Household narratives for the family circle
page: 0Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page 0Illustration (TitlePage) ] HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVES, FOR' THE FAPMLY CIRCLE. PHLADELPHA: H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS. 1854. page: 0[View Page 0] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. page: 0Illustration-7[View Page 0Illustration-7] A TALE OF THE BLACK YEAR. THAT was a pleasant place where I was born, though 'twas only a thatched cabin by the side of a mountain stream, where the country was so lonely, that in summer time the wild ducks used to bring their young ones to feed on the bog, within a hundred yards of our door; and you could not stoop over the bank to raise a pitcher full of water without frightening a shoal of beautiful speckled trout. Well, 'tis long ago since my brother Richard, that's now grown a fine clever man, God bless him i-and myself, used to set off together up the mountain to pick bunches of the cotton plant and the bog myrtle, and to look for birds' and wild bees' nests. 'Tis long ago-and though I'm happy and well off now, living in the big house as own maid to the young ladies, who, on account of my page: 8-9 (Illustration) [View Page 8-9 (Illustration) ] 8 LITTLE MARY. being foster-sister to poor darling Miss Ellen, that died of decline, treat me more like their equal than their ser- vant, and give me the means to improve myself; still at times, especially when James Sweeny, a dacent boy of the neighbors, and myself are taking a walk through the fields in the cool and quiet of a summer's evening, I can't help thinking of the times that are passed, and talking about them to James with a sort of peaceful sadness, more happy maybe than if we were laughing aloud. Every evening, before I say my prayers, I read a chapter in the Bible that Miss Ellen gave me; and last night I felt my tears dropping for ever so long over one verse,-"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away." The words made me think of them that are gone-of my father, and his wife that was a true, fond mother to me; and, above all, of my little sister Mary, the elureen bawn* that nestled in her bosom. I was a wild slip of a girl, ten years of age, and my brother Richard about two years older, when my father brought home his second wife. She was the daughter of a farmer up at Lackabawn, and was reared with care and * White Dove. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] OrI "TTLE MARY. " dacency; but her father held his ground at a rack-rent, and the middleman that was between him and the head landlord did not pay his own rent, so the place was ejected, so the farmer collected every penny he had, and set off for America. My father had a liking for the youngest daughter, and well become him to have it, for a sweeter creature never drew the breath of life; but while her father passed for a strong* farmer, he was timorous-like about asking her to share his little cabin; however, when he found how matters stood, he didn't lose much time in find- ing out that she was willing to be his wife, and a mother to his boy and girl. Th7at she was, a patient loving one. Oh! it often sticks me like a knife, when I think how' many times I fretted her with my foolishness and my idle ways, and how 'twas a long time before I'd call her "mother." Often, when my father would be going to chastise Richard and myself for our provoking doings, es- pecially the day that we took half a dozen eggs from under the hatching hen, to play '"Blind Tom" with them, she'd interfere for us, and say,-"Tim, aleagh, don't touch them this time; sure 'tis only arez they are: they'll get more sense in time." And then, after he was gone out, she' i advise us for our good so pleasantly, that a thunder- cloul itself couldn't look black at her. She did wonders Rich. page: 12-13 (Illustration) [View Page 12-13 (Illustration) ] 12 LITTLE MARY. too about the house and garden. They were both dirty and neglected enough when she first came over them; for I was too young and foolish, and my father too busy with his out-door work, and the old woman that lived with us, in service too feeble and too blind to keep the place either clean or dacent; and my mother got the floor raised, and the green pool in front drained, and a parcel of roses and honey-suckles planted there instead. The neighbors' wives used to say, "'Twas all pride and upsetting folly, to keep the kitchen-floor swept clean, and to put the potatoes on a dish, instead of emptying them out of the pot into the middle of the table; and, besides, 'twas a cruel un- natural thing, they said, to take away the pool from the ducks, that they were always used to paddle in so handy." But my mother was always too busy and too happy to heed what they said; and, besides, she was always so ready to do a kind turn for any of them, that, out of pure shame, they had at last to leave off abusing her "fine English ways. West of our house there was a straggling, stony piece of ground, where, within the memory of man, nothing ever grew but nettles, docks, and thistles. One Monday, when Richard and myself came in from school, my mother told us to set about weeding it, and to bring in some basketsful of good clay from the banks of the river: she I/ MYiSTEPMOTHER MY STEPMOTHER. page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] I "TTLE MARY. 15 said that if we worked well at it till Saturday, she'd bring me a new frock, and Dick a jacket, from the next market- town; and encouraged by this, we set to work with right good will, and didn't leave off till supper time. The next day we did the same; and by degrees, when we saw the heap of weeds and stones that we got out, growing big, and the ground looking nice and smooth, and red and rich, we got quite anxious about it ourselves, and we built a nice little fence around it to keep out the pigs. When it was manured, my mother planted cabbages, parsnips, and onions in it; and, to be sure, she got a fine crop out of it, enough to make us many a fine supper of vegetables stewed with pepper, and a small taste of bacon or a red herring. Besides, she sold in the market as much as bought a Sunday coat for my father, a gown for herself, a fine pair of shoes for Dick, and as pretty a shawl for myself, as e'er a colleen in the country could show at mass. Through means of my father's industry and my mother's good management, we were, with the blessing of God, as snug and comfortable a poor family as any in Munster. We paid but a small rent, and we had always plenty of potatoes to eat, good clothes to wear, and cleanliness and dacency in and about our little cabin. Five years passed on in this way, and at last little Mary was born. She was a delicate fairy thing, with that look, page: 16-17 (Illustration) [View Page 16-17 (Illustration) ] 16 LITTLE MARY. even from the first, in her blue eyes, which is seldom seen except where the shadow of the grave darkens the cradle. She was fond of her father, and of Richard, and of my- self, and would laugh and crow when she saw us, but the love in the core of her heart was for her mother. No matter how tired, or sleepy, or cross the baby might be, one word from her would set the bright eyes dancing, and the little rosy mouth smiling, and the tiny limbs quivering, as if walking or running couldn't content her, but she must fly to her mother's arms. And how that mother doted on the very ground she trod! I often thought that the Queen in her state carriage, with her son, God bless him! along- side of her, dressed oat in gold and jewels, was not one bit happier than my mother, when she sat under the shade of the mountain ash near the door, in the hush of the summer's evening, singing and cronauning her only one to sleep in her arms. In the month of October, 1845, Mary was four years old. That was the bitter time, when first the food of the earth was turned to poison; when the gardens that used to be so bright and sweet, covered with purple and white potato blossoms, became in one night, black and offensive, as if fire had come down from heaven to burn them up. 'Twas a hard thing to see the laboring men, the crathurs! that had only the one half acre to feed their little families, going out, after work, in the evenings POOR IRISIE SEEPING POTATOES IN THE BLACK YEAR. page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] I 2. I I "TTLE MARY. 19 to dig their suppers from under the black stalks. Spade- ful after spadeful would be turned up, and a long piece of a ridge dug through, before they'd get a small kish full of such withered crohauneens,* as other years would be hardly counted fit for the pigs. It was some time before the distress reached us, for there was a trifle of money in the savings' bank, that held us in meal, while the neighbors were next door to starva- tion. As long as my father had it, they shared it freely with them that were worse off than themselves; but at last the little penny of money was all spent, the price of flour was raised; and, to make matters worse, the farmer that my father worked for, at a poor eight-pence a day, was forced to send him and three more of his laborers away, as he couldn't afford to pay them even that any longer. Oh! 'twas a sorrowful night when my father brought home the news. I remember, as well as if I saw ityesterday, the desolate look in his face when he sat down by the ashes of the turf fire that had just baked a yellow meal cake for his supper. My mother was sitting on the opposite side, giving little Mary a drink of sour milk out of her little wooden piggin, and the child didn't like it, being delicate and always used to sweet milk, so she said: e Small potatoes. page: 20-21 (Illustration) [View Page 20-21 (Illustration) ] 20 LITTLE MARY. "Mammy, won't you give me some of the nice milk instead of that?" "I haven't it asthore, nor can't get it," said her mother, "so don't ye fret." Not a word more out of the little one's mouth, only she turned her little cheek in towards her mother, and stayed quite quiet, as if she was listening to what was going on. "Judy," said my father, "God is good, and sure 'tis only in Him we must put our trust; for in the wide world I can see nothing but starvation before us." "God is good," replied my mother; "He won't for- sake us." Just then Richard came in with a more joyful face than I had seen on him for many a day. "Good news!" says he, "good news, father! there's work for us both on the Droumcarra road. The govern- ment works are to begin there to-morrow; you'll get eight pence a day, and I'll get six-pence." If you saw our delight when we heard this, you'd think 'twas the free present of a thousand pounds that came to us, falling through the roof, instead of an offer of small wages for hard work. To be sure the potatoes were gone, and the yellow meal was dear and dry and chippy-it hadn't the nature about it that a hot potato has for a poor man; but still 'twas a EIGHT PENCE A DAY. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] P r rO '( "TTLE MARY. 23 great thing to have the prospect of getting enough of that same, and not to be obliged to follow the rest of tho country into the poor-house, which was crowded to that degree that the crathurs there--God help them!--hadn't room even to die quietly in their beds, but were crowded together on the floor like so many dogs in a kennel. The next morning my father and Richard were off before day- break, for they had a long way to walk to Droumcarra, and they should be there in time to begin work. They took an Indian meal cake with them to eat for their dinner, and poor dry food it was, with only a draught of cold water to wash it down. ' Still my father, who was know- ledgable about such things, always said it was mighty wholesome when it was well cooked; but some of the poor people took a great objection against it, ton account of the yellow color, which they thought came from having sul- phur mixed with it--and they said," Indeed it was putting a great affront on the dacent Irish to mix up their food as if 'twas for mangy dogs." Olad enough, poor creatures, j they were to get it afterwards, when sea-weed and nettles, and the very grass by the roadside, was all that many of : them had to put into their mouths. When my father and brother came home in the evening, 'faint and tired from the two long walks and the day's work, my mother would always try to have something for 'i t , page: 24-25 (Illustration) [View Page 24-25 (Illustration) ] 24 LITTLE MADIY. them to eat with their porridge-a bit of butter, or a bowl of thick milk, or maybe a few eggs. She always gave me plenty as far as it would go; but 'twas little she took her- self. She would often go entirely without a meal, and then she'd slip down to the huckster's, and buy a little white bun for Mary; and I'm sure it used to do her more good to see the child eat it, than if she got a meat-dinner for herself. No matter how hungry the poor little thing might be, she'd always break off a bit to put jnto her ; mother's mouth, and she would not be satisfied until she saw her swallow it; then the child would take a drink of cold water out of her little tin porringer, as contented as 4 if it was new milk. As the winter advanced, the weather became wet and bitterly cold, and the poor men working on the roads began suffering dreadfully from being all day in wet clothes, and, what was worse, not having any change to put on when they went home at night without a dry thread upon them. Fever soon got amongst them, and my father took it. My mother brought the doctor to see him, and by selling all our dacent clothes, she got for him whatever was wanting, but all to no use: 'twas the will of the Lord to take him to himself, and he died after a few day's illness. It would be hard to tell the sorrow that his widow and page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] "TTLE MARY. 27 orphans felt, when they saw the fresh sods planted on his grave. It was not grief altogether like the grand stately grief of the quality, although maybe the same sharp knife is sticking in the same sore bosom inside in both; but the outside differs in rich and poor. I saw the mistress a week after Miss Ellen died. She was in her drawing- room with the blinds pulled down, sitting in a low chair, with her elbow on the small work-table, and her cheek resting on her hand-not a speck of any thing white about her but the cambric handkerchief, and the face that was paler than the marble chimney-piece. When she saw me, (for the butler, being busy, sent me. in with the luncheon-tray,) she covered her eyes with her handkerchief, and began to cry, but quietly, as if she did not want it to be noticed. As I was going out, I just heard her say to Miss Alice in a choking voice:- Keep -Sally here always; our poor darling was fond of her." And as I closed the door, I heard her give one dedp sob. The next time I saw her, she was quite com- posed: only for the white cheek and black dress, you would not know that the burning feel of ahild's last kiss had ever touched her lips. My father's wife mourned for him after another fashion. She could not sit quiet, she must work hard to keep the life in them to whom he gave it; and it was only in the page: 28-29 (Illustration) [View Page 28-29 (Illustration) ] 28 LITTLE MAnIY. evenings when she sat down before the fire with Mary in her arms, that she used to sob ant. rock herself to and fio, and sing a low wailing keen for the father of the little one, whose innocent little tears were always ready to fall when she saw her mother cry. About this time my mother got an offer from some of the hucksters in the neighbor- hood, who knew her honesty, to go three times a week to the next market-town, ten miles off, with their little money, and bring them back supplies of bread, groceries, soap, and candles. This she used to do, walking the twenty miles-ten of them with a heavy load upon her back-for the sake of earning enough to keep us alive. 'Twas very seldom that Richard could get a stroke of work to do:, the boy wasn't strong in himself, for he had the sickness too; though he recovered from it, and always did his best to earn an honest penny wherever he could. I often wanted my mother to let me go in her stead and bring back the load; but she never would hear of it, and kept me at home to mind the house and little Mary. My poor pet lamb! 'twas little minding she wanted. She would go after breakfast and sit at the door, and stop there all day, watching for her mother, and never heeding the neighbors' children that used to come wanting her to play. Through the live-long hours she would never stir, but just keep her eyes fixed on the lonesome by-road; and when MY SICK MOTHER. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 't I "TTLE MARY. 81 the shadow of the mountain-ash grew long, and she caught a glimpse of her mother ever so far off, coming towards home, the joy that would flush on the small patient face, was brighter than the sunbeam on the river. And faint and weary as the poor woman used to be, before ever she sat down, she'd have Mary nestling in her bosom. No matter how little she might have eaten herself that day, she would always bring home a little white bun for Mary; and the child, that had tasted nothing since morning, would eat it so happily, and then fall quietly asleep in her mother's arms. At the end of some months I got the sickness myself, but not so heavily as Richard did before. Any way, he and my mother tended me well through it. They sold almost every little stick of furniture that was left, to buy me drink and medicine. By degrees I recovered, and the first evening I was able to sit up, I noticed a strange wild brightness in my mother's eyes, and a hot flush on her thin cheeks-she had taken the fever. Before she lay down on the wisp of straw that served her for a bed, she brought little Mary over to me: Take her, Sally," she said-and between every word she gave the child a kiss-"Take her; she's safer with you than she'd be with me, for you're over the sickness, and 'tisn't long any way I'll be with you, my jewel," she said, as she page: 32-33 (Illustration) [View Page 32-33 (Illustration) ] 32 LITTLE MARY. gave the little creature one long, close hug, and put her into my arms. Twould take long to tell all about her sickness-how Richard and I, as good right we had, tended her night and day; and how, when every farthing and farthing's worth we had in the world was gone, the mistress herself came down from the big house, the very day after the family came home from France, and.1 rought wine, food, medicine, linen, and every thing we co-ld want. Shortly after the kind lady was gone, my mother took the change for death; her senses came back, she grew quite strong-like, and sat up straight irn the bed. "Bring me the child, Sally, aleagh," she said. And when I carried little Mary over to her, she looked into the tiny face, as if she was reading it like , book. "You won't be long away from me, my own one," she said, while her tears fell down upon the child like drops of summer-rain. - "Mother," said I, as well as I could speak for crying, "sure you knozo I'll do my best to tend her." "I know you will, acus]la; you were always a true and dutiful daughter to me and to-him -hat's gone; but, Sally, there's that in my weeny one that won't let her thrive without the mother's hand over her, and the mother's heart for her's to lean against. And no -." It was all THE LADIES VISITING MY SICK MOTtER. