that region, often
accompanied by hallucination, known as the leaping ague^ under
the influence of which, those affected would leap in the air, seize
upon the rafters of the building, and pass from one to another
with the agility of a monkey ; at other times, they would whirl on
one foot with the most inconceivable velocity for a long time,
often barking, howling, or uttering other animal sounds.

378 Jerks : Ancient and Modem. [October,

On the Continent, the last appearance of the Dance of St. John
was among the pupils of the orphan-schools of Amsterdam, in
1566, and of Hun in 1670. The symptoms exhibited by these
children seem to have indicated the prevalent ideas of anew phase
of the disorder, namely, witchcraft. They were cast violentlv
upon the floor or ground ; they stamped with their feet, stracK
their arms and heads on the earth, gnashed their teeth, howled
and yelled like dogs. Occasionally they fell into a cataleptic state,
and remained thus for hours. These paroxysms occurred most
commonly during the hours of worship, or the appointed seasons
of prayer. Other children on seeing their convulsions, or listening
to their bowlings, were affected in a similar way. On being re-
moved from the school, and placed in the &milies of citizens of the
better class, these convulsions gradually disappeared, and the
children recovered their health. The spasmodic influence now
seemed for a time to be confined to nunneries ; and the most ab-
stemious and apparently devout of the sisters declared them-
selves, or were pronounced by others, under diabolic influence, and
under this hallucination often performed the most extraordinary
and surprising feats. Sorely were the good fathers troubled at
this sudden irruption of the devil into their holiest places. Every
form of exorcism which their imaginations could dictate was tried,
but in vain. Occasionally a poor nun was burned ; but thereat the
devil grew more audacious ; and for everv victim sacrificed at the
stake, there were at least ten new cases oi possession. The monks
had no peace : when with droning, sing-song tone they attempted to
say their masses, their arch-enemy instigated some &ir nun to nuse
such a clatter, that their voices could not be heard ; and the more
solenm the duty they were to perform, the more obstreperous were
his manifestations. Holy water was of no avail : fifteen centories
of practice had enabled him to get over his dislike for iJiat. In
vain were the nuns commanded to say the Lord's Prayer, or the
Ten Commandments : they apparently complied, but in an indis-
tinct voice ; and when the fathers listened attentively, they found
to their horror that they were saying them backward. In their
dire despair, they at last applied to the Pope, Innocent VllL, who
in 1484 issued his sorcery Dull, in which he appoints three inauisi-
tors, to define witchcraft, and lay down rules for its recognition
and punishment ; and also, by themselves, or their deputies, to de-
cide upon cases of supposed witchcraft. By this boll, the juris-
diction over witchcraft was taken from the secular, and given to
the ecclesiastical power — a change which cost thousands of lives.

The appointed mquisitors devoted themselves to their work, and
in 1489 brought out the famous Malleus Maleficartifn^ or Witch'
hammer^ a work which was long the text-book and autiiority of
the Catholic Church on the subject of witchcraft. The publication
of this work was the signal for the commencement of a season of
infatuation, which lasted for two centuries. There had previously
been not a few executions for witchcraft ; but while tne matter
was in the hands of the secular power, there were many eminent
jurists who would not condemn a person to death on ttus charge.

185 8. J Jerks : Ancient and Modern. 381

culiarly susceptible to excitement, had, by the most thrilling ap-
peals to their imaginations, been lashed to frenzy. With each
day, the excitement reached a higher pitch of intensity. At last,
they began to bark like dogs and howl Uke wolves, and. neither
their own >nlls nor the efforts of others could restrain this extra-
ordinary action. The scene was often terrific yet painful. In a
single room, I have seen some dancing, others wliirUng with the
utmost velocity, some barking, howling, mewing, or roarmg, others
declaiming at the top of their voices, proclaiming themselves in-
spired, or denouncing the terrible judgments of God on all who
did not beheve these wonderfid scenes to be direct displays of His
I)Ower ; and ever and anon, one or another of those who had been
sitting qiuetly, smitten with the contagion, rising and joining in
the uproar ; while the poor ministers stood aghast at the fearful
whirlwind of passion and insanity, which was apparently the re-
sult of their labors, but which their skill was insufficient to allay.'
The duration of this epidemic was much shorter than that of most
of those in Europe. In a little more than a twelve-month, it had
almost entirely disappeared, and it seems never to have degenerated
into those licentious and disgraceful practices which had marked
previous epidemics. Indeed, in many instances, this very frenzy
was, with the rough pioneer, the beginning of a better life. It
was to the scenes enacted at this time, we believe, that the epithet
^ Jerks'^ was first applied.

Some sixteen yeare since, an epidemic somewhat similar to this,
made its appearance in Sweden and Lapland. The provinces of
Kalmar, Wexio, and Jon Koppin, in Southern Sweden, comprise
some of the poorest land in the kingdom, and requires even in the
most favorable season, severe toil, to yield to the poverty-stricken
inhabitants the necessaries of life. Yet they are apparently con
tented, and in intelligence and deep religious feeling, surj^ass most
of the other inhabitants of the kingdom. It was here that the
convulsive attection popularly known as the Preaching Epidemic
commenced. Its first symptoms were heaviness in the head, heat
at the pit of the stomach, pricking sensation in the extremities,
convulsions and quakings, and then followed in many, though not
in all cases, a condition of trance, in which the body was insensible
to outward impressions, the loudest noise not disturbing them, and
needles and pins producing no sensation when thrust into the body.
In this trance condition, the mind seemed unusually active ; many of
those affected, would preach with great power and eloquence,
using language such as they could not command in their ordinary
conditions ; others would converse with great clearness and force,
and some, it is said, would speak in languages of which they had
no knowledge in the normal state. The preachhig, though occa-
sionally incoherent, was generally correct in doctrinal sentiment ;
and when hortatory, was addressed to the reformation of the fives
of the hearers, abstinence from the use of intoxicating drinks,
showy and costly clothmg, and the necessity of purity ot life, and
preparation for the future world.

According to Dr. Souden, it originated with a girl of sixteen

380 Jerks: Ancient and Modern. [October,

names which will be long remembered as those of fi*iends of
Immanity.

Running parallel with the witchcraft; excitement, and partaking
of many of its characteristics, there were other delusions, which
though sometimes fiilling under the ban of a Pope, inquisitor, or
Protestant bishop, yet were not visited with the same tragic and
cruel punisliment which was allotted to the supposed witch. Some
of these were the legitimate out-growths of the old Scandinavian
and Greek mythologies, which had burrowed in the minds of the
masses for ages, and now in the general agitation of society, came
to the surface. Such was vainpiristn^ the belief in which was so
general in the eastern countries of Europe, which attributed to
many of the dead the power of coming from their graves at night,
and restoring their own bodies to vigor and vitality, by suclung
the blood of the young. Tliis horrible belief pervaded the greater
part of Austria, Moldavia, Wallachia, and V enice ; and many a
grave was desecrated, and many a stiftened corpse had a stake
driven through its heart, under the influence of the delusion.

Another class of these delusions was the result of relidious ex-
citement, at a period when the human intellect was waking from
the slumber of ages. Such was the origin of the Convulsioyitiaires^
who in the sixteenth century spread from the slopes of the Ce-
vcnncs all over France and Germany ; and by their leaping, crow-
ing, slioutiug, barking, rolling on the earth, and sustaining a pressure
which would have crushed them under ordinary circumstances,
attracted much attention throughout Central Europe.

In a curious tract by Dr. Ilughson, LL.D., published in 1814,
we find an extended account of a convulsionary epidemic, quite
local in its character, which raged in London in 1707, and the fol-
lowing year, the leaders of which are said to have been French-
men. It was characterized by dancing, howling, prophesying, etc.
Tlie Great Awakening, as it has justly been called, which followed
the labors of Whitefield, the Wesleys, the Tennents, and other Re-
formers, about the middle of the last century, producing as it did
intense excitement, and a marked change from the formality pre-
valent at its inception, was, in some of the newer settlements in
this country, and even in some of the niral villages of New-Eng-
land, accompanied by convulsive movements and hallucination.
In some places, the number of tliese Jumpers and Springers, as
they were called, was very considerable, and their movements
strongly resembled those of the Cofimdsionnaires of Paris, and
the Dancers of Aix-la-Chapelle.

A still more marked epidemic of this description, was that which
occurred in Kentucky and Tennessee, about the commencement of
the present century. This, like the preceding, originated in a re-
ligious revival, though promoted unquestionably by previous priva-
tion and intense excitement. We give a brief description of it, from
the pen of an eye-witness : ' It commenced with a powerful religious
revival, during which meetings were held for a long time in the
open air ; and the frontier population, whom constant exposure to
Indian forays, and the hardships of pioneer life had rendered pe-

185 8. J Jerks: Ancient ayid Modern. 381

vuliarly susceptible to excitemeut, had, by the most thrilling ajj-
peals to their imaginations, been lashed to frenzy. With each
day, the excitement reached a higher ])itch of intensity. At last,
they began to bark like dogs and howl like wolves, and. neither
their own wills nor the efforts of others could restrain this extra-
ordinary action. The scene was often terrific yet painful. In a
single room, I have seen some dancing, others whirling with the
utmost velocity, some barking, howling, mewing, or roanng, others
declaiming at the top of their voices, proclaiming themselves in-
spired, or denouncing the terrible judgments of God on all who
did not believe these wonderful scenes to be direct disphiys of IIis
power ; and ever and anon, one or another of those who had been
sitting qiuetly, smitten with the contagion, rising and joining in
tlic uproar ; while the ])oor ministers stood aghast at the fearful
whirlwind of passion and insanity, which was apparently the re-
sult of their labors, but which their skill was insufficient to allay.'
The duration of this epidemic was much shorter than that of most
of those in Europe. In a little more than a twelve-month, it had
almost entirely disappeared, and it seems never to have degenerated
into those licentious and disgraceful practices which had marked
previous epidemics. Indeed, in many instances, this very frenzv
was, with the rough pioneer, the beginning of a better life. It
was to the scenes enacted at this time, we believe, that the epithet
^ Jerks ' was first ai)plied.

Some sixteen years suice, an epidemic somewhat similar to this,
made its appearance in Sweden and Lapland. The provinces of
Kalmar, Wexio, and Jon Koppin, in Southern Sweden, comprise
some of the poorest land in the khigdom, and requires even in the
most favorable season, severe toil, to yield to the poverty-stricken
inhabitants the necessaries of life. Yet they are apparently con
tented, and in intelligence and deep religious feeling, surpass most
of the other inhabitants of the kingdom. It was hero that the
convulsive affection popularly known as the Preaching Epidemic
commenced. Its first symptoms were heaviness in the head, heat
at the pit of the stomach, pricking sensation in the extremities,
convulsions and (piakings, and then followed hi many, though not
in all cases, a condition of trance, in which the body was insensible
to outward impressions, the loudest noise not disturbing them, and
needles and pins producing no sensation when thrust into the body.
In this trance condition, the mind seemed unusually active; many of
those affected, would preach with great power and eloquence,
using language such as they could not command in their ordinary
conditions ; others would converse with great clearness and force,
and some, it is said, woidd speak in languages of which they had
no knowledge in the normal state. The preaching, though occa-
sionally incolierent, was generally correct in doctrinal sentiment ;
and when hortatory, was addressed to the reformation of the lives
of the hearers, abstinence from the use of intoxicating drinks,
showy and costly clothing, and the necessity of purity of life, and
preparation for the future world.

According to Dr. Souden, it originated with a ^rl of sixteen

382 Jerks: Ancient and Modem. [October,

wlio had for some time manifested the symptoms of chorea, which
finally developed itself as a religions mania, and was propagated
l>y the contagion of sympathy to other girls at first, subsequently
to older women, and finally to men of nervous temperament. 1%
eventually reached the Lapps, and among that singular people,
in whom the nervous element has always predominated, and
who are deeply thiged with the old Scandinavian superstitions, it
si)rea(l like fire on the prairies. The scenes of the American epi-
demic were reiinacted, and the wildest rant, and the most incoher-
ent ex])rcssions, were received as direct revelations from God.
Clergymen and physicians who attempted to check the extravar
gance of these demonstrations, were often treated with great se-
verity and \dolence. It is creditable to the Lapps and Swedes,
that amid all this excitement, no serious error or immoral doctrine
found a footing, and that after the subsidence of the epidemic, the
lives and character of those affected by it, were rather benefited
than injured.

In 1822, a young Scotch minister, named Edward Irving, came
to London, and was chosen minister of the Caledonian Chapel in
that city. He brought with him a high reputation for eloquence,
qnaintness, and eccentricity, which his sermons and publications
soon increased. For some years, his chapel was greatly thronged
by men of all ranks. The ardor of his miagination, and the na-
turally eccentric turn of his mind, led him to imbibe readily the
mysticism of Coleridije, and eventually to plunge into the wildest
absurdities. He publicly aimounced his belief in spiritual ntter-
ances, and the power of speaking with tongues, and speedily a
jargon worse than that of Babel was heard at his services. These
s})iritual utterances were accompanied by convulsions, trance, conr
tortious of feature, and other evidences, as ho alleged, of the
' l)owor ' of Goi>. Worn out with the fearful excitement which
ensued, and his sensitive temperament goaded by the obloquy
which his course had aroused, Mr. Irving's fine constitution jgave
way, and he died in 1833, at the early age of forty-one. Snoe
his death, his followers have avoided any public manifestation
of the ^ utterances,' though it is alleged that they still hold to the
doctrine.

The early exercises of the JVIorraons and of the Millerites were
characterized to some extent by similar excitements. In the ease
of the former, they have degenerated into a system which palUates
or justifies every crime by a professed revelation from God: in.
the latter, they have long since ceased ; and the 'Advent congre-
gations,' as they arc called, are inferior to no others in propriety or
(h.»corum.

The so-called spiritual excitement has developed many of the
same symptoms within a few years past, and though in most oases
it was tlie tables rather than the people which danced and whirled,
yet therci have also been instances where the 'spirits' hayecansed
tlie mediums to play most fantastic tricks.

Should any ask, What is the power Avhich has, for three thousand
years, thus singularly influenced human action, we mast frankly

1858.J Jerks: Ancient and Modem. 383

confess our ignorance. We shall make no attempt to conceal it^
by talking learnedly of mesmerism, animal-magnetism, the odylic
force, or the visitation of the souls of the departed. It is the
office of the observer to collate and carefully arrange facts ; the
theorist must make such use of them as he pleases.

If, however, our readers have carefully followed our narrative,
they will find, we think, the following facts established : The ' Jerks '
have always supervened upon seasons of great excitement, and
most frequently upon famine, pestilence, or severe bodily priva-
tion : thus, the Bacchantic fury was said to liave followed a lamine ;
the Dance of St. John, the Black Death ; witchcraft in Europe, the
misery and ruin of the Crusades, and the war, famine, and pestilence
that followed in their train ; in America, the privations and liard-
ships of King Philip's war ; the Jerks of 1802, the excitement of
long and deadly Indian warfare, and the miseries of pioneer life ;
the Preaching Epidemic of Sweden, the famine resulting from an
insufficient crop, when a full one hardly supplied the households
of the peasants with the coarse black-bread of the country.

These epidemics have subsided most quickly when let alone, and
neither encouraged or o])posed. Violent opposition and persecu-
tion have uniformly increased the severity of the symptoms, and
the number of the sufferers.

The constancy of these features in the various convulsive epi-
demics of so many centuries, betokens a common origin for them
all ; and they may serve as data, from which he who shall hereafter
be gifted to penetrate the adyta of that temple may draw some
conclusions concerning the powers of the wondrous spirit that in-
habits it ; and thus lift the mysterious veil, which, like that of Isis,
no man has hitherto raised.

Meantime, the meagreness of our knowledge of our immortal
nature, should humble us. We know, indeed, that in its lofty as-
pirings, the universe of God is its only limit in space, and that vast
eternity, which comprises alike the past, the present, and the future,
its only bound in duration ; but of its works and ways, its sympa-
thies and antipathies, the speed of its communications with kindred
spirits — compared with which, the electric current is motionless,
and the swift flash of light but the movement of a snail ; of the
lofty, soul-inspiring, Goi)-like eloquence which sometimes startles
us, when and where it was least expected ; of all the emotions of
that spirit, indeed, under the excitement of insanity ; the madden-
ing temptation to crime, or the benumbing apathy of despair ; how
little do we yet know ! Yet, if not in our time shall come the
prophet and seer, whose clearer vision shall reveal to us much of
the unknowTi, we may rest content in this : that when undressed
from our robes of flesh, amid the light and glory of the heavenly
world, with every sense quickened, expanded, and glorified, the
mysterious shall become the revealed, the now unknown shall be-
come patent to our vision, and every nerve shall thrill with that
rapture which only beatified intelligences could sustain and enjoy.
Then, indeed, shall we ' see as we arc seen, and know as we are
known.'

384 A Song of the Woods. [October,

SONG OF THE WOODS

Hark to the huntsman's horn,

And hark to the baying hound I
For the noblo stag is up in haste,

And the woods with the noise resound.

ncrc on the cold, clear lake.

In our airy bark canoe,
Where the boughs of the island over us sway,

Wo watch where the bugle blew.

The lake shines clear and cold.

And clear and cold is the sky ;
And the dreary pines on the mountain shake

With a light wind parsing by.

Soft arc the morning clouds,

And bathed in the sunny flood,
Soft arc the echoes from the vale,

And faint the horn in the wood.

Far on the distant lake,

Wuils the deserted loon.
Far through the hollows of the hills.

We catch the buglers tune.

The music of the pack

Grows mellow on the ear,
Till borne away on a western wind.

The cry no more we hear.

Still is the sparkling lake.

Still U the forest green,
T is as lovely a morn with its spotless sky

As huntsman ever has seen.

Is that the sound of the horn,

Or is it the cry of the loon.
Or is it the wail of the distant dog?,

Who have lost the slot so soon ?

I fear me the chase is up ;

For all is as still as before.
Save the call of yonder gabbling ducks

Which are making for the shore.

Yet hnrk ! I hear the cry

Of the pack, as it sinks and swells :

In vale, up mount, along the glen,
And now on the ear it dwells !

Avj hark once more to the hounds,

To thoir glad tumultuous din ;
They are hard ui>on the heels of the stag :

Hurrah ! the stag leaps in !

1858.] Oat of his Head. 885

Now, merry men, ply your oars !

Now, huntsman, wind your horn !
We *11 paddlo our way in our liglit canoe

Toward where the chase is borne.

Merrily sounds the horn.

And' the dogs come crowding in ;
And the shout of the huntsman wakes the woods

Wlicre the gallant stag has been.

Into the boat with the stag !

And in with the clamorous hounds !
Cheerily wind the bugle horn,

For the stag no longer bounds !

OUT OF HIS HEAD.

The following very curious manuscript was found in the room
of a late inmate of the Bloomingdale Insane Asylum. As this
paper, with several others which he left behind him, cannot be for-
warded to the unfortunate gentleman, (he having left * this bank
and shoal of Time,') we avail ourselves of the privilege which
Mr. gave us, when he placed the mss. at our disposal. In

Srinting this most extraordinary piece of auto-biography, we have
eemed it advisable — in justice to the living ana the dead — to
substitute fictitious names for those used by the author.

The thought that I shall be insane some day ; that I shall bo
taken from the restless world outside, to some quiet inner retreat
where I can complete my Moon- Apparatus, and die, with folded
hands, like a man who has fulfillea his mission ; the thought of
this, my probable destiny, is rather pleasant to me than otherwise.
I say probable destiny, because insanity has been handed down in
our fiimily from generation to generation, with the old silver bowl
in which Miles Standish brewed many a punch in the olden time.
I think this punch somehow got into the heads of our &mily, and
put us out. At all events, I am to be insane. I have made up
my mind to that.

But not yet.

The vague disease has not eaten into my brain : I am reasonable
and common-place. This house, in which I pass my time, is not a
place for idiots ; this window is substantially barred, I admit ; but
that is to keep mad people out, and sane creatures in. What lu-
natics I see from this same window ! — princes, and beggars, and
fretty queans going up and do>vn the street — but mad, all ! Am
to become mellow in the head, like them !

Ay : but not yet.

3S0 Out of his Head, [October,

The man who brings mo food three times a day is not my
keeper. The gentle, cheerful gentlemen with whom I talk in our
high-walled garden, are not monomaniacs : they are glorious poets
ami philosophers, who dream with me

' Or what the world shall be
Wheu the years have died awaj.*

But the time will come when I shall sicken in the mind, and dwell
with the shadows of men who might have shot theories at the moon,
or written epics with as many lives as a cat. I shall be a shape of
air — a live feet and seven inches of darkness I And who will miss
me out of this great world of creepmg things ? Not a sotQ I

Did I say that ?

Ah ! but will not the white Lily in New-England remember
me? Will not a pang of sorrow shoot through her soentcd
heart : will not all the delicate fibres and veins qmver with agony
when they tell her this ?

Kain, and Dow, and Sunshine, kiss the white Lily for me, the
whole summer long !

Who is this strange Lily, that shall think of Paul Bang when
all the world forgets him ? I cannot ^uite guess. She is a mys-
tery even to uie. First, she was a gn-l with large melancholy
eyes, and a sensitive mouth that seemed to say sweet things when
she was silent. I have seen a Madonna somewhere that resembled
her, only the picture had not half her holiness. How the change
took place, I cannot tell ; but I remember that she grew white,
all white, from the dainty bend of her feet to the superb blackness
of her hair. She became less woman than Lily. She t0iM a
lily — tremulous, translucent, floating here and there on the cool
jxjnd, moored by the gold-fish with a slender emerald cord. I am
perplexed. My thoughts get tangled when I attempt to under-
stand the metempsychosis.

Somewhere in New-England — but just where, I cannot wdl
make out — I first met Jean Roylstou. I had hired a cottage in
a green leafy spot, to pass the August in — a picturesque plaoe
for a n lid-summer's dream. From the porch I could see the beaoh,
a mile oif, stretching along the coast like a huge wldte-spotted
serj)ent : at the back of the house were a hundred acres of wood<!>
laud, moistened and perfumed here and there by transparent
])onds tilled Avith marvellous wliite lilies. On the nght, a mined
fort — one of those grassy relics of the Revolution — looked to-
ward the sea ; and on the lefl, the embrowned roofs andreddliim-
neys of the towai peeped quaintly through the interlaced branolieR,
of oaks and chestnut-trees. The landscape was a strange Uend-
iiiLC of the real and the vague : the old desolate fort, staring with
a stunned look through rain and sun-shine, the solemn forest, the
noisy, busy town, the doubtfid shapes of heaven and sea I

With a book or a lishing-rod, 1 passed my days in the quiet
woods ; but at night I would wander along the beach, watcming
tlie mysterious bits of light wluch bobbed up and down in the

1858.] Out of his Head, 887

distance, and the little gliost-like sails that gliminerod for a second,
and disappeared ; but more than all, I watched the broken image
of the moon on the waters : that delighted me like a Claude Lor-
raine. It filled me with dreams ; it led me into a region of new
thought ; and here I first conceived the project of my Moon-Ap-
paratus, which, when completed, will annex another world to Art,
and dissolve the musty theories with which science has deluded
man for the past five thousand years. But of this hereafter.

I haunted the beach, until even the shy sea-gulls ceased to care
for my presence. They would dart fearlessly around my head,
while I lay on the rocks, from twilight to sun-rise, shaping the vast
thought which had grown up withhi me.

One evening while thus occupied, I was roused from my medi-
tations by a quick cry of vexation. I was lying in the bottom
of a stranded wherry which lay rotting, halt- way up the beach :
by raising myself on one elbow, I brought my eyes on a level with
the gimwale of the boat. And this is what I saw :

An angel, or a beautiful girl, which is much the same thing,
stood on the beach some sixty feet from me, pouting most deli-
ciously at a little gipsy hat which the impudent wind had stolen
from the black folds of her hair, and gently dropped into the
water just out of her fim'yship's reach. What Mill she do?
thought I ; and I watched her. Glancing hastily up and down
the beach, she stooped down and unfastened her bronze gaiters,
and, lifting her white drapery, unhesitatingly waded out to the
*flat.' She had scarcely regained the shore, when a voice from
the road back of the beach, called out : * Jean ! Jean ! *

* Coming ! ' cried the girl with a rich merry voice.

She looked up, and our eyes met. A delicate tinge of sea-shell
pink overspread her neck and face.

* I was coming to your as^istance,' I saitl, touclung my panama,
and growing very red and awkward under her large brown eyes ;
* but your own skill rendered mine unnecessary.'

* You saw me, then ? '

* Yes : I was sitting in the boat.'

* Indeed ! '

And with just the slightest curl of her lip — ah ! what a scorn-
ful little mouth it was, to be sure ! — she looked me full in the
£ice.

* You were not gallant. Sir, to let me wet my feet.'

* I acknowledge it ; but I could give an excui^e.'

She bit her lips ; for she knew I was thinking of her faultless
white feet.

* There 's not a fisher-boy on the coast but would drown him-
self with shame, if he had seen me, and not helped me in such a
predicament.*

* Shall I drown myself ? '

* Oh ! if you please.'

' And you would n't care ? '

' No : only it 's been rauiing, and you would get very wet I *

388 Out of his Sead. [October,

* People usually do, when they drown ! ' said I.

And in the niidst of our laugh at tliis absurdity, the voice
which did not seem to have any body attached to it, again called :
' Jean ! Jean ! '

And Jean drew the straw flat over her enchanting eyes, and
swept by me like a queen, and

' When slic had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite mu«c.*

I WATCHED her agile, fairy-like form, till it was lost among the
loaves. I had known her five minutes, and I sighed !

Would she come again ? Would she give me her eyes to look
upon, and her lips — not to touch — but to listen to ?

And then the moon grew out of a murk cloud, just as a flower
breaks through the rich earth, and a million little blossoms trembled
in the heavens. The landscape seemed carved out of marble, it was
so white, and quiet, and grand, under the moon I And I took
this sudden fall of light for a good omen. I went home with joy
m my heart, as if I had found a great nugget of gold, shaped cen-
turies ago, for me.

Would she come ? Many a night I strolled by the sea-side, or
sat on the old boat, waiting for he^ But she did not come.
Was she a sea-lady or a woo(l-n}nnph ? Tlien I went whole days
in the woods, searching for her. I began to think that that happy
night was a dream — that tlie hair, and eyes, and the coy wmte
feet were only so many tricks of sick fancy.

But at last — all sweet things happen at last — slie came : not
alone, as I could have wished, but, like ' fair Inez,' with a

* GALLANT cavalicp,

Who rode so payly by her side,
And wliispered her so near.*

* It was not a dream, then,' I said. * What matters it, if she
does canter by my cottage so gayly, looking neither to the right
nor to the left ? — ah ! but she does, though ! she fixes those dan-
gerous brown eyes on me. I c^an but touch my hat.'

So Jean rode by ; and what could I do that night but dream
of her ?

* As slio fled fast through sun and shade,
The happy winds upon her played,
Blowing the ringlet from the braid :
She looked so lovely, as she swayed

The rein with djiinty finger-tips,
A man had given all other bliss,
And all his worldly wealth for this,
To waste his whole heart in one kiss

Upon her perfect lips.*

I can shut my eyes, and see her dashing around Willow Curve
on the little black mare. A j)icture, I take it, for memory to press
in her thumbed and dog's-eared volume. I dream of her thus — rid-
ing away from me ! But something too much of this.

1868.] Out of his Head, 389

Here commences the mystery of my life. I know not how it
was, but we met again — not once, but a hundred times. My re-
collection of that third meeting is so misty and vague, that I can
only say, we met. It was by that old boat, in the moon-liffht,
(how I mix up the moon witli every thing ! ) that heaven first
dawned upon me. Day after day, and often in the fine August
evenings, Jean stole from the neighboring town to sit with me.

How the days went by I It was October. I had told my love
to her, and we were lovers. Was there ever such a pair ! Of
Jean Roylston I knew nothing, save that her mother was dead,
and that her father, a retired sea-captain, lived in a modest cottage
on the outskirts of the town — Jean and an antiquated maid-
servant forming his entire household. There was a brother, in-
deed, but he was at college. Jean's knowledge of my personal
history was equally limited, and hardly as satismctorjr. Whether
I ever was bom or not, has long been a vexed question with my-
self; and finding that she was not curious on the subject, I never
attempted to solve the problem. I have no remembrance of
childhood, or early manhood, or, in fiict, of any thing that has not
happened within two years. I only know that I have an allow-
ance of eight or nine hundred a year, which I draw with com-
mendable punctuality from Messrs. Patroclos and Company, bank-
ers ; and that 's all about it. It was very kind of some body to
leave me the money. I will do the good thing for some body else,
when I die — may I live a hundred years, though !

Heaven fashions superb nights in October, at least in New-
England. And on the superbest night ever made of fire and
ebony, I sat on the rocks, with my head in Jean's lap. A change
had come over Jean during the past few weeks. She asked me
such curious questions, and acted so strangely, that I began to fear
for her reason. Her laugh turned into a smile ; she became
thoughtful and melancholy. Sometimes when I chanced to be
speaking rapidly she would take my face gently between her hands
and, looldng earnestly into my eyes, say : ' Poor Paul ! ' Now I
did not mi(&rstand this at all. Twice that night on the rocks she
had so interrupted me.

' Jean,' I sjud, taking her hands, ' you are concealing something
from me that troubles you. What is it ? *

For a moment she seemed to be framing an answer, and then
she asked me if I remembered the gentleman with whom she rode
by my cottage, months before ? Did I remember him ! Did not
that same cavalier make me as jealous as Othello ! Did he not
kill niy sleep for a week ! I rather think I did remember him !

* Well,' said Jean slowly, ' he is an old friend of our family, es-
pecially of my father, who has long wished that — that '

* That what, Jean ? ' ,

* That I should marry him. Even in my school-girl days this
marriage was spoken of as an assured aftair. I grew to look upon
it as part of my fate. I could never have thought of it seriously,
or I should have protested years and years ago. If I had never

.300 Out of /lis ITead, [October,

seen you, Paul, it might have been. But now! Paul,' and her
fingers sunk into my arm, ^ they have set the day for this hateful
wediling ! '

' But it cannot, it shall not be I Do you not love me, Jean ? »

She only bent down and put her arms about me. That was an-
swer enough. Sonietuncs an answer is too fuO of meaning for
words. Did slie love me ?

* You shall be my wife, Jean — to-morrow I '

^ No, no, no ! ' said Jean in a breathe And I felt that she shrunk
from me.

' No, no, no ? ' I repeated to myself. * How strange ! » Then
tlie three quick negatives flew out of my mind, and, oddly enough,
I (commenced a mental construction of my Moon-Apparatus, forget-
ful of Jean and our narrow world of sorrows. *The powerful
lenses,' said I aloud, ' shall draw the rays of the moon in the iron
cylinder : the action of the chemicals shall congeal these minute
])articles of light — they will become clay, then adamant I And
this lapideous substance — more precious than diamonds — I shall
sell to skilful workers in jewels w^ho will cut it into finger-rings,
and popes' heads, and fantastic charms I And I alone shidl possess
the wonderful secret ! I, of all the world ! '

' 0 (tod ! ' I heard Jean cry, ' is it so ! is it so 1 I have waited,
and hoped, and suflcred. Paul, Paul, look at me, love, take me in
your arms, and kiss me ! Poor, poor Paul I Look at me long.
Never any more ! O God ! that I should love a ^

And Jean tore herself from my arms, and, despite my cries, fled
from me.

I closed my eyes and saw her, as I have seen her a thousand
times since, riding madly away on the little coal-black nuire I

IIL

Sti:nned and amazed by Jean's sudden passion, lost in wonder
:it her tears and the mental suffering under which she evidently
labored, I walked slowly home, but not to sleep and dream qnitii
dreams, as had been my wont. If I had known that I should nevei^
fold her in my anns again, never feel her breath on my «h^V||^
never hear her speak ; if I had known this, I should have died that
night, out there on the desolate seashore ! It is well for us, fleidl-
iind-hones, that Fate keeps our destiny under lock and key, doak
iug it out to us bit by bit, while we, like so many Oliver Twists^
artj asking for more. Fools ! let us be content, if we can, llitli
what ^\'e get. We know when w^e were bom, but we caipk0%
guess where our graves will be. It is better so. Suppose a man,
verging on the prime of life, should meet his full-grown Biogn^ilnf
walking about? He would be awfully anxious to shuffle off this
mortal coil, and have done with it !

. . a • a 9

As I walked home that night, the air was charged with electri-
city ; <|uick spears of Hghtning Hashed from murky clouds in the

1858.] Out of his Bead. 891

far east, and though the stars shone with unnatural brilliancy, large
drops of rain came pattering down before I reached the door of
my cottage. On passing through the grape-arbor which led to the
porch, I was surprised to hear voices and see lights in my usually
quiet and dismal abode. I stood on tip-toe and looked in at the
window. The little room was filled with strange beings — people
who seemed as if they had once known me, but would know me
no more I

As I stept into the house, these people rose silently from their
chairs, one by one, and passed out. Who can they be ? thought
I, looking after the vanishing throng, bewildered. Suddenly I felt
a void in my heart, and I recognized them as they seemed to molt
into and become a part of the night. There was Hope, sorrowful
enough, leading the little blind-boy Love ; there were Peace and
Youth, going away from mo forever ! Come back, ye unprized
friends ! stay with me yet a little longer, ye pleasant phantoms of
long ago ! But they heard me not, and passed on. I turned back
to my room to weep, and lo ! a host of spectres greeted me. But
ah \ they went not at my coming ! There, in my chairs, waiting
for me, were Pain, and Calamity, and Sickness, and Age, and*
Thought — the worst fiend of all ! I pressed my hands on my
temples, and — I know not what happened.

I must have been sick many months, for when I opened my eyes
to the world about me, there was something in the singing of the
birds and the ne\vness of the foliage which brushed agamst the
window, that told of spring. I lay in bed in my own chamber,
and an old woman was dri\dng the flies out the room with her
aj)ron.

' Is it May ? ' I asked iaintly.

The old beldam came to the bed-side and looked at me.

' No : it is June. Go tb sleep.'

Go to sleep ! As if I had not had sleep enough. Here was a
mystery. I come home one fine October night from a walk with
Jean on the beach : I find shadowy people making themselves at
ease in my parlor : I fall over something : I open my eyes, and it
is June! tlie flowers growing, the robins smging, and an old
woman killing the flies ! I ask the time of year, and am told to go
to sleep ! W hat would happen next ?

When the doctor came he put a little sense on the face of things.
I had, he said, been taken suddenly ill in my parlor, where I was
found the next morning by the woman who overlooked, and some-
times looked completely over, the welfare of my menage. I had
been long and dangerously sick — *out of my head,' as he ex-
pressed it — but was doing well now, and would soon be anew
num.

A new man ! ay, to be some body else were indeed a comfort !

Gradually the remembrance of all that had taken place dawned
on my confused mind. I determined to ask no questions, but to
get well as speedily as possible. Patience, patience, I could only
lie and think of Jean. Time went by slowly. At length the doc-

392 Out of his Head. [October,

tor promised mo one Saturday that I should walk oat the follow-
ing Sunday, if the weather was balmy.

lleavens ! what a day it was. A thousand birds, crimson and
blue, and yellow, floated on the air like wild-flowers with wings.
Merry little brooks leaped through out-of-the-way places. '!Ao
winds, scented with sweet-brier, just stirred the heavy, velvet
leaves, and God's benison came down in the sun-shine. To step
into such a day from a sick-room !

I i>aced up and down the arbor several times, for the old nurse
was wat(?liing me ; but my heart and eyes were turned toward the
. to\\Ti. I could just sec the red chimney of Jean's ho\ise above
the tree-toj)S, on the other side of the bridge ! I opened the gar-
den-gate noiselessly, and stood in the open road. The wayside
grass hardly bent under my light step. I seemed to walk on air.
Now and then I paused to catch the lew soft-warbled notes of an
oriole : once I stopped at a brook to taste its silver, and once a
rainbow-colored butterfly was near tempting me into a chase.

In tlie belfry of the rain-beaten church at G ^ is a set of

chiniing-bells. l*articularly sweet and sad are these chimes. On
a still sunny morning they preach melodious little sermons, and
sing airy little hymns, all by themselves, up in the old belfry.
You should hear them once !

Jiisjt as I i)laced my foot on the bridge, they began their matins.

* The air broke into a mist with bells.'

I could but stand and listen. Xow they would die away in softest
whispers ; then thev would come agam louder, and louder, and
louder, and then sucli a tintinnaljulation ! You would have thought
that all the dainty bells in fairydom had gone mad with music.
Suddenly they ceased, and the charmed air was startled and
pained by the solenm noise of the great bell. It was tolling 1
They were burying some one from the church. As I looked into
the cloudless sky and felt the grateful air in my nostrils, and heard
the murmuring of waters about me, it did not seem as if Death
were in the world. Something in the mournful, human sound of
the bell shocked me strangely. Xor me alone, seemingly, for a
white-haired old man leading a child by the hand, stopped in the
middle of the bridge and listened.

' Do you know,' said I, walking to his side, ' do you know for
whom tlie bell is tolling ? '

' Ay, ay,' returned the old man, ' for old Mrs. Truefeathem, or
Captahi lioylston's child ; they both were to be buried to-day.'

' Jean Koylston, did you say ! ' I gasped. ' Dead ! '

' Ay ; she has been sick nearly a year now.'

Dead, Jean dead ! O God ! how the sun-shine of that morning
was blotted out in a moment. I staggered against the wooden
nuhng of tlie bridge for support. The bright green eel-grass
which grew about the tide-gate turned into long streamers of
crape ; the heavens hung down in black folds ; the robins wailed,
like accursed spirits, in the cherry-trees ; and then that dreadful bell

1858.] 4 Out of his Head. 393

with its deep, melodious moiimfulness — ah ! Curtst I how it did
make my heart ache !

* Dea<l ? no, old man, you lie to me ! ' I cried, springing at his
throat. I could have strangled liira for his words — the demon of
bad news I But as I looked up, I saw Jean Roylston — ay, Jean
Roylston walking at the further end of the bridge. And as I
loosed, she turned and beckoned me.

I loosened my hold on the terrified old man, and hastened after
Jean. She walked leisurely down the little hill, and took the road
that ran by the cottage. I quickened my foot-steps, but to my
utter consternation and surprise, I soon discovered that I did not
gain on lier in the least.

* Jean ! Jean ! ' I called, * wait for me.' But she passed on with
unaltered gait ; and though my walk had now changed into a quick
run, the distance between us remained the same. The perspira-
tion hung in great cold globules on my forehead. ' She vaW stop at
my garden-gate,' thought I. 13ut no ; the doctor was standing
there, and as I hurried by him, he hailed me with :

* Well ! where now, truant ? '

* I 'II return in a moment,' was my hasty reply ; ' I wish to speak
with the lady who just passed.'

' Lady ? ' said the doctor, looking at me anxiously. * Nobody
has passed here this half-horn* — no lady, surely.'

* What ! ' said I, halting with surprise, ' did not that lady,'
pointing to Jean, who had paused at a turn of the road, ' did not
that lady just pass within two yards of you ? '

* I see no one,' said the doctor, following with his eyes the di-
rection of my finger.

It had been my opinion for some time that the doctor was de-
ranged. This was conclusive. It is a peculiarity of people who
are slightly out, that while their eyes, turned brainward, conjure
up all sorts of phantoms, they quite as frequently fail to see bodies
which really exist in the material world. The poor doctor's dis-
ease took that popular tunj.

But there stood Jean waiting for me. The heavy June air blew
back her long tresses, and I observed for the first time the un-
earthly pallor of her face. Is it Jean, thought I, or a great white
flower ?

' Jean, dear Jean ! ' and I stretched out my arms, approaching
her.

She smiled on me sadly, and turned into a little briery wayside
path which branched off from the main road, and led to that large
tract of woodland which I mentioned in describing the location of
my cottage. Her pace now became accelerated, and it was with
the utmost difficulty that I could keep her in sight. On the verge
of the forest she paused, and looked at me. Shall I ever forget
that heavenly white face, those large melancholy eyes, that
mournful, hopeless smile ? It was but for a moment she stopped.
In the mean time I had approached within ten yards of the place
where she was standing. Then Jean parted the thick drapery of

04 Out of his Head, # [October,

honeysuckle vines with her hands, and plnn^ed into the dense
wood. I followed her with all speed, for a horrid thought had
Hashed across my brain. I couplca Jean's wild look with the still,
deep ponds which lay in tlie shadows of that vast woodland.

Tlic thought gave wings to my feet.

I darted afler her madly, tearing my face and hands on the
tangled \'ines and briers, which stretched forth a million ghostly
arms to impede my progress. Every now and then, through
openings in the leaves, I cauglit glimpses of her white dress float-
ing away from me. This was like the sight of blood to a famished
wolf. I daslied on with redoubled speed. But in vain! in vain !
I neither gained nor lost ground. We were now nearing the
largest pond in the world, and unless Jean should change her
Course, that would prevent farther flight. I should then have her
at bay. This gave me hope, and I leaned against a tree to take
breath. She also stopped.

The piece of water directly before us lay, as it were, in a great
green bowl. The shore on each side sloped to the silver edges of
tlie ])ond, and the grass grew down into the very water. A line
of pine and maple trees shut it in on every hand, forming a vast
amphitheatre, of which the glassy pond was the centre.

I could see Jean in the distance, resting on a boulder of granite.
Xow was my time ; but at the first step a dry branch snapped
under my foot ; the sound startled my fawn, and she was off again.
Wings of Time ! how she flew. At the line of trees which en-
circled the sheet of water Jean halted irresolutely, and I nearly
cMuie up with her, so near, indeed, that I could hear the quick,
heavy throbbing of her heart. I would have caught her in my
arms, }>ut ' Never any more, Paul ! ' she said, ' never any more ! '
and breaking through the festoons of ivy, she ran toward the pond.
I heard a splash, not as loud as would be made by dropping a
pe])ble in the water. I ran half-way down the slope.

Jean had disappeared.

Near the bank a little circle in the water widened, and widened,
and brok(j into innumerable other circles, which, expanding in
tluur turn, A\-ere lost in si)ace. A single silver bubble floated over
tlie spot where the first circle grew, and as I looked, this thing of
air opened, and out of it slowly sprung a superb white Watjeb
Lily.

There was no use to look for Jean. There she was !

IIerk comes that dear, good man with my dinner. I wonder
who he; is ? He certainly takes a great interest in me. I will do
something for him when the Moon-Apparatus is completed. He
deserves it. If I should ever get out of my head — and I shall
some day, I know — I should like to have just such a quiet, well-
bred t'ollow for my keeper.

J>ut not vet, not vet !

1858.} Ihe Atlantic Telegraph. 395

ID-BUMMEB

The hot sun glares upon the plain :
The grass is withered up and sere :
No sweet birds singing glad my ear,

Alone the locust shrieks with pain.

The clover hangs its fragrant head,
Its bloom is burnt and turned to brown ;
In airy flight, the thistle-down

Floats up from off its prickly bed.

The sun-shine glitters through the leaves,
And'fills with light the shaded air ;
In shimmering beat the hills lie bare,

Despoiled of all their golden sheaves.

THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH.*

* Their line is gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.'

The opening lines of the Agamemnon of -^schylus present the
most impressive picture ever drawn in the Greek drama. They
represent a watchman seated, by night, on the palace-top in Argos,

* Fixed as a dog on Aoamemnon^s roof,'

where for ten patient years he had awaited the signal,

* Big with the fate of Priam and of Troy.'

He is complaining that for so long a time the dews of night have
fikllen on his couch, unvisited by dreams, and bemoans the discords
m the ancient and royal house of his master, when lo ! on the
mountain-top gleams the blazing torch whose flame announces
the fall of Troy. Ida, over-looking the Trojan plain, first sent
forth the streaming light. The steep of Lemnos received the
gleaming splendor, and waved its fiery tresses over the sea to
Athos' sacred height, whence, from mountain-top to mountain-top,
the concerted signal held its shining way.

But the civilized world has just been startled by an event more
wonderful than the triumph of an army or the feU of a kingdom.
Representative ships of the two most powerful nations on the
- — ■.

• Thi Stokt or thi Tclvokaph, akd a. Histobt or teu Gbsat Atlartio Oablb. Bj Ohablu
F. Baiaas and AvootTus MAraaioc Pp. 255. N«w-T«rk: Ruod ahd OAaL«roN, 810 Broadwaj.
1868.

VOL. UL 20

396 The AOarUic Telegraph. [October

globe, shorn of their battle array, have met mid-way on the At*
lantic, and by vigilance and good-fortune, spanned it with the magio
cord which, so lar as the transmission of intelligence is concerned,
almost annihilates time and space. Overawed by the magnitude
of this achievement, which unassisted human effort could never
have brought about, may we not say with the inspired Hebrew
bard, ' The Lord reigneth. Let the earth rejoice : let the multi-
tude of the isles be glad thereof. His lightnings enlighten the
world. The Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many
waters, yea, than the mighty waves of the sea ' ?

The enthusiasm now manifested on both sides of the Atlantic,
plainly indicates that, in popular estimation, ' of all the marvellous
achievements of modem science, the electric telegraph is trans-
cendentally the greatest and most serviceable to mankind. It is 9
perpetual miracle, which no familiarity can render commonplace.
This character it derives from the nature of the agent employed
and the end subserved. For what is the end to be accomplished,
but the most spiritual ever possible ? Not the modification or
transportation of matter, but the transmission of thought. To
effect this, an agent is employed so subtle in its nature, that it may
more properly be called a spiritual than a material force. The
mighty power of electricity, sleeping latent in all forms of matter,
in the earth, the air, the water ; permeating every part and par-
ticle of the universe, carrying creation in its arms, it is yet invisi-
ble, and too subtle to be analyzed. Of the natural effects of elec-
tricity, the most palpable examples occur in atmospheric manifest-
ations ; but its artificial generation and application are the might-
iest scientific triumphs of our epoch. It was but little more uian
a hundred years ago that Franklin's immature experiments dem<»i-
strated the absolute identity of lightning and electricity. Since
then various mechanical contrivances have been devised for liber-
ating this subtle but potent power from its dark windings in the pri-
son-house of material forms ; the result of which is, that the electric
fiuid may be produced and employed in any desired quantity and
with any required intensity. Thus the same terrific agent which
rushes with blinding and crushing force in the lightning, has been
brought under the perfect control of man, and is employed at his
will as an agent of his necessities. With dissolving energy it ef-
fects the most subtle chemical analyses, it converts the san-beam
into the limner's pencil, employs its Titanic force in blasting rocks,
dissolves gold and silver, and employs them in the gildme and
plating of other metals ; it turns policeman, sounding its umistle
and juarm-bell ; and lastly, applies its marvellous energy to the
transmission of thought from continent to continent with such ra-
pidity as to forestal the fliight of Time, and inaugurate new real-
izations of human powers and possibilities.'

By means of this telegraphic connection a new influence has been
developed. Intelligence has more than ever become a power on
earth. The pen is more than ever mightier than the sword ; the
leaden type more fatal in its aim than the leaden bullet. The

1858.] ITie Atlantic Telegraph. 897

clang of the reyolving press is more decisive than the thunders of
angry nations ; and the spilling of ink avails more than the shedding
of blood.

While we were residing at Vienna, during the late Eastern war,
the world was startled by the intelligence, that in an Austrian
town the two great branches of the house of Bourbon, long at
enmity with each other, had formed an alliance, and would bring
the weight of their combined influence to b^ar upon the questions
agitating Europe. The bloody head of Revolution seemed about
to rise again above the troubled waves of continental politics.
The Bourse was convulsed. Nations turned pale. Men trembled;
but in the fearful looking for of calamity, did they inquire : ' What
does Napoleon think of this ? What does the Czar Nicholas think
of this ? What do Courts and Cabinets think of this ? ' No !
While London sleeps, an unknown individual writes a few editorial
sentences, asserting that : ^ No Bourbon shall ever again be toler-
ated on the throne of France.' Before sun-rise, the busy light-
nings flash them over the European world. The fear of revolution
passes away. Confidence is again restored. And in the remotest
comer of Europe, where the language of an Englishman is un-
known, and the name of an Englishman hated, there echoes to the
thunder of the Times the joyful assurance, that ' No Bourbon
shall ever again be tolerated on the throne of France I '

Thus the disarming message, leaping over the globe on tele-
graphic nerves, will, by giving quick explanation and time for
healing counsel, be every where a promoter of peace and harmony.
The nations of the civilized world are brought near together, and
this contiguity will not fail to beget a more intimate acquaintance.
Unity of interests and of aims will take the place of old hatreds
and hostilities, and in the enlarged realm of human sympathies,
the brotherhood of men will be more fully acknowledged. New
impetus will be given to commerce, and while the smaUer powers
win be made no weaker, the greater will be rendered still more
powerful by the ability of concentrating their energies and theii'
efforts.

The authors of the volume before us, have well said that : ' The
completion of the Atlantic Telegraph may be regarded as the
crown and complement of all past inventions and efforts in the
science of Telegraphy ; for great and startling as all past achieve-
ments had been, so long as the stormy Atlantic bade defiance to
human ingenuity, and kept Europe and America dissevered, the
electric telegraph was deprived of the crowning glory which its
inventor had prophesied it should one day possess. But now the
great work is complete, and the whole earth will be belted with
the electric current, palpitating with human thoughts and emotions.
If we reflect for a moment that the great Atlantic Cable is the
connecting link between America's web-work of forty-five thousand
miles, and Europe's system of fifty-five thousand miles of telegraph
wires, thus forming a vast inter-connected system of a hundred
thousand miles of wires, n^ore than suficient to put a quadruple

398 The AUarUic Telegraph. [October,

. — ■' ' * ■

girdle round the globe, some conception of its immense wgnificance
mav be gained.'

For a complete history of Telegraphy, we most refer our readers
to the excellent and timely volmne Srom which we have so largely
quoted. In addition to the discoveries of Galvani and Volta, of
Oersted and Ampere ; in addition to the practical application of
these discoveries by Morse, Cook, Wheatstone, Gktuss, and Weber,
how many things were requisite to render an Ocean Tele^aph
practicable ! Without gutta-percha to insulate the cord ; without
the agency of steam-ships to lay it with dispatch ; withoat the aid
of instruments whose ingenuity surprises us, and more than all else,
without that faith and inflexible will which do not brook defeat :
without all of these, and many more, success could never have
been attaine^. As it was, how often the ships returned to the
appointed rendezvous, mid-ocean, to resume again what almost
every one interested began to look upon as an impracticable
enterprise !

' The connection of Mr. Cyrus W. Field with the Atlantic Tele-
graph enterprise, dates from the early part of the year 1854. Re-
ceiving with undoubted faith the plan for connecting the conti-
nents by means of an Oceanic Telegraph, seeing no obstacles whidi
could not be overcome by patient perseverance, and possessed of
an inde&tigable energy, to Mr. Field may be accorded the honor
of sustaining the main burden of an extraordinary effort. When
others sank, discouraged by the pressure of untoward events, and
dismayed by the prospect of &ilure, this gentleman revived hopes
that were nearly extinguished, infused fresh ener^ into the efforts
of his associates, and Anally succeeded in arousmg a spirit of en-
terprise which has reaped its own reward. The history of the or-
ganization of the Telegraph Company, and the record of the steps
m the progress of the Atlantic Telegraph, are so intimately asso-
ciated with the name of Mr. Field, that we may be pardoned fi>r
a brief digression from the main subject of this narrative* in otder
to give a running^sketch of that gentleman's personal Instory.

' Cyrus West Field is a native of Massachusetts, having been
bom in the town of Stockbridge in that State, in the year 1819.
His father was the Rev. D. D. Field, a native of East^nilford,
Connecticut, a graduate of Yale, and first settled at Haddam,
Connecticut. Dr. Field had nine children — seven sons and two
daughters. The sons have all risen to distinguished positioiis.
The elder brother, the Hon. David Dudley Field, of Kew-Tork,
is well known on both sides of the Atlantic as one of the Revisers
of the Code of the State of New- York. Matthew Dickiiiscm
Field is a leading citizen of Massachusetts, and was recently or is
still Senator. Jonathan Edwards Field is a Judge of the Sainreme
Court of California. The Rev. Henry M. Field was formerly
pastor of a Congregational Society in West-Springfield, Massachu-
setts, and now editor of the New - York JEJoangelist One son,
Timothy, went to sea, many years since, and has never be^i heard
from. Cyrus West Field, in early Itfe, came to New- York, and

1868.] The Atlantic Telegraph. 899

was engaged as clerk in the establishment of Mr. A. T. Stewart.
He subsequently returned to Massachusetts, and was employed in
the paper manufactory of his brother Matthew, in the town of Lee ;
and on attaining his majority, entered into the same line of busi-
ness on his own account, at Westfield, Massachusetts, but failed
during the panic of 1837. He then returned to New- York, and
established a large paper commission warehouse, of which he is
still the head. Some four or five years ago, Mr. Field's attention
was directed to the project of an Oceanic Telegraph. In the
spring of 1854, his ideas on that subject first took definite shape,
and the active and earnest coSperation of several prominent citi-
zens of New- York — among whom were Messrs. Peter Coopee,
Moses Taylor, Marshall O. Roberts, Chandler White, S. F. B.
Morse, and David Dudley Field — was given in aid of his en-
terprise. The further development of the plan is recorded in
these pages.

'In person, Mr. Field is slight and nervous. His weight is
about one hundred and forty pounds. His features are sharp and
prominent, the most striking peculiarity being the nose, which
projects boldly. His body is hthe and his manner active ; eyes
grayish-blue and small ; forehead large, and hair auburn and luxu-
riant« He does not appear as old as he is. The steel portrait
which accompanies this Number conveys a perfect idea of the
appearance of the man.'

vVe are aware that the greater part of the material means by
which this magnificent enterprise has been achieved, was furnished
by English capitalists, and therefore would not claim the entire
credit for our countrymen. Yet the Atlantic Telegraph is espe-
cially an American enterprise. We may justly claim much for
ourselves. Aside from the services of Franklin and Morse, we be-
lieve it was an American who first suggested the practicability of
uniting the two continents by means of telegraphic communication.
It was an American who discovered the existence of the submarine
plateau over which the wire could be laid. An American wrested
from the elements the secret when the hushed winds and calmed
waves would render success most probable ; and to an American
the chief direction of the enterprise was entrusted. We have,
therefore, properly hailed this great event with a national celebra-
tion. While in the estimation of the English,

'Agamemnon rules the main/

along with the bark which bore Coliimbus to the Western Conti-
nent, and the ' Mayflower ' of the Pilgrims, we will remember the
noble ' Niagara,' ready for missions of war or of peace, wherever
the winds of heaven may sweep over the ocean :

^Eurusque Notusque ruunt, crcberque procellis
Africus.'

400 The Wreck. [October,

THB WRBOK.

I DRKAMKD erewhile of a 8tonn-4ark sea,

A-moanlug in restless woe,
And a welkin above, where the draping clouds

Hung heavy, and dark, and low :

As a band of warriors, grim and stem,

In a funeral march tramped by,
Slowly and dark their serried ranks

Filed over the solenm sky.

The wind shrieked out like a mad wild thing—

A creature in sudden pain —
Or muffled a long, low, sighing wail.

Then eddied to rest again.

rr.

Oh ! the darkened sky and troubled deep,

Were sorrowful to see ;
But something there, 'mid storm and gloom,

Was sadder yet to me.

Not throueh the darkness first it snrged.

That si^t on my dreaming eye ;
Not till a light fell, clear and far.

Through a rift of the solemn sky.

VI.

It fell on a mast but half-submerged ;

And a commorant, wheeling there.
With a cirelet of gems in his beak, that shone

Erewhile in a lady's hair.

vn.

It fell on a white, white human form.

Serene, and still, and cold :
And wondrous fair, on the dark green wave,

With her hair of floating gold.

Tin.

The pitying sea ebbed to-and-fro.
And cradled her softly there :

So white, so still, she looked in death
Like an angel sleeping there.

LITERARY NOTICES.

The New Ambrican GrcLOPiSDiA : a Popular Dictionary of General Enowledze.
Edited by Gborgb Riplbt and Charles A. Dana. Volume III : BEA — 6B0. Pp<
768. 1858. New- York : D. Applbton and Gompant.

This Cyclopasdia of General Knowledge is a most timely and salutary dis-
cipline for American readers. A philosophical observer of recent history may
pardonably regard it as the proper supplement and period to all that has been
done in the world during the last fifty years. The storm of the French Revo-
lution and the terrific career of Napoleon went not by without leaving a bless-
ing. They thoroughly waked mankind up, and left alike the Gallic, Teutonic,
and Anglo-Saxon races in the highest degree of energy. The revolutionary
ideas which had threatened to destroy the whole social, political, and religious
fabric of Europe, were indeed crushed, abandoned even by Napoleon, who had
sprung from the lair of the revolution. But the habit of mind, which had
been acquired by facing a possible overthrow of all existing institutions, and
by searching the realm of speculation for something to supply their place, re-
mained The barriers to thought were jostled away ; and when peace came,
the exuberant vigor of men was transferred undiminished to the pursuits of
science, literature, and material progress.

It is remarkable how large a portion of the intellectual activity for many
years past has been in the two diverse directions of scientific discovery and
the composition of fiction. Men have seemed bent on having something
new at any rate, either by finding it or by creating it Sir Walter Scott
was meditating his first novel almost at the same time that Fulton was
scheming a steam-boat on the Hudson, and the brilliant triumphs of steam-
navigation and the splendid series of the Waverley novels came on together.
While the Earl of Rosse was looking through his vast telescope at modest
stars, Mr. Dickens was diverting himself with the wisdom of Mr. Samivel
Weller and the entertaining conversation of Dick Swiveller. Fights was
trying to reconcile the incompatible metaphysical couple of the Ego and the
Non Ego, at the same time that Irvinq was recording the unutterable ponder-
ings of the Dutchman, Walter the Doubter. Heoel was exploring the ab-
solute while Barth was exploring the interior of Africa ; and the one was de-
scribing ideas while the other was describing negroes. Mrs. Somerville was
proving that a lady could understand the Mecanique CiU%U^ and was writing

402 Literary Notices. [October,

about the connection of the sciences, when Mr. Thackbbay was developing
Bbckt Sharp, and other ornaments of society. Foubieb was tiying to change
the book of fate firom a romance to a scientific treatise, only a little before
QoETHE told the story of that vagabond of genius, Wilhelm Meisteb. While
Lady Blessington was entertaining with romantic grace and elegance the
artists and poets of England, the Bronte sisters were living a life as fearful,
in its way, as was the Orestead cycle of stories which was the fiivorite mytho-
logical theme of ancient tragedy. Ck>MTE recommended positive philosophy
above all things, while Bulwer, not satisfied with having excelled as a drama-
tist, poet, orator, and novelist of the old school, undertook to show that he too
could write a moral novel ; and surprised the public by producing * The Cax-
TONS.' Schoolcraft has sought to learn the truth concerning the American
Indians, and Cooper and Longfellow have sought to preserve the romance
and poetry which hover about them.

But not only in science and fiction have the recent times be«i activei The
age has produced all sorts of gentlemen, fix>m Beau Bbummel to John Hali-
fax, Gent Byron has astounded the Italians by the audacity of his dissipa-
tions, and still more by crossing over fix)m Venice to talk and study with the
holy monks in their cloisters during the night Thomas Hood has written the
* Song of the Shirt,* the last refrain of which is the invention of the sewing-
machine. A chemist has just died in England, who had the &ith and diligence
of a mediaeval alchemist, and who wore out his life while he was striving to
handle the original atoms of matter. There have, too, been wars and great
migrations. Russia has grown to colossal dimensions; Hungary has been
crushed from a nationality to a province ; the trickish game of French politics
has again centered in interest around the imperial head ; and England has
passed the Reform Bill, tended to republicanize her monardiy, and at present
receives a wide sympathy in her efibrts to reconquer those Indian millions
who by her enterprise have been brought within the scope and interest of civil-
ization. Revolutions or political crises have dotted almost every decade of
years in every European country. Rail-roads have connected lands like sinews,
telegraphs like nerves' and since the completion of the Ocean Telegraph, we
can almost think of the whole world as not only of one kith and kin, but even
as one bodily system.

We have thus hardly outlined a period which now finds in our own country
its first, and, for a time, at least, its most dignified recapitulation in the New
American Cydopsedia. A cyclopsedia is the first step, and may also perhi^
be the last^ in the winnowing process of history. It lis a museum of the choicest
fiicts of all the ages. We fii-st learn to appreciate our century when we see it
in company with its fellow eighteen Christian centuries, not to mention more
ancient times. Scarcely any other position can be imagined which would be
80 severe a test of integrity and scholarship as that of an editor of these volumes.
It is a sort of universal judgment-seat The balance has to be struck constantly
between what is frivolous and what is substantial, and every subject has to be
shown in all its important bearings, and to receive whatever light can be thrown
upon it from the latest investigations. To what degree this work is complete
ftbd impartia], the applause with which it is received by the press and by liter-
ary men in aU parts of the Union, is a significant indicatioa Yet volumes of

1858.] Literary Notices. 403

so great magnitude, which require years for their publication, can be finally
judged at lea^t not in less time than is demanded for their publication.

One of the first and most interesting articles in the third volume is on
the Beard. The writer takes us through almost all times and peoples, show-
ing up the bearded princes of the middle ages, who yet obliged their bishops
to shave, on the ground that *a beard was contrary to sacerdotal modesty : '
the golden age of the beard in France, in the reign of Henry FV., * when its
various styles were distinguished as the pointed beard, the square beard, the
round beard, the aureole beard, the fan-shaped beard, the swallow-tail beard,
and the artichoke-leaf beard ; and the Eastern nations, among others the Egypt-
ians, 'whose greatest astonishment in seeing Napoleon was to find him
beardless.' The articles on Booh and Booh^elling contain much new and
specially interesting matter. The phenomenon of having so many new books,
has often struck us as unprecedented and marvellous, notwithstanding Aris-
tophanes scoffed at the number of books and authors in his time. Something
of the machinery by which a worthless book is made to live half-a-season, pay-
ing a profit in that time to all parties concerned, inunediately after which it
disappears, never more to be heard of here, may be discovered by consulting
the second of the above-mentioned articles. The article on Charlotte Bronte,
or the Bronte family, is written in a somewhat rugged style, but is a vigorous
and thorough account of the greatest of female novelists. * The great feature
of her writing is its muscular intellectuality. Her adventurous plough dares
the toughest soils, and forces its way through, upturning them from the bot-
tom. Nor does she ever confound her sensations with her perceptions ; hence
we never catch her tormenting language, in a spasmodic effort to translate the
darkness of the one into the light of the other. The result of aU which is,
that her works have the solid, legitimate, durable interest of truth ; she looks
life square in the face, and depicts it fearlessly, as if she scorned the illusive
vanities of art' The long and manifestiy learned article on Brahma is cer-
tainly confused. If we should want to be a Brahmin to-morrow morning, we
should not know from the article how to go to work. The volume closes with
two articles of prime interest, both from the subjects and their admirable treat-
ment— those on the Brownings. The poet and poetess themselves might
advantageously read the careful judgments here pronounced upon their works.
* Her readers are sometimes perplexed with passages of a cloudy indistinctness.
In which the meaning either has not been clear to herself or is not clearly pre-
sented to the comprehension of others. Her bold and uncompromising spirit
sometimes carries her beyond the limits of perfect good taste. Her command
of the lawful resources of the English language is very great ; but with these
she is not always content' And yet, * whether she deals with the shadowy
forms of legendary superstition, or depicts the struggles of a strong and un-
submissive spirit, or paints pictures of pure fancy, or gives expression to the
affections which bloom along the common path of life, or throws the light of
poetry over its humblest duties and relations, she seems equally at home in alL*
The following is a part of the account of that enigma in literature — Mr.
Browning's ^Paracelam : ' * It delineates the course of a rich and generous
nature, full of high aspirations, exposed to many temptations, often going
astray, but growing nobler and finer to the last ; and after many aberrations,

404 lAterary Notices. [October^

drawn back to those fountains of truth and goodness frc»n which his earliest
inspirations were derived.*

Here is an admirable short notice of Beatrtee^ * the woman whose name has
been inmiortalized by Dante's poems,' and who is to ChristianB * the emblem-
atic personification of divine wisdom ; ' and longer notices of such sorts of people
as the BeehuamUj Bedouiru and Boers^ the last of whom seem to be a race
of wild Dutchmen in the southern part of Africa. For statesmen, there are
elaborate articles on Bentham, Bentinck, Benton, Bbouohax, and the Biddlbs
of Pennsylvania. (Why was not more space given to Benton f) For the
religious, an article of sixteen columns on Bible, and others on Bible Societiee^
Bishop Brownell, of Connecticut^ the missionaries Boabdman and Bbainasd,
and a long history of Saint Bernard, too long, indeed, since it is not written,
and perhaps could not be now, in the spirit in which the life was lived. For
ornithologists, a general long article on Birds, and spedal articles on sudi va-
rieties as Blackbird, Blackcap, Blackcock, Bluebird, and the American &vor-
ite, the Bobolink. For military gentlemen, excell^it articles on Berenna, Bo-
rodino, Blucher, Bernadotte, and all the Bonapartes ; and fer the anatnmiral,
there are full articles on Blood, Brain, Bile, and kindred suljecta

It is not possible, by mentioning articles, to convey any but the most
general notion of the character of the work. In conclusion, we repeat oar
congratulations to American readers, that having been long under the loose
discipline of romances and imaginative investigators and discoverers, they are
at length to have their stock siffced for them by learned and critical cyGlq[W9distB,
and to have the means of learning how many of their facts and fimcies are
worth keeping, and how much knowledge there is worth having of which they
are as yet ignorant There is no so easy way of correcting enoxs and pre-
judices as by getting a complete view of things.

KivoiR OF Joseph Curtis. By the Author of < Means and Ends, ' The Linwoods,*
•Hope Leslie,* ' Live and Let Live,* etc. In one Volume : pp. 800. New-Yorii :
Harpkb and Brothsrs.

An uninterrupted &mily intimacy, for upward of a score of years, enablfiB
us to pronounce this little book a true picture of a true Man : at the same time^
we cannot but regret that the term ^Model Man' had not been omitted finom
the title-page : for, althou^ it undoubtedly expresses the firm and unbiiMd
convictions of the author in that regard, arising from a long intinuuT' and
fiiendship ; still, so modest and unpretending was the sulject of the memoir,
so anxious was he to inculcate perseverance in every good word and woik,
that in the case of others, as well as in his own, we think he would have re-
lucted at the word * model,' at least as applied to himself since it imfdlea an
attained perfection. Miss Sedgwick, however, is sustained in the selectioii of
her phrase, by the testimony of other eminent persons. For ftiamplft;
*Among his most intimate and dearest firiends, the friend of many yeais, wes
the benefiuTtor of our dty, Peter Cooper. In a letter in relation to Jobbph

1868.] Literary Notices, 406

Curtis, ho says : * I wish it was in my power to give you a description of his
untiring devotion to all the great interests of humanity. To do this, it would
be necessary to follow him through a life of efforts to aid almost every bene-
volent enterprise calculated to elevate and better the condition of the present,
but more particularly the rising generation. I regard him as the best and
truest pattern of a perfect man that it has ever Men to my lot to know/
This is a fit concurrent testimony to the brief history of his life.* Among the
early incidents in the life of the subject of the memoir is the following, which
is characteristic of his subsequent acts through life. It should be premised, that
by the advice of the &mily physician, he is recruiting his somewhat impaired
health, by driving a stage-coach between his native village and an adjoining
town, a distance of some thirty miles : this was at a time when there were
few persons of foreign birth in New-En^and : * every body knew everybody : '
life was carried on with extreme simplicity ; and no employment was held to
be menial :

* The employment of driving a coach over the m^ged roads of those times, through
summer heats and the fearful cold of winter, required almost as much intrepidity as
an arctic expedition, with all appliances and means to boot, now does, and discretion
and humanity as well as intrepidity. We have the relation of a rough-weather ex-
perience in Josbph's coach from an old lady, a cotemporar^ of his, which proves
that the driving of a coach then was no holiday affair. Tms old ladj was then a
younff mother, travelling with ' two babes,' as she terms them, under Josbph's con-
duct from Danbnry to Kent. * It was niffht, and very dark and very cold ; and in a
dreadful part of the road the coach upset. The poor young mother was in an acrony
of fright for her ' babes.' She thinks * she should have died,' but for the care of the
young coachman. He took off bis coat and wrapped the baby in it. There was one
old lady-passenger in the coach, not in the least hurt by the over-turn, but scared
out of ner wits and her temper, and she began, as our relator says, * storming away,'
pouring out her wrath on the bead of the devoted Josbph. He took it all calmly and

fently, and only replied : ' I '11 carry you all through safe, Ma'am, if it be on my
ack.' 'And so,' says our informer, * he took both my babes in his arms, turning
horse for our sakes.' It was two miles to their destined inn. He went cheerily on
with his weak and faint-hearted party, singing songs and telling stories by turns,
soothing the 'babes,' sustaining the youne mother, and coaxing and cheering on
the ffrumblinz old lady till she was beguiled out of her ill-humor, and they aU ar-
rived in eood heart at the inn.

'But there, when the noble lad laid down his burden, he fainted, and they saw the
blood trickling from a severe cut in his forehead, which he had not even mentioned. As
soon as he was restored to consciousness and his head bound up, faithful to his trust,
' he started off,' says our narrator, * as though nothing had happened, and back he
went two miles after his horses and hid broken coach, and brought them safely to
the inn.'

* The merciful man is merciful to his beast ; ' and we have often wished that
the subject of this memoir (who loved the noble horse, and loved to control
him with mingled kindness and decision) could have lived to see his favorite
theory so effectively carried out in the now-renowned animal * training ' of
Profi^sor Raret. The following passage from the note of his eldest daughter,
to our author, will exhibit her subject in the light of a tender fiither and an
exemplary family governor :

* 1 RBCOLLBCT my father always cheerful and happy, and never letting an oppor-
tunity whereby we could be improved pass. His haoit was to gather us around nim
and propound questions; for instance : ' Which of you can tell me how glass is made? '
* Where does iron come from ? ' then followed readinz, and at the next early evening
we were catechised.' Again she says : ' My fathers family government was per-
fect. He never struck me; but he has given me sleepless nights by his grieved out
commanding eye of displeasure. I recollect deceiving him when I was aoout seven
years old. He spoke decidedly : ' Go up stairs ! ' In a short time he, with mother,
came to me. They sat still, and looked very sorry. I saw a little switch in his hand.

406 Literary Notices. [October,

I perfectly remember mj conclusion : * If you strike me, I will do it again.' Father
read my defiant look. He laid the stick aside. I see the whole scene now. He

_• 1 ] * J A J 1 11_J A_ I- I TT_ 'X- J ^ A_ « 1 At t A J

night ? He would not hear my concessions, would not kiss me ; bat long before he
was up in the morning, I was let into his room and — forgvMn,

' My sisters, between whom there were two years, when about nine and eleyen were
petulant to each other. Reproof failed to correct the habit. At last there was aa
outbreak. The four children, as usual, were summoned to his presence.' (It ii
notable that Mr. Cuhtis uniformly treated the subjects of his ffOTemmen^ whether
his own children, his apprentices, or the juYenile delinquents oAhe Refuse, as peers.
He made them virtually the judges of his laws, and the tribunal to which he d«non-
strated the justice of their execution in detail.) 'After a silent meditation, mj
father said : ' Children, you must part : to-night you sleep together for ^e last time.
I shall send you to separate boarding-schools, and when yon again live toffether, per-
haps you will have learned to love one another ; until you have learned uat lesson,
do not expect to return to this home.' There was weepins. We a/2 did our pwrt.
I was sixteen years old. I knew father was in earnest, and I saw no escape from the
sentence. He kissed me and my brother,' (not the offenders.) ' He then bade the

S'rls to ffo to bed. There was but one thing before them — Xaohey, As I always pot
em to bed, I as usual, started to go with them. ' Go,' said my father, 'but do not
speak to them.' Poor girls, how they cried ! I saw them in bed, and Idsaed them.

£ said : 'Ask father to come.' He did not, but walked the halL After a while^

they slept, locked in each other's arms. Before day-light, E was at his door.

' Father, may we come in ? ' *■ Yes : ' spoken as always, kindly. ' Well, diildren f '
' Father, won't you kiss us ? ' ' Yes, a/ter you have kissed each other.' Thej then
said : ' O father I do not send us away.' Their punishment was oommuted. Thaf
were not sent away; but, though permitted to remain at home, they were not per-
mitted to speak or play together tul they could do both with uninternipted loye.

' ' This state of things,' says their sister, * did not long exist. To this hoar, the
lesson has not been forgotten. They never since have spoken ankindlj to each other.
They have differed, but without anger.'

One of the most interesting chapters in the yolume, is that upon the * Houaa
of Refuge for Juyenile Delinquents/ of which, with Mr. John PniTABD, Mr.
Curtis may be said to haye been the founder, as he was its first superinteiDdait
Here his rule was one of mingled decision and loye: and his *&mi^,* as he
termed them, regarded him with the strongest affection. Letters from many
under his charge, now citizens of wealth and distinction, and unblemished
honor, abundantly and eloquently attest this. We only r^pret that our crowded
pages will not permit us to present passages from them. One inctdeiiti hoir*
cyer, we cannot help relating :

' On one occasion a boy ran away, and, after a few days, full of penitenee for Ida
ingratitude, returned, confessed bis fault, and entreated forgiveness. Satisfied of his
sincerity, Mr. Gcrtis forgave him. The directors, doubting this poliqr of merey,
disapproved his conduct, and instructed him, by unanimous vote, to giye this raa-
away a certain number of lashes. Mr. Curtis begged them to reconsider their order.
He had from his heart forgiven the boy, who had returned to duty, and had only
seen good from his course : he could not inflict what must now be a pare ymgeanee
upon his back. The directors, however, reasserted their directions to laeh him.
Again he remonstrated, and again they re&ffirmed their order, with instroetiona to
the committee not to leave the premises until they had seen the blows inflicted. Mr.
Curtis, seeing no alternative, then came forward with the keys of the in8titatioa»
and said : ' Gentlemen, I am not a slave-driver, and I cannot whip a boy whom frtm
my heart I have forgiven. I resign the keys of the Refuge.' The directors, mgred
by bis firmness, and respecting his convictions, did not accept his resignatlim, waA
remitted the lashes.'

Passing the chapter upon his * School for Apprentices,* which is rafMe widi
interest and instruction, we come to the record of his devoted semoe in tfid

1858.] Literary Noticea. 407

» I I T-l ■ ■ -- ■ ■ -■ ■ - * — —

Public Schools of our dty. From this division of the work, one extract must
perforce suffice :

* SoMB of our jroung friends still in the Pablic Schools must remember him — a man
about five feet eight inches in height ; not too high to stoop to all their little wants.
A very modest, quiet-looking old gentleman he was, so neat and simple in his ap-
parel, that one might have mistaken him for a member of the Society of Friends ;
Dut he was a friend of all humanity, restricted to no society. The children's loving
memory will recall his large, soft, dark ^ray e^e ; his dark hair, silvered by time, and
curling round his temples and neck ; his smile, that was like sun-shine to them, all
combining to give him an expression of benignity that made them look up to him
with love more than fear, even when he rebuked them ; and sure were they, when he
walked with noiseless steps up and down the long school-room, and in and out among
the benches, that no misaemeanor would escape that watchful gray eye, no slovenly
habit with pen or sponge, no dirty face, soiled hands, dirty nails, unbrushed hair,
or even unbrushed shoes, would pass unnoticed. A boy soilmg the upper-leather of
one shoe with the sole of another, or lounging over his desk, or a girl stooping over
her task, never escaped his rebuking but gentle tap. He woula stop to right an
awry collar, or to adjust a little girl's apron slovenly put on, giving her, at the same
time, some pithy maxim, expressing the value of neatness and order, and with it
such a loving pat on her chees as would make it dimple with a smile ; and so, as sun-
shine causes the plants to grow, his love made the counsel thrive. The dreadful
solemnity of his displeasure at any violence, or vulgarity, or falsehood, these children
can never forget ; nor how difficult it was to hide vice or foible fh>m his eye. His
right of guardianship was demonstrated to them in modes that left them no desire
to question it. How many acts of parental care are remembered by the successive

f generations that have passed under his supervision I Mothers who now know what
t is to watch over helpless little children, recount that when thev were such, and
belonged to the Primary School in Crosby-street, there was a cold day, when it had
been snowing from early morning. The snows were drifted in the streets, the wind
was howling, and the short winter's day was drawing to a close, and their hearts
were full of dread of encountering the driving, blinding snow in their way to their
obscure homes. Mr. Curtis came (some of them * knew he would,' as the poor
frozen sailors said to Dr. Kakb) with three large, roomy sleighs, (got at his own ex-
pense,) packed all the little ones in, took the least into ms own care, and did not leave
them till they were all safe with their mothers.

' Many such touching acts of kindness might be recorded ; but, though they im-
press us like the delicious showers in a drought, they bear no comparison to that
steady work and care, that, like the providential succession of seed-time and harvest,
day and night, marked Mr. Curtis's devotion to the schools. * He discovered at an
early period the deceptive manner in which examinations were carried on, and
changed the whole pohcy to such a degree, that the very teachers who for years had
been deemed most successful, were proved most unfaithful, and those who had been
most blamed turned out most worthy. He made a close scientific investigation of
the laws of ventilation, and procured them to be applied to the Public Sehools. He
studied the anatomy of the human form, to find out just what kind of support the
spine of youth required in its sedentary attitude, and invented school-chairs and
other furniture since universally adopted.' *

* ' He taught the children,' says his friend, Georob Trikblb, ' how they should sit,
stand, and walk ; how to hold and use their books ; how to sweep ; doing his best for
them for whom his love was unbounded.' He also taught them how to hold their
books, and how to turn over the leaves. Some of our eminent preachers and lecturers,
who still adhere to the old practice of the wetted thumb, might have profited by his
lessons.'

To the very hist hour he lived, the spirit which had actuated his blameless
and useful life was manifested, and then he * passed to his reward. ' The me-
mou before us was mainly written to preserve the subject *in the grateful
remembrance of the children he loved and taught, and to impress his example
upon them.* We think it will have a wide and salutary influence, in the way
of forming the broad foundations of many a useful life. It is to be regretted
that the work should not have contained an engraving from Elliott's noble por-
trait of the loved and lamented subject of its pages.

* Dr.- Bbllows.

•

408 Literary Notices. [October,

K. N. PxppBR, AHD OTHBB GoKDiHKKTS. Put Up for Oenenl Use. Bj Jaquu ICau-
EiCB. In one Yolame : pp. 842. Kew-Tork : Budd ahd GABLnov, Number 810
Broadway.

This modest, unheralded, and most tastefully-executed volume^ iq[>pears at a
time when it must make itself a necemty. We mutt laugh sometimfiB : we mu»t
assuage the rigors of the summer solstice, and the enerrating eflEects of the
same: and, reader, on your autumnal joumeyings, by steainer, 8ail4xMit,
rail — take Pepper. The efiEect may he transient : you may need no fiurtber
'active treatment: ' but you will remember it, and ' oome agun,' if need
should be.

It is well known to all the readers of the Emicxisbbockeb, that Ifir. Pbpfbb
began his literary career in these pages : that he, through this medhim, con-
veyed to the imaginations and the hearts of the PuBUO, on both sideB of the
Atlantic, (previous to the laying of the wire-bridge) those un^oe and wfacdly
original effusions, which have made his name — considerably wdl known.

It is not our purpose, nor our intention, to speak of the Pkppbb PoemB,
which have from time to time appeared in the ELnickbbbockxs. ^Diere they
are : look at them. The bones of those who have ezpk)ded in the penisid of
them, whiten the soil of the * United*n States^ fix)m the Rodqr Moontains on
the East, to Rata&din, in the extreme West Nay, the Isles of the sea — Nan-
tucket, Owyhee, Honolulu — all respond to Pepper. And this would be
* glory enough for one day,* not only, but for all time. It would not only be
adscititious and supererogatory, but also unnecessary, for us to ask public
criticism on the Pepperian muse. '•A Noad to the Greh Slaio^ h as immortal
as the ^statoo* which inspired it: that *Marbd Stun Enterprise' is wedded
to our * Pote.* Our Natural History owes a debt of gratitude to Um, also^
for his discriminating account of a ^Golusion Between a AHgaitor and a
Wotter-Snaik.' A terrible encounter was that, and most fitly depicted
^TTie Suferings ov a Mwn^ although hardly sufficiently distinctive in its tilie^
is replete with pathos. Our readers, with tears in their eyes, will not ML to
recall this touching poem We have ventured to italicize a few fines^ albeit
such distinction is scarcely needed :

* As he traveld bi the way,
this Man wos herd fur to say
(oi aloan he wos, you se,)
1 wish i hed sum 1 fur cumpany.
Bui thair he woSy al aloan^
db thai is Sufferingt we oan.
But as he wos a-goin frnm hoam,

fitin kind or loan-sum,
Te aide severil times euUe hard,
moumfuly a-atroafcing ov his bairdf
until his Suferings wos so irUsns
He blood his noas bi the /ens,
Beeos ov his absens ov mind-^
He not bein eny ways so inclind :
8ech Wo! — but cumpany wos ni
to him moast sertinly :
He heerd a yel, sum distens of,
k, as he afterwerds sed,
it wos a Doff) & that Dog wos hisn —
the saim as ne hed left a prisen-
er to hoam at 11 in the 4 noon.

this maid him kind or mad loon ;
db as thsAnimel eumd Udbk^ mrotmd
He swoar Vengens onto kirn im^Ulp.

* o sed he, as stompt onto the gromid,
ime mad enuf, i am, to fli :
So it bein a littel cus ov a Do|^
Hejesttooehimbythontpim^noo
dsfsU amungst hts too-
gerrv: tooe out afrmheud UUo Ati okm
(ov tooaeker) dt semHed the gum
%nto his foMS dh i^s moadpsmm^

db maid Mm yd •um, '
BareodikeUy a-wantin ov drino
fur to whet up hisforchmmU hmg,
& now mi sons is moast rang :
the Dog becalm (spekin perlite)
much reeosdd ; m fitot, he died :
And so cud the man, som time after
ov the scarlit Feiver.'

1858.] lAUTary Notioet.

Note the utter umplidty of this afiecdng picture. There is not one poet in
a thousand, who could have made so much »b ifr. Pbppeb haa made out of this
inddeot But it is the quality of true Genius to elerate every autgect which it
toudies : ks witness our poet's 'Sotikqif to a Berd on the Fm*.' But it ie not
poetiy alone which distinguishes our author's ' werca.' He is a ' scienc^man,'
an astronomer, and an artist His painting of the ^FVe Nollig ov the Meeiiu'
is perhaps the most original and striking effort 0/ Ute kind which has jot ap-
peared 'in Cbristendie.' The aigraving below can scarcelj Ml to ehadov
forth its excellence :

The artist thus describes the picture, wliich has been secured by, and is now
in the Galleiy ol| P. Pepper Pood, Esq., the patron and friend of our poet-

' [RiKABc] Here we her a picter ar tbe Herius, as thej apeard be! the atars wos

bloodj — i» seen onto the rite, gesl s-setlia, peraps fur lohach (wich goak isperfeclj
ariginal) : Grait Bair. rampan, with big tail ■-fljin, ia the prinsipal ohjeck loto the
fruDt — eedbi Conn^saors to beta pecooljerly sagaabua looc out oTbialen i: Uoon,
overlheleR — HichisabadBiDu; shoud chaingwitb Yeaous. (End oe tAt Semarc.)

'(Desiaed A painted, t the Remarc campoaaed, with grait eipeas — eBpeahellj
the ariginal Goak — fur to be shoad hi Mr. Wihtib: wich thepriaheooodentpay — re-
markia thatt^M^ Genus wos al ha coed afoard to eacucrig. a.b. nagoitmustbeput
oato the Baira tail.) '

Acopy of this picture was sent to Mr. Brsira, author of Tft* Seven Stones
«f Venice,^ and other poems : and he returned to Mr. Po&d the subjoined ai-
tidsm upon the ilurtdorer :

'THisremarbable warkis the first of ita kind. We are at a loea whore to place it.
We canoot, perhaps, put it before the irreateat of the 'Che/^autra' Prodnotions of
I.AVnia, the celebrated apostle of ' High old Art and Literature,' he of the Capitol
of this Commonwealth, contiguous to which, he ' ia a native ; ' nor can it be placed
behind that painting ; for then it could not be seen at at). It mnst take its own place.'

' Tetb cbiaro-'scuro eSecta, in this painting, are rerj fine : ao fine, that moat Unas-
■lated ej-eswill not be able to perceJTe them. Ur. Pippeb's handling Is quite — nar,
eiccasivelr, free; and he works up his iaspirations with — m short, Ida bmsh. ^s
coloring cannot be excelled, for intensity of blue; while the general tone, coo-
sidcriag the subject, is uacommonl; moral. Were we hypercritical, it might he ob-
Tioua to remark, that the best painters of celestial scenery represent stars with fit)
points instead of ail ; but of coune it does not bacoms a liberal oriUo to notioe auch
a triBiag blemish : the artist may have seen stars with six pointa.

JAierary Notice. [October,

' It is intcregling to doU thou tittle iDKoancica which stuiim the earelruncu oT

_r meaamg,

flgare — p&rticuUrlj the tiil— cfaiUenge the'eneomiam cf tTarj'loTgTof'eitreiiMlj

'Thg •ocesioriea ire well muuged; the artiat hu tfaem nnder oompleta cantrol,
lodeed. the; htTe Direr been managed Id quite the ume wa; before. On a canfal
iDSp«cUon of certain marka, we eaonol reaiat Ifaa impreaaion that the picture wia at
firat intended aa a mete akiurain ; but that the lUKgeatiTaneu of the enbject indoeed
the aitiat to fill it ap, with aU that elaboraleneae orODiah now obsenable In it. How
eiquiaitdy faithfol ara the claws of the bear I How dalieatel/ pencilled are hi* eara [ '

' Wi uDderttaiid that an encraTtng of ibis admiratilc painliag is beiodr gircparod.
and inipressions will be readj Tor aubsaribers br about Uio middle of hcpt^mber.
Arlints proors — with a Eifl-book — one dollar. Without the ^tt-book, four centi.

•The exquiaile jokes, & parenthesoa, were invented bv Mr, I'ono — whose »nirit»
went Bu high, on the Goal coniplelioa uX the paio^Dg, that for the apace of balf-an
hour hii gravity entirely foiiook him.'

But let us not forget Mr. Peppeh's A«tronomj. Listen to him upon one
bimnch of A^-tn)na^ly. He is speaking of Comets : those emtic ' loaTcrs ' of
the solar system, n-ho ' stream their hvrritl buir upon the mid-ntght sky,' in
defiance of observatories and public criticism :

'TiiEsi heavanlj bodies resemble snakes in being all bead and tail, Thej are un-
like snakes in baring a lery flety appearance : red snakes, much lo the rPKtl of
naturalists, being astonishing^ rare. Cameta lead a very imgulnr llfn. and are a
Ecaodal and disgrace lo all their connectiona. We hare seen the eagle descend from
a great height and take the newlj-aequired meana of inbsiatcuce bam the induilrioui
hawk, flying away from the aatoniBbed bird as quiekly aa he came. Before (br hawk
rccorera the ordinaiyuseof ht> sensea, the eagle is l«t to sight, and not particulari;
dear to memory, llie eSbrta of Ibo comet are attended with the aame disgraceFul
success. WBlcbtng bis opportonity, be rusbe<i down whrn the sun is so dislrarted
by hia many carps aa lo see nothing apart from them j and taking frum that nnao*-

tecting luminary as much fire-wood as would lasl him, if fnigSlr u»d, twice the
ingth of his natural life, flies away to hia own Hinulrr — wasting loeredible qnanll*
tit;B uf ligbi and heal, as he goes, in tutgar and ridiculous display. He has the ui
blushing audacity lo come back again, afler a few years, sometimes very mucli ahoi

. . .._. _^ „ ,---, -- wtajl. Coroel»(reqoe_ _.

rise to that pitch of vanity and eilravagance, (hat they will nnfeelinglv sport two,

and eyes of the iiuurod sue. But Justice at last overuke* the offender : aLi-tailcd

•K\ a time when people did not know every thing — which we mar suppose to bars
been before Iheadvenl of the present generalion— cometa wore lookei on wilbajealMis
eye. No sooner was Ibe cry: -The Cometl' raised, than one-half thought Uwr*
would be war direcUv, and the remainder that he designed slaying bis stomach wilh
two or Ibree of the planets. While these induced a Iremeodone add infernal clamoi
by means ofslioutiugs, lin-pana, and calBbaahea. the former ordered an infinile num-
ber of JfiKrrrin to be sung, and made appropriations for ammunition and the public

in the one hand the earth remains a tvmpl-
s inunmerable have taken place, and that

It is our olgect, in this notice, t» stiniuhte without Katisiying, public curios-
ity. The Book is extant, exquisitely ^(tcn up, atter the unifbrni manner d
the publiiher?. Buy and read. And do not infer that liecause Mr. pEim
unbends in verse, that he is therefore incompolcnt tn speak wisely and well In
plain prnse. He can be (wliorUh — he can be wnsiblc — he can be earnest :
in proof uf trhich. tcet Ihe trutli of this verdict in (he only way in which il
ou ptop«rly be tested, 'and when fiHiud, nuke a note uf iL'

EDITOR'S TABLE.

*Faith, Hope and Chamty : these Three.* — Our excellent oountxy Rector
' exchanged ' on a recent Sabbath with a brother-dergyman from the adjoming
State of New-Jersey. He read the service in a reverent tone, and with a pro-
nunciation which it was a delight to hear. The discourse which ensued was
from these words : * Now abideth Faith, Hope, and Charity — these three: but
the greatest of these is CHARirr.* We confess to *main ignorance* of the true
purport of the last term of these words of Paul, until we had listened to the
exposition to which we are about to allude. We had regarded * Charitt ' rather
in the light of alms-giving — of doing good to * all those who are desolate and
oppressed : ' of benefactions to the poor and the needy. We rejoice in a strong
and good memory : and with a few memoranda in pencil, we thought we should
be able to recall the portions of the discourse which had so deeply impressed us.
When we had written them out, however, and leisurely perused them, we could
not but feel how far they came short of doing justice, either to the great theme,
or its eloquent expositor. So, with a freedom which belongs, we believe, only
to an Editor, we addressed a note to the clergyman who had so enlightened
and delighted us, asking, if not amiss, for a transcription of indicated parts of
the discourse, for publication in the Knickerbocker. Most kindly was the
request responded to ; and the reader, we are sure, will thank us for the almost
impudence which elicited the subjoined passages :

* What we have already shown in demonstration of ^Faith^^ as inferior to
''Charity^ is applicable alike, and with kindred force, to ^Hope.^

It 'abideth now,* as a part of that *law, which, as a schoolmaster, brings us to
Christ.' It is the great incentiTe to exertion in the work of our salvation. It is
an important element in the entire texture of our present character ; and it is in-
terwoTen, as a golden thread, with the whole essence of our moral being. It
enters into the very substance of our fearfully mysterious life ; and operates upon
the twofold relationship in which we stand, as connected with this world, and look-
ing on to connection with another. Whether in things earthly and temporal,
or in things spiritual and eternal, Hope is the quickening principle which nerves
man*s heart and^soul, and leads him forward to tread with a firm step the path of
life. . . . *'Nov) abideth Hope?

* It is the soul^s youthful impulse, by which we are cheered and comforted in
VOL. LII. 27

412 JSditor's Table. [October,

the vicissitudes and adversities of our present lot ; and through which, as seeking
a more enduring substance than it yields, we receive accessions of coarage and
of strength to ' press forward toward the mark for the prize of our high calling
of God in Christ Jesus.' ^Now ahideih Hope?

*It is the light of human life, which else were cheerless to us. It comes to us,
like an envoy from the Sun of Righteousness, with healing in its wings and mes-
sages of joy upon its half-parted lips. In the exercise of its well-adapted ministrj,
it tracks its path with light, and scatters blessings all along its course. Beautiful
are its feet upon the mountains, bringing glad tidings of good. The lanes and
valleys of life rejoice in its visitations, and the wildemess and the solitary place
are glad for it. It comes to us in * the days of darkness, which are many,' and
cheers us with the indications of a bright to-morrow. It finds the sky of life with
clouds upon it, and tinges them with radiant hues ; and even when the storm is
dark, bursts through its gloom, and spans the firmament with its bow of promise.
It finds us sinking, and arrests us ere we fall. It finds us cast down, and
stretches out its hand to raise us. It never leaves us nor forsakes us, hut at our
bidding word. It keeps back the invading pressure of terrible Despair, and
beckons us away to the green pastures where the still waters which refresh them
are radiant with the smile of God. It tells us of a better portion; aod that,
however it may have failed us in our time of need, the world has pleasant places,
and that * it is good for us to be here.' It comes to us when the heart is sick
and ready to faint, and enlivens us with friendly words. It invests the spirit of
heaviness with the garments of praise. It lifts up the hands that hang down,
and the feeble knees ; and when joy comes not with the morning, it ' givefli
songs in the night.' It transforms itself into expectation, and inspires ns with
fresh trust to * quietly wait.' It invades the domain of disappointment and the
chill recesses of deep grief^ and peoples them with glad thoughts and haj^y rights.
It speaks with soothing tones to the ill-fortuned and forsaken brother, shipwrecked
and broken-hearted in his voyage of life, and encourages him amid 'the waves of
this troublesome world,' to tempt the adventurous way once Dj^ore. It renews the
face of things, and transmutes to a seeming preciousness the cm^ roii|^ ^
ments it touches. Oh I it has a charmer's power. There is a wHdemess before
it, and a garden of Eden behind: before it is despair, lamenta^n, and wo: be-
hind is the renewal of joy, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody. ^NbmMirih
Hope? Wen for our present happiness it should — well for onr immortal yesxn-
ings that it doth. It is the light that halloweth with blessedness our piesent lot ;
and when abiding in companionship with Faith^ guides us to that higher hspply^ff
we long for, and which we find not here. Hope leans on Faith, and Mth on
Hope. Each imparts to the other, as they proceed together, increase of energy,
giving and taking ever strength reciprocal ; and under their united ministry, ve
are both enabled to maintain our lot in time, and to work out for etemiliy our
soul's salvation. ^Now abideth FctUh and Hope?