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] I ^ LITTLE MARY. 35 she could say: she just clasped the little child to her bosom, fell back on my arm, and in a few moments all was over. At first, Richard and I could not believe that she was dead; and it was very long before the orphan would loose her hold of the stiffening fingers; bat when the neighbors came in to prepare for the wake, we contrived to flatter her away. . Days passed on, the child was very quiet; she used to go as usual to the door, and watch h ur after hour along the road that her mother always took coming home from market, waiting for her that could never come again. When the sun was near setting, her gaze used to be more fixed and eager; but when the darkness came on, her blue eyes used to droop like the flowers that shut up their leaves, and she would come quietly without saying a word, and allow me to undress her and put her to bed. It troubled us and the young ladies greatly that she would not eat. It was almost impossible to get her to taste a morsel; indeed the only thing she would let inside her lips was a bit of a little white bun, like those her poor mother used to bring her. There was nothing left untried to please her. I carried her up to the big house, thinking the change might do her good, and the ladies petted her, and talked to her, and gave her heaps of toys and cakes, and pretty frocks and coats; but she hardly noticed them, page: 36-37 (Illustration) [View Page 36-37 (Illustration) ] 83(6 LITTLE MARY. and was restless and uneasy until she got back to her owr low sunny door-step. Every day she grew paler and thinner, and her brigh eyes had a sad, fond look in them, so like her mother's One evening she sat at the door later than usual. Come in, alannali"I said to Ler. "Won't you come in for your own Sally?" She never stirred. I went over to her; she was quit( still, with her little hands crossed cn her lap, and her hea( drooping on her chest. I touched her-she was cold. I gave a loud scream, and Richard came running; he stopper and looked, and then burst out crying like an infant. Ou little sister was dead! Well, my Mary, the sorrow was bitter, but it was short You're gone home to him that comforts as a mothe comforteth. Agra mnachree, your eyes are as blue and your hair as golden, and your voice as sweet, a they were when you sat and watched by the cabin-door but your cheeks are not pale, acushla, nor your little hand thin, and the shade of sorrow has passed away from you forehead like a rain-cloud from the summer-sky. She tha loved you- so on earth, has clasped you for ever to le bosom in heaven; and God himself has wiped away a tears from your eyes, and placed you and our dear fatlh far beyond the touch of sorrow or ;he fear of death. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 4 z "TTLE MARY. .9 The foregoing tale, so full of touching interest, which we have copied from Dickens's "Household Words," is finely illustrative of that strong and beautiful domestic affection, which is so marked a trait in the national character of the Irish. It is this lively affection for relatives and friends, which causes the Irish emigrants who have come over to our country to remit their savings to those whom they have left in the Emerald Isle, and to effect, if possible, a re- union with them in the land of their adoption. It is this same family love which is the basis of all the best virtues of humanity, and which will ultimately render our Irish compatriots one of the most valuable portions of the vast population of the Great Republic. page: 40-41 (Illustration) [View Page 40-41 (Illustration) ] "e jrobel's fiepRi, OR, THE DOUBLE ERROR. BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBU3Y. "THEN you believe women are always possessed of personal vanity?" The speaker was one of those love'y old ladies upon whom the touch of time produces the same softening and harmonizing effect as upon a fine picture. Every thing about her was in perfect keeping, from her carved high- backed chair, and ebony foot-stool, to 'he rich black silk dress, lawn kerchief, and delicate lace cap which formed her habitual costume. Her features were moulded into such an expression of benignity, that th ir want of perfect symmetry would scarcely have been r oticed even in a younger face,.and there was an air of dai tiness and refine- ment about her which made her seem like one of Vandyke's portraits. She had been listening wilh interest to an (40) "ENA'S HOME. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] I O I THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 43 animated discussion between her grandchilden respecting the oft-mooted question of the comparative vanity of the sexes, and it was in reply to a sweeping assertion made by her handsome and somewhat coxcombical grandson, that the old lady joined in the conversation, by saying: "Then you believe that all women are naturally vain." "Certainly I do; it is a quality inherent in woman's nature, and always shows itself sooner or later." ' But vanity is usually the weakness of youth." I know that, yet where circumstances have repressed its developement in early life, it comes out in a woman even when she is growing old. There was little Mrs. Gay;-who could have dreamed of the vanity which lay hidden in that quiet domestic little body, until she carried her eldest daughter into society, and was there flattered for her own fresh complexion and youthfulness of appear- ance? Even poor Miss Harbrook, notwithstanding her hump back and sickly face, is vain of her fine hair and little hands. And as a proof that the strongest minds are as much subject to its influence as the weakest, we have only to remember how delighted the philosophic Mrs. Rose- mary always is with a personal compliment, though she is 'forty' without being either fair' or 'fat.'" "You grow severe, and perhaps a little unjust; these few examples will not be sufficient to prove your assertion." page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " THE LOVER'S APPEAL. "When I was a little boy, grandmamma, I once over- heard a half-confidential conversation between several young lady-friends of my eldest sister. One said she had never shed a tear in her life; another, who had lost both her parents, declared she had never been so unhappy as to lose her appetite for dinner; and a third, whose lover had died when the wedding-day was fixed, confessed that in all her sorrow she had never forgotten to curl her hair. Of course my childish sentiment was sadly shocked with all the ladies, but I think now that the lady who did not forget her curls was but a type of her whole sex." "You talk like a very young man on the subject." "Perhaps I do; but if you will give me a single instance of a woman in whom vanity is an entirely negative quality, perhaps I may modify my opinions." "I could tell you a story of a woman who wasted some of the best years of her life in sorrowing over the errors she committed in consequence of being deficient in personal vanity." "That would certainly be a most extraordinary tale; pray tell us, grandmamma; the story is certainly worth transmitting to posterity on account of its singularity, as such a thing will probably never occur again." The old lady shook her finger at he- saucy grandson in playful rebuke, and dropping her kr-itting in her lap. THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 45 thus began her story :-"My reminiscences of early life are all associated with the olden time of New York, where I was born and bred, and have always lived. The race of Knickerbockers is fast dying out, and their descendants make the mistake of not claiming their birthright of ancient respectability, content, as it seems to me, with being classed among the land-loupers and foreigners that came later into the goodly country, instead of standing upon the dignity as children of those who, three centuries ago, possessed nearly all the wealth, all the honesty, all the high principle, all the Christian tolerance in Europe. My story must be of old times and old places, but still it shall be true in all its particulars. "Sixty years have passed away since Lena Von Elmer resided in one of those fine old stone houses which then embellished the neighborhood of our beautiful Battery. Her father, a grave, taciturn man, idolized his only child, but he showed his affection rather by quiet, constant, unremitting attention to her comfort and wishes, than by caresses and endearments. Her mother, on the contrary, was a cheerful sunny-tempered woman, reverencing her husband, but never intruding upon his moods, and loving Lena with a passionateness that showed how necessary such an outlet was for her irrepressible tenderness. Lena's parents were remarkably handsome, bul, unfortunately for page: 46-47 (Illustration) [View Page 46-47 (Illustration) ] " THE LOVER'S APPEAL. her, she resembled both in precisely -hose traits that did not harmonize in one individual. She had her father's blue eyes, with her mother's brunette complexion; the little white teeth, which were so pre;ty in her mother's small mouth, looked too tiny for the more ample propor- tions of Lena's full red lips; and the petite figure which made her mother seem so fairy-like, was not half so grace- ful when accompanied with the rounded -contour which Lena owed to her Dutch ancestors. "Even the partial eyes of affection could see no beauty in Lena's face; but a bright healthy complexion, soft dark hair, and that peculiar expression of kindliness which always belongs to a sympathetic nature, ought to have redeemed her from the charge of posi;ive ugliness. But young people judge more hardly than their elders; when one grows old, the freshness of youth is in itself a species of beauty, and we see loveliness in objects that, to the exacting eye of early taste, would have seemed almost like deformity. Lena had always lived in such an atmosphere of love that she never thought of the nature of her own claims upon affection. She had never thought any thing about herself; and though she looked upon her mother as one of the very prettiest of women, sLe never seemed to care about her own appearance. Neat, almost to a fault, fastidious in all her habits, and possessing a certain dainty page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] I THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 49 taste, which characterized her style of dress and decoration, she never thought of heeding 'how she looked.' Her dress must sit without a wrinkle, the plaited ruffles of her sleeves, must be of the finest quality of cambric, the lap- pets of her cap must be of the rarest point lace, and every thing about her was delicate and fine as possible; but hows she looked in these adornments-whether she was beconzingly attired, never seemed to occur to her mind. Indeed, Lena thought but little on any subject. Life for her was made up of sensations. Every body loved her, every body said kindly and pleasant things to her, and as she had been educated entirely at home, she had escaped all the disagreeable and snubby truths one usually hears at school. She grew up like a princess in a fairy tale. Happiness was all around her, and she never thought of tracing her enjoyments to their source, or of asking why she was beloved. "Lena was just seventeen when she accidentally met with a young man, whom, for the present, I will call Charles Stanley. He was a fine-looking, showy person, and would have been handsome but for a sinister expres- sion in his dark blue eyes (which, by the way, Lena did not discover till long after her first acquaintance.) Stanley was much admired in society for a certain fasci- nation of manner, easier felt than described. I cannot tell 7 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 THE LOVER'S APPEAL. in what this charm consisted, but I have seen one or two others in my life who possessed a similar talisman to com- mand success, and although it is almost irresistible in its effects, I never remember to have found its possessor a perfectly frank, open-hearted, candid man. The primitive simplicity of manners which prevailed in those days, gave great opportunity for the freedom of unrestrained yet re- fined familiarity between young persons of different sexes. The free-and-easy tone in which gentlemen now address ladies would not have been tolerated then in high-toned circles, and the deference which was paid to the sex was as strong a safe-guard as a young lady could require. Lena therefore saw Stanley frequently, and was not proof against his peculiar powers of fascination; especially when she found herself the object of his rarticular attention. She was very young, unskilled in human nature, and one of the most confiding of human beirgs; it was natural, therefore, that she should listen to a first declaration of love with a heart-thrill, which, in her inexperience, she mistook for reciprocal affection. Stanley proffered his love in language which no woman ever hears for the first time unmoved, and Lena promised to garner up her heart against the period when he might ven;ure to ask her from her father. "Lena was not quite so happy as she had been before THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 51 this event. She had a feeling of responsibility, a certain uncomfortable sense of concealment which banished the spontaneous joyousness of her bosom. She was no longer the merry child, measuring existence but by joys; thi happiness of another was in her keeping, and she had now to reflect and consider her destiny for the future. Those were times when engagements were considered as sacred things; and young people frequently held themselves bound to each other for years before asking the consent of parents, or making their engagement publicly known. Therefore, while every one noticed Stanley's devotion to Lena, no one was acquainted with the exact position of matters between them. "Mr. Von Elmer had a country seat, situated some- where in the neighorhood of what is now called Union Park, sufficiently out of the city then to secure the retirement of rural life, while it yet afforded him daily access to the business quarter of the town;. Here Lena often collected her young friends together to a sort of'rustic feast, under the-fine old trees which shut in the beautiful grounds. On one occasion it happened that the party, wearied with the fatigues of a long day of pleasure, became broken into little groups, and wandered off in different directions; some to ,take an afternoon nap, some to play a lazy game of baga- telle, or a still lazier one of backgammon, and some to page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 THE LOVER'S APPEAL. lounge over a book in the library. After seeing all her guests disposed of to their various likings, Lena wandered into the garden, and wearied with excitement, took her way to a favorite retreat which she had fancifully named the Rosary. This was a sequestered spot, surrounded and completely shut in by thick shrubbery so closely interwoven as to make a sort of verdant wall around a large bed of roses, from whence the place derived its name. There was but one entrance to this delightful nook, and that was so contrived as to be quite concealed by climbing roses trained upon the fantastically gnarled trunks of dismantled forest trees. Lena was just entering this green labyrinth, when she heard voices within the inclosure. Her first impulse was to surprise the parties with her merry laugh and sudden appearance, but while she paused, she heard words which sent the blood back to her heart, and para- lyzed every limb. The speaker was Charles Stanley; his companion was a beautiful but giddy girl, who numbered herself among Lena's most intimate friends. Words were uttered by Stanley, which Lena felt to be an outrage to loyalty and faith. He was addressing words to another as impassioned as those which had thrilled her heart. She listened in a sort of stupor-as if she was hearing the painful sounds in a dream. At length she heard her own name mentioned. THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 53 "Don't talk to me of Lena,' exclaimed Stanley, im- patiently; 'Lena would give half her fortune for eyes and lips like yours.' "'Yet you are going to marry her?' asked the girl. "' Perhaps.' "'I thought the affair was settled.' "' Give me the kiss I have been begging for this half hour, and I will tell you all about it.' There was a moment's pause, and then Stanley continued: 'The poor girl is deeply sensible of the attractions of a certain young gentleman who, while she is making ' beaux y eux' at him, cannot help regarding 'les beaux yeux de sa cassette.' Lena Von Elmer is very rich, therefore both selfishness and generosity tempt me to avail myself of the lady's good opinion. But don't talk of her now; I would rather look at you than remember the fate which may link me to a dumpy little fright for life.' ' For an instant Lena was stunned as if by a blow. Recovering her self-possession by a powerful effort, she glided noiselessly away, and hurried into the house. To describe her emotions when she thought of Stanley's false and cruel words would be impossible. lvery fibre in her whole frame quivered with the intensity of her indigna- tion and shame. The struggle of her feelings was terrific. To her mother's sensitiveness of emotion she united her page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] THE LOVER S APPEAL. father's stern, indomitable pride, and now, for the first time in her life, she learned her own power of self-control and silent energy. How she went through the remainder of that day she could never distinctly remember, but she must have mastered her emotions with wonderful power, for no one seemed to observe her agitation. The next morning she was too ill to leave her bed, and for several weeks she lay in the silence and darkness of a sick chamber. Her nerves had sustained a fearful shock, from which she did not quite recover in many months. "The first act of her convalescence was the dismissal of Charles Stanley. She uttered no reproaches, expressed no warmth of feeling, but coldly explained her reasons, repeated his offensive words, and with & quiet scorn bade him farewell for ever. The rapidity with which pride had come to her aid, and'the contempt which so soon took the place of tender feelings, proved that Lena had mis- taken the true nature of her regard for Stanley. She had admired and liked him, and his own solicitations had given a definite form to that which would otherwise have been a vague and passing fancy. But the effect of this discovery of his treachery was a lasting one. "As I said before, she had lived in an atmosphere of love, and there every thing is lovely if not beautiful. How then should she know the value which the world sets on external advantages? But now she learned to set an undue value upon personal beauty, and a painful sense of her own deficiencies took the place of her happy uncon- sciousness. She looked around her, and to her prejudiced fancy, every one possessed stronger claims to admiration than herself. She was pained and mortified at her own folly in believing that any one could ever seek the love of one so utterly unattractive and disagreeable in person. She learned to distrust every one, and to doubt all profes- sions of personal regard. This was the most serious change which her disappointment effected in her character. But long after she had ceased to regret the faithless lover, she felt the want of the love. The simple pleasures of social life lost their zest for one who had been taught to feed on the honied flatteries of a lover's vows. It required a deal of self-schooling before Lena could return to her ordinary routine of daily duties with a cheerful spirit and a willing heart. "But time is always the consoler as well as the con- sumer of griefs. Lena recovered at least a portion of her cheerfulness, and was as kindly in her sympathies as ever. On one subject, however, she was a resolute sceptic. No one could induce her to believe that she could be the ob- ject'of a genuine attachment. Of her many suitors, not one ever succeeded in impressing her with a belief in his page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] earnestness; not one but became to her an object of con- tempt from the moment he ventured to proffer his suit. The thought that her father's wealthl was her only attrac- tion, grew to be a fixed idea in her mind, and she could not help scorning those'who sought to deceive her with a lover's vows. "Matters went on in this way urtil Lena reached her one-and-twentieth year, when a distant relative of her mother's, a young man who had been sent out from Hol- land to learn the duties of a mercantile life under the di- rection of Mr. Von Elmer, came to take up his abode in the family. Walter Geysbert was one of the handsomest of men. Iis figure was the very perfection of symmetry; his complexion had all the freshness without the effemi- nacy of boyhood; his eyes were as beautiful in expression as they were rich in color; and his mouth was like that of an Apollo. His manners were as attractive as his per- sonal appearance. Polished, elegant, and refined, he had received an education far superior to that usually bestowed upon persons destined to commercial life: while his frank- ness, open-heartedness, and candor, were as remarkable as the graces of his demeanor. "It was impossible for Lena to live in habits of daily intimacy with such a man without feeling the power of his attractiveness. Drawn unconsciously together by the mystic bond of, sympathy, a deep and strong attachment grew up between them, which Geysbert soon recognized, but which Lena mistook for friendship. It seemed so natural to like Cousin Walter better than any one else; he took the place of a brother so completely and so natu- rally, that Lena did not think of analyzing the feeling which was fast taking possession of her heart. " Mr. Von Elmer's house, like all dwelling-houses at that time, had a small one story building, known by the name of a 'put all,'* projecting into the paved court which formed the entrance to a lovely garden filled with shrubs and flowers. It was one of the sweetest places on a summer's afternoon, and Lena usually seated herself there with her sewing, certain of being joined by her Cousin Walter as soon as sun had set. Here in the, porch they were in the habit of lingering amid all pleasant sounds and perfumes; reading or talking, and sometimes joining their voices in a song, secure from intrusion in the sweet seclusion of home. "One evening Walter came later than usual, and Lena saw a cloud upon his brow. Instead of resuming the book he had laid aside on the previous evening, he stood leaning against the door-post, looking down upon Lena as she sate at her needlework, but not uttering a syllable. Vide Bartlett's Americanisms. page: 58-59 (Illustration) [View Page 58-59 (Illustration) ] 58 THE LOVER'S APPEAL. "'Pray don't pull that flower to pieces just now,' ex claimed Lena, laughingly, as she saw the petals falling around her; 'you have broken the crowning blossom of father's very choicest tuberose, and ncw you are scattering it about the porch.' ' Lena, do you know I am going ;o leave you?' asked Geysbert, in a voice choked with emotion. "' Leave us, Cousin Walter? Why?' "My father is very ill, and has sent to desire my return.' "Lena's look grew sad, and she then strove to utter words of condolence, but her voice failed, and she felt a sharp pang at her heart. "' I have been so happy here, Lena, that I dread any change. I may come back to find you married.' " There is little danger of that, Cousin Walter; you will find me just where you leave me, so be content on that score, and let us talk over your present prospects.' "She spoke in her usual cheerful tcne, as she resumed her work; but Geysbert's heart was fiff, and his lips could utter no idle words. Rapidly, ildly, almost inco- herently, he poured forth his tale of true and faithful love. Lena bent over her sewing, and plied her needle with unwonted rapidity to conceal her emot on. "Lena, dearest Lena, have you no a word of comfort r. iiai m I ; TEREULE page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 61 for me,' exclaimed Geysbert, 'do you know that I have lived but in your presence, that your voice is the music of my life, your sweet 'face the very sunshine of my existence?' At these words Lena started to her feet.