^Charity (as every intelligent reader of the New Testament must onderstsB^
is only another name for Love, Accordingly, it is one of the glorious atkrikmtst
of God ; nay, we might rather say, the eugroeeing aUribtOe : 'for Goo Is Loftt;
and every one that loveth is bom of God.' It is Love which re-creates ns In tht
heavenly image, transforms us into the Divine likeness, and moulds us Into mssfe-
ness for an inheritance among the holy. It is the very atmosphere wfaidi tlie
souI,.by the affixed conditions of its renewed life, breathes ever when it lives to

1858.] JEditor'8 Table. 413

God. Without infringing their identity, but as the greater includes the less, it
embraces and comprehends both Faith and Hope : * For now abideth Faith, Hope,
Charity, these three ' — severally and jointly. , . . We must * hope all things,'
and ^ believe all things,' and in the strength of that indwelling principle of Love,
whereby they work, do all things which the Gospel enjoins, as well-pleasing and
acceptable to Goo. In the broad full sense in which it is defined in the chapter
to which our text belongs, we must practise and live out Christian Charity. We
must open our hearts to its gracious influence, that it may enter and abide in us.
Thus every Christian principle will be called into full harmonious operation ; and all
* the fruits of the Spirit,' with every heavenly grace and virtue, will be cultivated and
live and grow in us. . . . But let us remember that Love^ which is the great
element of our enjoyment in the future world, hath, its beginning first, and to
a certain extent its progression, here. ^ For now abideth Charity.' It enters
into the texture of what we are, as indicative of what we shall be. It is the sign
and mark in man of a Divine life, and holds its preeminent position as the central
attribute of our present Christian character : * Now abideth Charity,' as of moral
necessity it must Without it, all other graces are vain and nothing worth, and
stand in the religious account only as dross and tin. . . . This is a most im-
portant consideration ; and there grows out of it a wholesome lesson for the
present time to learn. What we need for a harmonious religious development, is
less Churchy and more Gospel; less theology ^ and more Love, The religious faith of
the age, unsettled, wavering, desultory, and distracted, is as it is, because its reign-
ing spirit has ejected charity. And the only adequate remedy for the existing reli-
gious ailment — the only remedy which, penetrating beyond the superficial symp-
toms of its aspect, can reach to that inner source of the disease, and restore
blooming health and warm-gushing life to the disordered system — is an infusion
of that heavenly element of Charity^ which it so sadly lacks. The life of God in
the soul of man depends, both for its energy and for its being, upon this supply.
It can never thrive to any thing like a vigorous and healthful development, upon
the dry husks of dogma, and religious notion, and abstract orthodoxy, and eccle-
siastical conceit, which have been so long its allotted portion. It must have * its
meat in due season ' out of the fulness of God. And that fulness is Charity : * For
God is Love.'

* The practical application of the subject, with * the conclusion of the whole
matter,' as lying upon the surface, suggests itself at once ; and the burden of its
teaching is direct and plain. ... In discussing religious matters, we fall into
the scholastic lines ; and are very apt to make use of terms of distinction, which
separate what the system of the Gospel has united. In times when Love has
waxed cold, and when the cause of this declension exhibits itself in the manifest
effects which are consequent upon it — scholastic strictness, and theological de-
bate, and sectarian strife — many, warmed with dogmatic zeal, run up and down
and to and fro in quest of Orthodoxy. Controversy comes in, with its rough
voice and its unmeek aspect, and separates and divides ^ the household of faith '
into rival sections and distinctive classes. Each selects, as the all*in-a]l for im-
portance, some particular and favorite doctrine ; invests it, as the theological pet,
with ^ a coat of many colors ; ' makes a sort of catch-word of its name, and rejoices
in this, as the shibboleth of Christianity. It grows by what it feeds on into an ar-
rogant exclusiveness, which, gradually emerging from the dominion of salutary
restraint, asserts its peculiar supremacy, and is * not afraid to riot in the day-time.'
It * brings forth after its kind, whose seed is in itself upon the earth ; ' and when

414 Uditoi^a T<Me. [October,

the increase of its might renders practicable the indulgence of its dedre, it drires
out the nations before it and possesses the land.

*' To aToid this prevailing tendency, which, in a faithless age, manj liaTe real-
ized, and more are realizing, to their religious loss, let us 'follow after Gharitj,*
in which all that is true and important and essential in opinion or doctrine or
practice, meets and centres and abides. The exercises of Zove constitnte a sure
basis of unity and 'bond of peace;' and if we coret any grace abore the
others, let it be always Charity^ because it is ' the greatest,' the heayenliest, and
the best

* We shall thus obtain one common standard of religious doctrine, cut loose
from an overweening attachment to particular members in the Christian system,
and fall back upon a steady and warm devotion to the body of Christianity itself.
Only let us ' put on Charity,' that crowning grace in Christian character, which,
turning to the Word of God as a sure directory, ' hopeth all things, beUereth all
things, and rejoiceth' (not in the preralency of peculiar notions of Ohristiaiiity)
' but in the truth ; ' only let us yield to its sway and be guided by Its will, and it
will smooth the roughness of party animosity, and remove those distracting dif-
ferences which run to excess of riot, and overcome those eddies of opinion which
divide into schools and sects and parties * the household of fidth.'

*• In giving free course to the exercise of this comprehensiTe grace, this E^iiiit
of the Gospel and of its Authob, we shall learn to look rather upon llie foE-fiue
of Christianity than upon its shifting profile ; to sink those minor quentioiis which
are not essential to religion, and which the action of the Christian Hfb abflorbe
into itself; to think neither of Paul nor of Apollos, but of the Goflpel, whidi
one may have planted and the other watered, but of which only Oad poors Into
the heart where Love abides and upon the life wher» Charity abounds, the blesed
increase.

' While, on the one hand, we see ^FaUh ' unduly magnified, and the graces and
virtues of a holy life thrust comparatively into the back-ground, as ' if the body
were all eye;' or while, on the other hand, we hear ^Chod Wcrk^* enforoedy
without the necessity of ^Faith ' being emphatically insisted on, as ' If the body
were all ear ; ' let us side neither with the one nor with the other. In a eepermte
view, each is wide of the mark : and disjunctively, both are wrong. Th^ are
the two scholastic extremes of the time, and like the poles of the earth,
always cold. Let us turn away from each, to those tropieal r^;ioos of
the Gospel which are sunned by the genial influences of the ' Ught of Liglit>
and point to Charity, in which the two Jarring notes of the age are melled and
mingled, and flow together in harmony : in which JFiiUh is the central prineiple,
and a good life the standing evidence of our Christian state ; and without w^di»
in their joint abiding, whosoever wears the religious profession has only a aane
that he Hveth, for he is spiritually dead. For true religion is * the life of God fai
the soul.' It is not an abstract sentiment, but a practical, and abiding, and en*
bodied principle, which he who lacks, lacks the very vital essence of CSiristias-
ity — lacks what the framework of the human body lacks, when the indwdBng
soul is gone.

' If we thus appreciate the nature of Charity, and admit the fitet of its praeliesl
abiding now, we cannot regard with indifference, nor in any way apologiie ftr,
the differences and divisions which so sear the present religious aspeet, and SO
sadly retard the progress of the Redsexeb's kingdom.

' Christianity, let us remember ever, is an indivisible unity. Tbere is 'One

1858.] mUor'a Table. 415

Faith,^ even as there is ^One Lord? And we know the will of its Author, that
all who profess it should be one. It is the manifest object of Charity^ as it * now
abideth/ to consolidate the Christian elements and to make us (mt. For this, it
plies us with its gentle ministry, embracing every doctrine, receiving every truth,
practising every virtue, and living and moving and rejoicing in the culture and
growth and increase of every grace ; ^ adorning the doctrine of 6od the Saviour
in all things ; ' stamping the impress of its image upon every separate act of our
religious life ; soflening the native hardness of the heart with its pervading pre-
sence, and infusing more and more of its heavenly spirit into ours ; moulding into
a Divine likeness the elements of our moral character, to haUow it with loveli-
ness ; and fulfilling the remainder of its mission, by ' endeavoring to keep the unity

of the Spirit in the bond of peace.'

• ••••• •

In hearing, and now in readuig and re-reading, this eloquent exposition of
the words of Paul, we are led to express a few thoughts in relation to the per*
sonal example^ and the home-teachings of this great Apostle. From boyhood,
from our very youngest rememberable years, we have treasured the lessons
of this hard-working, devoted servant of God and the (jospel of his Christ.
Sydney Smith mentions his example as a great element of the * Beautiful and
the Sublime,' in his lecture thus designated, and recently adverted to in this
Magazine. You will scarcely think of it, it may be, in gorgeous churches,
with vari-colored lights struggling through stained-glass windows, playing fit-
fully upon the rich oaken panels of your polished pews, and shimmering kalei-
doscopically upon your scarlet or crimson gold-clasped prayer-books. For Paul
was a worher. He wrought for his Master, and for his Master's sake.
Moreover, it has always seemed to us, that he was the most eloquent of all the
Apostles. His were the words of God Himself speaking through His servant :
and more than any of his brothers in Christ, he seems to convmce us of the truth
of the irrefragable argument advanced in a recent work, heretofore noticed in these
pages, upon ^The Plenary Inspiration of The Holy Scriptures,^ We have here-
tofore found that our thoughts not unfi:^uently find an abiding-place in the
hearts of our readers : will they pardon us, therefore, while we pursue a brief
train of reflection, somewhat foreign to our wont in this department of our
work ? We could wish that Paul was more frequently preached from. He
was self-devoted, unselfish, instant in season and out of season — * always
abounding in the work of the Lord.' He was stoned ; ho was scourged with
rods ; he was shipwrecked — a night and a day he was in the deep : he was
in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren :
in watchings often — in cold and nakedness. But when he was biddmg fiire-
well to his brethren, being minded to go into Mesopotamia, he could say : *And
now I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that
shall befal me there, save that the Holy Spirit witncsseth, that in eicery city
bonds and afflictions abide me. But none of these things move me, neither
count I my life dear unto myself so that I may finish my course with joy, and
the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of
the Grace of God. And now I know that ye all among whom I have gone preach-
ing the kingdom of God, shall see my face no mare. Wherefore I take you to
record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men : for I have not shun-

416 JEaitor^s Table. [October,

ned to declare unto jou aU the counsel of €k>D. Therefore^ watch and re-
member, that by the space of three years, I ceased not to warn ererj one
night and day with tears. I have coveted no man's sihrer, nor gold, nor
apparel : ye yourselves know that these hands have ministered unto my neoes>
sities, and to them which were with me : I have showed you aU things, how
that, so laboring, ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of
the Lord Jesus, how He said, ' It is more blessed to ^ve than to receiYe.* '
Did Paul ever forget his mission ? Never. What he was 'among the brethren,'
the 'poor and of low estate,' he was in the Areopagus — on Mars HiH * On
thai;' revered summit, surrounded by the magnificence of Atha:iS| and under
the soft blue sky which looked down upon the scene with its smiling serenity,
he delivered that memorable discourse, in which he showed the generous cour-
tesy of the gentleman, the highest gifts of the orator, and the unshaken fiddity
of the servant of Christ.' We are not without the suspicion that we may be
obtruding, if not intruding, in these thoughts : if so, the sooner we pause the
better.

♦The Age: a Colloquial Satire.' — Mr. 'Festus' Bailet, who 'went
up like a rocket, and came down like a stick,' has been writing a sa^cal
poem, by way of revenge upon his conscientious and plain-spoken critiGS,
which is receiving evident justice at the hands of certain of our L(Hidon oon^
temporaries. The ^Examin^^^ especially, has given a cool, sententiouSi but
most cutting review of it, from which we take a few desultory passages:

* Pabt, at least, of Swift's counsel to the poet, Mr. Bailkt has obeyed dnriiie tiie
distillation of this satire from his finger's ends. There is little evidence in it o? the

care that will

* Blot out, correct, insert, refine,
Enlarge, diminish, interline ; *

but DO reader can fail to observe the pains taken in accordance with the other half
of the Dean's formula,

Bk mindfal, when inrention fails.

To scratch your head and bite your nails.*

* The book contains about two hundred pages of bad rhvmes, ennneisting hi the
persons of three speakers, distinguished hy no character from one another, a long
series of unconnected common-places. As there are two sets of common^dices,
representing the world's two opinions on ever^ subject, Mr. Bailkt seems to ray Ibr
credit as an extraordlnarj man upon his adoption always of that formala whidi will
secure to his intelligence the least respect firom ordinary people. The satire, periiape
commendable on that account, is indeed all scratching and bitinff, but the panishment
falls on the author's own head, and his nails. A thumb-nail, at least, most have been
paid for this rhyme to conundrum :

* Aim politics, more and more like a oonnndrozn.

Since the * Ckeat Britain ' first stock Cut off Dondnun.*

< Having once compassed the idea of a seographioal solution to the riddle of rhymes
Mr. Bailbt was prepared to cut with it the knot of any fresh embarrassment :

< Was heard the answer next of the First Minister,
From Wick to Land's End (that*B oar English rinistere-V

'Again, of a telegram it is written that

1858.]

Editoj^B Table. 417

* If you dispatch it
Eastward — from Exeter suppose to Datchet —
Not time, not light, not horse patrol can catch it.*

' It is m remarkable fact that there is no place in the world rhyming to Shakspkare.
We assumQ the fact, because we find our author, when he comes to this word, extri-
cating himself thus with pain out of his difficulty :

BoT what we learn from him the French call Shak$p4ret

MU.TOM or any other learned icua-paj/sr

Of ancient times or modem, once impressed,

Sules the broad empire of man*s holy breast.'

' Could not something hare been made out of * takes beer,' as a rhyme to ' Shaks-
psABK,' in the same poem that pairs ' stagger us' with * Pythaqobas,'^ and * so pious *
with *EuTBOPius'?

• ••••••

' Hk declares monarchy to be the base, and not the apex of our social pile, de-
nounces the press, and applauds Louis Napoleon's way or goyemment.

* Ain> British wiseacres still gape with wonder,
Why France, who *8 made so many a mortal blander,
Do n't choose again to rend herself asonder ;
How, without endless editorial gabble
The Chambers to adrise with dub-hoose babble,
A democratic empire can pursue
A policy foreseeing, fixed and true ;
Or goremment can carry on its business,
And Its head show no fatal sign of dluiness ;
Most, how a system, so ill fortified,
As but to haye the people on its side.
The army, and the clergy, does not fade
Before a Q.O.'s scurrilous tirade ;
And traitors who on reason try to trade.'

But it is chiefly for their reflection upon books that * filthy puddles of the press '
offend our bard. Critics of literature, he tells us, delight in slaughter, and are full
of bitterness. They consist mainly or disappointed authors, or of men who are no
authors, but whom

* Mna malignity incites to say
The falsest, yilest trash they can inyent'

* There are few surer sizns of weakness in a writer than this desperate concern
about his critics. Strength does its appointed work and is content ; weakness alone
makes half the work to consist in a turmoil about its place in men's opinions. Of
Mr. Bailbt's defiance there is obyiously the usual motiye of the weax : *Au(Undo
maanus Ugitor timor.* The fear would be unworthy of h^m were he as a poet that
which he conceives himself to be.

* We have searched the yolume with some care for a few specimens of liyeliness,
and can only produce with certainty one joke. That one we know to be a joke,
because it is labelled by the author as * amusiye.' It is upon a deputy sub-editor :

* His eye was always turned on yon intrusiyely —
An air acquired, to speak of it amusirely.
By looking into millstones exclusively.'

'It may be — we make a bold sugorestion — it maybe that Mr. Bailbt's laboriously
far-fetched rhymes are meant to be Hudibrastic ana enlivening This, also, perhaps,
is the result of an effort to be lively :

* SoNOS deal with feelings mainly. Oft, events
The reader^s Judgment hints or supplements.
The intimate connection 'tween our land
And neighbor Europe, by electric band,
Shows not upon the surface, understand.'
• • • • • • •

Wb are not to honor the memory of the Duke of Wbllinoton,

* Though printing presses praise with tons of trash.
And law lords eulogise till all be blash.'

* We shall not, if we are of one mind with Mr. Bailbt, admire Dr. LxyiKGSTOKs,

418 JSdUdr's TaJHe. [October,

with his * Biblical-Cottonian gammon : ' shall not read Mr. Diokbnb, or enjoj may suc-
cess in a contemporary; bat of bards we shall sing^ that thej hare 'peroeptire'
minds, and that their lot is donblj hard.

* At bett, behold a poor and peodoned bard I
At wont ; ObllTlon folds him *neatb her wlngi.
And night and ohaot cheer blm as he sings.*

* We shall be glad to think that the chaos of this satire cheered the Ktthor whfle he
sang it. It is not often that a book so absolntely dull as this is written bj » man of
genius ; a book of which our utmost commendation is that, in spite of many faults.
It contains some passages which are almost up to the mark of common oonreraation
among educated men.'

It may well be questioned whether Mr. Philip Jakes Bailbt has ^ taken
much by his motion * in ^ving to ^a gaping world,' ^Ths Age^ a OoUoquial

Satire^

One of the ^ Uncounted Lessons of Life.' — The minuscript of the fol-
lowing unpretending but now suggestive little sketch, was sent us ten yean
ago, accompanied by a note, still attached to it, assuring us, <»i the honor
of the writer, that it was but the simple * record of an e?ent^ and its con-
tingent reflections, which occurred only the day before' :

* Twenty-one : in New-York : out of money.

* These three ideas monopolized my mind early on the morning of Beeember
18, 184-.

*■ I was at the time engaged in teaching in Brooklyn. I lired in a Qttle room In
the New-York Uniyersity. I had a shilling left.

*" I had no fire : I could nH afford it : an odd old store, which was in the loom
when I came, stood staring chillily at me out of its single isinglaaB eye, and seemed
to shrink with the cold, close up to the wall against wluch it stood.

' I took down my cloak and wrapped myself up in it: went to my eloaet and
took out a parcel of crackers. I liyed on crackers : they are cheap. I pml them
on the table, took up Cabltls^s ' Heroes and Hero-worship,' and oommenoed to
read and eat. At page 149 Carltle Is speaking of the 'Hero as Man of
Letters ' — of Samuel Johnson. ' On the whole, one is weary of hearing of the
omnipotence of money. I will say rather, that for a genuine man it is no efil to
be poor: that there ouglU to be literary men poor, to show whether they be
genuine or not.'

^ So I swallowed a cracker, (they are yery * dry eating,') and oommeniafeed :
* According to Mr. Carltle, it is a fine thmg to haye holes in one's p^wtfVMWift
exclusiye of those the tailor made so long ago. Tes; it must he that he means,
among other things, that literary men should liaye 'solutions of eontinnity' in
their garments, so that curious un-literary men may look in and see that he b not
a mere bones, nor a simulacrum, nor an etherialization with a head. Tliat so the
un-literary may gladden the heart of the literary with a dlnner^ying dollar, se-
cure that the digestiye apparatus intended to be benefited thereby aetnlly

exists.

'How many holes make a genuine man?

' Is Mr. Gasltli himself genuine ?

1868.] Editor's Table. 419

* I poked my finger through a hole, and satisfied myself that I was genuine.

' I ate crackers until the paralyzed salivary glands refused to moisten the
pulverulent subject-matter, and thought of those thievish Hindoos who are detected
by their vain endeavor to moisten rice flour in their wicked mouths.

* I put away Cabltlk, and went out to go to my school. The sun shone clear;
but very cold were the icy ground and piercing wind. People went about like
the smoking lamps which the patriarch dreamed of in old time : the simple-
minded man with his mouth wide open, pouring forth curling, graceful volumes of
lung-steam ; the business man, the tight-minded and sly, with mouth close shut,
and two swifl squirts of steam darting forth ever and anon from either nostril.
Warm men hurried on with heads up and confident step. Cold men shambled
along with that spreadedness of arms peculiar to them, and to persons who have
fallen into the water.

*• I went to school and taught — and came back. I could not ask to be paid in
advance : I knew that my Principal was a genuine man. I came up Broadway,
borne up on the tide of life which rushes every day along the outer edge of the
western side-walk. Beautiful women, handsome men, busy tradesmen, well-
dressed ^dn«t<r« ; and every one of them looked as if he had at least five dollars,
beside small change, in his pocket. I began to be bitterly angry. Why was
not / in such a case ? Why should not youth and health bring wealth with
them? Can I not use and enjoy this miserable money better than nine-tenths of
all these that have enough to spare ? It almost choked me to think that my
poverty should shut me out from all those happy faces and merry hearts. I think
I must have looked as *■ ugly ' as I felt ; for I saw a most startled and surprised ex-
pression on the face of a fair young girl, whose eye I caught as I went scowling
and grumbling along.

*' I had an old silver seal, which had belonged to my grand-father. I stopped

at a jeweller's in Broadway, a Frenchman's — one G : I offered to sell him

the trinket. He shook his head, looked sour, and pointed to the door, in a way
peculiar to dissatisfied Frenchmen. I enunciated a very general curse upon all
of his nation, and left his shop, making to myself various revengeful and disparag-
ing remarks upon himself and his compatriots.

* I stopped at a baker's in Greene-street, and bought one pound of crackers. It
was the last money I had that bought them. I trembled with inward shame and
rage, as I tossed the money on the counter ; for I saw the two shop-girls giggle
and wink to one another. They evidently understood the case. And they were
fair, pleasant-looking girls too. I was astonished as well as enraged that they
should laugh.

* A well-dressed young woman stood at the counter eating pie, or some such
confect. I did not envy her the dainty ; but that she could afford it. And I
liked her : I thought that she did not laugh. I cast a savage look upon the two
giggling girls, which made them smooth their faces suddenly, and left the shop.
But I resolved that at some future time, when I should have more money, I would
go thither and devour pie and cake until I could eat no more, and buy a vast
quantity of crackers, just to show them that I was not poor, and to give them
withal a * blessing ^ for that heartless, unseasonable laughter of theirs.

' I returned to my cheerless den of a room : I sat down and gazed at the old
staring stove, and ate crackers again. I sat very long, boiling inwardly with
rage and mortification. * See,' said I to myself, * what I have come to. I, that
have been so delicately nurtured, have undertaken, in independence and nobility

420 Editoji^B Thble. [October,

of soul, to earn an honest livelihood for myself, and this is the bitter end ! I am
laughed at by two fools of shop-giris as I spend my last cent for a meal that a
beggar would scarcely relish. I wish they had been men, that I might hare In-
sulted them for their laughter! That is the portion of the poor in this God's
world — deyil*s world: nothing commands respect, that is not well dressed, and
does not eat pie. If I had called for a piece of pie instead of crackers, I should
not have been laughed at.' In such wise I sat until late In the evening, eommnn-
ing with the bitterness of my siurit.'

We have said that the foregoing, although a yery simple, was yet a *8ag-
gestive little sketch.* Let us explain why it is so : the writer is noi only now
able to buy * crackers,' but the establishments of the wealtluest of those who
make them — including *pies-an*-th]ngs,* of all sorts and de6cripti0]]& And
the lesson implied in all this, is that which we desire every strug^ing reader
of ours especially to bear in mind. We do not say, ^Labor omnia wncit ; ' tor
this is no more uniformly true than that the race is always to the swift^ or the
battle to the strong, or favor to men of skill: *but a * good heart* and peraever-
ranoe are winners, in nine cases out of ten.

Qossip WITH Readebs and Cobbespondents. — The subjoined Ansodatm qf
Thomcu Chittenden^ First Governor of Vermont, we derive from an estooned
Mend, one of the most distinguished of the sons of the unswervingly-patriotic
' Green Mountaui State ' : * During the time of Qovemor CmTHMiijm's admi-
nistration, the manners of the people were plain and simple ; and voy little
time or expense was devoted to the mere fbrms of social interooiii8& The
Governor was an extensive land-holder and cultivator of his own broid acresL
He did not disdain to labor with his own hands, and to perform any oflBoe^
however menial, which was either necessary or useful On one oocaaiaD the
Governor's friends from Albany, where much of ancient and finrml fatraual
dignity was still maintauied, came to dine with him ; and to their greatamaaemeDl;
and horror almost, the Governor's lady, just before the dinnerhoor, steiiped to
the door, with a tin horn, or trumpet, and blew a blast whidi made the cBstanft
hills reverberate with repeated echoes. On a sudden i^peared a coosideKable
force of fidd-laborers, who, when deanly washed and tidify dad, occupied one
end of the same table at which the Governor and his guests wcfe eniertauiied.
After dinner, some of the lady-guests took it upon them, in a mild and ooartitf
way, to admonish the hostess of the impn^riety <^ such ptODUBCiiooB iulv-
oourse with men of daily toil The good lady was on the alert, and when in-
quired of by her more aristocratic guests if it was their geneiil custom to ^ne
with their laborers at the same table ? * Yes,* said she^ *we ahrays faaTa: but
I have told the Governor that it was n't r^t that we who sat in the hoow
and did nothing, should eat at the first table with the hands iriio kbofed haid
all day. And I fed that it is not right ; but we always hare.* It is Beedhai

to add that the discourse was not pursued' 'On anotlier ooaBion, when

some one from a distance called upon the Governor upon bi]sinc8B» or (

1868.] Editor's Table. 421

and finding a man at the door of the mansion in ordinary working dress, he
inquired if the Govemor was at home ? Being answered in the affirmative, he
asked him to hold his horse by the bridle while he saw the Goyemor a moment
To this the man very readily acceded. The stranger entered the mansion ;
was shown to the lady of the house ; and in a very formal way inquired for
His Excellency. She said he was at the door. * I did not see him,' was the
reply. She stepped to the window, and added : * There he is, holding your
horse.* Numerous well-authenticated anecdotes of this character show at once
the very great simplicity of the Governor's mode of life, and his love of fun, in
creating playful surprises for his firiends.' - - - Nor a few of our readers,
certainly none who appreciate aright the great spirit and exalted genius of the
most distinguished poetartist of America, will fail to be interested in the
perusal of the following ^RemiwUcence of the Burial of Washington
AlUton:^

'The burial of Washington Allston was a singularly impressive and solemn
scene, and such as is but seldom witnessed. Every circumstance connected with
it seemed unasually felicitous and appropriate. The place was our old village
church-yard, in the midst of the scenes of the artist's youthful studies, close under
the shadow of the venerable buildings of the University where he had dwelt in
early life, and which contained the pictures that had first awakened in him the
love of his divine art, and the books that had nourished and strengthened his
early aspirations.

' I was starting to take my evening walk, and passed the ancient church-yard,
the same guarded on one side by the modest tower of the venerable church, and
on the other by the more pretending and lofty spire of Gothic times, that our
native poet, * the Holmes of Cambridge,' alludes to in the lines :

* LiLB sentinel and nun they keep
Their yigil on the green.'

I saw the gates opened to receive a new inmate, and recollecting that this was
about the hour at which the great artist was to be buried, I walked in, and seat-
ing myself on one of the quaintly-carved old tomb-stones, awaited the coming of
the sad procession. For some reason, the funeral services had been long delayed,
and it was now dark. Heavy clouds covered the face of the sky, and hurrying
across it, showed glimpses of the moon only at distant intervals. The air was
chUly, but pleasant, (for it was June, I think,) and the place and the occasion
were well adapted to awaken serious meditation. I walked round among the
graves of buried men of old times, who had spent their Uves in the service of the
University — old Presidents, professors, and tutors who had faithfully done their
great work, and been turned long ago to dust, their learning and virtues perpe-
tuated in most choice Latin on the broad, fiat stones above their heads. It
seemed a fit place in which to lay the remains of the great man who had just
passed away so calmly and peacefully in this scene of early trial and discipline,
and by the side of those by whom his youthful feet had been guided. But a few
steps from the church and from the bustling road, the family tomb was opened to
receive him.

' While I was dreamily meditating on all these things, the procession came
slowly through the open gates, and moved toward the tomb, where the bier was
let down upon the grass. Two clergymen, in their robes, then read from the
solemn burial-service of the Church of England, by the dim light of the sexton's

422 Editor's Table. [October,

lantern. Around were gathered, in melancholj silence, the arti0t*8 dearest
friends — the wife of his bosom, a few of the friends and companions of hi8 youth,
the admirers of his genius and virtues, the friends who had lored for years, to Tisit
him in his home, and listen to the words of eloquence and beauty that dropped,
sweeter than honey, from his lips, and who felt that now their dearest friend was
taken from them. At length the solemn words, ' Dusli to dust, ashes to ashes,'
were pronounced, and the body was borne in deep silence into the tomb, and all
was darkness, save a red light glimmering at a distance among the grares. Then
slowly the g^oup of mourners departed, and the church-yard was deserted, except
by a few curious and reverent spectators who waited, like mjrsell^ to see the end.
The coffin was taken again from the tomb and laid upon the grass, and the lid re>
moved, that the leaden cover within might be fitted and fastened in its place*
The moon, at this moment, came out bright and clear, and shone full on the calm,
upturned face of the dead. The few witnesses to this solemn sight were struck
with awe, and even the rude plumbers paused in reverence before they proceeded
to their work.

* There lay the great artist in the sleep of death ; his long, curling, ^ver hair
was parted on his pale brow, and his hand was laid upon his great heart. That
mighty hand which had but just rested from its last touches on the majestic figure
of the Babylonian Queen, lay cold upon his breast. He had thought to rest for
the night, and God had called him into His everlasdng rest.

' Never did even the genius that once dwelt in that motionless form eoncelTe a
picture more solemn than was composed by that little group in the ancient church-
yam, under the shadow of the spire. After a reverent pause, the leaden eo^er
of the coffin was soldered in its place, the coffin returned to the tomb, the stone
laid upon its mouth, and the earth heaped over it. The church-yard gates were
closed, and all departed. I remained some time after all had gone, deqidy moved
by what I had seen, and at last, following the narrow path among the graves by
which the little children pass to the village school, I went out again into the
busy street.'

\b not this a graphic picture ? - - - ' T. G. S.* sends us the fijUowiiig^ and
vouches for its truth : * Lying is held in all ChristiaQ ooimtries to be one of tlie
lowest and most degrading of vices ; but there is now and then a man who, tba
by constant practice in some particukr line of mendacity, beoomes so escort
as rather to excite the admiration of his aoquaintanoe for his ii^;eDnitf and
address. Of this stamp is a personage well known to the people aboal lb|
head of Lake Ghamplidn, and to all travellers who ever had oooasNQ toga
over the old stage-route from Whitehall to Saratoga. He was for muxf jmm
the agent for that most execrable line of stages, and had every qpialiiy for hit
ofQce. He was industrious, wide-awake, and fidthful to the intereBts of Ub
employers, with no other vice but that of lying — a uselul gj3t on i3M
route — which by high cultivation, he had made one of *the fine miBL*
Every traveller who ever saw hun will remember him and his broken proitilM*'
It chanced, some three or four years ago, that the conversation which epgyomad
the tongues of a knot of gentlemen in the bar-room of the St OhaileB WM^
New-Orleans, was about Liars. At length a gentleman from Nodfaem HnJF*
York said he would wager *the ^fluids* all round that he could Bama J^if
most unblushuig and ingenious liar in America.* *Donel' en^awnwl . j|
Southerner : * whom do you name ? ' * I name A. B , stage-ageatof Wbttt*

1858.] Mlitor'8 Table. 423

hall, New-York,' said the Northerner. *The deuce you do I' cried the as-
tonished Southron : it 's no bet : you ^ve got my man /' ' - - - *No, Mr.

''Bachelor B ^,' we can't admit the praise of your * dass of the community,'

as a set-off to the encomiums bestowed upon * Old Maida^ in our last number.
There is as much difference between the two examples cited, as there is be-
tween the bark of a tree and the bark of a dog. There is a much better-
enforced truth in the ensuing ^ picture in little ' of a bachelor * at quarters :

' Rbturnino home at close of day,
Who gentlj chides mr long delay,
And hy my bide delights to stay ?

Nobody,

* Who sets for me the easy-chair,
Sets out the room with neatest care,
And lays my slippers ready there ?

Nobody.

* Who regulates the cheerful fire,
And piles the blazing fuel higher.

And olds me draw my chair still nigher ?

Nobody.

' When sickness racks my feeble fVame,
And grief distracts my feyered brain,
I Who sympathizes with my pain ?

Nobody.'

* 'T is true, 't is pity, and pity 't is 't is true ! ' - - - There is a touch of
genuine satire in the ensuing passage from a ^Fourth-of-Juhf-Excurdor^ sent
to us * when time was,' and now first published, which will not escape the
attention of the reflective reader :

' When about six years old, I was sent three or four miles into the country, for
the benefit of my health, which had been slender from my infancy. After having
remained as long as was thought advisable, my mother sent for me again, and the
good folks with whom I had been residing confided me to the hands of a stage-
driver, whose vehicle passed the house, and who promised to take care of me.
His * care ' consisted in thrusting me into a crowded stage, and shutting the door
upon me without ceremony, where I stood in the bottom, looking round upon its
inmates. It has been said too often to be repeated here, that there is something
in a benevolent face that instantly attracts the attention of a child. He loves it
instinctively from the first glance. Such a face I now gazed upon. It belonged
to a portly gentleman in a pepper-and-salt suit, who occupied one of the middle
seats. He was conversing earnestly with a personage in green spectacles, who,
I learned from the conversation, was the author of a little book then just pub-
lished, and called the * Parents' Guide : by one who Loves Little Children.'

^ ^ If I have a weakness,' said the author, continuing the conversation ; * if I
have a weakness, it is my love for little children.' * Weakness ! ' exclaimed the
gentleman with the benevolent countenance ; *call it not a weakness! A tender,
judicious regard for helpless chilhood is one of the strongest, the manliest of vir-
tues. There is something in my eyes so holy in unsophisticated — '

* At this instant, the stage making a lurch, I was thrown off my feet, and
pitched head-foremost into the stomach of the * benevolent' gentleman. He
uttered an * intensive,' called me somebody's * brat,' and then seizing me by the
arm, flung me from him. As I staggered about, I stood on the corns of the
gentleman who * loved little children.' He in turn became enraged, and lifting

424 Hditor^s TaNe. [October,

his leg suddenly and yigorously, tossed me upon the tender sympAthy of his neigb-
bor again. I began to fear that I had fallen among the Philistines, and to won-
der whether this might be called * judicious * treatment or not, when a kind old
lady, who sat on a back-seat, offered to take the * little dear * on her knee. I
gratefully accepted the proposal, and clambering over the middle-seat, in which I
was materially assisted by the elbow of the benerolent gentleman, I was soon
placed comfortably in her lap, as I supposed.

'Now this lady happened to have one of those capacious pockets once worn by
our grand-mothers, and which have been not inaptly called, by a distinguished
American statesman, the * receptacles of things lost upon earth.' I once partiafly
emptied one of these belonging to an old aunt. In it were cork-screws, knives,
snuff, gimblets, spools of wood and brass, thimbles of steel and silver, dried apfdes,
darning-needles, yam, two dough-nuts as hard as a brickbat, a dream-book, etc.,
etc. I do n^t know how long a catalogue I could have made, for my aunt, coming
in before I had got half through, vetoed all further removal of the deposits.
What my kind hostess had in hers, I know not. There appeared to be many
things, and as it lay directly across her knee, of course I was seated on it. That
needles were there, I am well convinced, for at every jolt of the stage I felt the
whole length of one. For four long, long miles I suffered in tlus way. Occasion^
ally I endeavored to get rid of the evil by shifting my position ; but that I fomid
only served to move the point of attack to a fresh part. I was too proud to speak
or cry out, for I felt that I had already occasioned my share of interruption to
the passengers. Several times, however as the iron seemed to enter deeper than
ever, I turned upon the good lady a face as I supposed, of unutterable agtmy ; but
she must have mistaken its expression, for she answered it only with a nod, and a
smile of such good-natured benevolence, that it completely snbdaed aU resentment
I might feel for the torture I was enduring. We read of the agony caused by a
' pricking conscience.* If it in any wise resembles the agony caused by that
pricking in my trowsers, I most sincerely commiserate the owner of sooh a omni-
science. But we have already arrived at ^ Oak Grove.*

* This spot I found to be perfectly familiar to me, for it had once been a fiivor-
ite resort, though it then went by another and less fashionable name. It was on
one of the high banks of the river, which here swept along with greater force than
at any other point, as has been already mentioned. A semi-cirde of thick wood,
composed of noble oaks, surrounded the area, which was completely shaded firom
the sun by an awning of canvas. About a quarter of a mUe below were the
Falls.

* We had arrived late, and the company had already sat down to the prind|Ml
collation of the day. Every one was too busy then for me to recognize old friendly
or to seek an introduction to new ones : so leaving that budness to the chances of
the day, at last, to my infinite relief, the stage stopped, and the old lady got out.
Turning round, she kissed me on both cheeks : said I was a nice, quiet boy : hoped
my mother had many more like me ; and then bade me good-by. I in torn tried
to thank her for the misery I had endured ; but the words stack in my throit,
and if I had died for it, I could n*t have said ' Amen 1 * I have been shy of sndi
seats ever since.*

* And with good reason.* ... * Havb we yet strode the ' Bidge-Boid!'

asked *■ Ollapod,* on his first trip to Niagara^ in a stage-coach, as it wis pi«-
mg through the western region of our noblest Stite. * Oh ! yes indeedy/ an-
swered a voluble old maid, who had ambushed faun into a oonTersatkNi : * Ukat

1858.] Editor's Table. 425

were the Ridge-Road, which we had stricken upon the hill, o'er which the driver
have just riz.' We think of this, not unfrequently, in running over the multi-
tudinous * poems ' which are sent us for insertion in the Knickerbocker. And
we here heg leave to say, as a sort of precaution to our rhyming correspondents,
that when we find words abbreviated, such as ^'neath' for beneath, and its
kindred ellipticals, it evinces such poverty of language, such mere pen-and-ink
work, that it Ogives us pause,' and with it the go-by to the effusion itself
Pick us out some few scores of these ellipses, in Bryant, Longfellow, Hal-
LECE, Holmes, or WHirriER, please. The first, sometimes, to illustrate the
perfect smoothness of his verse, will give you perhaps a foot too much : as in

the line,

* Gentle and voluble Spirit of the Air ! '

but, like a &int sound that actually deepens the sense of silence, it is all the
more felicitous. Pray ^ think on these things.' Such is not the language of
nature — certainly not of taste. A snobbling or snoblesse talks to you of * a
gent,' or of his ^ pants,' and you are shocked ; look that you be also shocked at
an curtdled words, compressed into *feet' of less than Chinese dimensions.
We prefer (*in a horn' of a dilemma) the lengthening out of a word by ac-
cented letters : or a prolongation like that mentioned by Fannt Eemble, of a
Yankee singing-leader who had commenced a long-metre tune to a short-metre
psalm, in which the name of Jacob required splicing, as follows :

*Ja-ee^y fol de riddle cob.*

Let us entreat our correspondents to * reform this altogether.' It is a sure sign,
not only of a total lack of genius, but of good manipukr taste. - - - Many
a bereaved parent's heart will mournfully respond to these tender and touch-
ing lines from the ^Providence Daily Journal:

* When the baby died, we said,
With a sudden, secret dread,

* Death, be merciful, and pass :
Leave the other ; ' but, alas !

* While we watched, he waited there,
One foot on the golden stair.

One hand beckoning at the gate,
Till the home was desolate.

* Friends say, * It is better so.
Clothed in innocence to go : '
Say, to ease the parting pain,
That * Tour loss is but their gain.'

* Ah ! the parents think of this !
JBiU remeniber more the hiss ;
From the lUile rose-red lipSy
And the print of finger-tips

* Left upon a broken top,

Will remind them how the boy
And his siHer charmed the days
With their pretty vfineome ways,

* Only Time can give relief

To the weary, lonesome grief:
God's sweet minister of pain
Then shall sing of loss and gain.'

Mothers will feel this I - - • The h&st number of Blackwood's Magazine

426 Editor's TcMe. [October,

(the last, as we write) contains a scathing paper upon Jomr Ruskir, whose
own 'works of arV are in ludicrous contrast with his pretensioiis and
transcendental criticisms upon the artistical performances <^ others. We knovr
just such artist- 'critics' in this country ; and literaij critiGS, too^ of the same
stamp; who, without producing, and without the abiliiy to piroduoe^ aoj
worthy thing themselves, have yet 'illustrated* (save the maikl) eminent
authors to such a degree, that they almost &ncy thenmkei the great writefs
whom they so adsdtitiously praise, and of whose ' good worics ' tiiey ha^e no
more thorough appredation, than three-fourths of the readers wbom they may
chance to have secured for their pen-and-ink ezerdtattons. We are proouBed
an artide upon this latter dass, quite apropo% to the one we haye mentioned,
and fix)m which we now proceed to sdect a few brief passages. Obeenre that
Mr. Dtuiky^B Opinions on Art,'* in this connection, are deli?ered after a hmried
visit to the Royal Academy Exhibition :

* Thb first thing that strikes me in the work of the present year ia, that tboaafa
all other seasons and times of the day are reprodncea in laodsCHM, (ezoepi toe
pitch dark of a winter's night, which it would be difficult for any onuo, in tfie pie-
sent state of art, to place satisfactorilj on canvas.) yet that partieolar state of the
atmosphere which exists in the month of August, from about five minuteB before two
to about twentv minutes ^fter, when the sun's sultrj^ and lavish splendor is tinged
with some foreboding offals decline, and when nature is, as it were, takin|r her tieSta,
is no where sought to be conveyed. I thought, on first lookingr at a amfiU pietnre in
the east room of the Academy, that this htahu had been filled up; bn^ on fortber
study, I perceived that the picture in question had been painted ra&er earlier, (aboat
fiye-and-twenty minutes betore two is the time I should assisn to it,) and is thwefore
deficient in many of the chief characteristics of the rema»able period I alln^ to.
How comes it, too, that, amid all the rendering of grass and flowenk there is sol a
single dandelion — a fiower which has often nven to me, no leas than to Woana-
woBTH, thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears ;' nor a gronp of toadstoola,
which can gire interest to a fore-ground else bald and barren ; nor among the minate
studies of insects^ a daddy-longlegs, swaying delightfully across the path, and danetng
to inaudible music, as the mio-day zephyr waves the slender fabrics of nis goasamer
home ? I am surprised, too, to find (so far as my survey has enabled me to note)
that there are nowhere any frogs, though erery artist who painted oat-of-doora in the

them a place in heraldry ; and their ideas are generally valuable to artista, and worth
studying, both for their literal exactness andtheir allegorical signiflcanoe. Let aa
have some frogs next year.

*NuMBBB Eiohtbbn: *A Man washinff his Hands: (J. Pbio.)— A atra hi the
right direction. The painting of the nalu-brush, showing where firiotlon naa worn
away and channelled the bristles in the middle, is especially good. But how eomea
it that, the nail-brush having been evidently made use of, the water in the basin is still
pellucid, with no soap apparent, either superficially or in solution f This ovei^al^t I
should not haye expect^ in so clever an artist Even granting deameaa to the
water, the pattern or the bottom of the basin visible through it is of a diibient cha-
racter from the exterior of the vessel, which is not the case in any apeeimcn of tiial
particular delf which has come under my notice.

*NuMBBB Twbktt-Foub: This is directly imitative both of Tnux and Gbomb
Cbuikshank, with SMrra's handling, and a good deal of Bbowii*8 manner.

* Numbbb Twbntt-Ninb : As I told this artist last year, he is deficient in ftdneaa of
form and looseness of texture. He should, therefore, for some years, pahit nothfaig
but mops of various colors, (without the handles,) wnich would give him wooUaaia
and rotundity. On the other hand, the painter of ' Number Thirty-two ' has too mneh
of these qualities, with too little firmness in his darks ; and I should recommend him,
as a counteracting infiuence, to study only blocks of coal — not the oonmion eoaly
which is too dull, but the kennel or candle coal — a perseverance in which praetioe he
will find attended by the happiest results.

* Thb Nativitt : This is nearly perfect. The infont, which at first appeara to be
wearing a broad-brimmed straw nat, is distinguished by a peculiar hato» in wfakh
there is no trace of servile imitation of those Msnrd pretenders known aa the old

1858.] Editor's Table. 427

masters. Thoughtless and superficial observers hare objected to the angel holding
the lantern, as an office inconsistent with the dignity of the angelic nature ; sajing,
too, that the act has some officiousness, since the lantern mij^ht have been placed on
the ground or hung on a naiL For my own part, I consider the idea eminently
happy ; and if one of the other angels had been represented as snuffing the candle
with ner fingers, my admiration would have been complete.

' Number FoRTr : The sky is weak and heavy, the aistance too hazy, the middle
distance absurd, and the foreground like a cart-load of bricks ready for use. How-
ever, on the whole, I consider this the leading picture of the year.'

Open to objectioii, perhaps, on the score of strong censure ; but the censure,
it Yn\\. be perceived, is admirably discriminated : and after all, is n*t this better
than the owl-like wisdom with which not a few of our modern literary * critics *
applaud works which are known and beloved of all, as if they themselves were
the demonstrators, if not the discoverers. - - - The following is a transfer,
OS our * memory serves,' of a story told us by a metropolitan friend the other
day: but our readers must bear one thing in mind, and that is, that it is as
impossible to give the * intoned * version of * our informant,' as it was for him
to repeat the nasal twang and indescribable manner of his derico-artistic ex-
emplar : * During a short sojourn recently, in the * modem Athens,' said our
fiiend, *I visited, as every stranger in Boston should do, the photographic
rooms of Mr. S. Masury. While looking at the * counterfeit presentments' of
some of the most noted of Boston celebrities, with which the rooms do much
abound, there came in a queer-looking personage, bearing under one arm a
roll of paper. A comical dog he was — a sort of mixture : a cross, appa-
rently, between a Vermont horsejockey and a Methodist parson. His speech
was a most attenuated drawl, with the camp-meeting style of ending. Seating
himself and depositing on the floor beside him a seedy-looking hat, he eyed
the company present with a curious and deliberate stare. After some minutes
he flxed his gaze on Mr. Masury, the proprietor, and approached him, unroll-
ing as he advanced the paper bundle. His story I will give you in his own words,
only regretting that I cannot convey the tone and style : * If the proprietor is
disengaged, I 'd like to speak with him a few minits. I have for sale tew
picters, but before I show yeou the picters, I 'd like to tell yeou who I a-am.
My name is De Forest: I 'm a minister of the Gospel, ewesed up for the past-
rage, n' account o' deefeness. The picters I got to show yeou are tew — the

* Lord's Pra-i-r-e,' and * Go-and-Sin-n'-More.' Around the border you '11 see ten
«7i-gels, each one on 'em is givin' utterance to one of the ten commandments :
also a bee-hive, which is the emblem of industree. Lest any gentleman should
be disposed to deoubt the truth of what I 'm tellin', I '11 show yeou my cr^cn-
tials. (Here Mr. Db Forest produced from his pocket a greasy memorandum-
book and continued.) These cre-dentials air from some of the first men in ower
kentree : read across both pages, if you please : many of those names are no
deoubt familiar to yeou : they all patemized me during my stay in Washing-
ton. One gentleman, who has ten children, took ten copies of the * Lord's
Praire,' and said he was sorry he had n't ten more children, that he might give
each one o' t?iem a copee. Governor Floyd, of Virginee, he took three copees of

* Gro-and-Sin-n'-More,' and would ev taken a copy of the 'Lord's Praire,' but ho
liad n t no place to put it This pictur, * Go-and-Sin-n'-More,' you '11 perhaps
reecoUect the circumstances on : when the Scribes and Pharisees brought beforo
oiu: Saviour the woman taken in the act of adultreQ : these were the same

VOL. LII. 28

428 JEdU<»^8 Table. [October

party that made broad their philactrees ; you 11 see the phUactrees on the
crowns o' thdr hats. I saj, when they brought the woman, they said in
MeOsss* time such would be stoned — what sa/st thou ? ((uide) — this they
said, tempting Imn. Our Sayioub stooped down and wrote on the gredund,
making bleeve Hb did n*t hear 'em, and pretty soon they all sneaked edui
Then He looked up at the woman and said, * Who hath oondon'd thee V * No
one, Lord.' * Neither do I condemn thee : go and sin n' more.' The prindpal
figer in this plate is our Sayioub, a very correct likeness from an oreegmal
dauguerre-eH>-type, nedw in the possession of the &mily. We charge you
tew dollars for the picter, and charge nothing for the key. Won*t any gentle-
man take a copee? Won't you say you'll take a copeet I stopped into a
milliner's-shop dedwn here a-piece, and every young lady took a copee ci the
'Lord's Praire,' and they all said they 'd like ' €h>-and-Sin-n'-More^' but they
could n't afford tew, the times was so hard. Tew dollars for the picter and
nothing for the key. I come very nigh selling Mr. Buchanah a *Q<MUidrSin-
n'-More,' but he oonde&ded to wait till after his term was out, and he 'd retired
into private life. If no gentleman wants a copee 1 11 be gdng. Qood bye,
gentlemen: I hope by the time I come aredund again youH all be ready to
take a copee of * Go4uid-Sin-n'-More.' ' And hereupon Ifr. Ds Fobbt departed,
with his bundla A few suggestions, * in this connection : ' The * deefemess *
claimed by our artist-divine as an excuse for leaving the ministry, oould hardly
have been valid for his congregation deserting Mm^ if we may infer what sort of
ministrations his must have been : but he might have been as 'deefe * as a post^ it
seems to us, without greatly affecting his preaching. We are sorry to find that
Governor Floyd had * no place for the Lord's Prayer ' among his * Go4Uid-Sin-
no-Mores : ' sorry that the poor sewing-girls had to dedine the ktter, because
times were so hard; (a terrible satire, too truly 'founded,' we foar :) and Tvy
sorry that our worthy ' President' should have found it necessary to make
such a 'plea in bar' of such a purdiase as was tendered him. But Ifr. Be
Forest will be aredund again. • - • Whbm our long-time oorrespoDdent,
Mr. John G. Saxb, was 'out West' last winter, delivering his poem entitled
'TanJcee Land^^ the writer of the ensuing lines ('S. B. G.*) was requested to
introduce him to an audience at Terre Haute, Indiana, whidi he did, we think
our readers will admit, in a manner almost equal to that of his sulgect :

< Gk)0D people, we are met to-night,
Not to bebold some raree sigh^
To gaze on elephant or bear,
Though sure enough a lion 's here ;
Who iSj and all the world doth know it,
A genume live Yankee poet.

' He comes with rich and nusy rhyming,
WiUi sparkling wit and wisdom diimuig.
To tell us of toe Yankee nation,
Whose fame extends o'er all creation :
How JovATHAM at homo is bred ;
How. ere he leaves the parent-sned,
He visits, in pursuit of Knowledge,
The country-school — the fknuers college ;
Of pennies how he never lost one.
Except when he 'went down to Boston,*
When lack of dinner tamed his head.
And — smack they went — for ginger-bread*
And how he plods through weiry ndlea
In quest of fickle Fortune's amiiea ;

1658.] £!iiitor>a Taile.

Him oat to work, hj moutb or day,
At chapping wood, or making ha; ;
Aod wbuv uio fuiner*! gnflB he'smowlDg,
To kill two birds, lu* dauehter'g wooiDg:
And how, whsD Cofid'b blnnted dart
BeboDndlug (torn the tUr one'i heart.
Haw, when ihe frowns, with Borrow (loitten,
He meeklT taket the proffered milten ;
But knowing no tneh word aa ■ fUl,'
WhcD •Tening ipraada bar diuk7 *eil,
Beneath the woo>dbiDe'B clostering ihade
He plies anew the blnihing maid :
She jielda, and oh I au[iemB] bliu I
Ha seals the oootract witb a kiss ;
Safito the'Squini: ' 1 're got a notion.
If 70a 'II set OD joar dangBer's portion.
To add mj nages to the palf,
And go to keepm' boose mjselC
' How JoKATHAV, will, p.itient toil.
Gleans fulliiMB from his sterile noil:
Diga graDilc from New-Gnglajid hillt.
To bniid her towers sod cotton-mills ;
Or ft'om the land that gave him birtb
He wandera o'er this little earth :
Eip1o«a the aea with Tenturoua ana ;
In the Pacifio elrikes the whde :
FroDH China brings
r, Soucbo

jpowiler, Souchong, and Bo

Sets up a tavern at MoUnias,
Or plnnta a colon; in Kansas ;

Ent,'

To bleaa the rising generation ;
Or to the Uissionary Board
OlTes free); of his prudent hoard.
And sends the Qoapel'a joyful sound.
To gladden earth's remotest boond.
• Where'er he goes, where'er he stays,
Aa up and down the world he strays,
' New-England' stiU attracts his soul.

thouthtotBunkerHill,
Or patenlad a new-hora mill.
' And where thy sons with lore profbiind,
Their trophies reap on classic ground ;
Where pioua Faith her altar rears,
Where J uBtice stern ber ponierd bears.
Or where thy counsels znide the 8Ule,
There, there, New-Eng^d, thou art great I

'But yield, my mnse, thy humble Sight
To one who scales the starry height,
Aa taper-Same, witb feeble ray.
Pales in the IiEht of rising day j
And while ber bard with graphic s(oi7
Dehnesles New-England's Rlory,
Himself shall prove her hiiher claim
To record on tbe scroll of fame.
In one high niche among her great.
Which doth its coming tenant nut.
Amid the honored of her land,
New-Euglaod's bard, her Sah, shall stand.
Mj task is done, and nothing lacks
But to present you Jom O. Saxi.'

430 JEiitor's TcMe. [October,

An admirable introduction I - - - We had, some months ago, a little
critical af&ay with a celebrated German Biblical commentator, and also with
the author of the ^ Coast Survey' of this Republia Our 'viewB' were at-
tacked by a sectarian religious weekly piint of Boston : and had not the
^Traeeller ' daily journal of that city generously come to the defence of those
views, we should perhaps have been accused, even to this day, of venturing
comments upon subjects whereof we were * mainly ignorant* The reception
given to the before-mentioned * views,' makes it an almost ungrateful task to
enter upon any matter of a * deep ' scientific natura Now, through a habitual
perusal of the ^Boston Medical and Surgical Journal (of whidi our firioid
and correspondent, Dr. W. W. Morland, is one of the 'dual' editors,) in
which medical and surgical * hard cases ' of rare interest are often reported, we
have come to regard ourselves as in some degree qualified to offer 'suggestions,'
if not prepared to tender precise ^ professional advice.' The last number in
August is a rich one, what with its original communications, and its editorial
and medical intelligence. We reserve our comments upon the first paper,
until we can give an autopsy of the ' subject,' which he bids fiur soon to be-
come, if the diagnosis (a * curtidled abbreviation, compressing all the particulars')
is correctly stated. The disease was Ato^n/c MeX^ervf, of a most aggravated
type. The subjoined segregated symptomatic 'items' will fiunish such q)e-
cific information in relation to the case, as will enable our readers to judge of
its character with a reliance as entire as our own :

*Thos. Welbt, sBtat. 38 years: married — Irish — shoe-maker — intemperate:
admitted 28th Aug. : reported himself sick three years : was in hospital County
Galway, Ireland. Stait : skin dry ; heart-sounds normal : a little deaf in both
ears. No afiection of external ears : (^Ear ^Ear I) Expectorated nymtdaUd
sputa : clear percussion over *■ both backs and fronts : ' resonant voice between
Bcapula9, with crackling : sat down on the bed : ndsed first, right hand — then both
together: legs stretched out stiff: mouth wide open. Right eye shut — left eye
wide open: could put out his tongue — did: purulent sputa: mouth drawn to
right side: doesnH answer — doesnH appear to see: replies when spoken to, hut
gives same answer to every question : seems as if half-drunk, and probably is.'

Here follows a ^Tdble of Joints ' connected with the case, including the
' five p'ints,' and embracing in the aggregate three hundred and ninefy-eight
p'ints I We have condensed the prominent fiicts, on different days, into one
connected syllabus, for the benefit of our medical readers. We shall offer
no comments upon the treatment of this case, until we see whether the patient
survives it We Tiave an opinion, of course, and a veiy dedded one ; but we
wish first to ascertiun whether it is in the an^e of coincidence with that ci oor
readers. When this is ascertained, we shall ' make a note of it' We begpui
to read the foregoing to our countiy neighbor and ftkaad, Dr. Long, a moment
ago, when he interrupted us with : 'Oh I that's an ordinary case:' but before
we had concluded, he admitted it was ' an extraor^nary case.' - - - Son
wag has sent us a ^Prospectus of the Atlantic Cable of Science and Litera-
ture: a Journal of the Timeo^-Day,^ The burlesque upon modem new
newspaperial promises is very rich, but something too elaborate and extended.
' BiLLT BowLBOS, Esq., will have the entire charge of the aboriginal d^Murt

1^68.] Editor's Table. 431

ment : a distinguished *Pluo-Uglt/ of Baltimore, and a highly talented * Dead
Rabbit/ of New-York, are engaged on its physical columns; while *Cow-
LEOGED Sam ' will * devote his best energies to the criminal division of the pro-
posed sheet I ' - - - The following cordial and appreciative notice of the
Knickerbocker is firom the

of Calcutta, India. Since the highly-gratifying notices of this Magazine which
appeared, as our old readers will remember, in the Canton ^Celestial Moon of
NetoSj and the Turkish ^Orh of Mind-Delight,^ published in Constantinople,
we have seen nothing that was more oontributary to our self-gratification
than this brief but comprehensive tribute :

<TO\t "ilofha ^i^ni ^q^^Iol^nX

mtq ^iTMl^ ctgti ^HA \W Cirf 01

It vnU be our pleasure and our pride to strive, to the best of our ability, to
merit the high praise so generously awarded to us. - - - We answer an
inquiry of * C. B.' and * G. L. S.* with the following passage from one of
George Kendall's Texas letters to the New-Orleans ^Picai/une : '

* We shall all have an abundance and to spare in Texas this &11. The wheat crop
is of course already gathered, and the yield has been immense. The corn crop,
much even of the second planting, which was put in the eround after the grasshop-
pers had left, is as good as made, and again tne yield will be great. Cotton looks
well in every quarter, and from the sugar-growins sections we have no other than
the most flattering accounts. Of peaches and melons we have enough for all crea-
tion : our stock of all kinds — cattle, horses, and sheep — is fairly rolling in fat;
wild grapes, plums, and cherries may be gathered in a profusion unknown in other
countries : of sweet potatoes, tomatoes, cabbageSj and other vegetables, we are raising
all that we can ea^ and our entire population is more than iiopeful — it is joyous.
Governor Runnels can afford to ffive us two thanksgivings this year : we can H get
through in one day. There 's balm in Texas.'

Vide * Knick ' Prospectus I - - - The * first &milies' in the penal colonies
of Australia, as we gather from a friend, a recent voyager to those regions, are
in trouble. They are at a loss what to do with their domestic crimiiial popula-

482 £!iUar^s TcMe. [Ooto1)er,

ticm ! Infractors of the oobnial laws abound : and to what lone iale in the
midst of the sea shall they be sent, to atone for oflfenoos against person and
property, is the pregnant and exciting question. Qigantie swmdlefB at 'ome^
(bla&sted mnfiE^ ye-kno,') now resident capitalists at Sydney and lidboome^
are agitating this vital matter. The eyes (^ the world are upon them, and also
upon the said world's podcets. - - - Ton sometimes remark, do you not,
reader, as you walk along the great business thorou^ififfes (tf this our beloved
metropolis, signs indicating that ^ArtisU^ MaterkUs ' are to be found within t
Now do you know how much that term embraces ? If you say * No^' then wo
ask you to step in at Number One Hundred and Eleven Fultonrstzeet, and
glance over the stock in the beautiful store of Messrs. Masust axd Whitom;
probably the largest dealers in this branch of constantly-increasing trade in the
United States. It is a general d6p6t of Artists' Materials, hr tiie trade^ of
any and every conceivable description. The very number astonishes u& The
index alone, of the handsome catalogue^ now before as, enumerates some three
hundred and seventy articles, engraved representati<ms of many of whidi Qf
at all instrumental) are also given. White lead and zinc paints, ccdors, and
brushes; materials for house, ship, and sign-painting; for painting in dl-
oolors — brushes, palettes, palette-knives, easels, diairs, tentt^ boxes, et&:
materials for Daguerreotypists, lithographers, et id genus omne : including a

* constant and fuU supply ' of Winsob and Newton's celebrated oil and water-
colors, canvases, moist water-colors, in tubes and pans, mill-boards, eta Of a
verity, ' the name is legion ' of these and kindred ' tools and things.' But then
is one admirable thing, which is not even mentioned in the catalogue we have
been considering: the most beautiful, the most various, and the most interest-
ing invention of modem times : we mean the Stereoeoope, For a twelvemonth
and a day could we sit and look through this wonderful instrument at views
of world-renowned dties, edifices, and God's great scenery. It is not paint-
ing— not modeling — not drawing: it ia reproduoticn» *I doubt much,*
said a firiend this moment at our elbow, who has visited and res^tod in almost
every portion of Europe, ^ I doubt much if I should have gone abroad, at aO,
could I have seen, with such perfect efifect, the now fiuniliar ot^fects heie repte-
sented: they are perfeeV Mr. Willis, who has 'been areGmid' a good deal

* on the other side^' says of them, m the ^Home Journal : '

* When last in town, I called in, at the invitation of our near neighbors in
Fulton-street, (MASuar and Whiton) and with one of those new manrda, a stereo-
scopic instroment, held to my eye, examined the succession of pboitographie views
placed in the socket. Here were daguerreotypes of the most celebrated qMts on
the face of the globe — reproduced under the lens — exaeUy at 00m hp ike irmeel
lert I saw Egypt and its ruins, the Nile and its turbaned boatmen; the Bo»>
phorus and Oonstantinople ; the Golden Horn and the Mosque of Santa Sophia;
Greece and its Acropolis ; Rome and its palaces and oolumns ; Vienna and Its
Scbonbrunn and gardens : Switzerland and its picturesque people, its vales and
mountains: Spain and its Alhambra, its royal structures and romantio soeneiy;
the Pyrenees, the Tyrol and the wonderful monuments of science and art in the
bridged chasms and torrents over which rail-roads now smoothly pass ; and JParia
with its galleries and gardens, in views innumerable, Just as they dasda Iha %j%
and delight the curiosity of the stranger.

1858.] EdiUn^s Table. 438

'But onlj think, how, bj this new art, exact knowledge of all parts of the
world are brought within every body's reach I With an instrument and its
views — costing from fiye to twenty dollars, according to the size and number — the
farmer may call his family around the evening lamp, and, almost veritably, pass
an hour or two in Europe or in the East ! They would not get a truer sight of
famous places by going to them. And they not only see the far-o£f spots and
their inhabitants, but they can show them to their friends and their neighbors ! *

Gentleman host — lady hostess : * a word in both yoor ears : ' if you would
avoid the efifects of a dull company : if you would make them contented with
themselves ; if you would give them something to talk dbouty make a small
investment in stereoscopes, and a good variety of diaphanous and colored
views. They cannot be resisted by the dullest of prosy bores, singly or in
*sets.' ... The subjoined, from oifir old friend and fi^uent correspond-
ent, Park Benjamin, Esq., just reaches us in time for a welcome to the pages
of the present number. It is replete with genuine feeling which came from,
and wHl speak to the heart :

*3f am not ®IU.'

' I AM not old — though years have cast

Their shadows on my day :
I am not old — though youth has passed

On rapid wings awa^r :
For in my heart a fountain flows,
And round it pleasant thoughts repose,
And sympathies and feelings hiffh
Spring like stars on evening's sky.

' I am not old : Time may have set

His signet on my brow,
And some faint furrows there have met,

Which Care may deepen now :
Yet Love, fond Love, a cnaplet weaves
Of fresh young buds and verdant leaves,
And still, in fancy, I can twine
Thoughts sweet as flowers that once were mine.

* I am not old : the snowy tinge
That 's fallen on my hair,
What is it but a silver fringe

That makes the head more fair?
Sad contrast, may be, to the brown
Which used to deck my early crown ;
But^ let the senile tokens stay,
No impulse of my soul is gray.

' I am not old : though I must leave

This earth, and be at rest
Soon, verv soon : I will but grieve

For those whom Lovb loves best.
What though this fragile frame shall fade
In Age's cold and gloomy shade f
I shall regain the light, and be
Youthful in immortality.'

Apropos of the author of these truly beautiful lines : somehow or another, an
impression has gone abroad, (through a paragraph in one of the papers,) that
Mr. Benjamin, who has heretofore lectured with such distinguished success to
admiring audiences in various parts of the country, was no longer open to

484

Mitof^s TaUe.

[October,

similar engagements, in consequence of certain * real-estate ' aTOcatioiis in
which he was engaged. We have the best authority for stating, however,
that Mr. Benjamin has not withdrawn from the lecture-field: but that, on the
contrary, he will accept all invitations for the approaching season, and on Tery
reasonable terms. This will be good news to lecture-comnuttees, of whidi,
if they understand their own interests, they will not be slow to «nSl
themselves. - - - When we read the following paragraph in the daily
journals, touching ^A Booh over Nine Etindred Tean Old,^ (at Detroit
yve think,) we called at once to mind ^The Worha of Fetrtu PoterivM,^
presented to us by Senator Seward at his residence, many years aga It was
a huge quarto, all printed with a pen, and as dosely and evenly as types could
have placed its contents — and quaint and curious they were — upon the printed
page. Who has this most ancient of*all printed works, issued almost simulta-
neously with the first type-books of its day? We lodned it temporarily,

many years since, to J T S , who handed it, for return, to the

late W B , (umquile City Register,) and here we lost aU trace of it :

' Thr articles which hare lately appeared from time to time in the li^ /Vc», in re-
gard to old Bibles, hare had the effect to bring to our notice one of the rarest and
most valuable specimens of biblical literature in the world. This is a volume of six
hundred pages, containing the whole Bible in the Latin language. It bdongs to the
Rev. Mr. Ddffield, of this city. The book is made entirely of vellum,^ and the
printing is all done by hand with a pen and ink. Ever^ letter is perfect in its shape,
and cannot be distin&^ished by any imperfections in form^ from the printed letters
of the present day. The shape of the letters is of course different from those now in
use, but in no other respect can they be distinguished from printed matter. The im-
mense amount of labor may be conceived from the fitct, that there are two colnmna
on each page, each of which lacks only about six letters of being as wide as the
columns of this paper. They will average sixty lines to the column. The <»lQmna
numbering twelve nundred, we have about seventy-two thousand lines in the whole
book. Nothing short of a life-time could have accomplished such a woric'

A book that is a book. - - - From * beneath the gallow-tree,* erected
in the *01d Bailey* of * London Town,' for the execution of Gioyakni
Lani, for the murder of Heloisb Thaubin, did a friend of ours — while tlie
first-named * fitulty party' was yet *a-swinging' — purdiase of the maker and
render, a ^Copy of Verses,'' of which the subjoined musical and aato-biogniphL
cal stanzas will afford an eflective citation :

* At the West-End of London town,
Where pretty maidens ramble round,
One nignt I Hbloisb Thaubin found,

And she looked fair and gay.
1 with her did steer to a mansion near :
That nisht she looked in health and bloom.
She took me to the fatal room.
Where soon I sent her to the tomb —
'T was there I did her slay.

' I strangled her, you may suppose :
I robbed her of her watch ana clothes ;
Then from the fatal spot did go,

Thinking that I was clear.
God's all-seeing eye was hovering nigh :
Taken I was doomed to be,
And I from justice could not flee :
They brought me to the fatal tree;

For I 'm condemned to die.

* Then I on board a ship was found.
That was to Monte Yideo bound :
To Greenhithe she had sailed down.

The sea was calm and dear.
I, out of siffht, thought all was right;
But, oh I alas t I was deceived :
The truth I scarcely could beliere^
On board when justice captured mt,

A cruel murderer base.

* That barbarous cruel deed I done :
Though young in years, my time la oome :
Oh! pity your unhappy son,

My lovine parents dear :
I 'm doomed w ^ to the grare below :
Giovanni Lani is my name ;
In sorrow, wretcheaness, and ahama^
I do confess I am to blaine :

She never injured me.*

We quote this thrilling' extract, for the purpose of asking

1858.] JEditoi*8 Table. 485

baye not shown, in these pages, that we have native criminal, accidental, and
elegiac bards or bardesses, fully equal to the best English * specimens * in the
same kind? - - - It was a perplexing and infelicitous drcumstanco,
that which happened to discomfort and discomfit the good house-wife,
who had fiittened a fine young Turkey for her husband^s delectation,
boiled, as was his * weakness,* with the accompaniment of a savory sauce.
Two or three days before his death, (the turkey's,) a box of household
pills fell by accident into the yard, where the bird performed his daily peram-
bulations and gobbling. He picked up the kernels of anti-bilious com, and
survived their effects until his decease, when he was committed to the pot, as
the pUce de resistance of a sumptuous dinner. But he would not boil tender :
hour after hour the hot bubbles burst around him, but all to no purpose : the
harder and the longer he was boiled, the tougher and more uncarvable he be-
came. At length, however, he was served up: and a doctor, a next-door
neighbor, who was a guest, was requested to solve the mystery : * We bailed
that turkey six long hours, doctor, by the dock,* said the down-east hostess,
* and you see how awfully tough he is nedw. Gould it be the pills, d* yeou
think, doctor, that I was tellin* yedu about his eatin* ? * Undoubtedly, Madam,'
replied the Doctor : * it would not have made the slightest difference, if you had
b'Ued him two days : there was no *■ bile ' in him. Madam I ' An explanation
equally professional and satisfactory. - - - The subjoined is firom the
Histoire de la Presse en Englaterre et des Etas UniSy by M. Cucheval
Clarignt, published in Paris, 1857 :

*En 1832, le romancier 0. F. Hoffman fonda le 'Enickerbocker Magazine,'
qui passa bient^t de ses mains dans celles de Timothee Flint, puis dans celles da
redacteur en chef actuel, Louis Gatlord Clark. Lc Knickerbocker a ^t^, un
des recoils les plus brillants dea Etas-Unis ; il a eu pour collobarateurs assidus,
Washington Irving, Paulding, William Ware, qui y a public son roman ^pis-
tolaire de Zenobie^ Bryant et Longfellow. C'est dans ses colomnes qu^ont d6-
but4 comme critiques ou comme auteurs de nouvelles, presque tous les jeunes
^crivans qui, depuis vignt ans, sont arriv^e a la reputation auz * Etas-Unis.'

Thanks, M. Clarignt: it shall not be our fault, nor will it be the fault of
our contributors, if we do not continue to deserve the high and unexpected
praise here awarded us. - - - Well, we * own beat' We certainly never
did receive any thing in its kind quite so characteristic and * G^ermenny ' as
the following. The sound-spelling is a study :

^LynrvoilU, Lehigh County, State of Pennsylvania July the 12th 1856.

* Dear Sir. Postmaster of Freeport as I doo not know your name, so I write
to you. Postmaster I would bee werry glad if you would give me an answer after
Receiving this few lines.

* I would like werry bead to know somsing of the old Germenny, John Eraus :
hee is went off frum Elizabethtown Lengester County, in the month of Myrch 1856,
and hee let him sclfe down in your blase some werse, with a Bruther and a Syster,
and a young wife, the are awl Germennies, and the old duch about 60 years old,
has left a good manny Depts in Lengester and Lehigh County, so as I would like
to know someslng about him, how hee is Comming on, if hee owns anny Probperty
in your blase, ore if somsing is to dow with him ore not,— the old duch mus Live

436 JBiUoT^s Table. [October,

worry neer in yonr blase, becouse hee ReceiTBS a Kewspftper in yoiir office from
Allentown Lehigh County, and his name is, John JLblavs ; and he has a Oroop on
his Throat and oen look onely with one eye, -if yon let me know aomeamg

about him, so as I ken come dare and dow somesing with him I wiU pay joQ fore
yoor drobel, and write me a Leather, and bleas Direct him, Miobail Bkith,
Lynnville P. 0. Lehigh Gonnty Pennsylyania.

* Yours Respectfully, Uiobaml Smizb.

* You bleas write me as soon as your Receiye this Stating.*

*Nichts komme ausl' - - - Won't our ooatemponriflB of the poblic
press please to set their fiices against the floods of poetical platitode wfaidi
wOl be poured out upon ^T?te Atlantic Cable V VtKj Hiink of sodi ^poetry '
as this finding its way into a respectable journal :

' On old Atlantic's emi^
The subtle cable's res^

From shore to shore t
Down in the mighty deep
Must the swift lig^htning sleep:
CoLxncBiA shall bid it leap

With wondrous powei;'

A cable on the Atlantic's ' crest * is a parlous phrase, and strikes vs ' Goimii'
bians* with * wondrous power I' . - - Our friend Ifr. Gflosai Habyit,
the distinguished English artist, whose admirable illustrations of Ameriom
scenery arc well known in our country, has invented and patented in LoDdon,
where he now resides, a Port-Folio for Artiste^ which bids fidr to snppfy a
very important desideratum. We gather a description <tf it from the London
* Constitutional Fress^* now before us. The multiplication d photogn4»b% en-
gravings, chromo-lithographs, and water-color drawings, is becoming so nn*
merous and accessible to persons of even moderate means, that wo feel wo aie
doing ihe public a signal service in calling attention to those improfemepts
which tend to * progress,* whether in physical comfort (ff in h

* Thb want of a correct principle in the old port-folio, has been remodied hgr a
patent taken out by Mr. Habvet, an artist, by which the evils long oomplainod of
have been overcome, so that now the collectors of works of art can obtain a euft^
elegant, and convenient port-folio, containing every advantage which enablaa the pro-
prietors of works of art-treasures to keep their collections in the most perfect ccodi-
tion, and to exhibit them to the best possible advantage, without handling or fajtBt'
ing them. One of the primary benefits derived from the principle of the patent b
in leaving the protecting-flaps fastened on the outside, so that whatever doii maj
gather on them, none ever enters within, and at the same time you get rid of the un-
tidy and littering appearance which pertains to the old kind of flaps made of hoUaad
cloth : and beside this gain, the flaps of the patent ones, when the port*feUo Is in VM,
can be fastened out of the way, and are, in fact, out of sight whenever fha porMblia
is open. You thus remove what has always been an annoyance in many ^nyu.
Then, again, what an advantage there is derived from having a book whi^ eaa be
used or not at your convenience, so that if you have curious or dishonest ionaiits^
or meddlesome children, your collection is safe ; or if you lend it to a friend with the
hope of the works being returned uninjured, he can be sure of safdy cool
their exhibition, and of returning them in as perfect order as when first loaned,'

A desideratum for artists. - - - There is an instructive, and in some wq^eds
an amusmg paper, in the hist number of the 'North-American Reriew,' upon

1858.] jEaitof*s Table. 48?

^Recent Commentaries on the New TestamentJ* Among the inconoeivable
sottisei oommitted by Biblical oommentators, the following are cited: Adam
Clarke, by a process of reasoning which not one theologian in a hundred
has learning enough to verify or to gainsay, proves the serpent that tempted
Eye to have been a monkey ! Quite equal to this, is the learned and profound
commentator's ^at^oMoia annotation on the impressive words of our Sayioub:
^Thinkest thou not that I cannot now pray to my Fatheb, and Hb shall pre-
sently give me more than twelve legions of angels : ' 'A legion at different
times contained different numbers: four thousand two hundred, five thousand,
and firequently six thousand men : and from this saying, taking the latter num-
ber, which is the common rate, we have in round numbers, seventy two thou-
sand angels ! ' Another learned scriptural critic contends, that the cock that
alarmed Peteb was a Levite watchman, knocking on the gate of the temple, to
call the priests to their morning duties I Now when such profound blunders
as these are committed by * learned' commentators, is it surprising that ignor-
ant expounders should represent ^ brother Paul ' as having been brought up
at the * foot of Ghmiel-Hill, a small mountain in Judea,' instead of at the ' feet
of Gamaliel?' — or that the reason why our Savioub so frequently said,
* He that hath ears to hear, let him hear,' was owing to the &ct that He seldom
addressed a gathering in which a large portion of His hearers had not had their
ears cropped, as a penalty for various minor offences oommitted against the
Jewish laws of that period? - - - This brief epistokiry passage of a
correspondent brings old Mackinaw directly before us, as we saw it on a me-
morable occasion, several years ago : * We climbed the hill and looked at the fort,
surrounded with its palisade of logs ; at the fierce-looking soldiers asleep on
their posts ; at the holes made by British bullets ; at the Indian men shooting
at cents and drinking brandy ; at the Indian women selling bead-work and
drinking whiskey ; at the Indian children stoning tadpoles and drinking beer ;
at the steamers coming in and going out; at the bark canoes. We ate
Mackinaw trout, cooked in every conceivable and inconceivable manner. We
explored the ravine in the rear of the fort, and sailed around and viewed the
romantic-looking cove on the other side of the island. On the return from this
latter expedition, your correspondent wrote an elegant pastoral, which I regret
to say, is not now extant' - - . Adroitness in Advertising is one of
the *• signs of the times ' in these latter days : and we know of no tradesman
who exceeds in this regard our old friend Lucius Hart, of Number Six,
Burling-Slip. Who would think of finding in a column of * New-Publications*
the following * literary ' announcement ? It is * just like Hart : '

fc npHIRD EDITION OF PATENT ICE-PITCHERS.— * The Doe Star rages.' The
_|_ heat continues. The Ice-Pitchers are pouring out the cooling draughts, and
the people are pouring in to No. 6 Burling-Slip for new supplies of them.'

There is nothing but truth in this, of course, for these Ice-Pitchers have had a
wonderful sale: but how adroitly is the tsud set forth! A fourth edition, we
observe, is already *in press.' - - - *Ip ever after tempests come such
Storms, let the sea rave,' and so forth. We doubt whether Othello would
have changed his apostrophic sentence one whit, had he but once stood in the
Cedar • Ware Manufactory qf the Messrs. Storms, at Nyach on the Eudsan^

438 Editov^B Table. [October,

as we did the other day, and amidst the pleasant, penetrating; and penneating
cedar-odors, siureyed the mind-conceived, mind-wrought^ and mind-woridng
machinery, turning out, ^ from the wood,' every variety and pattern of hoase-
hold cedar-ware, as beautiful as useful, and cheap as indispensabla Whether

* wise William* would have exclaimed as aforesaid, not knowing; it bdiooveth
us not to say : but f Aw we can, and this *we do say, and say it bddly,' that
*' Come, Storms, send us another invoice of your beautiful ware, €i eadi
kind and pattern,* is the cry from every part of the United States and the
Canadas. * Such are the orders : * well have they been earned — promptly are
they filled. ... The verse in Bryant's ^Line$ to a WaUrfovil^ alluded
to by our Albany correspondent * Huntington,' was originally printed as
follows :

* Vaiwlt the fowler's eje
Might mark thj diatant fliffht, to do thee wrong,

As darkly paifUed on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.'

* Huntington * informs us that in the last London edition this is changed from

* darkly limned upon the crimson sky,* in a previous edition, to * da/rhly oeen
ogaintA the crimson sky.* In our judgment, the second reading is better than
the last, but the first is the best of all — the simplest and the most natural:
perhaps because it was the firsts and hence most familiar to us. We pr^r
the original ... We have received from the press of the author and
publisher, Rev. T. H. Stockton, of Philadelphia, a very handsome Uttle booklet,
bearing the title, ^ Stand Up far Jesus: a Christian Ballad:^ with Notes,
Illustrations, and Music, and a few Additional Poems, by the same author.
The last words of that devoted servant of Christ, the late Rev. Dudlet A.
Tyng, form the main title of the ballad : interwoven with whidi, are efifective
passages of biography, and appropriate brief selections from the Book of Com-
mon Prayer. The Ballad itself is fervent and felicitous ; and as it advances,
portrays * The Christian,* *The Family,* *The Father,* *The Ministry,* *The
Church of the Covenant,* * The Young Men*s Christian Association,' ' The
Church Universal,* and * The Whole Human Race.* We are unable, from lack
of space, to quote from this brief ballad or from the ^Additional Poems,* although
we should gladly do so. There are three pieces of music, from Emebson
of Boston, Bower of Philadelphia, and Bradbury of New-York. Several
good engravings on wood, including excellent likenesses of Dr. Ttno of this
city, and of his lamented son, add value and attraction to this remembrancer
of the departed ona . - - *Soyer, the Cooh^ is dead!* Such is the
brief^ the inadequate, almost contemptuous, announcement of the recent death
of the world-renowned French chef de cuisine, *The Cook I * Well is it, that
he can never hear of this lessening of his dignity : he^ Alexander Soteb, of
whom oiu* Sanderson could not obtain audience one morning, because he was
walking in his garden, * composing.' '^The Cooh 11"* All Europe appreciated
him: he was the boast of Gastronomic Christendom: Brillat Savarht
adored him. ^The Cooh! ! P All dishes, beloved of gourmets, dishes of
rarest refinement, were at his fingers* ends, or in his capacious mind. Never
was he at a loss, save once : and that was when Douglas Jebbold said to

1858.] JEditor'8 TaNe. 439

him : * I pity you French. Talk of your ConsomrrU de Chrouilles : did you
ever taste our Habeas Corpus f No ? A-h-e ! ' - - - Two little things,
by two *' Little People,' who are separated by more than a thousand miles :

*■ LiTTLB *■ Franet/ hearing a sturdy old Scotchman preach one Sunday, and a
prayer at the close made by a soft-spoken clergyman, Franky ^ays one spoke like
a cannon firing, and the other prayed like a chicken scratching.'

* Our little * Four-year-old,' lying in her crib, after having said * Good night '
to her father, who was to sail for Europe the next morning, burst into tears, and
sobbed as if her little heart would break. ^Do not cry. Lilt,' said her mother:
*your Father in heaven will keep papa safe from all harm.' *But, mamma, I am
afraid he may drown in the big river before God can come down from the skies.'

Surely, a tender apprehension 1 - - - If we had, like our contemporary of
^Porter's Spirit of the Times,^ a department of '^Far^ Fin^ and FeatJier^ in
our Magazine, we think we should have a few words to say about that treasure
of our waters, the Crab. He is ^ game ' to the end of his claws, and sub-
daws : and his grasp is cordial

* AS the hand

Of brother in a foreign land.'

He is not festidious about the tid-bits with which you may tempt him : and
when he is boiled rightly, deftly manipulated out of his shell, and artistically
dressed, how delicate and delicious he is ! He has * brought up the rear' most
satisfactorily at the gatherings of a certain chowder-club which we wot of;
and of which said * Club,' and its always pleasant and proper * sayings ' our
readers shall hear *more anon.' - - - From a Baltimore correspondent
Cometh the annexed : * The prosecuting attorney of one of our counties is a
gentleman who evidently believes in the effect of eloquence on juries. In pro-
secuting a murderer, and in stating the case to the jury, he adverted feelingly
to the sad fate of the prisoner's victim, and said : * Gentlemen, the poor victim
of this man's hellish malice was suddenly ushered into the presence of his
God ; without warning, with no time for preparation, he was sent unanointed
and unannealed, either to enjoy the rewards of the blessed, or to suffer the an-
noyances of the damned!' - - - Our and the Public's old friend, Mr.
Philip J. Forbes, so well and so long known as the Librarian of the New-
York Society Library, may be found at the MercTianfs and Clerk's Library^
Number 60, William-street, where as Librarian, and General Literary and
Purchasing Agent, his valuable services may be secured. No man in this
metropolis is better qualified to select, procure, catalogue, and arrange private
or public libraries than Mr. Forbes. He will purchase or import books of
every description, instruments, apparatus, works of art, etc., on the mast fevor-
able terms. His references are of the highest order. - - - "We are gratified
to learn that Dr. J. W. Palmer's new Comedy entitled *7'A« QueerCs Hea/rt^
has achieved a great success in Boston. The critics unite in pronouncing it
* the best American comedy yet written.' It is to be produced in the principal
cities of the country during the winter. Success to the author of '^The Golden
Dagon^ in the difficult field of theatrical literature; - - - Mr. Charles
B. Norton, Agent for Libraries, has presented us a copy of his ^Librarian's

440 JSdUai^B ToMe. [October^ 1858.

ManuaV A more attractive and (to literary men, eq;)ecially,) a more nseiiil
volume than this Treatise on Bibliography has not reoentfy' appeared from the
American pre6& Mr. Norton proposes soon to publish a complete index of all
the collections of the Historical Societies of the United States, amounting to
over one hundred volumes I The enterprise is a vast one, but it is to be
accomplished. - ' - - *Thb Youno Men's Magazxnb' fbr September comes
to us with its nsual choice collection of original articles. Mr. McCobmick's
excellent periodical occupies a wide and important field, and is especially de-
serving of the support of the Toung Men of the coontiy. - - - Wb take
the Mowing from ^Ths Tribune^ daily journal:

' Fan CsAPBi.. — The Bev. Balpb Hott, whose name is pretty well known both as
a poet and a clergjrman, officiates regularly at the free chapel (of St. Thomas Church)
at the comer of I^ince and Thompson-streets. It was the chnroh of Mr. Hott that
was destroyed in a tornado this summer on Fiffy-fourth street, Just as he had got it
completed. We mention the fact of his present location for the benefit of persons
who may desire to hear him. The seats are free.'

It is well known that the self-devoted Kev. Ralph Hoti^ s new ' Ohubch or
THB Good Shepherd ' was prostrated by storm and tempests, a short time
since, just as it was about to be made ready for occupancy. It was the diild
of toil, of anxiety, of many hopes and many fears. Bbtaki^s lines from the
Spanish, are not inapplicable here :

< Thbrb, without orook or sHng,
Walks the Good Shbphbrd : blossoms wmte aad red

Round his meek temples cling:

And to sweet pastures led,
His own loYod flock beneath his eye are ftd.

'He guides, and near him they
Follow defightea, for with him they go

Where dwells eternal May,

And heayenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but a^^ to grow.

^ < He leads them to the height

Named of the infinite and long-song^t Good,

And fountains of deligl» :

And where his feet have stood.
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.'

Here, metropolitan reader, is an excellent opportunity to 'do good in
season.' ... A pabaobaph in a private letter fitnn a friend at Saratoga
describing ^Otute at the Springs,^ reminds us of a remark oi Douglas Jm-
BOLD^s: ^Wholesales don^t mix with retails. Haw wool doesn^t qpeak to
half-penny ball of worsted ; tallow in the cask looks down vpoKk dxm to the
pound, and pig-iron turns up its nose at ten-penny tails I ' • • • Wb c^e>
dally call the attention of our readers to the Proi^)ectus following the Tkble cf
Contents in the present number. The EmcKSBBOCKSB promises nothing flMl
win not be fidthfully and promptly performed. Two feet df the AfLAsno
SuBMABiNB Cable will be sent as a premium to every new Three DoQaraoh*
scriber, b^inning with the present volume — enough for the sobscriber «nd
all his friendSi The inducements for Fanns in the West are UDpreoedeotod.

THE KNICKERBOCKER.

Vol. LII. NOVEMBER, 1868. No. 6.

THE BOURBON WHO NEVER REIGNED.

Died, at Hogansburgh, St. Lawrence county, New-York, upon
the morning of the twenty-eighth of August, 1858, Rev. Eleazar
Williams, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. He had been few:
some time afflicted with dropsy, which, superadded to the debility
of age, accelerated this event. His end was peaceful. Though in
humble circumstances, and deprived of most of the comfortaof life,
he was composed and cheerful, maintaining his serenity till the last.
He passed away without a struggle. The last words that he was
heard to utter were : ' Into Thy hands I commend my spirit.'

The next day the Masonic fraternity to which he belonged per-
formed over his body the last rites of the Order ; after which, with
the funeral service of the Protestant Episcopal Church, the remains
were consigned to the earth. His &mily, a few friends and mem-
bers of his congregation, were all that were present. No cortige
of illustrious mourners, no long array of courtiers, graced the oc-
casion. Obscurely the humble Indian missionaiy passed from the
earth, and his corpse sleeps with the untitled.

His career was rendered remarkable by the controversy, some
years since, as to his identity with the unfortunate monarch oi
France, Louis XVH. The fate of that prince had never been so
fully determined as to silence doubt. The annals of old monarchies
present such enigmas. Arthur of Bretagne, Richard II. of Elng-
land, Edward V. and Richard Duke of York, sons of Edward IV.,
disappeared, their fate involved in inextricable obscurity. *'8ubiio
eva?iuit ' was predicated of each of them.

Mysterious individuals have been discovered in European dun-
geons, the circumstances of whose condition never transpired.
Historians have not always proved competent or faithful to their
duty. Even the particulars of the French Revolution of the last
century have been but imperfectly given to the world. Many and
weighty state secrets are connected with its details, of which little
is known. It is by no means wonderfrd, therefore, that mystery

VOL. ui. 29

442 The Bourbon who never reigned. [November,

should involve the fate of the Bourbon Prince, interested as msnj
parties have been in concealing it. We are informed that he was
separated from his mother, the napless Marie Antoinette of Austria,
in July, 1793, and placed under the guardianship of Simon, the
friend and neighbor of Marat. On the nineteenth of January, 1794,
he was incarcerated in a dungeon, where he remained till the
twenty-sevcnth of July, without breathing pure air or seeing a
human countenance. In utter loneliness, darkness, and filth, in-
fested by vermin, and sharing his food with rats, languished for
more than six months, the young King of France.

After the execution of Robespierre in July, a new keeper was
placed in the Temple. He found the youthful prisoner worn to a
skeleton, diseased, and about to die. Confinement had made him
an idiot. After some months, Laurent, the humane keeper of the
Temple, asked the Committee of Public Safety to give nim a col-
league ; and Gomin received the appointment upon the eighth of
November. The Count de Provence, afterward Louis ^VJLLL,
was contemplating his own elevation to the throne of France,
upon the ruins of the Revolution, and to the disregard of the l^al
rights of the heirs of Louis XVI. He assumed the title of Regent,
and was keeping a court at Verona. Intrigues were set on fiM>t to
effect the removal of his royal nephew. To this influence in the
National Assembly we are to attribute the designation of Qomin,
his partisan, as a keeper of the Temple.

At the commencement of the next year negotiations were lidd
at Nantes between the conmiissioners of the Government and
Cherette, the leader of the army of La Vendue. A secoret artidie
of this treaty stipulated that the Government should deliver the
young Prince and his sister, afterward married to the Duke of
Angouleme, son of the Count d'Aitois, into the hands of the
Vendeen leader. The fourteenth of June, 1796, was fixed at the
time of this surrender.

On the twenty-sixth of February the two keepers reported to
the National Assembly that the life of the young King mm in
danger ; ' that he had tumors on all the joints, and partioolaily at
the Knees ; that it was imposedble to obtain from him a single
word ; and that he refused all kinds of exercise.' A oonunittee
was appointed to visit him, and found him at a table amnstog him-
self with a pack of cards. They examined the tumors, and found
that the^r were by no means painful, but could be handled without
inconvenience. He evinced few symptoms of rationality, and thej
reported his intellect as utterly prostrated.

The prospects of the royal fiiniily were sensibly brightening, and
the restoration of Louis XVII. to the ancestral throne had beoome
a theme of common remark. The time was approaofamg when the
young King must be surrendered to the loyalists of Bretagni and
La Vendee. The Count of Provence found that he moat aflt
promptly, or his ambitious aspirations would &11 to the oroimd*

On the twenty-ninth of March, Etienne Lasne succeeded Laurent
as keeper of the Temple. He was a professed repablioan, bnft

1858.] The Bourbon who never reigned, 443

seems to have afterward become a staunch loyalist. The rigid
discipline which had been maintained was now relaxed ; jovialty
and merriment reigned through the old walls ; vigOance was at
an end.

At length, in the month of May, the following entry was made
on the register : ' The little Capet is dangerously sick^ and there is
fear of his death,"* Immediately M. Desault, then the first surgeon
in France, was intrusted with his case. He examined his patient
long and carefully ; questioned him, without obtaining an answer ;
and finally pronounced it a case of decline,. occasioned by confine-
ment. He prescribed a decoction of hops, and ordered the joints
rubbed frequently with ammoniacal liniment. He counselled his
removal into the country, expressing his confidence that pure air,
careful treatment, and constant attention would effect a cure.
This the Government would not permit.

The surgeon continued his visits till the thirtieth of May. That
day, as he was going down the stairs, BrieuUard, the commissaiy,
inquired whether the child would die. He replied: 'I /ear, but
perhaps there are persons in the world who hope that he will.'
The next morning, to the great surprise of the keepers, he did not
come. Bellanger, the commissary for that day, did not wait for
the surgeon, as the rules required, but entered the King's apart-
ment, showed him pictures, and took his portrait.

M. Desault died on the first of June. His pupil, M. Abeille,
afterward declared that he was poisoned. Dunng the next five
days no statement was made of the health of the young King. On
the fifth M. Pelletan was appointed his physician. The instant he
was introduced into the apartment, he demanded and obtained a
coUeague, M. Dumangin.

We observe that these physicians describe their patient in terms
essentially at variance with the statements of M. Desault. He was
attentive to every thing around him, and began to talk with them
at once, becoming at times very loquacious.

One night a sentinel was stationed at the apartment, and thus
obtained a sight of this child. He found him of a figure greatly un-
like Louis XVn., disfigured with sores and blotches, and different
in other respects. This guard afterward declared : ' I am ftiUy
convinced that it was not the Prince. He had often seen the
Dauphin when his parents were living.' When he was relieved,
the jailer spoke to him concerning the speedy death of ' dtoyen
Capet? He replied that the lad was too tall for the Dauphin ; it
was impossible for such a change in stature in so short a period.
The jailer did not rebut this declaration, but advised the sentinel
to keep a still tongue in his mouth, lest he should grow shorter by
a head.

On the eighth of June, 1795, the child in the Temple died.
The event was immediately reported by Lasne to the Committee
of Public Safety, who were particularly busy^ and deferred the
^ proceS'Verbal ' till the next day, when it was hurried through so
rapidly that no date was placed on the instrument. The body wae

444 27ie Bourbon toho never reigned. [November,

then buried. In 1816 Louis XYIII. issued an order for its disb-
terment, but revoked it before this could be done, without any
reason. When the post-mortem examination of the bodj took
place, the Government directed that the surgeons should not
scinitinize the countenance. M. Auvrai, who resided many jears
in the city of New-York, declared to Mr. H. B. Miiller, the arUst,
that he had frequently seen the Prince at the Tuileries and at the
Temple ; that he was present when the body of this child was ex-
hibited to the officers of the National Guard ; and that he knew
positively that it was jQOt the body of Louis XVII, The Bishop
of Yiviers held a conversation with the surgeons who made the
autopsy, and not one of them was able to state that the corpse was
that of the young Prince.

The following paragraph appeared in the New-Jersey SkUe
GazettCy February eleventh, 1 800 :

*' It is stated in political circles as a fact, that about two yean
ago, a Frenchman who had left his country on account of his prin-
ciples, and resided in Philadelphia, affirmed that he was with the
committee of surgeons who examined the child said to be the
Dauphin, and to have died of scrofula in the Temple ; but haviog
known the Piince while alive, in examining the &ce of the corpse,
(contrary to positive instructions,) he perceived no resemblance,
and was convmced that some artince had been used to preserve
the life of the young Prince. This circumstance is related by a
gentleman of credit, who received it two years aso from the sur-
geon who was present at the dissection ; and is tnerefore highly
confirmatory of the recent rumor that Louis XVIL was really
saved from the prisons of the National Convention by an artifice
of Sieyes.'

This surgeon, probably, was M. Abeille, the pu^ of Desanlt,
and not one of those making the investigation. He resided at
Philadelphia in 1800, and on the occasion of the autopsy had rea-
sons of his own for inspecting the face of the corpse.

In the Farmers'* Museum^ Walpole, New-Hampshire, July
twenty-eighth, 1800, the following article appeared:

' A most extraordinary rumor, which has been stated in a morn-
ing print, has occupied the public conversation. We ffive the
article, without pretending to any knowledge, or offenng any
opinion on the subject.

' ' Private letters, which have been received by various persons
of the first consideration amongst the French emigrant nobilftr,
and others, agree in the general statement of an unacconntam
rumor, which has its origin in the Triumvirate at the Luxembourg,
that the unfortunate Louis XYU., sup^sed to have expired in the
Temple upon the ninth of June, 1795, is still alive. The ^nrinmvir
Sieyes is said to have subtracted the devoted Prince from the jjfnr
son of the National Convention. He procured a child of oorrs-
sponding age from the hospital of the Hotel Dieu, incuraUy alP
fected with the scrofula, the pretended disease of the young IQng,
and admitted this unfortunate child into the Temple, and eaqp<Mwa

1868.] The Bourbon who never reigned. 446

the body, disfigured with ulcers and operations, instead of the
royal victim. According to this relation, Louis XVII. exists.
This unhappy child, the prisoner of his assassins in the Temple, the
bulletin or daily account of whose declining health was regularly
published to the world, perished in June, 1796, in his dungeon, of
a scrofulous disease, according to the statement of facts submitted
to the then usurpers of France, and published by their authority.
It is to be remembered that all Europe, with one common cry,
burst forth in the denial that this interesting child had a scrofulous
disease. Neither the House of Bourbon nor that of Austria was
afflicted with that malady ; the babe could not have contracted it.
When this bulletin arrived in England with the concomitant report
that the young sufferer had been poisoned by the Committee of
Safety, some very extraordinary circumstances occuiTcd or
transpired.

' ' All the world believed the young King to have been mur-
dered. The British Cabinet, with no other opinion, ordered the
bulletin to be examined by a physician of the 'very first reputation.
This gentleman reported to the King's Council that the young
King could not have died of the cause assigned in the bulletin.
The consequence would not have followed from the premises, even
if they had been true. A few days previous to the death, or at
least the exposition of the body in the Temple, the famous surgeon
Desault expired suddenly. Whoever looks back to the public
discussions of that period in France, will observe the stress laid
upon this coincidence.

' ' Desault was an honest man, incapable of any dishonest or
criminal action. It was rumored, on no mean authority, that he
denied his patient to be the royal infant. The Marquis de Bouille
wrote publicly to his son, that there was reason to believe the
young King was alive. Simon, the shoemaker, had expired upon
the scaffold. The Princess Royal, his sister, whom he had not
been permitted to see since the murder of their parents, or during
the course of his own illness, was suddenly released and sent to
Vienna, to the astonishment of all Europe, in exchange for three
Deputies. Every one was removed who could then detect the
imposture of his death, or know of his existence.' '

On the eighth of June, 1 795, the same day that the suppositi-
tious Dauphin died, the Committee of Public Safety sent an order,
which is still preserved in the archives of the police, to all the de-
pai-tments ' to arrest on every high road in France any travellers
bearing with them a child of eight years old or thereabouts, as
there had been an escape of royalists from the Temple.' This
order had been prepared and issued an hour at least before Gomin
had announced the death of the child. M. Guerviere of Paris,
then a child often years old, was travelling in the carriage of the
Prince of Conde, and was arrested under the suspicion that he was
the fugitive Dauphin.

The European monarchs were incredulous of the young Bour-
bon's death. The first article in the secret treaty of Paris in 1814,

446 The Bourbcn who neeer reigned. [XoTember,

declares that ^ the allied Sorereigns hare no certwi evidence of
the death of the son of Lonis XVX, and only give the title of king
to Lonis XVJLIL ostensibly till they can obtain every poBsible
certainty concerning a fact which must ultimately determine who
shall be the sovereign of France.' It is also declared that a conr<
tier of this king obtained the £Eibrication of a ^ fidse certificate of
the death of the Dan{^iin in foreign lands after his escape.' M.
Petzold, notary of Crossen, declared that he ^ had found fifty docn-
ments, folly substantiating the existence of his Majesty, fi»r in-
stance, the manner and by whom he was taken ftt>m the Temple.'

Cherette, the leader of the army of La Vendue, had a child in
his army in 1795, that was declared to be Louis XYII. Hanscm,
alluding to this circumstance and to the arrest of the lad, Guer-
viere, gives the opinion, that to mislead the police several lads an-
swering to the Prince's age, were sent out in different directions.
His decease at the Temple was generally disbelieved.

In 1795 a French &mily arrived at Albany, direct fit>m France.
The following letter, written by Mrs. Blandina Dudley, the munifi-
cent patroness of the Dudley Observatory, dated October seventh,
1853, speaks of them :

*• Among the reminiscences of early days, I have always recol-
lected with much interest being taken by my mother to visit a
funily who arrived here in 1795, direct from France, consisting of
four individuals. There was a gentleman and lady, caOed Mon-
sieur and Madame de Jardin. They had with them two diildren,
a girl and a boy; the girl was the eldest — the boy about nine
or ten. Ho apparently did not notice us.

' Madame told my mother that she was maid of honor to the
Queen Marie Antoinette, and was separated from her on the ter-
race at the palace. She appeared very much agitated, uid men-
tioned many things which I was too young to understand, but all
in allusion to the difficulties then agitating France and her fiiends.
She played with great skill on the piano-forte, and was much ex-
cited singing the Marseillaise Hymn, floods of tears chasing each
other down her cheeks. My mother thought the children were
those belonging to the crown, but I do not now recollect that she
said Madame told her so. After some time, Madame called and
said they were obliged to leave us, and had many usefid and hand-
some articles to dispose of, and wished my mother to have the first
choice out of them.

' There were several large plates of mirror glass, a time-piece,
a pair of gilt andirons representing lions, and a bowl, said to be
gold, on which were engraven the arms of France. I have heard
it spoken of some time after ; and it was said to belong to some
gentleman near Albany, and was recognized at a dinnw-party, with
celery on the table.

' The andirons were purchased by General Peter Chmsevoort^i
lady, and are still belonging to a member of that family.

' We never heard of this &mily after they left Albanv. In look-
ing at the features of Eleazar Williams, I think I can discover oon-

1858.] The Sourbon who never reigned. 447

siderable likeness to those of young Monsieur Louis in charge of
Madame de Jardin.'

A man called De Jourdin was in the vicinity of Whitehall up to
the year 1802. Several old cash-books belonging to B. and J. R.
Bleecker, of Albany, and extending from 1799 till 1802, contain
entries of money advanced for him at that time. Thus, according
to the books, they took up for De Jourdin on the eleventh of
February a note for one hundred and eighty-seven pounds eight
shillings and six-pence ; December eighteen, 1802, they took up
his note for one hundred and fifty-five pounds and four-pence.
April six, 1802, James Bleecker paid Peter De Jourdin, on a mort-
gage, two hundred and twenty-eight pounds nine shillings and six-
pence. There are many other charges on those books, which show
that the Bleeckers acted as bankers for him.

During the Revolution John Skenandoah, an Indian youth, who
had been educated in France, came to this country on board the
same vessel with La Fayette. In 1796, he was at Ticonderoga,
when two Frenchmen, one a Catholic priest, came to the place,
with whom he conversed. They had with them a French boy,
weak and sickly, whose mind was wandering so that he seemed to
be silly. He was left there, and was seen at different times by
Skenandoah in the family of Thomas Williams, an Indian. He
afterward saw the boy from time to time, and declared him on oath
to be the Rev. Eleazar Williams.

Doctor Peter Wilson, of the Seneca Nation, went to Franklin
county two years ago, to aid in preventing, 'as far as possible, the
troubles usually attending the payment of the annuities to the St.
Regis Indians.*

On his return, he stopped at Albany, where he informed a gen-
tleman in one of the Departments, that the old men at the Re-
servation near Hogansburgh objected to paying Mr. Williams his
share, on the ground that he was no Indian — that he was ' a
stranger.'

The Doctor passed a few days at Fort Covington, in the same
county, where he was informed by an old squaw, that many years
before, and while Mr. Williams was a boy, she was at the cabin
of his reputed father, who was away from home. He returned
from town in the afternoon, with two or three slates and some
writing-material. The boy Eleazar took a skte and pencil, and
immediately wrote ' Louis Charles,' to the surprise of those present.

About this same time, while he was idiotic, he took up a pen
and scribbled, in a manuscript Indian mass-book, a number of let-
ters and figures. It was given to him in 1836, and contained the
numerals, from one to thirty, in French characters ; also the letter
(7 in the same hand-writing as that of Louis XVH., the word '<?mc,'

* Ths St. Regis Indians are not a distinct natlonalitj, but the descendants of a colony of
Iroquois, principally Onondagas, Cayugas, and Senecas, who embraced the Roman Catholic re-
ligion, and, separating from their brethren a century ago, migrated to the St. Lawrence, and
placed themselves under the protection of the French Ooyemor of Canada.

448 ITie Bourbon toho never reigned. [November,

and the letters *'Loui? They are in the peculiar hand-writing of a
child.

He appears to have been regarded by the Indians as of French
birth. His own recollections of his boyhood commenced with
scenes around Lake George, though the Williams ftmily only
made that a place of sojourn, residing at Caghnewaffa, near Mon-
treal. Doctor Wilson's informant stated to him, tnat one day,
while out with his little Indian companions, Eleazar, who had been
previously idiotic, jumped or fell from a high rock into the water,
and, on recovering from the shock, had the full use of his faculties.

Subsequently, two French gentlemen visited the fiunily. He
was soon afterward sent, with a son of Thomacj Williams, to the
school for Indian youth at Long Meadow, in Massachusetts. It
was there remarked that he was a French and not an Indian youth,
totally unlike his foster-brother. We have the assurance of tJie
late J. Stanley Smith, of the Albany Mcpreas^ and afterward of
the Auburn American^ that ^ certain gentlemen for many years re-
ceived regularly a sum of money from France, to be applied to
the clothing and education of this same Williams ; ^ and instancing
John R. Bleecker as the receiver. In 1808, the persons sending
the money are said to have died, and the receipts stopped* His
education was completed through the aid of contrioations by
charitable individuals.

In 1806 young Williams visited Bishop Chevreux, at Boston,
who made many inquiries of him about a boy that had been
brought from France, and left among the Indians. During the
last war with Great Britain, he rendered efficient service to the
American cause ; and some years after peace was condnded, be-
came a missionary to the Oneidas. He afterward went to Oreen
Bay, where his wife owned some property, which was lost by an
unfortunate negotiation with Mr. Amos Lawrence, of Boston.
For some time he was chaplain to General Taylor.

After having exhumed the remains of the first Napoleon, the
Prince de Joinville, second son to Louis Philippe, paia a vimt to
America in 1841. Instead of making an ordinary tour of observa-
tion, to the great surprise of the officers in his company, he * went
out of his way to meet an old man among the Indians, who had
very much of a Bourbon aspect, and was spoken of as the son of
Louis XVL' One of them expressed this sentiment to Mr. George
Sumner, brother of the Senator. Mr. George Raymond, then an
officer in the Brazilian service, was with the party of the Prinoe
when it left New- York, conversed with him, and heard him * express
a most particular anxiety to find out this Mr. Williams, and have an
interview with him.' At Albany, De Joinville left his oompanj,
and proceeded to Lake George, and on the route stopped at Sarm-
toga, and visited Mr. Charles E. Dudley, of Albany, the son of Mn.
Blandina Dudley, who was then at«the Springs, and obtained from
him Mr. Williams's address. He then set out for the West. At
Cleveland, Mr. James O. Brayman, an editor of the Bufblo Courier^
came on board the steam-boat, and heard him repeatedly inqniring

1868.] 3%« Bourbon who never reigned. 449

about that individual, and stating that he should see him. At
Mackinaw Mr. Williams came on board the same vessel in which
the Prince took passage. Captain John Shook, of Huron,
Ohio, then introduced them. De Joinville started with surprise,
turned pale, and his lip quivered, exciting the notice of the specta-
tors. At Green Bay, the two had a private interview, the particu-
lars of which, as stated by each party, are familiar to the public.
In this conversation, Mr. Williams declares that the Piince in-
formed him that he was a descendant of the Bourbons, and asked
him to sign a document abdicating all claim to the French throne,
to which was annexed a stmulation that he should receive a
princely establishment from Louis Philippe, and what of the per-
sonal property of the family of Louis XVI. could be recovered.
These proposals were rejected. It appears, that while at Hogans-
burgh, Franklin county, transacting business for the St. Regis In-
dians, (Catholic proselytes of the Iroquois Nation,) Mr. Williams
learned that De Joinville was contemplating a visit to Green Bay,
and quitted that place for the West on that account. At parting,
the Prince invited Mr. Williams to visit the Tuileries, and after-
ward sent him a gold snuff-box and other valuable presents.

In 1 843, at the request of an Iroquois chief, a Roman Catholic,
Mr. Williams sent a petition to Louis Philippe through the Prince,
in which he uses the phrase, ' the enterprising spirits of our fore-
fathers.' The petition was granted, and a letter in the hand of the
King of the French written in reply.

In 1818, on the occasion of a social party at the house of Dr.
Hosack, in New-York, at which were present M. Genet, formerly
an ambassador from France, Count Jean D'Angley, Counsellor
Sampson, Dr. John W. Francis, and others, this subject was intro-
duced. At length M. Genet distinctly said : ' Gentlemen, the
Dauphin of France is not dead, but was brought to America.' He
also expressed his belief that he was in Western New- York, and
that Le Roy de Chaumont was knowing to the fact. The family
of Genet declare that he long entertained hopes of discovering
the Dauphin, and had himself been on the point, when coming to
this countiy as ambassador, of bringing the royal children with
him. At that very time. Count D'Angley was in correspondence
with Le Roy de Chaumont. A writer in the New- York Times^
last spring, stated that M. Genet believed Mr. Williams to be
identical with the lost monarch.

Mrs. Margaret Brown, of New-Orleans, wife of Joseph Deboit,
of the household of the Count d'Artois, afterward Charles X.,
testified that in 1 806 she was told by the Duchess of Angouleme,
that she knew her brother to be alive and safe in America. She
was also told by her husband or the Duchess, that he was carried
off by a man named Bellanger, In 1817, Mrs. Brown resided at
Philadelphia, and in a conversation with Mrs. Chamberlan, wife of
the Secretary of the Count de Coigni, who had lived with the
Count de Provence at Edinburgh, that woman assured her that

460 The Bourboii who ?iever reigned. pfovember,

she had heard at the Tuileries, that the Dauphin was alive ; that
Bellanger had carried him to Philadelphia, and that he bore the
name of Williams. A person had come from America to France
on this business, and received money, after which he returned.
Before Mrs. Brown severed her connection with the royal femily,
the Duke of Angouleme examined her papers, and removed all that
related to the private affairs of the Bourbons. She was employed
also to put a young woman into a convent who had been connected
with the royal £aimily, but could .not be induced to state particolars,
saying that it was better for history to be silent.

The attempt was made to obtain affidavits to discredit this whole
story. Mrs. Williams, the reputed mother of Eleaisar, was induced
by the Catholic priest at St. Regis, to sign and depose to a paper
in English, stating that he was her son. She, however, made, at
her own instance, a counter-affidavit, that he was her adopted son.
His name does not appear in the baptismal register at Cagnnewaga,
where the rest of that family are recorded.

His portrait, taken when a child, greatly resembles the one taken
b^ Bellanger of Louis X VH. His eyes are of the same color, and
his other features are clearly similar. M. Fagnani, a French
painter, meeting him for the first time, scrutinized him carefully,
and then pronounced him a Bourbon. The upper part of the face,
he said, was decidedly of a Bourbon cast, while the mouth and
lower part resemble the House of Hapsburgh. His very gestures
resemble those of the Bourbon race.

A European gentleman happening to see him in the pulpit, de-
clared him a Bourbon, adding that he had heard in liegitimist
circles that Louis XVIT. was alive, and his belief that Mr. Wil-
liams was the man. Indeed, he has often been recognized by his
Bourbon physiognomy.

It would be saying too much, to pronounce Mr. Williams abso-
lutely the missing Bourbon, but the theory is certainly plaiisible.
The testimony, when sifted carefully, shows that Louis AVIL was
actually removed from France by Bellanger and a lady of the
Coui-t. Soon afterward, a similar lady of the fiunily of Marie
Antoinette appeared at Albany with an idiotic French boy, named
Louis, who was removed to the neighborhood of Lake Champlain,
and supported for many years by money sent from France. The
family of Charles X. acknowledged that the young Bourbon was
in America. In 1838, the Prince de Joinville came to this country,
and made a secret expedition into the interior. * An inquiry was
started in France, after his return thither, about two servants of
Marie Antionette, who emigrated to America during the French
Revolution. At his next visit, he inquired much al^ut Mr. Wil-
liams, and, at their interviews, always treated him with deference.
Frenchmen, before that time, had repeatedly come to see him,
evincing singular emotion when inJiis presence.

A blow inflicted by Simon on the young King, was indicated by
a scar on Mr. Williams^s fine head. The crescent-formed maiks

1858.] Lines: Our Loss, 451

of inoculation existed alike on his arm and that of the Prince.
He even recognized a picture of Simon, as a face that had haunted
him all his life.

Taking for granted that Louis XVII. and Eleazar Williams are
the same individual, we have an impressive token of the fate that
awaits kings. Their crowns must fall at the feet of the democracy ;
they must descend to the condition of plebeians, accept their lot,
share their fortune, and pursue simUar avocations. Such was Mr.
Williams's career. The throne of the Bourbons has passed, not
merely from the son of Louis XVI., but from actual existence on
earth, leaving his story valuable only as a matter of historical
verity ; but honors less transitory, we trust, are reserved for the
devoted missionary — a throne of celestial glory in the eternal
spheres.

U R LOSS

The grass is waving once again,

The flowers have sprung from out their graves,
Again the brook in rolling curves

Enwraps the bank its water laves.

II.

The willow branches hold their leaves,
As tears are held by those who weep,

And birds are singing, as they sang
Before our darling fell asleep.

III.

Three summers she had blessed our life
With joy unfelt — unknown before :

Our happiness was so complete,
We neither asked nor wanted more.

IT.

0 rarest blossom that the spring

Could give to loving hearts liKe ours !

0 folded bud that Autumn winds
Took from us when they took the flowers !

Is life all lived, and this the end ?

Our knowledge — is a wasting sigh ;
Our hope — is but a longing wish ;

Our fiiith — a passionate, broken cry.

452 TheophUuB Sumpunk. [November,

THEOPHILUS SUMPUNK

* A STOUT oaralier

Of twenty-five or thirtjr.'— Btboh.

Theophilus Suhpunk Stood upon the steps of the Station-
Ilouse of the Great Central Rural Rail-road. In one hand was
his valise ; in the other his umbrella. His fitshionably-cnt coat,
a la Espagnola — last remnant of by-^one and oft-sidbed-OTer re-
spectability— was carefully and studiously fitstened around his
Belviderean shoulders. In front, and lending a peculiar chaim to
his well-deyeloped chest, hung two massiire tassels. Their natiye
hue of silky blackness had long since succumbed to the mthless
ravages of time and weather, and all that now renuuned of black
was brown.

Upon the hyperion-like locks of Mr. Theophilus Sompunk was
jauntily stuck a little black glazed cap ; the which, combined with
his superlatively got-up whiskers ana mustache, not to speak of
the cloak afores^d, gave to his entire personeOe a deddedly impos-
ing and military appearance. This was gratifying to the feehogs
of 3lr. Theophilus Sumpunk, and realized the most cherished idea
of his life. It was his be-all and his end-all, to look military ;
to be thought military ; to be taken for military.

Despite the conscious possession of charms so coveted, a cloud
of care and uneasiness was updki the brow of Mr. Theophilus Sum-
punk, as he stood there, gazing through the murky night into the
little town of Creekville, which lay, as it were, gathered before
him at his feet. Theophilus was brooding. He was a stranger in
a strange land. Friends he had none. With the last ex|»ring
dollar, they had taken to themselves the wings of the morning ;
deserted him. What a tale could Mr. Sumpunk teQ of the ingra-
titude — unfeeling ingratitude of his fellow-moi ! No matter ;
with them he had done. He had turned his back, he fondly hoped
forever, upon the modem Babylon, its sights and soands, to seek
retirement, and with it, contentment, in some nural spot; and
hence, fifteen minutes agone saw him deposited, his goods and
effects hereinbefore specified, upon the scene of his fatore opeta-
tions ; though what the exact nature of these oj^^ratioiis should
be, was to himself a matter of mysterious nnoertamty.

As he stood there, upon the steps, he thought dT all these thii^rs.
Past, present, and future, were alike food for mebneholy. Friend-
less and alone! And as he ruminated, he sighed; and as lie
sighed, he mentally sat down in the dust, and covered himsdf widi
imaginary sackcloth and ashes. And as he did so, ahemaliiig the
interesting code of penance, by prying hesitatinj^ forward to
where lay the town of his adoption, time passed on — onheediiif^.

'^:

1858.] TheophUiLB Sumpunk, 453

remorselessly — as if it made no difference whatever to it ; and
perhaps it did not.

The train, which had borne such precious freight thus fer, had
again renewed its onward course, just as if nothing unusual had
occurred. A puff ! a whiff ! a scream ! and it had gone bellowing
forth into the darkness, lost to sight and hearing.

The few fellow-passengers that had alighted with him, had busied
themselves with themselves, and gone their respective ways. Por-
ters with plethoric trunks upon their shoulders, and twenty-five-
cent pieces in prospective, had erst disappeared. Simultaneously,
one onmibus and two cabs, with the average proportion of con-
comitants, human and equine, that go to m^oce up the siun total
usually found in such places.

Still stood Theophilus upon the station steps. The night was
wintry. The biting north-easterly blast, as it blew in sharp, fitful
gusts around the comer of the building, on the steps of which he
stood, played sportively with the surplus broadcloth of his ample
cloak ; anon, with the flowing trusses, which the little military-
looking cap but very partially concealed, and settled ultimately,
with cnaracteristic spitefulness, in his very teeth.

The situation of our hero, (as we think we are now justified
in calling him) although bordering on the romantic, was not by
any means bordering on the comfortable. The chattering of his
teeth, caused by the phenomenon already alluded to, aroused him
from the sad reverie into which he had been plunged. He raised
his eyes, and saw a light, a scintillating light, a light swinging
hither and thither in the breeze, and apparently not fer from the
place where he stood. As he looked, it gradually assumed a pal-
pable form and meaning to the obfuscated pannikel of Theophilus.
Cavalierly raising the extreme comer of his cloak to his eyes, he
dashed therefrom the gathering drops, and read :

SPREAD-EAGLE HOTEL:
ACOOMMOOATIOH rOR MAN AND BSA8T.

Visions of warmth and comfort within that happy ' Hostelrie,'
with smiling faces sitting down to Brobdignagian dishes of smoking-
hot viands, flit fantastically before his distempered imagination.
Reeking decoctions of ambrosial punches, filling the atmosphere
with delicious incense, gleam athwart his mental optics, and in the
excitement of the temporary illusion, he smilingly raises his ruby
proboscis to snuff the savory aroma.

But the illusion was momentary. Then came the momentous
question, commencing, ' To be or not to be ? ' The necessity, urgent,
imperious, of being a participator in such inviting fare, if such
there were, if not, any other, was eloquently urged by an incon-
veniently empty stomach, in a series of motions, the which were

454 TheophUua SumpunJk, [November,

seconded as eloquently and ad urgently by a frame shivering and
shaking with the pitiless cold.

The question of ways and means next presented itself and from
thence arose a severe and embarrassing conflict. The shivering
limbs and chattering teeth imploringly said, 'ffo/' the empty
stomach and parched throat clamorously said, ^Ool^ and TTieo-
philus was about impulsively to obey the pleasing behest, when
hollow, sepulchral voices arrested his foot-steps. Issuing from
each individual pocket — coat, vest, and pants — they mockingly,
tauntingly said : ' Stay where you are, Theophilus.'

And there, and then upon the station-steps, did Theophilns fUl
into a quandary. An embodiment of Lawrence^ pictnre of * Oar-
rick between the Muses : ' puDed at by one, and tugged at by the
other. Despaiiingly he shook them off, drew finmy around him
his expansive cloak, placed his classic chin gracemlly upon the
thumb and fore-finger of his right hand, while with the other he
held the valise and umbrella ; and thus he fell cogitating. And as
he cogitated, his thoughts strayed back to the days of his youth,
his happy youth, and of his home in Bath ; and while there, they
naturally reverted to the shop, behind the counter of which his un-
sophisticated minority was wont to be passed, dispensine cheese,
and butter, and bacon in infinitesimal pennyworths, and fuso to the
snuggery behind the shop, and the well-lined tea-table in the snug-
gery, on which he could plainly see — the great vista of waters roB-
mg between, to the contrary notwithstan^g — the tea-am hisdng
and gurgling, and the well-buttered muffins smoking and lookmg
unctuous, and the tempting shrimps, and the tantalizine water-
cresses, and the whole smging in chorus : ^ Come over, andeat ra\
come over, and eat us.' And as the vision passed away, he m^ed,
and said : 'Ah ! me I and this was before I came to iku VkariUd
wooden country ! '

The handle of the valise is clutched with convuleive firmness,
also the ditto of the umbrella. The martial cloak is drawn more
firmly around him ; the little military-looking glazed cap is pressed
firmly down to his eyes ; his breast is figuratively steeled to con-
sequences, individually and collectively ; and Theophilus prepares
to throw himself under the pinions of the ' Eagle ' aforesaid.

II.

MoBxiNG, bleak and cold, dawns upon the two thousand fire
hundred inhabitants of the thriving, go-ahead little town of Creek-
ville. Gusty, raw, and uninviting, it sends a shiver to the bone of
ilk luckless one whose vocation demands him to &ce it. Doors
and windows, yes, even key-holes, are hermetically sealed againsl
it ; for crevice cannot be too diminutive, nor chink too small tp in-
tercept the progress of the ubiquitous one.

The eagle, with extended wings, which hovers perpetoalhr
above the door-way of the inn that gives shelter and food, and,
hem ! etceteras to the hero of our former chapter, looks forlorn and

1858.] Theophilua Sumpunk. 465

suffering, weather-beaten and hoary. With lack-lustre eye-balls,
and a glistening icicle pendent from beak and tail and talon, it
looks a ventable eagle doing penance. Forward, through the
almost impenetrable vapors does it strain its weaiy eyes, as if ap-
pealing to the elements themselves for pity and succor. But in
vain, O rampant emblem of the free ! Hadst been but flesh and
blood, as nature did intend thee, before the craft of man made
thee the miserable ' counterfeit presentment ' that thou art., the
deep cavity in the towering cliff would have been thy hiding-
place from the merciless elements. As it is, thou art bought and
paid for, fulfilling thine honest calling, thy destiny ; and in thy
case, there is no postponement on account of weather.

Within, there is warmth and comfort, genial and grateful. The
few boarders, whom we see seated cosily around the crackling
stove, appreciate their present comfortable position too thoroughly,
to be inveigled from it by any mundane considerations. They
are conversing in suppressed whispers, in twos and threes. An
air of mystery and curiosity pervades each inquiring fiice, and
every theory propounded as a solution of the matter on the
tapis, by the accredited oracle of the room, is met and acknow-
ledged by shrewd ejaculations, and ominous shakes and nods of
their respectively wise heads. Need we mention that the subject is
our friend Theophilus ? As to who he is ; what he is ; where he
comes from ; and what he is doing here, there is no end of wonder-
ment and speculation. Meanwhile, the interesting object on whose
behalf so much inquiry is being hazarded, is seated snugly in the
best parlor upstairs, and apparently enjoying himself with all that
dignified ease and grace so peculiar to himself. The valise has
already disgorged its treasures. Our hero is encased in a dressing-
gown of richest hue and pattern — of course, Indian — while
smoking-cap and slippers, of corresponding texture and pattern,
lend their aid to complete the imposing tout ensemble.

In the same room, and seated opposite to Theophilus, engaged
in earnest conversation with him, is another personage, whose por-
trait is worth sketching. In stature he is short and pursy, with a
quick, twitching elasticity of movement. You can see it plainly
in the way he smokes his segar. Spit, spit, quick or slow, accord-
ing to the degree of excitement. In that respect, we need no
better barometer, to enable us to judge of the state of his mental
weather. It is unfailing. In complexion he is ruddy, with light
sandy curly hair. Every smile and dimple on that mirth-provokmg
face, proclaims its owner to be a jolly good fellow ; and if Phil
Chuckle is not a jolly good fellow, then there is not a jolly good
fellow in the jolly good town of Creekville, nor any where else.
Phil Chuckle is of the Typo fraternity, editor and sole proprietor
of the Creekville Blue Blasts a paper, as its heading imports, de-
voted disinterestedly to the interests — Political, Agricultural, and
Social — of the good people of Creekville. Mr. Chuckle has, in
his day and generation, filled many other capacities ; and may be
said to have here garnered home the many resources and appli-

456 T/ieophilus Sumpunk, [NoYember,

ances of his cosmopolitan experiences for the benefit of his fellow-
townsmen. This fact, each issae of the JSlue Blast amply yeriiGes.

The coming together of two such kindred, congenial spirits as
Mr. Theophilus Sumpunk and Mr. Phil Chuckle, was bat a veiy
natural and not-to-be-wondered-at result. How could it be otbe^
wise ? The laws of attraction and cohesi<Hi order it so ; and fi>r
two such to be in the same town, and under the expansive pinions
of the same ^ Spread Eagle,' without coming together, would have
been a complete and totsJ subversion of every law approved of
and indorsed by that modem science. What was deficient in
sympathy of feeling and spontaneity of sentiment at first, was
soon made up by liberal cUmceura of ^hot-stuff' on the part of Phil
Chuckle, which generous treatment was rewarded as be designed
it should be, by the implicit unbosoming of the joys and sorrows
of Mr. Theophilus Sumpunk, whereto were added eneriences of
life which he had seen, and travels which he hcidnoL Mr. Chuckle
was made his confident, his unreserved reservoir ; in return for
which, offers generous and liberal — of assistance, interest, in-
fluence, and much more — were made on the part of Mr. Chuckle,
and received by Mr. Sumpunk with grateful avidity. Thus they
shook hands and retired, each to his respective sleepmg-apartment,
with mutual feelings of liveliest friendship and esteem.

While Phil Chuckle was putting off his pantaloons that nighti
preparatory to jumping into bed, something struck him on the
head, which made him incontinently slap his exposed knee, and
cry, ^ Eureka ! ' It was an idea, a bnght idea, which had steamed
its way through the vapors of the * hot-stuff' he had been drink*
ing, till it had reached the upper regions of the headf'where it had
struck him, as averred. Having again slapped his knee, and ta-
pered off with a series of gratnlatoiy antics, Phil went to bed, to
sleep on't, to dream onH. The consultation between the two
worthies (at present) pertains to that idea. Let us turn our in-
visible-caps and listen.

^ My dear Sumpunk,' reasons Mr. Phil Chuckle, * you need have
no delicacy in the matter ; none whatever, I assure you. Were I
in your place, gifted with the same deep melodious voice and
handsome military appearance '

' Oh ! really. Chuckle '

^ Pardon me, I do not mean to flatter you : not a bit. Sir. Were
I in your place, I would not hesitate an instant in embarkiiu^ in
such an enterprise : why should you ? answer me that. Look at
it in its right light. You want something to do. Is not tlos
better than a trumpery clerk's situation, even supposing you oould
get one (which is doubtful.) As to its requiring cheek, and all
that kind of thing — mere bosh. A popular delusion. Nothingi
when you are used to it ; no more than getting over your first
segar.'

As he says so, Mr. Chuckle knocks the ashes off his own, and
proceeds complacently to blow such a doud, as cannot &il to coil*

1868.] Theophiltis Sumpunk. 457

vince the most skeptical of the exceeding ease, and, in feet,
pleasure, of public speaking. This done, he proceeds :

* Beside, look at the advantages you possess. You say you have
held a commission in the East-India Company's service, which
only failing health compelled you to resign. You can speak from
actual observation of the atrocities of the cowardly Sepoys ; have
engaged in hand-to-hand skirmishes with them ; are familiar with
their various interesting modes of life, their manners and customs ;
are au fait in giving imitations of the various eccentric cries and
songs of the coolies, water-carriers, palanquin-bearers, and so
forth. Why, Sir, your fortune is made, if you only knew it.'

*0h! come now, Chuckle, draw it mild, you know,' smirks
Sumpunk.

'A feet. Sir : a positive feet. Why, just look at it. Is not India
the all-engrossing subject of the day ? Of course it is. Is there
not a morbid craving in the public mind for information on the
subject ? To be sure there is. I know it. I see it every day in
my capacity as editor of the £lue Bloat. Yes, Sir, depend upon

it ; the lecture's the thing to catch the conscience of the people,.

eh ? Now, do n't you think so ? '

* Aw,' replies Theophilus, ' might do ver well ; but, aw, you see,,
feet is, never stood 'pon a platfawm in my life. 'Fraid, my deai*
fellaw, could n't do it. Besides, nevaw composed a lectchaw.'

*0h! bother! that need be no drawback. I'llverysoonarrang«e
that for you. You just notch down, from time to time, whatever
may occur to you of interest on the subject, and leave the draw-
ing up of it to me.'

' But, my dear fell '

' Now, no more excuses : you must go into it ; you really must.
'T is too good a chance to let slip. I will render you every assist-
ance I can. I will speak to the landlord here, to place a good and
comfortable room at your service, with whatever else you may
require. I will also write a letter to the mayor, requesting him to
place the town hall at your disposal, which he will gladly do. I
will also supply you with plenty of bills and posters^ advertise you
in my paper, and give you flattering notices in my editorial colunms^
That 's the way to make a sensation, rely upon it. So push along
with your notes, and leave the rest to me. Depend upon it, you
will yet bless the day you set foot in Creekville, and came across.
Phil Chuckle, the editor of the Blite Bloat,

* Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have
greatness thrust upon them.' We respectfully ask the opinion of
the reader, as to which class Theophilus Sumpunk belonged.

*Ah!' he thought, as he turned the matter over in nk mind,
after his friend and adviser had left him, * sensible fellaw is Chuckle,
very, indeed : understands and appreciates merit, wherever he sees
it. Capital idea, that of his ; will try it, at any rate; Nevaw
venchaw, nevaw win, ha ! ha ! '

VOL. LII. 30

458 IT^eqiAilus Sumpunk. [November,

Tmrs Cbunch, Esq., was the Mayor of Creekville ; the choice,
spontaneous and unanimous, of its free and independent electors.
A man of unflinching, xmbending integrity ; yet withal poesessmg
kindly and sympathetic elements, in common with the people, their
pursuits and requirements, that eminently fitted him to sustain with
credit the high official position to which their suffrage had ele-
vated him. U was the boast of the people, no less than it was the
boast of Titus Crunch himself, that Titus Crunch had risen from
nothing. Sir I absolutely nothing, to fill a comer in the niche of
municipal fitme — a glorious example, and a living demonstration
of the power of gemus, and the reward of indonutable persever-
ance. The glory and the boast of every man, woman, and child
in Creekville, was Titus Crunch ; and a conceded ornament and
pattern to their flourishing and highly-favored town.

We repeat, Titus Crunch fully appreciated the high honor con-
ferred upon him by his fellow-townsmen. In a commensurate
degree, so did the interesting partner of his bosom, Mrs. Titus
Crunch, the help-meet of his household ; the adviser and companion
of his earlier struggles up the ladder of &me ; and now the proud
participator and ^arer in the rewards of his industry and perse-
verance. Their daughter, too, the oflfepring of their mutual felicity,
gifted, accomplished, and beautiful ; she was placed in a sphere
which her many graces of person and amiabUities of mind quali-
fied her so eminently to adorn. And this they all knew, and felt
so proud o^ and so flattered were they by the sensible discrimi-
nation of the people among whom they were raised, and whose
interests were so closely interwoven with their own. To promote
the well-being, and guard the sacred rights of such a people with
a &therly solicitude, was the proudest aspiration of Mr. Titus
Cinmch; to further their means of improvement, intellectually
and otherwise, his dearest boast. Accordingly, when the charac-
teristic note from the editor of the £lue Blast came to hand, it
found our worthy mayor most amiably disposed to do his utmost
to further the praiseworthy objects of the gallant Ca|itain of
East-Indian celebrity. Mrs. C. and Miss Lydia C. lent their
aid and countenance and advice in the matter; and between
them, they concocted a scheme which would transcend any scheme
of any former functionary, and throw a bright and luminous halo
over the brief reign of Mayor Crunch, that would be 9xi epoch in
the annals of Creekville, and show him up as a pattern and example
to all succeeding mayors. The project was no less a one, than
throwing their doors open to the illustrious Captain ; of inviting
him to make their house his home while he honored Creekville
with his presence ; and showing him that attention and regard that
the scars in battle won, and the patrician blood which coursed
through his veins, demanded at the hands of the representative of
the free and patriotic community of Creekville. To the lady of the
house, however, must be awarded the merit of this scheme ; though

1858.J ITiecphUus Sumpunk. 459

the motive in her case was different, and the end to be achieved much
more important. Herself descended, as she firmly believed, from
a long line of noble ancestry — though so long, that she was wont
to lose herself in tracing the labyrmthian turnings and windings
of the genealogical maze — what more natural than that she should
vashy in her own day and generation, to restore her house to its
pristine glory and splendor ? Her husband, though a worthy man
m the main, and the architect of his own fortune, was still of ple-
beian origin, and destitute of all appreciation of the pride of birth,
and the lustre that attends a * state of high degree.' Therefore
were the high aspirations she had ever before hier, for her daughter,
locked within the maternal bosom ; and therefore did she pine and

Eray for the arrival of the knight-errant that was to snatch her
eloved one from obscurity, and bear her away to his castle in the
island of Happy-land. Whispers were rife thi'oughout Creekville,
that this same Sumpunk was more than he pretended to be.
They set him down at least, as some nobleman's son in disguise,
travelling through the country to familiarize himself with the
workings of its republican machinery. 'Ah I who knows ? them
lords do take queer notions.'

In the mean time, the flattering carte blanche was received, and
by the advice of Chuckle accepted, and the valise, umbrella, and
fortunate possessor of so many attractions, removed to the hospi-
table domicile of the no less hospitable mayor.

Need we say that Theophilus, Caesar-like, came, and saw, and
conquered ? We feel assured the least sanguine of our readers
must have anticipated no less a fatality. Such an embodiment of
all the fabled graces, what woman could see and be happy without
the possessor ? Such quintessence of concentrated charms of mind
and person, such an accretion of all the cardinal virtues that adorn
humanity, what woman, however Cleopatrian, could withstand ?
Assuredly not the romantic, sentimental Lydia Crunch. Although
the daughter of a mayor, and the heiress of broad acres and a
paper-mill, she was but human. Although brought up at the feet
of wisdom, and rocked in the cradle of luxury, and reared in the
lap of immaculate maternity, she was not proof against the honey-
pointed arrows of this gay Theophilus. Alas I her little heart was
no longer her own. It was sighed away, inch by inch, to this idol,
this brazen image, that had set itself, and that she had worshipped.
' Farewell the tranquil mind,' crochet and bijouterie, books and
' weakly Fledgers,' oh ! farewell. Farewell the Sylvan Sobbs and
Ferny Fanns, and all the pomp and circumstance of harrowing'st
tale e'er registered by act of Congress, oh I farewell I Miss Lydia's
occupation 's gone.
Ah I tenderest Lydia I Ah ! happiest Sumpunk!

IV.

On that day, which was to have been made memorable by the
debut of Captain Theophilus Sumpunk before the intelligent pub-
lic of Creekville, quite a little excitement in its way was manifest

460 Thecphilus Sumpunk. [November,

in the minds of said intelligent public in anticipation of the event.
Some of the most inflaential towns-people of that h^bly-fitvored
spot had been to work, to give all posdble icUU to the occaaion.
But none more so than the chief dignitary of the place, and the
indomitable and persevering Phil Chuckle, editor and sole proprie-
tor of the Creekville Blue Blast

To the latter worthy, in Bxi especial manner, were thanks due
for the active and energetic interest he had taken in the matter.

The influence of the press we all know to be omnipotent. Also
do we know, that no mean sinew in that powerful organization
was the Blue Bloat; nor no mean member of that powerful,
polemical body denominated the press-gang, was Mr. Phil Chuckle.

The posters and paragraphs and programmes issued in thousands
from his printing-oflSce, and distributed by small boys at fifty cents
a day, over the length and breadth of the town, and into every
store, and house, and office, and tavern, uid not only in the town,
but in the adjoining villages and &rm-houses, had had the desired
effect. The pubhc mind had, we might say, been stirred up with
a long pole, held by the cunning hand of Phil Chuckle. The
curiosity of that many-headed animal, the mass, had been worked
up to its culminating point ; and considering the length of time
that it stood upon the tip-toe of expectation, and the exceeding in-
convenience of that vertiginous position, we cannot but wonder
and feel thankful that it did not irretrievably injure itself by top-
pling over.

But more especially in the neighborhood of the ^ Spread Eagle ^
does the excitement prevail.

The mists and vapors surrounding that untortunate bird of ptey,
when last we did ourselves the honor of apostrophizing it, have
now disappeared, and it has come out of the furnace of affliction
burnished and brightened, and looking more golden than ever.
The day is bright and clear and crisp, and the eagle, sensible of
the bracing and renovating effect, seems to lift its head with a
more defiant look, and spread its wings with a firmer and more
muscular development. Were the cruel nails and rods that bind
it to things terrestrial but removed, we question if we would not
see it soar away through the regions of space, so rampant does it
look.

The hotel over which this bird presides is situated adjacent to
the market-place. The town hall is in the very centre of the
market-place, and it is market day ; you can see that, by the stir
and bustle ; by the hundred-and-one wagons that are propped up
against the foot-paths, groaning with produce of every description ;
by the number of stalls, and tables, and baskets, and bundles ; and
people standing, and talking, and buying, and selling, and bargain-
mg, and bartenng, and shouting, and gesticulating, as if from this
day forth there was to be a famine in the land and this the last
opportunity for making provision against it.

Elbowing his way pertinaciously through the crowd, we descnr
one who seems to have no pursuit in common with the others. It

1858.] Theophilus Sumpunk, 461

is Theophilus. The unmistakable wrapper thrown so gracefully
around him, and little military-looking glazed cap, proclaim it to
be him and none other. Yet there is something strange, if not
suspicious, in his very looks and actions. The sidelong glancing
of the eye, and peculiar roll of the body, indicate in common par-
lance that there is ' something up.' Following closely at his heels
is a character of ' horse-flesh ' notoriety, known for not being over-
scrupulous in his principles and general business transactions.
This is no less a personage than Caleb Couper, a most^useful man
in his community, and the oracle of the great livery-stables of
Slamen and Company.

They retreat beneath the expanded pinions, through the bar-
room, up the stairs, and into the room before referred to, where the
door is closed upon them.

What plans are there discussed, what propositions laid down,
what bribes offered, is not for us to know or pry into. The mayor,
studiously driving his quill up and down the columns of his ponder-
ous ledger, dreams not of these two men laying their heads to-
gether within that little room in that most respectable of hotels
the ' Spread Eagle.* My lady, with the long descent, as she lolls
herself luxuriously in her couch, congratulating herself on the
speedy realization of all her day-dreams, wots not of the little trans-
action in the aforesaid hotel. The editor of the £lue Blast, busy-
ing himself with tickets and fulsome encomiums, to the end that a
bumper house may satisfactorily reimburse all parties concerned,
would pause in his labor of love, and the blue and pink tickets in
his hand turn to scorpions could he but divine that instead of sell-
ing tickets at fifty cents a piece, he himself is being sold at a much
less exorbitant figure. The public, too, the dear confiding
public — but anon, we will not anticipate.

a • . a a . •

' Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,' and cries of
' Go on, go on ! ' from the pugnaciously disposed, seated or standing
in the back part of the brilliantly-illuminated hall; and remon-
strances of ' Order ! order ! patience ! patience ! ' from the pacifi-
cally-disposed in the reserved seats near the platform. Eight
o'clock, the hour appointed for beginning the lecture, had struck.
Fifteen minues past, and still no lecturer. The mayor had taken
the chair for the purpose of preserving order and beguiling the at-
tention of the audience with a few of his conventional exordiums.
But even they were beginning to prove inadequate to appease the
half-stifled clamors of the incensed auditory. Mr. Chuckle then
resorted to the same expedient, but all the oil that he could throw
upon the troubled waters seemed like throwing it into a fire, in-
creasing and magnifying the blaze. Phil sat down in despair. The
Blue Blast was rapidly changing into a white heat. The mayor
subsided into the cushions of his chair of office, determined to say
nothing more, but let matters take their course. At this exciting
emergency a messenger was espied making his way hurriedly to
the platform, waving above his head a roll of paper, and shouting

462 Lines: Ching to Best. [November,

' Make way there, a message for the mayor, to be deKvered im-
mediately.'

With apprehensive forebodings that functionary took the
proffered roll, opened it, and instantly turned pale.

^Villain I wretched impostor I' hissed out from between his
blenched teeth.

^ Chuckle, my hat ; call the constables ; let us pursue him ! Oh !
my daughter *

At the mention of this latter word, a lon^, sharp, ringing shriek
rose high above the tumult, and a multiplicity of siiawls, furs, etc.,
was seen, being carried hurriedly out by two stalwart men. Mrs.
Crunch had famted. ^ Home ! ' cried her exasperated liege lord
as he hurried her into a coach. Crack went the whip, off went the
horses, rumble went the old family vehicle, and in a very few
minutes they were at their door. But too late ; the bird had
flown, flown on the wings of love, bearing with him his bride, his
adorable Lydia, to his castle in the island of Happy-land.

A small, hurriedly-written note, left on the toilet-table of the
fail* one, ran thus :

*My Deab Pabents: Weep not for me. I am very, very
happy ; happy in the love of one who to-morrow wiD call me wife.
Pursuit wUl DC useless, as my dear Theophilus has taken every
precaution to render such abortive. In my sunny home beyond
the seas I will often think of papa and mamma. Lydia.'

It was not until next day that the too-confiding mayor became
aware of the full extent of his loss. The secret he prudently re-
solved to bury within his own breast and that of his wretched wife.
But scandal travels fast, and busy tongues are not slow to tell you
in confidence that Ex-Mayor Crunch is not so well off now as he
was this time last year. But then you know we have had a money-
panic — that, I take it, is the reason, nothing more.

OOINO TO BEST.
I.

Let your hearts be troubled not for her,
That her trials are over-past ;

She has come a long and a weaiy way
To this repose at last :

A weary way, with a heavy load
Of care in her aching hreast; ^

So open the door of the grave, to-night,
And let her go in and rest

1868.] The Stars. 463

H B STARS.

All night, all night I watch the stars
From out my lonely window-bars,

0 Katie dear !
Long, long I gaze with tears and sighs,
For as their softened splendor streams

Through the still air.
Like happy thoughts through your sweet dreams,

So sweet and fair.
They but remind me of your eyes —
The light I love of your sweet eyes,
And long I gaze with tears and sighs,

0 Katie dear I

The dewy heavens so sweetly starred,
By bookish men are sadly scarred

With harsh names given.
The constellations sweet
Tripping with jewelled feet
Across the heaven.
Must lead forsooth a surly Bear,
Or scourge a Dragon through the air,
0 Katie dear,
A Dragon through the air !

For me — I read them all the same —

They ever, ever spell your name.

Or go they fast, or go they slow,

In heaven high, or heaven low,

Or interchanging to-and-fro,

'T is that sweet name they love to trace,

And spell it o'er and o'er.

And write it ever more.
Where no rude hand can reach it to efface,
My Katie dear !

Can reach it to efi&cc.

And in the early gray of morn,

On Love's untiring quest.
Oh ! tenderly the blushing dawn

Looks forUi from east to west ;
Looks forth to breathe one tender kiss

Unto the dropping moon.
Nor dreams that jealous Lucifer
Above is ever watching her.
And envies deep that wafted bliss

And sighs for such a boon I

But ah ! thy softly kindling flush
0 Katie dear !
With beauty wed.
Would make, I svreaf,

464 MUita/ry Adventurers. [NoTember,

The envious dawn to blush
A deeper red,
0 Katie dear !
A deeper red!

And oould that momine star,
From his blue height anr,
Bend from his silver car

And taste thy kiss,
He 'd linger in the sky,
Nor heed Apollo nigh,
But kiss, and fiunt, and die,

Amid such bliss !

MILITARY ADVENTURERS.

It is rather hard to define what an adventurer is now-ardays,
as the term has long deviated from its original meaning. Pro-
perly and originally it was employed to designate a man who
trusted to the chapter of accidents for a livelihood, or literally, to
whatever should happen or * turn up ; ' a person with no fixed call-
ing or occupation, and no definite plans for the future. It has
gradually and by a somewhat natural process, come to be applied to
any person who has no fixed place of residence, or regular business
or occupation, little principle, and who has no private fortune ; for
poverty is the one essential element in the character. We should
never think of calling a rover, with ten thousand dollars a year,
let his aims be ever so uncertain, or his antecedents ever so disre-
putable, an adventurer. In fact, an adventurer, as the term is
now understood, may safely be defined to be a person of no pecu-
niary resources, whose honesty is doubtful, who has left his native
place, and who has no fixed plans for the fnture, and above all, who
is unsuccessful in what he undertakes. Failure perhaps is even
more essential than poverty, for if a man succeeds he ceases to
be an adventurer. Louis Napoleon was an adventurer up to the
period of his election to the presidency, but no longer. So was his
uncle until he got the command of the army of Italy. Rajah
Brooke would have been one if he had had no private fortune : this
saved him. Raleigh was an adventurer in his day, but would not
be so if he lived in ours, though his career were precisely the same,
inasmuch as he was a gentleman, was well known, and had private
resources. It may be suggested that the last two examples
gould not fairly be charged with want of principle in the ordinary
sense of the term, but this is one of the requisites, the absence of
which is occasionally overlooked. A knave may occasionally es-
cape being dubbed^m adventurer, if in all other respects he come

1858.] Military Adventurers. 465

up to the standard ; but if he is poor and unsuccessful to boot, he
must submit.

We must not omit to mention that the members of a class into
which a man has forced his way by good luck, or sheer force of
talent, are apt, in spite of his success, to stigmatize him as an ad-
venturer, when those who remain below him would consider him
to have lost all claim to the character. The crowned heads of
Europe, for instance, always regarded Bemadotte and Napoleon
the Great as adventurers ; they still so consider Napoleon HI. ;
and Cromwell was viewed in the same light by the English aris-
tocracy. In short, the varieties of the species are innumerable,
and it would take pages to enumerate the various modifications
which an adventurer may undergo, and be still an adventurer.
It is no part of our present purpose to detail their several charac-
teristics. The increased facilities which each year affords for mov-
ing jfrom one place to another, and the boundless fields of enter-
prise which the new countries in modern times have thrown open
to the active and energetic, have naturally converted a large por-
tion of the youth of this age into * seekers of their fortunes,' so that
in commerce knight-errantry is now looked upon, not only as a
pardonable but a praiseworthy thing, and the term adventurer
nas lost much of its former odium ; but with * military ' prefixed to
it, it is probably as opprobrious as ever. Yet it is only very
recently that it has become disreputable to rove about the world
in search of employment for one's sword. Down to the end of the
last century it was very common and very creditable for a young
gentleman to serve one or two campaigns under a distinguished
conmiander, though neither he nor nis country had the smallest
interest in the quarrel. It was in feet part of a polite education,
and was considered useful in giving a youth a knowledge of the
world, self-possession, firmness of nerve, and polish of manner.
Many scions of good houses, both in Germany and England,
whose fortunes were meagre, also made a practice of eking them
out by embracing foreim military service as a profession. For
these men the armies of powers carrying on war with the Turks
seem to have had a special attraction. During the last century
great numbers of young Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, and
Germans of the smaller states entered the Austrian and Russian
armies, and sought laurels under Eugene and Suwarrow on the
Danube. At that time, however, war was in a great degree a
pastime of kings and gentlemen. It was a royal game, with which
the body of the people had nothing to do save to supply the re-
cruits. The evils of war, though dwelt upon occasionally by
preachers and moralists, never presented themselves forcibly to
men of the world. At the battle of Fontenoy the English and
French guards met in opposing columns^ and the ofilcers disputed
for some minutes, each side insisting, with the loftiest courtesy,
upon according to the other the privilege of firing first. The
Enfflish finally suffered themselves to be overcome by the enemy's
pohteness, and delivered a volley with deadly effect, and hundreds

466 ^ MUUaay Adveniuren. [November,

of poor Frenchmen fell on the spot. The affair was immenselj ap-
plauded at the time, but it is hardly necessary to say that an^ sudi
performance now would be greeted with general execration m
oarbarous inhumanity. Pubhc opinion will not permit any one to
fight in order to amuse himself, or sive the finishing toaobes to
education, or even to merely earn his bread. It aooords the
highest honors to successful soldiering, but insists that the recipient
shall fight for honest convictions, or under the flag^ of his own
country. People have no sympathy for those who sell their swords
to the highest bidder, without reference to the merits of the quar-
rels in which they engage.

The list of military adventurers has, nevertheless, probably been
larger for the last thirty years than ever before since the begmnioe
of the last century, owing to the numbers of those whom politio2
revolutions have driven into exile, most of them belonmig to a
class to whom a soldier's calling was the only one at alffiuiiifiar.
Hungary and Poland have contributed a larger quota to it than
any other. Their political refugees are mostty nooles, who have
been taught to fight as part of a gentleman's education, and are
utterly unacquainted with any other mode of earning their bread.
The German refugees are generally of an inferior grade, trades-
people, or professional men, who, when they find themsebres in a
foreign country, readily adapt themselves to their sitnation, sad
live as they have al wavs lived, by working. France supplies a 6w
of the roving men of the sword, but not many, as persons martial^
inclined can generally find abundant employment at home, and her
refugees are mostly people of peaceable pursuits, whom notiimg
but political &naticism could mduce to take up arms, and whose
military aspirations are mostly limited to a vigorous oampflq[B
against the tyrants, the aristocracy, and shop-keepers, in whidbt all
prisoners shaU be decapitated.

England furnishes a very fair share. Owing to the costly style
of living prevalent in her army, and the insufficiency of the offioei*s
pay, every year a number of young men are forced to leave tlie ser-
vice on account of their inability to keep pace with their oon-
rades. Few of them quit the field without a hard struggle ; bal
the crisis, unless averted by a war or rapid promotion, comes
sooner or later.

While the world is at peace, or only little wars are rasing, with
which the regular forces are amply competent to d^u, one esa
form no conception of the numbers of these men who hirk in the
various holes and comers of European capitals. But no sooner do
disturbances begin, than they make their appearance in swanns,
generally buttoned up to the chin, and with a sabre in a leather e^
green baize case. Provisional governments, committees of siJblj,
and ministers-at-war of menaced nationalities forth^nith haw as
awful time of it. The great wars of Napoleon's day absorbed ftr
twenty years or more every fighting-man in Europe; but beibm
the CarUst outbreak in Spam a fresh crop had sprung up, and the
Hispano-British legion was officered by some gentlemen of Terj

1858.] MiUtary Adventurers. 467

curious antecedents. Amongst them were a large number of re-
spectable young men who took arms for the queen in a mere fit of
soldiering enthusiasm. Most of these Palmerston has since pro-
vided for very handsomely by consulships, and various other snug
little berths in divers parts of the world. Others received commis-
sions in the English line, and have since done the state some ser-
vice. But the older ones, who had drawn the sword against Don
Carlos, with the burden of a great past on their shoulders, re-
turned, as soon as that turbulent chieflain was put down, to the
garrets and their misery, and most of them have since dropped off,
grumbling to the last of Spanish ingratitude. Some of them, poor
fellows, had good reason ; many of tnem never received their pay in
full ; and many more carried scars to the grave, which no pension
ever anointed, in spite of the oft-repeated promises of her Catholic
Majesty. Large numbers of the younger ones are still to be met
with in all quarters of the globe. They are now generally portly
men, with affectionate wives and * sweet little girls ' or ' fine boys,'
and labor under the cares of a household. Not a few have entered
the Church, and either officiate as army chaplains, or else attend
to the spiritual wants of rustics in remote country parishes, for few
bad interest enough to lay hold of ' fat livings.' Many more re-
present H. B. M. as consuls in all sorts of little out-of-the-way
towns, particularly in the East. They are all remarkably tena-
cious of their military titles, though few of them held the rank with
which they quitted the service for six months, and nearly thirty
years have rolled over their weary heads since they have heard a
shot fired in anger. We have seen an old lieutenant-colonel of * the
legion ' somewhat tartly correct a guest in his own house for ad-
dressing him innocently as plain 'Mr.' They are all firmly
convinced that such hard fighting as the legion went through in
Spain has never in these latter days been witnessed, and are never
tired of rehearsing the desperate exploits performed by Jones at
Oporto, or of the awful fire which swept the slopes at Fuente
d'Onore, when Smith led the volunteers for the third time to the
assault. They all consider themselves veterans, though none of
them were more than two years under arms, and smiled somewhat

Eityingly at the martial ardor of the younger tribe who assailed
ebastopol. Most of them have managed to keep one another in
sight through all the ups and downs of life, with remarkable devo-
tion, and we do n't know that we have ever seen any thing much
more charmingly and tenderly comic than the meeting of a few old
legionaries after a long separation. They talk of their wax as a
thing of yesterday, and though many of the present generation
have scarce ever heard of it, to them it is evidently the great event
of the century. Their quarter of a century of civil life utterly
disappears under the bright glow of their reminiscences, and the
Carlist war swallows up two-thirds of their existence. They are
desperately punctilious in maintaining their dignity against officers
of the Queen's troops. There is many a yoxmg fellow, not over
thirty, in the latter, who has seen more fighting m five years of his

468 MilUcary Adventurer$. [Noyembor,

career than all the Christbist heroes put together, bat the latter
obstmately persist in regarding him as ^ a youngster,' and are a little
bit nettled at any want of reco^tion of weir seniority when
military matters come on the tapis. Take them for all in all, few
bands of military adventurers torn out as many worthy £^wb,
and few hare ever been commanded by a braver soldier and a
better man than their chie^ De Lacy Evans, who did so much to
brighten matters in the Crimea.

After the decease of the Spanish legion, and the expulsioii
of Don Carlos, the profound peace which reigned through Europe
until 1848, gave military adventurers little chance of bettering
their condition in life. They lived quietly in their attics in Lon-
don and Paris, ate their chops, drank their demi4(usei and peiit$
verreSy ji\&jei billiards and dominoes, and denounced Lord Aber-
deen, IPalmerston, and Louis Philippe until the revolution of
February. During the eventful year which followed it, the gentle-
men of the sword swarmed every place in which there was most
to do, Schleswig-Holstein, Vienna, Hungary above ail, and Pied-
mont. They had a brief but glorious career. The services of any
man who professed ever to have worn a uniform, were of course
invaluable to the raw levies and enthusiastic grocers, of which the
armies of the liberals were composed. But the dose of 1849 saw
them driven back into their old dens, with no better relics of their
labors than half-a-dozen additional stories for the cafes, and a few
daguerreotypes of beauties whose country they were on the point
of Uberating. Their numbers were, however, immensely increased
by fresh reragees from Poland, large numbers of Hungarians and
Italians. They scattered themselves all over Europe, and waited
impatiently, like Mr. Micawber, for something else to turn up.

The revolutionary war in Hungary was so long and well main-
tained, and was illustrated by such able general^p, that it drew^
together an immense number of the refugees from all parts of the
world ; and when Gorgei's surrender at YUagos put an end to
the struggle, they all threw themselves into Turkey. A large
proportion of them there began life anew, as soon as their extra-
dition began to be talked of, by turning Mussulmen ; though to
which rebgious denomination they had belonged before their apos-
tasy, it would puzzle those who know more about them than we
to say. It is nardly necessary to add, that in all but the very
shreds of external observance, they were none of them a bit more
a follower of the prophet than any deacon in the United States,
and all Mly intended to repudiate him as soon as they got a chance
of returning to their own country. The drollest, cleverest, shrewd-
est of them all was a Pole, who after his reception into the Mo-
hammedan Church, took the name of Hidaiet, which, with tbe addi-
tion of the Turkish synonym for * Mr.,' niade his ordinary de-
signation Hidaiet Aga. When we made his acquaintance — a
Eleasure which for long afterward caused us so many tears of
lughter — he had formally Quitted the Turkish service in disgust,
and was serving as a sort or volunteer aid-de-camp to one of his

1858.] MUitary Adventurers. 469

coontrymen, who commanded a brigade on the Danube ; and be-
side drawing rations, made something by gambling and horse-
dealing. He was generally well mounted and armed and dressed,
and was attended by a valet and cook of his own nation, upon whom
he committed two or three assaults daily, but who was neverthe-
less devotedly attached to him. Hidaiet Aga was in the habit of
calling into our quarters after dinner, squatting himself cross-legged
in our divan, and retailing his experiences of Turkish military life
in the most intensely comic strain, though without changing a
muscle of his face. When he came first to Constantinople, and
entered the service, he found it for a long while impossible to get
his pay as captain of infantry ; and was so hard up, that his uniform
became tattered, and he was almost ashamed to go out into the
street. He was rather a &vorite with Mustapha Pasha, who at
that time commanded the garrison of Constantinople, and deter-
mined to try a ruse upon him. He accordingly entered the gene-
ral's quarters one day, with a bundle of old numbers of the Inde-
pendance Bdge thrust into the breast of his uniform, the end
appearing outside the buttons. The Pasha invited him to be seated,
but had perceived the newspapers, and noticed Hidaiet's look of
deep gravity ; like all Turfe, he was dreadfully anxious to know
what the European papers, the * gazetta,' said, and accordingly
inquired the news. Hidaiet replied, with apparent reluctance to
reveal what he knew, that there was no news. His looks belied
him, and the Pasha's anxiety increased with his reluctance. To
appear indiflferent and calm is, however, one of the cardinal rules
of Turkish etiquette. So the conflict lasted nearly an hour, till
the Pasha could contain himself no longer, and sent the servants
out of the room, and plumply declared that he saw newspapers
sticking out of his unirorm, and there must be some news.

' There is,' was the reply. (Long pause ; Pasha trembling with
impatience.)

'What is it?'

' There 's an article here,' producing the paper and pointing out
three columns partly the Faita Divers and partly advertisements.

' What is it about ? ' said the Pasha, dropping his pipe.

' About you,' said Hidaiet, with an awful look.

To imderstand the terrible nature of this announcement, one
needs to know the tormenting susceptibilities of Turkish officials
to European opinions about them. They are well aware that the in-
fluence of the foreign ambassadors at Constantinople is all-powerful,
and are in daily fear of a complaint originating abroad, which may
prove their ruin.

^ Read it, Efiendi,' entreated the General, waxing politer and
politer toward his inferior.

The Pole forthwith invented and delivered what purported to
be a translation of the article, but which was in reahty a fulsome
eulogy upon the Pasha, setting forth his great military skill, his in-
numerable virtues, the extraordinary efficacy of the police regula-

470 Military/ Adventurers. [Noyember,

tions enforced by the troops under his command, and callmg
strenuously upon the Porte to promote the hero to a still higher
position in the state. The subject of the panegyric heard it all
with tears of rapture in his eyes.

^Do you know who wrote that?' he inquired, when Hidaieh
had done.

' Zara yok,* (No matter,) was the reply.

' Oh I I know : you did, yourself.*

* No matter.'

' Yes, you did : command me. What can I do for you ? »

* I have had no pay for a year.*

Hands were clapped ; a writer or secretary called for ; and an
order written fortnwith, commanding the * defterdar * to pay to
Hidaiet Aga the sum of five thousand piastres.

' What else ? '

*' There 's some fine blue cloth in the store at the Seraskier's, and
ray uniform is very bad.'

More clapping of hands — the writer called again, and another
order written for ten yards of cloth. The Pasha wanted to keep
the paper to show to his friends, but the Pole was too wily for
that, and pretended he had borrowed it of the Russian ambassa-
dor, and solemnly promised to return it. The anxiety of the Rus-
sian ambassador to retain the article put the Pasha beside himself
and Hidaiet took his leave under a shower of the most endearing
epithets. This was a trick, however, which could not be played
often, and as the pay did not come in regularly, and the uniform
would get shabby, our hero took his leave of the service, and, as
we have already said, started on his own hook as a yoltmteer on
the staff of a general of his own nation. In this capacity he found
himself in charge of a regiment of cavalry near £[arakal in Walla-
chia, in the spring of 1 864. In front of him was a regiment of Pas-
kievitz hussars, and half a battery of artillery, forming part of the
rear-guard of the returning wing of Gortschakoff's army. After a
whole morning's manoBUvring and counter-man<Buvring, Hidaiet
managed to out-march the Russians, and deploy his line across the
head of their column. They immediately attempted to wheel
into line, and he seized the decisive moment for a brilliant and
successful charge. He rode in front, shrieking, * Bismillah-i-rach-
mani-rahin — in the name of Qod the merciful, the very mercifiil I'
with as much unction, and as much effect, as if he had been the
devoutest of Mussulmen. The Russians were completely routed,
lost their guns, and their colonel was Mlled. After the action, the
Turkish officers attempted to run off with the Russian artillery-
horses as private booty, and were forthwith pursued by Hidaiet
and some half-dozen Poles, whose ideas of military duty and
honor were more strict. Armed with sticks, they thrashed the
delin(]^uents soundly, and brought back the spoil. When we last
saw hun, he was filling the honorable position of dragoman to the
British Commissioner. There was great dearth of forage, and we

1858.] Military Adventurers. 47 1

had for some days been reduced to the desperate expedient of
feeding our horses on rice. We applied to him in our extremity,
and he forthwith promised relief seized us by the arm, and hur-
ried us off down the street and out into the country. In five min-
utes' gallop we met a long train of wagon-loads of hay, conducted
by peasantry, coming in for the French conunissariat. As soon as
they got wiUiin hearing distance, he began to shower on their
heads every term of opprobrium the Turidsh language contains,
and their name is legion ; and after swearing himself out of breath,
took a piece of paper out of his pocket, appeared to peruse it at-
tentively, and then asked the head man of the train why the im-
pure dogs had been so long on the road, that he had been expect-
ing them for hours. The poor peasant poured a long string of
apologies out of his sheep-skm pelisse, upon which Hidaiet appeared
to relent. He then counted the wagons ; said there were but
fourteen, when there ought to be fifteen ; asked where the missing
one was, and scolded furiously again. This time the peasants
were awfully frightened ; a hundred blows of a stick each was the
least, as far as appearances went, they could look forward to.
They tore their beards, and swore there were but fourteen when
they started. He was not satisfied ; turned the whole train off
the road, and brought them in by another gate opposite our door,
where he directed one of the best wagons to imload, sent the rest
about their business, only too glad to escape, and directed us to
pay the owner the market price. We expressed Qur doubts about
the morality of the transaction, but he pooh-poohed them. We
had as good a right to the hay as the French — and, any how, * a
la guerre comme a la guerre I '

The inveterate vice of the Polish adventurers, the best as well
as the woi-st of them, is gambling. They gamble late and early,
night, noon, and morning, and rarely think of any other occupa-
tion, beyond their military duties. Bosom friends win fi*om one
another their money, watches, rings, horses, and arms, and yet we
have never heard of its causing the slightest interruption in their
friendship. We have known eight of them to assemble every
night in zemlik^ or under-ground huts, not over twelve feet square,
and play until two in the morning, though unable to see each
other's mces from the smoke of their cigarettes, and then turn out
as usual an hour before daybreak, to man the works, with as much
alacrity as if they had passed the night on down. They lend to
one another with as much readiness as they borrow, and we doubt
if these lenders are often ' done.' They ferm an isolated commu-
nity in the midst of strangers, are daily in need of each other's
help, and consequently the good opinion of the body is of the last
importance to each individual member of it. The prince of all the
gamblers, drinkers, riders, cavalry soldiers, and mihtary adventur-
ers, that ever we knew, was Iskender Bey, a Pole of old and dis-
tinguished femily, whose brother now occupies* a high position
under the Russian government. At what penod Iskender quitted

472 Military Adventurers. [Noyember,

his &ther-land, we oould never dearly make out ; aa, if half the
adventures which he related of himself were true, he mast have
commenced life about the beginning of the century. He was too
youDg a man, however, though campaignrng had grkded his
beard and wnnkled his &ce probably ten years too early, to have
begun soldiering much before 1830 ; and from all we could learn,
we thought ourselves justified in ascribing his expatriation to par-
ticipation in the insurrection of that year. Since then he repre-
sented himself as having been present at the siege of Herat, in
1836-37, having served in the Carlist War in SpAin, in several cam-
paigns with the French in Algeria, in the Hungarian War in
1848-49, the campaign in Bosnia, under Omar Pasha, in 1850, and
last of sJl, in the last Russian War ; all of which was, no doubt,
true, though many of the incidents he related of his career were
apocryphal. He certainly carried the scars left by thirteen wounds
on his body, and was too good a soldier to have become so with-
out long and varied experience. When we first made his ao-
quamtance, he had been sufiTering from fever and ague for ^ears,
but nevertheless gambled all night, and fought by day with as
much hilarity as if his life was a stream of pleasure. He, as others,
had a Polish cook, who stood inside the door while his master was
at dinner. When any of the dishes appeared to be a &ilure, the
latter instantly seized the loaf of breaa, which stood at his elbow,
and hurled it at the delinquent's head, who forthwith disappeared,
and returned to the room no more. His cook had a most misera-
ble time of it. All the other Poles, and their name was legion,
who frequented Iskender's quarters, as if they were their own,
exercised equal jurisdiction over him, and boxed his ears or swore
at him as the occasion might requira He was a tall, strapping fel-
low, who had served in the lancers at home, and, unfortunately for
him, very irascible. Most ofhis cooking, when I first made Iskender's
acquaintance, was performed in the open air on the side of a hill
where we were encamped, holes being dug in the ground for the
fire. If he found any thing not going well, he would lose his tem-
per and fly at the pots and pans, and Kick them down the hiU, and
immediately, as if stricken with remorse, fly for his life. The sen-
try at Iskender's door forthwith gave notice, and a party of the
assembled guests would mount and start in pursmt, catch the
cook, and tie him to the axle-tree of a baggage-wagon for two or
three hours. This episode was of weekly occurrence, and at last
became a chronic camp excitement. The cry, that Iskender's
dinner was down the hill, would bring out hundreds to see
the soup and bouilli flying, and the cook disappearing in the
distance. If you ask us mij he did n't discharge him, we reply
that Poles don't understand discharging a servant; they beat
him and kick him ; and besides, Iskender would not have got an-
other cook within three hundred miles.

1858.] The out Oambrd Hoof. 473

THB OLD6AMBBSL BOOF.

' Know old Cambridge? Hope you do.

Born there ? Don't say so ! I was, too.

(Born in a house with a gambrel-roof,

Standing still, if you must hare proof.
* GambreT? Gambrel f ' Let me beg

You '11 look at a horse's hinder leg.

First great angle above the hoo^

That's the gambrel; hence gambrel-roof.')— O. W. Holum.

In a sweet litde hamlet^ in front of the green,
Stands a rustic old fann-house, once dear to my eye,
Where the days of my youth and my boyhood were spent,

And, God willing, I once hoped to die ;
A poplar stood near it, like a sentinel tall.
Harm and danger to keep from its inmates aloofj
While a welcome the humblest were certain to find

'Neath its homely old Gambrel Roo£

The church and the parsonage stood lovingly by,
And the little red school-house where I learned to spell,
And the solemn old court-house, the famous town-pump,

And an old-&shioned moss-covered well ;
A weeping old willow drooped near the wide gate
Where my grand-mother formerly wove the coarse woo^
Though, alas ! the good woman has long ceased to weave,

And is mourned *neath the old Gambrel Roo£

There the music is heard of the dear piping bird,
And the soft-lowing ox and bleating young lamb.
And the ploughman^s shrill whistle^ the reaper^s gay song;

And Nature^s great morning psalm ;
There the song too is piped of the shrill-crowing cock,
There is heard the rude trampling of many a hoo(
And the fiurmer-boy^s shout as he leaps from his couch

'Neath the drowsy old Gambrel Bjooi,

" There the dandelion bright and the gay buttercup,
Which I Ve held under many a young maiden's chin,
Bespangle the garden, begay the broad fields

And bedeck the old village green ;
The daisy, too, raises its innocent head,
While the rose, all too modest, stands blushing aloof|
And the sweet-brier clambers, determined to kiss

(What wonder !) the old Gambrel Roo£

Ah ! many 's the day since there I have been.
And bitter the tears I am shedding just now,
As I think of the frolicksome days I there spent,

With the sweet dew of youth on my brow ;
Alas I mother, and &ther, and sister are gone,
Against death the old £u*m-house alone seemeth proof,
And straneers now pass through the old oaken door,

And sleep *neath the old Gambrel Roo£

VOL. LII. 81

474 I%e MOknnial Ctub. [November,

THE MILLBlfKIAL CLUB.

ST A HBMBBS.

I cANif or tell whether 70a would call our Glnb a political dab
or not. In this oountry, where we are nothing if not politiariy we
never tolerate politics, so I hope it is not.

^ What do 70a think, Sir, of patting the inhabitants of the Cannir
bal Islands into a bag, and throwing them into the sea ? '

^ Well, really, Sir, voa mast excase me, bat I do not interest
m7self in politics. I Know, in fact, nothing aboat them.'

* Ah ! well then, mv dear Sir, what do 70a think of Longshanks
who has been selling Bancomb short ? '

* Think of him, Sif I think he is a d — d rascal, Sir, that *b
what I think of him.'

Under these oircamstanoes, oar Club was formed. The onlv
difficalt7 with it is that it alwa7s remiuns so smaU. Its motto is
the old Greek proverb, ^Ever7man'sgood'sever7otherman;' and
althoagh it is almost impossible at this late da7 and in this distant
coantr7, to tell exactl7 what it means, we have redaced it to a
practical form b7 sa7ing, nobod7 shall ba7 five-cent segars for foor
cents.

The doctrine and the practice impress me ver7 strangel7, who
have been educated in Europe, where I have all m7 life seen a few
people — of the blue blood, I suppose — smoking shilling regalias
ror nothing. At first I was pleasea b7 it, but I think I was pained
at last ; and I often compared one of these few people with one of
the man7, to discover the real reason of the difference. But the
smoking-machine was quite the same in both cases, as &r as I
could make out, except, possibl7, that there was more smoke about
the few and more fire in the manv.

However, I ^rew used to it. I sa7 it to m7 shame, I have been
as comfortable m a palace as in a cabin. But I had no business in
the palace ; nobodv has.

So strongl7 was I persuaded of it, that I came home. For at
home, said m7 earl7 recollections, 70U will find segars of the same
price to ever7 customer. Those recollections were the sjrrens that
sweetl7 sang me homeward. I bounded ashore into tiieir arms ; I
claimed the fulfilment of their promises ; I demanded that the7
should show me a world which was not disgraced b7 its in-
habitants.

Then came the questions I have recorded above, from which it
appeared that under his clothes man is always a fowl without fea-
thers : that is to sa7, he is alwaj^ bus7 piclang up his own com,
and not in the least degree solicitous whether 70U get 7ours or
not ; perhaps even thinking that if 7oar legs fisdl for want of com,

1858.] The MiUmnidl Club. 475

80 that you cannot step about, there wiU be one pair of bills less.
And do we not always want fewer bills ?

It is droll to contemplate the human hen-yard, because there is
always com enough, and yet so few hens get any thing to eat.
Pip and sudden exits prevail on every hand; and some chanticleer
in royal red, smoking, as it were, shilling regalias for nothing,
steps lordly about, and finally sinks in a plethora.

So we formed the Club. Its object is simply the ABD^mium, and
its means the amelioration of the race. We have no public meet-
ings, but every member works where he can and how he can. t
have seen them busy at high 'change, and heard them in the pul-
pits of every sect. They are frequently to be encountered ait
lyceums delivering lectures, and sometimes in editorial rooms
writing leaders.

During the recent pear season the President invited several of
the members to his country-seat to eat pears, with the promise of
a trip in his yacht. You will see from what he said, whether he is
not our proper President. His countrynseat is a charming plabe.
The air is so sweet about it, the light so soft, the landscape so
tranquil and lovely, that I always think of it as in Arcadia, but I
believe it is really in Connecticut. As you approach it through
winding lanes, with glimpses of distant water, as broad and
splendid as the sea, but for convenience called Long Island Sound,
the fields lie on either hand so profoundly peaceful, the reposing
cattle chew the cud with such drowsy unconcera, the bams are so
tat, and the infrequent farm-houses so sleepy, that men coniing
from the town hail the tranquillity as sailors after tumultuous toss-
ing at sea, smell the sweet breath of unseen Spanish gardens; in
the air

' It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground ;

And there a season atween Jane and May,
Ilalf.prankt with sprine, with summer half-imbrowned,

A listless climate made, where, sooth to say.
No living wight could work, ne cared even ror play.'

Do you fancy the ample gardens, the stately terraces, the
long bowery alleys and trimmed avenues, the smooth sweep of
lawns, skirted with perfumed shrubbery, the plashing fountains,
vases, statues ? Do you see the eay company flitting up and down
the marble steps, leaning over the foliaged balustrades, smilii^^
bowing, whispering ? Do vou pass on into the lofty halls and
pictured parlors, the dim library, the banquetin^-room, the long
range of galleries ? Do you behold this rural elysium, tMs pastotw
Paradise?

So did I ; but when alon^ that winding lane, catching glimpses
of the distant water, we wfdked at sun-set, the earth seemed en-
tirely prepared for the reign of peace and good-will, as the Presi-
dent discoursed to us in the following strain :

A child who loiters in old libraries, and stands high on the steps
devouring old books written by hands now dust, of places now

47a The Millennial Club. [November,

changed forever ; who sits in the dusky silence while Time softly
steals the day away hour by hour, and the loud-ticking clock in
the distant hall, which fills the house with its sound, affects him
like the soothing of a nursery song, has his imagination fiill of
visions of quaint country villas and vast estates, rural mansions
and baronial halls, which stretch away in alluring perspeotire
whenever he is bidden to the country. Elvery farm he iiears of^ is
a ^Blakesmoor in H — shire,' to a thoughtful city child.

Some boys stand on the library-steps all their lives. Wherever
they go, whatever they see, they are still in the dusky library, and
still know only the romantic aspect of the world. Such are thev
who go to the Coliseum, and behold only picturesque arches fringed
with ferns in an Italian moon-light, who fancy Roman dames with
jewelled fingers, dead centuries ago, pointing gladiators to death;
and who do not shudder that the very ground they tread on is
saturated with the blood of countless murders, that the very stones
are crystallized with shrieks of horror.

Other boys, on their way down the steps, discover that some
splendid results have been attained in the world too soon, as it
were, and unfairly. They are like early peas and strawberries,
coming on the table before their natursd time. Thus great ease
and luxury for the individual should be known only in a so<netj
where every body is comfortable. A few men in a few places have
enjoyed great domnins, spacious palaces and parks, and loveW
pleasure-grounds. How lovely and pleasant they are as yoa wau
m them !

The Villa d^Este at Tivoli, for instance : I recollect it on thai
perfect day of summer. I linger again down the mlent avenue of
cypresses ; I hear the feeble plash of water in the fonntun with
the ruined mossy margin : and here is one gone dry. The Hghl
glimmers, the shadows deepen. It is not Ferrara, but it is the
Villa d'Este, and it is by the magic of that name that the figure
with the laureled head and the melancholy eyes glides, holding a
manuscript from ladies whose eyes smile upon him and whose pnde
shuns him. How rich and stately and beautiful the villa is m its
decay ! Was it altogether beautiful in its prime ? Trees, fooo-
t^ns, and statues always are. How about the system of whidh it
was a pretty flower? The retreating figure of Tasso seems to
have leil only sadness in this enchanted air.

Palaces have a millennial aspect to the imagination, for they im-
ply that every man in the world is at ease. JN o man wants to eat
cake while his brother is starving — I mean ideally, not historie-
ally, exactly. The haggard beggar at her elbow spoils the beauty
of the most beautiful woman in the world, just as a mud hovd
destroys satisfaction in the palace it adjoins. How can yoa hi^
to get music from the harp when only its least string isnnstrnngf
Is the world less harmonious than a harp ?

So these things seem to have been possessed too soon. The
race was never yet so prosperous, that any individual should have

1858.1 l%e JUiBennial CSub. 411

built Chatsworth or Certosa. With what immense injastice the
romantic Kenilworth Castle is tainted ! For the hidden principle
of feudal tenure, whether in Egypt or England, ugly and coarse,
as the foundation-wall of the most beautiful temple in the world,
is, every man for himself and something else for the hindmost !

Do you remember the Cathedral at Cologne ? It has been un-
finished for hundreds of years. It neyer will be finished. But
upon the incomplete tower vines hang and wave — foliage blooms
and rustles, and all the romantic pomp of anti<|uit}r crowns an
ancient fragment that was never a ruin. So it is with many of
the feudal phenomena. They are decorated with a grace and
beauty that should properly belong only to results ripened by the
holiest, not by the meanest civilizatiion. These remarks contained
the whole philosophy of our Club.

The obiections to building Chatsworth and Certosa, continued
our President, do not lie against my country-seat. It is a little
old house on the shore, standing at the grassy mouth of a pretty
river that winds inland from a bay of the Sound.

It is separated from the Sound on one side by a long, low,
sandy spit, on which stands a hut, alone on the wide, wide sea.
The hut seems to be built in the water when the tide is high, and
stands profoundly solitary ; and you will be glad to hear that it
was the house in which Cowper wrote his ode, and Zimmerman
his book on solitude.

The house is so near the pebbly and grassy beach that the child-
ren are floundering in and out of the water all the time. They
dress on the porch, and scamper down — splash — whoop ! The
languid old element, hugeing the earth, is dad to be caressed in
turn by the blithe young immortals. They bring in marine booty
without end, and their aquatic forays are richly rewarded. Dry
horse-shoes, with all their anatomy displayed — shells, stones,
weeds, flowers, every thing is fish to the net of that childish
curiosity on the shore.

I say, one is not troubled there with the feeling that injustice is
done to any other human being. No fiirmer can complain, for
not a solitary potato do I raise ; nor the butcher, for I buy all my
meat ; nor the fisherman, for I buy fish ; nor the stable-keeper of
the next village, for I hire horses; nor the erocer, for I buy
stores. I raise nothing, and keep no animals. Not a hen clucks,
not a pigeon coos, not a dog barks, not a horse neighs, not a cow
lows, about the grounds of my country-seat.

Will you see the gardens — the terraces — the fountains ?

They are close by. The finest flowers grow in the wood yon-
der. The hardest and most level terrace is the pasture beyond
the four bars. Lawn and lake are combined in the gleaming wa-
ters of the bay, and my yacht is a * cat * large enough for two.

Cid, who is a member of our Club in full standing, but who, I
think, has some of the true-blue blood in his heart, evidently had
hopes of something like the Alhambra ; when, suddenly, the Pre-

478 The MiUennial Chib. [November,

Bident jumped over the fence, and opened the little wooden gate
for us to enter. We tramped through the long grass under a
venerable cherry tree, by a wagon-house, in front of which wu
no wagon ; and at the end of the piazza of a little tmnble-down
cottage stood the mother of a swarm of children that came roUmg
and l^unding over the grass to meet their papa and his firiends.

^This is my oountry-seat, eentlemen,' said the President, as he
waved his hand over the fields. ^ I pay three dollars and a hidf
rent every month. I do my famung in Fulton Market* I buy
my se^ars of Mr. Sparrowgrass, and never pay less than the price.
The taint of Kenilworth is unknown here. The dead that hangi
over Locksley Hall is dissolved into a rainbow in our sky. Geo-
tlemen, the peara and melons are on the table. Walk in I '

At a special meeting of the Club, held on the piazza in the even-
ing — I will say of the Democratic Club, although there are seve-
ral celebrated Democrats who are not members — it has been una-
nimously decided, and now stands upon the record, that certain
pleasures can be said to be fully and fairlv enjoyed only in a Gom^
monwealthy or a state of society in which feudalism is utterly
abolished.

There was, indeed, one member who pished, and sputtered, and
said : ^ Pooh, pooh, do n't be impracticable. You^e got to take
the world as you find it. Shall I not do what I will with mine
own?'

The President of the Club instantly replied, with a sweetness
that has secured his reflection : ' Perhaps so ; if you can find out
what your own is.'

We all returned to town the next day but one. The interven*
ing day was devoted to an excursion in the yacht, on which occa-
sion I was twice put ashore to recover the tone of my stomach. I
was perhaps not so happy as some of the others.

But still, as I walked alone upon the beach, and looked over the

bright dancing water, I wondered how much truth there might

be m what the President had said. If the spirit of feudalism is so

subtle, and can so deeply taint the

'Castle-wans
And snowy summits old in story/

is it quite washed out by the salt sea that rolls between ns and
old history, so that no possession of ours is liable to be tainted by
it ? Is it necessary to suppose that every friend of man who talks
with a needy knife-grinder must be a hypocrite and charlatan ? It
was Canning who wrote the comical sapphics — but was Canning^a
England such a heaven that he could afford to write such Yersea?.
Does not the whole course of history show that the one thing
wanting has been practice of the principle of our Club — ^Eveiy-
man'sgood'severyotherman ' ?
If you think so, why not join ?

1858. J 7%omow JiffierBtm. 4f9

THOMAS JEFFERSON.

Chosen Bubetitute of Peyton Randolph, Jefferson entered Con-
gress in 1 lib. His ready pen, his known patriotism, his legal acumen
made him a leader; and, at the session of 1776, he was chosen,
along with John Adams, Roger Sherman, Dr. Franklin, and Ro-
bert Livingston, to draft the Declaration of Independence. Tht
part which Mr. Jefferson took in the composition of the oririnal
document is unquestioned. His collogues requested him to draw
it up, which he did. This draft was first submitted to Dr. Frank-
Hn and John Adams, who merely made a few yerbal emendations.
It was approyed by the Committee, and then introduced to Con-
gress. The debate which followed is traditionally memorable.
Congress having sat with closed doors, no record of its current
proceedings transpired ftirther than the acts which passed into
laws. Hence we are left with no knowledge of what was said,
except what has since been generally said by the actors themselves.
From them we learn that the excitement was intense, the debate
bitter and closely contested ; that John Adams was ^ a Colossus,'
meeting every opponent, and driving all before him. The Declar-
ation finally was adopted, modified considerably, and for the better,
it must be confessed. The original document was too rhetorical
in some of its parts ; it savored too strongly of a philosophical dis-
course, and was less calculated to affect the people and the cause
fevorably than the form finally adopted.

We are presented, in Dr. Randall's volumes, with Vifae-nmile
of the original draft, bearing the impress of Jefferson's hand, as
well as the interlineations of Dr. Franklin and Adams. The ori-
ginal and the amended drafts are also given, side by side, that the
reader may see, at a glance, where the two documents differ. Dr.
Randall devotes a number of pages to the question of the authorship
of the document — as if any person could doubt the evidence of the
faosimile given. But we can really see little propriety in claiming
so great honor for its composition, since the Declaration adopted
was as far from Mr. Jefferson's document as it could well be and pre-
serve the shadow of a likeness. When the original was useo, it
was but a repetition of sentiments almost hourly upon the tongues
of the people, expressing opinions common to every patriot
heart. Their mere repetition could lay claim to little originality.
Where the Declaration was original, it was so cropped and modi-
fied as to leave only its shadow. We may with truthftilness say,
that Congress was the real author of the immortal document as
it now stands.

Mr. Jefferson retired from Confess to take his seat in the Vir-
ginia (new) House of Delegates, m October, 1776. He threw his
whole strength into the subject of reforms, and for several years
labored successfully upon the government and statutes. His wQl is

480 Thomas J^gffirsotu [Noyember,

every where apparent in the Code of Virginia to this day. Her
courts bear the forms of his chosing ; her conditioDS of dtizeiiship
are his ; while the other States, taking their sag^estions from the
patriotic and able Burgesses, followed their action and adopted
their modes and reforms yery largely. Few new States have
since been organized which have not turned to the Virginia statutes
forprecedents.

June first, 1779, saw Mr. Jefferson chosen to snooeed Patrick
Henry as Governor of Virginia. It was a time of darkness to the
country, when gloom put sweet hope to the torture, and spectres
haunted council-fires and hearth-stones. We may not pause to re-
capitulate the events of the penod. Mr. Randall, witn consider-
able skill, groups the historical data, though, we beUeye, without
adding any new fact to what has already been recorded. The
British, under Arnold and Tarleton and Jrhilips, swept oyer the
State, ravaging and destroying all before thenu To this point of
history Mr. Randall devotes much labor, entertaining seriously the
charge of inefficiency and cowardice preferred against Mr. Jeffisr-
son for not staying the marauders. The plea is needless, we must
say. We cannot help thinking, however, that the Gh>yenior did
show (as very well ho might) some trepidation, when he fled fixwi
Charlottesville on his fleet horse, leavmg his brave neffrQ-maa to
receive the insolent foe, which he did with honor to him^lf jmd
benefit to his fleeing master's property.

Congress named Jefferson (June fifteenth, 1781) one of the
four Commissioners to the proposed Peace Congr^ at Vienoii
but he declined for personal reasons. On the last day of June, he
was thrown from his horse, and considerably injured. His confine-
ment resulted foitunately for the country, since he then composed
his now celebrated ' Notes on Virginia,' papers which show the
variety and precision of the author's acquirements in a hi^Ij
pleasing light. The remaining months of the year 1781 were de>
voted to home pursuits, studies, and the care of his beloved wift^
whose fast-failing health was a source of deep anxiety to the loving
husband. She died September sixth, 1782. Her loss weighed
heavily upon Mr. Jefferson. Notwithstanding a frequently ex*
pressed determination to serve no longer in any public capacity, he
now accepted the appointment of Minister Plenipotentiary, (unaiii>
mously tendered by Congress,) to negotiate the articles ofpeaoe
proposed by the new English Ministry. News coming early in B^lm-
ary, 1 783, of the provisional peace already agreed upon, the mission
was abandoned.

In June, 1783, he was elected to Congress by the General As*
sembly of Virginia, taking his seat November, 1784. 'H^B offioes
were many, and responsible enough, showing the respect in whioh
his opinions and learning were held by his associates, who nunr
bered some of the finest intellects and purest hearts in tiie oountry.
Among other fi*uit8 of his hands, was the Ordinance organiamg toe

1858.] Ihomoi «/^^«M. 481

North-Western Territory, so celebrated in politics for its declarnr
tions against slavery in the Territories,*

May seventh, 1784, Adams, Jefferson, and Frank&n were named
Ministers Plenipotentiary for negotiating treaties with foreign
powers. Jefferson's services at the French Court are adverted to
at length by the biographer, and in very proper terms ; for the
statesman played the diplomatist with consummate skill and suc-
cess, placing our young untried country upon terms of political and
eommerciaf equality with the leading nations.

Martha Jefferson accompanied her father out. His little Polly,
scarce nine years old, followed in July, 1787, attended only by a
negro serving-girl, from Virginia to Paris. With his children, he
was indeed a loving, considerate parent, and it is to thdr credit
that they proved worthy of the father's watchful care. Modem
daughters can learn many a lesson of parental obedience and duty
by studying the historv of the most admirable Martha Jefferson.

The residence in Pans was prolonged to 1789, when having ob-
tuned leave of absence, he returned home, reaching Monticello
December twenty-third. In spite of the master's sturdy command,
his negroes dragged his carriage up to the house, amid grand
* roars of applause.'