- Her whole frame quivered, and the blood rushed in a burning torrent to her brow and cheek. "Silence, sir!' she exclaimed, in a voice rendered hoarse by suppressed emotion; 'do not degrade yourself and me any longer by such language. From you, Cousin Walter, from you, I did not expect such an insult. I thought we understood each other better.' "'Lena, what have I done to deserve such bitter words? is it a crime to have looked upon your loveliness with a heart that coveted so rich a prize?' "' Let your own better nature teach you whether I have deserved this mockery,' exclaimed Lena, vehemently. 'Oh, Walter! Walter! whom can I trust when you too have deceived me?' With these words, she turned away hastily to conceal her gushing tears, and entered the house, leaving Geysbert perfectly confounded at her sudden change of manner. "When she reached her own room she gave way to a burst of agony which fully revealed to her the nature of her own feelings. She knew that she loved, deeply and page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 THE LOVER'S APPEAL. devotedly, but along with this knowledge came the bitter recollection that she could never hope to inspire love in another. She thought with anguish -pon the language which she had just heard from Walter's lips; she would have given worlds to have been able to believe it; but no; he, of all other men-so handsome, so gifted-it could not be that he could look with love upon her. It was a fearful thing to recognize in Walter Geysbert only the interested and venial suitor, but to her mind there seemed no alternative. "Geysbert, on his part, could only attribute her indig- nant rejection of him to pride. He remembered that in her eyes he was only her father's clerk; and a stern and stubborn resolution took possession of him. During the few days that preceded his departure, they never met except at table. A cold respect characterized all Geys- bert's demeanor towards Lena. He seemed to have for- gotten or at least determined that she should forget his proffered suit, for neither by word or look did he ever remind her of the past. Thus they pared. No word of explanation was uttered, no kind glance, or unbidden tear melted the icy wall which pride had raised between them. They parted with wounded tenderness and bitter feelings strangely commingled in their bosoms; and each knew their parting was to be a lifelong sorrow. TH E LOVER'S APPEAL. 63 "Months passed away in dreary hopelessness and sorrow to Lena, when her father brought home a letter from Walter Geysbert. You will have learned by the time this reaches you of my father's death, (so said the letter,) but there are other circumstances which may require some explanations to so old a friend. In early life my father was greatly indebted to an elder brother, who afforded him the means of making a fortune. That brother afterwards died a bankrupt, and his only child, my cousin Gertrude, has been like a daughter in my father's house ever since. It was my father's cherished wish to see us united, and at his bedside, the evening before his death, we were mar- ried. It was a melancholy bridal; and I pray you to offer me' no congratulations. Gertrude is a good and gentle creature, and if my heart sometimes feels a void when I think of the different fate I once dreamed of at- taining, I subdue my repinings by the reflection that I have only performed my duty.' 'Mr.' Von Elmer read the letter aloud as he sate in the porch at sunset. Lena stood behind him holding the silver tobacco-case from which he was about to fill his pipe as soon as he had finished reading. Her cheek grew deadly pale, but she uttered not a word. "' I did not know my cousin Geysbert was so rich, / page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " TIIE LOVER S APPEAL. e said Mrs. Von Elmer, scarcely looking up from her knitting. "He is one of the richest merchanrts in Amsterdam.' "'Why did he send Walter out tc this country as a clerk?' "' For fear that riches would spoil iim.' "C Did not Walter know of his father's wealth?' "'Not until I informed him, a few days before he sailed.' "Lena waited to hear no more, but, hurrying from the room, sought in solitude to silence the bitter cry that rose up within her wronged heart. She saw it all nOw. Walter Geysbert had truly loved her; he had hushed all expres- sion of his feelings while he was only the humble clerk, but no sooner did he find himself her equal in station and her superior in fortune, than he had come to her with the proffer of that noble heart. And she had rejected it. In the blindness of her pride and self-distrust and base suspicion, she had trampled in scorn upon the priceless offering. Now he was lost to her forever. -Ienceforthl a life of loneliness and self-reproach must be her atonement for thus wronging two true hearts. "Now I have told you a true story, my children; have I not proved to you the existence of a woman whose want of the quality we call personal vanity caused her sorrow?" THE LOVER'S APPEAL. 65 "' But you have not finished your story, grandmamma. What became of Lena? Did she ever marry?" "She did." "Then all her romantic ideas vanished with her youth, I suppose." "No; for her marriage was the finish of her youth's romance, converting it into a blessed reality. Lena was just turning 'that awkward corner in life which brings a woman among the 'thirties,' when Walter Geysbcrt re- turned to America, a widower, with an infant daughter. He did not come to renew his early vows, but he still re- garded Lena with a deep and earnest interest. lIe had scarcely expected to find her still unmarried, and in the pleasure of their renewed friendship the lapse of time was forgotten or disregarded. He finally ventured to allude to the painful past, and then Lena honestly and candidly avowed her long-expiated error. A full explanation en- sued, which ended in convincing Lena that beauty is not the only loveable quality in woman, and she became the happy wife of the lover of her youth. People said she had outlived her pride, and was glad now to take up with a widower rather than die an old maid. But she cared little for such remarks. For forty years she was the happy wife -of the man she once rejected; for forty years she found herself the object of the most devoted affection, notwith- 9 page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " THE LOVER'S APPEAL. standing her want of beauty; and, when, ten years ago, the hand of death bowed down that stately form, and dimmed the fire of those love-lighted eyes, she knew that a glory had departed from the earth to be renewed with ;mmortal brightness in a better world." The old lady's voice faltered, and she brushed away the tears that gathered upon her eyelids. Then her listeners knew that only she who had thus erred and thus suffered could be enabled to read so well this riddle of woman's life. t page: 68 (Illustration) -69[View Page 68 (Illustration) -69] , J tze 1 B le a filce el{ doci. THOSE who have Oieinto the Scottish historians, may recollect mention being occsionally made of a bird, called the capercailzie, which usually was conspicuous in the ex- tensive though rude entertainments of olden times, but is now personally unknown in Scotland. It may be curious to know that this bird-the Tetrao urogallus of Linnaeus, and wood-grouse of Pennant-which is still prevalent on the continent of Europe and in America, is by far the most magnificent of the tribe to which it belongs, and must have been a truly worthy tenant of those splendid primeval forests which once overspread Scotland. The male is nearly three feet in length, and attains a weight of about fifteen pounds; black, brown, green, and white, are his predominating colours; and from the hook of his bill, the (69) page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 THE CAPERCAILZI . strength of his limbs, and majesty of d porti ent, he might rather be supposed to be a bird of rey than even the chief of the grouse family of gallin T The numbers of the capercailzie naturally decreased in Scotland with the woods that gave them shelter, and it i now about eighty years since the last native individual If the species ever seen in the country was shot in the nei hborhood of Inver- ness. They are now most plentiful in the forests of Northern Europe, and some parts of N rthern Asia, where they feed upon the young shoots and ones of the pine, the catkins of the birch, and berries of the juniper which form the underwood. They are excee ingly shy; and in Germany, where they do not abound so :nuch as in Norway and Sweden, he is considered an excellent hunter who has in his whole lifetime killed thirty. It is indeed only at the period of incubation, when the male bird comes from his retirement, and calls the few ales around him, that he is easily approachable. Never heless? in Sweden they are sometimes domesticated in aviaries, and feed tamely from the hand, and will even bre d in confinement, though it is remarked, that in this state they still retain so much of their natural wildness as t fly at and peck strangers. Nilsson, a Norwegian naturalists, use to hunt the ca- percailzie in autumn in company witha cocker-dog called, THE CAPERCAILZIE. 71 Brunette, by whose assistance he would flush them from the ground, and cause them to perch in the trees. Here," he says, "as Brunette had the eye of an eagle and the foot of an antelope, she was not long in following them. Sometimes, however, those birds were in the pines in the first instance; but as my dog possessed an extraordi- narily fine sense of smelling, she would often wind, or, in other words, scent them from a long distance. When she found the capercailzie, she would station herself under the tree where they were sitting, and by keeping up an in- cessant barking, direct my steps towards the spot. I now advanced with silence and caution; and as it frequently happened that the attention of the bird was much taken up with observing the dog, I was enabled to approach until it was within range of my rifle, or even of my common -gun. In the forests,. the capercailzie does not always present an easy mark; for dipping down from the pines nearly to the ground, as is frequently the case, they are often almost out of distance before one can properly take aim.^ Towards the commencement, and during the continuance of winter, the capercailzies are generally in packs; these which are usually of cocks-the hens keeping apart-do not separate until the approach of spring. These packs, which are sometimes said to contain fifty or a hundred page: 72-73 (Illustration) [View Page 72-73 (Illustration) ] 72 THE CAPERCAILZIE. birds, usually hold to the sides of the numerous lakes and morasses with which the northern forests abound; and to stalk the same in the winter-time, wi;h a good rifle, is no ignoble amusement. Among other expedients resorted to in the northern forests, for the destruction of the capercailzie, is the fol- lowing :-Duiing the autumnal months, after flushing and dispersing the brood, people place themselves in ambush, and imitate the cry of the old or young birds, as circum- stances may require. By thus attracting them to the spot, they are often enabled to shoot the whole brood iA suc- cession. The manner in which this 's practised may be better understood from what Mr. Grieffs says on the subject:- "After the brood has been dispersed, and you see the growth they have acquired, the dogs are to be bound up, and a hut formed precisely on the spot where the birds were driven from, in which you place yourself to call; and you adapt your call according to the greater or less size of your young birds. When they are as large as the hen, you ought not to begin to call until an hour after they had been flushed; should you wish to take them alive, the common net is placed round him who calls. Towards the quarter the hen flies, there are seldom to be found any of the young ones. As long as you wisL to shoot, you must BLACK COCK. MALE. page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] I 4O THE CAPERCAILZIE. 75 not go out of your hut to collect the birds you have shot. When the hen answers the call, or lows like a cow, she has either got a young one with her or the calling is in- correct; or else she has been frightened, and will not leave her place. A young hen answers more readily to the call than an old one. Mr. loyd, in his amusing work "Fielc Sports of the North of Europe," describes a still more remarkable mode of hunting the capercailzie-namely, by torch-light which, he says, is chiefly practised in the southern provinces of Sweden. ' In Smaland and Ostergothland," says he, " it is effected in the following manner :-Towards nightfall, people watch the last flight of the capercailzie before they go to roost. The direction they have taken into the forest is then carefully marked, by means of a prostrate tree, or by one which is felled especially for the purpose. After dark, two men start in pursuit of the birds; one of them is provided with a gun the other with a long pole, to either end of which a flambeau now goes in advance, the other remaining at the prostrate tree, to keep it and the- two lights in an exact line with each other; by this curious contrivance, they cannot well go astray in the forest. Thus they proceed, occasionally halting, and taking a fresh mark, until they come near to the spot where they may have reason to suppose the birds are 4^' page: 76-77 (Illustration) [View Page 76-77 (Illustration) ] 76 THE CAPERCAILZIE. roosting. They now carefully examine the trees; and when they discover the objects of their pursuit, which are said stupidly to remain gazing at the fire blazing beneath, they shoot them at their leisure. Should there be several capercailzies in the same tree, however, it is always neces- sary to shoot those in the lower branches in the first in- stance; for unless one of these birds fall on its companions, it is said the rest will never move, and, in consequence, the -whole of them may be readily killed." An attempt is now in the course of being made, to re- store to the pine forests of Aberdeenshire a bird which once formed the object of a stately sport among the national nobility, and adorned the grandest of their forests. In the year 1828, a male and female were imported for the same purpose, from Sweden, by the Earl of Fife: but as the hen died before landing, the experiment was on that occasion frustrated. Another pair was brought over in 1829, and placed in a proper aviary at Mar Lodge, where an incubation took place, but without producing a live bird. Another incubation of the same hen, in 1830, was equally unsuccessful; and it was not till 1831, and till particular pains had been taken for the preservation and proper hatching of the eggs, by the seclusion of the fe- male, that a brood was obtained. This noble bird, whose plumage when in full beauty has FEMALE OF THE BLACK-COCK. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] d Ir1 THE CAPERCAILZIE. 