The appointment of Secretary of State in Washington's first
Cabinet, prevented his return to Paris. He took his office
of Secretary in March, 1790. We here enter upon an important
era of our history ; especially important, since that history then
becomes compounded of the lives of the men ordering the new
Grovemment, chief among whom are Washington, Hamilton, Jef-
ferson, Madison, Lee, etc. It is not possible in a paper of this ne-
cessary brevity, to recur to this subject at length, or even to ad-
vert to Jefferson's share in the great work of starting the machinery
of the untried Constitution. That it was an important share,
might well be surmised, were there no records to show it ; but
there are voluminous records, from whose statements and data
it is, at times, easier to draw inferences than to get at the truth.
Mr. Randall enters zealously into the record, and gives us Mr. Jeffer-
son's biography from a highly partisan stand-point. The writer
seems to assume it as a general principle, that to assault a foe is to
befriend a friend ; and tnereupon goes to the task of immolating
Alexander Hamilton with a hearty good will. Hamilton, as the
author of the system of finance which raised this country from the
lowest deep of bankruptcy and repudiation to a strong and com-
manding position, soon became the recognized ^ man for the times,'

♦ In Chapter X., Mr. Randall insinuates a parallel between the charaeten of Jnr-
riRSON and JoHH Hampdbn. It is a grievons weakness of the biogra^i«r, that he
finds all virtues in his illustrious subject. Ima^ne John Hampdhi aa the nnscrapn-
lous party tactician, the rabid French Revolutionist, the malisiant prosecutor in
BuRR^ trial and in Judge Cbass's impeachment^ the author ^ the 'Ana' papers,
which recorded for public inspection the most private nd atored eonrersanoiia of
friends at his toble ; imagine John Hampdmi. the irascible and w^pidous Secretarj
of SUte, the heartj haUr of Federalisto and Cincinnatuuu I Jh» Uosrapher weftkens
his eanse bj chaUenging rach paralleli, we must tiUak

482 17u>m(is JefftTBon, [Noyember,

in whom Mr. Jefferson clearly saw an opponent of fbrmidaUe cha-
racter. To sustain his own influence, it was necessary to disparage
the acts, the policy, and even the private character of Hamilton.
This he did, in a warfare which, even in this day of gross politioil
aspersion, has not had its counterpart.

Jefferson assumed the position, and maintained it pertinacionsly
to the end, that Hamilton had monarchical designs npon the
government, was going to destroy popular rights and the Ck>n8ti-
tution, all simply because Mr. Hamilton entertained an idea tibat
the Constitution did not delegate power enough to the Bzecative.
(He little foresaw what power it could be made to lend to Pr^
sidents of less integrity tnan Washin^on possessed 1) Jeffeiwm
ceased not to impugn Hamilton's motive, in his splendid financial
schemes of an assumption by Congress of the State Debts, of the
National Bank, etc. ; and only foresaw aristocracy, privileffe, no-
bility, in every step proposed by the Treasurer for strengthening
the finances of the Government, and for placing the commerce ^
the country under proper tariff protection^ Washington, Adimii
Franklin, Marshall, Lee, Livingston, Pincknej, Ejioz, Schnyler,
Morris, all co5perated with Hamilton ; and this very codperation,
Jefferson's diseased imagination construed as a proof of the aii^ *
tocratic character of the Federal party, of which Mr. Hamilton
became the recognized leader. He therefore threw himself into
the ultra-popular side of the governmental question, became dsmor-
ous for popular rights to a degree which now seems ridicoloos, and
which, when he was in power, he most singularly forgot to embody.

Jefferson first opposed the Constitution, which Alexander
Hamilton so splendidly expounded — thereby aiding in its adop-
tion — in the ' Federalist ' papers. He found the Constitntion was
becoming popular, and thereupon not only gave np his opporition,
but enlisted fervently in its support, seeing virtues where (Hios he
plainly detected ogre-like deformity. He advised four States to
hold off from the ratification, thus to defeat the adoption of the
instrument ; at a later day, when advised of the designs of seces-
sion entertained by some of the New-England States, he called it
high treason. Just previous to this, he had ridden into place upon
his State Rights hobby! In the days of the Confederation he ex*
pressed the strong sentiment that the government wonld never
prosper until the Confederation showed its teeth ! Sndh was the
inconsistency of the great statesman's course. It proves that he
was, in the strictest sense, a ^ trimmer,' leaning to that side, to
that line of conduct which promised the most fruits to himself

Since we are upon this pomt of the subject, let ns advert to other
of his inconsistencies.

He was, at first, in favor of the assumption of the State debts;
then became its bitter opponent.

He inveighed against the charter of the United States Bank aad
branches as unconstitutional ; and yet, when President, a{^roved
the bill enacting the branch at New-Orleans.

His construction of the powers of the Constitution was that of

1858.] ITiamas J^fersan. 4S3

rigid recognition of its letter, yet he rode his State Rights hobby,
and clamored for the disseminated powers of the State executives
(so popular for party purposes.) In the New-England States he saw
treason ^for it was popular to do so) in all assertion of State
Rights ; m the Kentucky resolutions (K>r it was popular to do so)
he advised nullification.

By Jefferson^s own construction of the Constitution, the Em-
bargo was unconstitutional ; yet he declared for its enforcement.

In the celebrated Ordinance of the North-west Territory, he in-
hibited Slavery, and voted strenuously for the inhibition ; in his
letter to Mr. Holmes, pending the Missouri restriction agitation,
he takes the argumentative K>r Slavery extension over that terri-
tory — for it was popular to do so. *

He opposed, as unconstitutional, all internal improvements by
Grovemment^ and approved the Cumberland Road bill — for it was
popular in his State to do so. ^

He declared against the constitutionality of any purchase from
Spain (hear it, ye fiUibusters!) of the Louisiana territory; yet ac-
tually negotiated the treaty of purchase and cession, and approved
of the treaty — for it was popular so to do.

He was mendly to protective duties at one time — then inimi-
cal— for it was ' popular ' to be so.

He thought the separation of the States into Eastern and Western
tyonfederacies was no evil, and biecame the unnecessary prosecutor
of Aaron Burr for forming such a design.*

He thought Shay's rebellion prdseworthy ; that the Government
was in small business in crushing out the whb^y men of Penn-
sylvania^

He thought a navy anti-republican.

He deemed the judiciary dangerous to civil liberty.

He declared aU men to be capable of self-government.

He charged the Presbyterians with 'panting to establish an
Inquisition.'

He recorded private and most confidential conversations of
visitors, to use the declarations against them afterward ; and yet
hesitates to state what he himself said on those occasions to * draw
on ' such declarations as he records in an ex parte manner.

He attempted impeachment, at enormous cost to the State, of
Judge Chase, upon charges over which the Senate laughed, and
very properly rejected.

He applauded Freneau in his ^oss assaults upon the administra-
tion of Washington, and upon Hamilton especially, and derided
the President for his aiiger at * the d — d rascal.' He sympathized
with Callender, who was under trial for libel on John Adams.

itj

it was popular to crush out the man who but a short lime preriouslj had ahnost
seized the coveted Presidential honor from his hands — it was popnhtf to persecute
Hamilton's murderer and to make peace with the Federalists, notwithstanding his
belief that the FederaliBfB a^prored of Bubb's schemei c^s Southern monarchjT

484 Lines: Under the Rose. [November,

Yet when he himself became the sabicct of newspaper Titnperation,
he wrote : ^ Nothing can now be believed which is seen in. a news-
paper. Truth itself becomes suspicious by its bein^ pnt into that
polluted vehicle.' And he argued that its suppression conid do no
more harm than was being done *by abandoned prostitation to
falsehood.'

Now all these and many more inconsistencies attach to Mr.
Jefferson's life and character, and the biography which slurs them
over, which omits to take cognizance of tnem, or, entertaining
them, seeks by detraction of other parties to make oat a esse for
its client, is neither truthful nor charitable, and Mr. Randall's work
must, we fear, come in for this exception. The work, as a whole,
is one well calculated to be regarded as not only the best biosrs-
phy of its subject yet written, but as one of the best historioo-hk)-
graphical works in English literature. It will hence take its plsoe
in every well-ordered library, and be freely consnited as * authority'
hereafter. But its strongly partisan tone, its spedal pleading for,
or total ignoring of, the delinquencies referred to, most render it
as unsafe as authority in its conclusions^ as Mr« Abbott's partisan
^Life of Napoleon.' It remains for the future bicmraj^ere of
Alexander Hamilton and John Adams to correct the efiect of these
conclusions of the biographer of Mr. Jefferson, so fiir as correctKHi
may be necessary, though we are disposed to think the sjnrit <tf
the work will afford the mass of readers a proper key lor its inter-
pretation when special pleading is resorted to.

We may recur to the theme of Jefferson and Hamilton in aiiitim
paper, and consider the relations which they bore to one another,
to the country, and to what extent each has impressed his mind
and principles upon our institutions and national chfuncter.

UNDER TEB BOSS.

All the winning ways of Maud

Poets only can disclose,
But no sweet song may I weave

On the silence of the rose.

Was she kind or half-afiraid ?

Were her ripe lips, pouting red,
Pressed to mine in loye*s lone kiss ?

If they were,. I have not said

Did she oome adown the lane
To meet me where the daisy shows

Its white and red ? If she did,
My lips are scaled beneath the roaa

Butyou lovers all may know
Whether Maud was kind or shy :

Meet your own Madgb down the bne,
And find out as wdl as L

1858.] 1^ LitUe Oiant. 485

THE LITTLE GIANT.

DuBmo the winter of 1838, while stopping at the St. Charles
Hotel, New-Orleans, there used to rit opposite me at table a
carious little man, about thirty-five years of age, whose appear-
ance was so striking, that it was impossible not to notice him.
His most remarkable characteristics were a long, narrow head,
rudely thatched with red hair ; a low, ill-bred forehead, bulging
out above a pair of large no-colored eyes, like a new and original
species of fungus ; and a huge, expansive beard, as coarse and
stiff as a side of sole-leather, and of about the same color.

But despite these deformities, and a strangely sinister expression
of countenance, there was that in the man's general air which
caused him to be singled out at once, by every body, as what is
called ^ a character.' He was evidently conscious of tins, and al-
ways deported himself like one who Knew he was observed, and
knew, also, that it was not because of his good looks.

A lady who sat next to me for some weeks, used to say that he
was the most hideous-looking man she ever saw, and that she
should really like to become acquainted with him. A truly femi*
nine caprice !

The fact was, that his whole carriage indicated a self-conscious
strength, which could carry off not only his bad looks, but even
his negligent and eccentric apparel ; for he was the worst-dressed
man who ever seated himself at a respectable table, even in New-
Orleans. The probability is, that he was studiouslv so ; for I have
never known a man of intelligence to dress in a slovenlv manner,
(when he had the means of doing otherwise,) except with a view
of producing a certain vulgar effect ; we have all seen examples
of this inverse dandyism even in New- York, where — though this
tells poorly for our sense of refinement — it will sometimes pro-
cure for a man an otherwise unattainable reputation as a man of
genius. In the case in question, however, I fimded that the
secret of such bad taste, was a defiant determination not to neutral-
ize the effect of repulsive features by any of the common-place
tricks of art.

I was confirmed in this opinion by the fact that, on close ob-
servation, I found that though slovenly, the man was any thing
but untidy ; for his hands, which were very small, were always
scrupulously clean, (rather a rare occurrence at our public tables)
and his linen, though sometimes buttonless, was invariably spotless.

My fair neighbor and myself used often to talk together about
this strange personage, and, still oftener, to *" nudge ' each other,
to call attention to something in his look or manner, which was
peculiar ; and it is now my firm opinion that he heard every word
that passed between us, and observed every sign.

One day, I asked her if he ever made his appearance in the
drawing-room ; she replied that he was there nearly every even-

486 The Litde Qiant. [November,

ing. I went there myself that evening, for the first time, and he
was not present. But he was there a few evenings later, when,
going in late, I was fortunate in having a good opportunity to
study him under a new aspect.

What I had heard meanwhile, only increased my curiosity to
know more about him ; and, if possible, to make his aoqnaintanee;
and now that he was before me, I resolved, if necessai^, to force
myself upon his notice. I found him in a retired part of die room,
conversing with, or rather listening to, a garmlons old lady, whom
I recognized as Madame Hibon, the widow of a Louisiana ootton-
planter, and an old friend of my &ther.

Being tolerably well acquainted with the Madame, I resolved
at once to approach her, in which case, I was certain that her no-
tions of politeness (which I beg to observe are not mine) would
lead her at once to introduce me.

I was right ; for I had no sooner addressed her, than, with
great formality, she presented me to him as her firiend, Mr. Lmton,
a legal gentleman from New-England, and the son of one of her
oldest correspondents — laying emphasis on the word * oorreqMmd-
ents,' as if to impress us both with the fact, that she was a wonum
of business. He, on the other hand, w^as introduced to me as Mr.
Francis Corbeau, of the highly respectable firm of Thibanlt and
Company, commission merchants, New-Orleans.

This ceremony was hardly over, when Madame Hibon exdaim-
ing, ^Oh! here comes one of my St. Louis correspondents,*
abruptly disappeared, and Mr. Corbeau and myself were left to
cntertam each other as best we might.

^ And so,' said he, at once broaching a conversation^ * it scesM
you have known Madame Hibon a long time.'

' Yes, Sir : about five years.'

' And are you acquainted with her niece, Miss Lolotte ? *

' I have that honor,'

' Do n't you think her very handsome ? '

' I do, indeed.'

' And intelligent also ? '

' She is said to be uncommonly : what is your opinion ? '

^ I have had no opportunity of judging : I have only met her
four or five times, and the last time was in this room, when die
cut me.'

' Cut you ! How so ? '

' I asked her to dance with me, when I knew she had no other
engagement, and she declined.'

' Courteously, I presume ? '

' No : very curtly.'

' That surprises me, in a lady who appears so well-bred,*

' So it did me ; and not only that, but delighted me,»

' Is it possible I I should never have forgiven her,'

' Neither shall I.'

'No?'

' No : I intend to marry her?

1658.] 77^ IdtOe Giant. 487

^ Tou are pleased to be sarcastic'

*' Not in tne least : I speak the simple truth. Good evening,
Sir.'

And Mr. Corbean, afler taking a hasty glance round the room,
as if in search of some one, took his abrupt departure.

The correspondent from St. Louis having been disposed o^
Madame Hibon now came up to me in great haste, and asked what
had become of her friend Corbeau.

^ He has just lefl, Madame.'

' Indeed ! he promised to stay all the evening. Did he leave a
document for me — a cotton circular ? »

* No, Madame. I think he was a little irritated at not finding
some one here whom he expected to meet.'

* Do you think so ? '

* I am sure of it : he was looking for your niece.'
' Did he teU you so ? '

^ No, Madame ; but, being a Yankee, I guessed as much from
what he did tell me.'

^ The scamp ! I am afraid he is in love with her.

*' Why afraid ? I imagined he was fortunate enough to be a
favorite with you.'

* Well, so he is ; but not with my niece : she do n't appreciate
his business qualities.'

' I do n't wonder at it : he looks like a sharper.'
^ You mistake him, my dear Sir. He is one of the most liberal
men in the world — where he takes — and also (though you
would n't think it) one of the most susceptible. W hy, the mo-
ment he saw my niece — by the way, you remember her ? '

*' Certainly, Madame : how I could fail to, once having seen
her '

* Well , the moment he saw my niece, he was a changed man.
Poor fellow ! he could hardly attend to business for weeks ; why,
in settling a little account with him the other day, he made no less
than three mistakes in subtraction.'

' Indeed ! that is remarkable. And what does your niece think
of him ? '

' She can't bear him : she says he is the ugliest little monster
she ever saw.'

' That 's encouraging I '

' Well, so it is, notwithstanding your sneer. The worst thing
you have to fear from a woman is her indifference.'

' Is that so ? '

' Certainly it is. Her hate is the next best thing to her love,
which a suitor can begin with. I do n't know but it is even better
than her love ; for a woman's first impressions — notwithstanding
all that is said about her fine intuitions and quick perceptions — are
rarely ever just, and still more rarely enduring. Not one woman
in ten marries or wishes to marry her first love. The fact is, that
until she is thirty or thereabout, (unless she is a woman of busi-
ness) her judgment of you men is just good for nothing. If

488 The LUUe Giant. [Novembff,

Leila should take an instant liking for a man like Corbeau, his
case would, in my opinion, be a very hopeless one* As it is, I
think he has a very fair chance of success.'
^But surely, you are not on his side ? '

* Why not ? '

^ Well, if you will excuse my saying it, he strikes me as haying
neither the appearance (here I straightened up a little) nor the edii>
cation of a gentleman.'

' It would be hardly safe to say that to bis &ee, Mr. liinton.*

* Why, Madame ? would he call me out ? '

* No, Sir : that is not his style.'

*' I thought not : it would be unbusiness like. Bat pray, what
what would he do ? '

* He would ruin you.'
' Ruin me ! How 1 '

* Every way.'

^ I flatter myself, Madame, that would not be a very easy task'

^ If it were, he would not undertake it. But his resources are
infinite, and if they were not, his invention would make them so.
He is a man who never leaves an injury unrevenged, nor an end
unattained. I have never known him to fail in any thing. His
went into the house of Thibault and Company a poor boy, and
resolved, from the first week, to become tne managing partner,
which in less than six years he was. There were several men in
his way, but he — well, he disposed of them : in a word, they
were all ruined.'

^ You do n't mean to say that he ruined them.'

^Not exactly; but the fact is, one of them — the cashier tx
many years — was exposed as a defaulter ; another was killed in
a duel with Corbeau's cousin ; and a third died of delirium Hw-
m&ns^ etc'

* But do you mean to say that he effected all this ? If so, he
must be, not a little monster, as your niece oaUs him, bat a grast
monster.'

^ That depends upon 'how you look at it. Do yon ever judge
your great generals in that way ? Read Abbott's Kapoleon, or
any body's Wellington. Corbeau's theory is, that he is a man of
destiny, and that every thing that interposes between him and Us
end, is sure to be got rid of in some way. This is what he esBs
Providence — an * over-ruling Providence,' I think his term is,'

' And so you think that if I interfere with this very pioos and
providential young man, I shall be got rid of too ? ' Zounds I I» vs
half a mind to try it, by makiaig love at once to Ifiss Lolotte ; by
the way, there she is, as beautiful as ever.'

And at this moment, the young lady in question approaohed lisr
aunt, and after saluting her French fashion, on both cheeks, (tbi
lips being considered too sacred for common use,) was aboot ts
give a lively account of what she had seen at the opera, wbet
Madame Hibon interrupted her by sa3ring that she was a veij
naughty girl, for staying away so long, as all the yomig men in Iha

1858.] The LiUle &iant 489

room — especially Mr. Linton and Mr, Corbeau — had been dying
for her all the evening.

Here Miss Leila, turning to me, whom she had apparently ob^
served for the first time, (a favorite but not particularly brilliant
manoeuvre of young ladies,) remarked :

'I don't see that Mr. Linton is quite in a dying condition,
aimt ; and as for jilr. Corbeau, since he is not here, it is to be
hoped he has actually died out.'

' You are cruel. Miss Lolotte,' I replied ; ' but I am sure your
presence would revive him as much — well, as much as it does me.'

'You filter. Sir. Your visit to New-Orleans has done you
good. Prl^ how did that New-England heart of yours get thawed
out ? '

' That is hardly a fair question for you to ask, Miss Lolotte.'

' Dear me : another compliment ! how charming ! Pray, Mr.
Linton, take a seat.'

Having obeyed the request, and her aunt • having gone on a
business-tour to the other end of the room, our conversation was
resumed.

' And so you have seen Mr. Corbeau ? '

' Yes, Miss Lolotte.'

* Tell me, then, what you think of him,'

* Well, to tell you the truth, I have hardly had time to think ol
him at all : wait till I have seen a little more of him.'

* Oh ! no, your judgment at this moment is the only one I
would give a fig to have. I want to know hoV he strucK you at
first sight. Second impressions are worthless.'

' That may be true, as a rule, Miss Leila ; but I think it hardly
ought to be applied to a person so unprepossessing in his outward
appearance as Mr. Corbeau.'

' But do n't you believe that external appearances are indicative
of internal character, Mr. Linton ? '

' Not always. A sinister expression of countenance, for example,
is often the result of accident.'

' And so, Mr. Linton,' said my charming companion, after a mo-
ment's pause ; ' and so this is your apologetic, round-about, lawyer-
like way of saying that Mr. Corbeau impressed you very unfavor-
ably. How much easier and braver to have said at once, that he
seemed to you to be a very bad man I '

' But that would have been unfair. I do n't think we have a right
to trifle in that way with each other's character.'

' Well, Mr. Linton, we won't discuss that matter just now, but
I am free to say, that, in my opinion, your impressions were exactly
right. I am almost certain that Mr. Corbeau is a bad man. But
here comes a gentleman "with whom I must dance, so you must
excuse me. By the way, I believe my aunt intends to invite Mr.
Corbeau and yourself to dine with us day after to-morrow. You
will come, of course : we shall dine in her room, Number Twenty-
five, at six o'clock.'

* With the greatest pleasure, Miss Leila.'

VOL. LH. 32

490 The Little Giant. [Xovember,

' Do : to save me from being bored to death by Mr. Corbeau.
How glad I am he is not here, now, for my aunt made me promise
to dance with him this evening, to pay for having refused to, on a
former occasion.'

Here, the gentleman alluded to interposed, and led Miss Lolotte
to the floor, while Madame Hibon, having finished her business-
tour, approached, and repeated the invitation of her niece, which,
jis before, I cordially accepted.

' You will thus,' said she, * have an opportunity of seeiDg Mr.
Corbeau again, and I want you, some day, to give me your opimon
of him.'

' I w^ill do so, of course, IVIadame, if you require it ; but you
must keep the opinion a secret, if it should prove un&vorable ;
for, to tell you the truth, I have not the least desire, especially at
present, (casting an eye over to Miss Leila,) to be * ruined.' '

The next day, somewhat to my surprise, Mr. Corbeau called on
nic. It was immediately after breakfast, and I was seated in my
room enjoying the unspeakable luxury of my first pipe, which,
with me as with all confirmed tobacconalians, is a very serious
event — what the French call a ' solemnity.' It was as iinpleasant
to me to be disturbed during this ceremony, as for a devotee to
be disturbed during his mornmg devotions. My friends generally
understood this whim, and had the good sense to respect it ; for a
man has as much right to his whims, if they do n't interfere with
his neighbor, as (under the same restriction) to his virtues. But
Mr. Corbeau, knowing nothing of my habits, could not be blamed,
and I accordingly received him with the courtesy due to a friend
of Madame Hibon.

' Pray, do n't let me prevent your smoking,' said he, as I was
about laying aside my pipe.

' I feared it might be disagreeable to you ; but perhaps you
smoke yourself.'

' Never,' said he ; ' but then nothing is disagreeable to me.'

' Nothing ? '

' Nothing that a gentleman can do.'

' Have n't you even the common prejudice against pipes ?'

' Not at all : I have no prejudices.'

' None ? '

' Well, one, perhaps.'

' And, pray, what may that be ? '

' A prejudice against prejudices.'

' Excuse me, but from a remark I once heard you make, I
inferred that you had a prejudice, and a very strong one, too,
against New-Englanders — Puritans, as you unjustly called us.'

' Dear me, no. I should n't like to be one myself, if you wiD
excuse me for saying so ; but then, I should n't like to be different
in any respect from what I am.'

I was tempted to ask the man if he would n't like to be a little
taller; but he detected my thought (what a splendid * Detective'
he would have made !) in an instant, and said :

1858.] The Little Giant, 491

' Yoii are thinking, perhaps, that I would like to add an inch or
two to ray stature. If so, you are mistaken, and I do n't think my
case a peculiar one. I do n't believe, in fact, that with all our
grumbling, there is a man in the world who would like to change
his physical, or even his moral conformation in the least. Now,
as for you New-Englanders, you are certainly a curious, notional
kind of people, full of bigotry and pride, though not (he conde-
scendingly added) without some virtues, and looking upon every
body not born in one of your six (I think there are six^ little States,
as persons eminently to be pitied. Now, I do n't object to this at
all, but only state the matter as it strikes me. I recognize every
man's i-ight to his opinions, and even to his ' isms,' and I call you
Northerners, if you will excuse the pun, regular Z^m-alites. But
I did n't call upon you, Mr. Linton, to discuss disagreeable topics,
but merely to ask the pleasure of your more intimate acquaintance.
I am not a man who seeks companions, as a rule, nor have I ever
been accused of flattery ; but the fact is, there is something about
you which pleased me from the moment I first saw you at table,
and I said to myself this morning : ' I will call upon Mr. Linton at
once, and see if we cannot become friends.'

After such a speech, how could I do otherwise than make my-
self as agreeable as possible ? Accordingly, I gave myself up to
the feeling of the moment, and we chatted together on the most
friendly terms for over two hours, during which time, as I have
had occasion to remember, he wormed out of me my opinion on
every subject and person alluded to, while, though this did not
occur to me till he had gone, I was no wiser as to his opinions
than before. On the whole, however, I found his society agreeable,
and resolved to cultivate it. I felt that, for the first time in my
life, I had met a man who appreciated me. And it is so delight-
ful to be appreciated ! He had listened to every word I uttered,
as though I were an oracle, and yet had deported himself toward
me all the while as a superior, which, in fact, he was. Still, I had
ray doubts in respect to the raan. There was a subtlety about him
which embarrassed me beyond measure.

But what struck me particularly, was his geniality of manner as
compared with what I had observed in him before. And some-
how, this did n't affect me agreeably ; it did n't seem to be natural
to him. In fact, I almost said as much, and intimated a suspicion
I had that he was playing a part.

' Well, suppose I am,' was his characteristic reply, ' would there
be any thing wrong in that ? '

' Well, no : I should hardly say it would be wrong ; but if you
will excuse my frankness, it would certainly be small.'

' Small I how so ? are we not all acting parts ? Do you not act
one every time you have a new client, (I thought to myself, that if
this were all, I should never make a very good actor,) and every time
you enter a new drawing-room ? Are not all the conventionalities
of life a species of acting ? It strikes me thejr are ; and if some-
times I appear rude, unsocial — discourteous, if you please — it is

492 The Little Giant. [November,

because, for the moment, I do n't choose to be a conventionalist.
But do not mistake me. If I am any more sociable than usual to-
day, it is because you arc the only person I have met with for
months, with whom I cared to converse. In fact, you exercise a
certain power over me, which I find dt impossible to resist^ even
(as is not the case) if I had the inclination to.'

' Indeed ! ' I exclaimed, feeling very much flattered at the idea
of exercising any influence over such a genius ; * and how can you
explain it ? '

' Well, Sir, I can't explain it at all. Nothing can be explained
in this ^vorld which is worth explaining. And of all mysteries,
the most subtle and inexplicable, is that of human affinities. Your
character, one would say, is as opposite to mine, in every respect,
as can be conceived ; and yet there is a magic about it, to me, which
is as charming as if I had just been endowed with a new sense."

In reply to this fascinating compliment, which was delivered
with great appearance of sincerity, I had to acknowledge some-
thing of the same feeling toward himself. And so we went on,
a long time, in a strain which, over-heard by a third person, wonld
have led him to think (and perhaps he would not have been far
out of the way) that we were two as conceited young coxcombs
as could be found in the country. My new friend discovered in
me, and I in turn discovered in him, the most marvellous qualities
of mind ; and what time we were not dwelling upon them, and
complimenting one another upon them, we were wondering at the
stupidity of the world in general.

A sense of the ludicrousness of all this came over me, now and
then ; but a hurried word from Corbeau restored me at once to
my self-conceit ; and when we finally separated, I own up that it
was Avitli the feeling that we were two of the most brilliant p^niuses
of the age. A stupid delusion, without doubt, but one which was
fiir from being disagreeable.

The next day, as I was i)reparing to go to Madame ICbon's, I
wondered what she and her niece would think of our sudden in-
timacy, for we had agreed to go together, and they would see in
an instant that we were on the most familiar terras. Moreover,
after a night's reflection, the new state of things embarrassed me.
I felt that I had gone too fast and too far ; in a word, that I had
yielded my confidence too suddenly. It seemed to me just pos-
sible, too, when I reviewed all the circumstances, that I had been
caught in a trap ; and that, so far from caring any thing about
me, Corbeaii's only object in courting my society, might have
been to use me in his designs upon Miss Lolotte. He knew that
she had a high opinion of me, and that if she saw I had formed a
favorable opinion of him, it would be a strong argument on his
side. In fact, it looked as if he had retained me, unconacioady
to myself, as his special counsel. I then began to feel, more than
ever, that I had been out-witted ; and when he called, at the ap-
pointed hour, I was sure that he saw all this in an instant, and fiut
that my friendship for him was of far too sudden a growth to last.

1858.] The Little Giant. 493

On arriving at Madame Hibon's, however, the ladies received
us very graciously, and if they were surprised to see us together,
they had the politeness not to let us know it. Tlie usual civilities
over, Miss Lolotte commenced upbraiding me with mock severity
for not calling oftener, and then invited me to take a seat with
her near the window, that her aimt, as she said, might have one
of her famous business conferences with Mr. Corbeau ; whereupon
that gentleman, not at all disconcerted at this quiet way of dis-
posing of him, said that he was always pleased to converse with
Madame Hibon, on any subject, and then retreated with that very
business-like lady, to another part of the room, and left her niece
and myself to our tete-d-tete.

I was hoping that Miss Leila's fii-st allusion would be to Mr.
Corbeau, for at this moment he was the only subject about which I
felt disposed to talk. But in this I was disappointed, for during a
conversation of half-an-hour, she not only made no reference to
him, but skilfully avoided every topic in which he might in any
way be involved. Meantime I never caught him looking once in
our direction ; and when dinner was announced, he offered his arm
to Madame Hibon, and without so much as glancing at Miss
Leila, left that young lady to be escorted to the dining-room by
me. Matters were so arranged, however, that he was seated face
to face with her, while I was placed opposite her aunt, an awkward
arrangement, but one which naturally suggested itself.

The dinner wns as good as could be expected at a hotel ; and on
the whole, we had a merry time of it. Miss Lolotte had got her
Creole blood up, and was resolved not to be outwitted by Mr.
Corbeau ; while as for the Madame and myself, we amused our-
selves watching their manoeuvres. To our great delight, before we
had come to the second course, and so on to the end of the repast,
the sprightly combatants were engaged in a series of lively repar-
tees, in which, with consummate skill, Corbeau, apparently doing his
best, succeeded always — in coming off the worst. I fancy that
she herself had a suspicion that he had been trifling with her, for
on retiring to the drawing-room, it was evident to me, as I watched
the play of her countenance, that she had a kind of fear for him
bordering on respect. He was too strong for her, while there was
that in his audacity calculated to over-awe, if not to overcome,
any woman. And this was all he wanted. I saw as much by a
certain wicked expression of his eye, which seemed to say : * I have
her completely in my power ; and now, gentlemen rivals, come on
and do your best.'

After spending a tedious evening in that dullest of all amuse-
ments, long-whist, which Madame Hibon insisted should be played
throughout according to Hoyle, any other method being unbusi-
ness-like, Corbeau and myself adjourned to my room, and passed
most of the night drinking and gossiping. To my surprise, I found
him very anxious, apparently, to know what I thought of Miss
Lolotte's conversational powers.

494 Tfie Little Giant. [November

' Do n't you think,' said he, ' that she was very smart at dinner?

' I certainly do ; in fact, you seemed to have had rather tlie
worst of it all the while.'

' I am glad you think so, for such was ray intention. It is a strict
rule of mine never to humiliate a lady.'

* You mean in conversation,' I said, perceiving, now that it was
not so much my opinion of Miss Lolotte he wanted, as an oppor-
tunity to develop some favorite theory.

' Exactly. It does them so much good now and then to be re^
cognized as reasonhig beings that I am disposed to indulge them,
especially when I have an object to gain. Did n't you see what a
triumph it was to Miss Lolotte this evening to bo considered by
her aunt and yourself, as having got the better of me ? I would n't
liave robbed her of that pleasure for the world ; for it makes her
think better of me and better of herself — two great things.
Another such a triumph and she will begin to love me : for nothing
elates a young woman like being considered intellectual, especially
when she is n't so. Do n't you remember when phrenology first
came in vogue, how many women used to comb the hair back from
the forehead, so as to show iheir bumps of ' causality,' ' comparison,'
or what not ? I do, and it gave me a good deal of fun.'

' You are severe, Mr. Corbeau.'

' Not at all. We all aim to be, or rather, tQ ^^^ different firom
what we are. And since the world requires it of us, why not?
What harm is tliere in it ? '

' The harm of insinceritv.'

'I don't sec that. We are sincere enough, but our sincerity
consists in a sincere desire to pass with other equally sincere per-
sons in the same fix, for something else besides what we really are.
There is no deception in this, for every body understands it. By
i^eneral consent, we all go disguised. The merchant has his mask;
the lawyer his ; the minister his ; the woman, of every condition,
liers. Life, in fact, is nothing but a great masquerade; that is
the beauty of it. Were it otherwise, there would be no myster)-
in human intercourse, and the whole charm of society would be
^xone. Do you suppose that IMiss Lolotte has ever seen me ? or
that I have ever seen her? Not once; nor shall we ever, un-
less— well, unless we marry each other; and then the masks will
i>e dropped as being no longer of use, and the whole romance
and poetry of our lives will be swallowed up in that prosy Sffoism
a deux which we call matrimony.

And we continued philosophizing in this dreary style, or rather
Corbeau philosophizing and I drinking, till broad day-light, when
with many protestations of friendship, (not at all weaker for the
potations of the evenmg,) we separated, having first, howerer,
tossed off a final bumper to the ' Health of Leila Lolotte I *

The next day, and the next, and in fact nearly every day for a
fortnight, I called upon Madame Hibon, and found myself at last
(I can find no other word to express it) furiously in love with her
niece, who, at any rate, was not very furiously in love with Mr.

1858.] The Little Giant. 496

Corbeau. Meanwhile my position toward that inexplicable per-
son was a very embarrassing one, for I spent a good deal of time in
his society, and we were generally looked upon as intimate friends.
More than once I had been warned against him, but my reply had
uniformly been, that doubtless he had his deficiencies of character,
his bad traits as well as his good ones, but then that every body
had, and in this wicked world I had learned to take people as I
found them, and make the best of it.

Now I admit this was rather a damaging defence of my new
friend, but it was the best I could offer. Moreover, I must con-
fess that when speaking of him to Leila, my tone was somewhat
different; but this was natural, if not unavoidable.

Another difficulty in my position was, that I had become to
some extent the legal adviser of Madame Hibon, and had seve-
ral times had the misfortune to differ from Corbeau — who was
her business adviser and agent — in opinion, and my advice was
sometimes though not often preferred. Things had been going
on between us in this equivocal way for some weeks, before he had
the least idea of our relative positions. But one day it seems he
had over-heard a conversation between Madame Hibon and myself,
in which, though no direct allusion was made to him, I had ad-
vised her, in a certain important business matter in which Miss
Leila's interests were involved, to adopt a course exactly opposite
that which he had recommended as absolutely necessary. Refer-
ence was also made to previous opinions I had given her ; and at
the close of our interview she had urged upon me the importance
of not mentioning the matter to him.

We were neither of us aware for some time that we had been
over-heard, and should never have discovered it, perhaps, had not
Corbeau in a moment of excitement let the secret out in his next
interview with her, on which occasion Leila was present, and
warmly took my part.

As soon as 1 had heard of this circumstance, I felt that the
friendship between Mr. Corbeau and myself was at an end. But
not so. Though he had discovered that I was in a double sense
his rival, and had heard both from Madame Hibon and her niece
the most flattering statements (doubtless much over-colored) as to
my character and ability, he continued, nevertheless, to court my
society and to make me all kinds of proffers of service.

And now comes an incident which, though trifling in itself, was
the one which did more than all others to determine both his fate
and mine.

A week or so after he had discovered my relations to Madame
Hibon and her niece, he came to my room, with his face beaming
with joy, and gave me some information respecting a client of
mine in New- York, by which — as it turned out before night — I
saved several thousand dollars. Now, as a curious coincidence,
Leila had that very day warned me to be on the look-out for him,
lest he should spring some trap upon me and cause my ruin ; for
she was as firm as her aunt in the belief that he could ' ruin' any

406 The LitOe Oiant [Noyember,

body he pleased, from the President down. As an act of justice
to my fnend, therefore, I hastened to Madame Hibon's in the
evening to communicate my good fortune and to rally her niece
about her ' instincts,' 'presentiments,' etc., all of which had told her
that Coi'beau was now my deadly enemy.

Judge of my surprise to find that the news made so deep an
impression upon her that in a few moments she made some vague
excuse for leaving the room, and did not return.

In a moment the whole truth flashed upon me. Leila's noble
sensitive nature had been shocked by the consciousness of her in
justice to Corbeau, and she had suddenly resolved to make ample
reparation. This was in keeping with her whole character.

Of course I was not so blind but I saw that this was a great
t Humph for him ; nor so dull as not then to see that it was in a
manner pre-calculated, and that he would make a masterly use of it
Tt was a favorite saying of his, that he liked to be abused, becaose
it gave a man the only decent excuse he could ever have for
speaking a word in his own favor.

And the word was soon spoken.

Indeed from that day he commenced a series of personal atten-
tions to Miss Lolotte — starting from his new vantage-ground;
which attentions she at least did not discourage. She danced with
him at parties, went with him to theatres, rode out with him, and
in fact, rushing to extremes, as she did in every thing, made more
tlian thousand-fold amends for her past distrust.

Seeing this, I became disgusted, and resolved to retire from a
field in which my prospects, never perhaps very brilliant, seemed
now to be completely ' ruined.'

Matters rested in this way about a month, during which time I
had lived in almost absolute seclusion, when I suddenly decided to
return Xorth. I then called upon Madame Hibon to 'make my
adieus.' The old lady was alone, her niece, as she said, being in-
disposed. I expressed my regret at this, as I had come to bid
llieni good-by.

' Good-by ? ' said she, getting quite excited ; ' but pray where]are
you going ? '

' To Boston, Madame.'

' But are you not going to stop to the wedding ? '

' The wedding? ' I exclaimed, losing at once all my self posses-
sion ; ' whose wedding ? '

' Why Leila's, to be sure. Have n't you h^ard of her
I'ugagement ? '

' Me ? why, no, indeed. But — but — to whom is she engaged ? '

' Why, to Mr. Corbeau, to be sure ; whom did you think ? »

' Really, Madame, I had n't the least idea ; but (and here I made
a great effort to appear cool) do pray tell me all about it.'

* Ah ! ' said she, looldng uncommonly grave, ' it is such a long
story.'

' And you speak of it as if it were a sad one,' said I, quite

1858.] The LitUe Giant. 497

alarmed, and then added gayly, ' it strikes me, however, it must be
a very sentimental one.'

' I should hope not ; if there is any thing in this world I hate, it
is a sentimental match. Leila's is one based on simple prudence
and common-sense.'

' A regular business operation.'

' Exactly. But tell me, has n't Mr. Corbeau told you about our
affairs ? '

' Not a syllable, Madame ; I have hardly seen him for a fort-
night.'

' Well then, in a word, he made a formal proposal to me for the
hand of my niece about ten days ago, stating that unless the pro-
posal was accepted he should resign his position as my agent, and
spend the next three years travelling in Europe. Now, on examin-
ing into my accounts, which he rendered at the same time, I found
them in such a complicated condition, that without his aid it was
impossible for me to go on with my business. To be brief, I re-
presented these facts to Leila, who, after three days' consideration,
decided '

' To become Madame Corbeau ! '

' Precisely.'

' And pray, when is the ceremony to take place ? '

' The day is not fixed, but it will be some time within a month,
that is, if nothing happen to prevent.'

I found on making further inquiries, that Corbeau, like Madame
Hibon, looked at the whole thing as a mere matter of business,
and that so far from persecuting Leila with his addresses since the
engagement, he was assiduously non-attentive to her. And this
line of conduct seemed to please all parties. Lideed, Leila had
once said that if Corbeau (she never called him Francis) only
proved to be as considerate as a husband as he had been as a lover,
she should have nothing to complain of; for if there was any thing
in this world which she dreaded more than another, it was being
bored.

Just before leaving Madame Hibon, she asked me, in an appar-
ently unconcerned way, w^hether I would n't stay in New-Orleans
and attend her niece's wedding; to which I promptly replied,
having suddenly changed my resolution : ' I shall be there, if I am
alive.'

The next day, to my great astonishment, I received a curious
note from Madame Hibon, to the effect that at the particular re-
(juest of her niece, she wished me to examine and audit the ac-
counts of Mr. Corbeau, which, without further ceremony, she took
the liberty of forwarding to me. The same day I received another
note, by post, from Miss Lolotte herself, saying that she had just
had a communication from one Mr. Thompson, fomierly cashier to
Thibault and Company, and who had been dismissed* from their
employ some fifteen years before as a defaulter, warning her
against Mr. Corbeau as a dishonest man. She placed no faith in

498 The Little Giant. [November,

the statcmeut, but had advised her aunt to consult with me about
it. She begged, also, to send me Mr. Tliompson's address.

Any attempt to describe my state of mind at the receipt of these
documents would be futile.

In less than an hour Mr. Thompson, whom I found to be engaged
in the business of general accountant, was in my office, and wo
were busily engaged examining with ten-iblc scrutiny, the lonjj
and complicated account of Madame Ilibon with Mr. Corbeau for
a period of over five years. But before commencing our work,
the old accountant (for he was a man over sixty years of age) had
told me, with tears in his eyes, the story of his disgrace, saying
that it was owing to the i)ertidy of Corbeau, who had effected it
by falsifying the books of the firm in so injurious a manner that
he (Thompson) had f >und it impossible at the time to detect the
fraud, though he was sure if Mr. Thibault would give him the
chance, he would do so now. I promised him that I would do my
best to serve him, and that if any dishonesty was detected in the
accounts then belbre us, he should have a chance to justify himself
before the house of Thibault and Company, and Corbeau should
be either sent to prison or driven from the country.

We then i)roceeded actively with our work, and at last had de-
cided, after the more patient and thorough examination, to re^
port that all was correct, when it suddenly occurred to Thompson,
as if by inspiration, to examine into the authenticity of the
' vouchers.' This, alas! — I say alas ! though it was with a certain
secret and almost hideous delight, which no human heart will fiul
to understand — proved to be a fatal examination. False Touehen
were found to the extent of over thirty thousand dollars I

And now, why prolong a story, the sequel of which the reader,
always so sagacious, has already anticipated ?

The good old accountant turned out to bo riffht ; the knavidi
Corbeau was exposed ; his match with Miss LoTotte was broken
off; that lady now rejoices in the name of Mrs. Linton. Madame
Ilibon has finished her business in this world ; the firm of
Thibault and Company is changed to 'Thibault and Thompson;*
and the late 'junior partner,^ instead of alio wing himself to be sent
to prison, or driven out of the country, turned politician, and is
now a thriving government officer in San Francisco, and oooapei
a prominent place in the books of the Vigilance Committee as
C -orbeau, alias Corbett, alias Callcott, ' The Little Giant,'

/ U t» M r n B PERSIAN.

The end of night
Is mom in fulgent droes ;
And of iinhappiness,
Tlie end is happiness.

1858.] Hunting tJie Hinds of Hijaz, 499

HALLO! MY FANCY. WHITHER WILT THOU 00 7

Swift as the tide in tlie river
The blood flows through my heart,

At the curious little fency
That to-morrow we must part.

It seems to me all over,
The last words have been said ;

And I have the curioiLS fancy
To-morrow will find me dead !

HUNTING THE IIIND8 OF HIJAZ.

Who has not heard of the Turkish Rear-Admiral that recently
visited a country where every man is supposed to be equal to a
pacha ? I must confess I was a little surprised, not at his being
feasted by aldermen on ham-sandwiches, eaten out of hand,
for does not the prophet say, ' Verily, the fires of hell shall roar
like the lowings of a camel in the bellies of such as use vessels of
gold and silver ! ' and every body knows that our aldermen do not
reject the prophets. Nor was I surprised that a pacha should
even sojourn for a time among the infidels whom the devil has so
assisted in multiplying cunning inventions to disturb the pious
meditations of the faithful, and bring discord into the universe.
Do you think that the Pacha loves the feringees — who will build
the tallest ships for the Sultan when they feel sure of the piastres ?
When, at the opera of the ^ Huguenots^ his Highness saw Catho-
lics slaying Protestants, did he not say that ' Allah is Allah, and
Mohammed his Prophet,' and inwardly thank God for bringing
about a state of things for the benefit of his cause, wherein one
kind of infidel ship-building dog is fast killing oflT another kind, so
that the Mussulmen may soon expect to see the entire race of un-
believers exterminated ?

The only wonder was, that even a Turkish Rear-Admiral should
have found his way so far from Mecca, for when I was in Turkey
they told marvellous stories about whole crews of Mussulmen
being overcome by sea-sickness. I heard of a Turkish commander
who was directed to visit Malta on important business. After
beating about in the Mediterranean for six months, he returned
and reported to the Capudan Pacha that he could not find the
island.

You will see by this, that even pachas do not take very enthu-
siastic views of the countries they may visit — the countries I
mean that are not governed by the Sultan. Why, therefore, when

500 ITufiting the Minds of Stjaz, [Xovember,

wo give our impressions of the East, should we rouse a whole
caravan of glowing thoughts, and fairly break down the &st
horses of invention ?

In Grand Cairo I had the pleasure of dinuig one day with Mr.
Herschel, brother of the great astronomer, ana Dr. Abbot of the
famous Eg^'ptian collection. The conversation ran upon this notar
ble proclivity of Eastern travellers. Lamartine was mentioned as
an instance, who set a guard in the valley of Jordan to keep off
lions. Mr. Herschel said ho had not long previously spent an
hour with Lamartine, and remarked to him that although he had
visited Palestine and Syria, he could not see those fiimous coun-
tries as the poet himself had seen and described them.

' Ah ! ' said Lamartine, ' Vous n'avez pas d'enthusiasm.'

But what is a traveller worth Avithout enthusiasm, I should like
to know ?

It Avas on this occasion that Dr. Abbot related how he had
made the wonderful collection which reproduces in our midst the
maiTols of Egypt. At first his curiosities filled but a single win-
dow, then a second, and finally all the windows of his house would
not contain them. The fame of the Hakeem as a knower and
buyer of antiquities filled the land of Egypt ; and even while we
were at table a dark-eyed son of the desert came in to sell what
proved to be a cane-head of one of the priests of Isis. One need
no longer go to Egypt to see Egypt, or to Greece to see the Par-
thenon. The glories of El Kair, of Athens, and of Rome, are ex-
hibited for money in the capitals of other civilizations. Jenkins
spends a thousand or two, and makes himself sea-sick, to visit the
Pyramids. If they stood on Long Island, he would take stock in
the Pyramid Stone-quarry.

It was under these circumstances that I visited Athens and
spent several days with our venerable missionary there. I had
heard of the little boy in Berkshire county, I think, who had read
his Bible through at six years of age, and grown up to be one of
those three great missionary pioneers in restoring Christianity and
civilization to the East : I mean Di*s. King, Smith, and Scudder.
I mentioned to Dr. King this incident of his early life. Ho said
that Avhen young he had heard of a boy in a neighboring county
who had accomplished the same thing at the age of five years.
This was William C. Bryant, who had visited Greece shortly be-
fore I was there.

What stores of learning are collected by our missionaries in the
East ! There are men among them with whom in point of philo*
logical knowledge the Learned Blacksmith is not to be compared.
I forget how many different languages I have heard Dr. King
speak in carrying on the conversation of a single evening. He
mentioned that he had once spent an hour with Mezzofanii, the
<*elebrated librarian of Florence, who never in his life travelled
beyond the borders of Italy. Tlie Doctor conversed with him in
several of the modern European as well as in the Oriental lan-
guages, and found him as much at home in each as if he had

1858.] Hunting the Hind^ of Hijaz, 601

spent years in its particular acquisition. When his guest was
aoout to depart, the many-tongued Italian composed a verse in
English as a memento of the interview.

I hope the Doctor, who has lived a quarter of a century in sight
of Hymettus and Pentelicus, without ever ascending either, has
by this time forgiven me for ascending both of them without guide
or guard, a somewhat perilous feat in the then unsettled state of
the countiy. The snow was a foot deep on the summit of the lat-
ter mountain, although I collected a bouquet of flowera on the plain
of Attica at its base. Lady Franklin had made the ascent of
Hymettus a short time previous entirely alone ; and my host men-
tioned a Philadelphian lady who had ridden from Athens to the
Cape of Sunium and back again the same day in time for tea in
the evening.

It was at the Cadi's court that I first heard of Hafiz, our dra-
goman. While conversing one day Avith the Coptic interpreters
of the court upon the frequency of apostasy from their sect to
Islamisra, the popular creed of the country, one of them said to
me : ' Heaven forbid that I should ever desert my Lord and Mas-
ter ; I would have my head cut off first ; but there is Hafiz : the
accursed rascal has left us and become a Mussulman. It was this
convert who afterward opened and shut the doors of knowledge
for me in Egypt, his only fault being a slight tendency to Oriental
exaggeration. Hafiz was, moreover, particularly careful that I
should not be cheated except by his personal friends. But why
should I saddle the camels of eulogium ? Yet I would almost
give the pupils of my two eyes to look upon him again, and ' Moon
of Darkness ' (I forget his Arabic name) who served us — a Nu-
bian with a lip nearly half as large as himself.

' Are you married, Hafiz ? ' I inquired, as we were being don-
keyed one morning to the pyramids of Ghizeh.

' Married ? The light of my countenance rests upon two wives ;
and I shall have two more as soon as I can support them.'

' You are of about my own age, O incomparable dragoman ! I
hardly know what I should do with one wife, saying nothing of
four.'

' MashaMa ! When I was a Christian I had but one wife. Her
little finger was worth more than all the other women of Cairo to-
gether. She died ; Allah Jcerim I (God is merciful.) I became a
Mussulman, knowing that it would give me a higher position, and
increase my income ; and now I am equally fond of my two wives.'

* What, O Hafiz ! are the comparative merits of the Moslem and
Coptic women with respect to beauty ? '

' The Christian women of Cairo are the pearl of infidels, but, by
the head of the Prophet ! one Mussulman maiden is worth more
than seven of the most beautiful daughters of the unbelievers.'

' As a good- Mussulman, do you believe that women will be ad-
mitted to the joys of heaven ? '

' InshaUa I (Please God.) Our prophet hath promised them
the eternal beatitude of Paradise on condition that they marry.'

502 Hunting the Hinds of Htjaz. [Xovember,

' What, tlien, O lover of women ! becomes of widows and such
as remain single from inclination or other reasons ? '

' By the law of the Koran they live in a state of continual trans-
gression; but' — and Haiiz turned toward Mecca to repeat an
orison for those erring mortals — ^ Allah akhar I (God is good,)
and by His mercy they may at last be saved.'

' Granting that women have souls, do you peimit them to wo^
ship in your mosques ? '

' They assemble with us only on certain occasions. The pro-
phet commands them to pray diligently at home, as their presence
at places of worship would disturb the pious meditations of the
faithful, and inspire a different kind of devotion from that to
Allah.'

' But, Hafiz, are there not many among you who have but one
wife ? '

' People of the middling class usually take but a single wife.
The very rich and the very poor have from two to seven.'

' Then you can get an idea of the poor man's poverty and the
rich man's Avealth, from the number of his 'wives; as, in Ame^
ica, we judge of a family's wealth from the number of its servants ;
of its poverty from the number of children and dogs ! '

' Mashalla I (God preserve us !) You Americans are a wonder
ful peoj)le. With the children of the Prophet the wealthy have
many wives, because they have the means to support; them ; the
indigent also take many, for the reason that their wives can sup-
port themselves.'

I could not help tolling him of a ruse that had been practised
u])on me only a few days previous while visiting the tombs of the
3Iamelukes. A group of fair-anned girls met us, and as frequentlr
happens, held out their hands for a present from the howadjL To
the one who promised most in beauty, judging from a pair of soft
and liquid eyes, I offered liberal backsheesh if she would show me
her entire face. She looked at the shining piastres, and turning
from me, arranged her veil so as to show me one side of her £ice,
and then laughingly exhibited, in the same way, the other. I
gave her the piastres of course. I low could I refuse ? But in
Egyi)t it is customary to scald kids. Ah ! said Hafiz, you are not
the'first one who has pursued the Hinds of Hijaz, and himself been
caught.

Alas ! for the all-concealing veil ! "Were not the sun and the
stars, O reader ! made to liglit up the heavens, and the fBLoes of
beauty to illuminate the earth ? Among the women of the East I
felt as if I was sailing upon an ocean of wealth, yet always dying
of thirst ; but ailor all, the ways of that ocean were very plea-
sant.

In the shady gardens of Uzbokieh you ramble in the youth of a
night so beautiful that the glories of seven nights •seem crowded
into one. The Milky Way appears like two rivers of light pouring
down the amber sky. The Pleiads look as dark-eyed maidens
dancing in the green woods, and the polar stars are borne round

1858.] Hutiting the Hinds of Hijaz, 503

even as the wine-cups were borne at the purple feasts of the gods.
As the evening breeze floats along with the last song of the birds
and the murmur of Old Nilus, it touches the whispering leaves, and
touches you softly as with the hand of love, and writes lines of
liquid poetry on the pool of Uzbekieh.

But what are all these when you have met that pair of eyes
flitting past under the acacia tree, which are as certainly the most
lovely eyes in the world, as that El Kair is the glory of all cities ?
Your imagination at once embarks in the contemplation of unseen
charms, and you are drowned in the ocean of supposed beauty.
Night dwells in the ringlets which you believe the breath of air
sportively throws against soft cheeks, only to be repelled by the
glances of her eyes. Surely her teeth are white anthemis-flowers,
and her lips, which you suppose to be avid of words and other
things, do they not so resemble opening rose-buds, that you would
kiss them to dispel all doubts ?

My friend, it is not pleasant to dismount the horsemen of elo-
quence, but it is your misfortune that it does not rain in Egypt, a
wet skin and youthful enthusiasm being in compatibles. That roll-
ing bundle of clothes under the acacia-tree contains not the blush-
ing Azza of sixteen, but the wrinkles and frowns of seventy
winters. Hector blowing his nose, is not the only ridiculous sight
in the world.

The ascent of the great pyramid repaid months of weary travel.
On the summit of Cheops I first realized the extent of those stu-
pendous masses which almost defy the wasting hand of time.
Before me was the valley of the ' sacred river,' winding, like an
immense green serpent, between mountain chains at the south,
and at the north expanding into the Delta. But what rendered
the scene unique and incomparably grand, was the desert, stretch-
ing away on either hand farther than the eye could reach, as soli-
tary, infinite, and incomprehensible as the ocean itself — the desert,
whose storms and waves of moving sand have destroyed armies
and innumerable caravans, depopulated immense regions, and
turned the course of mighty rivers, for those billows of moving
earth respect only the places they cannot reach. The oases,
scattered here and there, like the islands of an ocean, owe their
existence either to an elevated position or to a girdle of moun-
tains.

On the north-east horizon dimly rose the obelisk of Heliopolis,
raised by Sesortasan more than four thousand years ago, while to
the left of the pyramids of Dashoor and Sakkara, built by kings
whose uncertain names were unknown for two thousand years,
were the mounds of Memphis and forests of palm-trees growing
from the alluvial deposit, that for more than twenty centuries has
been annually accumulating over her temples and palaces and
halls of learning. Now the eye swept over the mosques and gar-
dens of Cairo ; now drank in the soft charm of waving p^ilms and
of gray hamlets half-buried in the sea of verdure along the rush-
ing waters of the Nile ; and then, leaving the busy haunts of men,

604 Hunting the Hinds of H^az. [November,

rested, at my feet, upon ' the countless sepulchres of above a hun-
dred generations of departed life.'

After dispatching an excellent meal, provided by Hafiz, part of
our company explored the interior of the great pyramid. Hon?
remarkable than the chambers and passages is tne well, whose
construction must have had some mysterious connection with the
Nile, as bchig in all one hundred and ninety feet deep, its bottoni
is nearly on a level with the surface of the river. It is between
two and three feet in diameter, and the explorer, lowered down
by means of a long rope, passes through two or more chambers in
the irregular descent. The Arabs are afraid to go down, on ac-
count of the genii supposed to inhabit the mystenous chambers.

Massoudi, an Arabic author, relates the following marveUous
story in the ' Akhar-Ezzeman ' .•

* Twenty men of the Fayoom wished to examine the great
pyramid. One of them was lowered down the well by means of a
rope, which broke at the depth of one hundred and fifty cubits,
and the man fell to the bottom. He was three honrs in &lling.
His companions heard horrible cries, and in the evening they went
out of tne pyramid and sat down by it to talk over the matter.
The man who was lost in the well suddenly appeared before them
out of the earth, and uttered these exclamations, ^Sak! Saka!'
which they did not understand. He then fell down dead, and was
carried away by his friends. The above words were translated by
a man of S'aid, as follows : ' He who meddles with and covets
what does not belong to him, is unjust.' '

Dr. King, of Athens, once related to me a startling adventure
of his friend, Mr. Fisk, in the well of the pyramid of Cheops. This
daring traveller, wliose ashes rest on Mount Sion, was lowered
down by several Arabs. After he had descended a great distance
his taper went out, leaving him in Egyptian darkness. The Arabs
also, by some mistake, suddenly checked his descent, and held him
suspended — he knew not how far from the bottom. They could
not hear his shouts to lower or draw in the rope. Fortunately,
the walls were less than three feet apart, and by firmly bracing
his arras and shoulders against one side and his legs against the
other, he managed to descend slowly, yet fearful every moment
of plunging into the dark abyss beneath. In this manner he crept
down carefully between six and seven feet, and unexpectedly
found himself at the bottom of the well, which indeed his feet
had almost touched while he was dangling at the end of the rope.
The feelings experienced while suspended in this manner Mr.
Fisk himself declared were terrible beyond description.

We were just leaving the well, when I heard a distant voice
shouting at the opening of the pyramid: 'He's dying! he's
dying I Where is the doctor ? ' Being the only physician in the
company, I ordered Hafiz to precede me with the taper, and we
scrambled hastily up the nan*ow passage on our hands and knees.
A square piece of the blue heavens presently became visible. I
emerged into the open air, reeking with dust and perspiration,

1858] Hunting the Hinds of Hljaz. 606

and was hastily conducted by the Arabs to the north-west corner
of the pyramid. There, stretched upon the sand, at a distance of
twenty-five feet from the base of the pyramid, lay a naked Arab
boy, with blood gushing from his mouth, nose, and several severe
flesh-wounds. Though unable to speak, he was not entirely insen-
sible. The flow of blood was quickly staunched. Having left my
pocket-case of instruments behind, I inquired among the gentle-
men for a needle and thread, but to no purpose.

'These Bedouins are their own tailoi^s,' said one, and searching
among them he soon found what I desired. The crowd of Arabs
looked on in mute astonishment while I set the broken arm, using
for s])lints pieces of the date-palm baskets, in which Hafiz had
brought the provisions and claret for our dinner from Cairo.

The operation finished, I first learned the cause of the terrible
accident to the boy. While part of the company were exploring
the interior chambers with myself, those remaining outside had
amused themselves in various ways. Yielding to the importuni-
ties of the Arab boys, they offered a small wager to the one who
should ascend to the summit of the great pyramid and descend
again to the earth in the shortest time. Four Arab youths stri}>
ped themselves for the race, and skipped up the rocky hill with
the agility of the chamois. They all reached the summit at the
same moment, and turned to descend. At such an immense
height they looked like pigmies, yet leaped down from strata to
strata with marvellous celerity. One of them gained a few feet
upon his companions. He had made about one-third of the de-
scent when his foot slipped, and he came bounding down the dizzy
height, now rolled into a ball, then with legs and arms extended,
and striking upon the sharp angular rocks every ten or fifteen
feet, until he lay stretched out upon the sand where I found him
at so considerable a distance from the base of the pyramid. He
must have fallen more than four hundred feet, and nothing but
Bedouin toughness could have prevented his being dashed into
pieces.

Captain Adams, of the Japan expedition, who witnessed the
accident, declared to me that his eyes were riveted to the spot,
and that the sicjht was the most dreadful he had ever beheld. A
fi-iend offered to have the boy taken to the Cairo hospital at his
own expense, but the Arabs of the desert, detesting nothing so
much as the roof of a house, would not listen to the humane pro-
posal, and carried him to a neighboring village.

The sufferer began to recover at once, and ev^ on the follow-
ing day could hardly be restrained from hurtful food. Before we
left Cairo, a contribution was made up for the boy and bis almond-
eyed mother, or, as Hafiz piously expressed it, ' for the pleasure
of Allah.'

VOL. LII. 33

506 Tfte Gift of Lorn. [November,

THE GIFT OP LOVK.

* Give ine,' I said, * that ring,
Which on thy taper finger gleams ;

Sweet thoughts to me 'twill bring.
When summer sunset's beams
Have faded o'er the western sea,
And left me dreaming, love, of thee I '

* Oh ! no ! ' the maiden cried ;

* This shining ring is bright, but cold :

That bond is loosely tied
Which must be clasped with gold I
The ring would soon forgotten be :
Some better gift I '11 give to thee ! '

* Then give me that red rose,*

Said I, * which on thy bosom heaves.
In ecstasied rejK)se,

And droops its blushing leaves :

If thou wouldst have me think of thee,
Fair maiden, give the rose to me ! '

' Oh ! no,' she softly said,

* I will not give thee any flower :

This rose will surely fade ;
It passes with the hour :
A faded rose can never be
An emblem of my love for thee ! '

* Then give me but thy word —

A vow of love — 't were better yet,'
I cried : ' who once has heard

Such vows, can ne'er forget I

If thou wilt give this pledge to me.
Nor rinK nor rose I '11 ask of thee ! '

* Oh ! no,' she said again ;

* For spoken vows are empty breath,

Whose memory is vain
Wien passion perishcth :

If e'er I lose my love for thee,
My vows must all forgotten be ! '

* Then what,' I asked, ' wilt thou,
O dearest ! to thy lover give ?

Nor ring nor rose nor vow
ftay I fi'om thee receive ;

And yet, some symbol should there be
To typify thy love for me ! *

Then dropped her silvery voice
Unto a whisper soft and low :

* Hero, take this gift — my choi(re —
The sweetest love can know ! '

She raised her head all lovingl)'.
And smiling, gave — a kiss to me !

1858.] Time-Keeping, bOl

TIME-KEEPING:

WATCH-MAKINO AND AMERICAN WATCHES.

Time, the subtlest marvel of the universe ! — Time, the builder,
the destroyer, the consoler, an illimitable ocean of eternities!
Who can fix its beginning or mark its periods ? The measureless
harmonies of the materim universe ; the rapid Avheeling of count-
less orbs in the broad fields of space ; the erratic flight of comets ;
the unspent operation of the forces of Nature, exhibited at all
points in the created universe, fall within Time's inflexible periods
and cycles.

What inconceivable disasters would result, even from a moment-
ary delay on the part of the earth to move within its allotted
periods ! All motion arrested for a single moment of time, and
the organic universe would return to chaos.

Yet man has no natural sense of time, which has developed the
sciences, the arts, and the whole history of human action. He
commences his being unconscious of the hurrying moments.
Watchless as well as garmentless he comes into the world, and the
hours and minutes are not marked on the great dial of the sky.
He has had to invent the very necessity of having them marked
at all.*

Not till after thousands of years of timing by guess, and other
thousands of rude measurements by the floAV of sand or water, or
the movement of a shadow, did the race at last provide itself with
miniature stationary or portable solar systems — machines sub-
stantially isochronous with the sun — which show to a minute, or
the sixtieth part of it, in the cloudiest day, the darkest uight, or
deepest cave, how long it is since the sun passed a given meridian.

liie utility of this achievement is incalculable ; is far more valu-
able for humanity than if the seconds, minutes, and hours had
been visibly marked on the zodiac by the hand of the Almighty.
It is this ubiquitous legibility of time that makes it possible for
the human race to keep step and act in concert individually or in
masses, giving a power to the whole greater than the power of one
multiplied by the number of the whole. If, for instance, man had
not provided himself with an accurate and reliable time-keeper,
before attempting to arrest the forces of steam and electricity, he

* The revolution of the earth upon its axis is the only natural measure or standard
of our time, that is, a day is generally understood to be the time between two suc-
cessive noons or mid-nights. Yet this is not the day of twenty -four hours by the
clock. The exact period of the earth's revolution, as measured by the fixed stars, is
what we call a sidereal day ; and is always the same, with the exception of an annual
variation of three and one-third seconds of time. Since the sidereal day does not
suit our ideas of day and night, and a solar day is of variable length, a third kind of
artificial and uniform period has become necessary, now that all the time of the world
is measured by clocks and watches. The day so used is always 8m. 56.5554s. of
sidereal time longer than a sidereal day ; and this artificial day is called a mean solar
day ; hence time shown by clocks and Watches is called mean time.

502 Hunting the Hinds of Hljaz. [November,

' Wliat, then, O lover of women ! becomes of widows and such
as remain single from inclination or other reasons ? '

' By the law of the Koran they live in a state of continual trans-
gression; but' — and Hafiz turned toward Mecca to repeat an
orison for those erring mortals — ^AUah ahbar ! (God is good,)
and by IIis mercy they may at last be saved.'

' (xranthig that women have souls, do you peimit them to wo^
ship in your mosques ? '

' They assemble with us only on certain occasions. The pro-
phet commands them to jn'ay diligently at home, as their presence
at places of worship would disturb the pious meditations of the
laitliful, and hispire a different kind of devotion from that to
Allah.'

' But, Hafiz, are there not many among you who have but one
wife ? '

' People of the middling class usually take but a single wife.
The very rich and the very poor have from two to seven.'

' Then you can get an idea of the poor man's poverty and the
rich man's Avealth, from the number of his wives; as, in Ame^
ica, we judge of a family's wealth from the number of its servants ;
of its poverty from the number of children and dogs ! '

' Mashalla ! (God preserve us !) You Americans are a wonder
ful i)eoplc. With the children of the Prophet the wealthy have
ninny wives, because they have the means to support them ; the
indigent also take many, for the reason that their wives can sup-
port themselves.'

I could not help telling him of a ruse that had been practised
upon me only a few days previous w^hile visiting the tombs of the
Mamelukes. A group of fair-amied girls met us, and as frequently
happens, held out their hands for a present from the howadji. To
the one who promised most in beauty, judging from a pair of soft
and liquid eyes, I offered liberal backsheesh if she would show me
her entire face. She looked at the shining piastres, and turning
from me, arranged her veil so as to show me one side of her fece,
and then laughingly exhibited, in the same way, the other. I
gave her the piastres of course. IIow could I refuse ? But in
Egypt it is customary to scald kids. Ah ! said Ilafiz, you are not
the first one who has pursued the Hinds of Hijaz, and himself been
caught.

Alas ! for the all-concealing veil ! Were not the sim and the
stars, O reader ! made to light up the heavens, and the faces of
beauty to illuminate the earth ? Among the women of the East I
felt as if I was sailing upon an ocean of wealth, yet always dying
of thirst ; but ai\er all, the ways of that ocean were very plea-
sant.

In the shady gardens of Uzbekieh you ramble in the youth of a
night so beautiful that the glories of seven nights *8eem crowded
into one. The JNIilky Way appears like two rivers of light pouring
down the amber skv. The Pleiads look as dark-eved maidens
dancing in the green woods, and the polar stars are borne round

1858.] Hunting the Hinds of Hijaz. 503

even as the wine-cups were borne at the purple feasts of the gods.
As the evenmg breeze floats along with the last song of the birds
and the murmur of Old Nilus, it touches the whispering leaves, and
touches you softly as with the hand of love, and writes lines of
liquid poetry on the pool of Uzbekieh.

My friend, it is not pleasant to dismount the horsemen of elo-
quence, but it is your misfortune that it does not rain in Egypt, a
wet skin and youthful enthusiasm being incompatibles. That roll-
ing bundle of clothes under the acacia-tree contains not the blush-
ing Azza of sixteen, but the wrinkles and frowns of seventy
winters. Hector blowing his nose, is not the only ridiculous sight
in the world.

496 The Little Giant. [Xovember,

body he pleased, from the President down. As an act of justice
to my fnend, therefore, I hastened to Madame Hibon's m the
evening to communicate my good fortune and to rally her niece
about her ' instincts,' ' presentiments,' etc., all of which had told her
that Coi-beau was now my deadly enemy.

Judge of my surprise to find that the news made so deep an
impression upon her that in a few moments she made some vague
c^xcuse for leaving the room, and did not return.

Of course I was not so blind but I saw that this was a great
triumph for him ; nor so dull as not then to see that it was in a
manner pre-calculated, and that he would make a masterly use of it.
It was a favorite saying of his, that he liked to be abused, because
it gave a man the only decent excuse he could ever have for
speaking a word in his own favor.

And the word Avas soon spoken.

Indeed from that day he commenced a series of personal atten-
tions to Miss Lolotte — starting from his new vantage-ground;
Avhich attentions she at least did not discourage. She danced with
liim at parties, went with him to theatres, rode out with him, and
in fact, rushing to extremes, as she did in every thing, made more
than thousand-fold amends for her past distrust.

Seeing this, I became disgusted, and resolved to retire from a
field in which my prospects, never perhaps very brilliant, seemed
now to be completely ' ruined.'

Matters rested in this way about a month, during which time I
liad lived in almost absolute seclusion, when I suddenly decided to
return North. I then called upon Madame Hibon to ^make my
adieus.' The old lady was alone, her niece, as she said, being in-
disposed. I expressed my regret at this, as I had come to bid
them good-by.

' Good-by ? ' said she, getting quite excited ; ' but pray where^are
you going ? '

' To Boston, Madame.'

' But are you not going to stop to the wedding ? '

' The wedding ? ' I exclaimed, losing at once all my self-posses-
sion ; ' whose wedding ? '

' Why Leila's, to be sure. Have n't you h^ard of her
engagement ? '

' Me ? why, no, indeed. But — but — to whom is she engaged ? '

' Why, to Mr. Corbeau, to be sure ; whom did you think ? *

' Really, Madame, I had n't the least idea ; but (and here I made
:i great effort to api)ear cool) do pray tell me all about it.'

' Ah ! ' said she, looking uncommonly grave, ' it is such a long
story.'

' And you speak of it as if it were a sad one,' said I, quite

1858.] The Little Giant. 497

alarmed, and then added gayly, ' it strikes me, however, it must be
a very sentimental one.'

' I should hope not ; if there is any thing in this world I hate, it
is a sentimental match. Leila's is one based on simple prudence
and common-sense.'

' A regular business operation.'

' Exactly, But tell me, has n't Mr. Corbeau told you about our
affairs ? '

' Not a syllable, Madame ; I have hardly seen him for a fort-
night.'

' Well then, in a word, he made a formal proposal to me for the
hand of my niece about ten days ago, stating that unless the pro-
posal was accepted he should resign his position as ray agent, and
spend the next three years travelling in Europe. Now, on examin-
ing into my accounts, which he rendered at the same time, I found
them in such a complicated condition, that without his aid it was
impossible for me to go on with my business. To be brief, I re-
presented these facts to Leila, who, jrfler three days' consideration,
decided '

'To become Madame Corbeau ! '

' Precisely.'

* And pray, when is the ceremony to take place ? '

' The day is not fixed, but it will be some time within a month,
that is, if nothing happen to prevent.'

I found on making iurther inquiries, that Corbeau, like Madame
Hibon, looked at the whole thing as a mere matter of business,
and that so far from persecuting Leila with his addresses since the
engagement, he was assiduously non-attentive to her. And this
line of conduct seemed to please all parties. Indeed, Leila had
once said that if Corbeau (she never called him Francis) only
proved to be as considerate as a husband as he had been as a lover,
she should have nothing to complain of; for if there was any thing
in this world which she dreaded more than another, it was being
bored.

Just before leaving Madame Hibon, she asked me, in an appar-
ently unconcerned way, whether I would n't stay in New-Orleans
and attend her niece's wedding; to which I promptly replied,
having suddenly changed my resolution : ' I shall be there, if I am
alive.'

The next day, to my great astonishment, I received a curious
note from Madame Hibon, to the effect that at the particular re-
quest of her niece, she wished me to examine and audit the ac-
counts of Mr. Corbeau, which, without further ceremony, she took
the liberty of forwarding to me. The same day I received another
note, by post, from Miss Lolotte herself, saying that she had just
had a communication from one Mr. Thompson, formerly cashier to
Thibault and Company, and who had been dismissed* from their
employ some fifteen years before as a defaulter, warning her
against Mr. Corbeau as a dishonest man. She placed no faith in

512 TitnerKeeping, [November,

best appreciated by referring to the amount expended in the im-
portation of watclies, chiefly from England, and from Switzerland
through France. The number of watches imported is not given
in the published retunis of the Treasury Department, bat their
total vahie, from 1825 to 1858 inclusive, is $45,820,000, abont
equally divided between England and Switzerland, while the nom-
ber of watches supplied by the latter is more than three times as
great as the number furnished by the former, owing to the lower
price and the less substantial quality of the workmanship.

Our present demand of foreign watches is about $5,000,000 pe(
annum. What a temptation to apply the vaunted superiority of
Americans in mechanical ingenuity to their production by ma-
chinery !

During the war of 1812. a large number of very excellent
watches were manufactured in Worcester county, Massachusetts,
by Goddard and others, some of Avhich are still in use. But at
the close of the war the manufacture languished, and foreign com-
petition brought it to an end.

The next attempt Avas made in 1839, at East-Hartford, by
Henry Pitkin, who commenced making watches with tools of his
own manufacture, and continued the business there and in Boston
until he had made about one thousand watches, when the business
failed from want of capital and encouragement.

The application of machinery to the manufacture of fire-arms
having been unsuccessfully made by Eli Whitney, the idea of ex-
tendin«x it to the manufacture of watches naturally occurred. An
enterprise with this object in view was first started at Roxbury,
Mass., in the year 1850, in connection with a large clock-nmking
establishment ; but the location was soon found to be wholly un-
suited to the prosecution of siu?h delicate work, on account of the
light and dusty character of the soil, which in dry weather
charged the rooms with dust, to the great injury of the work
To overcome this difliculty, and more fully carry out the project
of training a special class of workmen and women, a site was pro-
cured in the town of Waltham, Mass., on the banks of Charles
River, and a manufactory erected, which covers an area of about
half an acre of ground.

The building is two stories in height, and surrounds a quadran-
gular court, the whole forming one of the most admirable and sys-
tematically organized establishments in the country. After vari-
ous fortunes, the original company failed, and in 1857 the estab-
lishment passed into the hands of Messrs. Appleton, Tracy and Co.,
who have placed it upon a permanent basis, and made watch-mak-
ing by machinery an American institution : thus setting another
example of enterprise and ingenuity to the artisans -of Europe,
which i)romises to revolutionize in a very few years the watch •
trade of the world. The plan of manufacture is highly philoso-
l)hical and comprehensive, embracing every part of the watch,
commencing with the rolled plates of brass, steel, and silver, the

1858.] Bkinting tJ^ Hinds of Jlijaz. 499

HALLO' MY l'*ANCY. WHITHER WILT THOU OO 7 '

Swift as the tide in the river
The blood flows through my heart,

At the curious little fancy
That to-morrow we must part.

It seems to me all over,
The last words have been said ;

And I have the curious fancy
To-morrow will find me dead I

HUNTING THE HINDS OF HIJAZ.

Who has not heard of the Turkish Rear- Admiral that recently
visited a country where every man is supposed to be equal to a
pacha ? I must confess I was a little surprised, not at his being
feasted by aldermen on ham-sandwiches, eaten out of hand,
for does not the prophet say, ' Verily, the fires of hell shall roar
like the lowings of a camel in the bellies of such as use vessels of
gold and silver ! ' and every body knows that our aldermen do not
reject the prophets. Nor was I surprised that a pacha should
even sojourn for a time among the infidels whom the devil has so
assisted in multiplying cunning inventions to disturb the pious
meditations of the faithful, and bring discord into the universe.
Do you think that the Pacha loves the feringees — who wdll build
the tallest ships for the Sultan when they feel sure of the piastres ?
When, at the opera of the ^ Huguenots^ his Highness saw Catho-
lics slaying Protestants, did he not say that ' Allah is Allah, and
Mohammed his Prophet,' and inwardly thank God for bringing
about a state of things for the benefit of his cause, wherein one
kind of infidel ship-building dog is fast killing off another kind, so
that the Mussulmen may soon expect to see the entire race of un-
believers exterminated ?

The only wonder was, that even a Turkish Rear- Admiral should
have found his way so far from Mecca, for when I was in Turkey
they told marvellous stories about whole crews of Mussulmen
being overcome by sea-sickness. I heard of a Turkish commander
who was directed to visit Malta on important business. After
beating about in the Mediterranean for six months, he returned
and reported to the Capudan Pacha that he could not find the
island.

You will see by this, that even pachas do not take very enthu-
siastic views of the countries they may visit — the countries I
mean that are not governed by the Sultan. Why, therefore, when

514 Ladders of Sunbeams,

valuable qualities of durability, reliability, cheapness, and simple
elegance, will be best appreciated, and more useful to the commu-
nity than the pretentious glitter of finish which too often conceals
fatal internal defects in the watch as a time-keeper. By machinery
American movements without cases are made at abont one-half the
cost of imported movements of a similar crade, with the advan-
tage of being uniformly reliable. We hail the introduction of
Avatch-making with peculiar satisfaction, as it promises to remedy
a serious evil which has grown out of the unreliability of the great
majority of foreign watches. We allude to the vast amount of
petty fraud and knavery that are practised and tolerated in con-
nection with these worse than useless fabrics ; cheating in the sale
of a watch having been considered as almost justifiable. The in-
troduction of the Waltham Avatches will necessarily put an end to
this wide-spread evil. The manufacture of American watches also
promises to open a new and api>ropriate field of remunerative em-
ployment for the skill of Avonian, where she can demonstrate her
capacity for the most delicate and exacting mechanical occupa-
tions. It marks, moreover, an era in the history of time and time-
keepers, and may appropriately be associated with the magnetic
telegraph, the sewmg-machine, and other kindred successes of
mind over matter, which so wonderfully distinguish the present
l>eriod.

LADDKRS OF SUMBBAM9.

Aslant the anibcr-tintcd air
Fall piolden rays of morning lidit,

That reach from darkest depth of earth
To heaven's sercnest £den-height

II.

More real than the ladder seen
By Jacoh in his mystic dreams

Aro those which scale the sapphire sky,
Framed by these radiant summer beams.

III.

Tpon their airy, golden rounds,

Our yearninf^ thought** may upward rise,
As rose the angels Jacob saw,

Tnto the fields of Paradise :

IV.

And bringing back from those high realms
Some fiowret of immortal bloom,

Our souls may ever after walk,
Cheered by its heavenly perfume.

1858.] Hunting the Hinds of Hijaz, 601

spent years in its particular acquisition. When his guest was
aoout to depart, the many-tongued Italian composed a verse in
English as a memento of the interview.

1 hope the Doctor, who has lived a quarter of a century in sight
of Hymettus and Pentelicus, without ever ascending either, has
by this time forgiven me for ascending both of them without guide
or guard, a somewhat perilous feat m the then unsettled state of
the country. The snow was a foot deep on the summit of the lat-
ter mountain, although I collected a bouquet of flowers on the plain
of Attica at its base. Lady Franklin had made the ascent of
Hymettus a short time previous entirely alone ; and my host men-
tioned a Philadelphian lady who had ridden from Athens to the
Cape of Sunium and back again the same day in time for tea ui
the evening.

It was at the Cadi's court that I first heard of Hafiz, our dra-
goman. While conversing one day with the Coptic interpreters
of the court upon the frequency of apostasy from their sect to
Islamism, the popular creed of the country, one of them said to
me : ' Heaven forbid that I should ever desert my Lord and Mas-
ter ; I would have my head cut off first ; but there is Hafiz : the
accursed rascal has left us and become a Mussulman. It was this
convert who afterward opened and shut the doors of knowledge
for me in Egypt, his only fault being a slight tendency to Oriental
exaggeration. Hafiz was, moreover, particularly careful that I
should not be cheated except by his personal fidends. But why
should I saddle the camels of eulogium ? Yet I would almost
give the pupils of my two eyes to look upon him again, and ' Moon
of Darkness ' (I forget his Arabic name) who served us — a Nu-
bian with a lip nearly half as large as himself.

' Are you married, Hafiz ? ' I inquired, as we were being don-
keyed one morning to the pyramids of Ghizeh.

' Married ? The light of my countenance rests upon two wives ;
and I shall have two more as soon as I can support them.'

' You are of about my own age, O incomparable dragoman ! I
hardly know what I should do with one wife, saying nothing of
four.'

' Mashalla ! When I was a Christian I had but one wife. Her
little finger was worth more than all the other women of Cairo to-
gether. She died ; Allah kerim ! (God is merciful.) I became a
Mussulman, knowing that it would give me a higher position, and
increase my income ; and now I am equally fond of my two wives.'

* What, O Hafiz ! are the comparative merits of the Moslem and
Coptic women with respect to beauty ? '

' The Christian women of Cairo are the pearl of infidels, but, by
the head of the Prophet ! one Mussulman maiden is worth more
than seven of the most beautiful daughters of the unbelievers.'

' As a good- Mussulman, do you believe that women will be ad-
mitted to the joys of heaven ? '

' InshaUa I (Please God.) Our prophet hath promised them
the eternal beatitude of Paradise on condition that they marry.'

516 Literary Notices. [November,

in many instances, than he who chbellod it to a form of beauty, and almost
imparted life to the pulseless stone.

Evening overtakes the traveller at a celo — a Servian village hid away am<xig
the recesses of the Balkans. The peasants arc singing merrily while Uiey lead
their flocks down the mountains. As the sun goes down, the youths and
maidens of the village meet under the great forest trees to celebrate the dances
of their people, each one of which is a history, wherein pantomime takes the
place of words, and action and sentiment beautifully blend the poetical present
with the legendary past Near by, the elders of the celo^ seated on the grass
around the village bard, like a group in the pastoral age of Agamexnon, listen
while he recites the heroic deeds of their ancestors, or, as if to call badk their
spring-time of life, improvises the tender agitations of youthful hearts. The
young men select partners, and a ring is formed alternately of males and
females. 'Then the song, accompanied by the monotonous tones of the gvMla,
Now the dancers move slowly in the mazy evolutions, separating and uniting
in the graceful figure?, and winding in labyrinthine folds so quickly as almost
to elude sight

In the groups before us arc only unlettered peasants, ignorant of all the
world beyond their native forest^ the names of whose ancient kingps arc
scarcely preserved in the national ballade, and whose only archives are the
traditions and songs that resound among their mountains. But the Kok>,
which they celebrate, is the Romaika of Greece, the Daedalian dance of the
early Greeks — so ancient, indeed, as to have been traced upon Achilles*
shield, and described by IIomck precisely as it is now performed.

Pass out from Athens on the evening ot the first of April, along the PirsBus
road, until you reach the temple of Tuesecs. The open space between the
Hill of Mars and the Pnyx, the agora of the ancient Athenians, is now con-
verted into a field of wheat. AVe have often visited the spot when the silence
was unbroken and no human being was near, save the guardian of the temple
and an Albanian shepherd, watching his flock on tlie Hill of Mars.

But on this occasion crowds of Athenians assemble there long before the sun
gilds with his departing rays the Parthenon and Erectheum, perched proudly
on that magnificent pedastal, the Acropolis. You see before you a curious
mosaic of all the tribcvi and nationalities of Greece, but none of the garlands
and processions of ancient times. There are the fine forms, the classic features
of Greek women, beautiful enough to have served as models for the Caryatides,
and the splendid outlines of the Hellenic face, united with a bearing which no
one but a Greek can assume. The aged Athenians repose on the marble seats
ranged on the southern side of the temple of Tueseus — the seats said to have
once been occupied by the judges of the Areopagus. The young men are
threading the mazes of a dance which is at once unique, nationid, and his-
torical Ask one of them why they came there on that occasion, and they can
only tell you that it Is in obedience to an ancient custom. They only know
that their fathers did so before them. But that is the ancient Pyrrhic dance
you look upon, and the fete around the columns of the temple of Theseus
shows how the asages of a people can traverse centuries.
Let us change the scene firom Athens to Bukarost, the gij and loxorioas

1858.] Hunting the Hinds of Hljaz, 503

But what are all these when you have met that pair of eyes
flitting past under the acacia tree, which are as certainly the most
lovely eyes in the world, as that El Kair is the glory of all cities ?
Your imagination at once embarks in the contemplation of unseen
charms, and you are drowned in the ocean of supposed beauty.
Night dwells in the ringlets which you believe the breath of air
spoilively throws against soft cheeks, only to be repelled by the
glances of her eyes. Surely her teeth are white anthemis-flowers,
and her lips, which you suppose to be avid of words and other
things, do they not so resemble opening rose-buds, that you would
kiss them to dispel all doubts ?

My friend, it is not pleasant to dismount the horsemen of elo-
quence, but it is your misfortune that it does not rain in Egypt, a
wet skin and youthful enthusiasm being incompatibles. That roll-
ing bundle of clothes under the acacia-tree contains not the blush-
ing Azza of sixteen, but the wrinkles and frowns of seventy
winters. Hector blowing his nose, is not the only ridiculous sight
in the world.

On the north-east horizon dimly rose the obelisk of Heliopolis,
raised by Sesortasan more than four thousand years ago, while to
the left of the pyramids of Dashoor and Sakkara, built by kings
whose uncertain names were unknown for two thousand years,
were the mounds of Memphis and forests of palm-trees growing
from the alluvial deposit, that for more than twenty centuries has
been annually accumulating over her temples and palaces and
halls of learning. Now the eye swept over the mosques and gar-
dens of Cairo ; now drank in the soft charm of waving p^lms and
of gray hamlets half-buried in the sea of verdure along the rush-
ing waters of the Nile ; and then, leaving the busy haunts of men,

518 Literary Notices. [Noyember,

IXSPIBATION KOT GriDAXCB, NOR IXTriTIOW : OR THR PlVNART IlfSPIRATIOy OF TBR HOLT

Scriptures. Second Seriea. By Elrazab Lord. New-YoilE : A. D. F. BAin>oi«ra,
688 Broadwaj. 1858.

The object of the book before us is to maintain the plenary Yeii>al in-
spiration of the Holy Scriptures. This is argued from the Scriptures them-
selves, and from the constitution of the human mind. In the preceding
volume, the author advanced and illustrated the following among other
propositions : that the word Inspiration signifies breathing into — breathing,
conveying thoughts into the mind : that inspiration was a Divine act, exerted,
not on the faculties of the sacred penmen, but exerted in conveying to tfieir
minds the thoughts which they were to express in writing : that it 19,
according to man*s constitution, a law of his mind, that he thinks in words ;
that he conceives, receives from others, is conscious of, remembers, and ex-
presses thoughts, only in words and signs equivalent to vocal articulations ;
that words and intelligible signs are the sole medium and instrument of
thought ; that thoughts are conveyed from one human mind to another only
in words and signs ; and accordingly, that, in conformity to man's nature,
the divine thoughts were conveyed into the minds of the sacred writers, in
words, by inspiration. In support of these leading propositions, a variety
of subordinate questions are examined. Words are held to be representa-
tives, not of things, but of thoughts only ; and, when intelligently used,
words are held to express particular thoughts as perfectly as the thoughts
themselves are conceived by the mind. And since thoughts cannot be con-
veyed from one human mind to another, so as to make the recipient con-
scious of them, apart from words, it is maintained that thoughts inspired
into a prophet's mind, must have been inspired in words ; and that what
the sacred penmen wrote was inspired into their minds in the language,
style, and idiom of the respective writers, because they understood and
were qualified to write that language in that style ; because their readers
also were qualified to understand what they so wrote ; and because when
translated into the like phraseology of different nations, what they wrote
would be level to the capacity of the common people, whose thoughts and
style of expression are, for the most part, essentially alike.

In the present volume, our author reiterates his former positions, and
illustrates the subject by new investigations. In the Second Chapter, he
states what was not, and what was effected by the divine act of inspiration.
The Third treats of language, as the mediate instrumentality of intelligible
communication between the infinite and finite minds. The Fourth examines
an article on Inspiration, in the *^Bihliothec<i Sacra,^ and contrasts its theo-
retical with its Scriptural doctrines and definitions. The Fifth considers an
article on Inspiration in the ^ Princeton Retieto,^ contrasts its theoretical with
its Scriptural definitions and statements, and dissents from its views of tV
fallibU guidance.

In the Sixth Chapter on instinct, intuition, and intellectual action, In-
st inct and Intuition are compared, and distinguished from intellectual action ;

1858.] Literary Notices, 619

a doctrine of Mill*s system of logic concerning intuition is opposed ; and
Sir WiLLiAK Hamilton's Philosophy of Common Sense is examined with re-
ference to its confounding intuition with inspiration. In these disquisi-
tions, our author maintains, and we think with insurmountable arguments,
that our intuitions are not simply independent spontaneous exercises of the
mind, but are mental perceptions of such truths only, as are made obvious
by our intellectual conception of related and collateral truths : as when we
conceive of the whole and of a part of a particular thing, we intuitively
(spontaneously and necessarily) perceive the truth, that the whole is greater
than the part Yet we are not conscious of this perception till we in-
tellectually conceive it in words. It is a spontaneous mental perception,
which no sooner takes place, than it becomes an object of intellectual ap-
prehension, conception, thought, and consciousness in words. This mode
of mental action being admitted, it is manifestly impossible that divine re-
velations should be intuitively discovered. For in order to the discovery,
those collateral truths, the knowledge of which makes the discovered truths
obvious, must be previously known, and must at the moment be intel-
lectually conceived in words: which conditions are as necessary as the
presence of light to the visual perception and discriminati<)n of colors and
proportions, when the eyes are opened.

It is notorious, that the rationalistic philosophers and theologians, who
hold to nothing supernatural in religion, ascribe all that is extraordinary in
the disclosures of the sacred oracles, to intuition — the inspirations of
genius, and the like — rejecting the doctrine of supernatural inspiration,
and especially the idea of either thoughts or words being conveyed to the
human mind by inspiration^ If the author's views of intuition are sound,
and his conclusions just, the importance of their bearing on the question of
plenary divine inspiration cannot fail to be perceived.

The Seventh Chapter, and the last, is an extended review of the * Dis-
courses of Professor Lee, of Dublin,' on the Inspiration of Holy Scrip-
ture — of his theme, his theory, his definitions, his matter, its tendency, his
inconsistencies, his paradoxes, his reasons for rejecting the so-called me-
chanical theory of Inspiration, his distinction between Revelation and In-
spiration, etc., etc.

It would be in vain to attempt, in the brief space at our command, to
present a particular statement of the topics comprised in this Chapter. A
large portion of it is taken up in showing that the assumptions of the
author on which he founds his peculiar theory of Inspiration — as the result
of a combined exercise of divine and human agency — and his distinction
between Revelation and Inspiration, are utterly unfounded.

In view of the whole discussion, we are fain to say, that it appears to
sustain and settle several material points : such as :

That by the laws of our mental constitution, we think, and receive, and
are conscious of thoughts, only in words.

That Inspiration is a divine act or influence exerted in conveying, in-
breathing, thoughts into the minds of the sacred writers ; and not an in-
fluence exerted on their faculties.

520 * Literary Notices. [November,

That the inspiration of thoughts necessarily includes the inspiration of
the words which express them, since man could not in the naturid exercise
of his faculties, receive and be conscious of the thoughts apart from the words.

That it is the nature and effect of the divine act of inspiration to conxey
thoughts — thoughts in words — to be expressed, reiterated, vocally or in
writing, by the recipient. And that it is not the nature or effect of that
divine act, to guide or otherwise control or influence the faculties of the re-
cipient, excite his intellect in an extraordinary manner or degree, or to en-
able him to select the words to be recorded, or to discover by intuition the
truths to be expressed

That the Holy Scriptures are properly denominated the word of God, and
as such, are infallible, because IIk inspired them — the thoughts and words
which constitute them — into the minds of the sacred writers, to be writ-
ten, word by word, for them.

Good paper, and Mr. Cji ray's clear, legible type, make the volume exter-
nally most acceptable to the reader.

(*orRTSHiP AND Matrimon't : WITH oTnEii SKBTcnKS FROM Scixis AND ExpiBinrcn
IS Social Lifr. By Kobert Morris. In one Volume: pp. fiOS. Philadelphia:
T. B. Pktsrmgn axd'Buotpkrs.

This is in all respects an unexceptionable book. It cannot fiul, ri^ilJy
regarded, to 1)0 productive of great good. Its precepts, its inculcations, its ilhi6'
tnitivc incidents its simplicity, its earnestness, and its direetneM, will oom-
uiend it, wc ai-e quite certain, to a wide and general acceptance. We heartfly,
and with the fullest confidence, indorse the commendation bostowed upon the
work by our friend and corresi>ondent, Charles O. Lelani^ Esq., in the
(columns of the Philadelphia daily journal with which he is editoriaUy con-
nected, the '^Erening Bulletin.^ Mr. Leland observes:

'The charaotoristics of Mr. !Morris* mind arc those of high-toned integrity,
clear common-sense, and a tendency to present life in its parest yet most Boondly
])rHctieal aspects And all of these traits, elnd in a refined and highly attraetira
language, arc strongly ninrkod in the work before us. We have seldom sees a
hook wliieli inspired mon; sincerely the feelings of renpeet and regard for the
riutlior, so manifest nre the moral merits and the sincere de^re to do good
which ap}>enrs on every page. It is a matter of real regret that irorki of «x-
aetly this cliaraeter, free from sectarian feeling or the impulses of mere bod[-
Miaking, are so rare. Were there more of them, there would.be more retpcct
tor that class of lid rati who do not pander merely to 'excitements' TliiiiBSB
every respect a Family Book — one intended for every-day reading — one wUdi
no family should he without, and which cannot he a familiar inmate of aay
family without inspirlni^ more or Ici^s good-feoling and sensible reflection In tlic
hearts of all who look int«) it. Among the many interesting piecea wMdiit
contains, we would specify, as fully confirming all that wc have aaid, tliOM of
• Never r.ivc Up,' 'Success or Failure,' 'A Start in Life,' 'The Choice of a Pro-
fession,' ' Early Tniinini^,' *Tlie Mother and her Son?,* 'Matrimony, or i

1858.] Literary Notices, 621

lor in a Dilemma/ 'Occapation, or the Uses of a Trade or a Profession/ 'Mar-
ried Life/ 'Home Festivals/ 'The Invalid/ 'Style and Dress/ and 'Home and
its Harmonies.* These titles, indeed, indicate to a degree the substantial cha-
racter and merit of the book. The work in question having attracted the most
enthusiastic admiration of our townsman, and retired Book-seller and Publisher,
Mr. John Griog, (who has himself written those Rules for young men which
indicate literary tendencies analogous to those in this work,) it has been most
appropriately dedicated to him, ' as a slight tribute of respect for his energy of
character, benevolence of spirit, and generosity of nature/ In a letter referring
to ' Courtship and Matrimony,' Mr. Grigo speaks of it as ' a book better deserv-
ing extensive circulation among families than any other printed, excepting the
Bible.'