79 defied all pencils save that of Edwin Landseer, the only painter who has given a true idea of it, is the largest of its race in the British islands, of whose fauna it is one of the principal ornaments. "It is," says Temminck, "more widely diffused over the central parts of Europe than the capercailzie. In Germany, France, and H-olland, it is tole- ably plentiful: in the northern countries, such as Den- mark, Sweden, Norway, and Russia, it abounds." Selby's account of the haunts and habits of the black- cock in a state of nature is so good, that we shall give it in his own words:- The bases of the hills in heathy and mountainous dis- tricts, which are covered with a natural growth of birch, alder, and willow, and intersected by morasses clothed with long and coarse herbage, as well as the deep and wooded glens so frequently occurring in extensive wastes, are the situations best suited to the habits of these birds, and most favorable to their increase. During the months of autumn and winter the males associate and live in flocks, but separate in March or April; and being poly- gamous, each individual choose some particular station, from whence he drives all intruders, and for the possession of which, when they are numerous, desperate contests often take place. At this station he continues every morning during the pairing season, beginning at day-break, page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 THE CAPERCAILZIE. to repeat his call of invitation to the oth r sex, displaying a variety of attitudes, not unlike those )f a turkey-cock, accompanied by a crowing note, and one similar to the noise made by the whetting of a scythe. At this season his plumage exhibits the richest glosses, and the red skin of the eye-brows assumes a superior intensity of colour. With the cause that urged their temp rary separation their animosity ceases, and the male birds again asso- ciate, and live harmoniously together. The female de- posits her eggs in May; they are from sir to ten in num- ber, of a yellowish grey colour, blotched with reddish- brown. The nest is of the most artless co struction, being composed of a few dried stems of grass placed on the ground, under the shelter of tall tur] or low bush, and generally in marshy spots where 1 ng and coarse grass abounds. The young of both sexes t first resemble each other, and their plumage is that o the hen, with whom they continue till the autumnal mo lt takes place; at this time the males acquire the garb of the adult bird, and, quitting their female parent, join the s ocieties of their own sex. "ESSON FOR BACHELOR BOOKWORS. A LESSON FOR BACHELOR BOOKWORMS. BY MRS. C. H. BUTLER. "From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive They sparkle still the right Promethean fire, They are the books-the arts-the academies That show, contain, and nourish all the world. CHAPTER I. HORACE MANSFIELD was rapidly becoming a misan- thrope-yet stay, that may be too harsh a term to apply to my young hero, for, although shunning society, "ie hated not his fellow-men, While from their close companionship he shrank, And in rapt converse with the dead, forgot To wave the mystic wand which must reveal The sources, whence flow streams of deeper happiness." For, with an almost hermit-like seclusion from the world did he shut himself within the narrow limits of his study- " (81) page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. seldom going thence unless to stroll in meditative mood, with folded arms and eyes downcast, through the adjoin- ing forest. Earthquakes might shake the globe-thrones totter from their base, and kings bite the dust-what then? To him, it was no more than the sighing of the autumnal blast, sweeping in its course from the monarchs of the wood their gorgeous diadems! Already at the age of twenty-three, he had never felt the passion of love, nor looked with deeper emotion upon any of Eve's fair daughters, than he did upon the painted butterfly-glancing in giddy circles before him, and should either approach too near, he would probably have brushed both from his path with the same stoical indifference-- pretty, harmless creatures, butterflies ard maidens! Now this was a most unfortunate state of things for Mr. Mansfield, Senior. A widower for many long years, and too much attached to the memory o' the departed to think of marrying a second time, he hac suffered himself to look forward with pleased anticipation to the period when Horace, his only child, should be old enough to take a wife. Ah! the presence of a young, charming bride, how it would change all things at the lonely old Hall! What magic would her sweet voice exert-how would her lightest footfall thrill his heart with-the gladness of other days! Bless her bright eyes, and her sunny smile-al- THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 83 ready theold gentleman doted upon the ignisfatuus of his imagination. How great then was his disappointment to find Horace, at the ageof manhood, too deeply absorbed by the Portias and Lucretias of ancient days, to bestow even a thought upon living beauties-going back into the dim ages of the past, and there falling in raptures over the virtues of a Cornelia, or the charms of a Helen, and taking to his arms an old musty black-letter folio with more delight, than he would clasp the fairest copy of womankind. In vain the old gentleman preached to his moody son-in vain tossing upon a sleepless pillow, he, night after night, strove to devise some plan to drive him from his studies- one day he would propose hunting, another, fishing; some- times he would urge travel, or suggest a winter in the city. But looking up with a dreamy air, Horace would only shrug his shoulders, utter something between a yawn and a groan, and then plunge anew into the labyrinth of bygone ages, or puzzle his brains with some metaphysical question. Besides, "He was in logic a great critic Profoundly skilled in analytic; He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and southwest side. In mathematics he was greater Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater, f!: *x y page: 84-85 (Illustration) [View Page 84-85 (Illustration) ] 84 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. Besides 'twas known he could speak Greek As naturally as pigs do squeak!" 'Confound all books!" would the old gentleman ex- claim. And indeed had books been as rare as in the days of the worshipful Knight of La MancLa, how gladly would Mr. Mansfield have emulated the zeal of the worthy curate and barber, and consigned do the flames those silent yet sorcerous enemies to his hopes. But in these "Iatter days," when, with the swiftness with which one wave chases another, as the speed of thought, or the constant dropping of sand in the inverted hour-glass, the teeming Press sends forth her offspring, well he knew, that from the glowing mass, another, Phoenix-like, would arise from its ashes, and its name be "Legion!"There- fore smothering his fiery ardor, he once more looked within the brain for some more effectual counter-charm to their enchantments. And no wonder the poor old gentleman was out of all patience, for it did seem a thousand pi;ies that such a fine handsome young fellow as Horace, should be thus wasting the freshness of his youth, encased like a mummy in a catacomb! And so one day Mr. Mansfield suddenly broke into this living tomb, making considerable bustle, too, as he did so, by slamming the door, and kicking over a huge page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] I THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 87 Josephus-but bless you! the student heeded it no more than he would the dancing of a thistle-down through the open window. Dragging a chair not very gently to the table, the old gentleman seated himself facing his ab- stracted son, where he might have sat unnoticed until doomsday had he not taken a pretty sure way of making his presence known, namely, by suddenly sweeping his large bony hand over the open page, and hurling the book under the table. It must be confessed Horace was too well accustomed to this mode of salutation to express any sur- prise, and, therefore, merely raising his head, with a long- drawn sigh, he said-- ' Well, father?" "Now I tell you what it is, Horace," exclaimed the old gentleman, striking his fist upon the voluminous mass of papers before him; "I can't stand this any longer- this sort of life won't do for me. I have borne it as pa- tiently as a saint for as many years as you can count fingers and toes, and now there must be an end of it.' I ask you if you don't feel ashamed of yourself,-I ask you if you are doing any thing to make your old father happy, perched up there week in and week out, like a piece of petrified clay, when you should be looking out for a wife, and gladdening my old eyes, ere death closes them for ever, by the sight of your happiness." page: 88-89 (Illustration) [View Page 88-89 (Illustration) ] 88 ' THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. "Why, my dear sir," I cannot conceive of greater happiness than these my silent friends afford me," replied IIorace. "Nonsense-I know better; but I'm not going to argue the point with you--it is only a waste of breath, and I am tired of it. Only answer me one question- will you or will you not get married?" Horace smiled, shook his head, ard tracing a parellelo- gram on the paper before him, replied I: "Methinks, my dear father, it would have been no greater absurdity for old Thomas Aeuinas to have doffed the cowl, and relaxed his stern visage into the soft simper of a lover's smile, than for me to break from these rusty fetters, only to yield allegiance to Love's rosy bondage." "Fiddle-de-dee!-Then I tell you what I've a great mind to do-fall into the what-do-you-call-it bondage of Love myself," answered the old gentleman. 'Now, suppose I get a wife, Horace?" "No doubt, father, a woman would be very useful in looking after the house-really, I think your suggestion most excellent." "Look after the house, you iceberg!-Mrs. Dimity does that, don't she? No, I want no wife that will be for ever bustling about in the kitchen and pantry-I 5 MRS. DIMTY, 12A fn page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] i I ' THEii PERtPjLEXED b'TU'UDEi'l'NT. U1 want society, I tell you-I am tired of sitting like an old solitary badger, or of smoking my pipe, with the gravity of Robinson Crusoe, with only the cat at my elbow, and for amusement counting the flies crawling over the ceiling-I am tired of it, I tell you!" "Then, father, to be serious, why not get married? I really don't see how you can do better," said Horace. "You don't, well I do-for, after all, no pretty lass would fancy an old fellow like me, and as for the elderly damsels, they would prefer their snuff and tea; no, no, I have a better plan than marriage in my head. Harkee, young gentleman! I am going to rejuvenate these old walls; I will fill them with beauty, with sparkling eyes and bearming smiles, angels and sylphs shall glide amid its lonely chambers, and the music of glad voices ring like marriage bells through these old elms! , 'Do you wield the wand of Prospero, my dear father, that you can thus at pleasure summon such. dainty spirits?" said Horace, smiling. "You shall see, for to-morrow I start for New York, from thence I shall take a trip into Jersey; I have nieces by the dozen, young, glad creatures, as merry as the birds, and it shall go hard, but I will bring home such a charming flock as shall make me young again. So, Mr. Horace, revel among your old tomes like a book-worm, as page: 92-93 (Illustration) [View Page 92-93 (Illustration) ] 92 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. you are, while I cry 'Vive la bagatelle. "Saying which the old gentleman leaped up from his chair, cut the pigeon wing with a great flourish, snapped his fingers in the face of Horace, and then fairly danced out of the room with all the agility of a boy. Sure enough it was no joke, the threat which Mr. Mansfield had uttered; for, that very eveningg, Pete was dispatched to the village, three miles distant, to book the i: old gentleman for the Albany stage, .whence the steam- boat would bear him to the city, and, at an early hour the Following morning, the quiet woods around the old Hall echoed, not with the merry peal of the Luntsman's notes, but with the doleful "' Toot-toot-too-ooo-ot-toot" of the tin stage-horn, dolefully re-tooted on every side, and in a few moments the lumbering coach itself, with its four lean, spavined attachees, appeared looming through the fog, and wheeled up with a desperate attempt at display to the door of the Hall. "Well, good-bye, Mrs. Dimity," exclaimed the old gentleman, slowly descending the steps, and drawing on his gloves; have an eye on the boy that he don't starve upon his logical chips, and remember, toe, to have every- thing in readiness, just as I told you-see that the rooms are all well aired-keep Pete busy among the weeds, and look out for the strawherry beds, for there will be dainty page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] I? r Q) THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 95 fingers busy there by-and-by-and don't forget to send Pete down to the village for Treble to come and tune up the old piano. There, good-bye to you." So saying, he mounted to the roof of the stage, where he seated him- self comfortably by the side of the driver, then, with a chuckle and a significant nod toward the still closed shutters of his son, he gave the word, "Alls ready." The wheels groaned and shrieked-the coach grumbled- Jehu cracked his whip-the horses, looking sideways at each other, as if to say, "if we must-we must, that's all," stretched their sinews to the task, and the coach was set in motion. Mr. Mansfield once more waved his hand to the housekeeper, and then bracing himself to bear the jolting of the crazy vehicle, was soon rattling over the turnpike, en route for Albany. CHAPTER IL. "MR. HORACE! Mr. Horace!-dear me, what a boy! I say, Mr. Horace, don't you know your father is coming home this blessed day, with all those city girls, and yet here you sit, although it is past five o'clock, in your old dressing-gown and slippers! Dear me, Mr.&Hor-a-ce!" and elevating her voice almost to a scream, Mrs. Dimity page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 TIIE PERPLEXED STUDENT. the housekeeper, approached close to the elbow of the student, and placed her hand upon his shoulder. "Ah. Mrs. Ditnity, dinner is ready then-very well, don't wait, I will be down in a moment," said Horace, without, however, raising his eyes from his book. "Dear me! dear me! do pray shut up your book., Mr. Horace!" cried the good woman; Iwhy, bless me, they will be here in an hour! Do now, Mr. Horace, go and shave yourself, and put on your new black coat and your satin vest-why dearee me, your beard is as long as any old patriarch's in the book of Genesis! Come, Mr. Horace, I have laid your clothes all out for you-Mr. Horace! Mr. Horace! there, there!-Mercy on me, he don't hear no more than the dead!" And poor Mrs. Dimity made a second attempt to attract the attention of the absent young gentleman, by pulling his sleeve. "Ah, yes; well, Mrs. Dimity, what were you saying?" "Why that it is time for you to make yourself decent to appear before the company," replied the housekeeper. "For shame, Mr. Horace; why most young men would have been dressed an hour ago, and all on tiptoe, like Prince Chorazzin in the fairy tale, to see your beautiful cousins-come now, throw away your book, do!" "My good Mrs. Dimity," replied horace, smiling, if you ever read Shakespeare I would ask, 'What's Hecuba TIE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 97 to me or I to Hecuba!' Yet I thank you for reminding me of these expected guests, whom I had indeed forgotten.' "Forgotten! dear me, did any one ever hear the like!" exclaimed Mrs. Dimity, raising her hands in astonishment. "Hw many of these cousins of mine do you expect?" asked Horace. 4 Mere school-girls, I suppose." "All I know is, your father said he would bring home a whole coach-load, if he could get them," answered Mrs. Dimity, "and I have been all the week getting the house in order for them-rubbing up the old furniture- cleaning the brasses, whitening the linen, and filling the store closet with plenty of plum-cake and ginger nuts! I vow and declare, Mr. Horace, it is absolutely provoking to see you take it so coolly, just as if your father was only going to bring home a new brood of ducks or chickens!" "They will gabble as fast, no doubt," said Horace. "I shall be glad, however, if my father finds pleasure from their society, Mrs. Dimity; so far, their presence will be a relief to me." "Well, aren't you going to dress yourself? Mercy on me, if you appear before them in that dishabilly, the poor things will think you are Valentine and Orson!" 18* page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] U98 'THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. ' Rest. easy, Mrs. Dimity-I will be in readiness tc receive our guests. Don't stop long on my account, I beg," returned Horace. "A-Item! hem!-just as sure as I live he will never stir a step if I don't keep teasing him!" said the old housekeeper to herself, pretending to leave the room, but stopping midway to watch the effect of her previous admonition. In another moment Iorace had apparently forgotten every thing but the page before him, to which he now gave his most rapt attention. ' How beautiful!" he exclaimed, abstractedly-" as A is to B, so is C to D-let me see-as X is to Y-so is M to N-what harmony!" "Dear, dear, only hear him!" cried Mrs. Dimity. "What is the use of spending so much time if one can't learn? Poor boy! he is always puzzling over A, B, and C--well, I don't know much to be sure, but thank Ieaven, I do know that A B spells ao, and C A spells ca! Mr. Horace!" and this time the vexed old lady shook our hero not very gently. "Ah, yes, true--I had forgotten-well I will go now ;" and most reluctantly the student rose from the table, and casting a "long lingering look behind," proceeded to the duties of the toilet, THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 99 Feeling that she had thus successfully acquitted herself of this responsibility, the housekeeper now hurried to the kitchen to see if the supper was in progress-the coffee boiling, and the rolls ready to put in the oven-from thence she put her head into the dairy, to look after the fine, fragrant buttera, and the rich cream set apart for the table. The tea-room next demanded her attention- lifting the fine damask cloth spread over the tea equipage, to discover if the flies had dared to crawl within any chance opening, and were now, little thieves, feasting upon the delicious cake, the dishes of ruby quince, or the lumps of snowy sugar heaped so generously upon the social board. Her next visit was to the parlor, surveyingL for, at least, the twentieth time that day the proofs of her neatness and taste, displayed in its arrangement, and every time finding a little something to do-a chair to move half an inch to the right, a table to wheel a little more to the left-the curtainstto ibe looped up or let down-books to move, and the little china vases filled with pretty flowers to rearrange, so as to exhibit to greater advantage some favorite blossom; and lastly, the notable old lady took a hurried and satisfactory inspec- tion of the chambers, and then lastened to her own little room to doff the homely dark chintz gown for a more becoming attire, ere the arrival of Mr. Mansfield. , page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. A short time sufficed for her toilet, and Mrs. Dimity came forth arrayed in a shining black silk petticoat, relieved by a short gown or negligee of white cambric falling just below the hips, and ornamented with a broad ruffle neatly plaited, and her gray hair combed smoothly back under a cap of the whitest and stiffest lawn. But of all her earthly possessions, that which the old lady most prized was the gold spectacles which Mr. Mansfield had presinted her on Christmas, and these she had now mounted, together with the largest silver watch once the property of her deceasedl husband. In this becoming and tidy garb, she now paused before Horace's chamber. "I may as well give him a call," said she, " for just as likely as not he is off in one of his absent fits again." She listened a moment,-all was still-tap-tap-tap-no answer-tap-tap- -"Mr Horace!"-knock, knock-"Mr. Hor"-knock-"ace!-Come, are you ready, Mr. Ho- race?"And the good lady, now quite out of patience, shook and pounded the door as if the house was on fire, and unconscious of danger, the inmate of the chamber calmly sleeping. "Yes, Mrs. Dimity, yes, yes, I am coming, I hear," said the voice of Horace, aroused at length by the din. Even as he spoke, the winding of the stage-horn pro- claimed the approach of the travellers. THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 101 "4 Mercy on me here they come! There-the coach is now turning into the great gate-do make haste, do, Mr. Horacte." And as rapidly as she could the old lady descended the stairs, and throwing open the hall door, stepped out upon the piazza to receive them. Horace almost mechanically followed close behind her-but, to the horror of the worthy housekeeper, all her labor of speech had been thrown away, for there he stood in the full glare of sunlight, still in robe-de-canambre and pan- touffles, his beard unshorn, his hair disordered. ' Good gracious, Mr. Horace! Do go back-you look like a fright-pray go quick-I will say you are sick, or out, or any thing, only don't stand there in such a trim." But it was too late. The driver cracked his whip-the horses bounded forward, and the crazy old coach drew up to the door. Merry peals of laughter met the ear, and the music of young, girlish voices-bewitching little straw bonnets clustered together, and taper fingers and snowy wrists rested upon the old brown sides of the coach-then sud- denly these were withdrawn, and fluttering veils thrown back, and out blazed a galaxy of the most brilliant orbs, all fixed with mischievous glance upon the person of our hero, standing ready to assist their egress from the stage. Agile as sylphs, out they sprang upon the bright green page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 TIE PERPLEXED STUDENT. turf, and gathered around poor IIoracc, whilst Mr. Mans- field, his good humored face all in a glow of delight, slowly dismounted. "You need not laugh, you little Ladcs, I am not as young as you are! Ah! Horace, my boy, how are you?" cried the old gentleman. "Bless me, why don't you salute your cousins? Never be bashful, man-here, this is your cousin Kate, and this is her sister, Lucy Mansfield, and here is my stately Constance, ard this, the mirth- loving Gabriclla Lincoln, and this is roguish Bessie, and this little-hey, where is Meg?-ah, there she goes, the gipsy, skimming over the lawn like a lapwing!" And each fair cousin in turn presented a rosy cheek to the salute of the embarrassed Horace. 'kWell, girls, welcome to Mansfield Iall," continued the old gentleman, as the gay party tripped up the steps of the portico. "Here, Mrs. Dimity, I make over these merry girls to you. Show them their rooms, if you please, and then let's have supper, for -his long ride over the hills has given me a pretty sharp appetite. Hark ye, girls, you need not stop to beautify yourselves; there is nobody here but your old uncle to see you, for as for your cousin Horace, he will never look at you, or fall in love with you." There was more than one arch glance cast towards THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 103 the spot where Horace stood le ning against one of the pillars, feeling, it must be confessed, a little foolish at this blunt speech of his father-and ore than one little head was saucily tossed, ere the fai girls disappeared with Mrs. Dimity into the house. "Nice girls, Horace, full of life and spirit!" exclaimed Mr. Mansfield, slapping him on the shoulder. "Bless their sunny faces, why they have iade me young again!- Hark, did you ever hear such mus c as that?" as a joyous laugh rang out upon the summer air from one of the upper windows. "Ah, I see you, minx!" shalcing his cane at a mirthful face peeping down upon him through the fragrant sweet-brier which clustered around the casement. Horace quickly retreated into the hall, and passed on to his chamber, his cars yet ri ging with that happy, merry laugh. ,ICHAPTER II. TEA was over ere Horace ca e down stairs, notwith- standing the repeated summons of the housekeeper-and to his credit be it said, his ,ppe rance was now much more becoming the society of such charming young ladies, than the negligent attire in which he paid his first devoirs. page: 104-105 (Illustration) [View Page 104-105 (Illustration) ] 104 TIE PERPLEXED STUDENT. As he drew near the open door-of the parlor, a skilful hand swept over the keys of the piano, as if to test its tone and finish, and then above the music of gay voices arose the enlivening air of a .waltz, and by the time Iorace entered the room, the whole bevy of fair girls 'were tripping it like so many fays to the lively music- all, except the charming musician, Gabriella, who, with her head bent archly over one shoulder, while her fingers swiftly swept the keys, nodded gaily to the dancers as they flew past her in the giddy waltz. Round and round on twinkling feet they airily glide-forms all lightness- arms entwining, and rosy lips parted with smiles that would vanquish St. Anthony-gently and lightly round and round they float. For a moment or two the delighted old uncle contents himself with humming the air, and beating time with hand and foot, then skimming into the circle, he throws his arms round little?Ieggie, and away they twirl with the rest-twirling, whirling, rising, sinking, round and round-and faster Gabriella touches the keys, and faster fly the merry walzers. Now they take a wider circuit, and nearer-even nearer to the spot where Horace stands entranced, they come circling on, their floating ringlets mingling with his breath, and bright eyes gazing roguishly into his, as round and round they circle past-while round and round in bewildering GABRIELLA AT THE PIANO. " - - page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] I I I THE PERPLEXED ST DENT. 107 maze the brains of Horace are cir ling too Are these bewitching forms about to turn hin from the cloud-land in which he had so long loitered? But the gay measure suddenly ceases,-and panting and laughing, each fair waltzer sank down. "Whe-w-w-you good for noth ng little rogues you have made my old head spin like a to -steady-steady- take care-there I am safe?" crie the old gentleman plunging down upon a corner of the ofa. "Ah! are you there, Mr. Diogenes?-why where's your tub?" address- ing Horace. And as if for the first time aware of his presence, six pair of betwitcEing eyes turned full upon our Hero. "I have been a silent spectator of your enjoyment, fair cousins," said Horace, bowing to the lovely circle "Indeed: but not a participator cf course," remarked Gabriella. "Why of course not,"added Kate; our folly can only be annoying to our cousin." - "You wrong me, Miss Mansfield" said Horace; "I assure you in the present instance I 1elieve the spectator even enjoyed more than the performe s." "And you'll dance with me next time, Cousin Horace, won't you?" cried little Meggie, the youngest of the six fair girls, not yet in her teens, tripping across the room, I ; page: 108-109 (Illustration) [View Page 108-109 (Illustration) ] 108 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. and catching his hand. Come Constance, is going to play for us." "For shame, Meggie!" exclaimed Constance, gravely, lifting her finger in reproval-" how can you thus annoy your cousin!" "Pray do excuse the child--she is very thoughtless--.I beg you will not heed her foolish reqlest. Fie, Meggie!' added Gabriella. ' Never trouble yourselves, girls,' exclaimed Mr. Mans- -field; " not even the charmed fiddle I read about when a boy, were it in the hands of Orpheus himself, could make our solemn scholar here cut a single caper!" Horace felt exceedingly annoye . "Is there not a charm more potent here, my dear father?" he said, smiling at little Meg. "Ah, yes, you will dance-there, I knew you would. Constance-IKate-Cousin Horace will dance i' exultingly cried the little gipsy. to Constance arose, and taking the little girl by the hand, drew her away, saying, at the same time, in a most grave and earnest manner, which her laughing eyes more than half belied, "Cousin Horace, as we are to be the guests of my dear uncle for some weeks, we trust you will not out of any courtesy to us, neglect or forego tlose pleasures so much ME GEIE I page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] I r 1. I THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 1 more congenial to you-we kno the study, not the draw- ing-room, is the spot where y u most love to be, and therefore to feel that our pre ence here compels you, through politeness merely, to forsake it, would cause us all much chagrin-is it not so girls?" "True, Constance-I am sorr my visit instead of being a pleasure, will only be a vexati n, if Cousin Horace sac- rifices his own enjoyment!" said Kate. "And so will mine-indeed it will!" cried another. "And mine," added a third, "and besides, our dear uncle is so kind, and has so ma y plans for my amuse- ment, that I really don't see a y necessity for Cousin Horace to waste a single moment upon us!" ' You see how it is--so banish all restraint, and let not another minute of your valuable time be thrown away," said Constance in a grave and decided manner. ' And here," cried Kate, demurely handing him a little silver candlestick, "is a light-and now do, dear cousin, return to your books, and do not ive yourself any trouble about us." In vain Horace tried to speak -in vain he essayed to refute the charges they were heapi g upon him-his tongue refused all utterance. He looked to his father for assist- ance-but just at that moment the old gentleman was engaged in a desperate battle with a horned-beetle, which , , page: 112-113 (Illustration) [View Page 112-113 (Illustration) ] "2 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. with flying handkerchief he was chasing from corner to corner-and so poor Horace suffered himself to be bowed and courtesied out, by his kind, considerate cousins! Then-such a peal of joyous mirth as followed him up the study stairs! what could it mean? I' Ah, doubtless," he thought, " they are laughing at some droll sally of my father." Poor Horace! Sleep was almost a stranger to his eyes that night--his pillow haunted by the strangest visions. Was he be- witched? for the room seemed filled with light and airy figures. "They stood beside his head, Smiling thoughts, with hair dispread The moonshine seemed dishevelled." Or, if he closed his eyes, he saw them still floating around him, and bright eyes like shooting stars were continually darting across his vision, while like the murmur of forest brooks were the gentle voices whispering in his ears. And when at length he slept, he dreamed of the glittering harem of the Veiled Prophet-of the bewitching Zelica, and of the still more fascinating indwellers upon Calypso's enchanted isle. I LUCY. page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] ;THE PERPLEXED STUDENT, 115 CHAPTER IV. A SUNBEAM stole a kiss from the brow of Horace and awoke him, while at the same moment a chorus of merry voices came up from beneath his window, reminding the half-bewildered student that it was not all a dream-the visions of the night. Yes, there they were, the whole happy troop, in the most bewitching morning dresses, enjoying to their bent this lovely summer morning in the country. Without a saddle, bonny Iate had sprung upon the back of his fa- vorite pony, playfully petting his arched neck and coaxing him to a fleet gallop across the greensward-and now away, away they bound across the lawn, shaking down the glittering dew drops from the old elms, and the long beau- tiful hair of Kate floating in luxuriant abandon on the soft breezy air. Constance, the stately, dignified Constance, mounted on the brink of the horse-trough, is clapping her hands at the gambols of some half dozen little porkers in the pig-sty, and tossing green apples into the voracious mouth of Madame Mfere. Gabriella, with her neat pink gingham carefully tucked up around her cunning little ankles, has seated herself upon the milking-stool, taking a lesson from the tall, laughing Irish girl, while at a little distance Bessie and Lucy surrounded by a noisy chattering ; brood of fowls, from the stately t rkey to the tiniest un- 1; . page: 116-117 (Illustration) [View Page 116-117 (Illustration) ] "6 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. fledged chicken, are scattering among them handfuls of of the yellow grain, which they had just brought in their aprons from the corn-crib. A merry shout-and from a little thicket out springs merry Meggie, with a long fish- pole trailing after her, and in her hand a bunch of shining trout, while with a loud "lhalloo" the cld gentleman him- self follows close behind her, crying out- "Ah, you mischievous monkey, will you spoil my best rod, and run away with my fish to boot!" "New times these, Mr. Horace!" said Mrs. Dimity, close at the elbow of the student, ere he was aware of her presence-for be it owned, his senses were all absorbed by the novel and beautiful scene from his window, where concealed by a half closed blind, he had been looking out upon the cheerful abandon of his fair chusins. "'Dear me, it makes me think of my young days, Mr. Horace, just to see and hear them pretty creatures! I thought I'd just look in to see if you were fit to be seen, for break- fast is almost ready. Now, don't go down in that old dressing-gown again. Hark-ha, ha, ha,-well I do de- clare, just hear them happy young things! Oh Mr. Horace look out there, and study them beautiful works of God, and let your old books writ by men's hands alone. Bless their hearts-well, well, I must go down, or that careless Bridget will send in the broiled chickens wrong page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] I side up. Now do pray put on your coat like a Christian, and brush your hair-so, there!"-and suiting the action to the word, by pushing her own gray locks on one side, the good lady hastily patted down stairs. When Horace entered the breakfast parlor, they were all assembled around the table, and all busily discussing their plans for the day's amusement. A seat had been reserved for ihi: between his father and Meggie, and with a cheerful smile, his hair brushed so, after Mrs. Dimity's model, Horace advanced to the breakfast table. His morning salutation was returned with the most bland politeness by each smiling girl, and the conversation, his presence had but slightly interrupted, resumed. "Uncle, I am of Kate's mind?'? said Constance. "A sail on the lake this lovely morning will be perfectly en- chanting. I will take my sketch.-book, for I know there must be some charming scenes for the pencil.", "Do you propose a sail this morn'ng?" asked Horace. "We have thought of it," replied Constance, with a slight bend of her queenly head. "Now is it a very romantic spot, uncle?" said Kate with an arch face; "is it a sweet place for lovers? Are there any melancholy willows sweeping the translucent surface with their graceful branches?" page: 120-121 (Illustration) [View Page 120-121 (Illustration) ] 120 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. "Plenty of them, you jade, and plenty of golden pickeral and fine speckled trout, which is more to my fancy," alswered Mr. Mansfield. l "And mine too," cried Gabriella; "so while Con' draws from nature for the entertainment of the imagina- tion, I will draw those same fish from the bottom of the lake for the better entertainment of our appetites?" "At what hour do we go?" asked Bessie, "for my part, I am impatient to be off!" "About nine, I think," replied her uncle. "We will row to the opposite shore, ramble about awhile, lunch, and be back in time for dinner. Put up some gimcracks, Mrs. Dimity, for the girls, and something a little more sub- stantial for me." "Excuse me, father," interrupted Iicrace, " if I suggest the afternoon as the best time for the sail; the shadows which then rest upon the lake and the woody slope beyond are most beautiful, and will present more attraction for my cousin's pencil than the hour you propose." "Why the girls prefer the morning, you see, Horace, and it makes no difference to me," said. Mr. Mansfield. "Nor to me certainly," continued Horace; " any hour you prefer, fair ladies." "O, of course, it can make no difference to you!" said Gabriella twirling her spoon. page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 123 "Not in the least," chimed Kate: "for you will pro- bably be wandering amid the Pyramids, or searching out the source of the Nile, or gliding down the yellow Tiber, while we 'float merrily, merrily, merrily float o'er the waters blue' of this beautiful lake uncle tells of!" "But my dear cousin, I have no idea of such extensive wanderings as you propose for me,", replied Horace smiling, "for I intend to devote the morning to your society." "Oh, no-no-no-!" chimed in every voice; "in- deed you must not think of it!" "' Have you so soon forgotten our conversation of last evening?" asked Constance, reproachfully. "I assure you it will indeed be a happiness, a relief, "No-not a word, not a word; now really we will all take the stage to-morrow morning and leave the Hall and our dear uncle, if you still insist in regarding us in the light of strangers!" exclaimed Kate with the greatest earnestness. You mistake me entirely, I assure you-" 6 No-no-no, we will not hear of it!" Again Horace looked to his father for help in this per- plexing dilemma, but the nose and chin of the old gentle- man were buried in his coffee cup, his head thrown back, z , ' page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. and his eyes most pertinaciously fixed upon the ceiling. Up sprang the lively girls. "Come away for our bon- nets, come!" cried Gabriella. "Dear cousin, Horace," whispered little Meggie, coming close up to him, "do go with us, now, won't you? Do!" "Meggie, Meggie!"said Kate, putting her head in at the door, " come this moment, and don't be teasing in this manner; really you should have been left at home!" "Clever girls, Horace, and make themselves at home just as I want to have them," exclaimed Mr. Mansfield. "Now some silly conceited things would have put airs upon themselves, and not be contented with an old fellow like me to beau them about when such a nice young man as you were to be had; no-no-these girls understand themselves; don't you enjoy it, eh?" "Perhaps, father, it will be more polite in me to make one of your party this morning!" "Pooh, nonsense, don't trouble yourself; you know what Constance told you." "True, but that was fastidiousness. I am sure you would prefer my going." "Not at 'all. I am convinced at last that society is really irksome to you, and now, my dear boy, I am going to let you do as you please. I have plagued your life out for half a dozen years, urging you to marriage and all THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 125 that sort of thing, but henceforth, you are free to enjoy your silent friends, up stairs to your heart's content. ' Come, uncle, we are ready. Good-bye to you, cousin, and a pleasant time!" said Kate, with a mischievous glance at Horace, who stood biting his lips with ill-concealed vexation. It was very ungrateful, doubtless, in Horace not to feel himself perfectly free and comfortable, when his cousins had taken so much pains to make him so; but somehow, he never found himself so ill at ease, and instead of going up into his study and sitting down to his books, as he un- doubtedly should have done, he strolled forth into the garden, and from thence into the little grove beyond. But go where he would, he could not get rid of his tor- menting thoughts; or, if for a moment they turned into their wonted channel, his eyes were sure to rest upon some dainty footprint in the moist gravel, and wlezo, they were off again in a tangent! Poor fellow! it was no place for him where such witch- ing spells were cast on every side; and so he once more sought his study, where surely no such fantastic visions could gain an entrance. Ah, it was quite a relief to him to repose himself once more within its quiet limits; and turning over the pages of Euclid, he endeavoured to fix his attention once more upon his favorite pursuit. And page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. to prove the practability of a course which may seem sc im-practicable, his progress shall be faithfully reported. How perfectly absurd it is for those girls to act as they do!" he exclaimed, rapidly whirling over the leaves. "Ah here it is-let me see,-let AGKQ be two similar- something uncommonly interesting about Gabriella- parallelopipeds, of which AB and-what superb eyes Kate has-and, and-let me see-KL are two homologous sides-the wife of Caesar could not have been more haughty than the proud Constance-thie ratio of-of-- and what a queenly step-ratio of-where was I?-AG, no-A-no-confound Euclid-away with it!" CHAPTER V. "How far did you say it was to the Glen?" asked Ga- briella, as they rose from the dinner table. "Only three miles," replied her uncle. "I will order out the old carriage, and we'll be there just time enough for a pleasant stroll among the rocks and the babbling brooks, as Kate would say, and drive home round by the borders of the lake by moonlight-there will be romance for you!" "It will be charming!" cried Kate; "dear, what a nice uncle you are!" and clapping her two little hands upon his cheeks she gave the old gentleman a hearty kiss. THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 127 "Did you find a subject worthy (f your pencil this morning?" asked Ho race, bowing to Constance. I sketched one or two pretty: views," she replied turn- ing away. "Will you allow me to look at them?" said Horace, laying his hand on the portfolio she had carelessly thrown -down. "They are not worthy your rotice, but such as they are, your are welcome to inspect them," answered Con- stance, coldly,' drawing forth one or two landscapes, and placing them in his hand. Horace started with surprise and pleasure as his eyes rested upon those beautiful and vivid representations of the scenery with which he had been familiar from child- hood. They were the work of no unskilful hand,-taste, genius, culture, were indicated in every line, and he was about to express his pleasure, when Meggie, running in from the piazza, cried- "You are going with us to the Glen, are you not, cousin? Say yes do!" "Well, yes," replied Horace drawing her to his side and kissing her; " certainly I will go with you, and will gather you some beautiful flowers which grow high up among the rocks." "Cousin Horace you will spoil that child by allowing page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] v xjtjn ji'^mjjisAJ;l b' TUDENT. her to tease you in this manner. Meggie, e still, you know well the impropriety of your request," said Constance. ' Why so, my fair cousin?" replied Horace. "Her request is certainly a very flattering one to me, and with your leave I will avail myself of it, to join your party to the Glen." Constance hesitated, when Gabriella, ith a half-pout- ing air exclaimed-- "Indeed, I see you are already wishing us away from the Hall, Mr. Mansfield, for you continue to insist upon that which you know would mar our enjoyment as much as it would yours-is it not so, Constance-girls, is it not so?