It is due to the enterprising and popular publishers to state, that they have
placed the volume before the public in an appropriate and becoming garb. An
exceedingly well-engraved portrait of the author fronts the title-page, and adds
not a little to the intellectual attractions of the work.

Shalmah in Pursuit of Frbbdom. Translated from the Original Showiab, by an
American Citizen. New -York : Thatchbr and Hutchinson.

The author of * Shalmah ' has, or rather aimed to have, * two strings to his
bow,* for his book belongs to two distinct classes of fiction. It has nrare
prototypes in the first than we can at this moment remember. Among these
are the ' Persian Letters ' of Montesquieu ; * The Letters of the Turkish Spy; *
Goldsmith's ' Citizen of the World,* and Miss Hamilton's * Hindoo Rajah.*
In these works the manners and customs of Europe are described and judged
fifom what their authors supposed to be the stand-point of intelligent but semi-
civilized foreigners. * Europe seen through Asiatic Eyes,' would not be a bad
second title for them. They are not without talent, but they never for a mo-
ment delude their reader^ — if they have any at this late day — into the belief
that they are what they pretend to be : the cleverest, of them lacks VTauemh-
lance. When * The Arabian Nights ' was newly done into French, and fix)m
that language into the various tongues of Europe, the ignorance of the public
in all that related to occidental modes of thinking, allowed the writers of these
imitations a great deal of latitude. Their safeguard lay in the fact that their
readers were full as ignorant as themselves, which is saying a great deal.
Now, however, nous atons change tout cela^ and are not likely to sufifer much
from such attacks in future. To say that * Shalmah * is not more successful
than its predecessors, is to put a fine point on it : it is not successful at all.
The author makes his hero — who, by the way, is a chief of the Kabyles,
a tribe inhabiting the high regions among the mountains of Algiers — write
like a European or half-demented American. He simulates a lamentable ignor-
ance of the land through which he travels, namely, the United States, and in-
dulges largely in florid writing, laboring under the impression that it is the
true expression of a child of nature — in shorty poetry. But he is mistaken :
he is not necessarily poetical because he is notproBua The woric then &il-

VOL. LH. 34

522 lAterary Notices. [November,

ing in its first object, that of representing faithfully the modes of thinking oft

Kabyle chicf^ it only remains to test it by its second, which is no less than

a sectional satire on the institutions of the country, especially one^ whidi, like

the poet's sweet-heart,

* Shall be nameless here.'

The sul>title, ^ In Pursuit of Freedom,* indicates its purpose. We are not vain
enough to imagine that we are faultless as a people, but we haye managed to
survive the attacks of all sorts of cockneys, some of them very dcver ones too,
so we have no fear of ^ Shahnah ' setting the nation by the ears. One word
more and we have done. If tlie author be, as he professes, an American, we
commend to his prayerful consideration that old but musty prorerb about the
bird and its nest

LsGENns AND Lyrics. By Adelaide Anxb Proctob. New -York: D. Applrox

AND COMPANT.

TiiR readers of Bark v Cornwall's * English Songs' — and their nameL«
legion — were pleasantly aware of the existence of Miss Proctok long before
she ventured into the lists in which her &ther has distinguished himsel£ She
forms the subject of two of the most charming poems in that collection ; the
one a dainty little song — such a song as only Barrt Cornwall can
write — entitled * Golden-tressed Adelaide ; ' the other a sonnet, ' To Ade-
laide.' The furst commences in this fashion :

' Sing, I pray, a little song,

Mother dear !
Neither sad, nor veir long ;
It is for a little maid,
Golden-tressed Adelaide !
Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear.
Mother dear I '

The *■ little maid ' no longer needs * the little song ' of her * mother dear,* ibr she
has grown up into a serious and thoughtful woman, and sings a song of her
own. We cannot say that it always * suits a merry, merry ear,' fiwr the pre-
vailing tone of Miss Proctor's verse is tliat of melancholy ; but it is Tery
pleasant reading for all that Like the goddess of Keats' ode,

' She dwells with Beauty, Beauty that must die.
And Joy whose hand is ever at his lips.
Bidding adieu/

Of course MLss Proctor is not equal to her father, for in his peculiar walk of
poetry he stands alone — the sweetest and most felicitous lyrist that En^and
has produced since the age of Elizabeth ; but she is worthy to be the cfafld
of that noble old poet Her poetry is sweet and graceful, with a quiet yein of
sentiment and reflection. AVhatever her theme — and her range of subjects is
wide and varied — she is essentiaUy womanly in her treatment of it The
best pieces in her volume, in our way of thinking, are ' A Woman's Questioo,*
and *A Dream.' There is something about the latter whidi reminds as of
Heinricii Hbixe. It is in the best school of German art

1858.] Literary Notices, 623

LiFB AND Adventures of Major Roger Sherman Potter. By Pbleo Van Trues-
DALE. New -York : Stanford and Delissbr.

This is one of the queerest books that has come in our way for a long time.
We have gone through it pretty thoroughly, but we cannot make out its pur-
pose. Its pretended author, Peleo Van Truesdale, commences with his
auto-biography, and lays out what the reader expects will be the outline of his
own career, but meeting Major Potter in the course of his peregrinations, the
latter becomes his hero. * Major Potter is an odd compound of folly and sense.
He is weak and vain, but shrewd withal, reminding us of some of the heroes
of the satirical novels of olden times — a sort of Sancho Panza, or Don
Quixote. Like the famous Hidalgo, he has his Rosinante. At first the
reader is disposed to laugh at and with him, but before the end is reached, he
votes the old gentleman a little tedious. A character, or caricature, like the
Major, does very well in a slight sketch, but he is rather tiresome in a book of
five hundred pages. The political portion of his adventures, especially that
relating to men and things in New- York, is amusing, and not devoid of truth
fulness, but it is overdone. Altogether, the book is cleverly though carelessly
written, with here and there a nice bit of character, or a really comic situa-
tion ; but, as we said before, we cannot for the life of us see the author's ob-
ject in writing it It was probably to show his fiuniliarity with the * elephant,'
and to * run a muck ' with the critics.

A JouRNBT DUB NoRTH. By GsoRGB AUGUSTUS Sala.- In one Volume^, pp.. 482.
Boston : TicKNOR and Fields.

Mr, Sala, if we may believe the newspapers, is a young Englishman of the
Richard Savage order, who lives in Bohemia, and earns his bread-and-cheese
by writing for ^The Homehold Wbrds.^ He is supposed to do all the Dickens-
ish articles in that pleasant little weekly. This, his first book, was originally
contributed to its pages. It consists of a series of letters relating to a short
residence in Russia, just before the coronation of Alexander. It is not very
statistical or profound, but it is agreeable and smart Mr. Sala has a keen
sense of the weak side of things, and a happy fiswulty of writing easily. The
old adage of easy writing being hard reading, is not confirmed in his case, for
we know of no recent book better fitted to while away a few spare hours ti^ian
this * Journey due North.* One thing in respect to the volume we are bound
in justice to say ; and that is, that its occasional flippancy^ and mere pen-and-
ink work, are presented to supply tk demand on the part of some half-million
of English rail-way travellers.

E D I T O R'S TABLE.

Napoleon in 1806 : a Reminiscence of the First Wab between France
AND Prussia. — Is it not wonderful what an interest attaches to almost anj
thing, even at this distant day, which was connected with the person or fhn
exploits of Napoleon ? The incidents mentioned below occmred at a time
immediately preceding the great battle of Jena : and here let us mention how
they came into our possession. When we do not take our hour-and-a-hilf
morning trip to town in the *fast and snug' steamer * Isaac P. Smith,' we
get our daily metropolitan journals from over the river, through our viUage
newsman, Mr. Adam C. Haeselbarth, an old German gentleman, of modest
demeanor, much experience, and a keen observer evidently from his youth up,
of stirring events, and of * men and things.' One day, in his little box of an
oflBce, while we were looking at an engraving in one of the * pictorials,' repre-
senting the inauguration of the statue of Napoleon, during the fetes at Cher-
bourg, the old gentleman remarked : * An excellent likeness — excellent I But
who ever saw any other ? The rudest wood-cut seldom fiuls to reprcsoit him.'

* Did you ever see the * Little Captain ? " we asked. * Oh ! yes,' was the reply,
' and a good chance I had, too : ' and the old gentleman went on, casually, to
narrate to us, in the intervals of calls for papers, the circumstances which en-
sue. We asked him to write out the account for our Magazine, just as he had
told it to us ; and not, when he found his pen in his hand, to be tempted to

* enlarge,' as too many now-a-day rcminiseents do. He hesitated, diffidently,
at first, but finally consented to (^ so, and has done so, being a * man of Us
word ' in all things. He added : ^ I was an eye-witness to all the principal in-
cidents I have mentioned, and although at the time only twelve years of age,
the scenes are still so fresh in my memory, that were I at all skilled in draw-
ing, I think I could sketch tliem in life-colors at this moment' Let us pre-
mise that Gera, the birth-place of the writer, is about twenty En^ish miles from
Jena, and thirty from Leipsic. It is the capital of the Duchy of Reuse, an
independent, small State, located within the boundaries of Saxony, and noted
for its extensive manufactures of fine woollen goods, linen, calico, etc^ chiefly
for the American market :

' It was about the middle of the year 1806, when the first great war between
France and Pmsaia broke out. After some preliminary aklrmiihee^ and the

Editor's TcMe. 625

battle of Saalfeld, (about a week before that of Jena,) where the Royal Prince
LouiB of Prassia fell, the combined Prueeian and Saxon armies took np a defiant
position near the town of Jena, on a hill called the ' Schneckenberg,' (Snail-hill,)
where, on the thirteenth and fourteenth of October, the first great battle was
fought, and the combined Prussian and Saxon armies defeated, with great loss
in killed and wounded. Through the previous week, a great portion of the
Prussian and Saxon armies was marching through my native place, the city of
Gera, with all the pomp of war, toward the anticipated field of battle. The
line of march through the city was past a new corner-house, which my father
was just about building, and of which only the first-story walls were up at that
time. Here myself and some other boys would station ourselves, from day to
day, to see the seemingly-endless legions of soldiers march past. Some days
it would be all cavalry, and then again all infantry, interspersed with long
trains of artillery, ammunition, and baggage-wagons, all drawn by from four to
six horses. Thus, in less than a week, about fifty thousand Prussian and Saxon
troops passed our station * on the wall,' which we boys thought were sufficient
to 'whip all creation.' But the 'old folks' thought differently, (for certain
reasons, which I shall mention hereafter,) and entertained the most ominous
misgivings in regard to the grand result of the battle about to take place.

' On Friday afternoon, previous to the battle, the marching of the troops had
ceased, and a train of about three hundred wagons, including several regi-
mental money-chests, and considerable baggage belonging to officers, was left
in our town, with a few hundred Saxon troops as an escort. On Saturday
morning, the public squares and market-places were, as was usually the case,
crowded with country people from the neighboring villages. At about nine
o'clock, rumors became prevalent that French soldiers had been seen in the
corporation- woods, on the eastern side of the city. But the officers in command
discredited the report, and some Prussian officers, in a boasting style peculiar
to that nation, insisted upon it that if any Frenchmen came to the city at all,
they would come as prisoners of war, and would be brought in by their own
men. However, 'Job's messengers' succeeded one another, all declaring that
the woods were alive with French soldiers ; whereupon at last the commanding
officers became alarmed, and a squadron of horsemen were sent out to recon-
noitre the woods. In less than half-an-hour they returned at full gallop, their
horses covered with foam, fully confirming the reports of the approach of the
French in masses.

'A universal panic now seized all classes, and a scene of uproar and confu-
sion ensued which it would be difficult to describe. The throngs in the market-
places, with their hair almost standing erect with fright, * dumped' the unsold
parts of their ' market-truck ' on the grouad, and others having teams, threw
their loads over-board, in order to get the quicker out of reach of the dreaded
French : and no market was ever cleared with similar dispatch : in the space
of minutes only, the frightened country people were seen hastily winding their
way home over the neighboring hills.

' In the mean time, the teamsters and troops had been engaged to th^ir utmost
in hastening the harnessing of their horses, and with all possible speed dis-
patching the teams, as they thought, out of the enemy's reach. In less than an
hour's time, the town had assumed the appearance of a deserted place : the
thronging masses, and the military trains with their escorts, having vanished,
the inhabitants proceeded to shut np their stores and hooses, expecting every
moment to see the enemy pouring in upon them.

526 Editof'B Table. [November,

* While this brief sf-aoe of solemn, ilcAdly silenee wa» prevailing, a soliuiy
French hussar, in vhite unifunn, with a sword in hu teeth, a pistol in each
hand, and his ejes sparkling with wine, rode leisortrly into the eity, eemtimx-
ing, as he proceeded, every door and window, to guard himself against fforprise,
or shots of Pruseian or Saxon soldiers that might be lying ' in ambiub.' Others
soon followed in squails of two. three, four and more, until at last whole squad-
rons came furiously dashing through the town, in pursuit of the flemng wagon-
train.

' The very last of the wagons was just passing through the western town-
gate, when the fir»t-mentioned hussar came up to it, and when near enough,
fired one of his pistols as a signal fur the teamster to stop ; but the latter, not
heeding or understanding the summons, the hussar galloped up to him, and mn-
ning his sword through his back, shoved him off between the two horses, and
then, with his blood-stained sword, proceeded to cut the hamess-traees of this
and other teams, in order to bring the horses to a stop, the drivers having by
tliis time mostly all fled from fright However, for him retribution was
near at hand. A brave Saxon captain of dragoons, all whose men had
fled, 'panic-stricken,* to the neighboring hills, was determined to remain,
to the last extremity, true to his post. The French pioneer-honar eageriy
galloped up to him, while the Saxon coolly waited his approaeh: a few
|>assages of their swords followed, when the Frenchman's head hung on his
shoulders, and he fell a corpse on the road. Immediately after, two more hus*
sars reached the scene of combat : the Saxon was ready to recMve thte, also;
and, after considerable clashing of weapons, one Frenchman galloped off with
his right arm dangling at his side, and the other followed, with the blood
streaming from one of his wrists.

' Tliough the French had now begun to arrive in larger nnmberS) and no
farther hope of escape remained for the brave Saxon, he was still determined
to have another brush with the next squad of four, every one of whom, like
their predecessors, was put hors du combat before they could have dreamed of
it ; but as too many dr>g3 will prove a hare's death, so was it at last with the
gallant Saxon. A squad of six had now arrived, and with some of the wagons
for protection in tlie rear, he kept even them at bay for some time, till aeeident-
ally his horse, which was a most beautiful animal, became hemmed in between
M)me of the wagons, and himself received a severe cut in the right arm, whieh
disabled him at last. There was considerable French swearing when they were
taking him prisoner, but no farther harm was done him, and an escort of two
took him into the city, to a place of safety.

* French troops of every description began now to arrive in masses : and vety
Boon a scene was to be enacted, which, in the singularity of its features^ and fai
richness of wild sport, laughable manoeuvres, and cursing, swearing and lao^
ing, would be past describing. I will only say, here was a line of teama^ seve-
ral miles in length, scattered along a straight, elevated turnpike, and serentl
thousand excited troops engaged, in tlie most desperate and savage manner, Im
breaking open the wagons, which were all well secured and locked np, all in
search of money, and whatever else might bo valuable. For want of tools, tiief
made use of whatever would make an impression on the stubborn tides of tiw
wagon-bodies ; but nothing seemed to answer so well as the wagon-pole% ftr
battering-rams, and this latter mode of proceeding afforded them the
sport. In a very short time, the wagons were all broken open, and \b»

1858.] Editor's Table. 627

tents, consisting chiefly of clothing and uniforms of every description, shoes, har-
nesses, saddles, bridles, and many other articles, scattered along the road. One
party had the good luck to hit on a wagon containing a regimental money-
ohest, with a considerable amount of specie in it, which, amid a good deal of
cheering, was divided among a party of about twenty, who had possession of
the wagon. After the soldiers had finished their searches, many peasants ven-
tured to the scene, and carried off whatever suited them, in clothing and other
articles.

' An instance of the * fortunes of war,' in connection with these scenes, may
not be out of place here. A wagon containing officers' baggage, and a good
deal of money, was driven into the farm-yard of an uncle of mine, situated a
short distance from the main road, and supposed to be a temporary place of
safety. But the inhabitants, under the apprehension that the French, coming
into the land as enemies, and liable to commit all manner of outrages and de-
predations, had all fled to the woods. My aunt, having forgotten something
valuable in the house, ventured to return alone to get it ; but no sooner had
she entered the house, than three French horsemen rode into the yard, stop •
ping her retreat. Not understanding French, they intimated to her by sig^s,
that she had nothing to fear from them, and that they only wanted her to get a
good cup of coffee ready for them, while they were examining the contents
of the wagons in the yard; and very singularly, these three had, in this iso-
lated retreat, all their good luck to themselves. In a short time, they came up
stairs with several bags of gold and silver, which they emptied on a large round
dining-table : after mixing the money iu the manner a set of dominoes is shuf-
fled, they made one grand round heap of it, and one of them with his sword
divided it into four equal quarters. After stowing away their shares in their
portmanteaus, they called my aunt to the table, and pointing to the fourth
share, very politely gave her to understand that that was her share. After
having disposed of their hasty cup of coflee, they mounted, and galloped out of
sight.

* After having seen all the sights along the road, several of *us boys* returned
to the city. But here, still greater sights were now to be seen. A portion of
the French army had commenced marching in solid columns through the town,
and in every direction were heard the sounds of martial music and beating of
drums, of the latter of which there were whole bands, of perhaps fifty in number.
We boys again took our position on the same stone wall, from which, only a few
days before, wc had witnessed the passing by of more than fifty thousand Prussian
and Saxon troops. Now they were all French, moving along that broad street
in dense masses ; infantry, cavalry, and artillery, simultaneous, in three separate
columns, and all to the tunes of their own peculiar music : they all appeared
cheerful in the highest degree ; and the unbroken noise of bands of music,
the rolling of drums, and the cheering, was almost deafening. A neighbor of ours,
an aged citizen, after having for some time looked with fear and astonishment at
the moving, noisy masses, exclaimed, in the height of bewilderment: 'Mine
GoTT ! mine Gott ! what is all this ? Surely the gates of Hell must have been
opened, and Satan himself and all his host let loose upon us I *

* While in the height of our boyish ecstasy and delight, in thus reviewing
from our elevated position the movements of the martial legions, a small party
of officers, in dazzling uniforms, and their breasts ornamented with beautiful
stars, crosses, and orders, were repeatedly passing and re-passing the crowded

528 JSditor'B Table. [NoYember,

street, attended by a smAll-Bized man, wearing a plain light gray oTer-ooat, but-
toned up to the chin, and to appearance rather the worse for wear : yellow
leather breeches, top-boots reaching above the knees, and a small, pecnliar
little cocked-hat, formed his plain appareL This little m#n was mounted on a
beautiful Arabian horse, of a light gray color.

' As they passed along the moving columns, the wildest cheers and hnirahs
would swell up to the sky, and one ' Vive FEmpereur !* would follow another.
At first, we thought the officer in the handsomest uniform must be the Emperois
and that the plain little man was only a servant to some of the rest; but when
accidentally separated from the others, with only a horseman in Turkish nnifonn
by his side, we soon discovered that all that tremendous cheering was directed
solely to him. Our eyes were opened at once, on recognizing in him the
very figure we had already so often seen in prints. It was the great Nafolboh
himself, with whose deeds and ' big wars' we had become familiar in school, as
well as from every body's talk. The accounts of the late battle of AnsterUti
were yet fresh in our juvenile minds, and we felt proud in beholding before us
tlie great hero who had planned and directed the movements of the victorious
legions on that great field of blood and glory. We caught the furor, and joined
the soldiers in crying * Vive VEinpereur ! ' as lustily as they did. After swing-
ing our caps a few times, we descended from the wall, to follow the movements
of Napoleon himselt

' As he rode along, the columns of soldiers seemed to be electrified by his pre-
sence, and there was no end of the cries of \Vive FEmpereurl* Through tUck-
and-thin, we urged on in hot pursuit of our object, and unmolested, even through
masses of soldiers. And here it may not be amiss to say, that, in the cheering
of the soldiers of Napoleon's grand army, there was a certain originality, a ter-
rible grandeur, which, though half a century has since passed, I never yet have
heard equalled in force and effect.

' On reaching the market-square, we discovered him again, surrounded only
by a few of his Marshals : here we had a fine opportunity, not only to see him
close by, but also to hear him converse with those near him. Now we could
see more plainly that it was the true original, from top to foot, of the many
likenesses we had seen, and just as he is still represented to this very day.

' While listening to the conversation of some of his company, a well-meaning
old lady edged close to the side of his horse, and with a generous liberality pe-
culiar to all regular ' snuffers,' stretched out her arm to offer him a pinch of her
fiivorite rappee ; but his faithful Mameluke, Rustan, who, like his own shadow,
was ever at his side, on observing the movement, pretended to draw his scimetar
to scare the old lady. Napoleon, looking at Rustan at the time, shook his head
and smiled, as if he meant to say, ' Let her alone,' upon which the latter pushed
his scimetar back into its sheath.

* Immediately after this little incident, a file of soldiers presented them-
selves before the Emperor, having in their charge, as prisoner of war,
the brave Saxon captain, who had so gallantly and to the last defended his
train of wagons, and killed and wounded no less than seven or eight French
soldiers. lie was a stout, tall, noble-looking man : his wounded arm rested
in a sling, and the blood was still oozing through the thin muslin bandage;
beside this, his whole uniform was stained with blood-spots. It seemed as if
Napoleon had expected the prisoner, for the t)fficer in command presented him
with the words, * Voild le pritonier!* (Here is the prisoner.) After a req>eot-

1858.] Editor's Table, 529

ful salute on the part of the Saxon, the Emperor spoke to him in a manner that
seemed kind and friendly, and asked him various questions, the purport of
some of which, as afterward reported, jvere favorable offers to enter the service
of the Emperor, but which were respectfully declined. At the end of the in-
terview, which lasted about ten minutes, the Emperor, addressing himself to
the officer of the guard, said, loud enough for us to hear : *Ret<mrnez sa epSe ! '
(Return his sword:) which the captain buckled on on the spot, and, from that
moment, proudly wore it among the masses of French troops.

' While these incidents were taking place, the troops continued to march with-
out interruption through the town, on their route to Jena. After the dismissal
of the party with their Saxon prisoner. Napoleon, in company with only a few
of his staff, started toward the western dty-gdte, and passing this, slowly rode
up on an eminence called the * Gallows-hill,' on the highest point of which
the town-gallows used to stand. The posts of the last of these structures
had decayed and wasted away, all but one, which had fallen down and remained
lying on the spot Here the party halted, and Napoleon, after dismounting,
seated himself on that very post, and calling to Rubtan, the latter handed him
out of a leather or tin case some rolls of paper and some maps. After opening
and spreading some of these before himself, and upon something stiff spread across
hia knees, he proceeded to take a profile of the surrounding country ; at least,
we judged this^om his actions, he frequently pointing out to his companions
certain localities. Afterward, pur folks learned from some French officers, that,
in case of a defeat at Jena, it had been Napoleon's intention to retreat to the
neighboring hills of Gera. His labors having been brought to a close in about
half an hour, the party rode leisurely back to the city, after which we saw no
more of him.

' AH these events happened in such rapid succession, that it almost seems im-
possible to realize them, in the short space of less than a day. About dusk
came a temporary calm, the marching of troops having suddenly ceased ; but
it was only the forerunner of a new storm ; for at about nine o'clock in the
evening, after a long forced day's march, fifteen thousand of the Imperial Guard
arrived, to rest their wearied limbs for that night in our town. They were, as
a matter of course, in such times, billeted and lodged with the citizens. All
the straw in the place was required to make beds for the unexpected and rather
numerous company. Meat having become scarce, on Sunday morning following,
my father, like many others, had to have a cow taken from the stables and killed,
to provide for his own and some of his neighbors* * boarders.* The troops, being
much fatigued, slept soundly till late on Sunday forenoon. Dinner was to be
ready at twelve, and one o* clock was the appointed hour for the Guards to
continue their march again toward Jena.

* Precisely at the time ordered, the dinner, consisting of beef-soup and vege-
tables, was smoking on the table, in every house ; and the Guards were just
about going to take their seats, to partake, not of a * hasty,* but a comfortable
plate of soup, when, all of a sudden, a booming of cannon was heard
in the direction toward Jena, followed immediately throughout the city
by a terrible rolling of hundreds of drums ! In an instant, the comforts of a
good dinner were out of the question. Instead of it, ensued a general bustle of
putting on the accoutrements of war, and as soon as fully armed and equipped,
every man would run to the table, snatch up some pieces of bread and meat,
and, with his fists full, rush into the rapidly forming ranks. In the short space

630 Edit(yr^8 Table. [November,

of half an hour, the whole fifteen thousand men had formed in regular line, and
were marching out of tlie city, singing and hurrahing, as if they were hastening
to some joyful banquet.

'No nation, not even tlie French, will ever be able to reproduce bo glorious a
military body as that old Imperial Guard, except another great genius like Na-
poleon Iiimsclf shall rise up again. His own spirit, like a magical spell, was
here infused, and predominantly carried with it the mind and actions of
every member of his great army, from the highest ranks to the humble privates.
The Imperial Guards were a strictly select body of men, all sons of the best
families of France, and mostly of tall stature. To become a member of that
august body was one of tlic great honors in the French army. A private in
the Guards was considered highei* in rank than some officers in the regiments of
the line; and in many instances, officers of the lino were promoted by being
placed as privates in the ranks of tlie Guards. In their general demeanor, the
Guards displayed the characteristics of polished and accomplished 'gentlemen/
burning with ambition, and full of devotion bordering almost on worship for
their great leader ; and heedless of all fatigues, obstacles^ dangers, and even
death itself, in pursuit of honor and glory for France.

*P. S. — In the fore-part of this article, it was remailced that the inhabitants
had * ominous forebodings' in regard to the success of the Pruq^ns^ in the ex-
pected battle at Jena. The reason for this was, the heartless and tyrannienl
treatment which for years the privates liad been compelled to suffer from thdr
officers and superiors in general, and of which the iidiabitants had had oppor-
tunity to see so much. In those times, the whole Prussian army was chiefly
officered by young beardless ' sprigs of nobility,* without brains^ or feelings ii
humanity toward the men under their commands; fellows that were nothing
but knaves and fops, whose chief delight and sole employment was, to harass
and maltreat the troops at the daily musters and parades.

*\u. 1805, Prussia formed with Austria an alliance, offensive and defensive,
against Napoleon ; but flattered by promises of territorial aggrandisement, she
suddenly and most perfidiously withdrew from her contract, and left Austria to
fight her battles single handed. The Prussian army, under the command of
Prince IIoiienlohe, already on the march, and half-way to the scene of action,
was ordered to halt, and go into winter quarters in Saxony, where they settled
down for the time being, a heavy burden on the inhabitants; and while the
Austrians were being defeated in battle after battle, their expected, fidthlesi
allies were spending their time in idleness, feasting; and dancing, and tonnent>
ing their men with useless military shows and parades; on which oeeadoM^
the young coxcombs of officers would let the men feel the full weight of their
authority, and from mere whim and caprice, would often commit the greatest
outrages on them for the most trifling and often even only imaginary &iilti or
neglects ; so niucli so, that it would often make tlie blood of spectators boil wA.
disgust and indignation, while the poor privates were compelled to sabndtto
and bear all of it without any privilege at all of complaining, mnoh Imb of
being allowed opportunity for redress, for suffering the most grierou ■miy
innocently. Nothing was left to them but * grin and bear,' and bottla VB^ fs^
ings of suppressed revenge. A case in point, where I knew penonally all
the parties concerned, will show to what an extent these feelingi of
against many officers reached.

1858.] Editor's Table. 631

'During one of the usual parades on the market-place, a young, foppish strip-
ling of a lieutenant, in passing along the front of the line, suddenly stopped be-
fore a noble-looking young private by the name of Guter, whose feet did not
seem to be placed exactly in a position to suit the caprice of the boy-officer,
who, without saying a word, with a disdainful and malicious look, lifted up his
foot, and with the edge of his iron-mounted boot-heel, gave him so violent a kick
on one of his shins, that the blood ran into his shoes, and the poor fellow fainted
with pain, and fell over. After he had somewhat recovered, he was taken home
to my father's house, where he, with others*, was quartered. Innocent as he was
of any fault or crime that deserved such treatment, there was no redress in such
cases ; but in the minds of the sufferers, big ' chalks ' were continually being
made against many officers : and so it was with this Outer, who was determined
upon revenge, even at the expense of his life. When rumors of war came, he
said he was glad of it; he would rejoice to go to battle, for the sake of making
one good shot. Many others had similar scores to settle with their officers, and
were all impatiently looking for a chance on the field of battle.

' In conclusion, a few incidents characteristic of that famous invasion may
not be out of place here. Immediately after the appearance of the French
forces, scouting and marauding parties would be ranging all over the country,
and through the neighboring villages, in search of geese, and poultry in general,
roasting-pigs, fruit, and other fancy eatables that might be met with. Some of
them entered a lonely-situated country residence, and while the rest were re-
galing themselves below with what good things they had found, two of them,
armed and equipped, went to explore the upper part of the premises. The
first door they opened led into a spacious saloon, the opposite end of which
was decorated with a magnificent mirror, reaching from the ceiling to the floor:
perceiving instantly their own reflections, they supposed the apparition to be
some concealed Prussians. The warlike movements and attitudes being quick
and reciprocal, there was no time to reflect: sudden reports of muskets fol-
lowed, and the splendid mirror was shattered to atoms. Instantly, the remain-
der below ruslied up-stairs, to learn what was the matter: and when the mys-
terj'^ was cleared up, the whole party gave vent to the most extravagant laugh-
ter, at the expense of their comrades' illusion, and the fatal mistake they had
just perpetrated.

* One day, my father having occasion to send a laboring man to some distant
field, I went with him. His name was Frank, and he was a jolly, good-natured
fellow, always full of joke and fun. Accidentally he had picked up the French
expression of* a la bonne heurcy and had been in the habit of using it on every possi-
ble occasion, to let people know that he understood * some French.' On th^ ap-
pearance of the real Frenchmen, he was very eager to * show oflf ' with his * a
la bonne heure* which he had learned to pronounce equal to a Frenchman bora.

* Meeting a marauding-party of six while on our errand, Frank, according to
his custom, very politely saluted them with his little stock of French. Con-
cluding from this, that he understood and spoke their language, the Frenchmen
began to ask him a number of questions, to all of which he shook his head.

. The Frenchmen, thinking he could, but would not, tell them any thing, got
desperate, and bound him to a tree near by : whicli done, one of them pulled
the ramrod out of his musket, and gave him to understand that he would try a
sure method of getting the French out .of him. Saying this, he placed himself
in a proper position, and cried out to him: *Eh bien,parlez Fran^aii /' With

532 Editor's TaMe. [November,

every * not verstand * in reply, Frank received a cut across the back witii the
ramrod. This operation having been repeated several times, poor Frank got
desperate under the pain of the blows he was suffering, and turning his head
toward his tormentors, cried out: * Gentlemen 1 gentlemen! I'll be GoTETer
dam, if I can speak a word of French beside a la bonne heure I ' Up to this time,
I had Remained a frightened spectator of the proceedings, and would rather have
run off, if I had not been afraid they would shoot after me ; though at the same
time, I had been busily engaged in searching my brains through for a few words
of French out of my little stock of school-learning ; and when I thought I had
hold of it, I could contain myself no longer, and bawled out, crying aloud : *Par-
donnez Louis, il ne pent pas parlor Francis I ' The Frenchmen upon this soften-
ed, and began to think that there was indeed no French to knock out of Fravk.
and deRisted from farther violence. After pointing out to them where they
might fall in with a flock of geese, they untied Frank, giving him at the
same time to understand, hereafter, not to make too free with hia Freneh
talk, which was hardly necessary ; for he had already made up his n^d, onee
out of this scrape, never to speak French again, and any thing but blessed the
day on which he had picked up the unfortunate *a la bonne heure.* The Fk'ench-
men then departed in search of the flock of geese, and we were glad to make a
hasty retreat for home.

'A few days after the battle of Jena, a French regiment was announced to
arrive in the afternoon ; but from some cause or other, did not make thdr ap*
pearance till late in the evening. According to custom, they were then billeted
out among the citizens, and a baker in our neighborhood received alx for his
share. The dinner had been prepared early in the afternoon, and the troops
jiot arriving at the expected time, the viands were placed in the bake-oven to
keep warm. At last, after the lapse of four or five hours over the expected
time, they arrived, very much fatigued by an unusually long day's march, in
consequence of which they did not seem in good humor when they entered the
house, and immediately and impatiently cried out for supper. The table hav-
ing been set long ago, the baker and his folks hastened to bring in the ^dies
from the bake-oven ; but what was the terror of the baker, when, ae<ddentally
looking over the various plates on the table, to see them all full of drowned
cockroaches ! The impatience of the soldiers placed all remedies ont of the qnestioa,
and consternation got the uppermost of the baker. Frightened out of his witi^ he
made some pretence for a sudden exit, and told his people to flee for their Hym,
for the Frenchmen would surely kill them all, when they found out what
a mess was placed before them. The baker himself retreated into a dark eor-
ner of his bake-house, whence, through a small aperture, he could obaerre all
t!ic movements around the table in the room. But what was his agreeable sur-
prise, when he saw them repeatedly stick their forks among the coekroadiei
on the plate, crack them wit!i deliglit between their teeth, and call ont to one
anotlier, 'Bon ! bon I ' no doubt supposing them to be some delioacy peculiar to
that part of the country.

' When the baker had fully satisfied Iiimself tliat the supper was approved oC
he ventured back into the room, and with his people went to work to elatr
away the table, to make room for the beds on the floor. After haTing made
the necessary preparations for a good night's rest, and when he was Jost leavfaig
the room, one of the soldiers kindly tapped him on the shoulder, saying la
liroken German : ' Landlord ! to-morrow morning, for 'd^euner/ soma mora of

de little fishes ! '

1868.] Editor^ 8 Table. 638

' The bake-house being well supplied with the needful article, a number of
plates and dishes with attractive bait were set, and sufficient were caught for
an ample fricassee for breakfast, which was dispatched with as much relish as
the late supper. When the drum beat, no men could have left their quarters
better satisfied than these six, with the ' good things * of life I '

Note especially, in portions of this graphic narrative, the lights and shades
which make up the picture of the precursors of Battle. In interest, they
scarcely &11 short of similar accessories t^fter a * heady fight' We think it
was in answer to a question asked of Thomas Campbell, by our great poet
Halleck, that the latter were most forcibly represented. He said he did not
witness the b&ttle of Hohenlinden ; but he was near enough, the next morn-
ing, to see the literally *• groaning * ambulances, crowded with their suffering
burthens, brought to a station some six miles firom the battle-field, and grena-
diers ride up with their gory swords drawn, which, when they dismounted,
they wiped upon the manes of their wounded and foam-bespattered steeds.
But * here, may it please the court, we rest'

Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. — There are two or three rea-
sons, we may be permitted to say in all courtesy and. kindness to our corre-
spondent ^ M.,' of Boston, why we do not like the story, from the German, of
^ Count Fay aVs Hevenge.^ But let us hint the story, and then leave our
readers to draw their own inferences. Imprimis^ then : Count Fatal is a
gray and grim warrior, of nearly three-score-and-ten : Gabrielle, his
spouse, is a gay and beautiful young woman, who is not over and above
tenacious of her marriage-vows : and especially is she in love, against the
statute, with young De Courct, a Castillan, ^ brave and fair : '

* Akd when he went away to fight,
She wept in secret daj and night/

De Courct falls on the bloody field of Acre, and while dying, calls his
weeping page to him, and tells him, when all is over with him, to take out
his heart, inclose it in a casket, bear it to the fair and faithless Gabrielle,
and say to her that its last beat was swelled and prolonged with love and
affection for her. The faithful page returns, (through many rough adven-
tures which befel him by the way,) to perform his dying master's mission,
with his ^ heart in his hand,' inclosed as aforesaid. As he reaches the well-
known castle-gate, he finds old Uncle Fatal, with a long and splendid
retinue, coming out of the castle-gate, with a dashing trumpeter ahead,
* winding his horn ' round his arm, and half-blowing his brains out * Ha ! '
exclaimed some perking inquisitor in the old Count's train, * yon boy is the
page of De Courct, now undertaking present wars in Acre.' * That '* so,'
said the jealous-pated old Count : ^ what 's that he 's got in his hand ? '
He asked the same question of the page, as the lithe lad. rode up and was
passing, after making a bow as politely as he knew how. The handsome
boy replied that it was a little box for Count Fatal's beautiful * Ladye.'

634 Edit(yr'8 ToMe. [November,

* Hold ! — pull up your horse ! ' exclaimed the enraged Court : * / want that
box : what 's into it ? * — and he snatched it from his hand. The page,
putting a pair of ' wings to his steed/ rode off, making no sign as to what
was ^ into the box ^ which had been intrusted to him so solemnly by his
chivalric principal and gov^nor. What do you suppose old Fatal did with
that casket ? He never let it go out of his hand, until he got home that

night : and then ho gave it to * But we anticipate.' The next day he

gave a most splendid feast ; ' every thing that was good to eat and drink, and
plenty of it ; * and what they did n't use that night, next morning it was
foed. The company was mostly white, and as select as could be picked
up ^ any whcres : ' ^ lords and ladies, proud and gay ; ' and*' knights and
squires,' and other head- waiters, all with their best clothes on. But there
sat Mrs. Fatal * dressed up to the nines,' smiling * with a heavy heart,'
which would have been heavier still, if she had known that young Db
GouKCT was at that moment the mangled prey of some beast of a jackal on
the field of honor. ^ My ladyc fair ! ' said the Count to his smiling and
handsome wife, ^ I want you to try a little of this pastry ; it has a much-
vaunted flavor.' As soon as she tasted of it, said she : ' Well, it i$ good,
certainly : the cook has wondrous skill.' * He has «o,' says old Fatal : * he
understands his business : so do n't you fail, when you praise up his pastry
hereafter, to say, that he hdked in ity to flavor itj the Heart of young De
Courcy, 7iow dsad on the lattle-fleld of Saint Jean tPAcre ! * * Sech wo ! '
Mrs. Fatal fainted dead away immediately, and was carried out of the room,
screaming the worst way : she * could n't set up ' for a long while afterward ;
and from that time forward, never could abide pasties of any kind or de-
scription. Now that 's the whole story, told after the manner of * modem
chivalry.' Isn't it a tricopherous or hair-raising narrative? --'and so
natural and real life-like! - - - One of those * blaasted English muflb,
ye kno/ came over into ^ the States ' the other day, from Canada. He took
lodgings at an inn, in a bordering village which shall be nameless. He had
dinner ; and among those who sat at the table with him, was the waiting-maid,
whom he designated as * servant ; ' but he received an indignant conectioD
from the landlord : * We call our servants,. Su*, Helps, They air not oppressed :
they air not Rassian scuifs.' * All right,' said the * bloody Britisher : ' * I shall
remember.' And he did : for in the morning he awoke the whole house, by
calling out, at the top of his voice, which was like the tearing of a strong ng :

* Help ! help ! — water ! water ! ' In an instant every person equal to the
task rushed into his room with a pail of water. ^ I am much obliged to you,
I am sure,' he said; Mmt I do n't want so much water, yo kno' — I ooty
want enough to shave with ! ' ^Shate with ! ' said the landlord : * what did
you mean by calling ^ Help ! water ! ' We thought the house was a-^&reL*

* You told me to call the servants ^Help,' and I did : did you think I woukl ciy
water y when I meant ^r^ .' ' The explanation, it should seem, was satisfacfcogy.

* Ox the berrl-rimmed rebecs of Rubj,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams/

there comes to us * 4 Paan of Glory for the Heroes of Freedom^ by the Mr.

1858.] Editor'' 8 Table. 636

Ohiyers, M.D., who was amberized lately in these pages. The Doctor had
been solicited by a committee to deliver a patriotic poem at Washington,
Cleorgia, on * Independence-Day * last past • He replied that he had been ill,
and had not been able to cure himself but that if he could write a poem under
the circumstances, and on so short a notice, he would. He frankly adds, how-
ever : * To compose a lyric, or heroic poem, suitable for the occasion, amenable
to all the laws of -Esthetic culture, such as I would be willing to go forth into
the world of Polite Letters, would require a much longer time than you have
allowed me ; even admitting that my brain was not already oveijadcd with too
kmg laboring in the same enchanting Hortus Deliciarum/ The poem was
written, but not delivered by the author, a more than common misfortune, we
take it: for he tells his readers, in his sounding and sonorous preface, that
* much of the charm of the poem will be found to be lost for the want of the
voice of the Nuncio.' Nevertheless, we are told, ' it is a faithful revelation of
the life of freedom which lives immortal in the soul of the author : ' for, ^ As
tiie Violastre, by feeding on the May-dew, becomes the image of Heaven, so
does a man, at length, incarnate the thing which he contemplates ; crystalliz-
ing himself into the song that he sings. As in the Eumenides of ^schylus,
the Furies which chase Orestes into the Temple of Apollo, &11 asleep while
he is kneeling down before the statue of the God, so do the triple-mouthed
Ban-dogs of Hell sink down into slumberous silence before the &ce of that soul,
who, in despite of Death or Hell, worships the Beautiful with the reverence of
a God.' From the * height of this great argument ' fell the poem in question.
As in a former instance, we respect the Doctor*s copy-right too much to do him
injustice by extended quotation : yet we cannot resist the inclination to pre-
sent two thundering paeans from the neighborhood of the North Pole :

* Blow the Clarion of Victory, loud Hero-Horn- Jall a r,

Great Hbimdall, the solden-lipped waker of Gods !
Gather all the great souls in the Halls of Valhalla,

Baldar waits now to crown them in Odin's Abodes !
Blow the Paean of Glory for the Heroes of Freedom,

Till they rise, all redeemed, to their Halcyon abodes ;
Wake the Nations from sleep — all the ransomed now lead home,

With thy thunder-trump blazon, great Waker of Gods !
Hark ! the beautiful Baldar God's Telyn is sounding,

Heaven's Apples now fall from Iduna's sweet Tree :
Th' eobroma, with life everlasting aboundinff.

For the souls of the Beautiful, the souls of the Free.
Strike — strike the bold harp ! etc.

* Hark I the Asar-Cock crows, filling Gimlet with thunder,

Answering Hbimdall's great Horn blowing loud for the brave ;
While from Hela the^ march, singing, full of sweet wonder,

Up to Valhalla's Halls, shouting, Wave^ Banners ! wave !
Up to beautiful Baldar from the infinite Nadir,

Chanting Odin's sweet Runes, by three Nomir upborne.
Soar Eternity's Heroes where Almighty Alfadbr

Sits crowned in Bethshimmin on the Mountains of Mom.
Now like clouds of sweet fragrance from Altars uprising,

Wreathing Nosegays of Eden's bliss wide as the sea,
Floats the incense of song, all their co-mates surprising

With the joys of the Beautiful, the ioys of the Free.
Strike — strike the bola harp I etc.

There ^s ^ stuff' in such poetry as this, and a good deal of it, you would find,
on perusing the whole ! • - - An Ohio correspondent^ ^ G. F. M./ in a

636 JEditor\'^ Table. [November,

* beautiful city by tho sea,* the great green sea of Erie, sends us the foUowing
warm-hearted gossip, conveying an early reminiscence of * Ollapod,' whose
lucubrations, ho writes, seemed to pervade his soul with an almost holy unctioii:
' It is now somo time since I held communion with you in an epistolary way :
nevertheless, if there be that ^ spiritual essence * of which some people talk so
learnedly, then I liave held monthly love-feasts with you for about a quarter of
a century. Did I say monthly ? Then I mean monthly : still, I have now to
relate one unfortunate * interregnum.' When ^ Old Knick ' started oat on lus
mission, (he could more properly be called ^ Young Enick,') I tabernacled in a
pretty little village of Western New-York. It was then that the dull tedium
of an entire cycle was only enlivened by the ever-fiuthful and rdiable friend,
whose ruddy-purple face was to us a certain indication of a ^wing heart I
never saw the September number for Anno Domini one thousand eight hun-
dreil and thirty-six : that hiatus^ I suppose, happened in this wise : Septem-
l>cr was the month in which I emigrated to the wild West ; and so periiaps
(I blame no one for the crime) the post-master or his derk, findiDg that I had
left the country of my childhood, appropriated-that lost number to their own use:
Tlicre was matter in my lost Knickerbocker that I longed for years to see :
and not until * The Literary Betnaina of Willis Gayhrd Clark^ were pub-
lished, did I gain that advantage. And now I will tell you my story : In those
days of ^ long ago,' I had a quondam friend, who lived a few miles to the east-
ward : he too was passionately fond of * Rnick ' and of Ollapod : and we held
frequent converse together, by epistolary means. We got word that * Ollapqd*
was coming to ^tho Falls' on his wedding-tour; we lay in wait for bim:
not a stage-coach passed, but we looked it tlirough to find him. I thought I
could have picked him out of ten thousand. One forenoon, I reoeived a miasife
from my friend : it was handed me by a stage-driver, and ran thus : * Dor
George : ^ Ollapod ' and his charming wife will be along in the next coach:
watch ! Yours, etc' In order to give them a bit of a surprise^ I bethought
me to enter his synonym upon tho register of the hotel at which he would be
sure to stop : so out of an old Latin Lexicon I made tho following sentence^ save
and except the first written word : ''Ollapod est appropinquaeio hoe tieinitas.^
Now that is the loosest bit of Latin I ever met any where : but it did my
heart good to hear the remarks, after I had successfully indited it upon the
hotel-register, in a plain and legible hand, imobserved by the landlord or other
persons. Tho inscription was soon observed, and the inquiry went axoond :
^ What scholar had done that thing ? ' I stood like the sheep that ' opened not
its mouth.' . Several learned men made violent attempts at a free tnndatioD.
Here is one : ''Ollapod: ^Ollapod ?' that '* a kind offish: ^hoe^ thii; *iip-
propinquacioy has arrived ; ^vicinitas^^ this neighborhood,^ 'Pretty good,*
thought I. One sensible fellow looked at it^ (and he know as mudi of the
defunct dialect as myselfj) and remarked, tliat * some fool had made an atliea^
at being smart, and had fizzled: it's wretched Latin, at best^ and it won't
translate any how.' So it went on : and tho landtord feared that
had been playing * tricks upon travellers : ' but at this moment^ up

* exclusive extra,' and tho learned dissertations were brought to a terminatiaii.
Every body went out, at that era, to see eyery coach as it wound np to

1858.] Editor's Tabk. 637

the hotel. This one had but two wayfaring individuals, and I knew ^like a
book ' who they were : they called for rooms, and at once their names were
registered. As the eyes of the man lit upon the page, they lit upon * Olla-
POD * and the Latin lingo. He looked amazement, and turned around as if ex-
pecting some friend to come out and say, * How are you, my old friend ? *^ but
not a familiar face was there. The landlord was as much bewildered as was
* Ollapod.* The following was \^Titten on the register : * Willis Gaylord
Clark and Lady : New- York — Niagara.' I saw that * Ollapod * was
amazed ; and I thought he would *■ make a note of it * for his next number ;
and so he did : and here is what ho said. If I had seen it ten years sooner, I
should have felt that I had not lost that decade in unprofitable obliviousness :

' Who "was that anonymous herald of mine, who recorded beneath my signa-
ture, as we proceeded toward the sunset, at every town where we paused to
give breath to our cattle, the name of ' Ollapod,' with many compliments in
the Latin tongue ? Whoever he was, I stretch to him the hand of fancy. Thou
Grand Inconnu I — touch thy dextral digits in thought: consider thine own
vehemently squeezed : and remain, if thou wilt, the kind Unknown — at once
•orporeal and yet spiritual : a creation unsubstantial : an entity, yet intangible :
umbra^ civis, nihil I' — ' Literary Remains : ' p. 142.

Well can we conceive, that the writer of the foregoing is * One who cherishes
the name of Ollapod.^ He won from the first, and maintained to the last of
those papers, the warm affection as well as fervent admiration of his readers.
They * loved him living, and lament him dead.* - - - A long slip comes
to us fi-om Columbia, (we infer South-Carolina,) bearing the caption, ^A
Delusion Vanished : * which the writer describes as * an impromptu, com-
posed early this morning, while drawing on his boots, with the intention
of breakfasting on a pint and a half of corrosive sublimate ; which inten-
tion was frustrated solely by the high price of the article.' It is a love-
tale — a story of

* A girl he 'd loved for sixt^ days, or more,
As mortal never loved a giri before.'

He saw her last at Mrs. Doodle's ball : he saw her waltz : and he was so
forcibly impressed, that he was incontinently impelled to this apostrophe to,
and apology for. The Waltz :

* 0 Btrok t how couldst thou condemn the waltz,
And with its beauties find so many faults ?
Uow couldst thou at its blissful freedom scoff,
And warn mammas to choke their daughters off?
If in those spurred and noble heels of thine.
Lay half thy genius, as it is with mine.
Thou wouldst confess there is more fun than faults
In that ' fast' style of hugging called the waltz :
To you, ye Dutch, I fill this bumper here :
Thrice three-times-three to waltz and lager-bier ! '

The'time has come to make the profier of his heart and hand. Under a
drapcried window, the moon pouring a mellow radiance over aU, he

-* Knbbls beside her, but before

His trembling knees have fairly touched the floor,
A flash of dimitj illumes the air.
And he is kneehng to an empty chair ! '

VOL. LII. 35

538 JSditor's Table. [November,

This is provoking: it is worse — it is ^oxtremely disagreeable:' and
hereupon and thereupon (he haying been jilted by reason that he had been
unsuccessful in speculativ.e finance) he indulges in satire as touching
woman^s extravagance and woman^s inconstancy :

* Behold yon splendid and resplendent ronnd

Of whale-bone, coverinff ten square feet of groand :
Ah down the street the dry-goods phantom swims,
(As some gay galleon o'er the billow skims,)
llow grandly on her sweeping course she goes.
Turning aside fur neither friends nor foes I
Who would not brave the deepest mud on earth,
To give those hoops the widest kind of berth ! *

* 0 Woman ! in our Iiours of moneyed ease,
Uncertain, cov, and deuced hard to please;
Prodigal as if* each paving-stone witnin
The street, thy nod converted into * tin,'

■ And every * brick' thy husband's hat may hold.
Were wortli at least ten times its weight in gold :
But when suspensions cloud his anxious brow,
And he has * nary red ' — oh I where art thou i *

Justice to * the Sex ^ is hardly to be expected toward women in generd
by a sighing swain who sighs in vain. - - - It brou^t baek to us the
pleasant scenes of John Brown's Tract, the other day, when we went oat
with the ^ P. C. C/s, to the banks of the ^raging Ilackensack,' and had a * good
time' among our friends, fish, clams, ('little-neck,' wry-neck, and Rodcaway;)
crabs, hard and soft; and Chowder — the ^ehattdUre* so beautifiilly * ex-
pounded ' by our departed friend and correspondent, * Jomr Watebs.' The
'Piermont Choicdcr-CIuh^ was initiated at a meeting in the *kmg room'
(handsomely deconiteil with evergreens and flags) of Mr. James T. Masox's
' Wawayandah House/ in the Tillage. Our pleaf^ant *" minstrel ' and bithlul
* reporter ' nppo^iiteIy designated it, in his column in the Hoehiand Couni^
JonrnaV as a 'love-feast' — and so it was; for the attendance, thon^ assi-
duous was noiseless ; there w.'ls no boisteroiL<ness, no excess, no contention :
and all scpanitinl afier the moderate yet keen enjoyment of the good tiling of
our host, to meet, by postponement, upon the rural banks of tibe ^nging'
stream aforesaid Assuming tliat the teams arc safely bestowed in the ai^oiiiiiig
woods, as you may see them arranged at camp-meetings, you will please to
step into the channed circle. Tlie spot chosen for the encampmoit is a se-
questoRHi sunny ' opening/ on the immediate bank of the river, sunounded
by thick wooiis, and approached fn>m the road by winding paths, through dense
shnibbery. It is an animated scene, and a various : acting judges, district-
attorneys, lawyers, legi^bitors, physicians, merchants, rail-road commanduils
and employes, and editors — all are here represented ; and each enjoys, and
o^>ntributi.'s to the general enjo}'ment oC the occasion. Speeches, grmTC^ gay
and humoixHLs ; songs, stories ; instrumental music from * the Minstxcl,* joined
in and * intoned ' by the entire company : when suddenly the cotcts are re-
moved from the sus(>ended \to\s : the delicious aroma fills aU the air : Ae
bugle sounds: the 'troop' advance: plates are filled, devoured, reliBhed^
praiseil; and the inner man cheereil with moderate cups 'that not imteate:'
then the teams are brought up : and by roads leading through the

1858.] TJditor'8 Table. 539

colored autumnal woods, flecked by the light of the westering sun, the mem-
bers of the assembly depart for home, at which they shall arrive in season for
tea and a muffin, if they happen to be in our case. Such was the Last ''MeeV
of tJie *P. C. C.^8, upon the East Bank of the East Branch of the Raging
HackensacJc^ State of New -YorJc. - - - * There is a great deal of native
wit and satirical badinage ' (writes a friendly and flattering New- York cor-
respondent, now journeying on a collecting tour in one of our far-western
States) to be encountered in this back-woods region. With a cattle-buying
acquaintance, whom I met with in this * deestrict,* I stopped yesterday at a
forlorn-looking road-side tavern, five or six miles from any other house, and
the roads leading to it terrible, even in this quarter. * Entertainment for
Man and Beast,' the almost obsolete inn-formula, in rude, uneven characters,
hung from a high two-poled sign, by the one comer-door of the house. As
we were alighting, two young * Suckers ' came out of the inn, and jimiped
into a one-horse * pung ' wagon, thick with mud : one of them was swearing
at the landlord, who in his dirty shirt-sleeves, and without any vest, stood
in the door : ' Your sign says, * Entertainment for Man and Beast : * if you
can manage to entertain yourself in such a nasty hole — and you look as if
you might — just ane-half of your sign is true ! ' — and off they drove. I
must say, that one meal in that * tavern ' (save the mark !) satisfied me that
* the jokers,' as the landlord called them, had told more truth than did his
sign.' ' One other thing let me mention. I should premise that hoop-
skirts are just beginning to * spread ' in the isolated parts of this isolated
region, greatly to the disgust of the * men-folks.' Last week a-Sunday I
heard, throughj a board-partition, a coarse but very * clever,' obliging fel-
low, say to his pretty ish young wife: *Now Keziah, you arCt goin' to wear
that tape checker-board, hoop-a-dooden thing to meetin', air ye ? ' * I an't
a-goin' to wear nothing else ! ' answered the buxom dame. * You anHy eh ?
Wal, then you will be a pretty-lookin' sight, any how ! ' said her spouse, as
he came out of the bed-room laughing at his own 'cute retort,' which was
heartily echoed from the apartment - - - Some idea of what is being done
the present autumn by some of our first publishing and book-selling houses,
may be gathered from Stanford and Belisser's new Literary Announcements,
which include the following important works : Rev. Dr. Hawks's * New Phy-
sical Geography of the United States,' accompanied with a series of portable
models of each State ; a mode of studying geography entirely new, and emi-
nently attractive as well as likely to be no less useful : * The Chronicles of the
Bastile,' with numerous engravings ; a work that has been pronounced by
Louis Blanc to be superior to any other history of that memorable place,
both as to historic accuracy and thrilling interest We believe this work
is now ready, or will be very soon. Also * Ernestine, or the Heart's Long-
ing : ' by Aleth ; said to be a work of unusual ability, comprising passages
of great force and beauty : * Lays from the Land of Luther,' illustrated
with a series of beautiful original designs by Schmolze, etched by Huber.
This is to be a splendid quarto volume, designed as a presentation book for
the holidays : * Blair's Grave,' in quarto, accompanied with the masterly
designs of Blake, which Fuseli regarded as among the most remarkable

540 Editor's Table. [November,

creations of art in his day : * The Parting Spirit's Address to its Mother/
by the Rev. Dr. Wyatt, illustrated on every page, and printed in small
quarto : * Melodies for Childhood ; * a new and much improved edition, with
forty new engravings. In addition to the above illustrated works, the same
firm have nearly ready the first volume of a scries of sterling productions,
to be called * The Household Library,' being Micuelet's * Life and Mar-
tyrdom of Joan of Arc, Maid of Orleans * — a work of great dramatic in-
terest : Rev. Ralpk Hoyt's Collected Poems, the proceeds of which are to
be applied to the fund for the reerection of his Church, destroyed by the
storm of last June : also ^ Recollections of Bethlehem and its School : *

* Fairy Tales from the Gennan ; ' and * Little Ellen, or the Farmer^s Child.*
They also have now ready iha fourth edition of that excellent little Tolume,

* The Pearls of Thought, from Old Authors,' etc., etc. This list would be
very incomplete, if we did not include in it a reference to a new and superb
edition of the Book of Common Prayer, which we can assure our Church
readers has not heretofore had its equal. - - - ^Specimens qf Douglas
JerroliVs Wit: together with Selcrtions chiefly from hi* Contributions to
Journals, intended to Illustrate his Opi}iio)i»y is the not over-felicitous title
of a very handsome volume, from the populiu* press of Messrs. Ticknor asd
Fields, Boston, which has been lying for some time upon our tabic. It was
not a book to 1)o tjiken up and read at a sitting : it ought rather to be devoured
now and then, as you take a nice biscuit, and a bit of good sound English or
Sluiker cheese, by way of * whet,' or lunch of a late morning. The volume is
edited by Blanciiard Jeukold, a son of the deceased, whose name became
unpleasantly coa<picuous, soon after his father's death, by reason of his repd-
ling, in tenns unkindly, efforts which were successfiiUy made to place his
father's fiimily beyond the reach of pecuniary want The tribute to the sub-
ject of the work is filial and affectionate : and the selections arc well discrimi-
nated, and made with good taste. We take a few passages from the prefiuso,
because we desire to say a few words touching the positions which they assume,
and the impressions, to some degree at least erroneous, which they are calcu-
lated to create. Mr. Blancuakd Jekuold observes :

'A coMPLBTB collection of DouQLAs Jbrrold*s wit i8 now impossible. From &r
and near, however — from old fricndd long separated, from club-associates, and fire-
side companions, I have gleaned the few ears of golden grain which time had 1<A
^vithin the reach of their memory. Not one friend who has afforded me a single
grain lias failed to assure nie of his sorroiv over the treachery of his memory. The
ghosts of a hundred good things appeared to him, but he could not reach them.
Only the recollection of the time and circumstance, which had given birth to eadi,
could bring them back to definite shape. The humble editor of the present volwne
can, for his own part, call to mind many evenings when his father kept the company
about his table till a lute hour, flashing upon them quaint turns of thought and bright
shafts of wit ; each of which was worth the trouble of a note-book. And the mo
has left, determined, henceforth, to bear in mind all his father*8 sayings, and to eom-
mit them from the dangerous keeping of the memory, to these safer media, ink and
paper. But this determination was never acted upon ; and the culprit who Ml from
it, and now presents this poor skeleton of a splendid presence, regrets his sin of
omission keenly, and will regret it always. Still the present volume makM» in the
humble opinion of its compiler, no ordinary list of wise things said by one

1858.] Editor's Table. 641

I^t the reader be pleased to note also that if here and there, the arrow stings with a
malignant poison upon its barb, the wound is for the strong that have oppressed the
weak — the ignoble who have warred against the noble. There is consuming fire in
many of the sayings ; but the victim, in every case, deserves to die. On the other hand,
there are touches of infinite tenderness in every page. The eye that flashed fire over
a wrong done by the strong to the weak ; the lip that curled with scorn at the mean-
nesses of life, softened to sweet pity over a story of sorrow. It has been the perse-
vering endeavor of many men who have smarted under the keen lash of Douglas
Jbrrold's wit, to prove to the world that he was a savage misanthrope, who had
small belief in the goodness, but infinite faith in the rottenness, of human na-
ture.' . . . 'It is indisputable that Douglas Jerkold did not write his best
jokes. He cast them forth, in the course of conversation, and forgot them as soon
us they were launched. Oftfp when reminded, on the morrow of a party, of some
good thing he had said, he would turn, in surprise, upon his informant, and ask :
* Did I really say that? ' There are many sharp sayings in the present volume which
were pointed at dear and old friends ; but they were pointed in purest frolic. The
best evidence of this is, that although Jbrrold often said bitter things, even of his
friends, this bitterness never lost him a friend ; for to all men who knew him person-
ally, he was valued as a kind and hearty man. He sprang ever eagerly to the side,
even of a passing acquaintance, who needed a kindness. He might possibly speak
something keenly barbed on a grave occasion ; but his help would be substantial, and
his sympathy not the less hearty : for with him, a witty view of men and things
forced itself upon his mind so continually and irresistibly, and with a vividness and
power so intense, that sarcasm flashed from his lips, even when he was deeply moved.
He knew that this subjection to the dominant faculty of his mind had given him a
reputation in the world for ill-nature : and lie writhed under this imputation ; for he
felt how little he deserved it.'

Wc present the foregoing, as being honorable to the feelings of a surviving
son : but, if we arc to believe the verdict of persons in this country, who knew
jERROLiy well, he was, as a satirist, with all his love of right and scorn of
wrong, a man rather feared than loved. Think of Lamb or Hood, in this
category, and the fact appears to be reached at once. These were kindly hu-
morists and pleasing satirists : * biting ' was not in their line : and yet, who
were ever more effective in the lassons which they conveyed, than they ? Dr.
R SiiELTON Mackenzie, of Mr. Forney's Philadelphia *'Pres8^ whose long and
familiar acquaintance with artists and men of letters in England is so apparent
to his readers, thus speaks of Jerrold :

'With all his fecundity of wit, Jerrold was bad company. He would not be
pleasant. He seemed to be, like a tiger, ever ready for a spring, and, when the op-
portunity occurred, could not resist the temptation of saying the witty, bitter thing.
Thus, when Mrs. Glover, the gre&i com dienne, who had known him from childhood,
uttered a regret over her beautiful hair becoming thin and gray, half-jestingly saying,
' I think it must be caused by my damping my head, when it aches, with the essence
of lavender,' Jerrold instantly interjected the remark, ' Rather say, the essence of
Time.' But those who play at bowls must expect rubbers, says the proverb, and
Jerrold sometimes was paid back in kind, much to his annoyance. For example :
there wa-i a great laugh among all who knew him, when one of the London editors
(the late Mr. Moras of the Globe) announced the * severe indisposition of Mr. Doug-
las Jerrold.' and, contradicting it on the following day, stated that the report had
arisen from the fact of his having been seen to put the quill, instead of the feather-
end of his pen, into his mouth, and the lookers-on, knowing what venom he wrote
with, naturally believed that it had poisoned him ! Like all satirists, Jbbbold was

542 JSditor'*8 Table. [November,

himself very thiD-akinned. Any thing like a hiss during the early performance of
one of his new plays, would depress him into a fit of cold shivers, and any thing less
than unqualified eulogy in the critical notice of any of his writings, would throw his
mind off \i% balance for some days/

Now ^De mortuis^ nil nisi Bonum ^ is a maxim too commonly acted upon,
to permit us to doubt, that testimonies like the preceding, which have not
been infrequent since Jerrold^s death, are not without a basis of truth for
their foundation. But we pa»s to a selection of desultory extracts firom the
work imder consideration :

* Brbd on thb Boards. — When Morris had the Haymari^et Theatre, Jberold, on a
certain occasion, had reason to find fault with the strength, or rather, the want of

strength, of the company. Morris expostulated, an^said : ' Why, there *8 V ,

he was bred on these boards ! *

' Jerrold — * He looks as though he 'd been cut out of them.' '

* Damped Ardor. — Jerrold and Laman Blanchard were strolling together about
London, discussing passionately a plan for joining Byron in Greece. Jbbbold, tdl-
ing the story many years after, said : * But a shower of rain came on and washed all
the Greece out of us.' '

'An Actor's Wine. — 'Do you know,' said a friend to Jbrbold, 'that JonB has
left ihe stage and turned wine-merchant ? ' ' Oh ! yes,' Jerrold replied; ' and I *ni
told that his wine off the stage is better than his whine on it.' '

* A Professor. — Indeed, there arc few things, from Chinese to back-gammoo, oi
which I am not professor. I dabble, too, a good deal in bar and pulpit eloqnenoe.
Ha ! sir, the barristers I 'vc fitted for the woolsack ; the heads I've patted into shape
for mitres f Even the stuttering parish clerk of Tithepig-cum-Tottlepot, he took only
three lessons, and nobody knew his ' Amen ' for the same thing. And then I 're a
great name for knife-and-fork eloquence. Yes, I teach people after-dinner thanks. I
do n't brag ; but show me the man who, like me, can bring in the happiest moment
of a gentleman's life at only a crown a lesson.'

' Wit and Waogbrt. — Wit, I have heard called a merchant prince, trading with
the whole>world; while waggery is a green-grocer, making up small penn'orths tat
the local vulgar.'

' Uglt Trades. — The ugliest of trades hare their moments of pleasure. Kow, if
I were a grave-digger, or even a hangman, there are some people I ooold'woric ftif
with a great deal of enjoyment.'

* A TXsTB OF Marriage. — A gentleman described to Jerrold the bride of a mntoal
friend. * Why, he is six foot high, and she is the shortest woman I ever saw. Whit
taste, eh ? '

' * Ay,' Jerrold replied, * and only a taste I ' '

*True Worth. — Do n't think that money can do any thing and ereiy thing— ft
can't. There must be inward worth. The gold candle-stick — if I may be so bold m
to use a figure — may be prized, I grant ; but its magnificence is on]^ snbifliTieBt to
its use ; the gold is very well, but after all, it 's the light we look to/

' Young Ladies' AccoHPLiSHSfENTS. —Bless their little filagree hearts I before ihftf
marry they ought to perform quarantine in cotton, and serve seren years to piea ■■&
puddings.'

' Self-respect. —Self-respect ! why it 's the ballast of the ship. Without it, lit
the craft be what she will, she 's but a fine sea-coflin at the best.'

* Marriage. — The marriage of a loved child may seem to a parent a Und ofdetflt

1858.] JEditor'8 Table. 643

Yet therein a father pays but a just debt. Wedlock gave him the good gift ; to wed-
lock, then, he owes it/

*Thb Hbsoi^b of a Loyb Stort. — A mere thing of goose-quill and foolscap;
only born in a garret to be buried in a trunk/

* Pbws. — What a sermon might we not preach upon these little boxes ! small abid-
ing-places of earthly satisfaction, sanctuaries for self-complacency — in God's own
house, the chosen chambers for man's self-glorification ! What an instructive collo-
quy might not the bare deal-bench of the poor church-goer hold with the soft-
cushioned seat of the miserable sinners who chariot it to prayers, and with their souls
arrayed in sackcloth and ashes, yet kneel in silk and miniver.'

'Onb Lbg IK THB Grays. — People with one log in the grave are so devilish long
before they put in the othv. They seem like birds, to repose better on one leg.'

'Picking up Character. — Jerrold met Alfred Bunn one day in Jermyn-street.
Bonn stopped Jerrold, and said : * What ! I suppose you 're strolling about, picking
up character.'

' Jbrrold : * Well, not exactly ; but there *s plenty lost hereabouts.' '

' Thb Postman's Budget. — A strange volume of real life is the daily packet of the
postman ! Eternal love, and instant payment I Dim visions of Hymen and the turn-
key ; the wedding-ring and the prison bolt ! Next to come upon the sinful secrets
of the quiet, respectable man — the worthy soul, ever virtuous because never found
out — to unearth the hypoMcrite from folded paper, and see all his iniquity blackening
in white sheet ! And to fall upon a piece of simple goodness — a letter gushing from
the heart ; a beautiful unstudied vindication of the worth and untiring sweetness of
hnman nature — a record of the invulnerability of man, armed with high purpose,
sanctified by truth.*

'The Penalty of the Dinbr-Out. — He must have a passionate love for children.
He must so comport himself, that when his name shall be announced, every child in
the mansion shall set up a yell — a scream of rapture — shall rush to him, pull his
coat-tails, climb on his back, twist their fingers in his hair, snatch his watch from
. his pocket ; and while they rend his super-Saxony, load his shoulders, uncurl his
wig, and threaten instant destruction to the repeater, he must stifle the agony at his
heart and his pocket, and to the feebly-expressed fears of the mamma that the child-
ren are troublesome, must call into every corner of his face a look of the most sera-
phic delight.'

'English Prisons defended. — An English prisoner in Prance loquitur: The pri-
son here is tolerably strong, but not to be spoken of after Newgate. As for their
locks, they have n't one fit for a tea-caddy. The rats at night come in regiments.
We 're allowed no candle ; but we can feel as they run over our faces that they must
be contemptible in the eyes of Englishmen.'

* Thb Reason Why. — One evening at the Museum Club a member very ostenta-
tiously said, in a loud voice : ' Is n't it strange, we had no fish at the Marquis' last
night ? That has happened twice lately. I can't account for it.'

' * Nor I,' replied Jerrold, ' unless they ate it all up stairs.' *

' Paying by the Clock. — * You have charged me for a full-priced breakfast,' said
a complaining guest, looking at his bill ; ' and all I had was a cup of milk and a chip
of toast ! '

* * You might have had coflfee and eggs for the same money,* replied the waiter.

*■ * Ah I cried the guest, ' then it seems you charge according to the clock : and if a
man was to have only eggs at dinner-time, I suppose he 'd have to pay for full-grown
turkeys.' '

'Italian Boys. — I never see an Italian image-merchant with his Graces and

544 Editor's Table. [November,

Venases and Apollos at six-pence a head, that I do not spiritoally touch mj hat to
him. It is he who has carried refinement into the poor man's house ; it is he who
has accustomed the eyes of the multitude to the harmonious forms of beaatj.'

* The Comfort of Ugliness. — We cannot say — and in truth it is a ticklish ques-
tion to ask of those who are best qualified to give an answer — if there reallj be not
a comfort in substantial ugliness ; in ugliness that, unchanged, will last a man his
life ; a good granite face in which there shall be no wear and tear. A man so ap-
pointed is saved many alarms, many spasms of pride. Time cannot wound his raolty
through his features ; he eats, drinks, and is merry, in despite of mirrors. No ae-
(juaintancc starts at sudden alteration — hinting, in such surprise, decay, and the
final tomb. lie grows older with no former intimates — church-yard voices — crying,
' How you 're altered ! ' Uow many a man might have been a tmer hasband, a better
father, firmer friend, more valuable citizen, had he, whei# arrived at legal matnrity,
cut off — say, an inch of his nose ! '

* A Wife at Fortt. — * My notion of a wife at forty,* said JBRitOLi>, * is, that a man
should be able to change her, like a bank-note, for two twenties.'

' Ax Error Cokrbctbd. — Jbrrold was seriously disappointed with a certain book
written by one of his friends. This friend heard that Jbrrold had expressed his dis-
appointment.

* Friend (to Jbrrold :) * I hear you said was the worst book I ever wrote.'

* Jbrrold : ' Xo, I did n't. I said it was the worst book any body ever wrote.' '

* The Ostrich no Glittox. — The ostrich ought to be laken as the one emblem of
temperance. He lives and flourishes in the desert ; his choicest food a bitter spiky
shrub, with a few stones — for how rarely can he find iron — how few the white days
in which the poor ostrich can, in Arabia Petrsea, have the luxury of a ten-penny nail,
lo season, as with salt, his vegetable diet. And yet a common -council man, with face
purple as the purple grape, will call the ostrich — glutton.*

* A RoTAL Prince in the Cradle. — Ho sleeps, and ceremony, with stinted breath,
waits at the cradle. How glorious that young one's destinies ! How moulded and
marked — expressly fashioned for the high delights of earth — the chosen one of
millions for millions' homage ! The terrible beauty of a crown shall clasp those baby
temples ; that rose-bud mouth shall speak the iron law ; that little, pulpy hand shall
hold the sceptre and the ball. But now, asleep in the sweet mystery of babyhood,
the little brain already busy with the things that meet us at the vestibule of life; for
even then we are not alone, but surely have about us the hum and echo of the com-
ing world — but now thus, and now upon a giddying throne! What grandeur, what
intensity of bliss, what an almighty heritage to be born to — to be sent upon the
earth, accompanied by invisible angels, to take possession of ! '

* The Battle of Poverty. — Great are the odds against poverty in the strife. How
often is the poor man, the compelled Qcixote, made to attack a wind-mill in the hope
that- he may get a handful of the corn that it grinds ? and many and grievous are
his bufl'ets ere the miller — the prosperous fellow with the golden thumb — rewards
poor poverty for the unequal battle.'

' The Religion of Show. — There are a good many pious people who are as careful
of their religion as of their best service of china, only using it on holiday occasions,
for fear it should get chipped or flawed in working-day wear.'

' Theatrical ' Stars.' — I knew a pork-butcher who gave it out that he fattened all
his pigs upon pine-apples ; he sold them for what price he liked ; and people having
bought the pigs, swore they could taste the pine-apple flavor. It *s much the same
with many of the ' stars : ' managers have only to declare that they give 'em ten,
twenty, or fifty pounds a night, and the sagacious public proportion their admiration
to the salary received.'

1858.] Editor's Table. 645

* Something to Loyb. — The human heart has of course its pouting fitB ; it deter-
mines to live alone ; to flee into desert places ; to have no employment, that is, to
love nothing ; but to keep on sullenly beating, beating, beating, until death lays his
little finger on the sulky thing, and all is still. It goes away from the world, and
straightway, shut from human company, it falls in love with a plant, a stone, yea, it
dandles cat or dog, and calls the creature darling. Yes, it is the beautiful necessity
of our nature to love something.'

Jerrold certainly * well bespeaks his own praise ' in several of these brief
but pregnant passages. - - - ^ T?ie Mothej^a Night- Watch ^ begins
simply and well : why could n't the writer * keep on so ? ' We quote the two
opening verses :

' The white stars rest — the pale-faced moon is sleeping :

A wintry wind uplifts the cold year's shroud :
Blast howls to blast : moan answers moan, past sweeping,
And snows a-drift haste in a night-long cloud.

* Cold, cold it is 1 — oh ! bitter cold, and dreary !

A mother watches as the darkness wears :
Her children di^eam, twined in red arms and cheery ;
Her partner sleeps, a man of household cares.

There is nature and there is force in this limning : but as the writer goes
on, he *kind o' gin's eout' - - - A late English journal, the ''Inquirer^^
informs us that it is the ultimate object of Queen Victoria's government to
have telegraphic communications scattered all over the *face of the globed
airth.' This is the calculation :

'Thb estimate of distance runs to this effect: from Falmouth (in the south of Eng-
land) to Gibraltar, the distance is less than 1000 miles ; from Gibraltar to Malta the
distance is 988 miles ; from Malta to Alexandria it is 815 miles ; from Suez to Aden,
1310 miles ; from Aden to Bombay, 1664 miles ; from Bombay to Point de Galle, 960
miles; from Point de Galle to Madras, 540 miles ; from Madras to Calcutta, 780 miles ;
from Calcutta to Penang, 1213 miles; from Penang to Singapore, 381 miles; from
Singapore to Hon^ Kong, 1437 miles ; from Singapore to Batavia, 520 miles ; from
Batavia to Swan River, 1500 miles ; from Swan River to King George's Sound. 500
miles ; and from King George's Sound to Adelaide, 998 miles. From Adelaide to
Melbourne and Sydney there will shortly be a telegraphic communication over-land.
From Trinity Bay, in Newfoundland, to Bermuda, the distance is about 1500 miles;
from Bermuda to Inagua, the distance is about 1000 miles; from Inagua to Jamaica
it is 300 miles ; from Jamaica to Antigua, 800 miles ; from Antigua to Demerara, via
Trinidad, 800 miles ; from Antigua to St. Thomas's, 227 miles ; from Jamaica to Grey-
town, via Navy Bay, 1000 miles ; and from Jamaica to Belize, 700 miles.

'Thus, then, all the British settlements, dependencies, and colonies in the Penin-
sula, Mediterranean, Arabia, India, China, Australia, the West-Indies, and Central
America could be joined to England by shorter sub-marine cables than that which at
present connects Ireland with Newfoundland, and without their touching any power-
ful foreign State. The aggregate length of these cables would be about 21,000 miles,
and, reckoning twenty per cent for slack, the whole lenj^th would not measure more
than 24,000 mues. These cables would place England m almost instantaneous com-
munication with ui)wards of forty colonies, settlements, and dependencies, situated
20,000 miles apart, in the eastern and western hemispheres. The mere shipping tele-
grams to and from all these places and England would be of incalculable importance
to merchants, ship-owners, and sea-faring people ; and the political telegrams would
be of infinite value to the Imperial and Colonial Governments.'

The cost of this will be a mere trifle — twenty-five millions of pounds ster-
ling, or so : and when they get it all done, we won't rejoice with them one
particle on this side : they would n't rejoice with us over the laying of the
Atlantic cable, and now they can stretch their wires to the crack of doom,
without exciting the slightest commiseration on this side* of the great
herring-pond ! - - - ' Mr. Artemas Wabd, Esq,,' the great showman,

54G Editofs Table, [XovemLer,

as we gather from a Cleveland (Ohio) correspondent, has turned lli^
attention to letter-writing for the public press : and his latest elTort in
this kind is a description of a Cahle Cdvbratloix in Little Pefldltngton, or a
place wliich will exactly answer its description, we dare say, in Indiana.
hi^ht ' UaMinsvilk'/ We correct Mr. Ward's orthography somewhat in the
extract which we make from his epistle ; but even as it is, it is remarkablu
enouirh, in all conscience. The broad ])urles(iue upon small public celebra-
tions of great events and of jiatriotic public advertisuig, is very rich.
Locking up his kangaroo and his wax-works, he repairs to the scene of thv
celebration :

' r>Ai.iMNSMLLr: was trooly in a blaze <»f glory. Near can i forgit the .«ubUin-
spi.M-kiiful \vl)ii"h met my ga-e as i alitod from the Staige with my iimbrilK-r
and v.'iHso. Tho Tarvfrn was lit up with taller kandlcs nil over. & a ^rato
l>iin.r lii"<* w.-is hurniii in fnint tharoof. A Traii?]>nraiicy was tied unto th«.' sini-
posl with ilu- folli^rin wnrds: ' (Viv us Liberty or Doth. Old Tomkixsis gro!»ery
wn< ilhuncvnali'tl with 5 tin lanturns and the follorin Transjtjirancy was in thi-
wiii'br: ' Tlie Suh-Mershine Tellergraph <t the Baldinsvillc and Stnnefi«rM
JMu'.ikro.id — tljo 2 grate eveiitz of the 19th century: may inte.«tint.*-* strift*
luvei- iii.ir tlnir grandjure,* Simpkinsis shoe shoj) was all nblns with kandk-i
:iii«l l.iiituni-J. A Auurieun Eagle wa< ]iainted unto a flag in a winder, also
these wurd-. viz: *Tlie Constitooshun must bo Preserved.' The Skuid-liousc
was lited 11]) in grato stile, and thi? wind«TS was fdled with mottoes, amung
wlilt h i notistMl tlie follerin : 'Tro«»th smashed to erth shall rize agin: Yor cax't
sToi' iiKii,' • Tlie H«)y stoo<l on the Burnin Deck whence awl but him had FlcL'
' Pr••k^a^lina.-hun is th*- theaf of Time.' *Be virtoous &, you will be ILippy.*
' Inli'Mijieruiis*' lijis eawseil a heap of trubble: shun the Bole: ' and tlio follerin
seiitiniiitit written hy tlie skool-master, who graduated at Hudson Kolli:;e:
* nahliii-^vine si'ucls groetin to Jler Magisty the Queen, A hopes all hard feelina
whieli has heretofore previous bin felt between the Supervizers uf Baldinsville
and the IhirHh Parlimunt. if such there has been, may now be forever wipt-d
friiin niir K-euli*huns. Baldiasville this night rejoises over the gellorious event
whieli sementz 2 irrate nashuns onto <me anuther by means of a elccktrio wire
un<ler the roiirin billersof the Nasty Deep. QrtmQi'E tantrum, a bviter, C.%tei-
i.iNY. rATiKNT nostkimI' \Squiro Smith's house was litod up regardlis of ex-
l)'iu'e. His little sun William irKMiYsti)od ujum the roof firin of crackers. The
ol'l Sijuire himself wa.-^ dressed up in stiljer-elothea and stood on Iiiss door-9top
wiL'L'rur his sw<iai'd, ainl p'intin' it sdllumly to a American flag which wa« sua-
j'eii.li-l on top (if a pole ill ffunt tif his house. Freciuiently he wood take off his
eoi'k<-l hat it wave it round in a impressive stile. His oldest darter Mis Iaa-
nKM.iii Smiiii, who has j«'st cum home frum the Perkiiisville Female Institoot,
apjxai'ed at. the fruiit winder in the West room as the goddisa of Liberty,^
siiMLr * I. -«'e tln'iii on their win<lin' way.' ' Bouteus 1 ! ' sed I to myself, *yoaair
a aiii:il A- ii(»thin .di-»rter I * X. Bovai'vutk Smith, the 'Scpnre's olde.«t son, drest
hi->ell' up a< Vi:\is the (Jod nf Wars, and re<l the Deoleration of Indopendeiise
iVoMi th.' hlY ehainh.r wiiidir. Tin* "Stjuire's wifi' didn't jine in the fe*tivertios.
Sli-' srd ii wa< the tai'naii--t nonseiwe Aw t'ver ."-ee. Sez she to the 'Sipiire, 'Cum
into tlie hou>e an. I iro to ImmI. ymi ciM fool you. Tomorrer you "11 be goiii* round
hall-d.-.l with the ruiiiati<!ii tV won't i:in us a minit's peaee till you git well.'
^••/ ihf Stpairi'. * \\v.:<\ . \oii liitle aJ>J)l•e^iate the iinj»orlaiiee of the event which

1868.] Editor' 8 Table. . 647

I this night commemerate/ Sez she, ' Commemerate a cat's tail ! ' — - cum into
the house this instant, you old dolt, yew ! * * Betsy,' sez the 'Squire, wavin' his
sword, ' retire I ' Doctor Hutchinsis offis was likewise lited up and a Trans-
parancy, on which was painted the Queen in the act of drinkin sum of * Hut-
chinsis Invigorator,* was stuck into one of the winders. The BaldinsTille
Bugle of Liberty newspaper offis was also illumenated, &. the follerin mottoes
stuck out: *The Press is the Arkermejian lever which moves the world.'
•Vote Early.' 'Buckle on your Armer.' 'Now is the time to Subscribe.'
'Franklin, Mouse <fe Field.' ' Terms $1.50 a year : liberal reducshuns to clubs.'
In short, the villige of Baldinsville was in a perfeck fewroar.'

Perhaps same among the several hundreds of thousands who witnessed our
metropolitan * Cable Celebration ' may have remarked the great exemplars of
* Dr. HuTCHDJGs' in advertising. - - - Our friend, the writer of * Weenonah,
y« Exceedynglie Sorrowfull Legende of ye Lake Pepin^^ has been reading the
wonderful exploits of * Captain Davis, Jonathan R,' of Rocky Canon, Califor-
nia, commimicated by Mr. Spakrowgbass some time since to these pages.
His * suffusion' begins very characteristically of that artistic production. We
oan only spare room for a * specimen-brick : '

* Know ye the land of crystal streams,
Of giggling brooks and laughing water,
Where every sparkling rivulet teems
With trout a foot long, and nothing shorter,
(Except an indifferent species of eels ;)
Where Nature her lovehness reveals

In all that eye or heart can prize,

In blooming earth and gorgeous skies

That Ph(ebus paints when the day-light dies ?

* Know ye the land where- the Red Man's song,
(I mean the Song of Hiawateea,)

Still echoes the hills and proves among,
In accents as guttural and strong
As ever were heard in Sax6-Gotna ?
Where Manito sits on his rock-raised throne.
And MoNDAMiN, robed in green and yellow,
Smoking dhudeeus of the red pipe-stone,
Whose praises were sung by Mr. Longfellow :
Where an Indian maiden, hand in hand
With her dusky 'lovyer * was plighted, and
To keep another from ' cutting him out,*
Jumped from the top of a rocK, about
Four hundred feet high, (I 'm not particular,
Except that the rock is perpendicular,
Or out of plumb may be slightly tippy^)
Right plumb into the Mississippi I *

This shows a * cunning hand ' at verbal freedom, and adroit imitation : but
the * Legend ' which ensues is not remarkable either in incident or execution.
Our friend must *try agaia' - - - The able and entertaining Paris
correspondent of the New- York *7Vme«* daily journal, in a recent letter to
that print, says : *A11 your readers who have ever visited Paris, will recol-
. lect the two magnificent buildings which close in the Place de la Concorde,
on the side next the Madelaine. They were built by Louis Philippe, one
for the Ministry of Marine, and the other for the safe-keeping of the furni-
ture of the State, and called the Garde Meubles. The first is still occupied
by the Ministry of Marine, but the other is divided into four residences,

550 JSditor'*8 Table, [November, 1858.

ascend on Jacobus ladder to the farthest confines of infinitesimal space, and
steal the blessed lamps of Night for buttons ! ' This was not intended for
a burlesque ; but was delivered in all earnestness by the orator, and with
gesticulations as fervent as they were original and * striking ; ' so at least
affirms our correspondent. - - - Our associate, Dr. J. 0. Notes, author
of * Roumania,' etc., has prepared a Lecture on Nomadic Life^ as Illustrated
hy the Gipsies'* which he is prepared to deliver, the coming winter, before
lyceums or other public literary institutions. Travel, and personal observation,
have enabled him to embrace all the aspects and bearings of his theme : and
wc can guarantee a treat to his audiences of no ordiiuuy kind. His subject
is not hackneyed, and will be originally treated. - - - We must say to our
correspondent * A. J. C.,^ of New-Jersey, that the little volume which he has
taken the trouble to send us, and which, in his opinion, * contains an almost
inexhaustible fund of humor,^ appears to t^ to contain nothing whatever
of the sort His * marked passages ' sufficiently evince Am perception and
judgment in this kind. How any one could find * humor' in the simple re-
cord, by a son, of the unambitious and usefiil life of a mother, remarkable for
Christian faith and self-denial, passes our comprehension. The calm, self-
possessed, quiet face, beneath the plain Quaker cap, which beams upon us
from the frontispiece to the unpretending little book before us, would of it-
self counteract such criticism as our correspondent would seem desirous to
secure. Somewhat doubting whether a notice of the work was not intended
to be elicited for some other than a merely critical object, we pass it with-
out naming it, and without farther comment. There have been such at-
tempts, which have been firustrated. - - - Unable ourselves to attend
Mr, St-epTien Jlassett's Entertainment at I^iblo's Saloon, by reason of certain
presidential duties devolving upon us on the same occasion, we sent a fiunfly
deputation, whose report confirms our previous augury of ^Ir. Masseti^s
triumph. "We knew, when we heard Tennyson's * Charge of the Li^t
Brigade' read in the sanctum, and the description of the terrible execution-
scene in India, that these parts of the performance would excite marked ai-
thusia^^m and deep interest The saloon was crowded, and the applause gene-
ral and fervent. With neither time nor space to particularize, we may say, in
general terms, that the * Entertainment,* as a whole, was a complete success ;
was repeated in the ^metropolis, and delivered in suchi suburban quarters as
Brooklyn, Iloboken, etc. "We would suggest the pretermission, hereafter, of
the broad burlesque of Mr. Dempster, in the * Song' department^ erroneously
styled an * imitation ' of that most feeling and efiective vocalist and composer.
By-the-by, where is Mr. Dempster ? He would be welcomed by many cordial
admirers hereaway, * about this time.' - - - We take pleasure in calling the
attention of our readers to the announcement, in our advertising pagos^ of
Mr. Union Adams, one of the most enterprising of an enterprising dam, our
young New- York merchants.

1858.] Editor's Table. 649

is nothing bo brilliant as they. Never do I look upon such a scene, but I think
of the days beyond the flood of Time; of the vernal shores of boyhood and
youth, that I have left forever; and from which even Memoby herself, that
solemn and sad antiquarian, hath scarcely a flower left in her hand. Many and
sober are the reflections which a glance at the evening west can awaken in my
mind. Friends that are distant and hopes that are dead, never more to be re-
vived with the freshness wherewith they shone of yore ; ambition that was
thwarted, confidence betrayed, impressions changed, fantasies dissolved — these
are a few of the associations with which I gaze upon the regions of the setting
sun, I think how many visions that were as radiant as that fiery sphere, have
wrapped themselves in darkness and made the clouds their pavilion ; how the
gorgeous creations have disappeared like that golden exhalation of the dawn
or the dews of the evening, leaving the thoroughfare over which I was passing
more arid and dreary.'

This is from one of * Dow, Jr/s late California * Sermpns : * yet to us it
sounds strangely familiar. - - - Looking over an old volume of the
^ China Maily^ printed some fifteen years ago, (a present from an esteemed
friend, an oflBcer in the United States Navy,) we came across the following,
which we fancy will be as new and acceptable to our readers as it was to
ourselves : *At the Hartford (Conn.) Retreat for the Insane, a party is oc-
casionally given, to which those called sane are invited : and as they mingle
together in conversation, promenading, dancing, etc., it is impossible for a
stranger to tell which are which. On one of these pleasant occasions, a
gentleman visitor was * doing the agreeable ' to one of the ladies, and in-
quired of her how long she had been in the Retreat. She told him^ and he
went on to make inquiries about the institution, to which she rendered very
intelligent answers ; and when he asked her, ^Ilow she liked th^ doctor ? '
she gave him such assurances of her regard for the excellent physician, that
the stranger was satisfied of the doctor's popularity among the patients, and
he went away without finding out that his partner in the conversation was
no other than the accomplished lady of the physician, who tells the story
herself with great zest, and is frequently asked, * How she likes the doctor ? '
She has but one answer I - - - Bear in mind, if you please, that the
following (according to * R. H.,' of Sheboygan Falls) is entirely authentic.
It is a terlatim extract, * taken down on the spot,' fropa a lecture on ^The
Rights of Woman,'' delivered by one G. W. S , at the capital of Wiscon-
sin, less than * sixty years since.* It may be well to mention, that the
speaker was opposed to extending the right of suflrage to females : * Let
Man plough the heaving bosom of the briny deep ; let man drag down from
the booming thunder-cloud the clanking lightnings of heaven: but let
Woman maintain her pure and intangible position in our bosom of bo-
soms — in the innermost interstices of society ! There she sits enthroned
high above all ! Nation may swallow up nation, and, like Cobnccopia of
old, stand on the banks of the mad-raging Burnampooter, and lick their
chops for more : and the ashes of pulverized humanity may be blown to
the four corners of heaven : yet there she sits ; and he who would reach up
a sacrilegious hand to drag her down firom her zenith of glory, would

550 Editor'* 8 Table. [November, 1858.

ascend on Jacobus ladder to the farthest confines of infinitesimal space, and
steal the blessed lamps of Night for buttons ! * This was not intended for
a burlesque ; but was delivered in all earnestness by the orator, and tdtii
gesticulations as fervent as they were original and ''strihing :^ so at least
affirms our correspondent. - - - Our associate, Dr. J. 0. Noyes, author
of * Roumania,' etc, has prepared a Lecture on Nomadic Life, (U lUtutrated
hy the Gipsies'' which he is prepared to deliver, the coming winter, before
lyccums or other public literary institutions. Travel, and personal observation,
have enabled him to embrace all the aspects and bearings of his theme : and
we can guarantee a treat to his audiences of no ordinary kind. His subject
is not hackneyed, and will be originally treated. - - - We must say to oar
correspondent * A. J. C.,' of New- Jersey, that the little volume which he has
taken the trouble to send us, and which, in his opinion, * contains an almost
inexhaustible fund of humor,^ appears to t/^ to contain nothing whatever
of the sort His ^ marked passages * sufficiently evince At« perception and
judgment in this kind. How any one could find * humor' in the simple re-
cord, by a son, of the unambitious and useful life of a mother, remarkable for
Christian faith and self-denial, passes our comprehension. The calm, self-
possessed, quiet face, beneath the plain Quaker cap, which beams upon ns
from the frontispiece to the unpretending little book before us, would of it-
self counteract such criticism as our correspondent would seem desirous to
secure. Somewhat doubting whether a notice of the work was not intended
to be elicited for some other than a merely critical object, we pass it with-
out naming it, and without farther comment. There have been such at-
tempts, which have been firustrated. - - - Unable ourselves to attend
J/r. Stephen MassetGs Entertainment at Niblo'a Saloon^ by reason of certain
presidential duties devolving upon us on the same occasion, we sent a family
deputation, whose report confirms our previous augury of. Mr. Masser^s
triumph. We knew, when we heard Tennyson's * Charge of the Li^
Brigade * read in the sanctum, and the description of the terrible cxecution-
scene in India, that these parts of the performance would excite marked en-
thusia.sm and deep interest The saloon was crowded, and the applause gow-
ral and fervent. With neither time nor space to particularize, we naay say, in
general terms, that the * Entertainment,' as a whole, was a complete success ;
wa.s repeated in the 4netropolLS, and delivered in suchi suburban quartezs as
Brooklyn, Iloboken, etc. "We would suggest the pretermission, hereafter, of
the broad burlesque of Mr. Dempster, in the * Song' department^ ern>neoudy
styled an * imitation ' of that most feeling and effective vocalist and composer.
By-thc-by, where is Mr. Dempster ? He would be welcomed by many coital
admirers hereaway, * about this time.' - - - We take pleasure in odling the
attention of our readers to the annoimcement, in our advertising pagesi of
Mr. Union Adams, one of the most enterprising of an enterprising dao,
young New-York merchants.