-There, you hear they all agree with me; and now, unlessjyou really wish us gone, never, n ver say a word about going with us any where. Come, girls, that we may not detain our cousin any longer, suppose we adjourn to the parlor and have a little music." And gaily nodding a good-bye, each air lady glided past the more than half-angry student, le ving him alone to chew the cud of sweet and bitter fancies. "This is ridiculous," he exclaimed al ud; "however, your wishes shall be gratified I will no further trouble you with my importunities, fair ladies!" So saying, he turned upon his heel and strode with a lofty air through the long hall, unconscious of several pairs of wicked laugh- ing eyes peeping at him through the half-open door of the parlour. Suddenly a strain of delicious music breathed around. He paused. The very air seemed trembling with melody, as a rich voice modulated to the sweetest intonations, warbled rather than sang, like a skylark on its upward flight, one of Beethoven's most exquisite melodies. Ho- race had no power to move; he stood as if spellbound- ("Right hard it was for wight which did it hear, To wcet what manner music that might be, For all that pleasing is to living ear, Was there consorted in one harmonie." Then the strain melted away "like the sweet south wind that breathes upon a bank of violets." Another moment the keys were swept with a rapid hand to a lively prelude, and a gay Venetian barcarole was sung in the same sweet accents, to which one or two other birdlike voices warbled a merry chorus. 17 page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 TIE PERPLEXED STUDENT, CHAPTER VI. A WEEK passed. Every day some party of pleasure was arranged by uncle and nieces' without the least re- ference to Horace, who, true, to his word, kept himself aloof from the society of his cousins. There were sailing parties, and rides, and rambles among the hills, by day, while at evening, delicious music charmed the ear of the student as it swept up to his de- solate nook-or the sprightly measure of waltz or cotilion told of the gay scene going on below, in which he was forbidden, as it were, to join. Not that he wanted to-oh no, not he-for he was never more bent upon study! Poor fellow! how he would pace the floor, book in hand, striving to fix his thoughts upon its pages-how for hours would he set with head in- clined, poring over all sorts of odd figures, some of them the queerest things, for all the world like t-e tiniest fairies, but then that must have been all fancy, as of course no such " airy nothings," could find " habitation" here. Then such a chattering, and laughing, and constant tripping up and down stairs, and through the long winding passages, and away out upon the lawn, and under the grave old trees; why it was as if a whole flock of wild geese were THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 131 circling about the premises, and it was terribly annoying! To make matters worse, he was continually haunted by one particular pair of dark melting eyes following him wherever he moved-and one particular voice, whose gentlest intonation set his heart in a perfect furor- leaping, trembling, fluttering, bounding, longing to escape from its prison, and fly all enraptured to bask in the light of those beautiful eyes-the eyes of the queenly Constance. One day little Meggie tapped at his door, and putting her pretty face timidly within, asked if she might enter and sit awhile with Cousin Horace. Dear little soul, her presence was like a sunbeam to the moody scholar; he kissed her rosy cheek, and drew a chair for her close be- side his own, listened delighted to her childish prattle, and brought forth all his store of pictures for her entertain- ment. The morning passed pleasantly to both, and from that day the little maid seemed to prefer the society of the grave Horace to joining in the rambles of her sisters and cousins. They soon grew very cosy together, Mcggie chatting continually, and whenever she made her sister Constance the theme, it was wonderful how patiently the student laid down his book and listened, without once chiding the little chatter-box. When Meggie was absent he devoted the most of his time to writing, scribbling, and then tearing up whole sheets of closely written blank verse page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. or rhyme, and then beginning again, ani again destroying. He might have been writing a poem of almost endless cantos, but as he always carefully locked within a little desk the labors of his pen, the fact remains undecided to this day. But one morning a mischievous zephyr flew in at the window and stole a stray leaf of the student's poetry, and wafted it to the feet of little Meggie. She slyly seized it and saw that it was addressed to her sister Con- stance. Children are such matter-of-fact creatures! she saw no poetry at all in the matter, only as the paper was addressed to Constance, why of course it must belong to Constance, so she said never a word, but slyly hiding it in her bosom, took occasion to trip out of the room unob- served by Horace. But it was not long ere the poet missed the precious document. In vain he sought among his papers, turned over sheet after sheet, rummaged his books, under the table, upon the shelves-in vain, no where could he find it. Now, if by chance he had about that time visited the little summer-house at the foot of the garden, he would have discovered that very paper in the fair hands of Constance herself, who, with glowing cheek, was intently perusing its hurried characters. Again and again she read it, and then pressipg it to her lips, and to her beau- tiful eyes all humid with tears, she placed it in her bosom. THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 133 Not many days after this, Mr. Mansfield and his, nieces in a joyous mood met in the little grove. "Come, girls," exclaimed the old gentleman, "I think your business is accomplished, and now may give the reins with a little more freedom; yesyeses, I've watched him, and I'll lay you a wager the poor fellow is as com- pletely sick of his books as one could wish. Why he is actually pining away into a mere shadow for the pleasures of your society, you mocking little gipsies!-And now what say you, shall we withdraw our liege commands,- shall we Constance!" A crimson blush mantled her features. It was surely a very simple question, but one which seemed very diffi- cult to answer. At length she replied- "If you really think it would give our cousin Horace pleasure, uncle." ' If it would-you know it would, minx! Ah, I've seen it; you know how he follows you with his eyes wherever you move; and don't he listen as if under some siren's spell whenever you open your lips-don't he, hey?-ah, no wonder you blush"V "Yes and he writes verses, too uncle!" exclaimed naughty little Meg. "Hush, hush, child, nonsense!' said Constance quickly, endeavouring to check her, page: 134-135 (Illustration) [View Page 134-135 (Illustration) ] 1..- TITE 'PERPLElXED STUDENT. "Ah Con' dear, and some other folks are given to non- sense too; let me see," and drawing from her reticule a small folded paper, Kate, with an arch glance at her cousin, cleared her voice and bergan ' Deem not the heart youl-" 8 "Kate, Kate!" cried Constance sp-ringing up, every feature glowing with indignation. Ilhen snatching the paper from her hand, she tore it in pieces, and burstin g into tears fled from the group. "TWh--e-w-w-v! what's all this, hey--why what's the matter mith my grave Constance?" cried the old gentle- man. "O nothin noththing, uncle, only tlat your grave Con- stance is in love with your grave son, and our phlegmatic student has fallen in love with Constarce, that's all!" re- plied Gabriella with a merry lauglh. "Ha! I thought so! Kiss me, you jades, every one of you, for I am the happiest old fellow above ground," ex- claimed Mr. Mansfield catching Kate 'n his arms. But Meggie stooping down, slyly collected the fragments which C'.stance had so indignantly scattered upon the, fresh, bright grass, and hid them in her bosom. i -CONSTANCE READING TIIE VERSES. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] O I i r i I 1 24 CHAPTER VII. THE next morning almost at break of day, Mr. Mansfield, wrapped in his dressing gown, swathed with a large red handkerchief, knocked at the door of Horace's sleepingr- room. "Horace, it is. very provo'king, and I am sorry to dis- turb you, but I have a most tormenting, toothache-zounds, what a twinge!-and I promised the girls last night that I would go with them this morning before breakfast to the Glen; but this duced tooth, ugti!-and I fear the poor things will be sadly dissappointed. Now, my boy, if you could leave your studies for an hour or so-ugh!-and take my place--" "Certainly, my dear father," cried Horace, springing out of bed with great alacrity. '"Constance, you see, has set her heart upon sketching something or other which she thinks will be prettiest at sunrise; but it is a pity to disturb you!" "Don't give yourself any uneasiness upon that head," said Horace, rapidly throwing on his clothes. "I shall be very glad to be of service to my cousins." "Perhaps it will be better to postpone it until to-morrow, only it is such a beautiful morning," said the old gentle. 18 \ page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 TIIE PERPLEXED STUDENT. man in a husky voice, and drawing the hankerchief still closer around his mouth. " no, on no account should they be disappointed, and it is as you say such a beautiful morning!" exclaimed Ho- race with uncommon earnestness, drawing on his boots. "Very well, my son, very well-ther I'll make myself easy and go to bed again, only I hate to break in upon your studies just to humour the whims of those giddy girls. Well, give my love to them, and do, Iorace, try to be as agreeable as you can, and no; be thinking too much of your confounded books-zounds, I shall go crazy!-Well, well, cold iron will relieve me!" So saying the old gentleman withdrew, but had no sooner closed the door, than he threw off the handkerchief, and indulged in a hearty but silent laigh, while at the same moment the roguish faces of Gabriella and Kate peeped from an opposite chamber. Then placing a finger significantly on their lips, with a knowing nod to their uncle, they stole softly down stairs, when, no longer, able to repress their glee, their musical laugh mingled with the morning song of the birds. 'Ha! ha! ha! there they go! Caught at last, Mr. Philosopher!" exclaimed Mr. Mansfield, as he saw the party setting forth on their excursion. "Here, old lady; look out there; what do you see?" TEE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 139 Why bless me if that ain't Mr. Horace!" "To be sure it is Mr. Horace; and lct me tell you, Mrs. Dimity, there will be a Mistress Horace ere six months are come and gone. Now what do you think of that?" "Well, well, now if that ain't a right, to see Mr. Ho- race a talking and laughing with them pretty creatures! Dear me, dear me, I have lived most long enough!" cried the good woman. ' No you haven't-what do you tell that story for? I tell you, you have got to dance at his wedding yet, you silly old woman?" As Mr. Mansfield's toothache obstinately continued for several days, why of course Horace was obliged to forsake his books entirely, and devote his time to his cousins-a necessity which on the whole, seemed very agreeable all round; and when at length the old gentleman thought it prudent to join the circle, Horace still kept his place, probably from right of possession, possibly from inclination. Four weeks of this pleasant visit were already flown, and in one more, the charming visiters were to bid fare- well to Mansfield Hall and their kind old uncle. To Horace this announcement seemed as the parting knell to all his happiness. He loved Constance. His soul was filled with her image. She was the idol before page: 140-141 (Illustration) [View Page 140-141 (Illustration) ] "O THE PERPLEXED STUDE T. whom all his thoughts bowed down, and for whose happi- ness life itself were too slight a sacrifice But he dared not tell her this; for in the lofty bear ng of Constance, in her reserve, and evident avoidance of his presence, he read not only indifference, but scorn! Ah, little skilled was he in the heart if woman! It was the evening previous to the eparture of the cousins. Dell and dingle had been vi ited for the last time, the last sail up the beautiful lake had been taken, the last ramble to the favorite Glen; ard now with sad- dened hearts and countenance, the party once more as- sembled on the little portico to talk ove: past joys, and to anticipate joys as bright in future visits to the old Hall. Turning suddenly to Horace, who was slowly and thoughtfully pacing up and down, Gabri lla said, "Now, Cousin Horace, just listen. o you agree with Kate that love can make a poet out of a dull, prosy scholar?' "Why not, coz, since 'Love can transfo m an oyster?'" replied Horace, smiling. "Ah! but answer me seriously, now. Do you believe one of your prosaic scholars could be suddenly trans- formed, through the power of Cupid, into a scribbler of verses-a rhyming sentimentalist?" Horace was embarrassed, while Consta ce drew up her page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] t I r THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 143 beautiful head, with an air of disdain,: as if the subject in debate were certainly a very foolish one, and unworthy any one's attention. ' Why you know, dear Katev' said Horace at length, "what the greatest poet the world e'er saw has said- ' XNever durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink be tempered with Love's sighs!" "Ah true; well listen then, here is his proof conclu- sive!"And drawing from her bosom those very verses for which Horace had so often and often sought, and which lately reposed so near the heart of Constance, Gabriella commenced reading them. Imagine the consternation of the student; vainly he attempted to snatch them from her hand; but springing upon one of the seats the mischievous girl held them above her head, while she continued to repeat them with the most affected sentimentality. Constance arose, and walked off with the step of Juno. Horace was provoked, he was really angry-mortified- and it was in no very gentle accents that he let his dis- pleasure be known. "What must she think of me! Good heavens, how much she must despise me! Fool, fool that I have been!" he exclaimed, as he strode rapidly back and forth the portico. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 THE PERPLEXED STUDE T. "Nay, dear cousin, never vex yourself about my proud sister Constance," whispered Meggie stealing his hand and kissing it; "here is your reve ge,"--and as she spoke, she slipped into iFthe tell-tale fragments she had so carefully gathered up. It was yet light enough for Horace to recognise the writing of Constance, and to see his owl name in the same delicate chirography! To the privacy of his own apartme t did he hie with the speed of thought, and there patiently, no, rather im- patiently, dispose and arrange every ti y fragment, until he had deciphered enough to fill his Eoul with rapture. Leaning from the window he courts tl e gentle evening breeze to fan his fevered brow, ere he again entrusts himself to join the group below. He h ars the cheerful happy voices of his cousins, and the hearty good-humored laugh of his father-but afar down the winding path of the shubbery, he catches the gleam of the white dress, slowly moving amid its deepest shade . Well did his heart tell him to whom that fluttering ro e belonged, and in another moment he had joined Const nce in her soli- tary ramble. We will not intrude upon this interview, but content ourselves with the knowledge, that in t e bright month of September, just three months after .this moonlight THE PERPLEXED STUDENT. 145 ramble, a happy bridal party drove up to the door of the old Iall, where stood the worthy housekeeper to welcome them, her eyes filling with tears of joy as she pressed to her honest heart, the happy bridegroom and his beau- tiful bride. 19,t2k 19 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "OUIS XIII. ie ifoii of olohwo se 6^l AMONG the highly valuable discoveries, we must place that of steam, for by its means distance is annihilated, trade rendered prosperous human labour saved, and new importance given to the country. It is a curious matter to follow the progress of this discovery, which is, in a great measure, due to the children of beautiful France. Anthemius, an architect and engineer, under the Em. peror Justinian, mentioned by Agathias, in his history, book iv., having lost a law-suit against his neighbour Tenon, (146) THE STORY OF SOLOMON DE CAUS. 147 resolved upon a singular species of rpvenge. He filled several large vessels with water, and closed them very tight; several pipes were attached to the covers, which decreased in size as they reached upwards. Fire being placed underneath, the steam escaped through the pipes in the covers, and not finding a free vent above, shook the ceiling and the rafters of his own house, and that of Tenon, to such a degree, that the latter left it from fright. The power of steam was then known at that time; but the application of it, for want of means, was never directed to useful purposes. Nevertheless, in an article of M. Arago, in the "Annuaire des Bureaux des Longitudes," for year 1829, we read that, one hundred and twenty years before Christ, Hero, of Alexandria, called the Old, invented an apparatus presenting the first application ever made of steam. It bore the name of spiritalia seu pneumaticea and is called a reaction machine. Under the reign of Louis XIII., a man conceived the project of making use of steam, as a motive power, on an extended scale; but his genius experienced an oppression of a terrible nature, If Cardinal Richelieu is mentioned in history as a capable minister, we must not yet forget that there were many victims to his pride and obstinacy, whose sufferings have tarnished his reputation for skill, and shed a bloody halo round his head page: 148-149 (Illustration) [View Page 148-149 (Illustration) ] "8 THE STORY OF SOLOMON DE CAUS. RICHELIEU. The following is a letter adressed by Marion Delorme to Cinq Mars, the young man who entertained the silly project of overturning the cardinal minister: MY DEAR D'EFFIAT: Whilst you are forgetting. me, at Marbonne, absorbed in the pleasures of the court, and of opposing M. le Cardinal, I, accordingly to your ex- pressed wishes, am doing the honors of Paris to your English lord, the Marquis of Worcester. I take him about, or, rather, he takes me about, from one curiosity to another. Choosing always the most sad and serious, speaking but few words, listening with great attention, and fixing his large blue eyes upon every one of whom he asks a question, as if he could see into tLe depths of their page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 THE STOrY OF SOLOMON DE CAUS. souls. HeI is never satisfied with the explanation he re "ives, and does not look upon things exactly as they are shown to him. For instance, when we isited the Bicetrc, he pretended to see marks of great geni is in a crazy man, whom, if he were not raving, I am sure you Englishmen would have taken to London, if possible, and listened to his nonsense from morning till night. As we crossed the yard filled with these creatures, I was hal -dead with friglht, and leaned against my companion. Euddenly an ugly face appeared behind the bars, and a hoarse voice ex- claimed: "I am not crazy. I have made a discovery which will enrich the country that so violently opposes it." A "What is his discovery?"I asked of the man who showed us over the place. "Alh!" exclaimed he, shrugging his houlders, "some- thing very simple, which you would nev r guess: it is the use of steam." I burst out laughing. "Iis name," continued the keeper, " is Solomon de Caus. He came from Normandy, four years ago, to pre- sent a memoir to the king, on the subject f the marvellous effects to be obtained by his invention: ccording to him, machinery could be moved by it, carriag S propelled, and numerous other wonders produced. . . . The Cardinal THE STORY OF SOLOMON DE CAUS. 151 sent away the fool without listening to him. But de Caus, undiscouragedd, followed him from place to place; so that Richelieu, tired of him, had him shut up in the Bicetre, where he has now been three years and a half, and where he tells every stranger, as he did you, that he is not crazy, but he has made a great discovery. -Ie has even written a book on the subject." And he handed us a book. Milord Worcester took it, and after reading some pages said, ' This man is by no means crazy; and in my country, instead of shutting him up, we would have made his