/AQ/,;„-vcr-/-

^M* r

.. •*♦

THE KNICKERBOCKER.

Vol. LII. DECEMBER, 1858. No. 6.

CARDINAL DE ROHAN'S NECKLACE.

In the account of the ' Dauphin ' whose claims to royalty were
discussed in our November number, allusion might have been made
to the queenly robe displayed at his funeral, and said to have be-
longed to his unfortunate mother." However mythical its history,
a simple newspaper paragraph has singularly connected the cir-
cumstance with the celebrated diamond necklace which so fatally
involved the Queen, Marie Antoinette. It appears that law-suits in
France may last as long as those of England's dreaded Court of
Chancery, for in this very year 1868, the descendants of the jewel-
lers, Boehraer and Bassange, who owned the diamond necklace
before its mysterious disappearance in 1785, when it was supposed
to have become royal property, are suing the representatives
of the De Rohan family lor its value, the Cardinal De Rohan hav-
ing received the casket from the hands of the jewellers, as we shall
see.

In the last years of Marie Antoinette's reign, her growing dis-
like of etiquette caused her to withdraw as much as possible from
the hollow pomp of the great palace of Versailles, and to seek in
the seclusion of the little Trianon the happiness which society
denfbd to a queen. The gardens of this pavilion were laid out in
the English taste, differing totally from the aspect of the park
which environed the vast palace, where the trees and parterres
were as artificial as the life of Louis XIV. himself. At Trianon, a
lake flooded part of the grounds, and on its banks was a little
village, with cottages for t£e curate, the miller, the milk-maid, and
:i few others ; and in this spot Marie Antoinette, robed simply in
a white cambric dress, with a straw hat, amused herself for days
together, fishing in the waters, visiting the cottages, seeing the
cows milked, and sometimes herself assuming the guise of a dairy-
maid. Iler associates shared in her rural sports : the King's bro-
thers, afterward Louis the Eighteenth, and Charles the Tenth,
played the parts of the miller and the farmer ; M. De Polignac
was the steward, and Cardinal De Rohan, before his disgrace, the

VOL. LU. 36

552 Cardinal T)e MoharCs Niecklace. [December,

(jurate. All the while the. foulest slaoders were spread abroad in
Paris regarding these innocent pastimes ; and obscene anecdotes,
songs, and pictures held the Queen up as a Messalina. Nothing
contributed to undermine respect for her more than the intrigue
of the diamond necklace, in which, beside the jewellers, the chief
personages involved were : Marie Antoinette, the victim ; Cardinal
De Rohan, the dupe ; Countess De Lamotte, the adventuress ;
Count Cagliostro, the prince of swindlers ; and Mademoiselle Oliva,
a beautiful wanton, who played the part of queen for one night.
The whole plot was of singular ingenuity, and is by no means
i^enerally understood.

In the early part of her reign, Marie Antoinette, with a strong
taste for dress, was especially fond of diamonds, and in 1774 hail
bought of Boehmer, the crown jeweller, stones to the value of
three hundred and sixty thousand francs, which she paid out of
her private funds. Some years later Boehmer and nis partner
l^assange, having constructed a superb necklace, probably intended
for Madame l)u Barry, and disappointed in the sale of it to her on
account of the death of Louis the Fifteenth, became anxious to
sell it to the Queen. It was wholly composed of stones of the
largest size, and first water; and although valued at sixteen
hundred thousand francs, was an unmarketable commodity, as
very few even of the sovereigns of Europe could afford to buy it,
Boehmer tried in vain to dispose of it at foreign courts, and at
length importuned Marie Antoinette to reUeve hun. of the glitter-
ing builhen, or permit him to drown himself in the Seine. The
Queen, taking a common-sense view of the matter, told him to dis-
pose of his necklace in parts, and that he was at perfect liber^ to
throw himself into the Seine or any other river in Uie kingdom.
Though rebuffed, the jeweller persevered, and so annoyed the
Queen, that she forbade him to name the matter to her again. The
King was anxious that she should possess it, but she replied that
her jewels were numerous and splendid enough already, adding,
with the spirit of Maria Theresa, that France had greater need of
ships of war than necklaces. This was really the sole connection
she ever had with these jewels : they were never in her possession
for a moment, except when the King sent them for her inspection ;
yet by the iniquity of the. plot, it was made to appear that she had
bought and secreted them.

The Countess De Lamotte, the intriguante who was at the
bottom of all the mischief, was in very limited circumstanoeSi al-
though a descendant of the royal house of Valois, but with magic
powers of deception managed in many instances to improve her
fortunes by playing on the credulity of her victims. No greater
dupe ever fell into her hands than Cardinal De Rohan, the grand
almoner, and member of one of the most powerful fiEunihes in
France. He was a man of talent, but of credulous and immond
character, out of favor for years with Marie Antoinette, who would
not even speak to him. Ilis disgrace preyed on his spirits, and he
once in a moment of confidence confessed to Madame Ve Lamottei

1S68.] Cardinal Ik Hohan^s Necklace, 553

who had gained great power over him, how ardently he longed for
restoration to the regard of his Queen. This was sufficient to set
Lamotte's busy brain at work, to build up at once a scheme of
gigantic fraud, and finding each successive step successful, to ob-
tain possession of the necklace, ruin Boehmer, dupe the Cardinal,
and slander the Queen. Such a plot required accomplices as well
as victims, for a single false step would cause inevitable ruin : one
of these agents was Tier husband, and the other a comnanion of his,
named Villette, who played the part of valet to the Queen.

In the first place Lamotte, whom Marie Antoinette did not
know by sight, and who had never been granted an audience, per-
suaded the Cardinal that she was on terms of intimacy with the
Queen, and had taken occasion to state his case to her royal mis-
tress, who was moved to pity, and had finally told the Countess
that he might address to her a justification of himself from the
charges long since preferred against him. The enraptured prelate
lost no time in composing an elaborate and respectful petition,
which he handed to Lamotte, who in a few days returned to him a
small sheet of gilt-edged paper, purporting to come from the Queen,
her hand-writing being successfully forged, and the words running :
' I have read your letter ; I am rejoiced to find you guiltless. At
present I am not able to grant you the audience you desire. When
circumstances permit, you shall be informed of it. Remain discreet.'
This note, which the Cardinal never suspected to be false, as in truth
he placed implicit confidence in a hundred others, filled him with
joy, and so thankful was he to Lamotte, that in his infatuation he
paid over to her, in various sums, one hundred and twenty thou-
sand livres, supposing that all w^ent to the Queen tor purposes
named in the forged correspondence carried on under her signa-
ture. The Countess became emboldened by success ; she knew the
history of the diamond necklace ; that Boehmer was very anxious
to dispose of it, as it locked up an immense amount of his money ;
that he had vainly offered it to the Queen ; and that he would be
ruined if it remained on his hands. She easily obtained a sight of
it, and displayed much solicitude for the jeweller, who said that he
would make any one a handsome present who could find for him a
purchaser. Thus stimulated, she spoke to the Cardinal, her suffi-
cient dupe already ; made him believe that the Queen, unknown to
Louis the Sixteenth, was bent upon having it, and would in short,
set no bounds to the royal gratitude, could his Eminence only
persuade the jewellers to let her have the necklace, and wait for
some years in payment. It was to be a proof of Marie Antoinette's
highest regard that this delicate commission was intrusted to the
grand almoner, and in order to effect it, he was to receive an
order written and signed by the Queen's own hand, which he need
not give up until all the payments were made ; that he should ar-
range with Boehmer regarding the instalments, the first of which
was not to be paid for some time ; that all the negotiations were
to be in the Cardinal's name, and not in the Queen's, his sole war-
rant for proceeding being the scteret billet, signed Marie Antoi-

.").■) t (^(mlinal Ue Jloh a) i^^ Necklace. [December,

iR'llo iJo France. This stvle of siccnature should of itself liave
()])oiiod tlie eyes of the Cardmal, for it was never the custom for
any (huiirhter of the blood royal to attach 'de Frfincc' to their
Tianu's ; such an addition had been made only through the sfrosscst
iLTHurance, but still the prelate suspected nothuji^. About this
timi' he also l)ooaine more deeply involved through the agency of
a subHme swindler, the selfstyleil Count Cagliostro.

This Prince of Blount ebanks, whose real name was Jo*eph Hal-
s.'inio, was born of obscure parentage at Palermo in 1743. He
was a quark from his cradle. After committing various crimes,
he set out u|)on his travels as one of sujiernatural powers, who bail
d('alini!:s with the devil ; the means of curing all diseases ; who
knew the secrets of the elixir vit<T and the philosopher's stone, and
who wa^ equally ready to cast horoscopes, or palm himself ott* as
the Wandering Jew. His journeys extended to Greece, Egypt,
Arabia, Persi;i, some of the Mediterranean Islands, and many of
\\\(\ European cities; and he was greatly aided in his knavery by
his wife, Lorenza Feliciani, a Koman woman of extraonlinary
b(\*iuty, but who, proflig:ite as she was lovely, sold her favors high.
When he arrivetl in Strasburg, Cardinal l)e Jiohan, who believed
in his magic arts, and who had himself dipped into alchemy, wished
to vi>it !iim. The wily charlatan sent for answer: 'If M. le
Cardinal is sick, let him come to me an<l I will cure him; if he be
well, lie has no business with me, nor have I with liim.' This only
made I)(^ Jlohan more eager for Cagliostro's friendshiji ; it was
traine*! in due tinu», the beniLchted ecclesiastic placing full faith in
the iin]mdent sorcerer, who, on being consulted regarding the ini-
])ortant negotiation with the jewellers, performed his incantations
in the prelate's ])alace, and gave, as a revelation from the spirit-
worM, that it was sure of success and worthy of tho Prince.

ThiMi did the Cardinal, beside himself with joy, enter with his
whole soul into the scheme, aiul j)roceed to treat with Hoclimcr
and l>assange for the necklace. Under the pledge of secresy, he
reveal(Ml to them tiiat the (^ueen was the purchaser, and showetl
the in the (»rder, which they of course believed to be genuine, and
therefore agree<l to deliver the necklace hito his hands on the first
<U' l''ebruarv, ITt^;").

The (lav came, and it was determined bv He Kohan and the
Countess, that the diamonds should be hitrusted by his Eminence
to her keeping, when a messenger from the Queen should call for
tlieni; that the Cardinal shouhl be concealed in a place whence
]\r e«»nld see and identifv thi^ roval valet, to be sure that all was
li'^ht in (»very ste]) of the momentous proceeding. Of course the
Caidinal had been led blindfold in the whole transaction; duped
]»y e«)iiiiinial forgeries in the Ciueeu's name, and in which Madame
l)e Lani(»tt«' was always spoken of in the strongest terms of aft'ec-
ti«>n and eonfidenee. Now believing himself on the high road to
gr< atnrs'<, the ensnanMl man r(^paire<l, with an attendant carrying
the ea^ket, to Lamotle's house in Versailles, at dusk on the first of
February. Dismissing this person, he entered the presence of the

1868.] Cardinal De Rohan^s NecJdace, 665

Countess, and placed in her hands the invaluable necklace. Very
shortly, a messenger was announced, and his Eminence, to elude
observation and yet see all that was passing, hid in a closet with a
glass door. A man of respectful and official port, the pretended
valet de chambre from Trianon, advanced with the words, ' De par
la Reine.' (From the Queen.) Lamotte at once gave him the
packet, on which he solemnly bowed and retired. It was the
rascal Villette, who had forged all the royal letters, and from the
moment the diamonds went into his hands, they were seen no
more, neither by the Cardinal nor the jewellers. It is true, his
Eminence recognized the fellow, for the indefatigable Countess had
before contrived to bring him to the notice of the Cardinal, walk-
ing with her, as the Queen's valet, apparently from the direction
of Trianon.

As the prince of the Church retired that night to dream of bene-
fices unnumbered, and perchance of the papal tiara, Lamotte and
her accomplices rejoiced at the success of their audacious villany.
The necklace disappeared, none knew whither with certainty, but
in all probability it was broken upy as M. De Lamotte was soon
afterward in England, living extravagantly, betting at Newmarket
races, and disposing of diamonds. Marie Antoinette slept inno-
cent of the crime, and the lucky jewellers for a while breathed
free again, a great weight having been lifted off their minds.
They gave out that the necklace had been disposed of to the
Grand Seignior for his favorite Sultana. Very soon, however, all
the duped felt new fears ; the Cardinal was tormented by the con-
tinued coldness of the Queen, who, in spite of her gratitude so
warmly expressed in her letters, never even deigned to give him a
look ; and Boehmer, frequently at the palace, wondered that he
never saw the necklace on her Majesty's person, when she had
been so anxious to have it. New excuses and lies were forged as
fast as wanted ; but the Cardinal, half-mad with hope deferred,
looked in terror for the thirtieth of July, when the first instalment
of one hundred thousand crowns was due. It came at last, bring-
ing only a note from her Majesty, and money to pay the interest
on the instalment. The jewellers became frantic ; Boehmer raved
at the duplicity of the Queen, insisted on an audience, and at last
had one, m which De Rohan's agency in the affair was fully revealed.
The Queen, justly incensed against the Cardinal, denied with truth
that she had ever had the necklace, while Boehmer, ruined by the
loss of his diamonds, and believing the Queen guilty, demanded his
money or threatened public exposure. He had before on several oc-
casions spoken to her Majesty about diamonds, in such a manner,
that she thought he must have lost his wits, at one time addressing
her a petition begging her not to forget him. The fifteen hun-
dred pounds to pay the interest above referred to, were borrowed
by Lamotte, aided by Cagliostro, from St. James, an upstart finan-
cier, only too glad to render this service, and much more, to her
Majesty, in hope of the cordon rouge for his reward. Of course,

5.")G Cardinal De Rohan:* s Necklace, [Dceoinl)cr.

lit' never received it, ami lost bis money, in spite of CagliostroV
j)bilus()j)her-s stone.

J>ut the most villainous incident in this wliolc business, was the
one in wliieli the i)art of Marie Antoinette was played, at starry
mid nii^bt, in the park at Versailles, by Mademoiselle Gay d-Oliva.
This woman, a wanton of the better class, who made lier usual
promenade in the Palais Royal, was beautiful, of noble figure, and
in proHU? strikingly like the Queen. She had been often remarked
by tlie C-ountess de Lamotte and lier husband, and when at length
it bt'O.une indisj)ensablc to pacify the Cartlhial by something more
thati a ibrged l)illet, Mademoiselle Oliva was [prevailed ii])on bv
tlio Countess to ])ersonate the Queen in an inte;'view with bis Enii-
nencc, being told, however, that her Majesty consented to this,
having some j)lan of amusement hi it. Accordingly, conducteil to
\'ers;ulles, by M. De Lamotte, she insj)ected tlie j)lace api)oinled for
the meeting, the ' l>osquet de la Hehie,' which is not far from tlie
garden-lront of the palace, and still shown to strangers. She
was here made to rehearse her part, being told that seated hi the
midst of the grove, she would be accosted by a tall man in a blue
ri«ling-coat, with a large tlap})ing hat, who would aj)])roach, kneel,
ami kiss her hand with the utmost respect, and tliat she was to
sjiy to him at once, ' I have but a moment to spare : I am satis-
fied with your conduct, and 1 shall speedily raise you to tlie pin-
nacle ()f favor,' at the same moment jifivintjc liiin a little box and a
ros*', and innnediately atlerwanl rise hastily at a noise apin'oaching,
saying hurriiMlly : *^Iadame and C^)lmtess D'Artois are cominiir:
we must jjart." In like manner was the Cardinal drille<l for the
long-sought interview : her ^Majesty was to present him with a ease
containing her portrait and a rose. Tlie night came, dark enough
for that ' deed without a name,' and the punctual prelate, although
the air was warm, stood shivering with impatience on the terrace
of Versailles; the hour passed; the Cardinal despaired, when n
woman in a black domino — appropriate livery for the Counte.ssDe
Laniott(^ — came to him in haste, whis})enng: 'I have just left
the (>iieen : every thing is unfavorable : she will not bo able to
irive von so lonsj^ an interview as she desired. Madame and the
(\)unl(;ss D'Artois have ]>roposed to walk with her. Hasten to
the grove ; she will leave her party, and hi sj/ite of the short inter-
val slie may obtain, will give you unequivocal j)roofs of her pro-
t«'riion and good will.' The Cardinal in ecstasy hurries to the
Mcnc, which is enact(»d according to the plan. Gay d'Oliva pro-
nouncing the words taught to her, hands to the prelate the box
and t lie rose, saying : '.Vous savez ce que cela veut dire,' (You know
what that means,) when histantly -Madame Dc Lamotte approach-
ing erics, * ( )n vicnt ! ' At the sound of conung feet, c«aused not by
the roval sisi(M«<. but bv M. De Lamotte and ' Villette of Kascal-
ih»m,' /i(r J/tfJrsfj/^ starting from the kneelhig Cardinal, dis-
a|))»cars in the thicket. He. with heart bursting with vexation, iv-
jnin> tlio (''juntcNS and the r»aron De IMauta, a subordinate agent,

1858.] Cardinal De Rohari^s Necklace, 657

inveighing against his cruel fate, at having broken up the delicious
interview just as those musical words

* Came o'er his ear like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets,'

and all his trials are at an end, as he lifts to his lips the hand of
a — quean.

On the arrest of the Cardinal at Versailles, he found an oppor-
tunity of dispatching a messenger with a note hastily scrawled to
his secretary, the Abbe Georgel, who instantly committed to the
flames the whole mass of correspondence relative to the intrigue,
so that, at this day, much regarding it is wrapped in impenetra-
ble mystery. The parties implicated went to the Bastile, were
tried soon afterward, and the Countess and Villette only punished.
The Cardinal, Cagliostro, and Mademoiselle d'Oliva were dis-
charged, his Eminence being acquitted of all suspicion ; Villette
was banished the kingdom for life ; Lamotte condemned to the
galleys for life, but as he was in England, the sentence was void.
His wife was condemned to be whipped, branded on both shoulders
with the letter V for Voleuse, (thief,) and shut up in L'Hopital
for the rest of her days. The sentence was carried out, except
that she made her escape from the hospital after a confinement of
ten months, and subsequently lost her life by falling from the upper
story of a building to the ground ; or, according to some accounts,
being thrown from it by violent hands. The result of the trial
was regarded by the royal family, the court, and, in short, by
every one, as a censure upon the Queen, while thousands believed
her really guilty, in having obtained possession of the necklace
and secreting it.

Such is the story of the famous diamond necklace, whose fatal
flash only recalled, but did not dissipate the gloom which shrouded
the last years of Marie Antoinette, before her final degradation,
when the common axe severed the neck in all the wide world
alone worthy to wear those peerless gems. What a commentary
on human grandeur and its fall was that scrawled by the brutish
grave-digger, in his bill rendered to the revolutionary authorities :
' For the coflin of the Widow Capet, seven francs,^

I WANDERED by a river,

And met a lady fiiir.
And she was busy bathing,

Behind her veils of hair.

* If I should buy, fair lady,

Your tresses long and rare,
AYhat were the price ? ' She answered
* A pearl for every hair ! ^

r>58 lCf/j((If\ f/te Bandit of the Carjxit/ilati^, [Deoombcr.

KIIMALI. TI[E BANDIT OF THE C ARP ATII I A \S.

*- AiiE tlioi'o no rohbers, no Wiillach /fyc7//Aw amonpr tlie Carpa-
thians, like Tlasil and Hnjor of the last generation ?' I inquirei] of
my companion Jian l>ibesco, as we were being wliirled by canitza
from lUikarest to ISilistria.

' Vvw since the breaking ont of the Greek revohition,' lie rejilied :
' Ihcv tlirive better amonc: the l>alkans. But T can relate an ad-
venture Avith one who for years was the terror of the Princij>alities ;
w ho was more famous than either of the names you have mentioneil.'

' Let me hear the story.'

' Manv vears acco ' be^ran I>ibesco, 'T was travellins: amonir thi'
IMaiul liolilor (the home of the Goths) in the northern jiart of
Wallacliia. Tliero were two of us. AVliile threading a deoji
mountain *rorge, all at onee we heard near us the sharp rcpoil of a
LCun, Ashich in huMniic Pandour style means — halt ! Wc stoj»pcd.
Seven men emerged from the dark thicket near at hand, and ran
up to us. They were anned to the teeth, richly clothed in Alba-
nian costumes, and with faces so eoneealed by the folds of full silk
turbans, tliat their eves onlv could be seen.

' ft ^

' ' I [alt there ? frchokot.,'* (dogs,) (M'ied the chief, who alone was
uncovered : '\v hither do you journey?'

* 'To Campina.'

' ' Have you any arms or powder?' and without waiting for an
answer lie ordered us to dismount.

' y\y companion drew a pistol ; but he had hardly touched the
ground, when tiie cliief lea])ed u]M)n him like a tigcfi*, wrested the
weap<jn from liis hand, and brought him to the ground with a
blow of tlie breech. I thouGrht Inni dead.'

'' ' Here is the ])Owder.'

^ He snatched it from my hand, and then in a more familiar tone
:;^ked : ' IIovv nnu-h money have you in sjiecie?'

^ 'Thirty ducats.'

' ' AVe will divide.'

• I irave him the ])urse. You will see that our mountain klepht
w ;is nioic generous than Ihisil, Avho let his victim pass by, in oraer
:o attack him from behind, and make himself drunk with blood;
h'Mver and nobler than that sui)erstitious fanatic, l>ujor, who used
lo pray in a churcli on Sunday and pillage it on 3[onday, who
Would not eat meat on Tuesday for an empire, but would have as-
sas-in:ii(Ml you the day following for a pij^e of tobacco.'

' ^ Tiiere aie nine of us,' said the chief: ' four times seven make
f weiity-eiuht :' ancl o]»ening the i)urse, he took from it two ducats
and hainled liieiu to lue, savini^: 'That is enoui»:h for two such
r<n'i,;,,fy/ (tnnid teinal. s) to reach Camjiina. Uemount, and go in
peacr ! yi'U have n.)thing to fear — I am Ivirjali I ' '

' Did that hap}ien in the <;])en day ? ' 1 intpiired.

1858.] Kirjali^ the Bandit of the Carpathians, 669

' In the open day — in the very face of the sun. Kirjali was as
brave as his yataghan, and would have blushed to use the night.'
' He reminds me,' said I, of the mountain brigands of Anatolia,
who, notwithstanding their nefarious profession, practise the motto
that ' Honesty is the best policy.' They secrete themselves in the
fastnesses of the mountains, and watching an opportunity, make
prisoners of persons who can command a heavy ransom. Not long
ago, in the very street of a city, they seized upon the son of a
wealthy merchant and hurried him away with impimity. Word
was sent to the father that his child would be delivered up in a
certain place for twenty thousand piastres, but if not ransomed at
a given date, they might have his head. The distressed parent,
hoping that something would intervene, delayed sending the
money until a few hours after the stipulated time. It was too
late. The bandits were true to their word. The bloody head was
sent back together with the bags of piastres.

' But the story of Kirjali — let me hear the story of bis life,'
and we charged our long chiboques once more with fragrant lata-
kiah, once more married it with the aromatic nectar of Mocha.

' Kirjali was an Albanian,' resumed my companion, ' His real
name is unknown ; the Turks call him Kirjali, which signifies the
hrave^ and you will see how well he merited the appellation. He
is the Mandarin and Jack Sheppard of the ISIoldo-Wallachs. ' There
is not a Roumanian maiden but sings his gallant deeds ; not a pea-
sant on the plains or among the mountains who does not recite bis
danng exploits by the winter fire. The Russian poets and painteri^
have celebrated the curious episodes of his history, and both
Pousckhine and Vaillant have given to the world many of the cir-
cumstances which I am about to relate.

* Kirjali was five-and-twenty years of age when a strange adven-
ture threw him this side the Danube. The kekaya of the village
violated his wife. That is a crime which the injured man no where
pardons, and least of all, in Turkey. Kirjali resolves to be re-
venged. At the news of his dishonor, he relates it to his assembled
associates, and, while he moves them to pity, leads them to fear
the repetition of his wrongs upon themselves. With him they re-
pair to the dwelling of the kokaya. At the noise of the crowd
collected in the court-yard, the latter steps out upon the balcony ;
but quick as lightning, before he has time to ask the cause of their
presence, Kirjali stands before him with menacing gestures, foam-
ing mouth, and eyes burning with rage.

' ' AVretch ! ' cries the injured man, ' ask pardon of this mul-
titude.'

' The kekaya, with true Mussulman hauteur, responds only with
a smile of contempt.

' ' Demand pardon ! ' again cries the inftiriated Kirjali.

' ' Away, Giaour ! ' rejoins the kekaya, gnashing his teeth in
rage, and bringing his hand to the hilt of his handjar.

' ' Giaour ! ' reiterates Kirjali with fury. ' Giaour ! Yes, Ogh-
lan AH, thou base slave ! ' and he throws himself upon the kekaya.

r)f)0 KirJiilL fho Bandit of the Cnrpathiaan, [Dcceinbor,

^ P.inlon, Oujlihm Alii nsk panloii of tliis nmltitudo, \\y Cuiu>v\
l)v Allah ! Tin Ml wilt nut ? Yet once — no ? accursed bo thou I '
Inolinint' over the balcoiiv, he cried to the multitude below :
'Christians! make i)lnee for this brute.' The crowd draws back,
llo oviMts all liis slren<jfth. 'Beware of the stone!' shouts he,
and a hoarsi^ i^roan is heard below. The blood flows, the kokava
('\'[»ires, and the crowd disperses, savin*? coldly: 'The doij of a
IMoslcni is drad." Kiriali has taken flight, carrvjii^j with liim onlv
liis itnplaoable enmity to the Turks.

' Anivetl in Wallaehia, he enters tlie service of the Boyard Du-
dc'sco, and makes tlui aei|uaintanee of Svedko, the Servian, ami
also of .Alikalakt*. Tlie tall stature of Svedko, the robust and
trained bodv of the IMoldavian, and the audacious bravery of botli,
mark them as jirojx'r men for Kirjali. lie gains their inendi>hip,
and inspires them with his own hatred of the Moslems. When hi*
thinks I hem weaned from the domestic life which is so repuirnJint
to himself, and comes to regard them as men after his own lieart,
lu' oummunicales his ])rojeets, organizes a band of robbei's, and
make'S the two brigands his aids.

'At that time, the Phanariot (Treeks were in possession of most
of the resources of the Princi])alities which were farmed out to
tluin by the Turks. The latter reijarded themselves as niastei's of
the soil. .Alussulmans with well-filled <j;irdlcs were to be met every
wluMc, in the khans of the cities, in the caravanserais, and upon
the grand routes, even to the deKlcs of the Carp.athians. The
Wallachs were but little removed from slaves, and Kirjali found
thoiis:inds of opportunities to satisfy his vengeance ujmn their
cruel Turkish masters. For three years he enriched himself with
thrir plunder alone. INLiny a wealthy merchant, wlio had journeyed
iut(^ ]M«»ldavia t«) purehasi* its famous wax, and honey, and tassao^
never revisited his kindred; many a wife and daughter wept in
the Turkish harems in vain for a wished return. The name of
Kirjali became terrible on both banks of the Danube.

*.Vmong other exploits, he crossed over into J>u]gann, and as-
si^^ted by Mikalake alone, attacked a large village. Kirjali entered
matiy of the houses and set them on tire, cutting down without
Itily whosoever resisted, while his lieutenant was occupied in col-
lect iuLT an<l guarding the bootv. Thev retired without molestation.
Xor did Kirjali always spare the Christians. Thus with a band of
three hundrecl l*au(lonrs, he went from one principality to the
other, levying contributions ujjon villages, pillaging the mansions
of Wealth V IJnvards, and scatterhiij tire and carnasjc until 1821, when
Alexander Vpsilanti incited a general insurrection in Wallachia
and Moldavia. Inlluenced on the one hand by the het<irie^ that
va-t MN-(M-i:iti«Mi orgMiii/.e«l for the liberation t)f (ireece, and on the
t>llier 1)\ tin- ( loc^uent apjjcals of The«»dore Vla<limire8co to the
I)ac()-Konian<, he res(»lved from a hytluh to become a hero in the
<ause ol the ( ireeks — from a brigand to become an Albanian
princ. A<s"ml)lin'_r his companions, he addresses them in those
words :

1868.] Kirjcdi^ the Bandit of tJie Carpathians. 561

' ' Brothers ! for four years we have shared the same dangers
and the same joys. If you are satisfied with your brother, he is
satisfied with you. But the moment is come when I must leave
you, if you prefer not to follow me, for the hour of independence
has sounded for the Christians of Turkey. Ypsilanti is at Burlata ;
he is marching upon Foschana. Theodore Vladimiresco is at Cra-
jova, and will soon attack Bukarest. Choose for yourselves : you
are free. He who loves me will be with me.'

'At these words, Mikalak6 and three-fourths of the band ranged
themselves around their chief; the remainder placed themselves
behind Svedko.

' ' Adieu, comrade,' said Kirjali to the latter ; ' but let us always
be brothers.'

' The next morning beheld our new Scanderbeg on a Persian
carpet, smoking and sipping coffee, a la Turque^ in the tent of
Ypsilanti.

' ffirjali was to the last a faithful partisan of the Hetarists.

* But neither he, nor the chiefs under whom he fought, had a just
comprehension of the movement in which they were engaged.
Their forces were insufficient. Matenal resources were wanting,
while the Turks were well organized and prepared for the emerg-
ency. The neighboring powers also looked upon this premature up-
rising of the Hellenists and Hetarists with apathy and indifference.
Ypsilanti found himself unequal to the crisis. Having quickly be-
come master of the greater part of the country, and even of Bukarest,
he lost precious time in irresolution and vain parades, and when at
last forced to engage with the Turks in earnest, the flower of his army
perished, while the chief himself fled to Austria. Kirjali fought like
a lion at Dragaschan. Ten Osmanlis, they say, fell under his yata-
ghan. With Mikalake and a few others, he escaped the massacre
of the sacred battalion. The cause of the Hetarists was lost hi
Wallachia, and the insurrection completely suppressed.

' Tiie remnant of the revolutionists, who had escaped into Mol-
davia, seven hundred in all, made a last stand on the Pruth, oppo-
site the small Russian town of Skouliaiizy. Their leader, Canta-
cuzene, ran away as soon as the Turkish army of twelve thousand
men made its appearance. Kirjali, Contoguni, Safionos, and the
other brave men who composed this little army, had, however, no
need of a chief in order to do their duty. While the first kept
the enemy at bay by means of two small field-pieces, carried from
Jassy, Contoguni by a skilful manoeuvre attacked them in the rear.
Overwhelmed by numbers, the leader perished, and three hundred
of his brave followers with him. Kirjali and his band soon ex-
hausted their supply of shot, but loading with broken arms, sword-
points, and spear-heads, still kept up a fire upon the Turks.

' The latter were well supplied with artillery, but abstained
almost entirely from using it, for fear that their projectiles would
fly across the Pruth and implant themselves in Russian soil. A
few balls, however, did whistle near the ears of the Commandant
of Skoulianzy, when, greatly enraged, he addressed a violent ex-

of) J /\frj(/If\ the BiiHillt of the Carjmfhmnn, [December,

}K)^1ii!:iti(Hi to lli(j Turkish Paclia, who tiirnetl pale at this violation
of IJns>.i:in territory, ami was earel'ul not to coininit :i seooml ot-
lencc. Kiiiali's hand, liavins: tlre<l awav tlieir silver orii:iiiii*Mt^,
tliiir >«linrt (iMLTLCrrs, and even the few i)ieces of iiioiiev in thi-ir
])or>:'.ts wiMv foreed to t^ive Avay. Nothing remained to tlieni
Iml tiK'ir ])istols and yata^jlians.

'' ' I.'.'t liini s.ivc liiniscif who can,' cried Kirjali, wlien tlie sur-
vive !> j»hniLrr«l into tlm rivt'r, and twenty of them succeeded in
rcacliin'^ tlic npjjosite hank. There tliey rnihraeed each other like
l)r«ilii('rs, :ind Him I to the Uussian town of Kissenief. Kirjali and
Afikalakr were anionic the survivors.

' At'trr Ijis escape from tlie Turks on the Pruth, he lived fnr some
time ui"i}tjnUo at Kiss6nii*f. He and liis companions sjn-nt llieir
(lays in tlie cotffe-houses, smoking loniij i>i[H's and enlertainini^
each olluM* with lone:: stories of adventure. Thev wore their
old Albanian e(\<tume with girdles ^litteriuLT with justols and
yat!iLrlians, and tliough a|>]»arenlly ])Oor, hi>re themselves as
proudly jis in the days of their i)ro.>[)ei'ity. It came to he whispered
thai Kirjali wa^ amon<j: them.

'Til!' i^arty assembled one ovenini^ at a colTee-house, and wore
disputing with warmth about the flight of Vpsilanti ami tlie death
of N'ladimircM'O, when Kirjali rose, and bnnging his hanil to his
yatauhan, I'.Nclaimcd : ' Accurst-d he tlui assassin of Theodore
N'ladimircsoo I ' An hour after he was arrested bv a do/.en Cos-
^:icks, and <":nTii'd before the ii:ovi'rnor of the town, lie knew not
wliMl awnitcd him, but thinking that he had merited M'ell of Rus-
sia, su]»pos(Ml that the re])utation of his bravery had reached the
lars of the Kmpcror, and thtit he was now about to be presented
with a (h'coration or a sword of honor.'

' ' rt)rtunate man I ' \ interrujUed.

• • Wait a niomcnt I ' replied my com])anion.

• Kirjali was brought into the presence of the governor.

' * N'o'i arc abrig.uid I ' said the latter, sternly eyeing the prisoner.
The. chief was sinpclied, and for an instant lost all courage, but re-
co\ < ring himself, rei»licd ; •• 1 fought after the flight of Ypsilanti,
\vm\ emptied my pockets to pay the Turks in the battle on the

I I I U. 1 1 .

' • TIkmi you are l\irj.ili ?' continued tlie governor.

• * lliiu-clfl ' au'^wered the chief, '(ioo knows I am Kirjali.*

• * (liioiirJi I the I*a<:ha of Vassy claims you. According to the
■■)ii\<Miti(.ns between the Turks and ourselves, you must be given

up;

' h. irjiili threw hiinself at tlie feet of the governor. The lion-
hc.'Mlcl m.-n t rend>led, and wept like a woman. ' Mercy ! mercy!'
ci'i« d he. ' In Turkey it is true 1 was a brigand, but my hand fell
Mi:I\ iMioii th«' Tiiik^ Mild the IJovards. (rop is mv witness, that

• ' v ft 7

while 1 h.'ive Itceii :i ri-fuLTce in vour midst, 1 have harmed no one.
! 'j::i\'' iiiv la-<t iMece< of silver to charLTc our cannon in the affair
"! ilic Pi-iiih. Since then 1 have not had a ])ara. I, Kirjali, have
''i\e(l upon mIhisI \Vh:it have 1 done thnt Hus<ia should sell tnc to

MIV ( iieinies '1 '

1868.] Kirjali^ the Bandit of the Carpathians. 663

'In vain that he sought to touch the stony heart of the
Governor.

' ' You must explain with the Pacha,' said the latter, and an
order was immediately issued for the extradition of Kiijali to
Yassy. Loaded with chains, and thrown upon a kibitka^ he was
escorted to the frontier, and there handed over to the Turks.
Mikalake was near him.

' Brought before the Pacha, Kirjali expected nothing but death.
' Save my wife and child,' said he ; ' for myself, I have nothing to
ask.'

' He was condemned to be impaled, but it being then the fest of
the Ramazan, his execution was deferred a iew days. A guard of
seven Turks conducted him to prison, still loaded with chains, with
orders to watch him closely, even in his cell. All resistance was
impossible. A brave chief, Kirjali was also a strategist of con-
summate skill. He was humble — so mild and compliant that the
pride of his guardians was flattered. He understood their weak-
ness, and acted his part so skilfully that the very first day they
looked upon him with a degree of compassion unusual to their
ferocious natures. The second day they spoke with him, and the
exploits of the bandit inspired in them an involuntary respect.
The third day, with the naif curiosity peculiar to the Orientals,
they listened eagerly to the recital of his numerous adventures.
The fourth, an intimacy sprung up between them. The fifth, they
were his friends : and the sixth day, without intending it, they
were '

' ' His liberators ? ' I eagerly demanded.

' ' You shall see,' replied my companion.

' ' Seated in a circle round him, on the evening of the sixth day,
they listened as he spoke to them of his approaching death.* His
voice flattered, his eyes caressed them. He saw that they were
moved.

' ' The will of God be done ! ' said he. ' No one can escape his
destiny. My hour is near ; but before I die I would like to give
you some testimonial of my regard.'

'The Turks opened their eyes with attention.

' ' When about three years ago I was briganding with Mkalako
(may God give peace to his soul !) I buried my money here and
there : at Scaunu-hotilor, in Wallachia, in Moldavia '

' ' Where ? where in Moldavia ? ' eagerly demanded Asian, the .
chief of the Mussulman guard.

' ' At Vulcanu.'

' ' Far away ? '

' ' Among the mountains.'

' ' In which direction ? '

' ' At the foot of Cicliu.'

' ' Pekee I hen PeJcee ! ' (good ! very good !) rejoined the
Turks.

' 'But here,' continued Kirjali, 'near by, only a league from
Yassy, behind the monastery of Cetatue, in an open place, twenty

oO-\r KtrjaVi^ the Bnndit of the Carpathians, [Deceuibtr,

]Kicc's tVoiii :i rock which rcscmbk^s a m.istift'that has hiin down to

gu:ir<l the ]>istols of his master '

' ' Er-AlhtJil'* oxchiimcd the Turks.

* "There, twenty paces from that rock, we buried a jar full of
uoM <]ucMts. It is fated that I shall not enjoy them. Find them;
they are yours.'

•• At tlu*s(; words tlic Mussulmans could liardlv moderate their
exi)res>iinus of delight. Asian alone was susjiicious.
' * Is Kir jail a traitor or a brave man ? ' asked lie.
' • Hrave ! brave ! ' re^])onded his companions; •• bravo is Kirjali I '

* • If he should conduct us to the place *r" said Asian.

* • Why not ? ' replied the six others.

' ' Tlijit would compromise you,' iuterriij)tcd Kirjali; 'I liavc
uivi'u yuu the locality ; you can easily find the treasure.'

' • Wiiy compromise us? ' they all inquired. ' There is no dan-
;:er. The niij^ht favors ns. You shall be our guide ; and if you
.ire iiul a brave man — there are seven of us.'

' At mitl-niijht they took oif his chains, tied his liands firmly be-
liind ills ba('k, and ])]acin«^ him in their midst, lell the prison with-
(Mit being perceived.

' Now Kirjali leads them. He traverses the citv; descends bv
Tataras ; ])asses before the convent ot Formosa, ascends the woody
rsrarpnuMit of the monastery of Cetatue, and stops a moment to
t:ik(; hreath and orient himself, lie is in excellent spirits, overflow-
inix with that nujdest joy that accompanies a good action, and
speaks not, exet[)t to testify his pleasure at being useful to his
ef)in|ianions.

* 'Shall we s()t)n be there ? ' demands Asian.

' ' Soon," replies Kirjali, ' a himdred paces further and — if I do
not enter the paradise of the Christians, pray ]\[ohanmied to open
ll)r me his own.'

••'Kiuy advance: a slight rustling is heard, and a dark shadow
;_r]i<les jstealthily through the underwood. Kirjali, with the ear of
a rat and the eyes of a lynx, has seen, heard, and understood.
iJiil when A^lan, turning toward hhn, asks: 'Hast thou seen any
thing ? '

••Why then,' res])onds he — 'only a hare or a partridge
>iarihd by our ai)proach' — ami to turn away all suspicion, adds:
• To the right a little: let us leave the woods.'

' Advancing a few rods further among tlie scattered mounds, he
-topoi short by a rock rising about two feet above the ground, looks
around I'nr a nionuMit, and then says to his guardians: * Measure
twenty jiaets in this direction, and dig.'

* I'ive of thr Turks draw their yataglians and begin to remove
the earth with them, while the two others guard the prisoner
^eatcil «in the stone. Thev di'JC some time in silence, and, to work
^\ilh more ease, take off their tnr])ans, detach their girdles, and
lay tlicir pist<»ls on the ground. Kirjali watches them. ' Not yet?
Not \ et come to it ? ' cries he, after they have worked away fifteen

1858.] Kirjali^ the Bandit of the Carpathians, 665

minutes. 'Not yet. Allah help us! ' respond the Ottomans, the
perspiration dropping from their faces.

' ' Courage ; you will soon reach the gold,' and to the two
others he says playfully, in a low voice : ' Let them work ; they
will think all the more of me for it. But I am afraid they have not
selected the precise spot.'

' ' Comrades ! ' cries one of the guards, ' dig more to the right.
You will never find it ; let Kirjali assist you.'

' ' Let him assist us,' responds Asian, wiping the perspiration
from his brow.

' Kirjali is brought to the spot. Asian unbinds him, and plajces
a yataghan in his hand. The two guards also lay aside their pis-
tols, and all fall eagerly to work. Kirjali digs with all his might,
now and then ceasing for a moment to stimulate the-avidity of the
Mussulmans with a w^ord of encouragement. At his example the
latter take courage : the thirst of gold renews their strength : they
dig — dig with eager impatience.

' ' I have it ! ' at last cries Kirjali : * here it is! here it is ! '

' At these w^ords the Turks throw aside their yataghans and fall
to work with their hands in impatient haste to uncover the
treasure.

' Kirjali rises up with a groan of fatigue, and quicker than light-
ning plunges his yataghan into one of the prostrate Turks. Leav-
ing the steel in the wound, he snatches up two of the pistols,
shouts in a voice of thunder : ' Slaves ! here is my gold ! and buries
their contents in two of his guards.

' ' Kirjali ! ' speaks a voice near by.

' 'Mikalake! responds Kirjali — and the four remaining Turks
save themselves by flight.

' Masters of the field, Kirjali and Mikalake embrace each other
as brothers.

' ' My wife and my son ? ' asked Kirjali.

' ' They are saved, and in a secure retreat.'

' ' Ma^hallah I I have wept for them : God is merciful ! '

' Thus reunited, and having nothing to hope for from the Turks,
Kirjali and Mikalake continued for a long time their depredations
in tlie vicinity of Yassy. They even pushed their audacity so far
as to threaten to burn the city unless the Hospodar, Jian Stourd'a,
should remit the sum of fifty thousand piastres within a week.
The money was paid. But fortune ceased to favor Kirjali. Be-
trayed by one of his own men, and surprised while asleep, he sold
his life as dearly as possible in defending himself and Mikalake.'

'Generous and heroic man, he deserved a better life and a
better fate, yet doubtless esteemed it fortunate to die with his
arms in his hands rather than to be strangled or gibbeted.

'On the twentieth of September, 1824,' said Bibesco, 'two
bodies, covered with wounds, swung from the gallows of the
Meidan of Capo. They were those of Kirjali and Mikalake, but
the former was hung many hours after life had departed. You
have the story of Kirjali.'

560 Rich though Poor, [December,

KTCII THOUGH POOU.

No rood of land in all the earth,

No ships upon the sca^
Nor treasures rare, nor gems, nor gold,

Do any keep for me :
As yesterday I wrought for bread,

So must 1 toil to-day ;
Yet some are not so rich as T,

Nor I so poor as they.

On yonder tree the sun-light fiJls,

The robin 's on the bough,
Still I can hear a merrier note

Than he is warbling now :
He *s but an Arab of the skv,

And never lingers long ;
But that o'cmins the livelong year

With music and with song.

Come, gather round me, little ones,

And as I sit me down,
With shouts of laughter on me place

A mimic regal crown :
Say, chiltllcss King, would I accept

Your armies and domain,
Or e'en your crown, and never feel

Tliese tiny liands again ?

There \s more of honor in their touch

And blessing unto me,
Than kingdom unto kingdom joined.

Or navies on the sea :
So greater gifts to me are brought

Than Sheba's Queen did bring
To him, who at Jerusalem

Was "born to be a King.

Look at my crown and then at yours ;

Look in my heart and thine :
How do our jewels now compare —

The eartlily and divine ?
Hold up your diamonds to the light,

Emerald and amethyst ;
They tc nothing to those love-lit eyes.

These lips so often kissed !

Oh ! noblest Roman of them all,'
That mother good and wise,

Who pointed to her little ones,
The jewels of her eyes.

1868.] Ihe Set of Turqmi9€. 567

Four sparkle in my own to-day,

Two deck a sinless brow :
How grow my riches at the thought

Of those in glojy now I

And yet no rood of all the earth,

No ships upon the sea,
Nor treasures rare, nor gold, nor gems

Are safely kept lor me :
Yet I am rich — myself a KingI

And here is my domain :
Which only God shall take away

To give me back again )

THE SET OF TURQUOISE

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

DRAMATIS PEBSON^.

Count op Lara, A poor nobleman.
Beatrice, His wife.

A Page, for the occasion.

The scene is laid in the vicinity of Mantova.

fScene I. — Count of Latah's viUa near Mantova. A balcony over-
looking the garden. Moofi4ight. Lara and Beatrice.

LARA.

The third moon of our marriage, Beatrice f
It hangs i' the heaven, ripe and ready to drop,
Like a great golden orange —

BEATRICE.

Excellent !

Breathe not the priceless simile abroad.

Or all the poetlings in Mantova

Will cut the rind of 't I Like an orange ? yes,

But not so red, Count. Then it hath no stem.

And ripened out of nothing.

LABA.

Critical !

Make thou a neater posy for the moon.

VOL. LII. 37

568 The Set of Turquoise. {December,

BEATRICE.

Now, as 'tis hidden by those drifts of cloud.

With one thin edge just glimmering through the dark,

'T is like some strange, rich jewel ol the east,

I' the cleft side of a mountain.

LABA.

Not unlike !

BEATBICE.

And that reminds me — speaking of jewels — love,
There is a set of turquoise at Malan's,
Ear-drops and bracelets and a necklace — ah !
If they were mine !]

LABA.

And so they should be, dear,
Were I Aladdin, and had slaves o' the lamp
To fetch me ingots. Why, then, Beatrice,
All Persia's turquoise-quarries should be yours
Although your hand is heavy now with gems
That tear my lips when I would kiss its whiteness.
Oh ! so you pout ! Why make that ftill-blown rose
Into a bud again ?

BEATBICE.

You love me not.

LABA.

A coquette's song.

BEATBICE.

I sing it.

LABA.

A poor song.

BEATBICE.

You love me not, or love me over-much,
Which makes you jealous of the gems I wear !
You do not deck me as becomes our state,
For fear my grandeur should besiege the eyes
Of Monte, Clari, Marcus, and the rest —
A precious set I You 're jealous, Sir !

LABA.

Not I.
I love you.

BEATBICE.

Why, that is as easy said

As any three short words ; takes no more breath

To say, * I hate you.' What, Sir, have I lived

1868.] The 8et of Turquoise. 669

Three times four weeks your wedded loyal wife,
And do not know your follies I I will wager
^f I could trap my darling into this I) [Aside,

The sweetest lasses I know how to give
Against the turquoise, that within a month
You '11 grow so jealous — and without a cause,
Or with a reason thin as window-glass —
That you will ache to kill me !

LARA.

Will YOU so ?

And t^let us clasp hands and kiss on it.

BEATBICE.

Clasp hands, Sir Trustful ; but not kiss — nay, nay !
I will not pay my forfeit till I lose.

LABA.

And I '11 not lose the forfeit.

BEATBICE.

We shall see.

BEATBICE enters the house singing :

There was an old earl and he wed a young wife.

Heigh ho, the bonny.
And he was as jealous as Death is of Life,

Heigh ho, the nonny I

Kings saw her, and sighed ;

And wan lovers died.
But no one could win the bright honey
That lay on the lips of the bonny

Young bride.
Until Cupid, the rover, a-hearting would go.

Then — heigh ho I [Mcit.

LABA.

She hath as many fancies as the wind

Which now, like slumber, lies 'mong spicy isles,

The^j. suddenly blows white furrows in the sea !

Lovely and dangerous is my leopardess.

To-day, low-lying at my feet ; to-morrow.

With great eyes flashing, threatening doleful death —

With strokes like velvet I She 's no common clay.

But fire and dew and marble. I '11 not throw

So rare a wonder in the lap o' the world !

Jealous ! I am not jealous — though they say

Some sorts of love breed jealousy. And yet,

I would I had not wagered. It implies

Doubt. If I doubted? Pshaw! I '11 walk awhile

And let the cool air &n me. [Paces the balcony.

570 The Set of Turquoise. [December,

'T was not wise.
It '8 only Folly with its cap and bells
Can jest with sad things. She seemed earnest, too.
"What if, to pique me, she should over-step
The pale of modesty, and give sweet eyes
(I could not bear that, nay, not even that !)
To Marc or Claudian ? Why, such things have been
And no sin dreamed of. I will watch her close.
There, now, I wrong her. She is wild enough.
Playing the empress in her honeymoons :
But untamed falcons will not wear the hood
Nor sit on the wrist, at bidding. Yet if she,
To win the turquoise of me, if she should —
Oh ! cursed jewels ! would that they were hung
About the glistening neck of some mermaiden
A thousand fathoms underneath the sea !

Scen€ II— A garden : the villa secfi in the hack-ground, Lara
Mtretched an tJie grass with a copy of Boccaccio'* s ^Decameron''
in his hand. Sun-set,

LARA. [ Closing the book,

A book for sun-set — if for any time.

Kight spicy tongues and pleasant wit had they,

The merry Ladies of Boccaccio !

What tales thev told of love-hi-idleness,

(Love old as earth, and yet forever new !)

Of monks who worshipped Venus — not in vaui ;

Of unsuspecting husbands, and gay dames

Who held their vows but lightly — by my faith.

Too nmch of the latter ! 'T is a sweet, bad book.

I would not have my sister or my wife

Caught by its cunmng. In its golden words

Sin IS so draped with beauty, speaks so fair.

That nauGjht seems wrong but virtue ! Yet, for all,

It is a sprightly volume, and kills care.

I need such sweet physicians. I have grown

Sick in the mind — at swords' points with myself.

I am mine own worst enemy !

And wherefore? wherefore ? Beatrice is Sind,

Less fanciful, and loves me, I would swear.

Albeit she will not kiss me till the month

Which ends our foolish wager shall have passed.

An hundred years, and not a single kiss

To sweeten time with ! What a freakish dame !

A Page crosses the garden.

That page again ! 'T is twice within the week
That slender- waisted, pretty-ankled knave
Has crossed my garden at this self-same hour.

1858.] The Set of Turquoise. 571

Trolling a canzonetta with an air

As if he owned the villa. Why the fop !

He might have doffed his bonnet as he passed.

I '11 teach him better if he comes again.

What does he at the villa ? Oh ! perchance

He comes in the evening when his master 's out,

To lisp soft romance in the ready ear

Of Beatrice's dressing-maid ; but then

She Iiaa one lover. Now I think she 's two :

This gaudy popinjay would make the thu-d,

And that 's too many for an honest girl !

If he 's not Florian's, he 's Jacinta's, then !

I '11 ask the Countess — no, I '11 not do that ;

She 'd laugh at me, and vow by the Madonna

This varlet was some noble in disguise,

Seeking Jier favor. Then I 'd crack his skull —

That is, I would, were I a jealous man :

But then I 'm not. So he may come and go

To Florian — or the devil ! I '11 not care.

I would not build around my lemon-trees.

Though every lemon were a sphere of gold,

A lattice-fence, for fear'the very birds

Should sing. You ^re jealous^ you arejealous^ Sir I

Scene IIL — A wooded road near the villa. The garden-gate seen
on the left. Lara leaning against a tree. Evening,

LABA.

Sorrow itself is not so hard to bear

As the thought of sorrow coming. Airy ghosts.

That work no harm, do terrify no more

Than men in steel with bloody purposes.

Death is not dreadful ; 't is the dread of death —

W^ die whene'er we think of it ! [Pa?we^.

I '11 not
Be cozened longer. When the page comes out
I '11 stop him, question him, and know the truth.
I cannot sit in the garden of a night
But he glides by me in his jaunty dress,
Like a mntastic phantom ! — never looks
To the right nor left, but passes gayly on.
As if I were a statue. . . . Soft, he comes.
I '11 make him speak, or kill him ; then, forsooth,
It were unreasonable to ask it. Soh I
I '11 speak him gently at the first, and then

The Page enters by a gate in the villa-garden^ and walks care-
lessly past the Count,

Ho ! pretty page, who owns you ?

572 The Set of Turquoise. [December,

PAGB.

No one now.

I was the Signor Joan's, but am no more.

What, then, you stole from him ?

PAGE.

Oh I no. Sir, no.

He had so many intrigues on his hands,
Tliere was no sleep for me nor night nor day.
Such carrying of love-favors and pink notes I
He 's gone abroad now, to break other hearts,
And so I Icfl him.

LABA. {Aside.
A frank knave.

PAGE.

To-night

I 've done his latest bidding —

LABA.

As you should —

PAGE.

A duty wed with pleasure — *t was to take
A message to a countess all forlorn.
In yonder villa.

LABA. [Aside.

Why, the devil ! that 's mine !

A message to a Countess all forlorn ?

[To the JPage. In yonder villa ?

PAGE.

Ay, Sir. You can see

The portico among the mulberries,

Just to the left, there. •

LABA.

Ay, I see, I see.

A pretty villa. And the lady's name ?

PAGE.

Ah ! that 's a secret which I cannot tell.

LABA. [Catching him hy the thro(U.
No ? but you shall, though, or I '11 strangle you I
In my strong hands your slender neck woola snap
Like a brittle pipe-stem.

PAGE.

You are choking me !

Oh ! loose your grasp. Sir !

1868.] Ifie Set of Turquoise. 573

LABA«

Then the name ! the name I

PAGE.

Countess of Lara.

LABA. ,

Not her dressing-maid ?

PA6S.

Nay, nay, I said the mistress, not the maid.

LARA.

And then you lied. Oh I woiul, woful Time ! —
Tell me you lie, and I will make you rich,
I '11 stuff your cap with ducats twice a year !

FAGS. {^SmUing.
Well, then — I lie.

LARA.

Ay, now you lie, indeed I

I see it in the cunning of your eyes ;

Night cannot hide the Satan leering there.

Only a little lingering fear of heaven

Holds me from dirking you between the ribs !

Wo ! wo I [HMes his face in his hands.

PAGB. [Aside.
I would I were well out of this.

LABA. [Abstractedly.
Such thin divinity ! So foul, so fair !

PAGE.

What would you have ! I will say nothing, then.

LARA.

Say every thing, and end it I Here is gold.
Yqu brought a billet to the Countess — well ?
What said the billet?

PAGE.

Take away your hand,

And, by St. Mary, I will say it all.

There, now, I breathe. You will not harm me. Sir ?

Stand six yards off^ or I will not a word.

It seems the Countess promised Signor Juan

A set of turquoise

LABA. [Starting.

Turquoise ? Ha I that 's well

PAGE.

Just so — wherewith my master was to pay
Some gaHiing debts ; but yester-night the cards

574 The Set of Turquoise. [December,

Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet ;
And ere he sailed, this morning, Signer Juan
Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note.
For Countess Lara, which, with some adieux^
Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night ;
Her prayers while gone, her smiles when ho returned ;
Then told his sudden fortune with the cards^
And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

LABA.

All ? Is that all ? 'T has only cracked my heart !

A heart, I know, of little, little worth —

An ill-cut ruby, scarred and scratched beforey

But now quite broken ! I have no heart, then.

Men should not have, when they are wronged like this !

Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news !

0 sip thy wine complacently to-night»
Lie with thy mistress in a pleasant sleep.

For thou hast done thy master (that 's the Devil t)

This day a goodly service : thou hast sown

The seeds of lightning that shall scathe and kill ! [JEteit.

PAGB. [Looki7ig after'hhn.J

1 did not think *t would work on him like that.
How pale he grew ! Alack ! I fear some ill
Will come of this. I '11 to the Countess quick.
And warn her of liis madness. Faith, he foamed
I' the mouth like Guide whom they hung last week

(God rest him 1) in the jail at Mantova,

For killing poor Battista. Crime for crime 1 [JEltit.

Scene IV. — Beatrice'' 3 cJiamher. A Venetian screen o7i the right.
As tJie scene opens, Jacinta places lamps on a standish^ and Re-
tires to tJie bcLck of the stage. Beatrice sits on a fauteuil in the
attitude of listening.

BEATRICE.

Hist ! that 's his step. Jacinta, place the li^ts
Farther away from me, and get thee gone. \jSxit Jactsta.
And Florian, child, keep you behind the screen.
Breathing no louder than a lily does ;
For if you stir or laugh 't will ruin all.

FLORIAN. [Behind the screeiK
Laugh ! I am faint with terror.

BEATRICE.

Then be still.

Move not for worlds until I touch the bell,
Then do the thing I told you. Hush ! his step
Sounds in the corridor, and I 'm asleep L

1868.] The Set of Turquoise. 5t«

Ijara enters with his dress in disorder, JBe approaches vnthin a
few yards of Beatrice^ pauses^ and looks at her.

LABA.

Asleep ! — and Guilt can slumber I Guilt can lie

Down-lidded and soft-breathed, like Innocence !

Hath dreams as sweet as childhood's — who can tell ? —

And paradisal prophecies in sleep,

Its foul heart keeping measure, as it were,

To the silver music of a mandoline !

Were I an artist, and did wish to paint

A devil to perfection, I 'd not limn

A horned monster, with a leprous skin,

Red-hot from Pandemonium — not I.

But with my delicatest tints, I 'd paint

A Woman in the splendor of her youth,

All garmented with loveliness and mystery !

She should be sleeping in a room like this.

With Angelos and Titians on the walls.

The grand old masters staring grandly down.

Draped round with folds of damask ; in the alcoves.

Statues of Bacchus and Endymion,

And Venus's blind love-child : a globed lamp

Gilding the heavy darkness, while the odors

Of myriad hyacinths should seem to break

Upon her ivory bosom as she slept :

And by her side, (as I by Beatrice,)

Her injured lord should stand and look at her ! [Pauses,

How fair she is ! Her beauty glides between

Me and my purpose, like a pleading angel.

Beauty — alack ! 't is that which wrecks us all ;

'T is that we live for, die for, and are damned.

A pretty ankle and a laughing lip —

They cost us Eden when the world was new,

They cheat us out of heaven every day !

To-night they win another Soul for you.

Master of Darkness ! . . . . [Beatrice sighs.

Her dream 's broke, like a bubble, in a sigh.

She '11 waken soon, and that — that must not be !

I could not kill her if she looked at me.

I loved her, loved her, by the Saints, I did —

I trust she prayed before she fell asleep !

[ Unsheathe a dagger,

BEATRICE. [Springing up.

So, you are come — your dagger in your hand ?
Your lips compressed and blanched, and your hair
Tumbled wildly all about your eyes,
Like a river-god's ? Oh ! love, you frighten me !
And you are trembling. Tell me what this means !

576 77e€ Set of Turquoise. [December,

LABA.

Oh ! nothing, nothing : I did think to write
A note to Juan, to Signor Juan, my friend,

iYowv cousin and mv honorable friend ;)
\\xt finding neither ink nor paper here,
Methought to scratch it with my dagger's point
Upon your bosom, Madam I Tliat is all.

BEATRICE.

You 've lost your senses I

LARA.

Madam, no : I 've found 'em I

BEATRICE.

Then lose them quickly, and be what you were.

LARA.

I was a fool, a dupe — a happy dupe.
You should have kept me in my ignorance ;
For wisdom makes us wretchea, king and clown.
Countess of Lara, you are false to me !

BEATRICE.

Xow, by the Saints

LARA.

Now, by the Saints, you are I

BEATRICE.

Upon my honor

LARA.

On your honor ? fye I

Swear by the ocean's feathery froth, for that

Is not so light a substance.

BEATRICE.

Hear me, love !

LARA.

Lie to that marble lo ! I am sick
To the heart with lying.

BEATRICE.

You 've the ear-ache. Sir,
Got with too much believing.

LARA. •

Beatrice,

I came to kill you.

BEATRICE.

Kiss me. Count, you mean !

LARA. [Approaching her»

If killing you bo kissing you, why, yes !

1858.] The Set of Turquoise, 577

BBATRIGE.

Ho ! come not near me with such threatening looks,
Or I '11 call Florian and Jacinta, Sir,
And rouse the villa : 't were a pretty play
To act before our servants !

LARA.

Call your maids !

I '11 kill them, too, and claim from Royalty

A golden medal and a new escutcheon.

For slaying three she-dragons — but you first !

BEATRICE.

Stand back there, if you love me, or have loved I

As Lara advances^ Beatrice retreats to the table and rings a smaU
hand-beR. Florian^ in the dress of a page^ enters from behind
the screen^ and steps between them,

PAGE.

What would my master. Signer Juan, say —

LARA. [Starting back.

The Page ? now, curse him ! — What ? no I Florian ?

Hold ! 't was at twilight, in the villa-garden,

At dusk, too, on the road to Mantova ;

But here the light falls on you, man or maid !

Stop now ; my brain 's bewildered. Stand you there,

And let me touch you with incredulous hands !

Wait till I come, nor vanish like a ghost !

If this be Juan's page, why, where is Florian ?

If this be Florian, where 's by all the Saints,

I have been tricked !

FLORLAN. [Laughing.

By two Saints, with your leave !

LARA.

The happiest fool in Italy, for my age !

And all the damning tales you fed me with.

You Sprite of Twilight, Imp of the old Moon I

FLORIAN. [JBowing.

Were arrant lies as ever woman told ;

And though not mine, I claim the price for them —

This cap stuffed full of ducats twice a year I

LARA.

A trap ! a trap that only caught a fool !

So thin a plot, I might have seen through it.

I 've lost my reason I

578 The Set of Turquoise. [December,

FLORIAN.

And your ducats !

BEATRICE.

And
A certain set of turquoise at Malan's ! [amis

LARA. [Catching Beatrice in his

I care not, love, so that I have not lost
The love I held so jealously. And you —
You do forgive me ? Say it with your eyes.
Right sweetly said ! Now, mark me, Beatrice :
If ever man or woman, ghoul or fairy.
Breathes aught against your chastity — although
The very angels from the clouds drop down
To sign the charge of perfidy — I swear.
Upon my honor

BEATRICE.

Nay, be careful there !

Swoar by the ocean's feathery froth

LARA.

I swear.

By heaven and all the Seraphim \mouth

BEATRICE. [Placing her hand ofi his
I pray you !

LARA.

I swear — if ever I catch Florian

In pointed doublet and silk hose again,

I'll

BEATRICE.

What ?

LARA.

Make love to her, by all that 's true I

BEATRICE.

0 wisdom, wisdom ! just two hours too late !
You should have thought of that before, my love.

LARA.

It 's not too late !

BEATRICE. [To JPloria?i.]

To bed, you dangerous page !

The Count shall pay the ducats. [JExit Florian.

LARA.

And to-morrow

1 '11 clasp a manacle of blue and gold

On those white wrists. Now, Beatrice, come here,
And let me kiss both eyes for you !

1868.] Debia of TotOe Dabchick. 679

DEBUT OF TOTTLE DABCHICK.

CBAPTBB riRST.

THE CANDLE MAKER'S MONEY-BAGS.

'Every circle has its lion, every club its oracle, and every
family its phenomenon. There are people bom into this common-
place world of ours, so much superior to it, that we perforce con-
clude that the controlling fates — or whatever you please to style
them -^— in the hurry and confusion of business, must have gone
astray in their equilateral distribution of intelligences, and favored
us with an occasional sample of some more highly gifted sphere in
the scale of progress.'

As Cyprus Gall, Esq., submitted this thesis to me, he raised his
eyes from the aiticlc in the paper, which had given rise to it, as if
to see if I indorsed the remark. I felt bound to say something,
so deferentially suggested that the mistake might be merely one
of time ; that possibly, a hundred or five hundred years hence,
such phenomena would be as common-place as they are now
wonderful. We are a progressive people, a

' A progressive fiddle-stick,' was his muttered reply.

Well, perhaps he was right : let him have it so, and I quietly
resumed ray segar, and the perusal of the last ' Knicksbbocker.'

After a pause, he opened up .again :

' You remember little Dabchick, do n't you ? '

' Can't say I do remember Dabchick. Who was Dabchick ? '

' Not know Dabchick ? ' and the look of pity that he wafted
across the table to me, made me almost turn red at my culpable
ignorance.

' My dear fellow, you are miserably behind the age. But that
comes of neglecting your neivspaper. Not know Dabchick ? who
has come to tingle the cars of all America with his celebrated
' Tittle-tattle of Cosmopolita : ' where have been your eyes, your
ears ? Is it not on every wall, in every paper, in every one's
mouth ? ' Tittle-tattle,' and ' Tottle Dabchick ! ' '

I could only shake my head, and sigh at my misfortune.

' Well, you shall be enlightened to-night ; for we shall go and
hear him. In the mean time, as I happen to know some of his ante-
cedents, I will recount them to you. So lay down your monthly,
and listen.'

' Willingly, friend Cyprus ! '

' The early career of the Dabchick family is, comparatively speak-
ing, unknown. By a few, however, their history can be traced
back twenty years or so. At that time, Dabchick the elder was
known among lus friends and the business community, as a candle-
maker of no mean pretensions — keen, close, and grubbing. Had
the interestinnr scion taken after the sire in these commendable

574 The Set of Turquoise. [December,

Tumbled a golden mountain at his feet ;
And ere he sailed, this morning, Signor Juan
Gave me a perfumed, amber-tinted note,
For Countess Lara, which, with some adienx^
Craved her remembrance morning, noon, and night ;
Her prayers while gone, her smiles when he returned ;
Then told his sudden fortune with the cards^
And bade her keep the jewels. That is all.

LABA.

All ? Is that all ? 'T has only cracked my heart !

A heart, I know, of little, little worth —

An Ul-cut ruby, scarred and scratched before^

But now quite broken ! I have no heart, then.

Men should not have, when they are wronged like this !

Out of my sight, thou demon of bad news I

0 sip thy wine complacently to-night^
Lie Avith thy mistress in a pleasant sleep.

For thou hast done thy master (that 's the Devil !)

This day a goodly service : thou hast sown

The seeds of lightning that shall scathe and kill \ [Emt

PAGK. [Looking cj/ter'Awi.J

1 did not think 't would work on him like that.
How pale he grew ! Alack ! I fear some ill
Will come of this. I '11 to the Countess quick,
And warn her of liis madness. Faith, he foamed

I' the mouth like Guide whom they hung last week
(God rest him !) in the jail at Mantova,
For killing poor Battista. Crime for crime L [Eidt.

ikene IV, — Beatnce'a chamber. A Venetian screen on the ri^.
As the scene opens, Jacintu places lamps on a standish^ anajf
tires to the hack of tJie stage. Beatrice sits^ an a fauteuU in the
attitude of listeJiiug,

BEATRICE.

Hist ! that 's his step. Jacinta, place the lis^ts
Farther away from me, and get thee eone. \Meii jACmA.
And Florian, child, keep you behind the screeo,
Breathing no louder than a lily does ;
For if you stir or laugh 't will ruin aU.

FLORIAN. [Behind the aereen^
Laugh ! I am faint with terror.

BEATRICE.

Then be still.

Move not for worlds until I touch the hell.
Then do the thing I told you. Hush ! his step
Sounds in the corridor, and I 'm asleep 1

1868.] Debut of Tattle Dahchick. 681

CHAPTEB SECOND.

THE GREAT EXTINGUISHER TRICK.

' We are in London.

' Ah ! after all is said and done, London is the place, Sir, and no
mistake. Paris is pie-crust, very nice, very tempting, and all that
kind of thing ; but like the crater of Vesuvius, it is hollow :
nothing in it, positively nothing. New -York is ditto, ditto; in
fact, abominabljr ditto ; a base and inartistic counterfeit of the
original ; an aristocracy of parvenu soap-boilers and pill-venders
aping French airs, French dresses, and, worse than all, French
morals. If you want to see the genuine, the unadulterated Simon-
pure, go to London. Instead of pie-crust, you have good, solid,
substantial plum-pudding ; instead of an aristocracy of shop-keepers,
you have an aristocracy of live lords and ladies ; an aristocracy
with patrician blood in its veins ; an anstocracy that the bone and
sinew of the land cheerfully sweat and toil and die for! An
aristocracy •

I may remark parenthetically, that Cyprus Gall, Esq., belongs
to that happy little isle, and that it is sometimes hard to determine
whether he is speaking in earaest or in irony.

' Whoever has been in London, knows where Holbome is.
' Little Turnstile ' turns out of Holborne ; at least, it did at the
time I speak of; possibly, since it has gone the way of ' St. Giles : '
I do not know. It was a queer-looking place then ; and any one
hardy enough to pass through it once, retained a delightful sou-
venir of the visit, m the smell of mould and furniture-polish that
clung to him for weeks after.

' Unaccountable people, living in unaccountable places, and fol-
lowing unaccountable avocations, have ceased to be a nine days'
wonder in London. Tittlebat Titmouses with 'twelve bob' a
week, and ' find themselves,' are as numerous there as pot-boys,
(whether as useful, I cannot say,) and may be seen emerging at all
hours from bare-walled, one-chaired attic-rooms, in all the glory
and effulgence of irreproachable toilets, straw-colored kids, and
little ivory-topped walking-canes, to show themselves in Hyde-
Park, or St. James', as the case may be ; or, if at night, half-price
to the Princesses', or the Casino. And thus they lead a merry go-
roimd in a small way. What we see of them is the painted butter-
fly, and looks very nice ; what we do nH see of them is the incult
grub — ' and thereby hangs a tale ! '

' It was to this complexion that Tottle Dabchick had come at last.
Here, in his tiny garret, sighed this once happy son of a candle-
maker : the whilom lion of Saratoga, Newport, and the Avenues,
and now the Tittlebat Titmouse of Little Turnstile.

' I am disposed to think, however, that in course of time he
would have taken kindly to this change, and philosophically pursued
the tenor of his way without a murmur ; but like many an other
poor devil, Mr. Dabchick was afflicted with a landlady — a land-

582 Dehut of TotUe Dabchick. [December,

lady mercenary enough to break in, from time to time, upon his
harmless solitude, by reminding him of ' that 'ere little bill vich
Yos n't paid, and vich vould be sich a hobligation.' Now all this
was very provoking, to be sure, especially to a man who had once
possessed gold-pieces by the bag-fuU ; but then, how was it to be
iielped ? Mrs. tickells, on the main, was a very decent kind of a
woman, and not a bad landlady, albeit she did have a latent han-
kering after ^ gin and pep'mint,' and a vulgar habit of asking for
her rent when it became due ; but then, that 's a failing of all
English landladies, and, to my mind, shows something rotten at
the core across the water. However, as an offset against these
weaknesses, she professed herself an admirer of the Americans as
H nation, and of Mr. Dabchick as an individual ; which that gen-
tleman appreciated by paying her regularly, when he had the
money, and buying her over with soft speeches and bland promises,
when he had not. Summing it all up, nowever, he could not shut
his eyes to the flict, that he was most in favor when least in debt,
and that Mrs. Pickells' estimate of Brother Jonathan hung upon
such an uncertain tenure, as the state of her little boarder's ex-
chequer.

' In the same house, and, in fact, in the next room to the one
occupied by Dabchick, lived another unaccountable being, whose
name was Percy Wheezin.

^ All that was known of him was, that he was a tall, sallow,
asthmatic-looking young man, with an immensely black moustache,
and a cough which reverberated throughout the buUding from
mid-night — at which hour he generally came home — till six the
following evening — when he generally went out again.

* Sitting meditatively in his room one evening, our hero received
i\ visit from this latter worthy. The only chair the apartment
could boast of was handed to him. He looked pale and suffering,
and to the inquiry after his health, complained that he was worse
that evening ; so much so, that he feared he would not be able to
go out.

' ' I 've come to ax ye to do a favor for me, if so be you 'd be
so kind.'

' Mr. Dabchick professed his readiness to oblige him.

' ' You see, Sir, I 'm Professor Lumbrough's * right 'and man.' '

* Mr. Dabchick was not much enlightened. Wheezin, observing
this, explained :

' ' Professor Lumbrough is the man as gives the hentertainment
ill the Monographic Hall, called ' Shreds an' Patches,' and very
good it is too, I can tell you. I does the ' dolcy ' for him be'ind.
J9'ye twigf"*

' Mr. Dabchick could not exactly say that he did twig^ but ex-
pressed himself as not being above undergoing that interesting
operation, whatever it was.

' ' The ' Shreds an' Patches,' you see, is a hexhibition uv the
comic, an' the name on 't is taken from Shakespur: you oughter see
it, you should : all done by the Professor hisself, 'xcept wot I does

1868.] Debut of Tattle Dabchick. 588

behind, vich is just the same as the man wot blows the bellowses
to the horgan in the church, and nothin' but. There is lots o'
changes : lots o' singin an' lots o' spoutin', all on vich is meant to
be himitations o' well known kerecters. Veil, you see, my duties
is to be be'ind, to have things in readiness an' ship-shape like, so
that ven the Professor goes on again in another kerecter, the hau-
dience hopen their heyes an' vonder 'ow it 's all done : d* ye twig f '

' Mr. Dabchick was opening his eyes, too. The twigging pro-
cess was working.

' ' But you see, my cough is so plaguey bad to-night, that I
could n't keep it down : I 'm sure I could n't : an' fur me to go a-
kicking up 'Arry, ven it an't in the programy, vould spile all, sar-
tain. 'Ows'ever, if so be you 'tf jist step roun' an' tell the giiv'ner,
I 'd take it very kind, indeed I would.'

' The ' Professor,' by way of contrast to his ' right -'and-m an,' was
rather diminutive in stature, with a profusion of rings, chains, and
pins, distribute'd so carelessly over his person, as to give one the
idea that he slept in them. Well ! perhaps he did ; I have known
Professors to sleep in their boots — an ordeal quite as trying and
antagonistic to sound repose. The 'Professor' was a man that
had made a hit — a hit unexampled since the days of Charles
Mathews — and any trifling ppculiarity of dress, or even morals,
was looked upon by the indulgent public as a mere eccentricity of
an otherwise great mind.

' The culogium passed upon him by Wheezin had impressed Dab-
chick to such an extent, that he approached his presence with
considerable trepidation ; nor was he restored to perfect equanimity
until he had heard him swear in the most common-place English,
first at Bill, the carpenter, for having nailed up a wing too tight,
and then at Dick, the errand-boy, for not having swept out his
dressing-room and dusted the piano.

' The result of the interview was an arrangement that Dabchick
should be the right -'and-man, vice Wheezy indisposed, and he
there and then went through the interesting form of being intro-
duced to the mysteiies of his new vocation.

' And now he made another startling discovery, which was, that
he himself was possessed of talents of a high order, a la Lum-
brougli. Night after night, as he became more famihar with the
mysteries of the Professor's art, did he become more and more
confirmed in this idea. A change was rapidly coming over the
spirit of his dreams, and visions of a golden harvest awaiting him
in his own bright land, became a fixed and tangible reality m his
mind.

' Every one who takes an interest in what the newspapers call
the world of amusement, has heard of the renowned Monsieur
Bobong, and of his great 'extinguisher trick.' This trick con-
sists in placing an individual, selected for the purpose, upon a
table, covering him over with a large extinguisher, made of
wicker and canvas, and by the potency of certain cabalistic words
an(l signs making him disappear ere the extinguisher is again

VOL. LII. 38

5>=54 Dihftt of Tottle Dahrhicl: [Dccemlier.

raisv'l. Professor Liimbroujxli (ever on the qui vlve for jMijmlar
'•vcnl-^) iiilr<i(liu'ii(l tliis trick in liis entertainment, ami liy lii>
1:i1«:i1(m1 imitation of the M«>nsienr and his modus opunituVi^ fairly
;uc''{'(mUm1 ill dividinjT tlie po}mlar excitement with liim. Dah-
cliiik's sliin and diminutiv(^ lii^nre, admirably fitted Jiim to disaj»-
|»o:'.r (iirouij;]i tin; trap on tlic table at the word of command, and
h<' \v.':'. forthwith installed in tlie ])rond position. Justly consc'iou>
of tlio important part lie ]M:)re in this wonderful performance. In-
spirit naturally revolted at a paltry two-shillings a nijiht, when the
.•oIiVi'.: of the manairement Avere ovei*flowing with gains; so, out
ni'^lil, while under the infiuence of .sundry potations of trenerou>
*.i.li'au'-alf, h(^ resolvcil, by a brilliant cottjuh (jrwe^ to tell the IV*-
ir- »r a piece of his mind. Tlie trick proceeded; tlio conveii-
li'Mi:il Ihtinniiij had been nltere<l; the magic word ^>/v.'.v/<> still riniir
iuth'-air; t!ie Avand of the eiu:hanter was raised aluft ; the ex-
'inuiiiher triumphantly removed, and — liow shall we tell it?
l):b'hick — who should haA'e been unn est — discovered siltiiiir
ero ;-l"nf;\'tl ()ver the tra}), looking deliant and forlorn.

• • Tell \'e Avot 't is, ole iTa, (hie) it — it kent be did fo-(hic) o-or-
ee-]!ionr'y. nohow (hie.)'

• litnboMened by tlie completely dumfoundered appearance ot*
llie I*ruless(U*, and the u])roarious laughter of the audience, be
pT'oe«'ed(Ml :

• • J.;i*ies an geu'lum, look yer (hie) Purfesh-r L-1-l-umbra (hicV

• Hut he Avas not allowed to saA' more ; the extinguisher Avas airam
Upon him, and the curtain let down amidst the huzzas and encores
y)i' the convulsed audit orA'.

'That Avas the last a[)pearance of Tottle Dabchiek in England.
lb' seems, howt^ver, to have perfected himself in the art of the
' Knight of the Woolly Horse.' So come along; if for nothing
( Ise, to see a ph.'l^e of human nature Avortli the study — and the
fiflv ceiit<.''

C II A P T R R T II I II O .

• .. .: 1 A !■ :• ■ ■■. I. !•• ." .) .■ 11 u V iJl.: 3" A.

'm) to ' Dibblers' did we Avend our Avav.

Ml.aven helj) us,' ipiotli Cy})rn.s as ho drew our attention to
I walls, covered Avith mannnoth jiosters refulgent with bhie and
el. .and setting forlh the glories of 'Tittle Tattle' and Tottle
I) '^chiek in Irilcrs a foot, deep; " Avhat a luxury it is to be a great
:ri'i, and to liavi' «.ne's nanu? set forth in all the blazonry of
lU'^'Kru art, from Dan to Hathsheba. Here is a man you see,
'.in iks to ill", aid (,f printer's ink, matU^ immortal in a week.
!)■".! I )tle<.s Ills n.-niH"' Avill live in song and storv; and haml-in-hand
'.\iili that ui' ::ii Orrini (.r a De J{ivi«''re go doAvn to posterity.
' Vy'jio would fn-.hU b' ar, to ^weat and Ljrunt under a weary life.'
'.^ le'u hv a de«-l jil,;' iliiv; the 'iJfn,iiitK/n, is achieved, and the name
• »l' Dabchiek i:i.;eril;'.| njion the S(a-<.>11 of fame. Prate no more
about yuur AUaniie Cables jmd your Cyrus \V\ Fields; you jec

1858.] Debut of Tottle Dahchick, 585

they are already obsolete ; the enthusiasm of September the First
has swallowed tiiem up in one convulsive spasm, and now —

' Dark night surrounds them with her hollow shade.'

And such is life.'

Our fiiend then edified us with the following story, which,
though we failed to perceive the point of it, we herewith retail :

' Some years ago, when — as in our own day — Shakspeare and
the legitimate drama failed to fill the benches of ' old Drury,' the
manager,' in despair, announced for his benefit, that he would, be-
fore the eyes of all the audience, and by the simple agency of a
sharp knife, manufacture a pair of good and substantial shoes in
five minutes. This announcement did — what Shakspeare never
had done — fill the house to overflowing ; and it was not until the
wily manager came forth upon the stage and expertly cut the legs
from off a pair of boots he held in his hand, and held up the dis-
membered understandings, that they realized the fact that they had
been ' sold.' As it was in those days, so it is now — age of progress
notwithstanding.'

' Dibblers ' is quite a fashionable place, and was filled on the even-
ing in question with what Cyprus called the DiUetanti of New-
York. To our unsophisticated gaze, they looked more like very
elaborately got-up men and women, the former very stiff and very
formal, the latter altogether too inexpressibly expansive for our
weak minds to dwell upon with safety. We took the liberty of
voting it a very brilliant affair — the assemblage I mean — but
Cyprus, with his merciless dissecting-knife, was busy — in my
ears — tearing it to pieces ; showing up the true character of Mr.
and Mrs. Solomon Namby, the peccadilloes of Mrs. Robinson
Pamby, and the extravagances of Mrs. and Mr. Fitz Fardingale,
who had just returned from their trip to ' Paree,' and who were
considered aristocracy of the first water. This was all Syriac to
my untutored mind, and I felt very glad when we heard whispers
of ' There, he 's coming,' followed by a muflled display of clapping
of hands ; and turning round, we beheld a very little gentleman,
with a very large mustache, and very white teeth, bobbing his
head, and laying his hand upon his waistcoat most assiduously,
and seeming to say to himself: ' Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you
arc quite right, I am the man I Clap away ! clap away ! ' Then
there w as silence, and a pause, during which the little man with
the veiy large mustache pulled out a spotless white handkerchief
and applied it to liis nose, but it did n't want blowing, or else he
did n't care to do it ; so put it in his pocket again — we mean the
handkerchief, of course — then smiled, showed his teeth again,
coughed on purpose, and said : ' Ladies and gentlemen '

And now for it ; so we prepared ourselves to listen.

' Oh ! my ! what a handsome-looking little fellow ; I 'm sure he
must be very clever,' whispered a piece of feminine DiUetanti in
striped silk, who sat before us, to a piece of ditto in a provision of
lace and exotics, who sat beside her.

686 Debut of Tattle Dahchick, [Decemberi

' Hush, dear ! be 's going to speak. La I what a fine voice he
has.'

' Bravo ! Dabchick,' muttered Cyprus Gall ; * no fear of him
breaking down for want of cheek.'

* Why does he keep lifting his feet up and down in that nervous
manner ? Is he giving a pedal illustration of his travels through
Cosmopolita ? ' I innocently inquired.

' No, you goose ! he 's got tight boots on, do n't you see ? Poor
Dabchick.'

Poor Dabchick, as my friend called him, was doing very well,
I thought — rattling w4tli electrical volubility over the four quar-
ters of the globe, and enlivening the whole with snatches of song
and recitation. ' What a merry world lie must have made it, and
liow very thankful it ought to be,' muttered Cyprus Gall : at one
time he was making the fortune of Madame Biscnopani by chaper-
oni?i(/ her over the wilds of Australasia, for the special behoof of
expatriated miners, and the delectation of all and sundry ; at
another time he was ' blowing' — ' Tliat he is all the time,' insinuated
Cyprus Gall — rebellious Sepoys from the mouths of red-hot can-
nons, and making timely suggestions to Havelock and Sir Colin
Campbell. Now we find him humanely pulling off his coat to nm
messages for Florence Nightingale and Ale^s Soyer, and leading
in person the charge of the six hundred at Balaklava — *He did it
cheap,' heartlessly suggested Cyprus Gall ; and immediately after
we find him huntmg tlirough the purlieus of London for the 'shirt'
that his ' friend ' Tom Hood sung about — one of the * stitches ' of
which he showed to the Dilettafiti amid immense applause, and
the ' la's and ' mercy me's of the two immediately berore ns. He
makes the ascent of Mont Blanc with Albert Smith and Madame
[da Pfeifer ; lays traps for unsuspecting Hippopotami with Dr.
Livingstone ; hunts the wild chamois with his Mend Bayard
Taylor ; and assists Thomas Carlyle in digging up relics on the
battle-fields of Frederick the Great ; anon we find him taking tea
with Jenny Lind, and dancing a minuet with the Hon. Mrs. Norton;
and, to wind up all, holding conversaziones with the UiU of the
land, fi*om LongfelloAV the poet down to the mythical ft«?fti^n of
the redoubtable William Paterson.

The latter assertion seemed to be a clencher to the DUeiittfUi.
Some of them turned over their programmes to see if it was tliere,
and finding it so, immediately took it for granted. Others — more
incredulous — nudged their neighbors with their elbows to csU
their attention to tne statement ; while a few intrepid ones bold^
said aloud, ' Hear ! hear ! ' and ' Oh ! oh ! ' A boisterous langn
was immediately let ofi*by Cyprus Gall, and — as laaghing is pio-
verbially infectious — it was immediately taken up by the mtrepid
ones, then by the nudging ones, and ultunately by alL
' I say, Dabby ! Ho ! Dabby ! ' called out CyprnB GalL
^Ha! ha! Ho! ho! Hil hi!' roared the leas scmpiilov
DilletafitL

^ What about the extinguisher trick ? Eh I Dabby ? ' wiiiedff
pursued our fiiend.

1858.] JSbmekss. 587

' Ay ! ay ! Dabby ! let 's hear aboat the extinguisher trick,' was
echoed on all sides.

In the midst of the confusion and excitement, We ventured to
look toward the platform, but it was empty — the Cosmopolitan
had evacuated ingloriously and mysteriously. I felt sorry for
him.

* Not at all,' said Cyprus ; * depend upon it, he has got the
money — more 's the pitv, as it will only enable him to repeat the
dose in some western city, with more success than he has done
here to-night — though I must say he came very near making a
decided hit. Let him forbear drawing the ' Long-bow ' quite so
much on Ms next appearance, and his success may be considered a
fixed &ct. Come along, let us follow the good-natured public out ;
they have borne it like martyrs, and have now sufficient ' tittle
tattle ' of their own to last them till the next sensation comes
along, and they will not have to wait long.'

HOMELESS.

1 SIT in the Park alone,

The dead leaves are round me blown
The skies are dim,
And the white clouds swim^

As I sit in the Park alone.

II.

I once had houses and lands,
And friends with generous hands,
And a Love who sung
With a honeyed tongue
When I had hAises and knds.

TIT.

Now I have not^ even a hut,
And the generAs hands are shut,

And my Covers proud eyes

Cannot recognize
Him who has not even a hut

IV.

So I sit in the Park alone

And shiver and mutter and moan,

For friends are scarce,

And Love is a &rce,
And Death is true alone.

688 Doctor PiUarius. [December,

DO. 0 TOR PILLARIUS.

A YOUNii gent (lie wont just so far and not anv farther with that
good name, and I mean to be truthful) sat with his feet over the
furnace-flue in his little fourth-story bacK-room, looking the picture
of dejection.

He was a sprig-looking fellow, too, only just now he was quite
wilted down, like a tender lettuce-plant. It was as if the sun of
life had risen upon him so fast, that its noon-day beams had ove^
taken him ui his juicy state, before he had elaborated the fibre to
resist it.

Some one knocked at his door, and immediately entered. It
was a thick-set, stupid-looking individual, who could not open his
puffy eye-lids more than a quarter of an inch. He was young ;
not more than twenty-one.

' You look stupid to-day, Tim,' remarked the new-comer.

' Stupid ! yes. How 's a fellow going to be any thing else, with
no prospects in life V '

' Wy do n't you do suthinruther to raise the wind ? *

' Do ? I should think you knew me well enough to know I 'd do
any thing, and that I have done every thing almost. Have n't I
followed up all the heiresses going, spending a mint of monev on
' taking ' coats and false mustaches ? Have n't I speculated in
stocks to my last dollar ? Have n't I had enough sinecure clerkships
whenever my j)olitician cousin could give me a lift ? Have n't I
come it over this one and that one, in one capacity or other, till
every body knows me ? Xow I 'd like you to tell me what 's left
for me to do ? Show me the thing, and I '11 do it like a man,
especially if it is in the humbug line.'

' You haint tried your hand at any universal med'cin yet. Wy
do n't you invent suthinruther, and dose the people ? '

' Lord, Tub ! you startle me ! You 've eliminated an idea I I '11
work it up into practical form ! I '11 act upon it I I '11 rise upon
it ! I '11 make mv fortune ! I '11 build on tiie Avenue ! '

' Mind you, Tim : I go shares ! '

'Oh I yes ! ISly good lellow, I never thought you would give light
before you were killed and boiled down, like a whale ; but yon
have actually got a-blazing with wit. For you to kindle sncn a

' Yes : I do have a bright idea now and then ; but I do n't get
the credit I deserve for it.'

' Xo more you do. Come on, let 's fix this business up. I '11
brush my hair up so ; blue specs ; high cravat. Let's see; some
good hints can be got out of the 'Pickwick Papers,' I think:
that Bob Sawyer, you know ; but that 11 do another time. Then
we must get an office. I '11 write poetical advertisements, like thai
' Dance of the Cripples : '

'And the song they sang, as round they went.
Was 'Bbowk's Kheuniatic Liniment I '*

1858.] Docttyr PUlariua. 589

' Yes : but we 've got to have references — some retired clergy-
man, 'ruther.'

' No : we can't have him : some body else has got him. I 'U have
a well-known lawyer.'

' Wy, you 're stupid ! Common folks can't bear lawyers.'

' Well, then, a distinguished professor in one of our colleges :
that '11 do ! '

' And I » 11 be the professor.'

* That won't do. Any body, to look at you, might think my
medicine contained too much opium. Beside, you 're too young
for a distinguished professor.'

' I '11 take lodgings as a prof, and go for one with some little
fool of a landlady.'

' I see ! I see ! Folks call on prof for puff of medicine ;
prof always out, taking walk for health. Polks leave note :
I answer it. That '11 do ! Now for the medicine. What shall we
concoct ? '

' Mercury : that 's the stock in trade for doctors.'

' I say, old fellow, I 've a grain of conscience left. Mercury 's
rayther powerful. Let 's have things that are harmless.'

' Well, I 've heard my mother say to folks : ' Take a little salts :
if they do n't do good, at any rate they won't hurt any body.' '

' Put down salts. What else ? I have n't taken a dose since I
got too strong to have my nose held, and I do n't know the names
of the thinors.'

' I 've heard my mother say : ' There 's seeny, that won't hurt
any body.' '

' Senna, you mean ! Oh ! yes : I know that is good stuff. T
used to smell it boiling in our kitchen as often as coffee ; and if it
could have killed any body, our small family would have been cut
off long ago. Now, powder the senna and salts together, do them
up in boxes, and — but Tub, folks know the taste of those articles.
They would find out our secret, and our fun would be spoiled by
competition. We must get some mysterious stuff to mix in it.
Let 's get something sticky, and make pills. What else did your
ma say would n't hurt any body ? '

' Shoemaker's wax, s'pose. I used to chew that, and it never
hurt me.'

' Good ! but see here. Tub : suppose our medicine do n't cure
as well as do n't hurt. I 'm afraid it won't take. I mean that
folks won't take it. Now, you see, such small quantities of salts
and senna would n't have a decided effect upon any body at all,
not even a baby. What '11 we do ? '

' I tell you mercury is the cure-all. I bet it is the basis of all
the quack medicines going. Other folks an't so squeamish as you.'

' That 's nothing to me. I can't go mercury, so drop it. What 's
the prevalent disease ? What carries more people off than any
thing else ? Give me the morning's paper. ' Deaths during the
week : asthma, five ; hum ! six : hum ! four : consumption, fifty-
six.' That 's the mark ! Now, what 's good for coughs, colds,

690 Doctor PUiarius, [December,

sore-throats, and all tliat sort of thing ? What did your ma use
to give for these ? — that did n't hurt any body, mind I '

' Some sweet sort ot stuff — what 's the name? — ipecac, that's
it. I 've seen her give it to the babies, when they were hoarse,
by the tea-spoonful. At least, I think I have. Any how, I 've
often heard her say it would n't hurt any body.'

' Then I think that ought to be our principal ingredient : do nt
you ? The commonest disease is colds. Make the medicine to
cure colds, and it will cure more sick folks than if it were adapted
to any other malady. So we will have ipecac six out of ten parts,
salts one, senna one, shoemaker's wax two. Dose, ten pills for an
adult, and five for children. We must have a pretty large dose,
you know, and have them taken pretty often, to get through with
the more boxes. All right, eh ? '

'Well enough. You put that part of it through, will you?
while I go to look up lodgings for the professor.'

Tub left his friend alone, and Tim was not long in dressing and
going out also, being quite refreshed and invigorated by this new
scheme for raising the wind.

But sitting slyly (piiot, and hearing through the thin board par^
tition between her room and Tim's, every word that was said,
there had been all this time a cunning young dress-maker.

In a couple of weeks, there appeared a new office down-town,
flashy with rcd-and-black printed bills in large letters, with a highly
imaginative portrait of the famous Doctor Pillarius, who had made
the wonderful discovery of that invaluable medicine, the *Anti-
Pulmonic Health Renovator,' which had cured its thousands and
tens of thousands of colds, coughs, etc.; broken legs, sword-wounds,
etc. ; corns, freckles, etc.

'A distinguished ]?rofessor, unwilling to let the world languish
in misery, when there is a certain cure for all the ills that flesh
is heir to, will be willing to give an account of his former wretdied
state, and certify to his wonderful cure by this invaluable remedy,
etc'

The sly little dress-maker passed the new office on her way to
her employer's, and stepping in, she bought two boxes of pills.
She identified Doctor Pillarius under all his disguises. She knew
better than she eared about knowing, the features of the young
man who occupied the attic next to her own, and ogled her every
time she came up-stairs, leaving the door of his room open for the
expross purpose.