for- tune. Bring him here I wish to question him." He returned from his conversation with a sad countc- nance. "He is indeed crazy now," said he," misfortune and captivity have destroyed his reason for ever; you have made him crazy; but when you put him in this dungeon, you placed there the greatest genius of your time." Hereupon we took our leave, and since then he can only talk of Solomon de Caus. Adieu, my dear and faithful Henry; come back soon, and in the mean time be not too happy there, to preserve a little love for me. MARION DELORME. The book showif y the keeper to'the Marquis of Wor- page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 STORY OF SOLOMON DE CAUS. cester, was, no doubt, that published by the unhappy Solomon de Caus, in 1613, by the title of Considerations of Motive Forces with various useftul Mashines. The idea of raising water by means of the elastic force of steam, belongs then to Solomon de Caus. Forty-eight years later, the Marquis of Worcester endeavoured to appropriate it to himself. Side by side with the name of De Caus, stands that of Papin, the first who constructed a machine in which steam, under a high pressure, raised itself into the air after pro- ducing the desired effect. The atmospheric machine of the Englishman, Thomas Newcomen, with the exception of a few trifling particulars, is precisely the same. page: 154 (Illustration) -155[View Page 154 (Illustration) -155] BENJBEaIN WEGT, BY JOIN; S. HART. WHEN Sully, the painter, took his final leave of West, in London, in 1810, the latter, then near the close of his illustrious career, made a special and parting request of his fellow countryman. It was, that- on returning to America, Sully should visit the spot where West was born, make drawings of the principal objects, and send them over to him in London. It was a touching incident. In the midst of all his glorious triumphs, the old man's heart yearned warmly towards the scenes of his boyhood. No one acquainted with the character of Mr. Sully, could doubt the pious fidelity with which the parting request would be fulfilled. The drarwings were faithfully executed by the affectionate pupil, and sent duly and safely to his venerable friend. (155) / -^ page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. The perusal of this incident led a other and younger artist, a few years since, to make a pilgrimage to the same spot, which to Americans-to American artists, at least-must ever have a sort of religiou interest. West was born in 1738. It was, therefore, just about one century afterwards, nearly enough, at least to make it a sort of centenary celebration, when in 1837, ;his younger artist, not now unknown to fame, certainly not unknown to the readers of "Sartain's Magazine," visi;ed the place. Of the sketches which he then made, two are now presented to the reader. In connexion with the , I propose to give some brief notices of the early life of West, abridged chiefly from Gait, and with as few alter tions in the word- ing of his narrative as may be found p -acticable. Benjamin West was the youngest sor of John West and Sarah Pearsons. He was born near Spr ngfield, in Chester county, in the State of Pennsylvania, on the tenth of October, 1738. The West family, w o had early em- braced the tenets of the Quakers, emigrated to America in 1699. Thomas Pearson, the maternal randfather of the painter, was the confidental friend and ompanion of Wm Penn. Springfield, near which West was born, was set- tled by the Pearsons, and took its n ,me from a large spring discovered in the first field clexred by them for cultivation. SCENES IN TIIE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 157 The house in which West was born, is about four miles north of Chester, and three miles south of the Springfield meeting house. It is on a farm of two hundred acres, be- longing to Mr. Peter Stewart. It is considered by the proprietor as too old fashioned to be repaired and conse- quently is rapidly going to decay. The accompanying sketch exhibits the house as it was when visited by Mr. Sartain, in 1837. When visited again by him, in October last, several changes were found to have taken place. The posts of the porch were gone, and the porch itself was be- gining to make a sidelong descent. The northern chimney stack had lost its ornamental cornice, and several changes had been made in the fences. Mr. Sartain took an ac- curate drawing of it, as it appeared in October, 1848. The earlier drawing, however, it was thought, would be most acceptable to our readers. A little pannel with an arched top, will be noticed in the end of the building which is towards the spectator, and near the ridge of the roof. This pannel, no doubt, contains the date of the building. But it has been plastered over. The room which is shown as the one where West was born, is a cor- ner room, on the ground floor, about ten feet square lit from two sides. The first incident in the life of West, that is worthy of notice, occurred in June, 1745. One of his sisters had page: 158-159 (Illustration) [View Page 158-159 (Illustration) ] 158 SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. been married sometime before, and whl had a daughter, came with her infant to spend a few days at her father's, When the child was in the cradle, Mrs. West invited her daughter to gather flowers in the garden, and committed the infant in care of Benjamin during their absence; giving him a fan to flap away the flies from molestirg lhis little charge. After some time the child happened to smile in its sleep, and its beauty attracted his attention. He looked at it with a pleasure which he had never before experienced, and observing some paper on a table, together with pens, and red and black ink, he seized them with agitation, and endeavoured to delineate a portrait; al- though at this period he had never seen an engraving or a picture and was only in the seventh year of his age. Hearing the approach of his mother ani sister, he endea- vored to conceal what he had been doing; but the old lady observing his confusion, inquired what he was about, and requested him to show her the paper. He obeyed, entreating her not to be angry. Mrs. West, after looking some time at the drawing with evident pleasure, said to her daughter, "I declare he has made a likeness of little Sally," and kissed him with much fondness and satis- faction. This encouraged him to say, that if it would give her any pleasure, he would make pictures of the flowers which she held in her hand; for the instinct of page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] I I SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 161 his genius was now awakened, and he felt he could imitate the forms of those things that pleased his sight. This curious incident deserves consideration in two points of view. The sketch must have had some merit, since the likeness was so obvious, indicating how early the hand of the young artist possessed the power of represent- ing the observations of his eye. But it is still more re- markable as the birth of the fine arts in the new world, and as one of the few instances in the history of art, in which the first inspiration of genius can be distinctly traced to a particular circumstance. Soon after the oc- currence of the incident which has given rise to these ob- servations, the young artist was sent to a school in the ncighborhood. During his hours of leisure he was per- mitted to draw with pen and ink; for it did not occur to any of the family to provide him with better materials. In the course of the summer, a party of Indians came to pay their annual visit to Springfield, and being amused with the sketches of birds and flowers which Benjamin showed them, they taught him to prepare the red and yel- low colors with which they painted their ornaments. To these his mother added blue, by giving him a piece of indigo, so that he was thus put in possession of the three primary colors. The Indians also taught him to be an expert archer; and he was sometimes in the act of shoot- 21 page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 SCENES IN TIIE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. ing birds for models, when he thought -hat their plumage would look well in a picture. His drawings at length at- tracted the attention of the neighbors, and some of them happening to regret that the artist had no pencils, he in- quired what kind of things they were, and they were de- -scribed to him as small bushes, made of camel's hair, fastened in a quill. As there were, however, no camels in America, he could not think of any substitute, till he happened to cast his eyes on a black cat, the favorite of his father; when in the tapering fur of her tail he dis- covered the means of what he wanted. He immediately armed himself with his mother's scissors, and laying hold of Grimalkin with all due caution and a proper attention to her feelings, cut off the fur at the end of the tail, and with this made his first pencil. But the tail only fur- nished him with one, which did not last long, and he stood in need of a further supply. He then had recourse to the animal's back, his depredations upon which were so frequently repeated, that his father observed the altered appearance of his favorite, and lamented it as the effect of disease. The artist, with suitable marks of contrition, informed him of the true cause, and th3 old gentleman was so much amused with the ingenuity, that if he re- buked him it was certainly not in anger. In the following year, Mr. Pennington, a merchant of SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 163 Philadelphia, who was related to the West family, came to pay a visit to Mr. West. This gentleman was also a member of the Society of Friends, and, although strictly attentive to the peculiar observances of the sect was a / man of pleasant temper and indulgent disposition. He noticed the drawings of birds and flowers round the room, unusual in the house of a Quaker; and heard with sur- prise that they were the work of his cousin. Of their merit as pictures, he did not pretend to be a judge, but he thought them wonderful productions for a boy only entering on his eighth year, and being told with what imper- fect materials they had been executed, he promised to send the young artist some paints and pencils from the city. On his return home he fulfilled his engagement, and at the bottom of the box placed several pieces of canvass pre- pared for the easel, and six engravings by Grevelin. The arrival of the box was an era in the history of the painter and his art. It was received with feelings of de- light, which only a similar mind can justly appreciate.. He opened it, and in the colors, the oils, and the pencils, found all his wants supplied, even beyond his conceptions. Who can describe the surprise with which he belield the engravings: he who had not seen any picture but his own drawings, nor knew that such an art as the engravcr's ex- isted! He sat over the box with enamoured eyes; his page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. mind was in a flutter of joy; and he could not refrain from constantly touching the different articles, to ascertain that they were real. At night he placed the box upon a chair near his bed, and often as he was overpowered by sleep, he started suddenly and stretched out his hand to satisfy himself that the possession of such a treasure was not merely a pleasing dream. He'ros3 at the dawn of day, and carried the box into a room in the garret, where he spread a canvass, prepared a pallet, and immediately began to imitate the figures in the engravings. Enchlanted by his art, he forget the school hours, and joined the family at dinner, without mentioning the employment in which he had ben engaged. In the afternoon he again retired to his study in the garret, anc. for several days successfully, he thus withdrew and devoted himself- to painting. The schoolmaster, observing his absence, sent to ask the cause of it. Mrs. West, affecting not to take any particular notice of the message, recollected that sloe had seen Benjamin going up stairs ceery morning, and suspecting that the box occasioned his neglect of school, went to the garret, and found him employed on the pic- ture. Her anger was appeased by the sight of the per- formance, and changed to a very different feeling. She saw, not a mere copy, but a companion from two of the engravings; with no other guide tha- that delicacy of SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 165 sight which renders the painter's eye with respect to colors, what the musician's ear is to sounds, he had formed a picture as complete, in the scientific arrangements of the tints, notwithstanding the necessary imperfection of the penciling, as the most skilful artists could have painted, assisted by the precepts of Newton. She kissed him with the transports of affection, and assured him that she would not only intercede with his father to pardon him for absenting himself from school, but would go herself to the master, and beg that he might not be punished. A friend of the family, noticiig the extraordinary char- acter of young West, lent him some treatises on the art of painting, and took him to see several pictures and drawings at his house, in Philadelphia. The effect of this was to raise in him a still higher enthusiasm for the art. The follow- ing incident is given as illustrating the state of his mind at this time, One of his school fellows, on a Saturday afternoon, engaged him to give up a party at trap-ball, to ride with him to one of the neighboring plantations. At the t!me appointed, the boy came with the horse saddled. West inquired how he was to ride: "Behind me," said the -boy; but Benjamin, full of the dignity of the profession to which he feltJiimself destined, answered, that he w6uld never ride behind any cody. "O! very well, then," said the good natured boy, ,( page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 SCENES IN TIE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. "you make take the saddle, and I will get up behinc you." Thus mounted, they proceeded on the excursion; and the boy began to inform his companion, that his father intended to send him to be an apprentice. "In what business?" inquired West. "A tailor," answered the bcy. "Surely," said West, "you will never follow that trade," animadverting upon its feminine character. The other, however, was a shrewd, sound headed lad, and defended the selection very stoutly, saying that his father had made choice of it for him, and that the person with whom he was to learn the business, was much re- spected by all his neighbors. But what do you intend to be, Benjamin?" West answered that he had not thought at all upon the subject, but he should like to be a painter. "A painter!" exclaimed the boy; "what sort of a trade is a painter! I never heard of such a thing." "A painter," said West, "is a companion for kings and emperors." "Surely you are mad," replied the boy; "for there are no such people in America." "Very sure," answered Benjamin, "but there are plenty in other parts of the world." The other, still more amazed at the apparent ab- SCENES IN TIIE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 167 surdity of this speech, reiterated, in atone of greater surprise, "you are surely quite mad." To this the enthusiast replied by. asking him if he really intended to be a tailor. "Most certainly," answered the other. "Then you may ride by yourself, for I will no longer keep your company," said West, and alighting imme- diately, returned home. It is not the object of the present essay to follow the great artist through his glorious career, but only to recal, to the public mind some detached incidents of his early life, particularly those connected with the localities which Mr. Sartain has sketched. One more incident, therefore, will conclude this article. When Penjamin had attained his sixteenth year, his father became anxious to see him settled in some esta- blished business. For, though reluctant to thwart the bias of a genius at once so decided and original, the old gen- tleman was sensible that the profession of a painter was not only precarious, but regarded by the religious associa- tion to which he belonged as adverse to their tenets, by being only ornamental; and he was anxious on his son's account and on his own, to avoid those animadversions to which le was exposed by the freedom he had hitherto granted to the predilections of Benjamin. He there- @ page: 168-169 (Illustration) [View Page 168-169 (Illustration) ] 168 SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. fore consulted several of his neighbors on the subject; and a meeting of the Society of Friends in the vicinity was called, to consider, publicly, what ought to be the destiny of his son. The assembly met in the meeting house, near Springfield, and after Much debate, approach- ing to altercation, a man of the name of John William- son rose and delivered a very extraordinary speech upon the subject. He was much respected by all present for the purity and integrity of his life, and enjoyed great influence in his sphere, on account of the superiority of his natural wisdom; and, as a public preacher among the Friends, possessed an astonishing gift of convincing eloquence. He pointed to old Mr. West and his wife, and expatiated on the blameless reputation which they had so long maintained, and merited so well. They have had," said'he, "ter children, whom they have brought up in the fear of God, and in the Chris- tion religion; and the youth whose lot in life we are about to consider, is Benjamin, their youngest child. It is known to you all, that God is pleased from time to time, to bestow upon some men extraordinary gifts of mind, and you need not be told by how wonderful an inspiration their son has been led to cultivate the art of painting. It is true our tenets deny the utility of that art of man- kind. But God has bestowed on the youth a genius for page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] a SCENES IN THE EARLY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. 171 the art, and can we believe that Omnipotence bestows his gifts but for great purposes? What God has given, who shall dare to throw away? Let us not estimate Almighty Wisdom by our notions let us not presume to arraign his judgment by our ignorance; but in the evident propen- sity of the young man, be assured that we see an impulse of the Divine hand, operating towards some high and be- neficent end." The effect of this argument, and the lofty, commanding manner in which it was delivered, induced the assembly to agree that the artist should be allowed to indulge the predilections of his genius, and a private meeting of the Friends was appointed to be holden at his father's house, at which the youth himself was requested to be present, in order to receive, in form, the assent and blessing of the society. On the day of meeting, the great room was put in order, and a numerous company of both sexes assembled. Benjamin was placed by his father, and 'the men and women took their respective forms on each side. After sitting some time in silence, one of the women arose and addressed the meeting, on the Wisdom of God, and the various occasions of which he selected from among his creatures the agents of his goodness. When she had concluded her exhortation, John William- son also arose and resumed the topic which had been the subject of his former address . , page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 SCENES IN THE EARLxY LIFE OF AN ARTIST. At the conclusion of this address which is described as having been in a strain of extraordinary,1 eJloquence, the women rose and kissed the young artist, and the men, one by one, laid their hands upon his head and prayed that the Lord might verify in his life the value of the gift which had induced them, in spite of their religious tenets, to allow him to cultivate the faculties of his genius. The accompanying engraving exhibits the appearance of the Springfield Meeting House, as it was when first visited by Mr. Sartain, in 1837, but the engraver has not given full effect to the noble buttonwood which stands in the fore ground. When visited again in October, 1848, no material changes in the building were observed. A small pannel will be noticed in the gable end, near the apex of the roof, similar to that in the end of West's house. This pannel bears the date 1733 showing the time of the erection of the edifice, which was just five years before West's -birth. page: 174 (Illustration) -175[View Page 174 (Illustration) -175] ]Loqia XI^U ti Fov^tsebleiqq FROM THE FRENCH. THE magnificent park at Fontainebleau, filled with rival courtiers, with their luxurious equipages, sparkling jewels, and elegantly embroidered-dresses, presented an admirable picture. "Sire," said the Dauphin, w:ith an humble bow, "does your majesty wish to visit the tennis-court? Some excellent players are there; among others, M. de Saint Ruth." "No," replied the king, with an absent air. "Is aladanie sick, that she has not yet come?" "She will not be here," replied the Due de Maine, who walked nearest the king, though he could hardly keep pace with him on account of his lameness; "Madame rather avoids the company of my aunt de Maintenon." (175) page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. Sire," said Fagon, the king's physician, and a tool of Madame de Maintenon, "her royal highness had not finished her correspondence at the hcur of departure." "A word, Monsieur de Pontchartrain," said Louis XIV., turning towards his ministers. "Monsieur," added he, when the suite, with the exception of the Due de Maine, were out of the sound of his voice; "have you heard of the disappearance of the Due de Chartres?" "My cousin is without doubt shut up in his chemical laboratory," replied the Duc de Maine, "seeking for the philosopher's stone, or perhaps some marvellous poison." "Sire, I have received letters from the army, which do not announce the arrival of the Duc de, Chartres," said Ponchartrain, lengthening his face. "I have sent couriers through all the routes of the lower countries; I have written every where, without being able to find out any thing of his royal highness; and I am therefore led to believe that the prince is hid in Paris, at the house of some mistress, whom we do not know I' "Such conduct is highly displeasihg to me," said the king, striking the ground passionately with his cane; "these libertinages are offensive to Heaven, and dis- honorable to the royal family.' "Why do you not have him married, sire, to make him "OUIS XIV. AT FCNTAINEBLEAU. 