The dress-niakor arrived at the house where she was to ezerdse
her art upon the i)erson of the young lady belonging thereto, and
demurely sat down to her work. At the usual time for callers, the
young 3Iiss was summoned to the parlor ; two young gentiemeu
had conic to sec her. The dress-maker, a curious httle puss,
peeped over the banisters, when they were about to go, and saw
Dr. Pillarius and the IVofessor pass out of the front-door, but
<iressed as Tim and Tub.

When the little lady whom the sly dress-maker was employed
to adorn returned, she was in wild spirits, and volubly gave a de-

1858.] Doctor PiUarvus. 591

tailed account of the moraing call she had received, and of all the
conversation that had passed, mentioning at last the names of the
gentlemen, Messrs. Tim and Tub.

' Mr. Tim ! ' cried the sly one. ' Is it possible he is out ? '

' Yes : why not ? Do you know him ? '

' He boards in the same house that I do. His room is just next
to mine, and he has such a racking cough at night ! He is going
into a consumption, I'm sure.'

' Oh ! no,' said the little lady. ' Do n't say that, for I am en-
gaged to him, or am to be : mother says I may, as soon as he is
settled in business, or can raise a little capital to put into the grocery
with father.'

. ' Are you engaged to him ? I am sorry for you. I knew he was
here often; but I did n't think it would ever come to an engage-
ment. I should be sorry for any one in your circumstances who
had a consumptive lover ; but I 'm sorrier than common for you.'

' Why ? '

' Oh ! because when most folks are sick, they will do something ;
have a doctor, and take medicine. But Tim was brought up by
those horrid homeopathists, and he won't touch any thing to do
him good. He '11 die, sure ! '

' Oh ! oh ! you shan't talk so ! '

' Indeed, Miss, I do n't want to distress you ; but oh ! if he
would only take some of that precious new medicine that has
cured so many thousands and tens of thousands ! '

' What kind of medicine is it ? '

The dress-maker pulled out of her pocket one of the 'Anti-Pul-
monic Health Almanacs,' which Doctor Pillarius had issued, from
which she had torn off the directions about the dose, and gave it
to the damsel, who devoured its contents, and then raved to go
and consult the Professor.

The dress-maker knew where he lived, and it was soon deter-
mined that they should call upon him forthwith. They went to
his boarding-house, but he had gone out to take a long walk. The
landlady testified, that though three weeks ago he said he was too
far gone for hope, in a galloping consumption, now he was so
strong as to be able to walk nearly all day long, and was so fat,
that he could hardly open his eyes. Good news ! The girls went
home elate.

' Ah ! ' said the sly one, ' if Mr. Tim would only take thbse
pills. But he won't ! Nobody can make him. He is principled
against them, and eveiy other decent medicine.'

' I '11 make him take them ! '

' How ? '

' I '11 coax him to I '

' Why, Miss, you could n't begin to coax him to do it ; he has
such an educated horror of them. But if I were you, I know
what I 'd do. I 'd give them to him privately, and save his life in
spite of his nonsensical prejudice.'

' And so I just will ! '

' When can you get a chance, do you think ? '

592 Doctor PiUarius. P>ecember,

^ Why, this very night. Mamma and papa are going out to tea.
I happened to mention this to Mr. Tim, and he said he would
come round to keep me from being lonesome. So I asked them
both to tea. I 'II put a pill into his preserves.'

*• A pill ! Why, IMiss, the dose is a box for a man, and half a
box for a child.'

' A whole box of pills ? '

' Yes ; they are small boxes. See, I bought some this morning.
I was afraid the supply might run out, and I get a cough when
there was none of this invaluable medicine to be had. Here they
are, two boxes.'

' I never heard of any body's taking a whole box of pills at
once.'

' Do n't folks take two or three tea-spoonsful of salts, or a great
table-spoonful of oil ? You could put nearly all of these pills into
a tea-spoon. That 's not a large dose at all ! Why, I have taken
a whole tumblerful of senna at a time.

' Well, I could n't manage to give them all to him, I am afraid.'

' I '11 tell you how. He likes quince-jelly amazingly. At our
boarding-house I 've seen him eat saucerfuls of it ! Now you put
these pills into quince-jelly, and call them preserved pepper-corns.
He '11 take them, and never know it, and jferhaps you will save
him from a very sad end.'

' But then Mr. Tub >vill get some, too.'

' Oh ! well they won't hurt him. The paper says they are per-
fectly harmless, and can't hurt any one. Besides, he has got a
sore tliroat — you say he told you so — so they will do him good.'

' But I have n't got the pills, and it is getting late.'

' You may have my two boxes. You must make sure, you
know, that you get him to take enough.'

' How much are they ? '

' O Miss ! I won't take any thing for them. You are so good
in giving me your custom, that I am glad to do any thing to
oblige you. No, Miss, I won't take a cent. Please excuse me.
I can't indeed 1 '

The evening came, and the gentlemen. The sly little dress-
maker lingered about her work until she heard them at the tea-
table. Then she put on her bonnet, and as she passed the dining-
room door, on her way down the back-stairs, she over-heard Mr.
Tirti saying : ' This preserved pepper-corn is a new thing, is nt it ?
It is most delicious ! Quince is nice in every form. I '11 trouble
you for another spoonful. Tub ; you must n't monopolize ! '

' Tub,' said Tim, soon after supper, ' I do n't feel quite well.
It 's a little surfeit I think. I ate too much preserved pepper-corn.'

' I feel queer too. And you look stupidly pale. Let 's go
home. Hurry, for I feel sick.'

They took a hasty leave of the disappointed damsel, and hurried
out of the door. The air relieved their feelings for a little while,
but before they got home — bah !

' We 're poisoned. I 'm sure of it ! ' ejaculated Tub.

' No such thing,' chattered Tim.

1858.] Doctor PiUarius, 693

' We must be ! I '11 send for a doctor to prove it ; I '11 send for
a policeman and complain ! '

' Xo you shan't, Tub ! She would n't and could n't do it.'

' But the cook — ah ! '

' Come on, we '11 be better soon. It was those cursed pepper-
corns ! We ate too much of them.'

But Tub, shallow-pate and coward, saw a perfect Lucretia
Borgia in the little lady ; and deeming his life unsafe, he went early
next morning to a magistrate and made complaint. Officers were
sent to her house. She, the cook, and the angry, raging father
were arrested. Young Miss told her story, and implicated the
dress-maker, who was also arrested. They questioned the latter,
but she refused to say a word, until before the Mayor. She would
confess all to his Honor. So they were conducted to his office.

Tliere were present the Mayor and several officers, the father
and brother of the little lady, herself, Tim, Tub, the dress-maker,
and a newspaper reporter at the key-hole. It was intimated to
his Honor that the dross-maker had a confession to make. He ad-
vised her not to implicate herself, but she insisted upon doing it.
He offered to hear her in private. No, she had rather speak be-
fore them all.

' Mr. Mayor,' said she, ' please to hear a long story. My room
in boarding-house is next to that gentleman's '

' I do n't board there at all. Sir,' cried out Tim.

' He did three weeks ago, as I know very well, for every time
I came up to my room, he opened his door to stare at me.'

Tim snapped at the chance of having a fling at her.

* You were such a beauty, that I could n't help it,' said he
slightingly.

* No flippancy. Sir,' said the Mayor.

The sly little dress-maker courtesied to Tim and smiled. 'I
thought you would take the opportunity I gave you to betray
yourself, and confirm my words. Thank you, Mr. Tim.'

The policeman grinned and couched.

' Now, my girl, go on,' said the Alayor.

'Well, Sir, there is only a thin board partition between our
rooms ; and one day, when a headache kept me at home, and he
did not know it, I heard him concocting a wonderful new medicine
with Mr. Tub. Mr. Tim was to be Dr. Pillarius ; Mr. Tub, a dis-
tinguished Professor — he! he! If you choose to send for his
landlady at street, she can identify them both in those cha-
racters. She do n't know them in any other.'

' Send for the woman,' said the Mayor, and an officer departed.
* Go on, Miss.'

' So, Sir, as soon as this medicine was ready in the grand new
office, I went and bought some.'

' Why did you do that ? ' asked Tim, amazed.

' I do n't wonder you ask that, Mr. Tim, when I know what
your pills were made of! But I thought it only fair to try upon
yow, whether they were so sure ' not to hurt any body.' '

' You gave an .over-dose.'

591 Doctor PlUarius, [December,

" 1 Lravo :it OTIC tiiiic just what you would liave spread over two
(Invs, aiid ihai is not much diftbreuce. Besides, if vou had let Mr.
Tub * nionopolizo' ii little more, you would irt have got so many
of the })('j»]>er-coriis.'

' Sp( ak so dial T can uuderstaiul you, Miss,' said the Mayor.

" C'eitaiiily, Sir. I ])ersuaded this young lady to give a hox of
pills to tliis youn^^ man Mud his partner, disguised as pepper-coriis
prcscMvcd in ([uinee. They say they were ]>oisoned ! I think. Sir,
ihi'V oui^ht to he iudieled for maknig poison, and selling it, an«l
saviuLC it Would n't hurt any bodv.'

' What were the pills composed of? ' asked the ^layor.

The dress-maker told him.

' Vou x\\\\ a pnetty shrewd young woman,' replied (hat function-
ary to the denuire <.lress-maker. ' Your plan was a good one. I
comuK nd you for it. You are discharged. These young gentle-
nuu will beware how they try quacking again, when such as you
are under the roof whh them. ^Messrs. Thn and Tub, you will
await liirthur examination after the arrival of the landlady.
Voung Miss, you are ac(piitted of the eiiarge of poisoning, since we
have the te-itiuionv — in solenm public acknowledixment of the
gt'ntlcmen themselves, by means of advertisement, etc., that
what y(»u administered to them 'couldn't liurt any body.' Ah!
hen^ is the landlaily. Will you tell me, Madam, the names of
these two gentlemen ? '

' Dr. l*iliarius and Professor Stingier, Sir. The Doctor sells the
invaluable modieine that has cured the Professor of his consump-
tic»n, Sir.'

' Very good. ITad they any other names, Madam?'

' r should ho])v» not, Sir. I never harbor rogues, and folks that
has ////(/.s7. s*, in my establishment, Sir.'

' What names have you known these young men by, Mr, ?'

a>ked the Mayor of the little lady's father.

'^Messrs. Tim and Tub, their pmper names, Sir,' replied he
sjrilefully. 'And, Mrs. T/uidlady, there never were, it appears,
greater ro'^nies than these you have harbored. But they have had
llieir desca-ts, thanks and honor to the shrewd young woman.
Let theiu tlare to soil another pill !'

' ll.irrah ! Ibr the little dress-maker! ' exclaimed the son cntha-
-ia-tieally ; ;ind as she had left the oHice, he went in quest of her.
He Ibimd her some months allerward, before St. Mark's altar,
svhillier the sly oiu? ltd him biindfohl, and there he married her.
Hut he rue'l tliat aet many a vear afterward, and learned by heart
the ni.iral in;i\iin, iliat 'the <.'ud does not justify the menn.s;* for,
tor diveiN t inN, gnoj, bad, and indifterenl, she cheated the very
eyes out of lii -, hci-l. An«l how ])leascd his little sister was every
linie ^li" lia.l i!i;' o);poi-t unit v t<> replv to his trroaus : 'What else

.■nuld \K}\ (■■vp.'cl '-^ I lold you sol '

Dr. Pill;c;iii ■■ c.un. Itu'i'd (he Mavor that there was no thins: worse
in hi-; jiilN ll'an a ir-Mig enu'tio, and he was let oif. The news-
j»a]»er r. p'-ri-r -'id the rise lull justice, <md Tim and Tub left for
( 'aliloij'.ia.

1858.] The Skeleton Monk. 596

THE SKELETON MONK.

* The times have been,
That when the brains were out, the man would die.
And there an end : out now they rise again.' — Shakspeaek.

PART FIRST

In a Capuchin convent old and gray,
On the brow of a cliff, some leagues away
From the walls of Rome, lived Friar Frenaye !

Giuseppe Frenaye !

He was niddy and gay,

And yet, in his cowl,

He looked grave as an owl :
And he carefully counted his beads every day !

He doted on beads, and on medals as well.
On his brown woollen cloak and his little square cell,
And he worshipped Saint Francis, whose ghostly old head
Looked down from a frame at the top of his bed !

He had worm-eaten books

Stowed in curious nooks, *

A jar full of relics — some saintly old crooks —

With a table and chair,

And a missal for prayer,
And a crucifix, carved out of wood very rare !

Nature made him a monk — and he never appeared.
With his shining bald head and his flowing brown beard,
With his twinkling gray eye and his dimpled red cheek,
And his fat little figure, so jolly and sleek —
But each stranger declared that he 'd ne'er before seen
A monk with so perfectly monkish a mien !

Nature made him a monk — but no hermit — not he !
He had forty fat brothers, each jovial and free.
Who could doff like a cassock his sanctified air,
And vary with wassail his penance and prayer !
And no part of that cherished old convent, I ween.
Had more loving attent than its ample cuisine !

One could always find there

An abundance of fare —
The most delicate viands, delicious and rare —
And in certain deep vaults, stained with cobwebs and mould,
Sparkled wines red as rubies and yellow as gold,
With numberless names, and exceedingly old !

506 T/ie Skeletofi Monk. [December,

But, tlioiigh never averse to a private carouse.
Every monk had the utmost respect for his vows ;

And whenever the knell

Of the old convent-bell
Called to matin, or vesper, or noctum as well.

Each would promj)tly repair

To a union in pray'er :
Its silvery sound seemed a sanctified spell —
To the chapel it summoned, and all were foond there !

The chapel ! It stood near the cloister, apart —
'T was the pride of that convent — a wonder of art !
Its walls were adorned with the richest designs,
Its alcoves were filled with elaborate shrines.
And, glittering with gems, gleamed like Orient mines!
Its i)avements were poq)hyry, its ceilings were gold.
Its niches licld statues of exquisite momd.
And its treasury boasted of riches untold !

And beneath all this splendor, so vauntingly spread,

In contrast most strange with the scene over-head.

Under ponderous arches, shut out from the day.

In silence and darkness and damp and decay,

Was a charnel-house, strewn with the dust of the dead !

Full of terror and gloom,
'T was the convent's huge tomb,
Where hundreds were buried, and yet there was room !
Every monk, from the time the fraternity rose.
Had found in that chamber his final repose :
It contained no sepulchral inscriptions and stones,
l^ut the ceilings and walls were encrusted with bones !
Human bones ! set in columns, and altars, and shrines.
And adjusted, with skill, in fantastical lines ;
In oblongs, and angles, and circles, and tiers,
Forming arabesques, crosses, and great chandeliers,
While erect in each niche, grim and ghastly and shrunk,
In his woollen capote, stood a skeleton monk I

'T was a horrible place, where one scarce drew al>reath,
]>ut it seemed to come charged with corruption and death ;
And yet, good Giuseppe would oft deem it right
To pray in that dreadful Golgotha all night.
With some ugly old skeleton holding the light I

'T was a curious whim ; but he really believed
That a vow proffered there would be better received ;
Perchance he supj)osed that contaminate air
Might be a more perfect conductor for prayer :

But whate'er his intent,

He most certainly went.
On all special occasions, to ruminate there I

1868.] The Skeleton MonJc, 597

Now, Giuseppe loved bones ; and it happened one day,

He had finished his prayers, and was coming away,

When, in passing a niche where a skeleton stood.

Peering stealthily out from the shade of his hood,

Without any thought of maltreating the dead.

He was seized with a fancy to borrow his head !

Perhaps it was wrong ; but Giuseppe had found

Such devotional aid among skulls under-ground,

That he could not conceive it would seem an abuse

To take one above, for more general use.

And he knew his dead brother would thrive quite as well ;

So he carried it up to his little square cell :

And if the monks blamed him, could any one tell ?

PART SECOND.

'T was the Feast of Saint Francis ! a season of mirth !

Observed since his saintship took leave of the earth,

And just three hundred years since the convent had birth .'

•

Every friar felt gay

When the sun rose that day ;
But first they all met in the chapel, to pray :

Then, the offices through,

They had nothing to do
But to fill the fleet hours with joy as they flew,
And brimful of pleasure the time passed away !

For this festive occasion each brother had toiled :
Every nook in the gardens was searched and despoiled :
And the chambers and corridors, covered with flowers.
Were blooming and fragrant as amaranth bowers !
Indeed, so intense was the flowery scent.
That the old monks were sneezing wherever they went !

'T was a day of delight ; but the mirth was not done

When the shadows of evening had closed o'er the sun ;

In fact, the enjoyment had then scarce begun !

In lieu of the day-light, a ^litteiing sheen

From innumerous candles illumined the scene,

Filling every apartment, above and below.

And flooding the air with its effluent glow,

Till the convent ablaze, from its towering height

Gleaming down far away through the valleys that night.

Appeared to the sight

Some great stellary light.
As a comet or meteor, or even more bright !

Of course, with this dazzling display every where.
The chapel received most particular care ;
And all that the taste of the monks could prepare,
And all that the treasury held that was rare,
And costly, and rich, was exhibited there !

508 Tlie Skeleton Monk. [Dccombor,

Tho coluimis aiul arclios were mantled with green,

And in every recess rose a flowery screen —

A tioral niosuie — an intricate maze

Of l)riglit blooming garlands, festoons, and bouquets I

Above tlie liigh altar a glittering woot^

liidrwovcii willi tinsel, droopecl down from the roof.

And undor this (•ano])y, mitred and stoled,

SttMxl the bust of Saint Francis, in silver and gold.

I'luuc wore relics held consecrate time out of mhid,
In curiuns e.-skels of crystal confined ;
TluTc well' sacred utensils with jewpls hilaid,
The jiious jairloinment of some old crusade ;
'rikne were crosses and coronals, girdles and rings.
The volive oblations of ]>ontiffs and kings,
With a great many precious conventual things.

All beautijnl, l)rilliant, and bathed in the blaze
Of numberless wax-lights in multiplex rays,

Overilowing the gaze

Willi a wildering daze,
And Jillinic ih? jilace with a prismatic haze.

Ibit the g»<»d monks had deemed themselves greatly at fault

In this general joy,

ir.;d they failed to emi)loy,

With a heart V uood will,

A full share of their skill
Vol' the dear defunct brotherhood down in the vaidt.

So they hung in the gloom

Of that terrible tomb
Fresh iluwrets, laden with dew and perfume;
And they gave to each monk of that skeleton band
A lighletl wax-candle to hold in his hand;
While round each chandi'lier an illumement was thrown
From tlu* candles which beamed in those sockets of bone.

r>ut the (lowrets grew i)ale, as with pestilent blight,
And the (landles burned dim with a flickering light,
And the dead monks gained nanght from the festive array,
Save a palpable darkness and laureled decay.

P A li r T iJL : K D

The bell tolled nine I
The bell tolled nine I
And a merrier set
Had never yet

1858.] 7%6 Skeleton Monk, 599

On any anniversary met

Than answering to its three times three,

^l^utered the old refactory,
And circled the oaken board to dine.

And I fear I should fail

Did I strive to detail
The delectable dishes which graced that regale ;

But suflSce it to say

'T was a sumptuous display
Of fish and of flesh, and prepared every way,
From the forest and field, from the ocean and air,
All seasoned and sauced with most exquisite care :

Fried, roasted, and broiled,

Baked, basted, and boiled,
With vegetive esculents, luscious and rare,

In savory stews,

And in racy ragouts,
Which, however fastidious, none could refuse.

Then the dessert — the pastry, fruits, jellies, and ices —
In pyramids, towers, and other devices,
Italian, and Moorish, and Greek, and Egyptian,
Delighted the eye and surpassed all description ;
While, sparkling like jewels, in luminous lines,
Stood crystalline flagons of costly old wines.

A sumptuous display !

And the guests grew more gay,
As, with feasting and drinking, the hours rolled away.
They drank to Saint Peter, their glorified head ;
They drank to Pope Leo, who reigned in his stead ;
They drank to Saint Francis ; the martyrs who bled.
And their Capuchin Brethren, departed and dead ;
And they drank still more deeply, and jested, and sang,
Till the stately old halls with the revehy rang.

Then Giuseppe rose as the noise chanced to lull,
And went out to his cell, and came in with a skull —
The same, I am sorry to say, which he bore
From the niche in the grotto a long while before ;
And he filled it with wine, and there went up a shout
As he drank from the margin, and passed it about.

Then there suddenly fell
On each heart, like a knell.
The twelve mid-night strokes of the old convent-bell.
And the wax-lights burned low, and each monk gasped for

breath.
And the atmosphere seemed to be laden with death ;

VOL. ui. 39

000 The Skeleton Monk. [Dcceiiiber.

Ami tlie door was fliiii2^ open, and on through the gloom
A procos.sion of spectres stalked into tlie room !

A ]^rocess'ion of spectres ! — tliat skeleton band I
Ami a lighted wax-candle each held hi his hand ;
And each, with his chaplet of flowrets bedight,
TaU', sickly, and shrunk, as with pestilent blight ;
.\nd iirst of tlieni all, with his cowl wide disprcad,
Came a skeleton figure, wilhouten a head !

Kvery monk held his jilace, and there rose not a sound
'Arid their motionless horror and silence profound ;
While advancing, the solenui procession tiled, round I

l>ut on reaching (liusei)pe, they came to a stand —

And the irhost snatched the sknll from his shiverinjr liaml.

An<l ho dashed out the wine — and, oh! sa<l to relate I

He sud<lenly seized poor (Tiuseppe's bald pate,

..Vnd he twisted it off, and ho left him stark dead

In his seat at the table, and lacking liis head !

Tiion the spectres jiassed out, as they came, at the door,

And it closed, and the wax-lights burned bright as before.

T.oTi'jc years have rolled by since that scene of dismav,
AihI the monks of that convent have all passed away;
And the convent, abandoned, remains to this day
Hut a ruin — cruslied, moulderinjc in dust and <lecav.

And yet, at the feast of Saint Francis each year,
Precisely at mid-night two spectres apjM'ar —
Two skeleton monks, as their garb would denote,
Fur each folds about him a woolen capote —
And th(^y traverse that ruin, nor slacken tlieir pace,
As tlu; one hurries on and the other gives chase !

And the Iirst a wax-candle bears, ilick'ring and dull,
.\nd grasps in his long, bony lingers a skull ;
And the second, who goes with a wavering tread.
And his skeleton hands in the darkness out-spread,
And his cowl lloating free, is bereft of his head.

And still as lie follows — in mischievous mood,
Tlie (.tlicr peer«< back from the shade of his hood,
And 4iiticcs him on — but alas! nevermore
Shall (iiiiM'ppe recover the skull he once wore.

1968.] M^ Parsee Neighbor. 601

MY PARSEE NEIGHBOR.

I ONCE knew a man who was engaged to be married before he
was born ; that was my Parsee neighbor, the amiable Gheber, who,
in the pucka house that adjoined ray own in the street called Cos-
sitollah, in Calcutta, by the Hoogly, fed his sacred flame with or-
thodox solicitude and sandal-wood, cursed the Koran duly, re-
hearsed the precepts of Zoroaster, bragged of Sir Jamsetiee Jee-
jeebhoy, turned an honest Parsee penny, and dwelt with his child-
ren's children in profound and mysterious content.

My Parsee neighbor was brought forth on the ground-floor,
(literally on the ground, or on the floor,) a moralistic peculiarity of
Zoroastrian obstetrics, to which he was doubtless as indifferent as he
w^as to the circumstance of being introduced to a wife by the same
ceremony that introduced him to the world ; and for five days
they fed him with sugar and water through a wick, regardless of
the Micawberian ' fount ' that flowed in vain for him.

Then they brought an astrologer, abounding in beard, and volu-
ble in gibberish, and greedily itching as to his palm ; and he horo-
scoped my Parsee neighbor, him and all that should come of him ;
and he forecasted him, by the children he should have, and by ru-
pees, and by honors, and by all the chances and changes, the gains
and the losses, of a Parsee experience ; and he conjured from the
stars a calendar of names as long as the roll of warrior-pilgrims
who brought over the sacred flame from Khorassan to Ormuz ;
and he said to the sponsors of my Parsee neighbor, ' Choose I '
There was Bonnarjee, and Framjee, and Camajee, and Sorabjee,
and Pestonjee, and Hormusjee, and Nusserwanjee, and Furdoon-
jee, and Nourojee, and Cowasjee, and Jamsetjee, and Byramjee,
and Hcerjee, and llustomjce, and all the jees ; and Nanabhoy,
and Dhunjeebhoy, and Dadabhoy, and Dosabhoy, and Rhusabhoy,
and Janjeebhoy, and Nourabhoy, and Jeejeebhoy, and all the
bhoys. So they made him one of the bhoys — Kirsetjee Dam-
thebhoy — and they all blessed him ; and they prayed that his
autograph might be equivalent to many lacs, and his name a tower
of financial strength for lame ducks to roost in.

Verily my Parsee neighbor was the apple of his mother's eye,
and endless were her tender inspirations in the inventing of won-
drous kickshaws for his holidav adornment : in all CossitoUah there
was not so superfine a vanity as his little jubhla of Canton silk,
with flowing and fantastic sleeves; and the sun made a glory
of his gold-embroidered skull-cap. When he was seven years old,
all the kindred of his father's house, and all the friends thereof,
assembled in the inner temple, to see the high-priest invest him
with the symbolic raiment of the fire-worshipper — ' the gannent
of the good and beneficial way,' called sudra^ and kusti^ the con-
secrated cord — girded three times about his small loins, and
knotted with four prayers.

002 Mij Parsee Neit/hhor. [December,

And now it was time that niv Parsee iieiijhbor should come mto
his ])re-natal wit'e ]n-()perty: a comparison of horoscopes wa^^ ju-
accordinLrly etVectod through the instrumentalitv of a morreiiiirv
prH'^t ; forliuies, and respectabilities, and all the delicacies of the i-x-
])(Mlicn('v si'asMii were discussed and approved, and the match ptfrhi-
ed — which is as thou<rh one sliould say 'clinched ' — by an intiT-
chanixe <»f ]»resiiits for the respective wardrobes of tlie bride and
tj:room : an<l behohl my I'arsee neighbor nuide a man of — a little
man, with a mother-in-law ; which, as (fheber mothers-in-law iro,
means a man with a curse, and a call for a special dis])ensation of
jjalitiici'. J Jut my Parsee neighbor's toes had been dipped in the
ci r( inonial milk, and his face had been rubbed with the bridi-'N
vest ; so iitreat was cut oif, and there was no help for his j>rc-
dicameut but to junuler his Zend-Avesta, and hold his peace. N'or
was there hope that he might diminish his troubles by multiplying
tiuMu ; for bigamy is a Parsee abomination, and an experimi-nt in
thai direction wouhl have involved my neighbor in the scrape (»f
the mifortunate Jemshedjee, who was excommunicated by the
\\K)\\i^n\\}\K} jtKHv/tt.nji't^ the administrative body, for flying matrimo-
nially from the teeth of one vixen to the nails of another. lie waa
comiK'Hed to pay two thousand rupees toward the maintainance of
Teeth, and to restore to her all lier jewels and oniaments*, while
Nails ha<l to be repudiated forever.

r>iit my Parsee neighbor had his wholesome distractions and his
eons<>lations, whieh he found in tlie golden results of tlie shop, in
liapj»y 'operations' and rich returns, in safe investments and fat
eont racls ; and he had his pleasant dreams that were Caudlc-proof ;
lii^ visions oY diplomas and decorations, of vice-regal compliments
and ])arliauu'ntary <!uloginms, of baronetcies, and coats-of-arras,
and statues — Sir Kirseljee Damthebhoy!

Were there not Dadyselt, and Pestonjee, and llermosjeoWadia,
and Franijec* Xuss(?rwan]ee, and C'owasjee Jeehangir, and the
Camas of India, China, Kngland — true merchant-princes to whom
the shaky speculators of Western Wall-streets were but small
money-mongers ? "W^ere theie not ' towers of silence ' to erect,
and hospitals to found, and colleges and schools of design to en-
<low, and bridges and a<pu*ducts and causeways to build, and rail-
roads to ]»r«»jeet, and wells and tanks to construct, and libraries
and free si-hools .-nnl Zend-.Vvesta scho«»ls, and dhurumsallan, and
elmrrhes, and sailorsMiomes, and book-and-prizx; funds, and funds
for the fuiuM'al exp(tnses of poor Parsees, and contributions to pub-
lic charities, and iunds for the benefit of tlie ])Oor blind, and sub-
sciijJilons to the pimchayet for beneficent purposes, and funds for
the relief of honest debtors, and schools of industry, and obstetric
iiKtitiitinns, and ])atri()tic funds, and memorials, and Ilavclock tes-
timonials, and Wellington testimonials, an<l what not, to provide for:
livinu: hoiior> an«l an everlastinif name V And mv Parsee neichbor,
with closed eyes, raj>lurous, nursed his vision till it glowed, all glo-
rious, with the arinoiMal bearings of Sir Jamset jee Jeejeebhoy — a
shield of tlie Knights of Si. John, emblazoned with scrolls of gold:

1868.] My Parsee Neighbor. 603

'at the lower part, a landscape in India, representing the island of
Bombay, with the islands of Salsette and Elephanta in the distance.
The sun is seen rising from behind Salsette, to denote industry and,
in diffusing its light and heat, liberality. The upper part of the
shield presents a white ground, emblematic of integrity and purity,
on which are two bees, signifying industry and perseverance. The
whole is surmounted by a crest, representing a beautiful peacock,
typical of wealth and magnificence ; and in its mouth an ear of wild
nee, emblematic of beneficence. Below is a white pennant, folded,
on which is inscribed, ' Industry and Liberality I ' the motto
of' — Sir Kirsetjee Damthebhoy !

My Parsee neighbor was an exalted humanitarian in a canine
direction, regarding dogs as his friends and brothers, and piously
according them (in undue proportion, on the score of justice to
cats) a fellows-feeling that made him wondrous kind. His solici-
tude for the Trays, Blanches, and Sweethearts of his love, was
distinguished by a sweeping catholicity of scope ; ignoring narrow
distinctions of breed, as to mastiff or poodle, bull-dog or grey-
hound, spaniel or pariah, his benevolence comprehended in the
circle of its kind offices the abstract animal — universal dogry, and
its common good. When his operations on land and his ventures
by sea, his Bom bay brokerages and his Surat shipyard, should have
returned him a fair Parsee fortune, and established him on a finan-
cial footing with the princely traders of his tribe, it was his fond
intention to found a hospital for the indigent sick of that great
quadrupedal community, whereat halt dogs and dogs- that were
blind, mangy dogs and dogs stricken with confirmed asthma, dogs
that had lost their tails by traps, their toes by coach-wheels,
dogs whose minds had been impaired by affliction, as well as those
whose bodies had suffered in fights — disabled dog-kind gene-
rally, whatever the nature or degree of its melancholy dispensa-
tion, should be free to the consolations of splints and bandages,
soothing poultices and 'potecary's stuff, with wholesome bones in
abundance, and the sweetest of straw beds. So should my Par-
see neighbor fulfil a particular injunction of Zoroaster, and make
sure for his soul that it should be spoken for in the day when en-
franchised Dog should speak for itself.

At times, my Parsee neighbor drew his dreams fi*om a soaring
patriotism, brought over by his pilgrim fathers from Ormuz to
Sanjan with the other sacred flame, and fed, like that, with the in-
cense of an inspiring romance. It was a fondly-cherished story,
and full of the legendary loveliness of his tribe, wherewith he was
wont to hold the wade-eyed wonder of his pretty boy, perched,
listening, on his knee.

ire told how Mohammedan lions came down, in crushing on-
slaughts, on the fold of his fathers — the ancient Persian people —
and drove them dismayed into the fastnesses of Khorassan ; he
spake of the sword-conversions of the Caliphs, the bloody seimons
of Moslem priests ; of the dethronement and flight of the doomed

604 My Parsee Neighbor. [December,

Yezdezird, his wanderings in solitude and disguise, and his treache-
rous assassination by a miller — whence came the Persian proverb,
' Beware a miller's trust ; '* of the Caliphat troops traversing the
length and breadth of Iran, with scimitar and Koran, burning the
iire-temples, quenching obscenely the sacred ilame, and daily forc-
ing a hundred thousand trembling Ghebers to abjure their poetic
creed ; he told how, after a century of patient fiiith and fortitude
passed in the eaves and forests of Knorassan, the persecutors
l)cnetrated to the hiding-place of the brave little band, and hunted
them down to Ormuz, where yet they were not safe from the impi-
ous and the cruel. So they souglit an insecure asylum on the small
island of Diew, in the Gulf of Cambay, and tarried there in terror,
till ' an aged dastooi', reading the tablets of the stars, augured that
it behooved them to depart from that place, and take up their
abode elsewhere. Whereat, all rejoicing, set sail for GuzeraL'
Then came a mighty storm that shook their souls no less than
their s]iii)s, and rent their hearts and their sails ; so that they prayed,
trembling, to Ormuzd, the author of light and truth, of heat and
goodness, to save them from the infernal spells of Ahriman,
minister of darkness, ignorance, and evil. * Deliver us, O Onnuzd !
from this sea of trouble, and bring us in safety to the shores of
Tndia, that we may kindle on high the ilame sacred to thee, and
keep it ever bright, ied with obedience and righteousness/

And Ormuzd hearkened to their piteous prayer, and brought
them in safety to the shores of India — to Sanjan, whereof Jadao
Kana was the wise and liberal ruler. When Jadao heard of the
advent of the tempest-tosse<l stfangei*s, he commanded them to
come before him, and demanded who they were.

' We are worshii>pers of Ormuzd,' replied the venerable dastoor,
* and of the Sun, and the Sea.

* We observe silence while bathing, praying, making offerings
to fire, and eating.

' We consume incense, perfumes, and flowers in our reli^ous
ceremonies.

' We wear the sacred garment — the garment of the good and
benelicial way — the cincture for the loins, and the cap of two
folds.

' We roioice in songs and instruments of music, in our marriages.

' We adorn and perfume our wives.

' We are enjoined to be bountiful in our charities, and especially
to excavate tanks and wells.

' We are enjoined to extend our sympathies toward males
well as females.

' We wear the sacred girdle while praying or eating.

' We iced the sacred flame with incense.

' We practise devotion five times a day.

' We are careful observers of conjugal fidelity and purity.

* DosABuoY Framjeb — * The Panees.'

1858.] My Pardee Neighbor. 605

' We perform annual ceremonies for the souls of our ancestors.

' We have suffered — therefore we are true ; we have been
patient — therefore we are brave. Give us a hill, whereon we
may raise a tower of silence, and bury our dead ; give us a field,
wherein we may build a temple, and feed our holy flame ; give us
a stream, wherein we may bathe and pray, girt with the sacred
cord. And we will be thy brothers, at peace with thy people, at
peace with thy gods.'

And Jadao Rana said : ' It is well ; ye shall raise your tower of
silence, and bury your dead ; ye shall build your fire-temple, and
feed your holy flame ; ye shall bathe in a pure stream, girt with
your sacred cincture ; and no man shall molest you. But ye
shall forget your Parsee language and speak henceforth in our
tongue ; ye shall cast off your armor and clothe yourselves in our
fashion ; and when ye marry your young children, ye shall order
the marriage ceremonies and processions according to our cus-
tom, having your weddings by night ; so shall ye be at peace with
my people, at peace with my gods.'

And the reverend dastoor promised as the Rana required ; and
henceforth, for five centuries, so it was.

When Sultan Mohammed Begada, of Ahmedabad, came down .
upon Sanjan with thirty thousand men, to lay it w^aste, the Rana,
who was descended from the wise and liberal Jadao, was sore
afraid, and trembled for his kingdom and for his people ; and he
turned him to his Parsees, and said : ' My ancestor exalted you, and
lavished favors on your people ; so now it behooveth you to make
plain your gratitude, and lend me your aid, leading the way in
battle.' And the Parsees answered : ' Fear not, O Pnnce ! on ac-
count of this army ; we are ready to scatter thy foes ; nor shall one
man of us turn his back, though a mill-stone were cast at his head.'
And thereupon, drawing themselves up in battle array, under their
dauntless chief Ardeshir, they flew at the insolent infidels of Aleef
IQian, and drove them from the land ; Ardeshir unhorsed their
proudest chieftain, and slew him with his lance as he lay on the
ground.

Then my Parsee neighbor, holding the little Kirsetjee, all shud-
dering, on his knee, told him how the Ghebers were slaughtered
at Variao. The Rajah of Ruttonpore, a ruthless Rajpoot, would
have taxed the Parsees of that place, beyond his rights, beyond
their means ; but they defied him ; and when he sent his troops to
force them, the Parsees met them with sword and javelin, and
drove them back ; which so enraged the Rajah that his heart was
filled with treachery, and his mind with terrible inventions. He
beguiled the Parsees with fair words and fine promises, till they
were no longer on their guard ; and when they were all met, fear-
ing no ambush, at a wedding of note, he fell upon them with his
fiercest, and slew them there — them and their women and their
children, sparing none. And the anniversary of that black deed
is remembered in mourning, at Surat, to this day.

r»0(> J/y PaViice N^eiykhor, [Dooembor,

Somotimcs my Parscc noicrlibor instructed his little Kirsotjce in
tlu* i»roci()ii>; tradition^ of the Ghebor's laith, ami the .saviiii^ pn-
copls ol'the Zt*n<l-Avosta. lie rclate«l how Zoroaster was born in
the eity of Rai, in IVrsia, hi the reign of Kin*; Gushtasp. An
angel appeared unto Purosliusp, eliosen by the Lord, for his ]»r-
llct tiiith and the hlann.:lessne?s of his life, to be the lather of the
(iliL'her's proj»liet, and proffered him a glass of wondrous wini',
fresh fr(jni the gr:ipes of heaven, whieh, wlien l*uroshusp bail
drunk it, tilled his eyes with visions and his soul with aspirat itm^^ ;
and innnediately Droglnlo, Puroslnisp's wife, conceived and bare a
ehild, the inspired child, Zurtosht, called Zoroaster. Then tin;
governor of the city of Kai, a most wicked man, instigated more-
over ])v abominable counsellors, would liavc destroyed the chiM;
but steel turned from its brea-t, and poison was as milk to it; iin-
would not scathe it, nor ^\ild beasts nu)lest it. So it lived on, and
giew to be a num of wisdom and of i)rophecy, who, when he was
forty years old, came into the presence of the King Gushtasp,
bearing a cy})ress tree, and the sacred fire called Ader IJoorzecn
^Feher, savin<r, 'The Ai.mkihty hath sent me to guide th(?e in
the ])ath of triitli, virtue, and })iety ; ' and the wise monareh ac-
eejited the (xcelleui <loctrines an»l the rites.

^ The doctrhu's which Ziirto.slit's miracles confirmed were wise
and rational. They taught the unity of (Joi> ; JIis omniiiotence,
and His goodness toward men ; a solemn veneration for rtre, the
visibU^ type of the invisible <livinity ; and an abiding aversion for
Ahriman, the in.«tigati>r of evil thoughts, but not coetonial with
(iui>. The morality contained in the books of Zoroaster is pure,
and fouiHh'd on tlu^ love of our neiurhbor.'*

Zoroaster and the Maijri taiudit the (Thebers to rcffard the sun
]>ut as the best and Jair«'st image of the C'ueatoii, and to revere it
lor the bles. ings it dilfuses on the earth. The saerod flame was
the ]>erj)ftual monitor to preserve their ])urity, of which it was the
expressive symbol. l>ut suj)erstitioii and fable have, in the lapse
• »f \v;[,v<^ deliled the stream of a religious system which, in its
source, WJ's j)ure and Kublime.f

However that may be, my l\arsee neighbor drinks now at the
source ; for once, as I stood at my door in Cossitollah, tlyj tran-
quil (iheber rode by on an inui bier, borne on the shoulders of six
^\ hite-i'obed ;/'f.'?..v ..//Az/v, and followed by a placid train of friends,
li]d<e<l in pnir.^ Avilh white handkerchiefs at their wrists; and they
c.irriefl him to Dnkhma, the tower of silence, where they left him
to ihe Pondicherry c\'igles and tlie white crows and the adjutants;
and wIk n ilu^y h:i<l washed their hands and their faces, they never
si»a!a' of him more.

^ Asg'-i.TiL-Di ."iiiMMN. * r\)uni:s' Oriental Memoirs.

1858.] Lovers versus Sweet-hearts, 607

THE FADED FLOWER.

I BROUGHT wild flowers to my dark house,
Gathered in meadow and breezy lane,

Palest roses that die in the sun,
And daisies that bloom in the rain.

I brought wild flowers to cheer my love,
Pining within these gloomy walls,

Twining them in her golden hair,
Where only the sun-light falls.

' The flowers are dying,' she softly said,

' But every spnng the roses blow :
Gather them when they bloom again,
Though I shall be dead, you know.'

Each year I bnng to my dark house
Roses and daisies from field and lane.

And I pray, as I watch them fade and die.
That I never may go again.

LOVERS VERSUS S W E E T-H E A R T S :

OR, BOTH BIDES OP THE QUESTION.

Men and women, particularly young men and women, are con-
tinually (and perhaps with sufficient provocation on both sides)
throwing back and forth at each other the hardest and most un-
gainly epithets. There are, it would seem, no names too harsh to
be applied to either party, which has always at its tongue's-
cnd something even more pointed and severe wherewith to re-
taliate. And yet the two are never easy out of each other's society.

Women are weak, coquettish, artificial, empty-headed, and fond
of admiration, say the men, as they exert themselves to please the
fair creatures. Men are conceited, inconstant, and hypocritical,
the women say, destitute of principle, and will engage the affec-
tions of any woman merely to minister to their own vanity. And
with this belief, they resort to any artifice, and make any sacrifice,
that will secure the attention of those they so much abuse.

This should not be. The conclusion was long ago reached, that
men and women compare too favorably with each other in their
social obliquities, insufficiencies, and short-comings to make it be-
coming in them to avenge or amuse themselves in bandying abont
such charges as these.

I acknowledge readily that women are flirts, whose only aim is
to excite admiration, and who, rather than not receive attentions,

608 Lovers versus Sweet-hearts. [December,

and 80 lose an opportunity for displaying their power and inflaence,
will receive them from a dunce or a roite ; but then the men are
worse than they. I will confess that the men will resort to any
ruse by which they may hope to secure the interest and love of
any woman, without declaring their own sentiments ; that they
will pretend to love, and will pay attentions to any one who pleases
them, merely to turn the heads cff those they think in their wis-
dom are to be fooled by such flattery ; and that their ingenuity is
constantly exercised in their attempts to see how much of what
they do n't feel they can seem to feel ; but then the ruses a woman
has at her command, and the skill and power — to say nothing of
the advantage her sex gives her — with which she can employ
them, are ten-fold beyond the capacity of any man to rival.

When we are in the company of a pleasing woman, of a flirt, in
fine, who puts her opponent of the moment m the best of humor,
by depreciating all those men with whom he is apt to see her,
knowing that, in his conceit, he wDl add to the list of his o\\ii
good qualities, and of his claims — which he thinks she thereby
recognizes — upon her favor, whatever she denies to his friends,
and will consider every thing she may say in their disfavor as an
acknowledgment of her preference for him : when she does this,
and she always will, how can her victim, almost drawn by his own
vanity and desires into her toils — how can her victim escape ?
Why, his greedy appropriation of all this, is only a feint ; this show
of yielding to the sofl persuasion of her flattering song, is only as-
sumed for the sake of putting his enemy off* her guard, and, by
making her think her victory secure, force her to expose hersell*,
by some rash move or false position. And so the battle rages.
It is always a drawn one, however, and like the family quarrels of
feudal ages, has been handed down from generation to generation
of flirts and coquettes. The bad blood will never be all spilt, and
as the men get together and complain of the cruel and fatal strata-
gems women resort to, and plan how they may defeat and utterly
annihilate them, as though they were a horde of savage robbers ;
80 women cannot find words fit to express their abhorrence for
their natural enemies, and accuse them of unfairness, of presuming
upon their greater natural strength and the advantage the laws
they make give them.

It is immaterial from which side you look at the matter. You
will probably think that party most abused and the most deser\nng
of pity, whose melancholy and exaggerated account you have
been obliged to listen to last.

After all, the conflict resembles more than any thing else a duel,
the parties in which have always been friends, perhaps dear friends,
up to the moment when an unlucky expression, used at an unlucky
time, has kindled the passions, that lead to a quarrel, the result
of wliich the victor may regret his life long. We are the slave of
one who makes all the hours we pass away from her miserable and
useless, because we cannot guess how she may regard us, nor know
whether some other may not be basking in the smiles and enjoy-

1858. Lovers verstis Sweet-hearts. 609

ing the favors and conversation we are deprived of. We find we
have cause for jealousy, or imagine we have, and there is no hard
name w^e do not bestow upon her we loved so much ; and in our
anger, we include the rest of the sex she belongs to. We discover
afterward, that we have been hasty in our sweeping vituperation,
and making exceptions in favor of another fair one, call her an
angel in her turn, and for a time think we love her.

When we read the story of Perseus, how he sailed away from
the island of Xaxos, leaving the inconsolable Ariadne on the in-
hospitable rocks, to weep over and bemoan her cruel fate, we feel
the greatest pity for that unfortunate lady, and the strongest in-
dignation for the heartless monster who could treat her so unfairly.
But the same thing is happening every day. Unprincipled Per-
seuses withoufr number, are perpetually leaving disconsolate Ari-
adnes, if not on the island of Naxos, at least in the island of New-
York, and inevitably forget to come back any more.

Male flirts out-number the female, in the proportion of three to
one, I believe ; but, and I say it for the sake of the ladies, whom
it may perhaps console, the victims of that one coquette out-num-
ber those of the other three, in the proportion of nine to three.
This is statistical information, and is as much to be depended upon,
as are the bills of mortality or the lists of deaths and marriages.

But seriously, young men — with reference to your imitation of
Perseus' inglorious example — you should not do this. If you
possess a handsome form and face, an irresistible charm of manner
and a winning and ingratiating address and style of conversation,
of course it will be difficult, if not wholly out of your power, un-
less you resort to both mental and physical disfigurement and de-
facement, to help being fallen in love with at first sight, as you
pass through the streets or ornament the salons you have the entree
to. But it is in your power, if you will consent to refrain from
the free use and display of the gifts Heaven has lavished upon
you — it will be within your power to stop short of captivating the
hearts as well as the fancies of those you meet.

My friend Tom, who is a flatterer among the fair sex, and thinks
he is in love with, and beloved by, any and every lively girl who
seems to enjoy herself in his society, and is on pins till he can
entrap her by his mock protestations into some word or action
that will convince him he is right — or wrong — for I believe
he cares very little, if the troublesome question be only settled
one way or the other ; Tom meets Julia at a party, or is introduced
to her at the house of a common friend, whom he may perhaps
be laying vigorous siege to at the time. He is attracted at first by
her beauty and lively and amusing conversation, by the kindness
and attention with which she receives and listens to him, and then
charmed, on farther acquaintance, by the depth and originality
of her character, the extent of her womanly knowledge, the just-
ness of her ideas, the correctness of her tastes, and the skill with
which she argues disputed points with him ; in short, as he says
himself, ^ the entire absence of all nonsense in her composition,^

610 Lovers versus Sweet-hearts. [December,

and the triumphant ' she knows a thing or two, let me tell yon,'
with which he closes his description.

She too is pleased with his looks and bearing, the soundness of
his good sense, which prevents his talking in tne insipid manner
most of her male friends think she must be pleased with, with his
good-humored wit, his skill in repartee, and perhaps his pleasant
satire. They enjoy each other's society, and pernaps she is so
much pleased as to allow the satisfaction she feels in being with
him, and in hearing him talk, to manifest itself. He of course
takes no pains to conceal his. They stumble, or he directs the
conversation that way, upon some personal topic. There is some-
thing she wishes to know — when he saw her in the street without
being seen by her ; or something of equal importance, and he will
not tell her, or vice versa, and much playful badinage, sportive
teasing, and skilful plotting and counter-plotting pass between
them.

Tom goes off elated, after such a passage-at-arms with her, and
as he smokes a segar with a particular friend — I may be the one
he chooses — tells him of the acquaintance he has made, how
pretty and lively and witty she is, how she can play and sing, or
draw, and how he really believes, ' Egad, though it may seem
mere vanity for me to say so,' he has the grace to say, that she
has really taken a fancy to him.

' But then she is a desperate flirt, you know,' he goes on to say,
* and was trying all the time to make me think she was really m
earnest.' And the poor moth, forgetful of his previous disasters,
which, to be sure, have not injured him seriously, flutters round
the same candle again and again. He is piqued because he cannot
know whether she was in earnest or not, and imagines his desire
and longing to know how she regards him, to be a passion he feels
for her, and thinks his jealousy and his anger at her suspicious re-
serve confirm it. He vows he will find out the truth of the
matter without committhig himself, so that in case she cares nothing
for him — bv which he means, does not care for him more than for
any one else in the world — she may not be able to boast of the
victorv.

He is sometimes successful, Tom is, and if he find she really
loves him, calls her silly and weak for yielding her heart before it
was demanded of her, and accuses her — by which means he quiets
his own conscience — of having made all the advances.

Or his opponent, he finds to his disgust, is a.s skilful as he is,
perhaps more so ; and to his great chagrin, he discovers that he
can only leani her mind by first declaring his own, at the risk even,
when he has so far humbled himself, of being laughed at for his
pains.

But Dick and Harry, though old in years, are young and inex-
perienced in affaires du cceur^ and are made acquainted with a
new sensation, when they at last fall in love. They are earnest and
sincere, and of course meet with a girl who has a heart, to be
sure, but has learned in her physiology, and by her experience in

1858.] Lovers versus Sweet-hearts. 611

the world, that it is merely an engine for the propulsion of the ne-
cessary blood, and thinks a like dreary machine throbs in the
breast of every one she meets. She denies the existence of love,
but would marry, were a desirable parti to present himself, though
she prefers being followed by a crowd of admirers, many of whom
follow her only because she is the fashion, and it gives one a name
to be seen with her. Dick and Harry, who regard her as all that
is beautiful and admirable, worship the ground she covers, which,
in the present style of dress, would seem to be no very disinter-
ested affection, and are her most devoted. She plays them off,
one against the other, and the rest of the crowd against them both.
She grants her favors only by rule, and measures out encourage-
ment according to the necessities of the case. She never feels the
spur of a natural impulse, and probably cares the least for, and
finds the most troublesome, with his doubts and jealousies, and
complaints of her coldness, him who loves her most truly.

But she is not to be blamed. She is only fulfilling her mission
in the world, and is preserving the balance of power.

When young Sophos had his first falling out with little Miss
Nelly — and they have had many another since, let me tell
you — who accused him of lukewarmness, of not loving her with
the ardor she deserved, of always lecturing and finding fault with
her, and of not caring, as he ought, when she flirted with other
young men ; when they quarrelled, as all lovers do, she, as all
young ladies in such extremities do, insisted upon the immediate
return of all the pretty nick-nacks she had from time to time, and
with many affectionate and tender words, bestowed upon him ;
and requested him to send her back all her silly little notes, to
read which you would think that the whole art of love consisted
in coining pretty names. When young Sophos, who, between you
and me, is not the most lover-like of men, and never does any thing
absurd or ridiculous, and will not allow Miss Nelly to be foolish
either; who can entertain himself with her friend even while his
Nelly is in the room, and receives all her impulsive and heart-felt
expressions of affection with a little too much of a sneer, and as
though he thought it a bore — (' It won't do, Sophos,' I used to tell
him, ' it won't do. It is too much like pouring your hot coffee into
a large bowl, stone-cold — you do n't warm the thick china so much
as you cool your drink, and the beverage reaches your lips luke-
warm and insipid,') — when Sophos then, who is what I have
described him, received Miss Nelly's command, he busied him-
self in collecting all the billet-doux^ all the trinkets, and other pre-
sents she had ever sent him : from out the pockets of various coats,
from drawers, and out-of-the-way boxes, and other hiding-places
they came ; and with the slippers, purses, smoking-caps, mittens,
etc., etc., she had made for him, made up quite a bundle, I assure
you. And when Miss Nelly, with her heart in her throat, and
Bcalding tears in her eyes, opened the package, and cried anew as
she remembered how much she had enjoyed working the slippers,
the knitting or the embroidery, and how often, while she was so

612 Lof^ers versus Sweet-hearts. [December,

busy, ho had been by her side, readinp^ and talking to her, and
how happy she was then, she could hardly contain herself or keep
back her tears till she could get to her own room to have a good
cry.

And among all the other articles contained in the bundle, she
found a slip of paper bearing her name which, recognizing the writ^
ing of her darling Sophos, she kissed again and again, and then
opening it, read as follows : ' As Miss Nelly has seen fit to demand
a restitution of the various gifts of affection she has bestowed upon
me from time to time, and has doubtless done so with the idea of
makhi^ use of them to secure the gratitude and affection of some
other lover, I consider myself justified in demanding also the re-
turn of my proofs of affection, given her in a different form, it is
true, but one none the less valuable to me, and which may also
serve again on some future occasion.' And then followed — if you
will believe mo — a bill, of which I give some of the items, and of
which the amount was a by no means insignificant sum. To
horses and vehicles on so many occasions, so much ; fares in stages
and over rail-ways, so much ; tickets to operas, concerts, theatres,
etc., etc., so much ; bouquets, fans, gloves, etc. ; volumes of Eng-
lish poets ; and finally, ' time passed in her company, which should
have been given to my business, or to other friends whom I
neglected.'

' Of course she did n't pay the bill,' said Sophos to me as we
were talking the matter over. ' I only sent it in order to show
her how foolishly and ridiculously she had acted. She was con-
vinced of it herself on tho receipt of that note, for how could she
imagine or persuade herself that a lover, who had spent so much
money as that in ministering to her pleasures, and gratifying her
whims, could be lukewarm or indifferent ? So she sent me a note
the next day, acknowledging her fault, asking my forgiveness, and
promising never to doubt me again. Which promise, I am sorry
to say, she has broken at least a dozen times in as many weeks.
It is a deuced good dodge,' he added, ' and if I had tried it before,
I should have now a much larger stock of purses, smoking-caps, and
so on, or else my pockets w^ould be better filled. I should cer-
tainly have prosecuted the claim, unless she had made a compro-
mise, and I do n't know but I am sorry I did n't.'

' It 4s all humbug,' he went on, ' this idea girls have, that they
must take all their presents back as soon as there is any breach
between them and their lovers. With regard to letters, it is all
very well, no one wants them ; but shirt-studs, and segar-cases,
and gold pencil-cases, etc., etc., are often very useful ; and when a
man has once become attached to them, he will often, if the young
lady, merely in a huff, or perhaps from malice, calls ui>on him to
give them up, pretend to an amount of affection he no longer feels,
merely for the sake of keeping them.'

I thought Sophos was making a confession as he went on in this
tone, and, as I think of it, I am quite sure he was. I am confident
that his engagement-collar galls his neck, and that he cannot help

1868.] Lovers versus Sweet-hearts. 613

envying the freedom of the society of wolves he has so lately left.
He cannot help regretting the old precarions, uncertain manner of
life, when he was wholly free and his own master, and could roam
about foraging where he pleased, though he often was half-starved,
and is dissatisfied with his present servile condition, which isecures
him from want, it is true, but makes of him a bond-servant in
return for the daily nutriment of love and attention he receives,
and rebels at being restrained and coerced as the price of the kind
care and regular food which is provided him.

' I have made the startling discovery,' said a friend to me the
other night, as we were taking a pipe and a glass of beer together,
' I have made the startling discovery, within the last two years,
that there are women who can feel a deep, sincere, and disinter-
ested though foolish affection for a man. I believe there are some,
in fact I know there are two, who can love to that extent, and be-
stow their real and heart-felt affection so wholly that they see
nothing but truth and honor in him they adore, and yield him all
their confidence with the same blind weakness as prompts them to
snatch up as a great bargain the piece of damaged silk which the
sofl beguilings of the smooth-tongued shop-man persuades them
is just as good as, if not better than, it was before it had been
soaked in salt water. Poor innocents ! '

' Poor innocents, indeed I ' returned I, who had been somewhat
amused by the earnestness and the tone of pity with which my
friend, a notorious lady-killer, had been holding forth ; ' poor inno-
cents, indeed, except when they become sales-Women, and pass off
upon us their pretty faces, well-dressed figures, and their shallow
minds occupied only by one idea, which, to be sure, makes as
pleasant music in our bewitched and flattered ears as did the single
shot in the tin rattle of our childhood ; poor innocents, except
when they pass off this brummagem as the real article, and as
worth any arbitrary sum they choose to demand. They resemble
those delicious little shop-women of the continent — who are
doubtless poor little innocents too — who, when we let them fit us
with our gloves, give us any pair they please, and persuade us to
take the very color we have a dislike for. And so the balance is
struck.' The pendulum swings to-and-fro, and is, as in the best
time-pieces, a compensation pendulum, so its movements never
vary, and its journey is as long on the one side as on the other.

If Clementina, who was on the point of having her wedding-
finery made up, and has seen in her rambles about the city 'just
the dearest little house in the world,' just the one she would like
to live in with Charles — and how happy they will be there,
though it be small, and in a back street ; if Clementina, who has
told her bosom friend her happy dreams for the future, that Charles
is very fond of her, and how she considers herself engaged to
him, for though he went away before he had exactly made her a
formal proposal, he will doubtless do so on his return, or in his
letters ; if this deluded young lady find herself deserted, and the
house she liked so much occupied by another fond couple ; if her

G 1 4 Yoice.fi I hear. [Docoiuber.

ojislle, built ill the iiir on so frail fouiulations, tuinhle :ibuut lier
ears, aii<l l)urv liiT iKMicalh its ruin, crusliinijj hor with despair an«l
sDrrow, ami Vu'eakiuLC Hor lioart of course; so Tom, I)ii*k, an«l
Harry, wlio follow their particular fancy about from one ball anil
wateriii;j:-])lace to another, who exhaust their fortunes in concert
and oj>era-tickets in boutjuets, fans, etc., and their leisure in es-
coitini^ her to anv and every place of amusement she will visit with
thcni, and who worship at the same church with her for any num-
ber of consecutive Sundays; so those vounjj men are astonishc<l
that the lime comes at last when, instead of receivincj a reward for
their devotion, they are informed that their services arc required
no louLjer: that the one thev love is enorairodto some one else, and
that invitations can no lonp^er be accepted, etc. Their eyes are
j)lu('kiMl oj»en thus rudely, and they have no consolation but in
heartily cursinp:, billiards, se<i^ars, etc. They are even passed over
in the distribution of wedding-cards, and have notlnnj^ left to
remiu'l them of the happy past but a few short htUcts^ not particu-
larly </(;//.>•, and containini^ only a vecpiest for their company to the
ojxMa or theatre, or the broad hint that there is the loveliest bou-
quet or the sweetest fan at , etc.

V o I ('. j: S 1 II K A u .

I)(»\vN, down where diu'k waters are leaping:,
1 hear a voire cailinj; me —
From the peai'ly spniy calling nic :
Tionely one, rest below,
Sea-iiyniphs shall hush thy wo.

None will nii<s thee quietly sleeping.

ir.

Low, low where the -n'een jrrass is p^rowing,

I hear a voice calling mo,

From the beckonin.ir giitss calling me :

AVearv one, ne<tle liere.

Soil ^'ecn shall he thy bier,
>Ve '11 screen thee ln.»m winds rudely blowing.

TT'

Love, love, fare-th.-'e-well ! I am going:
I ln-ar v<)ii"<:s callini^ me.
To a sIkuIowv laml callin'^ me:
On that -lu-re thon wilt wait,
t'aliiii'i: iiH^ all t<x) late —

•Thy l(.Mr.s iliroii;^h the mist vainly flowing.

1858.] The Death of a Great Power, 6l«

THE DEATH OF A GREAT POWER.

A RECENT number of Punch contains a long and by no means
complimentary obituary notice of ' Mr. John Company,' or in other
words, of the late well-known though not well-beloved East-India
Company, which, during the year that is drawing to its close,
has rested from its labors. There is hardly a charge which can
blacken the memory of individual or corporation, which the witty
satirist does not heap upon the departed worthy, and he concludes
by an expression of devout thankfulness that resurgam can never
be written on its tomb. It has been for ages so much the fashion
to allow of no comment upon dead greatness which does not con-
fine itself to the enumeration of its virtues, that a little post-
mortem abuse is a tempting and effective feat for a humorist to
perform ; above all, when, as in this case, there are no sorrowing
friends to wince under the infliction ; but we confess that, even
with all the faults and crimes of the defunct fresh in our minds,
we can hardly find it in our hearts to rejoice over its grave. It
may possibly be, and we believe it is, a blessing for the race whose
fate it so long held in its hands, that it is gone ; \}\xX, its annals have
been illustrated by too much heroism, and genius, and sacrifice for
us to gaze on its vacant place without a tinge of awe and solemnity
in the thousand reflections which its history and its fate inspire.

No one can run his eye over the chronicles of the year which is
this month at an end, without feeling that, in witnessing the violent
death of the great corporation, he has mtnessed the denouemefit
of a drama so marvellous, that had it been played in other place
than on the classic ground of romance itself, we should hardly yet
have recovered from the shock of astonishment. All the monarcbs
of Europe, rolled into one, might have fallen from their places,
without leaving so great a gap in the forces which shape the des-
tinies of the world. No three monarchs together held so many
human lives, so much human happiness within reach of their finger-
points as this company of traders held in the hollow of its hand.
No conqueror has ever crowded into so short a space of time so
much that dazzles the imagination, and so much that outrages
probability. To have prophesied in the^ year 1700 that any
power in Europe could reduce, with the resources of a great
state at its back, an empire like that of the Moguls to grovel-
ling subjection, would have only excited the laughter of the
most visionary adventurer ; to have prophesied the performance of
any such feat by a batch of London grocers, with the profits of
their trading, would have been treated as a plain indication of lu-
nacy. But to have fixed the scene of this imaginary conquest fif-
teen thousand miles away, on the plains of India, in the centre of
that fairy-larfd of glory, by which the fancy of all the great cap-
tains of the world, from Alexander to Napoleon, has been fired,

VOL. LII. 40

616 The Death of a Great Power. [December,

and to have awarded even in a dream, to these ])altr7 hucksters,
conquest and dominion for which heroes have sighed for three
thousand years in vain, would hardly have even called forth the
laughter which usually greets the vagaries of madness.

Can w^, moreover, picture to ourselves any man in that year, or,
without the experience which we possess, in this, finding in the
most extraordinaiy and unlooked-for occurrences which he had
ever witnessed, or of which he had ever heard, in the coarse of
human affairs, reasonable grounds for supposing that a power such
as was called into existence by Queen Elizabeth's charter, could be
enabled to use lavishly in its service the fieriest valor and the deep-
est devotion of which men are capable ; that the sordid s^ms and
mean wants of traders could call soldiers into the field, such as
have rarely followed the banners of the greatest leaders in the
world ; that their interests and their schemes could become themes
on which orators would rival the greatest masters of their art, and
strike ^ listening senators ' mute with admiration ? And yet all
this has happened, almost in our day ; there are men still living,
who were born before the East-India Company had cherished any
higher ambition than a hundred per cent profit on its ventures,
when its clerks trembled before the weakest of the Mogul's satraps,
and when a Dutdh captain of infantry might have hanged the
proudest of its factors with impunity. Its conquests of territory
merely, since that period, if viewed as military operations simply,
stand in the first rank. Military glory is, after all, mainly
based upon the contrast between the end accomplished and the
means employed. To do 'great things with poor materials fur-
nishes one of the best titles to martial laurels. Napoleon never
shone as he shone in the morning of his career, when he beat the
finest troops and greatest generals in Europe with the shoeless,
shirtless ragamuffins, who formed the ^ army of Italy ' in his first
campaign. Half the glory of the American Revolution lay in the
paltriness of the forces which accomplished it. Great armies are
a physical power which over-awes and impresses the imagination ;
but the moral grandeur of war is to be found in the audacity and
self-confidence of small numbers, in victories wrung from the
hands of fate, in spite of odds of all sorts : odds of battalions, Qf
distance, of climate, of resources. Fortune at the outset did little
for the Company ; but she afterward amply atoned for hei; neglect.
When its military career commenced, it was represented on In-
dian soil, by a few sickly clerks, whose martial aspirations were all
fully satisfied, if their clumsy stockades protected them from
the sabres of the Mahratta cavalry. They were surrounded by
enemies, who let them pass unsc^hed for no better reason than
that they were weak and helpless. The native rulers, outside their
fort, were their masters ; the predominant European power in In-
dia was the French, whose interests were watched by trained and
skilled soldiers ; the Dutch hardly honored the English even by
regarding them as competitors. Army, the Company had none,

1858.] The Death of a Cheat Poxtcr, 617

and of money very little. If its employes got home at the end of
a few years, with some shreds of their livers remaining, and a few
thousand pounds in possession, acquired by cheating the natives,
they looked on their careers as emmently successful. And yet, in
eighty years, a series of the most brilliant triumphs in war and
diplomacy, made it one of the great powers of the world ; the
dread of the east and envy of the west ; the head of a vast and
efficient host, and the ruler of two hundred millions of the most
submissive of subjects — a puissant monarch without one of the
forms of royalty. In what history shall we find a tale so strange ;
a tale of power so acquired, so held, so lost, o^such singular vicis-
situdes of fortune thronging a period so short ? Macaulay has
well remarked, that wonderful as were the careers of Cortez and
Pizarro in America, they want a good deal of the romantic inter-
est which hangs round the story of British conquests in Hindo-
stan. The Spaniards were men of war, commissioned by a power-
ful nation, fighting naked savages, who had never smelt powder or
seen a horse ; while the English traders encountered on their own
responsibility a monarchy, whose cavalry was the finest in the
world, and swarmed as the leaves of the forest, and who counted
its artillery by the thousand, and whose co-religionists had car-
ried fire and sword to the gates of Vienna. When the historian
appears, who shall write John Company's life, as Prescott has re-
hearsed the exploits of the Spanish adventurers, the world will
wonder, and with reason, that in an age when genius is puzzled so
much to know upon what to expend itself, a tale so strange should
have remained so long untold.

But the Company's doings in India have always possessed an in-
terest for us, quite independent of the glitter of its military suc-
cesses. We have always looked upon it as a grand monument of
middle-class energy and enterprise. From 1688 to 1830, the Eng-
lish people, though they had their liberty secured by the Dutch
revolution, had in reality as little to do with the government of Eng-
land, as if they kept shop in the Rue Royale. Daring that long
and changeful intei-val, it is impossible to discover upon the face of
public policy, whether foreign or domestic, the slightest trace of
their influence, the slightest indication that their habits or opinions
formed an element in the calculation of any British statesman. It
is impossible to read over the annals of the time, without being
struck by the regularity with which the reins of government pass
from the hands of one great house and its dependents to those of
another great house and its dependents, and how steadily the idea
is presented to us, that when the bourgeoisie and the people are
secured in the peaceable exercise of their industry and in the en-
joyment of their personal liberty, they have obtained all that they
have a right to ask for. Down to the passage of the Reform Bill, the
idea that they might fairly claim a share in the highest and noblest
of pursuits — those of the statesman and soldier — was almost as
strange and unfamiliar at Westminster as at Versailles. This was
certainly the case in the middle of the last century. England was

018 The Death of a Great Povcer. [December

as pure an oligarchy when the Company first began to acquire ter
ritory, as France was a despotism under Louis XIV. The verj
liberty which the middle classes enjoyed, and the ambitioD, energy,
and entcri)risc which that liberty naturally developed, rendered
this exclusion from the pcreat arena of war and politics all the
more galling, llie Pansian bourgeois, whom a rakish Count
might kick with impunity, or a malevolent Marquis shut up in a
prison, felt it no great hardship not to be allowed to command a
regiment or negotiate a treaty ; but the free-born English mer-
chant or squire, whose person and property were sacred as the
king^K, was natural!;^ outraged by finding that the accident of birth
had shut his sons out from careers whicn he felt they could adorn.
The ai-my was as scrupulously resei'vcd for persons of quality, as
the right of entree to the royal drawing-room. The prizes of the
Church were only bestowed on the scions of old houses. A seat
in Parliament was sometimes obtainable by a middle-class man, by
the charity of a county magnate, and upon condition that he
would speak his patron's thoughts, and vote as he wished. The
law alone was left to the people, because its prizes could only be
won by the industry of a long life, and by the indomitable energy
which poverty begets.

It may bo imagined, therefore, what splendid vistas were opened
up to popular eyes by the rise of the Company's power in India:
since the brief* -but glorious days of the first revolution, no such
visions liiul met them. How many Cromwells, and Clives, and
Hastings, and Napiers, and Ilavelocks had lived obscurely and
died ignobly between the battle of Worcester and the battle of
Plassey ! How much of the dogged energy, the remorseless en-
terprise, and the insatiable ambition, which have since created the
Indian empire, must have rusted away in counting-houses and
farm-houses, during the halcyon days of Whig and Tory. On the
morning on which Clive threw down his pen, and buckled on the
sword, a new light burst on the English people, and a new worid
was oi)oned to them. A state of things, in which a friendless
clerk could, by the aid of a clear head and stout heart, posh his
way, in half a year, into the front rank of generals and statesmen,
was something they had not seen for many a long year. The old
stories, now almost fading from the popular memory, of the
throng of eager youths who crowded the ponderous old Indift-
nicn which ploughed their course in half a year round the Ci^w
of Good Hope to Calcutta, flushed with hope, simply because they
had neither money nor connections, may give us some idea of the
god-send which Ciive's success Avas to thousands who fretted away
lite at homo, maddened by the conventional obstacles aranit
which naked merit struck its head at every turn it took. Here,
at least, was a field in which birth and position were of no ac-
count, in which a good sabre was Avorth a yard of pedigree, and
in which energy might, in a man's dealings with the pagaM
of Ilindostan, make amends for his forefather's absence from the
Crusades. The poor and the low-bom had it all to themadTek

1858.] The Death of a Great Power, 619

None others would face that endless voyage, that burning sun,
those dusty plains and thick jungles, and Mahratta horsemen.
The exile was sure to be long, return was uncertain. The riches
of the East certainly were fabulous, but the air was thick Avith
disease, and on every road lurked foes. If half England went
there, her army would still be a handful on a distant shore, as com-
pared with the myriads of unknown peoples who swarmed in the
mterior of the mighty empire of the Great Mogul.

The first flood of adventurers, as might have been expected,
were not men of the nicest honor, or in possession of very tender
consciences. They found themselves suddenly in possession of un-
limited power, and they abused it grossly. They fought and con-
quered, and then plundered and oppressed. They lived riotously, and
hastened home with hoards of ill-gotten wealth. The government
of Bengal, in the first years of the Company's reign, was probably
as bad as any that human ingenuity, pressed into the service of
unscrupulous greed, could have devised. To the great man who
laid the foundation of the empire, is due the honor of delivering
it from the horrors which his victories brought upon it. Bright
as were the glories of Arcot and Plassey, they pale their fires be-
fore Olive's nobler labors, in reforming the administration, and
saving the natives from the extortion and tyranny of their new
rulers. But bad as the Indian soldiers and politicians were, in
point of morality, contrast their vigor, their energy, their clear-
neadedness, their wisdom in council and rapidity in action, with
the slow stupidity, the blunders, and humiliations by sea and land,
which marked the operations of the King's government, during
the same period, elsewhere. While the former were building up
a new empire in the East, the latter were losing a far finer one in
the West. While Clive, with a handful of writers and Sepoys, was
expelling the French from Ilindostan, and awing powerful monarchs
into submission, Braddock was losing a noble army in the wilds of
Virginia, and Dinwiddie was sowing the wind which soon after
produced the whirlwind, A few years later, when Clive was in-
fusing order into the Indian administration, and creating the system,
which, bad or good, was the best government the Hindoos had
ever had. Lord North was driving America headlong into rebel-
lion, by the grossest misgovernment the world ever saw. And in
the palmy days of Hastings, when the great Company gave laws
before Avhich princes bowed in awe, to sixty millions of a foreign
race, when the Rohillas, who had never been conquered before,
recoiled before the English arms, Clinton was shut up ingloriously
in New- York, and Cornwallis was marching on his doom at
YorktowTi.

The vigor with which India was won, was as marked as the slug-
gish incapacity by which America was lost. In everything under-
taken by the ministry at home during that period, the contrast was
preserved. The Duke of York's disasters in Walcheren, were a fit-
ting counterpart to the disasters of Saratoga and Yorktown ; but

620 The Death of a Great Power. [December,

there was nothing, whether villainous or glorious, on which the Corn-
pony's servants set their hands, in those dark days of British history,
which was not crowned with triumph. They were as successful m
diplomacy as in war. They beat their enemies in the field, out-
witted them in intrigue, out-did them in fraud. The craftiest of
crafty Hindoos, found that the strangers were more than their
matches, even in the Hindoo game of deceit. They acconn)lished
a still greater wonder. They imported the dregs of London
stews, and made them into good soldiers ; and they converted the
cowardly, cringing ryots of the plains, over whom the warrior
races of the mountains had for twenty centuries ridden rough-shod,
into the unconquerable battalions who died in their ranks on the
bloody field of Conjeveram.

Of the Company's government of its dominions since it became
a territorial power, there is so much to be said, both in praise and
condemnation, that to attempt a full measure, either of the one or
the other, in the space we have at our disposal, is out of the ques-
tion. That it governed India as well as it might have been govern-
ed, or as we would fain hope it may yet be governed, its warmest
friends will not venture to assert. But that it has been the best
government India has ever had, since Indian records became cre-
dible, its worst enemies will hardly deny. Its great mbfortune
has been that it undertook to do ten times more than its strength
was equal to. It has never had a European force in the country
capable of regenerating twenty millions of its subjects ; and, never-
theless, has not hesitated to undertake all the duties of civilized
nilers toward two hundred millions of stiff-necked barbarians. The
whole weight of the administration has always fallen on the hand-
ful of British whom the wisest nursing is barely adequate to
maintain in sufficient vigor to meet the great exigencies of war and
insurrection. The life of an Englishman in Hindostan is one long
disease ; and though he had the zeal of Wilberforce and the energy
of Clive, as lonir as he has to fight so hard for bare life, it is unfair
to expect of him the conscientious industry and devotion which
one might fairly exact in Downing-street or Canada. The con-
(]^uered race have never been so penetrated by the ideas of civiliza-
tion as to be able to share either the labors or the responsibilities
of government. No form of civilization, if civilization it can be
called, ever offered so many obstacles as these to the labors of the
missionary or philanthropist. No Christian philosopher or evan-
gelist has ever yet come in contact with that mysterious and gro-
tesque faith ; that ancient and proud priesthood, those adamantine
walls of caste, founded before history began, without feeling his
heart quail at the prospect. He cannot flatter himself, as in the case
of China, that contact with other races, and fresh ideas, is all that is
needed to wake these millions up from their trance. More ages
than we care to guess at, more conquerors than history has chro-
nicled, more revolutions and invasions than would seem sufiScient
to sweep even from human memory ten such civilizations as our
own, great and stead&st though it be, have crossed those burning

1858.] The Death of a Great Power. 621

■ ■ ■ ^^ ' — ■ — ■ - MM^M. ■■■■ ■■■ ■! ■■■■.-■ ■— M II ■ ■ ■■■■ —^^mmm

plains, and changed almost everything but the people. Great sol-
diers and great kings have left a thousand traces of their progress.
They have dotted the country with everlasting temples, made
the wilderness blossom as the rose, have made rivers murmur,
and cities flourish, on arid wastes ; but man and his creed have
defied their power. The people were divided into Brahmin and
Csatriya, Vaisya and Sudra, when Alexander led his phar
lanxes down the Indus, and they are so divided still. Brahma,
Vishnoo, and Siva were the gods of the nation then as now ;
widows mounted the funeral pile, fakirs swung, Ealee had her
mid-night worship, and Juggernaut his noon-day rides. Ages on
ages of change, successive invasions, the pressure of foreign races,
the fanaticism of victorious Mussulmen, when Mussulmen were
really fanatical, have rolled over the heads of this singular people
in vain.

In an evil hour, for his own good name, John Company under-
took, with some twenty thousand tax-collectors and military offi-
cers, to overthrow a social organization like this, and in eighty
brief years to convert two hundred millions of the darkest, most
subtle, and most hidden of races, into Christians and gentlemen,
besides paying a handsome dividend to his stock-holders. He met
no material resistance that he did not crush ; but he encountered
a moral via inertice^ before which it would have been no disgrace for
a mightier power than he to have been foiled. He found, what he
might have known, that his forces were too small, for their example
or their ideas to reach masses of his vassals, and he found too that
civil servants and soldiers, who preserve order and administer
justice, scattered here and there in small parties hundreds of
miles apart, in a tropical climate, are not the fittest agents to
combat a creed which flourished before Jupiter began his reign,
and a priesthood which declares its founder to have sprung from
the Creator's head. He failed, and as might have been expected,
failed simally, but why he failed, the majority of those who have
criticised him and his deeds have never given themselves the
trouble to inquire. In commenting upon his doings, it was always
a far easier task to regard him as an European monarch, ruling a
people of his own faith and of his own civilization, and denounce
him for his short-comings accordingly, than to make a conscien-
tious examination of the difficulties he had to contend with. A
vigorous invective against a bad ruler is a performance of which
any writer is capable, but a candid inquiry into the nature of the
obstacles which the religion and manners of the Hindoos offer to the
regeneration of the country, is a work which few have the capacity,
and fewer still the opportunity to perform. As sad an example of
flippancy and folly as it is easy to conceive of, is offered by attempts
like those of Mr. Layard to solve this great problem, to lift the
veil in which time has shrouded the moral life of this singular peo-
ple, by means of a six months' tour, made in complete ignorance
of the language. Materials which may be amply sufficient for a

622 7^ Death of a Oreat Power. [December,

damaging opposition speech, fall far short of the exigencies of a
great system of social reform.

Who it is who is destined to do for India what the Company has
left undone, we do not take upon ourselves to say. The object
for which it was established was material gsun; and this primary
purpose showed itself in most of its doings to the very last. The
character either of beneficent ruler, of sage reformer, always sat
badly on its shoulders. There was something a little grotesque in
all its efforts to be good. When in later days it was forced into
openly playing the part of a wise monarch, it was guilty of almost
ludicrous inconsistencies. It monopolized the raising of opium,
and yet abolished Suttee, and maae a buccaneering foray into
Affghanistan, while it sent emissaries to civilize the Bheels. It
declared that its great object in retaining India was to elevate the
people, and yet frowned on the preaching of Christianity by its
officials. It grasped and exercised the power of a despot, and yet
approached the throne of puppet kings with the language and
bearing of a trader. It was forever preaching to the Hindoos the
extent of its own power, and yet allowed the Great Mogul, the
pensioner of its bounty, to treat its officers with as mucb contempt
as his ancestors in their palmiest days had ever deigned to bestow
on the early factors. As far as its limited means and limited
time allowed it, it improved the material resources of the country.
It made a few good roads and a few good canals, but with such a
handful of European servants as it was compelled to scatter over
the vast extent of its domains, it would have been absurd for it to
have attempted to change the face of nature in eighty years.
There was one thing, and one thing only which it did well, and
that was, extend territory. How much of it was acquired by de-
sign, and how much as the result of the quarrels which invariably
sprung out of contact between a civilized power and barbarous
ones, we must leave the historian to tell. We only know that it
has managed in an incredibly short space to bring under its sway
one of the largest and richest empires in the world, and it reigned
long enough over it to convince us that its forte did not He in
governing.

But it has other, and we might almost say tenderer claims on
our affectionate remembrance than those attaching to the charac-
ter of a wise ruler. It has drawn after it the prayers and blessings
of thousands of English homes for more than four generations.
With its fate has been linked the fate of hundreds of thousands
who left vacant places at honest fire-sides, which owed none of their
charm to rank or fortune. The democratic spirit which led its
first founders to declare even to Queen Elizabeth, that | they desired
not to employ any gentleman in any place of charge,' characterized
it to the last. Its victories were the victories of the English peo-
ple, and its reverses were felt in plain English homes, as no reverses
were ever felt before. When the royal army took the field, proud
houses trembled ; but when the Company's campaigns began, the

1858.] Tlie Death oj a Great Power. 623

middle classes — the bone and sinew of the nation — waited in
feverish expectation. No wars ever showed as its wars showed,
what force lies sleeping in the heart of that great bourgeoisie;
what heroes it can send to the field ; what sages to the council-
board ; what fertility of resource, vigor in action, fortitude in
calamity, shop-keeping John Bull can furnish on a pinch. It is
impossible to glance over the list of great names, which in one
period or other of its career were associated with it and its for-
tunes, without feeling grateful to a body, which, with all its faults,
has shed so much glory on our race. To have been served
and loved by such as served and loved it, would entitle worse
powers than it to the same respect from any one who was proud
of having English blood in his veins. For it Clive defended
Arcot, and fought at Plassey; for it Coote won Porte Novo.
In its service Arthur Wellesley gave the first indications of what
fortune and skill had in store for him. It was on the field of
Assaye, in command of the Company's troops, that he commenced *
the career of victory which thirty years later culminated in the sad
glories of Waterloo. Gough and Hardinge both fought, and fought
bravely for many a long year under the ' cold shade of aristocracy ; '
it was under the Company's banners that they won a name in history.
It was for the Company that Charles Napier toiled most, fought
most, and achieved most. He gained the great day of Moodkee
in its service ; and it was at its commander-in-chief, and in laboring
for its welfare, that he most revealed to the world the workings
of his proud, passionate, tender heart. It was for the Com-
pany he conquered Scinde, and governed it so well; and it. was
the mother of a Company's officer to whom, when her son was dis-
missed the service, that the general sent the price of his commis-
sion out of his own pocket, that the lad's folly might not bring the
old lady to want. In the roll of its civil servants it has, if possible,
still more to boast of. Clive was a great statesman as well as a
great soldier. Hastings infused order into the chaos of conquest
whicb Clive left behind him ; and it was as the Company's viceroy
that he was defended in the famous trial in which the Commons of
England were the plaintiffs, the Peers of England the judges, in
which Burke and Sheridan and Fox poured forth all the resources
of their genius, while all the wit and beauty of the age listened in
tears, and which has found in Macaulay a painter worthy of the
scene and of the actors. The great historian has himself been the
servant of the great corporation, and loved and defended it to
the last. Nor is he the first literary celebrity who has worn its
colors. Junius himself sat at the council-board in Calcutta ; and
Junius will have a place in English history almost as long as his
employers. One of the two famous Mills has told the wondrous
story of its rise ; and another has devoted to its interests one of the
subtlest and cleverest brains in England. There are i%w great men
of the last fifty years of British history whose fortunes the Com-
pany has not done something to make or mar, who have derived no
fame cither from assailing or defending it.

fJl^i A «SWyw/*er S^igJj.

Mjau:iux\*: 'A^i, Ju htory h:i% been, there LsDgs round its 1&5I en«3 a
ftfumwyi: tn*/r<r thrilliij;; than ever gUitd the belt Tears of iu
|;rifri<:. It w'/uM hr- w«;ll f^r the memory of aH ooiiqaeror& if their
*U::i\.\iti \*i-itiit'i\ th'-ir live-* ki well. Great and manifbld as were
tij<; «l:ifi;^<'r>) riri'l 'liffir.ulri's which as-railed it throogfa its whole ca-
nr*r^ i\niy hiuk into iri:^i;rnificaiice when compared with thotse with
whi':h it t'lfhUrtnUitl KiK:cc.'s.-f!]lly at the close. Triumphant oven
thoiihrirMl f'/C'^f, itH L'i»-.t h:ittlcri and greatest victories were won over
n i'lf uhi'.'h it hud itKrlf taught to conquer. Mahrattaa, Sikhs,
iCohilI:i-, iill tli(; warrior races of the continent, had one by one
liotm <lowii hiiiot'f*. Srrjioy valor, and at last the Sepoys themselves
Mini(;<l on their oM niaHtcr, and turned in vain. The erenta of that
itwlnl Nt.rng;;lc, at tlu; (rio.sc* of which the Company disappeared
from tiic li.st of ru](;rH, an; Ktill fresh in our memories. Ita iVieDds
will lon;^ hoast that ll.c; devotion, skill, and Bravery of its de-
IrndcrN wen* even nion; marked in its dying hoars than its rise.
AniDii;^ the many ^rviii men who helped to build up the fahric
of its (loNvtM*, thent were none of which it had more reason to he
IM'ond than of Salk(*ld, :ind Nieholson, and NeilL And of the thou-
sands who in those ei<rht.y eventful years met death on ita battle-
fields, snine with the eyes of the world upon them, but the TOSt
tnajnrity with no better eonsolation than the consciousness of fiuth
well ke|>t and duty well done, there were none who so illustrated
its atmiils as thi^ last, and greatest of them all, Havelock of Luck-
nuw. As long as the Kast-Iuilia Company is remembered, so long
will the tnit) he told of that bloody march from Allahabad, in which
the hour for whieh the old soldier waited for forty years in silenoe
ami patienee, eanie at last, lie had, through a long and noble Ufe,
home the en>ss manfully ; when he died within the walla of Luck-
ni>\v, he wore the erown.

\ s .■ M X' s i; N I o E r.
1 tkKL tho brv'iith et' tlu^ sumiuor night

riio irvvs l?u* vi!u»s tlw riowvrs are astir
W ith toiivicr wk-sirv.

rho nhito tttofh.'i r!.iCJcr a\v«t the Ump^

KiMinourwl ^ith tT:iht:
Vv-d a li^'^a-iai**! K*'Vii:;:rv< <*»ftlv sin*

V si.»ej; to iK' v!:j;ht !

L^si; I ;i:*i :i.\*iK\ a:td «.':i!!irv.^c sin^
IViiM.'s to 'hvx' !

LITERARY NOTICES

Tni Stratford Gallbrt : or the Shakspearb Sisterhood. Comprising fortj-fiTe
ideal portraits, described by Mrs. Henrietta Lee Palmer. Illustrated with fine
engravings on steel, from designs by eminent hands. One Volame, imperial
octavo, in morocco antique, gilt, f 12. D. Applbton and Company.

That cunning critic of the ways and means of society, Mr. Thackeray, in
one of his minor pieces advises young men to cherish with especial heed the
friendship and conversation of excellent women. In the multi&rious litera-
ture of the present age, there is a large class of books designed to serve hardly
any other purpose than that of social acquaintance. They add nothing to
human learning in whatsoever department, solve no problems, furnish no sta-
tistics, contain no rotund development of any passion or opinion, and have
almost no interest either fur the mere scholar or the mere thinker. Whatsoever
is said in them has been better stated before ; we can find the same ideas and
sentiments more fiiirly and vigorously expressed on nearly every shelf in our
library : and yet the best of such books are, and long have been, welcomed in
the best households. As belonging to this class, may be reckoned a majority
of all the new volumes of verses and new novels, of the articles in all maga-
zines and reviews, and of all collections of historical and literary sketches.
Such publications appear, weave a thread into the web of Destiny, and disap-
pear. Like the persons from which they proceed, they figure for a moment
upon the canvas of time, lend an influence of joy to the circle nearest them,
then pass away, leaving to their friends a tender memory ; and the ripplet
which they had caused fisides gradually fix)m appearance,, while the great cur-
rent of human life moves majestically onward. Lnmortality is the rare ex-
ception, and life, death, and reproduction with kaleidoscopic changes, is the
general law of books. For the most part, their destiny is as swift as that of
the voices in a drawing-room. They change with every generation.

It is with reference to this hkeness between society and literature, that we
began by quoting Mr. Thackeray. Many books must be reckoned as a part
of the social system, rather than as aids in any scheme of thought or investiga-
tion. Such works may, and sometimes do, become standards, and delight suc-
cessive generations ; and of such, the * Stratford Gallery,' by Mrs. Henrietta
Palmer, is a new and favorable example. Both from the subject and the tone
of treatment, it dispensei a genial feminine influence; and it fiidls about

626 Literary Notices. [December,

completely within the scope of Mr. TnACREBAT^s recommendation, as if it oc-
cupied an easy-chair, and uttered its sentiments by the voice instead of by
type. The narrative and criticism are both delightfully ncnte and simple,
and have the charm of esprit without any ostentation of learning or techni-
cality. Perhaps few persons would derive from it new conceptions of Shak-
8PEARE, woman, tragedy, or comedy ; yet no one could read it^ and obsenro the
pictures, without receiving genuine pleasure and invigoration. It would be an
agreeable rather than important book, were it not that, considering to how many
persons literature is and ought to be only a pleasure and not a laborious study,
any work treating intelligently of Suakspeare and written in a sprightly
style, with excellent taste and a just enthusiasm, is certainly of importance.

It is curious that in reading this volume, devoted to the illustration of ideal
women, we should constantly have been reminded of one of the most funda-
mental problems which at present occupy thinkers. * Sir Edward Bclweb
Lttton believes that pure intellect is of the devil, or rather is the devil himself;
that a character in which it predominates is predominantly diabolical ; and that
all the leading, and especially all the fmer and better parts in life, are played by
the instincts, the emotions, and the passions. Mr. Buckle, on the contrary,
believes that the intellect Ls exclusively the important and characteristic cle-
ment in mankind ; that whatever else is quite accidental and immaterial ; that
social progress is precisely according to intellectual development ; that men or
women are admirable in proportion to the amount that they know and the
quickness with which they perceive ; that the mind and not the heart has
hold on destiny ; and that the millennium will be when every body shall know
every thing. The question is not only between these two eminent gentlemen ;
but theologians have, in a similar manner, long been trying to find the fountain-
head of human nature, and to settle whether its essential quality is of the in-
tellect or the affections, whether reason or faith shall take the lead, and whether
the formula int^llige ut credos^ or erede ut intelUgatt^ bo right The unsa«spcct-
ing authoress of the * Stratford Gallery * will doubtless be astonished to be in-
formed that she has entered the lists with philosophers and theologians, that
she has taken part in a great scholastic dispute, and that her book may be
quoted as one of the answers to Bcckle's * History of Civilization.*

Yet so it seems to iw. Throughout the volume, wherever it was practicable,
she has treated the characters according to the categories, of intellectuality and
passionateness, uniformly liking those who are the more passionate, and dis-
liking those who are the more intellectual. This Ls, indeed, a very delicate re-
buff to Mr. Buckle, and compliment to Mr. Bulwer and the Thirty-nine
Articles.

A few instances may be selected. Juliet is duly admired as * a woman
whose emotions and manif^tations are of primeval innocence and vigor, in
whom love Is the outward expression of an instinct as beautiful and holy as it
is vehement' And the next sentence clearly reveals the bent of the authoress :
* In nothing has Suakspeare proved his wondrous skill more clearly tlian in
this creation of a human being in whom sense asserts itself paramount over
reason ; indeed, whose only manifestations of intellect are the inspirations of
exalted sentiment, a sensuously excited eloqucnoey and yet who is oodowed

1858.] Literary Notices. 627

with such exquisite purity/ etc. The qualities most to be admired in Desde-
MONA are her amiability and innocence; there was little of intelligence or
heroism in her unfaltering trust ; yet we find the charge of * meagre intellec-
tual endowments ' disputed, and her force of character pronounced to have
been * sufficient' The artlcssness and submissiveness of her character are es-
pecially dwelt upon. The ardent and beautiful Imogen ls esteemed the * master-
piece of all Siiakspeare's wives/ and the features for which she is admired are
her * softness/ * enchanting delicacy/ * sensitive imagination and ardent emo-
tions,' and for being * almost JuLiET-like in her extravagant fancies and highly-
wrought imaginings.' These are brief specimens of the applause which is
bestowed, generally with grace and justice, upon the passionate, instinctive,
and simple-minded heroines.

Much more severely arc Siiakspeare's intellectual women dealt with. The
authoress is quite shocked at Beatrice, and by no means congratulates Bene-
dick that he * ever lived to be married.' She finds in her * loud vivacity ' * no
romantic susceptibility, no passion,' regards. her fine railleries as only ^flippant
affectations,' and thinks that her * power of discomfiting others, proves a suc-
cessful snare for her good taste and all the graceful eifects of her tender breed-
ing.' Surely, both the intellect and generosity of the sharp-tongued and
sharp-minded lady seem to us not duly appreciated in the sketch, though her
spirited defence of Hero is not forgotten. Lady Macbeth is fiiirly read out
of the sex. * She is that hateful accident, a masculine heart, soul, and brain,
clothed with a feminine humanity.' Portia, the splendid and versatile Por-
tia, is saved to the admiration of the authoress in a remarkable way, namely,
by denying to her the * possession of illustrious powers,' and conceding only
cleverness — that * nice dexterity in the adaptation of certain faculties to a
certain end or aim, which is eminently graceful and feminine.' It seems im-
plied here, as in many other places, that the intellectual £icultics are unfeminine.
Among the various good qualities which are afterward assigned to Portia, the
wealth of her intellect is not one.

• But the veritable hete noire of Mrs. Palmer, is Isabella. That she, who
was about to take the veil, and onl)'' from sisterly love was induced to interest
herself again for a moment in earthly tilings, does not exhibit more of human
emotion in what she does, excites the severest execration. There is no beauty
seen in the exquisite purity, the clear eye, the mild sententious wisdom with
which the nun lingers on the threshold of another life to save an en'ing brother.
Her composure, her moral grandeur, her bright though seemingly cold intel-
lectual power command the most unwilling approbation of the authoress, who
seems to us to appreciate far more perfectly the wayward instincts of Juliet,
than the conduct of Shakspeare's high-principled r'eligicuse.

In a single instance, Mrs. Palmer ventures critically to discuss the text In
the well-known and very perplexing passage of Juliet :

* Spread thy close curtain, love- performing Night,
That run-away's eyes may wink* etc. ;

commentators have never agreed about the meaning or the possibility of a
meaning to the term run-away's. Many substitutions have been proposed, and
all that has been written on the subject would form a good-sized volume. It.

028 TAterary NiaUces. [December,

ifl pleasant to find the existing phrase supported by a process of argmBentation,
not ingenious but purely natural and which, if it does not remove aU obscuritj,
w at least as satisfuctory an interpretation of the juissage as we have any where
seen. To follow the nMusoning would require too much of our epao^ and we
can only Ktatc her conclusion, that the epithet applies neither to the sun nw
the niglit, but to Ji^liet herself

Mr. Richard (juant AVuitb, the new editor of SnAKSPSARE, has declared
Uiat, '• to correct a single passage in SnAKsrEARE*s text Is gloiy enou|^ for
one man ; ' and that ^ he who discovers the needful word for the misprint^ run'
(nray'H eyett^ will secure the honorable mention of his name as long as the Eng-
lish language is road and spoken.' To whicli, Mrs. Palmer Introduces her
very womanly explanation with becoming modesty.

' To rc!H!iic tlio HAino passage from unnecessary ' correction/ and keep cat
' needful words ' where no misprint is, should be glory enough for one womsn ;
and without presuming to believe that the writer of this has saeceeded where
M> many abler have failed, she may still venture to hope that the promised
honor muy yet fall to her sex. Where learning and research have been tried in
vain, nuieh faith should bo reposed in the intuitive poetry, the quick, sympa-
thetie understanding of a woman's heart, on a subject wherein her instinets arc
direetly involved ; and sueli an interj^retcr will not appeal in vain to the pure
bridal mind of the Ji'mgts of to-day, for whose sympathetic underrtan^ng the
passionate outburst of their Siiakspearian sister has utteraneea almost tmntter-
oblv true.'

The volume cimtains much more interesting matter than we haTe been able
to indiixite ; and it is ominontly tasteful in the style, the portraitB| and the
mci'lianical exeinition — as a gift-book almost perfect

Wrlls's Scirxtipio ScnooL-BooK5. I. Scisycv or Common THcroa. IL NAvmuii
Philosv^piit. III. PKiNcirLBS OP CiiiMisTRT. Bj David A. Wblu^ M.D. New*

York : IviSK^x axi> Phis set.

As those works througli various circumstances, are somewhat pnmiiienlly
Wfore the public, wo have examined them with interest and our oondarioDB
are nuvt satisfnotor}'. As clenH>ntary text-books for students, we bdiere Hmj
liave no i.\)uaK and as lKX>ks of fiuniliar reforence, they deserfe a place fai
over}- family librar}% Conci<o, clear, and accurate, yet containing liie
riNuUs of soiontifio research and experiment they have none of the
gonorally cluiniot eristic of philosi^phical works ; but page after
tlie K'autitul workinir^ and masrnificont results of science in so
lucid a manner, tluit the interest of the reader never wearies.
of the scries is aUo j\irticularly noticeable ; they begin at the
tlH' UK^t elementary prinoiplos;. and do not take for granted what is
to U* taught.

As an illustration of the complete manner in which the «
been brouglu up to the tiiuos, we notice fin- the first time, in a book oo (
an explanati^xi of the manufiurture of Russia sbeet-inav wbieh, in

1868.] Literary Notices, 629

timation, is a profound secret, so jealously guarded by the Russian govern-
ment, that foreigners have hitherto been unable to obtain any information on
the subject According to Mr. W., however, this current belief has no
foundation ; and the method of preparing the iron in question is well known.
It is in the first instance a very pure article, rendered exceedingly tough and
flexible by refining, while its bright glossy sur&ce is partially a silicate and
partially an oxide of iron, and is produced by passing the hot sheets, moistened
with a solution of wood-ashes, through polished steel rollers.

As was to be expected from, their high character, we learn that their success
has been very great, and that they have rapidly found their way into the best
schools and seminaries in all parts of the country. Mr. Wells, the author of
these works, is well known to the public as a man of scientific attainments,
and as the editor and originator of the * Annual of Scientific Discovery,'
which has become a popular institution. He also has the indorsement of the
best scientific authorities.

Ernbstin : OB thb Heart's Loxqino. By Albth. New-Tork : Stanford and Delis*

BBR. 1853.

That young English poet, who once ejaculated his purpose

*TO sing of heroes and of kings,
Id mightjr numbers niighty things/

•

had a very modest muse indeed, as compared with that of the authoress of *jSV-
nestinJ* Rarely has either epic or romance produced a volume so full of that
sublimity which goes just one step too far. The story opens with * emotion
in heaven ' and the * voice of the unutterable Being,* and it closes with * per-
fected natures.* At first, it * floats in the invisible ether, amid the myriad
stars of a system, whereof the faintest glimmer never will be reached by lens
of human sage,' and it treats us to a * volant ship,' drifting ' with suspended
oars between the island stars,' till it * came to where seven vast planets ap-
peared to circle round the central radiance.' Its first hero is an angel, whose
first act is to shed a tear, which * dropped through the blue ether, and appeared
to the inhabitants of earth a shooting star.' Its second hero is * the great
archangel, sitting 'mid the farther stars, solitary, sleepless,' each feather of
whose * plumage ' is *like chiseled gold rendered various in hue by chemic art,
and interstudded with all lustrous gems.' This second personage began what
it would seem must have been a highly dangerous journey among *• the mighty
globes that circled there unceasing, rolling over and over, and over ever, with
a noise louder than to mortal ears a thousand whirlwinds, or the roar redupli-
cate of gathered thunders,' and which, * as they circled onward in their erratic
orbits, gave out fires like mazy lightnings, which crossed their crooked flashes
above, beneath him, every where, that he seemed to fly as in a net-woric of
flame.'

Beneath these wonderful astronomical and mythological scenes, there are,
however, some persons and events which are intended to be human ; but they
are not such examples of humanify as are found any where out of the wont

630 Literary Notices.

sort of novels. Tho work contains nothing simple, genial; or pleasant, nothing
at all after the manner of living men and women. The style, where it is not
worse, is merely vapid common-place. IIow pregnant of wit it i», may be infer-
red from the following, which was deemed important enough to be added in a
note : * Of Sii akspearr, as a man, we know but little ; but we cannot doubt
that he spoke, and lookc<l and moved, a man. If he did not, he was an anomaly.'

The style and matter, however, have worse qualities than that of vapidity.
There are throughout repulsive offences against any due religious sense or monl
delicacy. Highly-wrought prayers, quoting the stars, the ' awful thunder,' tbo
* astounding lightning/ * the rain that is Thy music,' the * abyss of error,' and
the ^ wings of mercy,' are inserted in the midst of scenes that disgrace the earth.
The volinne is a uniform dribble of tears, sighs, oaths, and undisciplined im-
pulses : it is without distinction of parts, or variations in tone and qualify
from page to page ; and it has no value either in respect of good sense or
happy execution.

The authoress displays some learning, quotes Greek, Latin, French, and
Italian, and discusses Sockates, Maciiiavelli, Alfieki, and Lord Braox;
but she lias not shown herself capable of writing an agreeable^ pithy English
sentence.

ABKLLA OrSINI : A UlSTOUICAL NoVEL OP THB FlFTKnCTH CniTITBT. By F. D. Guifr

RAzzi, author of ' Bkatrice Cenci.' Translated from the Italian by Luioi Koan,
A.M., Instructor in Italian at Ilarvard Uuiveraity, Cambridge. New-YoA: Bvw
AND Carleton. 1859.

Tins novel, the production of a prominent Italian statesman of the
time, Ls much superior to most works of its dass, as a display of inteUectod
power. The characters are boldly and vividly delineated, and the erents ue
picturesquely related in a well-compacted and simple plot A fine mind, and
in many respects an excellent taste, arc shown throughout the work. 11»
historical value of all historical novels is very slight ; but yet a pemon wht
knew nothing of Italian history in the sixteenth century befinre
volume, would be a little less ignorant of it after reading it It is by
si^ht, that the title-page refers its scene to the fifteenth century, stnoe all ttl
historical events and characters of which it treats belong to about the middli
of the sixteenth century. We have been unable to discOTer far what
reason so long an account of the battle of Lcpanto, comprising tlurly
unbroken pages, should have been introduced into it

AVith many remarkable mcriU, it has also one fundamental and
defect The novel at present, more than any other variety of litentnn^ b^
comes a household book, and in some sort a member of the fiumily. It fonddNl
a lai'ge part of the intellectual pleasure of very many readers, and is
able element in our social and literary culture. The story of
is a story of dark crimes. Murder, and outrages which lead to murda;
the whole staple of the plot. Every thing in the volume is vjgoitw^y and
boldly conceiveil, but almost every thing in it too is criminaL ItaliaB Ihm
and Italian horrors seem convertible terms.

.•i\.Ji

EDITOR'S TABLE

* Have we a Napoleon Second among Us?' — We beg leave to assure Mr.
Williams, Junior, son of the late Rev. Eleazer Williams, now acting-pilot
of a Lake Winnebago steamer, that his claim to the throne of France, as suc-
cessor to his father, is one which will be resisted by a power behind the pre-
sent throne, greater than the throne itself The reigning head of the branch
of Oliver Cromwell's family, now living in Madison county, Mississippi, has
as good a prospect of mounting the throne of England, once occupied by his
progenitor, the immortal Pretender, * For why ? ' Because, according to a
most veracious correspondent, who rolls himself up in a ball of irrefragable
argument in support of his case, as he goes along, ^We Jia/oe a Napoleon
Second among Us P There is * no mistake about it' Let us reduce and intro-
duce our correspondent's story : He says that one pleasant Sunday in July,
being at a * meeting' of the Lebanon Shakers, at their * North House,' he was
struck with the astonishing resemblance which one of the Brethren bore to
Napoleon Bonaparte, with whose family-features, diuring a long residence
in Europe, he had been fiuniliar, especially with Louis Napoleon, whom he
had * often met &ce to face.' He found this impression had been made upon aU
to whom he had spoken, who had visited the Shakers on their worship-days,
or encountered the individual referred to alone in the long street of the village.
A broken-legged accident (he was * threw from a horse,' and fractured his right
lower *limb') caused him to be * taken up' and conveyed to the nearest
family-house of the Brethren. And here it was that he became acquainted
with *• Brother Joseph,' as he was called, who used to visit him, and hold long
talks with him. One evening, in the course of conversation, the invalid spoke
of his great resemblance to Napoleon. An answering smile excited his
curiosity, and caused him to press for a reply. One by one, the particulars
were drawn away from * Brother Joseph,' a few of which we now proceed to
set forth :

' Toe student of French history will remember that the Emperor Napoleon
was married to Marie Louisa on the eleventh day of March, eighteen hnndred

VOL. Ul. 41

632 JEditor^a Table, [December,

and ten. The King of Rome was born early in eighteen hundred and eleren.
It i« the received opinion, tliat after the fall of his father in eighteen hundred
and fourteen, ho was transferred to Vienna, and there educated under the
paternal superintendence of the Austrian Court : and that he finally died, a vie-
tim to the dissipation taught and encouraged by his loving relatiyeaV lliis is
the tale by which the world has long been deluded. Its truth will appear from
the following facts: After the fatal termination of the Russian campaign, the
battle of Leipsic, and the entrance of the Allies into France, Bokapabte found
himself compelled to abdicate. He foresaw that he should be banished from
France, and his wife and child become prisoners of the Alliesi. He had. no fears
for liis wife, but he felt that the life of his son, the heir to his crown, would not
be safe in the power of the Austrians : that they would ncTcr suffer him to
reach maturity ; fearing, and with justice, lest the French people should one day
rally round the son of their great Emperor, drive out the Bourbons, and place
him upon the throne of his father. He determined to confide the child to some
tried and faithful servant, who should escape with him to America, while an in-
fant of the same age should, with the consent of the Empress, be substituted for
her child. This arrangement was carried out The child was intrusted to
Louis Poinet, an old soldier of the Guard, whose fidelity had been prored amid
the sands of Egypt and the snows of Russia. Pouvet succeeded in csca]Hn^
He sailed from Kochefort early in Maj^, eighteen hundred and fourteen, in a
small American brig, called the 'Ann-Eliza.* After a tedious passage, the exiles
landed safely in Boston, in July of the same year. They remained there during
five or six months. Poinet then determined to remove into the interior of the
State, where the chances of discovery would be less, and his moderate mesu
would go farther toward their support He had picked up a smattering of our
language from the Englisli prisoners in France, and without mnoh difficulty he
made his way through the interior ; sometimes in the stage-ooaeh, ^flmftf—f
on foot, until he reached the town of Pittsfield, in the western part of the Ststs^
then an inconsiderable village. Hero he resided for several years^ often in gnst
distress ; for, as may be supposed, the remittances from the ElMFXaoa, during loi
exile in Elba, the short period of his power in France, and his imprisonment oa
the rock of St Helena, were always delayed, and in fact^ often failed to icsak
him at all.

' When the young prince was nine years of age, PoDrsr confided to him the
secret of his birth. He showed him letters from the EMPBnoa: he gave hm
one addressed to himself, written years before, with a direction indorsed thst
it was to be delivered to his son when old enough to comprehend its mflanfaig;
and realize its importance. In this letter the ExFERoa spoke of his appcoafiUsg
exile ; of his certainty that the life of his son would not be safe in the pow of
the Austrians; and of his determination to send him, in charge of PoDai;to
America ; there to remain in retirement until the day should come, 'and eons ft
would,' when France should rouse from her sleep, hurl her imbeoUe rulers froai
the throne, and call upon his son to fill the place of his fiither, and lead hsrti
victory, to vengeance, and to renown. Tlie letter concluded with an iq|iiertiDi
to place all confidence in what was told him by Poinxt, and impllidtlj to obif
his directions.'

This letter, and others \^Titten by the Emperor himselC and by his
tial secretary, the Count De Montiiolon, are imfortuiiately lost TbiOf

1858.] Editor^ 8 TaMe. 638

lost, however, through no carelessness of the owner ; for aware of their great
importance, he guarded them with the most jealous care. The account of their
being stolen^ however, by a mysterious and mustached emissary of Louis
Philippe, is very circumstantial and very conclusive : but as the letters were
stolen in January, and the Agent of the King could not well have reached
France before the end of February, when the King was himself an exile,
* Brother Joseph,' we are told, hopes that the letters have not been given up
and destroyed. Perhaps the offer of a large reward might still procure their
restoration. Of their former existence, however, there can bp no doubt
Perhaps the post-master at Pittsfield, of the years eighteen hundred and fifteen
to eighteen hundred and twenty, if he be still living, may remember the con-
stant and anxious inquiries for letter by an elderly Frenchman, mustached,
scarred, and weather-beaten, with an erect, military bearing. Foreigners were
not then so numerous in our inland villages as to pass unnoticed. But to re-
turn to the narrative :

*The young prince was about ten when Poinet died, leaving him but a email
sum of money for his support. This was soon exhausted : no farther remittances
arrived; and he was thrown upon his own resources. After suffering from
want, he was induced by the persuasions of some of the Shakers, with whom
he fell in at Pittsfield, to join their community. It assured him at least a home,
and the necessaries of life. Here he grew up to man's estate ; became attached
to his faith; and remained in quiet retirement, until the time when I made his
acquaintance. During this long period, but one event of interest had interrupted
the even tenor of his life. That^ however, was an event of much significance.'

This event was nothing less than a visit to Brother Joseph finom Louis
Napoleon, at that time in this country, who went up to Lebanon to induce
him to * sign off' in his favor, which * Brother Joseph ' declined peremptorily
to do ; but * the parties separated on good terms.' In fact, it seems as if there
could be no better terms than what * the parties' separated on. But we think
it would only have been prudent for * Brother Joseph ' to have kept a copy of
the document which Louis Napoleon wanted him to sign. It was handsome
to look at, being ^ engrossed on vellum, with the Imperial Eagle attached — a
splendid-looking bird.' The narrative proceeds :

' Thus far, it will be observed, that the proof of the identity of ' Brother
Joseph ' with the King of Rome, rests principally upon his own credibility.
Were this all, although his character for truth is undoubted, and in a question
of veracity between Louis Napoleon and a Shaker, the world would give the
preference to the latter, still this narrative would not have been written.
Fortunately, however, the story is confirmed by many curious circumstances^
Each perhaps of little importance in itself, but which taken together, form a
mass of proof difficult to be withstood. Marks upon the person, articles in his
possession, his knowledge of the French language, and above all, his singular
likeness to the Bonaparte family, all strongly confirm the accuracy of his
account.

' I pass over as unworthy of record in a serious article of this character, hit
dreamy recollections of his early youth ; the rich uniforms by which he

634 Editor^a Table. [December,

Furrounded ; cIcgantly-drcBscd ladies ; a large room filled with pictures of mei
ill coats covered witli embroidery and stars — possibly the Salle-des-Mtrt-
chanx ; a park or garden, with fountains, flowers, and marble etatues, with
cliildren playing — probably the Tuilerics. I do not consider these remini-
Bcences as proof; for all experience shows, that if the memory is taxed to reesll
events which it is our interest should have happened, the scene soon passes be-
fore the mind. Imagination is mistaken for memory. Not so, howerer, with
tlic proofs I shall record. No imagination can detect marks upon the ptrmm
which do not exist. No imagination can hear the French tongne, where tiie
English only is spoken.

' It is probably known to every reader at all familiar with the history of Xi*
POLEON, that the young King of Rome, while playing with an open knife esre-
lessly left in the room, had the misfurtune to inflict a severe wound upon Ui
hand. The wound was upon the second joint of the fore-finger of the left hsid
Strange as it may appear, a scar^ evidently from a cut, is to be found upon tbt
same linger of ' Brother Joseph's left hand. What will the skeptic urge to tkiii
True, that in the bounds of human possibility such a thing mighi happen, as that
two individuals, both in youth, both of the same age, and In different heni-
sphcres, might inflict precisely similar wounds upon themselves, in precisely tin
same spot, of precisely the same size, of the same form, and with the tame lo-
st rument But though possible, this is so improbable, that the eandid reader
will not give it a moment's consideration. Identity of lost children has been es-
tablished, crime has been detected and furnished, upon lees convincing eYidenee
than this: as the narratives of James, and the singular facts recorded by Anw-
WituTii, will conclusively show. The improbability of so remarkable a edinei-
denoo must be acknowledged. Should it be objected to the inference I hsve
drawn from the above curious circumstance, that a wound inflicted in such early
youth would leave no scar, I reply that several of our m^ost disdngnUhed wtth
geons who have examined the mark, do not hesitate to say, and would doobt-
lei^s give their certificate to that etTect, that this wound was nnquestionsbly in-
flicted in early youth. Peculiar appearances of the akin, a slight eleradon, or
a slight depression, a trifling discoloration, invisible to the common eye^caaUei
the intelligent surgeon to tell to a day the date of the wound, the imtmiMiit
with which it was inflicted, the metal of which the instrument was made, tiM
pliarpuess of the edge, and in some cases, it is said, even the name of tliemalMt
For this, however, I cannot vouch. This knowledge is often, as in the pnieak
instance, of almost inestimable value. Its im]>ortance is only easeeedsd by Hi
accuracy.

* Tlic learned physicians to whom I have referred, have also found a emioai
mark upon the inside of the elbow-joint of Brother ' Jossra'a left arm: a dnflir
mark wo know to have been upon the arm of the King of Borne. BotsatUi
mark, though much commented upon by the phy^cians^ and pronomeed lij
til em to be singular in i\s shape, size, and color, may possibly hare been tksft-
sult of rai'cinatioti, I shall not ])ause upon it. Tlie improbabiiiiy of a poorbof
at PittstioKl being vaccinated in the 3'ear eighteen hundred and twiff*ri vffl
suggest itself to every reader. Tlie coincidence of these marks^ it wlB be iMiTHf
conceded, is remarkable. But, (what makes the whole argument eond^*«^
and precludes reply,) in the very accurate and particular jprocet MtM dnvi

1858.] Literary Notices, 629

tiinaiion, is a profound secret, so jealously guarded by the Russian govern-
ment, that foreigners have hitherto been unable to obtain any information on
the subject According to Mr. W., however, this current belief has no
foundation ; and the method of preparing the iron in question is well known.
It is in the first instance a very pure article, rendered exceedingly tough and
flexible by refining, while its bright glossy surface is partially a silicate and
partially an oxide of iron, and is produced by passing the hot sheets, moistened
with a solution of wood-ashes, through polished steel rollers.

As was to be expected from their high character, we learn that their success
has been very great, and that they have rapidly found their way into the best
sdiools and seminaries in all parts of the country. Mr. Wells, the author of
these works, is well known to the public as a man of scientific attainments,
and as the editor and originator of the * Annual of Scientific Discovery,'
which has become a popular institution. He also has the indorsement of the
best scientific authorities.

Erkistin : OB THB Hbart's Longing. By Aleth. New- York : Stanford and Dklis*
8BB. 1853.

That young English poet, who once ejaculated his purpose

* TO sing of heroes and of kings.
In mighty numbers mighty things/

•

bad a very modest muse indeed, as compared with that of the authoress of ^Er-
fUBtin.^ Rarely has either epic or romance produced a volume so full of that
sublimity which goes just one step too far. The story opens with * emotion
in heaven ' and the * voice of the unutterable Being,' and it closes with * per-
fected natures.' At first, it * floats in the invisible ether, amid the mjrriad
stars of a system, whereof the faintest glimmer never will be reached by lens
of human sage,' and it treats us to a * volant ship,' drifting * with suspended
oars between the island stars,' till it * came to where seven vast planets ap-
peared to circle round the central radiance.' Its first hero is an angel, whose
first act is to shed a tear, which * dropped through the blue ether, and appeared
to the inhabitants of earth a shooting star.' Its second hero is * the great
archangel, sitting 'mid the farther stars, solitary, sleepless,' each feather of
whose ' plumage ' is *like chiseled gold rendered various in hue by chemic art,
and intcrstudded with all lustrous gems.' This second personage began what
it would seem must have been a highly dangerous journey among * the mighty
^bes that circled there unceasing, rolling over and over, and over ever, with
A noise louder tlian to mortal ears a thousand whirlwinds, or the roar redupli-
cate of gathered thunders,' and which, * as they circled onward in their erratic
orbits, gave out fires like mazy lightnings, which crossed their crooked flashes
above, beneath him, every where, that ho seemed to fly as in a net-work of
flame.'

Beneath these wonderful astronomical and mythological scenes, there are,
faoweycr, some persons and events which are intended to be human ; but they
are not such examples of humanity as are found any where out of the wmt

086 JSditor's Table. [December,

Joseph's name — Joseph ! What more probable than that the EiCFSBOBy at a loM
to decide under what name his 8<in should pass, should hare selected this ? — a
name not so uncommon as to excite attention, nor yet so common as to be lost
among the multitude of Johns, Thomases, and Williams. 7%« ntuns o/tkg Bmr
perors elder brother: a. tie to bind him to his family in a distant land, and to
form one linlc in the chain of evidence to lead to his recognition on some happier
day. It was no chance which dictated the selection of this name. "Hie same
forethouglit which snatched his child from the talons of AustTia dictated iti
choice. I throw out this, however, merely as a suggestion. I am aware that
a strictly lt>gical mind, accustomed to sift evidence, and to weigh testimony,
would har«lly consider it as proof.

' If the facts which I have already offered have failed to shake the inerednlitj
of the skeptic, the last and most important testimony I shall addaeOp eamici
fail to stag&;or his disbelief. I allude of course to ' Brother Jobxth's resemblaoee
to Napoleox. This resemblance must strike the most unobserving; and I eaa
only ascribe it to a want of acquaintance among our people with the features
of the Empkrob, that it has not before been recorded. The same promineDtk
thoughtful forehead ; the same cold, reflective gray eye ; the same small month;
the lips thin and firmly compressed ; and above aU, the same bold, aqoilioe
nose : a nose, be it remarked, not the common aquiline protnberanoe eommoa
upon the Continent, but less marked in its prominence, and more delicate in its
chiseling : tlie nostrils thin, and easily dilated with scorn or paarion. The nose.
at a// times a marked feature, is in the Boxaparte family most dlstlnetiTeL

' The resemblance in the figure too is remarkable. When standing, ' Brother
JosKpii ' Btrikoit the observer as a short man : when seated, he is of at kail
average heiglit. This peculiarity of the Bonapartxs has often been obserred.
In Louis Xapolkon it is marked : in ' Brother Joseph ' it Is so striking as to be
almost ridiculous. It was to be expected, that if the nephew had tUs trsifc ef
the great Emperor, the son should possess it in a still greater degreei ThK tM^
is not a common characteristic among men. Let the reader seareh among Ui
whole circle of acquaintAnee, however extensive, and I donbt if he ean point to
a single individual distinguished by this trait Find two persons thns msrked,
however widely separated, locally or socially, and the inference is irres&stibls
that the same blood flows in their veins.

' It is not my object in these pages to establish the claims of ' Brother Josbb'
to the throne of France. He is contented with his lot, and lias no desire to
exchange his happy obscurity for the anxieties and dangers of a erown. Loro
Napoleox, too, holds hU position, not by virtue of his birth, bnt by the ehoiee
of tlie French people. Ho w that choice was effected, whether it was free or forssi,
I cannot here inquire. An ardent republican, I still look forward to the dsy
when the principles of civil and religious liberty will triumph OT«r the satifS
hostility of the despots of Russia and Austria, and the passiTe indlffsrenes ef
the French people. Should the revelations here made shake the thfone of As
Emperor of the French, and so contribute to this glorious result^ my puipsw
will have been fully attained.'

This appears to im concliLsive : and yet wo hoar that the head mslo donccndlWl
of tho late Isaac T. HoppKit, a well-known Quaker of this city, (who^ iabislittis
cocked hat ami tipcht short-breeches, was the exact C3unterpart of the 'litfls
Captiiii,') is ab^ut to ^ contest^ Louis Napoleon's *8eat^* on the ergimmtQC
'strong personal resemblance ! '

1858.] Editor' 8 Table. 687

Lessons op the Spirit op Fisticupfs. — It is useless to try to ignore a
' patent' subject, in a periodical like the Knickerbocker, which is an ^abstract
and brief chronicle of the time.' We write on this nineteenth day of October, in
our quiet sanctum at Cedar-Hill Cottage, looking out upon the smooth Hudson,
and the hazy autumnal villa-sprinkled shores beyond : and yet to-morrow, two
Pugilists, men of * renown/ enter the gladiatorial circle in the Queen's adjoin-
ing realm of the Canada Provinces, Upper and * Lower.' We never beheld a
prize-fight: we never but once saw even a * sparring-match,' a glove * duel,' in a
Pickwickian sense, at a metropolitan theatre, * for one night only.' It was Mr.
Benjamin Caunt, from England, who had given and received severe punish-
ment in the British islands and coasts adjacent His antagonist, if he might
be 80 termed, was a person from the village of Brooklyn, (which, of a clear
day, can be discerned with the naked eye, upon the eastern shore of the * East
River,' so called, extending some distance, from the various points, into the
contiguous Gowanus, Wallabout, and Long-Island country.) This person's
name was Jeroliman : a Brooklyn purveyor of the fleshly substantials of
every-day life ; of excellent character, and esteemed of all who knew him.
But ambition was his ruin, on the occasion to which we allude. He had had
manly bouts at the * manly science,' in a friendly way, with certain of his stal-
wart contemporaries in the trade, and with vigorous customers, who thrived
upon the meat which they fed on from his hands, and were by these means
enabled to encounter him in single combat Mr. Benjamin Caunt, of Eng-
land, fresh from his blood-bought laurels, met him upon the boards of the

* Metropolitan Theatre' at that era. The English Cuampion entered. His legs
were sturdy, but not a * study.' They were not for * closet' contemplation.
They * stood out,' as puzzled connoisseurs say of a portrait, when they can
say nothing else to flatter a faithful portrait-painter. His nose was not even
passable, for it had no bridge: but his knotty and combined head was as
firmly imbedded between his shoulders * as a ship-of-war in the mud of the Poto-
mac : ' also he had a large tract of uncultivated country below the short skull-
hair under each ear — and-an-half: for part of the rim of one had been car-
ried away in a former engagement Mr. Jeroliman entered on the other side :
the contestants were clad alike: buflf shortxilothes ; opera-shoes, with the
latest * ties ; ' whitish gloves, but apparently of an unusual size. Mr. Je-
roliman stood unarchitocturally, as was remarked by a gentleman near ua,
upon his pins. However, our attention was abstracted for a moment by an in-
dividual in a very handsome white overcoat, and a colored scarf^ of variegated
and bright colors, who exclaimed, in a quick and vehement accent, * Time ! '
There was an approach of the combatants — a meeting — a mutual jerk of
the head of each — ' an out-go,' as we heard it designated, from the hand of

* the Champion of England ' — and Mr. Jeroliman, keeling over and over, like
unto a wheel, as it struck us, and as we thought it also struck him, disappeared
through a sidc-sccnc, only to reappear for a moment, remonstrating against an

* advantage ' that had been taken of him, and pointing to his nose, profusely
bleeding, as an incontestable and gradually-enlarging evidence of the fitct

040 Editor'^s Table. [December,

tinned, in not throwins; himself upon his prostrate antagonist, pales, in our opinion,
bi'ibre the hiiinuuity of this rc^^ulation. Think of * drawers/ ' spikes of a quarter of
an inch long,' (only,) and * catch as catch can 1

y t

The followinjj; is out of the * milling' range, we take it: it belongs not, as
we iiiulcistand, to the * manly art * which we have been considering : l)ut as
'ffome' among the multitudinous * matters and things' which are mentioned,
commented uj>on, and Sawney istically satirized in *" Cha7hher»\ we infer that
our Yankee readers have as good a right to *" guess ' as to ' what it's all abcOut/
tis any ' Britisher ' what<omever :

' What is ' Xurr and Spell,' at which Tommy Stephenson' of Wortley is open to
play any man sixty years of age for five pounds a side, providing he will give Lim
ten score in thirty-one rises ? Also, is there any man short of a bird-fancier who can
translate this? * J. Aunoli), of the ' Uising Sun, Stoke Newington, will match hii
gold (inch ajruinst any other for live pounds, for the best and most slamming of %
goldthich, also mule one in the month for the same sum.' Mule one in the month!
What possible niisprhit or assemblage of misprints could have produced this? Here
is somethinf; like a pigeon : ' Thomas Miller's checkered cock will fly R. Wall's
hlat^k cock, Podgers' sandy cock, or John Dawson's white cock, or will take a quarter
(;f a minute's start of Thomas Lkkcu's blue cock, all from North Shields statiuD.'
Also: 'Samikl Hi.vns of Bradford, is surprised, after what has occurred, at seeing
John Sh.vnnik's challenge of Laniberhead Green : if he really n^ann Jfjfing^ let him
send a dej)osit to B-.Wa Lifej and articles to Davy Dkagon's at once/ '

^Vnd what brought all this into our mind, at this time? — > and how came
it here ? ' Nothing in the world, but sitting this morning on our beautiful
siUR'lum-piazzsi, looking off, over the the thick ce<lar screen, upon the bosom
o^ the peaceful Hudson, and the sweet scenes beyond, and reflecting that to-
morrow Mr. MoKKissKY and Mr. IIcenan were to engage in one of the Mooebk

ClJlSADES.

The Stoky of Cauausius, the Drxcii Augustus. — We cannot hotter fore-
sliadiw the ehara<.^ter of a work evincing the most comprehensive researdi and
unwearying assiduity, than hy quoting its entire title:

'Thk Story of CARvrsirs, the Dutch At:gusti?s and Emperor of Britain and the
Seas : and of Holland's mighty share in the defeat of the IxvixciBLB Armada: like-
wise. The LivKs of the Di.tch Admirals, from their monuments and the medals erectad
to their memory and struck in their honor by the ' Dibrbaar Vaderland^' collected,
eollato 1, and translated by a Descendant of that Race who once garc an AuoiiSTiitto
the world and an Emperor to Britain ; CARAirsirs, (a.d. 235-7 — 293-*4) twice preseired
i\vi Ii'>lii;ion and Liberty of p]ngland ; (in 15ss and in IGSS) thrice played a deciiiTe
part in Albion's greatest Xaval Triumphs; (at Sluys, 1340; La Uogne, 169S; aad
Algiers, HM :) ever maintained the Independence of the Anglo or true Saxon Family,
ami enmju'lled lyi-ants to respect the rights of man; whose reprcsentatire Tbb
Ditch Nation', madi* ih.» wide world the witness of their grandeur; Hplendor which
knew no limits but the poh's. the zenith and the depth of that element upon which
rliev founded th<>ir state luid harvested their wealth : a race to whom the ocean was
a Frii'ud. an Ally, a I're-erver, and a Renefaetor; won by their patient Tigor, and
r.'luiucd bv their valor and enterprise. By J. Watts De Pbysteb/

1868.] Hditor's Table. 680

where the Indian club and Sir Charles Napibr feat are imparted upon moderate
terms. Let us rather take a glance, once for all, at the ring itself, to which these
others arc but mere ministers and accessories. What a peculiar phraseology it has,
and yet how thoroughly understood of the people ! Neither foot-note nor marginal
reference is considered necessary to elucidate a statement of the following kind :

* Seventh round — the Nigger came up looking five ways for Sunday,*

* Now, what was Sunday to the Nigger, or the Nigger to Sunday, that he should be
BO superfluous as to look for it in five several directions ? One would have thought it
would have been about the very last thing with which this gentleman would have
concerned himself, and that which ho would know least what to do with when he had
found. But the phrase is in common use, it seems, to express the confusion and ' all
abroadness ' consequent upon having head and eyes punched to excess in the previous
rounds. The weakness of the Nigger was such, we are told, that he *■ could not make
a dint in a pound of butter ' — also a pugilistic phrase, and not, as might be sup-
posed, the result of an ingenious experiment proposed by his seconds or other in-
terested persons. He ' had his ruby drawn,' and was then caught up and dashed
violently upon the ground by his opponent, the Toung * Uh, who, however, * with the
greatest generosity, declined to fall upon him.' Honor to the brave ! The Nigger
was so punished, we read on, that had not his bottom been of the very first quality,
the sponge would most certainly have been thrown up, even at this early period. He
had ' to spar for wind.' We have heard of whistling for a wind in extreme nautical
emergencies ; but this picture of a black man so faint with heat that he has to impart
a rotatory or fan-like movement to his fists for the sake of air, is really terrible.
Perhaps it was for time only in which to recover breath ; at all events, he sparred
for wind, but the * Young ' Un got home heavily upon his occiput, (there is no place
like home,) and then knocked him clean out of time by a hit under the left ear.'
Does this fearful sentence mean that the younger of the two antagonists destroyed
the other's power of discriminating melody, or that he absolutely killed, launched
into eternity, as the chroniclers of the executions have it, this poor black person ;
who, never let us forget, is a man and a brother, when the hat is going round for the
beaten man — beaten because he was knocked out of time — and hence, perhaps, the
expression ' knocked into the middle of next week,' or, more poetically, ' wrapped
into future times,' and could not recover in the minute allowed between the rounds.
The Yovng ' l^n^ who was the favorite from the first, must, it is written, have rocked
the gold cradle to some purpose, so many of his handkerchiefs having been dis-
tributed before the fight began, upon the usual terms — a sovereign if he won, and
nothing if he lost.

' This, we suppose, must be the somewhat illegitimate ofispring of that chivalrous
custom of the knights of old, who always got possession, if they could, of their fair
ladies' kerchiefs to wear upon their helms : but a pound apiece seems certainly a very
long price for them. Besides this graceful distribution of what, we are distressed to say,
are elsewhere denominated * wipes,' there is another curious piece of delicacy in this
account of the late fight between Mr. Benjamin Gaunt and Mr. Nathaniel Langham.

* Ben,' we read, ' barring his mug, was a study for a sculptor ; his powerful legs being
set off to the best advantage by pink silk stockings and well-fitting drawers.' Why,
one would think the man was going to dance a ballet, instead of subjecting himself to
such excessive ill-treatment as this : ' Nat fiddled him to within due distance,' * popped
his larboard daddle on his jowl,' * nailed him prettily on the left squinter,' * got sharply
on to his tenor-trap,' * dropped smartly on to his snorer,' * set his warbler bleeding ; '
and, in fact, rendered the whole of his features as unrecognizable physically, as
they must appear to any exclusive reader of Messrs. Addison and Steele. Still,
we think, we would rather be even prize-fighters than wrestlers, who are subject to
such conditions as these: 'Two back-falls out of three, Lancashire fashion; no
hanging allowed, catch as catch can, in pumps and drawers. The spikes not to
exceed a quarter of an inch in length.' The generosity of the Foung * Uh before men-

040 Editor^s Table. [December,

tinned, in not throwing himself upon hU prostrate antsgonistt pi^^Sf in oar opinioii,
bi>fore the humanity of this regulation. Think of ' drawers,' * spikes of s quarter of
an inch long,' (only,) and ' catch as catch can 1 ' '

The following is out of the * milling* range, we take it : it belongs not, as
wc understand, to the * manly art' which we have been oonsidering: but as
* Bome ' among the multitudinous * matters and things ' which are mentioned,
commented upon, and Sawneyistically satirized in *'Ch(amber^^ we infer that
our Yankee readers have as good a right to ^ gttesB * as to * what it's all abeoati'
as any * BritLsher ' whatsomcver :

* What is ' Nurr and Spell/ at which Tommt Stbphbnson' of Wortley is open to
play any man sixty years of age for five pounds a side, providing he will girs him
ten score in thirty -one rises ? Also, is there any man short of s bird-fkneier who en
translate this ? ' J. Arnold, of the ' Rising Sun, Stoke Newington, will match his
goldtinch against any other for five pounds, for the beat and moat slamming of t
goldfinch, also mule one in the month for the same sum.' Mule one in the mootb!
Wiiat possible misprint or assemblage of misprints could hare prodaoed tikis f Hoe
in something like a pigeon : * Tuomas Miller's checkered oock will fly B. Wall's
black cock, PoDCiERs' ifandy cock, or John Dawson's white cock, or will tidce a qnaiiar
of a minute's start of Tuomas Leech's blue cock, all from North Shields ststioo.'
Also : ' Samuel Binns of Bradford, is surprised, after what has occnmed, at inrfin
John Shannik's challenge of Lamberhead Green : if he really mmmtfyit^f let Ub
send a dcf^osit to BdVa Life^ and articles to Datt Dbacom's at once.' '

*And what brought all this into our mind, at this time f — ' and how eune
it here ? * Nothing in the world, but sitting this morning on our beaotifiil
Kanctum-piazzo, looking of^ over the the thick cedar screen, upon the boson
of the peaceful Hudson, and the sweet scenes bejrond, and reflecting tiiat to-
morrow Mr. MoKKissEY and Mr. IIeenan were to engage in oneof flwlfoD]
Crusades.

The Story of Carausius, the Dutch Augustus. — We cannot hotter fiv^
Hhadow the character of a work evincing the most comprehensiye reseudi and
unwearying assiduity, than by quoting its entire title:

*■ The Story of Carausius, the Dutch Augustus and Emperor of Britain and ft*
Seas ; and of Holland's mighty share in the defeat of the ImmrciBLa Abxaba: !&■-
wise, The Lives of the Dutcii Admibals, from their monuments and the wyf«*»i« trectoi
to their memory and struck in their honor by the *■ Dibbbaab YADaaLans' eonatttrii
collated, and translated by a Descendant of that Race who once gare an Avoofnitt
the world and an £niperor to Britain ; Carausius, (a.d. 285-'7 — 29a-'4) twice pnnml
the HeliKion and Liberty of England ; (in 1583 and in 16S8) thrioe played a dadrin
part in Albion's greatest Naval Triumphs; (at Sluys, 1840; La Hogne, int; nl
Algiers, ISIG :) ever maintained the Independence of the Anglo or tme SazOBT^4f»
and compelled tyrants to respect the rights of man ; whose repreMntatife hi
Dutch Nation, made the wide world the witness of their grandear ; eplsBdor
knew no limits but tlio polos, the zenith and the depth of that element opea
tliey founded their state and harvested their wealth : a race to whom the OOM
a Friend, an Ally, a Preserver, and a Benefactor; won by th^r patient TlgVV
retained by their valor and enterprise. By J. WatWDi Pbtbtbb.'

1858.] Editor's Table. 641

Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. — The proceedings of the great
Contention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Property^ held at
Brussels in September, have been made public in English and American jour-
nals. There would seem to be little reason to doubt, that great good will
ensue from the deliberations and action of this important Conventioa It was
the business of the assemblage to discuss the subjects before them only, and to
advise such legislation in relation thereto, as should be deemed proper. It was de-
cided, among other things, by a very large majority of the body, that the right of an
author in his works should extend to fifty years after his death. The remainder
of the discussions of the Congress turned upon various details of the proposed
legislation. Our American delegate to the Congress, Frederic S. Cozzens, Esq.,
so well known to the readers of the Knickerbocker, was elected a Vice-President
by acclamation, and acquitted himself with his accustomed ability. Apropos of
' Mr. Cozzens : we cannot resist the inclination to quote a few passages from a
fiuniliar, gossipping epistle, just received from our old friend and correspond-
ent, dated * The Hague, October Fourth.' It is exceedingly ^Sparrowgrassy '
and characteristic : and we trust there is no impropriety in permitting our
I'eaders to share with us the great pleasure which we, in common with a few
select friends, have enjoyed in its perusal :

' My Dear Clark : Here I am in Holland. I promised you a letter — here it la.
Of course this country reminds me of our Kmckerbookkb Magazine ; of the Saint
NicnoLAH Society ; of Washington Irving ; of long pipes, long speeches, gin-punch,
Dr. Scuoonmaker, orange ribbons, Yerplanck's cock6d-hat, Hendrik Hudson,
and my own beloved ' lust haus ' on the bank of the river that bears the name
of the famous skipper of the ' Haalf-Moon.' Yes, here I am, in a wilderness of
weather-cocks, and a maze of wind-mills. The country is all ditch and dyke ;
the latter to keep the water out, and the former to keep the water in. The ij
(in Dutch pronounced eye) wanders over an expanse of green, far as the edge
of the horizon, in wliich the most elevated object is probably a gigantic cabbage :
wind-mills and other flatulent vegetables, are as common as lamp-posts: the
ditches take the place of fences : the stork builds in the roof; and the bull-frog,
the Dutch model of unbreeched beauty, whistles his love-notes to the amorous
tulip.

* You will probably want me to give you my impressions of England. Well
then, I saw many of the old towns and castles. Oxford made the greatest impres*
sion upon me of all the rest. After the richness of Oxford, even London pales
its ineffectual historic splendor. I saw Greenwich Hospital ; the ' Leviathan ; '
the Tunnel; Tliames; and I saw — a Beadle! Clark, you never eaw a
beadle! — a real original Bumble! Something flamed forth from a middle-
age church-porch in Warwick ; it blazed down the street, a figure in trappings of
scarlet, and I thought it was the W. of Babylon — of the Apocalypse. But
no ; it held a bell, and wore a cocked hat ; it approached me — stopped ; raised
the cocked hat, and uttered these remarkable words, 'Werry fine momin\
Sir ' — reploced the chapeau, and walked away, like Hamlet's father.

' I have eeen Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, Mechlin, Antwerp, Rotterdam, Delft,
and the Hague. I have seen the tombs of Addison and Btttueb, of Admiral Tbomt

642 Editor's Table. [December,

and Erasmur ; the ever-burning lamps in the crypt where repose the ashes of
Nelm>n and Wellixgton ; the »culpturcd sepulchres of Cdarles the Bold, and
William the Silent ; the stone slab over the grave of Rubens, and that where
sleep forever 8iiakspearf/s honored bones. Nay, more : I hare worn the steel
caps of Warwick and of Cromwell; have held the crozier of the Prelate, and
the sceptre of the King ; have sat in the chair of James L and looked upon the
bear and ragged staff embroidered by the fiiir hands of Am t Robsabt. Ib Ken-
iluforth not known to me 1 Nay, I know its ruined battlements^ as I do the
house whore the Duchess of Richmond gave a ball, which was interrupted by
tlie cannon of Waterloo.

' I came to this place by the trekschni/t, a boat on the canal between Delft and
the Hague. The former place is ])articularly interesting, as the scene of the
Pilgrims' cmbarkment. It reminded mo often of Weir's great picture. Bot
more than all, was I reminded of Motley's ' Rise of the Dutch Republic' in the
various scenes that mot my eyes. Tiie Netherlands are as eloquent of Motlxt,
as Spain is of Irvino. Tht> (rek»ckui/t is a horse-barge, for passengers only: it
is drawn through the canal at the rate of four miles an hour. A Tery pleasant
thing is it, to travel at a meditative pace through the heart of a rural conntij
like this. And it is very beautiful too, this Holland; this bulbous parUm,
planted with stately avenues of trees, green hedges, villas, and flowers of all
hues. A sail on the ireckahuyi upon the canal, is through a oontlnuous graad
garden.

' Next to Oxford, the Crystal Palace at Sydenham surprised me most of any
thing I saw in England. Our own little affair of that name is as a wren com*
pared with an eagle. It is the loftiest monument of English greatnen in her
possoHf ion, saving the memories of her illustrious dead. No, I must qualify that :
it is lior most striking edifice — that is it !

' I looked down upon busy London from the top of St. Paul's, and saw the
arterial currents of her trade radiating from the Bank. Do you know that Bank
of England seems to me to be the heart of the financial world: bnt her yooog-
est rival begins to pulsate also. Tliere was a conmiereial throb not long suice,
that sent a shock throughout the Rialtos of both hemispheres.

' Here comes the garion with the gin-and- water: I drink ffin in HoQind,
because the water b bad and dangerous.

' Good night : you see I am ready for my night-cap : my kind regards to all
at Ccdar-IIill Cottage. * Ever yours truly, F. IL c'

Mr. CozzENs is * at horac ^ again. - - - We hope that many of our reiden
surveyed, as wc did, night afler night, in the clear amber<»ruleaiiof an October
sky, the Great Conict of Doiuiti. Tho emotions of sublimity, the gnndBor
of the conceptions, which it awakened witliin us, are past all ezpreflsion. 11m
thoughtful beholder could only exclaim with Tennyson :

' Oh ! would that my tonf^e could utter
The thoughts tliat arise in me P

To sec on each succeeding night tliat awful Object, in size 60 ovcrwhclmiiigjlf
vast, in velocity so terrible, sweeping through the heavens, trailing ite luni'
nous glories, travelling its ' appointed ' course — a visible embodimflnt of Ac
Celestial Sublime ! The sun, the moon, the phmets, all the distant haste of
heaven, have their metes and bounds : ^ wc know when they shill daiken ff

1858.] JEditor'8 Table. 643

grow bright : * but this erratic wanderer of the sky, whence came it, and for

what end? The Infinite Being who created it alone knoweth! It hath

flamed upon the forehead of the evening and the morning sky, and now is

momently rushing away from the great orb of day, into the vast reakns of

endless space ! * Whither, oh ! whither ?' Who shall answer ? When they

who are now living, and have looked upon that * streaming courier of the skies,'

are in their graves and out of them,. in particles of dust, impalpable to human

sight, it shall come again — again to speak the praise of its great Creator.

What have we poor earth-worms to do, save to gaze in awe and wonder, and

bow our heads in adoration ? One night, after a long survey of this celestial

visitor, overwhelmed with the contemplation of its wonders, we took up from

the sanctum-table a work upon entomology, and read upon one of its pi^es

these brief sentences : * We are acquainted with animals possessing teeth, and

organs of motion and digestion, which are wholly invisible to the naked eye.

Other animals exist, which, if measurable, would be found many thousands of

times smaller, which nevertheless, possess the same apparatus. These creatures,

in the same manner as the larger animals, take nourishment, and are propagated

by means of ova, which must, consequently, be again many hundreds of times

smaller than their own bodies ! It is only because our organs of vision are

imperfect, that we do not perceive creatures a million times smaller than these.'

* Surely,' thought we, * the hand of the Almighty is as sublimely visible in the

least, as in the greatest of all His works ! ' - - - Trifles in knowledge, in

the evcry-day affairs of life, are sometimes important : and little maxims, written

firom little minds, by little men, in a little room, on a little piece of paper, are

often observable and noteworthy. Witness Tupper, the myriad-minded, whose

philosophy is proverbial :

' Who sees a pin, and lets it lay,
May want a pin another day.'*

Nothing could be truer than this, if there were any degree in truth, which
there is n't. Of this most useful maxim we have * availed ' from our youth up.
Mr. Charles L. Elliott, who is a philosopher, as well as the best portrait-
painter living at this moment in Christendom, objects somewhat to this : hav-
ing, as he conceives, a better way. * If you want a pin,' said he, the other
morning in the sanctum, * look on your carpet for it : you will always find
one.' We did : and two * shining ones ' rewarded the hasty search : although
our beautiful * snuggery ' had just been swept and garnished. Also, dear de-
parted *AuNT Dolly ' once said to us, when we were trying to look the sun
out of countenance, to accomplish a sneeze, * touch the nerve with the head of
a pin.' We did it : such ecstasy I The diaphragm arose within us, collapsed,
turned itself wrong-side out, and subsided to repose. Such are simple maacirtk-
otis hints, which are heedworthy. - - - There was an excellent column in
The Tribune ' daily journal, the other day, upon the Literary Criticisms of
the London Athenceum, But was * the game worth the candle ? ' We are in-
formed, on the best authority, that * at 'ome ' that sheet has the least possible
influence, by reason of the uniform unappreciative and nil ad/mirari spirit which
it manifests, especially toward all American works, which ^The THbune^ con-
demns. Its circulation is very small : at the outside not more than twenty-five

644 Editor's TcMe. [December,

hundred ; and its weight witli its readers (save avoirdupois) is even k^s than
its dilfiision. Take the case of Longfellow, for example : how do its adverse
comments affect the literary reputation of that gentleman abroad ? One would
suppose, to give his works an increased sale in England ; for not less than one
hundred thousand copies, in editioas costly and cheap, have been sold in
Britain during the last year. The ' slashing stylo' of reviewing has gone out,
especially witli feeble pens, guided by ambitious but feeble minds. To ut^ it
seems only amusing, to read the * criticisms' of ihQ Athenaum upon sud)
writers as Bkyaxt, IIalleck, and Longfellow. Even its stinted praise is ac-
companied by a protcstantlo, and its confirmatory quotations aie genenOy
preceded by an adverse innuendo : reminding us somewhat of the eulogy be-
stowed by the i)astor of a church upon one of his new deacons, in a conversa-
tion which he held witli a ncighl)oring pastor : * Deacon B ,' said he, 'has

but one fault in the world : he lias a propensity to be a litiie quarrtbame,
when he U drunk ! * According to our Aristarghus of the Ati-ineum^ n
BuLWEU named it, Prescott, Bancroft, and Motlet possess little more than
* laborious industry;' Holmes has * neither wit nor humor;' Washington
Irving * lacks geniality ; ^ (think of that !) — Bryant is an • imitative Words-
worth : * and Longfellow * hoA written one pretty line,' in bis last volume ! *
A'hiis ! such a *■ critic ' is not worth talking about But while upon the subject
of Mr. LoNGFELLOw*s last volume, which has met with such diaiacteristicany-
un worthy treatment at the hands of the Athenmum, let us briefly express our
sense of the merits of The CourUthip of Miles StandUh, which lends it its title,
conmiencing with a clear resume of the story :

' Miles SrANnisn, the firflt captuin of the New-England settlers at Plymoatb, was t
stalwart hut »oiiiewhat 8tunipy man ; terrihlc in war, but not fruned for raffling io
the dovo-oots. Heine a widower, he shares his domicile in the mde shanties ofthe
rising village with his bosom friend and jnrofr^f John Aldsn, a acbolarly, qnist,
graci'ful, and GoD-fearlng youn^c Puritan. To him the soldier dilates of his old cam-
uaigns in Flanders, not without a dash of self-conceit, shown particularly in his re*
iterated protest and counsel — that whoever wants any thine well done mast do it
himself. This is MiLSs'srulc of life and of action, though it faiTs him at a critical pinch.
He desires to replace his lost wife, and casts his eye upon a comely maiden, oae
Priscilla ; yet, despite his favorite maxim, he commissions John Aldbh to do his
wooing for him. Joiix, himself a humble worshipper of the fair ffirl whom the binnt
soldier thinks may be had for the asking, is grievously troubled br the oonuniidoa. His
conscientious scruples are however put down by the strong will ofthe matt«r-of-ftet
man of war, and on he goes on his errand. Its result is easily foreseen. Pubcilla,
whose quick eye has not failed to read the true state of John's feelinsa, smd who is
amused bv his* perplexity, gives a decisive negative to the proposufor the itmifa
captain's ^and. Then tlie honest fellow pleads with self-sscrifioing eameatness m
bi'^ialf of his rejected friend, making bad worse by every word he utten. until the
mutdeu tlnallv discomfits and puts him to flight, by asking him archly why he doesn't
speak for hfmself : thereupon a terrible conflict between Lore and Friendship.
Stung by self-reproach, he hurries ofl:' to Miles Htandish, and blurts out nnreserredly
to him the tidings of his ill-success as a messenger, and the still more vnweloonie
truth that he liimself is the accepted one. This is more than the choleric captain csn
stand. He blasphemes, and reproaches John' Alden with treachery ; nor do we know
how his indignation would have found vent, had not a threatened irruption of Indians
called oflf the soldier to his fitting avocation, and made for the moment an end of
him. Rut though thus rid of Miles Standisii's reproaches, John Aldbm'b aensitiTS
nature cannot reconcile hiui to his own position as the lover of Paisciu^ though a
deprecating look from her had sutiiced to prevent his immediate return to Bnpsad
in the bark ' May Flower,' then about to sail. He cannot clear himself from the
charge of having broken faith with his friend. Suddenly, however, oome tidings that
Stani>isii has l>een killed in a fight with the Indians, and that the settlement is
threatened by them. The inuiginary obstacle thus removed, and a sense of immtnywt

1868.]

Editor'8 Table.

645

danger drawing together these loTiog hearts, John Aldbn claims Priscilla as his
hri^, and they are married after the old fashions of Holland. At the weddinz, stal-
wart Miles reappears, not as a ghost or an avenger, but forgiving, congratulating,
blessing : and so all ends well.'

We fear that it will take a long time to * inure ' us to English imitations of
Latin hexameters. Lonoellow has well mastered the task of their composi-
tion, and his * feet' go trippingly, with seldom a slip or mis-step. But the love
of hexameters must come like the love of Spanish olives : some these delight :
othersome regard them as *sour green plums.* But the form of the poem
aside : it is replete with the most exquisite natural images and comparisons ;
it contains a succession of descriptions which are as much beautiful pictures to
the eye, as if they were upon canvas in color before the reader. Quiet humor
there is, in quaintest garb, and touches of natural pathos, which take the heart
captive : while the story itself is admirably and most dramatically told. Among
the shorter poems which close the volume, is the subjoined, which is as ex-
cellent in the great lesson which it teaches, as in the grace and harmony of its
execmion. It is entitled ^The Ladder of St. Augustine : *

' Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said,

That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame !

* All common thinj^s, each day's events,

That with the hour be^in and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents.
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

* The low desire, the base design.

That makes another's virtues less ;
The revel of the treacherous wine,
And all occasions of excess :

* The longing for ignoble things ;

The strife for triumph more than truth ;
The hardening of the heart that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth :

' All though^ of ill ; all evil deeds,

That have their root in thoughts of
ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will :

* All these must first be trampled down

Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright tields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.

* We have not wings, we cannot soar ;

But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.

' The mighty pyramids of stone

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known.
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

* The distant mountains, that uprear

Their solid bastions to the skies.
Are crossed by path-ways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.

' The heights by great men reached and
kept
Were not attained by sudden flight.
But they, while their companions slept.
Were toiling upward in the night.

* Standing on what too long we bore

With snouiders bent anddowncast eyes,
We may discern — unseen before —
A path to higher destinies.

' Nor deem the irrevocable Past,

As wholly wasted, wholly vain.
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.'

In aU respects, admirable. - - t A friend has called our attention to the
following paragraph in ^Ka Elele ffawaii^^ of Honolulu, Oahu, Sandwich Is-
lands, under date of * Okatoba 6.* The *Buke* and ' Pepa' numerical designa-
tions are indistinct, from the wear and tear of the journal in coining so great
a distance : but doubtless the sheet is of last year :

* £ iiooKAA ia ka liookupu i hoakakaia maluna ae ; peaei, he hapaumi i ka
hookomo ana i na holoholona iloko o ke kula, a he hapaumi i ka pan ana o na
malama mua eono. Pela no i kela Kakahikiikeia Makahiki, e hookaa e ia ka
hapalua o ia hookupu, a o ke koena i ka wa e pau ai ka hapalua mua o ko maka-
hikl Ina aole e kaa ka kekahi hookupa a pan na malama eono, e kau hoa ia

646 Editor^B Table. [December,

ka liapawalu no kela dala aie keia dala ale a kaa. Aka, ina i hala na makahiki
elua a kna olo ka aio, c kaai ka luna o ke kula i kekahi bipi. Ho, « hoki, a mink
[)aha o ua mea aie la i mea c houkaa aku ai i kona aie, a e kakmla ka luna i koni
manao c kuai ia bipu Ho }>a)ia i hookabi malama mamua aku o ke kaai ana, 1
ike lea la kona manau kuai no la holoholona.'

Now this Ls an entire mistake. The paper referred to in the Kxickerbockei
had no reference wliatever to the * threatened mandate * of the King of the
Sandwich Island^ : wliat our correspondent did say — and he was borne oat
in his remark by the facU which he cited — was, that * when the Islands of the
Sea should come under the dominion of the laws of Common Sense, and the
eternal Principles of * Ninety-eight, there would then be no farther need of sab-
marine or trans-marine legislation/ What was meant by all thi^ we dkl not
know then, and do not know now : but that these were the * positions' of oar
correspondent, we do know. We respectfully request *'K'a EMe'* to retnct
its gratuitous animadversion. - - - We have been interested, and doubt not
tliat our readers will be, in the annexed gossipping passage finom the *Way-
side Recordn of a Yankee in I: u rope. The main portion of the extract wfaidi
we take frr)m the maniL<cript, gives a more *' sketchy/ and therefore a more
graphic description, of the literally ' last earthly-resting pkoe * and fiuniliar
habiu of Voltaikk, " the keen wit and the brazen infidel," than we hare erer
elsewhere met with :

* The ' arrowy Rhone/ as it rushen under the paltry low wooden-bridge ii

the miiht of the town of Geneva, is aA blue as Mrfli M 'a waahing-tab ob

Momlay moriiin<r. I di«l not much enjoy a lounge in tlie ' Place Bel-air/ aa am*
pliibioiis, inuiMy, polyngonal concern, with a ginger-bread town-hooM and dial*
plate on one side, and fAnno print-shops on the other. A glance down the itreH
tliat skirt A the city wall, r'utiitfied us in that quarter. The esplanade and fortifi-
cations to whiirh a ni«»rniii^-walk k'd us, appeared to my eyes to have immtpt
strength : several moats, of fifty or :*ixt3' ^^^'^ ^*-*^P ^^^ wide, traTcraed fay nar-
row temporary bridges, for tlic benefit of the Genevese promenaden^ follow the
z\ii-zn*i voiirsi* of bastion and curtain. From this point ahoold the town and
lakf be seen, to be viewed to the greatest advantage. The jnmble of Ugfa-
pcakvd tumble-down liouses and ginger-bread steeples that eonsUtate the dty,
lie on your left, upon a portion of the slope that from your feet Bwe^M down
fi>r lialf-a-niib' in a gentle descent to the placid bosom of the lake. B^breyw^
tliat much l)eprui:red phoct of water, resembling a little our own lake of tka
sunii' name, unrolls her silver surface. Tlie sloping shore, stadded with tUIMi
(anion:; which I recollcet the houses of Volt.\ire and CflATEAuaaiASCD,) aiMWoadi
each otliLT in bidder and ))older eurves as the}* recede, and at last embradigi
Hvcni to enfold the lake from your sight ; while high above, on the right, old Moat
Blanc, rcarins: his lioary and eternal summits above the interme^ate haglrt%
appears to lord it with an unspeakable grandeur over the whole aeene. Hie 'bht
Rhone ' U of so iliM'p an azure, as it flows under the bridge at Genera, aa ta
s«.*em almost turbid.

' We took a earriai?*' to Ferney one day, the residence of Yoltauk. The nad
eondueted us for sonuf distanee along the bank of the lake. Aw hoar broo^^
us to tlie sparse village wliioli Voltaire created. We remarked a ehapd, iritt
an inscription on the pediment, possibly the same whioh Yoltaibb b^h.

1858.] EcUtor'B Table. 649

arrogantly inscribed, *Deo erexit Voltaire.* The chateau was but a tolerable
country-house, surrounded with a considerable extent of tasteful and varied
grounds. ... A servant appeared to show us through the house. The
house is now in possession of the same nobleman from whose ancestors Yoltadus
purchased the place. The ante-room, containing the same high-backed carved
gilt chairs, in which Voltaire and his fellow-wits and doubters disported their
hours of triumph, is sad and oppressive. His sleeping-room adjoining, contains
the unpainted bedstead and mean bed on which he reposed, when he eaiUd re-
pose — for ' on that bed he last did lie.' According to the custom of travelling
fools, I laid me down on his bed ; and but that the ravages of former tourists had
reduced the curtains to the length of about a foot, I should have followed their
example in carrying off a small piece by way of memorial

'A portrait of Madame De Warens and of Catherine ds Russe is on either side of
the bed. In the room is a paltry cenotaph, and on a board hanging, if I recollect,
right across it is, *M<m cceur est id — mon esprit estpartout.* As we were conducted
over the beautiful grounds, where, from an occasional terrace we enjoyed a fine
view of the country, we were shown the walk which he frequented when under
the influence of his muse. The attendant, who had been his servant, told us that
he used to walk rapidly by fits, with his long cane in his hand, stopping at inter-
vals to write : the head of his cane and the back of his hand serving for a desk.
I of course gathered some of the leaves of the beech-trees which he had planted
with his own hand. ... At the gardener's lodge, we were shown his
walking-cane : we put on his brocade gold-fringed night-cap, and seated our-
selves in his arm-chair, without imbibing any of its old occupant's inspiration.
Yoltaire had a habit of detaching the seals of the letters which he had re-
ceived, and arranging them in a sort of album : he then wrote underneath each
seal some brief expression, designating the character of the person to whom the
seal belonged, as, * You hypocrite : * farceur,* etc This book was shown to us.
The present proprietor of the chateau had erected in the grounds a splendid
monument, with a long inscription to his memory. Some weak wretches had
recently demolished the erection. The gardener gave me a printed copy of the
inscription, which I am sorry to say I have mislaid.*

*When founds make a note of it' - - - It is * painful, truly pidnful,' to read
such things as are written by our Lawrence (Mass.) correspondent, concern-
ing a certain native Justice of the Peace, residing so near Boston, the nucleus
of ^ all the learning and all the talents,' so widely radiated in the region round
about Imagine the following scene: *With an appearance indicating the

realization of the importance of his position. Judge S prepared himself

with paper, pen, and ink, and * opened the court* With the examination and
cross-examination of witnesses, and the pleas of the counsel, every thing
seemed to pass off smoothly ; save now and then, at the order of the Judge,
they were compelled to wait for him to complete his minutes, or to ask the
members of the bar how some word in the testimony should be spelled. Now
came a moment of most intense interest After a season of mutual satis&ction
between the counsel and the spectators, it is not strange that, as the * deciding
moment drew near, the court-room should have been in almost breathless
silence, for the case was an important one. I need not picture the scene fKt-
ther. You no doubt have witnessed exciting trials in courts of justice, and

VOL. LII. 42

650 Editor'8 liMe. [December,

become abnost unable to govern your feelings, as the sentence was about to be
pronounced upon some criminal With profound gravity the Judge aixise^
and with slow and solemn voice, turning to the counsel for the defendant, he

said: *Mr. II , it is the opinion of this Court that y&u are d^aulted,*

As soon as Mr. II recovered sufficiently, he arose, and answered : ' Judge

S , I was not aware but what I was here^ and had been here ihiougbout

the trial/ Again another solemn silence : the Judge grew red in the fiux^ and
huge drops of perspiration oozed upon his forehead. Fortunately the counsel
for the plaintiff bethought him to say : *' You meant to remark, Judge^ that
you decided the case agaimt the defendant* Life at once returned: ^Ohl

yes, yes — yes, I meant — thaVs it: I decide o^atn^^ you, Mr. H 1'

And he ' decided accordingly ! * - - - You have seen such a man as this,
reader, have you not ? — a croaker, who never predicts any thing that is not
evil, and who reverses Pope's idea, and always holds, that ' whatorer is, is
wrong f ^ You meet him some fine bracing autumn-morning, and salute him
with : ' A charming morning this : such a glorious day is enough of itsdf to
make a man in love with life.' *Ya-e-e-s: pleasant enough now; bat it *8 a
weather-breeder, Sir — a reg'lar weather-breeder : we shall pap for this : now
mind I tell you!' Three weeks after, you encounter him on a rainy day:

* Aha ! ' he exclaims ; *■ what did I tell you ? It 's on us naw^ and we sfaan^t
' f^t shed of it ' in a hurry : the regular equinoctial, and plenty after that 1 '
And so with every thing : nothing but * croak ! croak ! ' like a crow, all the
wliile. Whip us such uncomfortable ^fellow-citizens' — these ^Jomsn,'
whom CuARLES Mackay so happily hits off in a little poem, of ¥rfaich we cm
only recall two verses, and perhai)s these not correctly :

' I READ the sweet letter my love sent to me.
Inclosing a rose from a land o*er the sea;
I press to my foud lips a curl of her hair.
And own that she 's loving, and good as she's (air ;
When Jones, intcrruptinff, says : * Love 's a mistake.
And women but play with men's hearts till they break : '
1 answer, * Why not ? if they 're bloodless as stones f
Oct out of my sun-shine, detestable Jombs ! '

' My heart glows with hope for the welfare of man :
I pray for mv fellows, and help when I can :
I see through the distance of as^es to be.
The many, grown wiser, made uappv and A'ee,
When JoNBS, interrupting, says : * Man is a knave ;
And, if not a tyrant, a fool ora slave.'
I answer : * There 's kind human flesh on my bones —
Get out of my sun-shine, cadaverous Jones I '

As the song goes, * so say all of us I' - - - The dionmug ^Autoorat qf tke
Brcalifast- Table ' having finished his career in the pages <^ our eontempoMy,

* The Atlantic Monthly ^^ the landlady of his boarding-house^ of whom he hv
afforded so many amusing glimpses, has been imparting to an amanuensiB her
imprcssioas of himselfj and of the school-mistress with whom he * took flie
long path,' at the close of his story. Passing by the * rich-brash ' picture cf
the 'Autocrat' as a boarder *who paid regular,' and his 'manners and cdb-
toms ' at table and elsewhere, we cannot forbear to present a ' picture in lilfle'
of the 'school-ma'm,' which is alike homely, graphic, and in parts aflbcting:

1858.] JSdttor'8 TaUe. 651

' As to 8chool-ma*am, I han't a word to say that an't favorable, and do n't har-
bor no unkind feelin' to her, and never knowed them that did. When she first
come to board at my house, I had n't any idee she 'd live long. She was all
dressed in black ; and her face looked so delicate, I expected before six months
was over, to see a plate of glass over it, and a Bible and a bunch of flowers layin'
on the lid of the — ■ — well, I do n't like to talk about it ; for when she first come,
and said her mother was dead, and she was alone in the world, except one dster
out West, and unlocked her trunk and showed me her things, and took out her
little purse and showed me her money, and said that was all the property she
had in the world, but her courage and her education, and would I take her and
keep her till she could get some scholars — I couldn't say not one word, but
jest went up to her and kissed her, and bu'st out a-cryin' so as I never cried since
I buried the last of my five children that lays in the huryiiC- ground with their
father, and a place for one more grown person betwixt him and the shortest of
them five graves, where my baby is waitin* for its mother.*

* [The landlady stopped here, and shed a few still tears, such as poor women
who have been wrung out almost dry by fierce griefs lose calmly, without sobs
or hysteric convulsions, when they show the scar of a healed sorrow.]

' The school-ma'am had jest been killin' herself for a year and a half with

waitin' and tendin' and.watchin' with that sick mother that was dead now and
she was in mournin' for. She did n't say so, but I got the story out of her, and
then I knowed why she looked so dreadful pale and poor. By-and-by she be-
gun to get some scholars, and then she would come home sometimes so weak
and faint, that I was afraid she would drop. One day I handed her a bottle of
camphire to smell of, and she took a smell of it, and I thought she 'd have
fainted riglit away. Oh ! says she, when she come to, I 've breathed that smell
for a whole year and more, and it kills me to breathe it again !

' The fust thing that ever I see pass between the gentleman inquiriee is made
about, and her, was on occasion of his makin' some very aearchin' remarks
about griefs, sech as loss of friends and so on. I see her fix her eye steady on
him, and then she kind of trembled and turned white, and the next thing I knew
was she was all of a heap on the floor. I remember he looked into her face
then and seemed to be seized as if it was with a start or spasm-like — bat I
thought nothin' more of it, supposin' it was because he felt so bad at makin' her
faint away.

' Some has asked me what kind of a young woman she was U> look at. Well,
folks differ as to what is likely and what is homely. I 've seen them that was
AS pretty as picters in my eyes ; cheeks jest as rosy as they could be, and hair
all shiny and curly, and little mouths with lips as red as sealin'-wax ; and yet
one of my boarders, that had a great name for makin' marble figgers, would say
such kind of good looks warn't of no account. I knowed a young lady once
that a man drownded himself because she would n't marry him, and she might
have had her pick of a dozen, but I did n't call her any thing great in the way
of looks. All I can say is, that, whether she was pretty or not, she looked like
a young woman that knowed what was true, and that loved what was good$
and she had about as clear an eye, and about as pleasant a smile as any mite
ought to want for every-day company. I 've seen a good many young ladies
that could talk faster than she could ; but if you 'd seen her or heerd her w^bd
our boardin'-house caught a-fire, or when there was any thing to be done be-

052 Editor'*B Table. [December,

sides RiK'i'ch-mukin', I guess you M like to have stood still And looked 011, jert to
see that young woman's way of goin* to work. Dark, rather than ligkt; tid
flim, but strong in the arms — perhaps from liftin' that old mother about; iat
I've siet-n her licuvin' one end of a big heavy chest round that I ahonld n't htvc
thought of touehin*. and yet lier hands was little and white. Dressed rery plui,
but nout, and wore her hair smooth. I used to wonder sometimes she didn^
wear ponie kind of ornaments, bein* a likely young woman, and haTin' her vay
to make in the world, and Hecin* my daughter wearin' jewelry, which sets ha
off w much, every day. She never would — nothin' but a breast-pin with her
mother s hair in it. and sometimes one little black cross. That made me tUik
she was a Koman Catholic, especially when she got a picter of the Vii]g^ >Iiir
and hung it up in her room ; so 1 asked her, and she shook her head and nod
these ver}' words : that t*he never saw a church-door so narrow she eonldn^ go
in tlirou<rh it, nor so witle that all the Creator's goodness and glovy eoold esttf
it ; and then she dropped her eyes and went to work on a flannel pettiooat dM
was ma kin', which 1 knowed, but she did n't tell me, was for a poor old ^

Is not this admirable ? We should scarcely be surprised to learn *h«* the
'AiToniAT' himself *had a hand in it.' - - - Kites have ^gone out*
(^ur ' lA'viathan,^ like its great namesake in the Thames^ Is laid up, waiting fir
the * spring;-ti(les ^ of air. Fitfully blow the autumnal winds now, and dead
leaves strew the hill-side walks. Tlie * Leviatlian ' would in these days tike
any one into the air who should essay to hold the guiding-rein : so he stands
on end in the library adjoining the sanctum, until his time shall oome. Meuh
while, little * sleighs are in/ or soon will be ; at the prospect whereof our littk
people do ^eatly rejoice : and truth to say, we with them. If there is SDJ
thin<^ that will stir the blood, and renew the youth of us ^children of luger
<n*owth/ it is to see, in the first /etmhU' snow that fidls, the little boys ud

jrirls, those cordial communities who know neither * sets' nor ^diques* wiBi

red cheeks and bright eyes, tumbling, rollicking, laughing, and shoatiiij^ ind
' turning to mirth all things of earth, as only childhood can.' We onoe bwd
the late Philii* Honr, at one of the annual festivals of our good Saint Xkho-
LAS, with an unstudied eloquence, and a grace which was as natural to Inm M
the air he breathed, dwell for a few too short moments upon his reminnoenon
f)f early New- York : and we remember tliat he said, in substance : * I have tn-
velle<l. Sir, in foreign lands since that period of I^ong Ago : I haTO beheld mtmo-
tains which veiled their hairy heads in the clouds, and hills of rarest beanfty;
but, Sir, they all pale Ixifore the memory of the hill, to the top of which ti»
V»oys of Did New-York used to draw their sleighs in winter, and g^de like as
arrow down its glassy sides. Let such of us as are lioys of Old Neir-Toric
never f«)rget * Vlaatenhareck Hill ! ' ' — and the speakcr*s eye dfl^f^ ^nd fail
voice Wits full and cheer}', as he thus spake of the ' wintcr-mcmorieB of his hag'
hoo<l* The otlier day, when the painter was putting the finishing^toacfaM tD
the new * coat ^ which lias been given to the cottage, wo asked him tf ]^
the Mr. Buckiiout, of whose skill in cleaning and restoring oil-paintinfl
had heard such fre<|uent mention made ? * He had had great suooess in tfait
linf,' he said, modestly adding, tliat he ^ liad always, he believed, given

1858.] Editor'a Table. 668

satisfaction to those who had intrusted their pictures to his care. His process
was an original one, and it neither injured the colors or the canvas in the
slightest degree.' * One thing led on to another/ until mention happened to
be made of dnldrerCa Sleighs for Winter^ suggested by seeing our little Fivo-
year-old extemporizing a sled from the sides of a superanuated cigar-box ; when
Mr. BucKHOUT informed us, that in making and decorating sleighs for children,
he could proudly say that he * turned his back to no man : * that as winter ap-
proached, the demand for his work, for the city and Hudson-river towns, was
greater than he could supply. From town, his sleighs find their way to all
parts of the country ; and specimens in this kind have twice received first
premiums at the American Institute. He happened to be in the city at the
time the Crystal Palace was burned, and succeeded in rescuing from the ^de-
vouring element * (meaning fire) two of the most beautiful vehicles of the kind
* on view ' in that graceful but now vanished structure. One of these is con-
tracted for, for a good little boy we wot ofj to rejoice Cedar-Hill this winter
with many a joyful juvenile * load.' Whoso desires a little sleigh, as strong as
it is easy-going, of Mr. D. M. Buckhout's manufiicture, let him advise us, at
the office of the Knickerbocker. - - - Connecticut is justly celebrated
for the excdlenoe of her schools : but we know of one little village within her
borders, where the schoolmaster seems not to have been a prevalent institution.
Sitting on the piazza of a hotel there, a few days ago, we watched the progress
of a sign-painter plying his art over the portals of a neat little building oppo-
site. As his first syllabic combination became apparent, our speculation ran
high, as to the nature of the place, * Digning : ' it could form no part of the
owner's name ; neither could we bring to mind any art, science, or trade, hav-
ing such an adjective appellatioa Half-an-hour later, and the intent of the
sign became apparent :

DIGNING SALOON
RESTURE AUNT.

Who 'd have thought it, 0 Connecticut ! - - - We shall * name no parties,'
nor violate any private confidence, in letting fidl upon these pages a Gleam
from t?ie Light of a Dutchman^ a Fire-Sidey in one of the old towns fiir away on
the banks of the noble river now sweeping, in the broad, bright moon-light,
to the sea, past the October-garnished heights which swell above the lowly
mansion of * Cedar-^ill Cottage.' The modesty of the writer (only equalled
by the old-time hospitality, and the warm, genial spirit which prompts it,
and which have made the ancient * Family-Hostead ' famous for so * many a
rolling year ') might reluct at names and localities ; so that in that regard we
forbear — and begin. After allusion to our recent visit to the ^Battle- Grounds
of Old Saratoga,'' our kind and courteous correspondent observes :

* I AM reminded, in the * Table ' of your September nnmber, of a long-deferrpd
intention of my own : namely, of writing to you, to request that you will not

664 EdUof^8 ToMe. [December,

again come bo near this ancient, quiet, and fertile Talley, where, aecording to
our old friend, the ' veritable Historian/ the folk used to put stonea on their
houses, in windy weather, to prevent their blowing *way, without comiDg
'just over the river,' and paying a visit to the old JP'afnilyffoaiead of tit
Knickerbackers. For, my dear 8ir, the hospitalities of a Knickjebbockxr's man-
sion are ever open, especially to a Knickerbockeb'b friends; and to no one could
a more cordial welcome be offered, than to the old and genial Editor of tiie
' Knickerbookkr MAaAziNK : ' and I trust that at some future time you may find it
convenient with your arrangements to make your way northward again, and
with the purpose of a quiet sojourn, amid the primitive ecenes and primitiTe
manners of this ancient neighborhood.

' I can promise you, that if you come, you may occupy the 'JSaunted Chamhtr,'
and will warrant you against all hann ; for the spirits which inhabit it are, I
am very sure, good spirits — choice friends of Ourro and of Hncnr— asitii
also known as tlie * Bridal Chamber.* And, if it were not for ahoekiog yov
patriotism, I could offer you — for your sleeping arrangements— the bedsUsd
which once belonged to that arch Tory, Sir Joiix Johnson: at any rate, you need
not, if you choose, during your stay, sit in a chair less than one hundred yetrs
old: and if you have a passion for tlie antique, or the war-like, I could 'kad
you the Icmn ' of the sword which my great grand-fiither used (with how moA
execution I dare not say) during the Revolution.

' And I can show y«)u the huge Family Bible, with its great claBp% (never, 1
am quite sure, intended as a pocket-edition,) wherein is recorded, in legible
Low Dutch, the genealogy of the Knickerbackers, for— well, for at least an i^
or two before the laying of the Sub-Atlantic Cable, And then, I eould lead jw
to the sepulchres, and point out to you the epitaphs of my ancestors for Bcvenl
generations. And I could conduct you to the stream, and to the identieal ipot
where licensed-mouthed Tradition relates, that a certain 'Dutch Homliw' of yoic
united within the mystical bonds of wedlock a fidr damsel and her loriiK.
swain ; they standing on the one shore, and the clergyman upon the oppoiitf
side of the river, during the interesting ceremony. And then, I could lead yot
to a tract of land, and could show you the deed which conveyed the same; it
being a ' Warrayitced Transfer ' from the ' Mayor, Aldermen, and GommonaHy ti
tlie City of Albany,' to one of my fore-fathers, the sole consideration of wluek
conveyance was (and was it not truly a valuable consideration ?) that my ss-
oestor agreed to furnisli said ' Mayor, Aldermen, and Commonalty of the CStj
of Albany,' with sufficient meat, drink and lodgings for themaelTes and horiM
whenever they or any of them should choose to rlAt him at his hoose^ aadw
long as they, or any of them, should choose to stay there.' ^Kwe^ yoU villi*-
member, were the good old days of hospitality.

'And I can promise you farther, that when you oome^ (If jroa he a mokavai
I am,) I can offer you a substantial pipe of the olden school ; or, at your opte
a modern cigar, and the other ' good goods,' the ei cetera^ of a DntobMi^*
fire-side. And yet, I may not promise you ' princely entertidnmeiit^* mat wmi
of the luxuries of many others. For we are of a umple and a prndcat imi:
and thougli my first ancestor wlio came to this country Is said to have ijopni
hither with a nun, yet that, I suppose, might be considered aa only a 'Uikh
the cable ' of their otherwise proverbial prudence.'

ThiB is a Knkkerbocker invitation Utfttr our own heart,* mdihiBbeW'

1858.] EdU<yr's Table. 656

cepted Moith it, * when time and chance shall serya' Where there is a Viil\
there will be found a way. - - - It is remarked by some one, some one
unknown to us by name, but a sensible and plain-spoken man, whoever he is,
that Woman in the Middle Banks of Society is in her true glory : not a doll,
to carry silks and jewels ; not a puppet, to be flattered by absurd adoration ;
reverenced to-day and discarded to-morrow, and always jostled out of the place
which nature and society would assign her, by sensuality or contempt : ad-
mired but not respected, and desired perhaps, but not esteemed : compare such
an one with a Wife who partakes of the cares and cheers the anxieties of her
husband ; who divides his toils by her domestic intelligence, and spreads cheer-
fulness around her; for his sake sharing the reasonable refinements of the
world, without being vain of them. Now this, as we have intimated, is well
and truly said : and it reminds of a few very clever lines which a western lady-
correspondent, in a kindly-courteous note, now lying before us, has desired us
to * circulate * in the Table. With moderate crinolines, therefore, and no other
redundance save that which Nature gives, ladies and gentlemen, * JA^ Girl
with the Calico Dress ' will have the honor of appearing before you :

* A Fio for your * fashionable girls,*

With their velvets and satins and laces,
Their diamonds, and rubies, and pearls,

And their milliner figures and races :
The J may shine at a party or ball,

Emblazoned with half they possess.
But give me, in place of them all,

My girl with tne calico dress.

* She is as plump as a partridge, and fair

As the rose in its earliest bloom ;
Her teeth will with ivorv compare.

And her breath with the clover perfume.
Her step is as free and as light

As the fawn's whom the hunters hard press ;
And her eye is as soft and as bright —

My girl with the calico dress.

* Your dandies and foplines may sneer

At her simple and modest attire ;
But the charms she permits to appear

Would set a whole iceberg on tire.
She can dance, but she never allows

The hugging, the squeeze and caress ;
She is savmg all these for her spouse —

My girl with the calico dress.

* She is cheerful, warm-hearted and true,

And kind to her father and mother :
She studies how much she can do

For her sweet little sisters and brother.
If you want a companion for life.

To comfort, enliven, and bless,
She is just the right sort for a wife —

My girl with the calico dress.'

Pass this good * Girl ' around. - - - * Why could n't they,' asked a 'scientific
explorer,' of the Flaneur school, as he stood by a switch-man, on a long and
very straight rail-road track, * down east' the other day, discussing the ' At-
lantic Cable,' * why could n't they make a telegraph-line of rail-road rails ? It 's
continuous, and it 's conductive, an't it ? ' * Why, sartin,' was the reply : • it 'a

656 :Editor'8 7b^, [Decein1>er,

been done — done frequent, by natural lightnin*. Bill Finch, up at Ha^ck's
station, fh a thunder-storm, last week, switched off a streak o* lightnin* fliat he
see a-comin*, and run the thing into the ground : 's tifaet — ask Bill I *

* Mr window opens toward the aotomn woods :
I see the fj^hosts of thiatlos walk the air
O'er the long, level stubble-land that broods
Beneath the lierblcss rocks that juttmg lie :
Slimmer has gathered her white family
Of shrinking daisies — all the hills are bare :
And in the meadows not a limb of bads
Through the brown bushes showeth any where.*

Tnrs sings Alice Carey : but if she means to say that the floware are all
gone, and bouquet-materiel fled, we think we could prove to her, ooiild slie
but step for a moment into the sanctum, that she is somedele mistaken. Not
during the entire summer, when multitudinous flowers ^appeared opoii the
earth,* and might be had for the plucking, did such a brilliant bouquet swing
like an inccnse-breatliing censer above our table, as now illuminates tbe sanc-
tum with its autumnal glories. Vari-colorcd artemesias, polished dogwood-
berries, of a brighter red than any Chinese vermilion that was ever seen ; ridi
clusters of opened ' bitter-sweet,' with its trailing bulbs of deep orange •nd
brightest crim>;on ; shining wax-berries, whiter than the whitest lily that ever
opened its fair bosom to the summer air ; tender cedar-sprays, (at mlTimcf annV
reach from the sanctum windows,) * thickly set with pale blue berries; ' hair-
fine mountain-pine twigs, green as a leek, without its odor ; two or thne li^bt
maroon tuft-cones of the sumach, with its long attendant leaves, tinged with
all l>right hues, * most beautiful to see : ' match us such a bouquet as tfwa^ with
all the wealth of summer- flowers I It cannot be done — finr have n*t we tried
it ? Moreover, it was our work : ^ alone we did it,' having long sinoe wfA» up
our mind that we have slight occasion to *tum our back to any wmi or
woman' in making a tasteful bouquet - - - *A ducat to a begguly
denier/ that ^Ifuns Breitmami'% Barty * is from the choice hand of our oU
correspondent, * Mace Sloper.* It * smacks of him ' very much :

' Hans BRErrMAXN gifc a barty — dey had biano blayin— I felld in lofe mit a
Merican frau. Her name vas Maduda Yane. She hat haar aa proon as a
pretzel bun ; de eyes were hlmmel blae ; and ven she looket into ndne, dey diplit
mine heart in two.

' IIaxs Breitman'n gifc a barty : I vent dar yon 11 pe pound. I valset ndt der
Mai>ili>a Yank — und vent shpinnen round und round. De pootieat freUein In
Je house — she vnyed p«>ut doo lioondert pound.

'IIaxs Breitmaxx gif a barty — I dells you, it cost him dear. Dey rolU in
more as seven kecks of foost rate Latter Bier — und venefer dey knoda da
shpicket in. de Doutsohers irifes a cheer. I dinks dat so vine a barty nefereooia
to a het dis vear.

* IFans Brlitmann gife a luirty. Bar all vas souse and broiue, Ven da
siH^per come in. de goinptiny did make demselves to hoose. I>ey ate dat Bnii
und (lon^ybroost. die Bnitwor>rst and Braton fine, and wash daa
down mit four i>arrels of Xeokarweiu.

1858.] Editor's Table. 657

* Hans Breitmann gife a barty : ve all cot troonk as bigs : I poot mine mout to
a parrel of bier und sch wallowed it oop mit a schwigs — und denn'I kissed
Madilda Yane, und she schlap me on de kop, und de goompany fought mit taple
leeks dill de coon staple made oos schtop.

* IIans Breitmann gife a barty : vhere is dat barty now ? Vhere is de lofely
golten cloudt dat float on der moundain's prow ? Vhere is de himmelstrahlende
stern — de sch tar of de spirit's light — all gone'd afay mit de Lager Bier — afay
in der Evigkeit.'

The * internal evidence ' here is very strong. In its kind, it is quite as
good as the mingled Dutch-English of the travesty :

' Dfc sun vash gone town shust pebint de plue mountains,

Und left de tark night to come on us again,
Yen I shtumpled along, mit de shwamps und de fountains,
Shust to see vonce my Gatt vot livesh on de blain : '

with other stanzas, of a kindred sort - - - The editor of the ^Cumberland
Telegraph * dropped in upon us at the Sanctum by paper-proxy the other
morning, and mentioned to us, in the course of an animated conversation, the
following extraordinary circumstAnce : * For several years,' said he, * a Mouse
has made his home in my printing-oflSce. lie has become very &miliar with
all hands, and in broad day-light he can be seen playing around the feet of the
compositors, or dancing about the cases, seemingly as little apprehensive of
danger as if snugly safe in his nest. The paste-cup is his delight ; but he
never objects to a bit of cake or fruit, with which his admirers occasionally
supply him. Ue is a most remarkable little animal. A piece of cake puts
him in high glee, and when he has devoured it, he gets in a comer and sings
like a canary bird, his notes being sweet and melodious. Sometimes he will
sing for an hour without intermission. He is a general fiivorite ; does what he
pleases with impunity ; and is regarded as a sort of fixture in the oflSca' Our
contemporary added, that the said Mouse was so tame that he would suffer his
person to be handled, without any the least show of fear. We said to him,
(the Editor, not the Mouse,) * That is, as you observe, a most extraordinary
circumstance: and if you had not seen it, you would not have believed itV
He replied immediately, with great frankness, that he would not The follow-
ing observation, made by * ourselfj' finished the conversation * under notice : '
* Jus' so : we have never seen the mouse in question.' The editor was dum-
founded^ and wist not what to say. - - - When * OjiLAPon ' was editing
his Philadelphia Daily Gazette, we remember his remarking, at the end of a
heated political contest, that he was tired of running over the tables of minori-
ties, which kept coming in. As if by a sort of understanding, or conspiracy,
he said, among his contemporaries, uniform tables had been prepared: his
brother-editors had all become Mantilinis; and *Dem.,' *Dem.,' *Dem.,' was
the only party word they could utter in the * majority '- column. Now it was
an odd thing which brought this little circumstance to mind. We saw a
country * store '-keeper, day before yesterday, looking at a bank-note list,
which he had not as yet learned properly to consult Unknowingly, he was
deep in the ^ counterfeit ' department, and took the abbreviated descriptions of
the /6k^ of the bills as pronunciamentos of thdr solvency : and he read, partly

658 Editar^s Tabh. [December,

to himself in this wise : * Farmers' Bank of S Co., Pa. : vig.' (be vigilant

to detect) — * bust : ' that won't do : ' * Union Bank of : * bust : ' * same

kind:' and so he went on, discarding ^from the word,' alike 'bust&' of
Washington, of * females,' and of Silas Wright ! He was reversing the style
of people, wlio use ^ burst ' for hunt. - - - If Goldsmith himself were
living, it seems to us that he could scarcely have sent forth from his pen a
more characteristic and beautiful passage than the subjoined. We hope some
one of our readers may be able to tell us who wrote it It mmnds like Dr.
CiiANNiN(!, somewhat, but we cannot find it in such of his writings as are
contained in our imperfect library : * For my part, I confess I have not the
heart to take an offending man or woman from the general crowd of sinful,
erring beings, and judge them harshly. The little I have seen of the world,
and know of the history of mankind, teaches me to look upon the errors of
others in sori'ow, not anger. When I take the history of the poor heart that
has sighed and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations
it has passed, the brief pulsation of joy, the feverish inquietude of hope and
fear, the tears of regret, the feebleness of purpose, the pressure of want, the
desertion of friends, the scorn of the world tliat has but little charity, the de-
solation of the souls sanctuary, and the threatening voice within; health
gone, oven hope, that stays longest with us, gone; I have littie heart for
aught else but thankfulness, that it is not so with me, and would fidn leave
the erring soul of my fellow-being with Hiu from whose hands it came.' A
sentinif^it to Ije well-remembered. - - - A kindlt correspondent, frtxn the
city of New-Orleans, in a note received yesterday, says : * I hope you may not
act upon a suggestion which we have inferred that you * threw out' in a late
number of the Knickeubocker : to the effect, namely, that fiseling like a boy
* was a kind of weakness which you supposed would always hang around you ;
a weakness which you could not help.' I venture to assert, that I speak §x
nine in ten of your readers, when I say, that I hope you may not trjf to 'hdp
it' K there be one thing more than another, that endears the Knickebbockkb
to its readers, it is that very youngneas, of which you speak, with, as it seems
to me, a kind of self-disparagement It has kept pace with * the timee^ of
which (and I say it in no spirit of flattery) it is a constant and continual epi-
tome : and while you do not grow old in its pages, its po/gti will know na
senility.' Most kindly said : be it ours, then, to remember, and rememberings
to * act accordingly.' On this very hint, wo had intended to speak, even now, in
a full page of * Gossipry,' which would embrace much of reminiscenoe^ and be
at least heart-felt and truthful, if nothing more. But *some other thne^'
Deo Tolente, we shall recur to it. - - - Our readers have heard of tba
accomplished Gothamite * merchant,' who said to his partner, as he was sprink-
ling $and upon the superscription of a business-letter which he had just ad*
dressed : * How do you spell Fdadelphy ? ' * F-o-1, Fel^ a^i-e-l, Feladel^ ^,
Feldadelfyy was the response. * Good ! — then I 've got it right I ^ was the
self-satisfied rejoinder : ' I thought p'raps I 'd made a mistake I ' We were
minded of this the other night, by the following incident, which, we are
than ^ credibly informed,' happened in a little village not twenty mileB removed

1868.] Editor's Table. 669

from the spot where these sentences * attain to type.' A man steps into a * cor-
ner grocery/ of the description known as * green,' and asks of one of the two * pro-
prietors ' present : * Have you any onions f ' * No, Sir,' replies one of them.
* Yes ' — hesitatingly suggests the other : * Yes — we have n't got any.' *Are
you quite sure f ' asked the would-be purchaser. * Haint got none ! ' was the
last reply vouchsafed him : and he pretermitted himself When he had stepped
up the street, the first partner said to the head-clerk,' * Jim, call him back :
p^raps he wanted some Ingins .''--- Not a very long time after these
pages shall have found their way * dcown-cast,' even to the forests of Aroos-
took — so named because the wood-choppers, in the thick and silent wilderness
thereaway, roost at night on the trees — ^ The Penobscot Woodmen^ will be
busily at work amidst the mighty snows of their forest-region. * A Bangor-
lAN ' tells us, in a piece of verse somewhat too much extended, what manner
of people they are of He * shall be heard,' however, even if we are obliged, as
the stump-speakers say at the South, to * call ^Time^ on him : '

' The woodsman of Penobscot is

A man of hardihood :
His sinews are like oaken thongs,

Like bullock's blood his blood :
Two brawny arms swing at his side,

Eke hands of bone and gristle ;
Old Sampson's hair his head adorns —

His chin a beard of thistle.

* Over his brow protrudes a roof

Of brown felt, or tarpaulin ;
Three blood-red shirts, with buttons decked, •

His mighty stomach wall in,
Then h3rpogastrium, ribs and thighs,

Warm lions' skins environ ;
Encased his low extremities

In bullock's hide and iron.

' This Ki&nt Man meets giant Pine,

And giant blows descend ;
And ere the shades of night-fall come,

The forest giants bend :
Such is the man to whom we are

Indebted for our houses ;
And when he comes to town, he 'd * swap * »

His red shirts and his trowse's.'

A good * crayon drawing.' - - - One of the features of the two ensuine
volumes of this periodical, and one which we hope to make an attractive one.
will be a History of the KnicJcerhoclcer Magazine^ from its commencement to
the present time. This history will involve not only \hQ facts which relate to
the origin and progress of the work until now, but will contain correlative
Heminiscences of the Sanctum and of our Correspondents^ which a good
memory, and still better rememhrancers, have preserved as fresh as if they
were of yesterday, for nearly a quarter of a century. The hearty the dearest
recollections^ of the Editor, are in this thing: and his chief hope, in relation
thereto, is, that he may be enabled to carry out deftly what he conceives to be
a well-matured design. - - - Rev. Henky Ward Beecher, who says
many a good thing, in his own way of saying it, never spoke a better one
than is contained in this sentence : * A vast deal of genial humor is consdon-

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