1" wise?" boldly replied the Duc du Maine; "to my sister, Mademloiselle de Blois, for example?" "Be quiet, sir!" interrupted Louis XIV.; with severity; and, wishing to vent his ill humor on some one, began to scold Ponchartrain. "What hcs become of your activity, sir?" said he, in a tone of reproach.; "'there was a time when not a single word was uttered in the whole kingdom, of which I was not advised, if the knowledge was of interest to me; now I hear nothing; the glory of my government is not sufficient 'Jo excite your zeal, and nothing is brought to me which concerns my family." 'Sire, my zeal never has, nor ever will fail," said Ponchartrain, prostrating himself to the earth; "I wished not to afflict your majesty, and have closed my eyes to many of the extravagancies of M. le due de Chartres, iwho has not had before him a very exemplary pattern. About a week since, he passed the night at the house of a comedian of the Royal Academy of Music, living in the Rute des Bons Enfans; the next day, his carriage returned to St. Cloud, though he was not seen there himself; and the Abbe Dubois, his preceptor, declared that his royal highness had gone to rejoin M. de Luxem- bourg. I have vainly interrogated every one concerning him; and M. the lieutenant of police has united his efforts to mine - " 23 page: 178-179 (Illustration) [View Page 178-179 (Illustration) ] 178 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. "The negligence of M. d'Argenson does not excuse yours," interrupted the king, with impatience. A hasty but respectful movement was here made by the courtiers to make room for the Duke and Duchess d'Orleans, who had arrived, with tie ladies and gentle- men of their household. The duchess appeared more sad and abstracted than ever; the absence of the Due de Chartres filled her with disquietude, and the evasive- ness of Dubois gave a still keen r poignancy to her grief. The duke did nothing but laugh at the pranks of De Chartres, and especially at the ruse which Dubois had nvented to deceive his governors; indeed, that which he most admired in his son, was his precocious gallantry. The king saluted the duchess with cold politeness; uncovering his head, he walked to herside and inquired concerning her health-to which she replied with equal formality.. The duke then approached with a profound bow: the king embraced him as isual, and passed the compliments of the day in- the most familiar manner, to which the duke listened with respect and gratitude. The two brothers were on the best of terms with each other; the duke had never interfered with the authority of the king, and satisfied his ambition with being the first sub- ject of Louis the Fourteenth, for whom he felt as much admiration as love. "Has Madame cone well by keeping page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] "OUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. 181 ns in waiting to-day?" said the king, who never par- doned inexactitude any more than actual disobedience; "I have been here for two hoirs." "I pray you to excuse me, sire," replied the duke, looking at his wife; "you know that I am always exact in obeying your commands." It is me, sire, whom .you must excuse for this tardi- ness," replied the duchess, (the only person whom the king would suffer to contradict him,) " or, rather, it is I who wish to be excused; you surely will not have the -ijustice to condemn a mother for fulfilling the duties she owe to her son?" "Madame," replied the king, sharply, "I understand the duties of a mother in their proper time and place; but I desire also to have my wishes accomplished, when I give orders to that effect." "I have given constant at ;ention to your smallest requirements," said Madame, (who never yielded;) "I have counted no sacrifice too g^eat to show my devotion to your majesty; but this time I could do no better than I have; I was. waiting for a courier who was to have brought me some news respecting the Duc de Char- tres"-- "Well, what have you heard?" interrupted the king, more from curiosity than interest. page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 1iZ LOUIS XIV. AT 'rONiTAi'NEUJLISAU. "Nothing, sire," replied the princess, unable to restrain her tears; "my son has been made the victim of some infernal conspiracy, that I am sure of; he is without doubt shut up in some prison, or perhaps in some royal chateau, for they would not dare attempt his life; but I can readily name the author of the scheme, and Madame de Maintenon"--- "Madame de Maintenon," said the king, in a terrible voice, "has importuned me in behalf of M. le -Duo de Chartres, whose villanous course of life will prove as detrimental to his future as his present existence; your son, Madame, has thrown himself into a libertinism, acquired by habitual intercourse with persons of the most dissolute habits, that has given me much sorrow on your own as well as his account, fbr I love you both." ' Sire," said Madame, "of wLat use is it for me to protest that the affection of whilh you speak is on my part still the same? I have not changed from the first, and I still love you as much as formerly! but you give credit to the base calumnies of certain persons who delight in making you disagree pith me; I well know that a person who hates me has i vented some atrocious plan to sink me in your estimation and she has succeeded but too well"--- "No, Madame," interrupted L uis, who now spoke in a more persuasive tone, "'no, the person- to whom you allude has never even dreamed of harming you; on the contrary, she has defended you before me"-- "Sire," replied the duchess, with a tenacity which nothing could sever, "I would rather die than believe you to be an accomplice of my enemies; but neverthe- less, I cannot make white black." "Madame, you are possessed of an obstinacy very hard to be conquered," said the king; "Io you not know that one ought to be of a very irreproachable character to speak so severely of another-?" "I know that I am worth but little; but if I were to compare myself with some others who have all your con- fidence, I should feel obliged to indulge somewhat my self-love." "Madame, I wash my hands of this fine judgment; but be assured of this, that it would be better for you to convince others by your actions that you are really more meritorious than you feel yourself to be." Louis XIV., from a singular attachment for Madame la Duchesse, had always, in his intercourse with her, set aside that cold yet polished etiquette which he observed with all others, not excepting his own daughters; but in this conference the duchess observed, with as much sor- row as fear, the great change in the manner of her page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. brother-in-law, who now addressed her in a severe and irritated tone, evidently viewing her with an accusing eye. However, she appeared disposed to facilitate the explana- tion which the king evidently des'red, and she followed him to the extreme end of the lake, whither he silently directed his steps. None of the courtiers followed, for a sign from Louis had raised a barrier which they dared not overstep. But their surprise was great and unani- mous when from the distance they saw the king enter a boat moored on the bank, and invie the Duchess d'Or- leans to seat herself with him; two boatmen, who man- aged this pretty bark, (painted and gilded with the royal arms,) unfastened the chains that bound it, and, bending themselves to the oars, crossed the lake, and landed at l'Isle de Conference. As soon as the king had assisted Madame from the boat, the oarsmen reseated themselves, and immediately put back to their starting-place. The duchess was not a little astonished at the prome- nade upon the water which Louis had taken, and secretly hoped that she was regaining the fftvor of the king, who for ten years had avoided being aone with her, for fear of giving umbrage to Madame de Maintenon. Her astonishment and joy, however, were of no longer dura- i tion than their passage across the lake, which was made with the rapidity of a swallow. The king spoke not a 4 . . "OUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. 185 word, and the duchess dared not question him! As she leaned on the arm of her conductor to ascend to the hall of Conference, she felt a trembling chill and an omen of discouragement as she turned her head and saw the boat, which was now far away, leaving lher without hope of retreat, in the presence of the formidable wrath of Louis XIV. She slowly ascended the twenty steps bordering on the circular terrace, upon which was erected an elegant pavilion, supported by eight doric pillars. The six windows were all shut, as well as the door, which when the king, opened, the duchess saw sitting in the hall a lady veiled, who was arranging some papers and taking notes from them on a small table. It was- not necessary for the duchess to remove the veil in order to recognise this woman, who did not even rise from her seat to receive the king. The princess, indignant at her con- ductor for having led her into such a snare, refused to enter the pavilion, and had already descended the steps-- though without knowing how to escape from the isle- that she might avoid an interview with Madame de Maintenon; but the king imperiously ordered her to return. She obeyed, trembling with anger and reddening witl shame, entering without deigning to grant a bow or look of' recognition to Madame de Maintenon, who page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. smiled and looked intelligently at the king, who appeared agitated and undecided. An inter al of hope and hesi- tation here intervened, during whic Louis XIV. struck his cane on the stones; Madame de Iaintenon continued to write, examining at the same timQ with an air of triumph the face of the duchess; nd the latter threw her eyes here and there to disguise h r anger and trouble. "Well, Madame," said the king, o whom Madame de Maintenon made a sign to commence a colloquy, " is your conscience tranquil at this hour? I would not, for your sake, wish to have your soul requirei of you in this pre- sent state, that is to say, black witl hatred and malig- nity." "Hatred is sometimes a virtue, sire," proudly replied the duchess, fearing that the king me ditated a reconcilia- tion between her and her enemy. "The Divine Redeemer, in his p ssion, pardoned his executioners," said Madame de Maint non, accompanying this pious observation with the sign o the cross. "He was the son of God," replied the duchess, with- out addressing Madame de Mainten n; "but I am a daughter of Eve, of a sinful nature and have not the holiness which he had to shelter the weakness of the creature." "Stop, Madame," said the king, with mildness; "if I "OUIS XIV. AT iON AINEBLEAU. 187 should offer you any counsel t this time, it would be, that you should pray Madame de Maintenon to charitably excuse you.-- "What have I done that s e should excuse, sire?" said Madame, blushing with shame; "but if I had com- mitted a crime, I would not desce d from my rank as to-" "Will you leave me to judge nd condemn, Madame? And shall I not suffer in condem ing you?-you, whom I have believed worthy of my Peculiar friendship-you whom I esteem as the equal of th first lady of my court? Think well, I beseech you remem er that I could, with- out any injustice disgrace you; and do not show a rigor of disposition that I might imitate to your great disadvan- tage. This is the last advice I have to give you, Madame; and remember, that if you suffer the moment of repent- ance to pass unimproved, the peri d of my clemency will also close." "You speak to me as a judge," 'aid the duchess, struck w-ith the tone of solemnity which tie king had assumed: "you address me as a culprit. Am I to be calumniated at your side-while in your presence " added she, looking fixedly at Madame de Mainteno , who continued her writing; "it would not have been the first time that I have been called upon to defend ,yself against these base threatenings." page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. "Madame, you have no one to acuse!" said the king, who at a glance from Madame de Maintenon threw off the mild patience which he had imposed upon himself. "I accuse no one," replied the duchess-who was ac- customed to disputing with the king-" but they know that I can accuse, if forced to that step." "Would you not accuse men," replied the king with a menacing irony, "who slander in their correspondence the actions and even the thoughts of others." "Sire," stammeringly said the princess, who did not feel entirely innocent on this point, "I swear I have never written any thing against the honor of your majesty." "Do not swear Madame, for fear of perjuring yourself; we have committed to the Bastile, many libelists who have not attacked our government with equal audacity." The greatest king in the world, sire, is not infallible; and my German frankness, which you have so often praised, has prevented me, perhaps from always disguis- ing your faults." "My faults my ults!" muttered Louis, with a hasty, impatient step; " do you not know that I have already punished le Compete qu de Bussy, for having dared to insult, in a scandalous publication, the ladies of my court? I would have had him hung, ha he not asked pardon. I mean that the ladies shall be respected." "OUIS XIV. AT FONUAINEBLEAU. 189 The princess called to mind a large number of passages in her letters, in which the gallantries of the court were treated of in a manner quite as bold as that of Bussy; but, having perfect confidence in the discretion of her relatives and friends, she did not suppose it possible that those letters could have been returned from Germany to France, nor did she think that any one would have dared to violate the secrecy of her seal. Therefore she still preserved her assurance. But the king, who for some- time had restrained his passion, and in whom was still struggling the true affection that he felt for his sister-in- law, at last, obeying a sign from Madame de Mainte- non, broke the ice and struck a decided blow; he went straight to the table, at which the favorite was sitting, and selecting from them several papers, he presented them to the princess without saying a word, at the same time shaking her violently by the arm. As soon as her eyes fell upon the papers, she recognised her writing, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. In a moment the change in her countenance revealed her confusion; the epigrams with which her correspondences abounded, sprang up before her mind like so many ghosts, ready to crush her with their testimony; and with her hands elapsed in despair, she immediately swooned. Madame de Maintenon's contenance was irradated with a smile of page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAI EBLEAU. satisfaction, and she appeared to enjoy deliciously the dis. order and terror into which the duchess d'Orleans had been thrown. "Madame," said the king, wit an inexorable air, "this is the occasion for you to r quest the judgment which you have dictated me; what oes the person merit who wrote these slanders?" "Do not read them, sire," interrupt d Madame de Main- tenon; "it would soil your lips to r ad such a mass of infamous lies." "In whom shall I trust hereafter?" murmured the duchess, her eyes fixed in consternation on the papers which the king held. "Ah! -sire, th se are my letters? who has dared to break my seal! wh has deceived me, who has so basely sold me?" What!" replied Louis with emph isis, "do you hope Madame that your seal is a mantle t hide your wicked- ness? are you ignorant that the king ho governs France can and ought to penetrate into the se rets of his subjects and family? yes? your letters have een opened by my orders. Long enough have I suppo ted patiently the censures which you have made upon my court and my most faithful servants, to amuse, at t eir expense, your German gossips." "Sire, who has told you the contents of these letters?" "OUIS XIV. AT FO TAINEBLEAU. 191 said the princess, flattering herself that the German lan- guage offered a mean of refutin the accusation. "Here is the literal translition," replied the king, showing her the proof of her g ilt; "I had it made in my own cabinet, that I might nore freely appreciate the gravity of the case, and consider the punishment due. "Your conduct is odius, Ma ame; it is unworthy the character you have heretofore sustained; it is cowardly, because you have injured person who did not doubt your friendship, it is, in a word, pro perly a treason with my enemies; and in another, this c ime would be punished with death or perpetual imprison ent in a state prison." "I have been light and impr dent in my conduct, I admit, but I am not the criminal you would make me; and, sooner than write any thing prejudicial to your interest, I would cut off my right hand." "Here, you throw disdain with a full mouth, upon the children of France," said the king, pointing out to her a passage in the translation. "Do you presume, Madame, that these childrien, who have my blood running in their veins, are not more noble and nea er the throne than the legitimate sons of the house of Orleans? Have they not been legalized by my voice, and are you to be permitted to rail at their birth, which they M ould not exchange for another? But above all, that whi h is to me the most in- page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] supportable, is, the person whom I honor and love above :; all others, has had to suffer under these strange and per- : fidious calumnies, for she has each day of her life given proof of her affection for me."' 'This lettter is an arsenal cf wickedness, amassed against this person; through it runs the most poisonous lies, invented to render despicable, the most holy and pious woman of my kingdom. That of itself is enough, and I shall take care hereafter that she is sheltered from such persecution; and I shall send you back to Germany to the Elector-Palatine Jean Guillaume, your relative, or to the Electress of Hanover, where you will have an oppor- tunity to speak boldly all the malignities which here you have secretly written." "You will set out this evening," continued the king in an imperative tone; ' your exile will not be known at once, as for the sake of my brother I wouild not wish to have his wife dishonored; this I will manage, and give orders to your physician to say that he has prescribed for you the waters of Baden or of Aix-la-Chapelle, and I advise you to repent of your sin." "Sire, will you make me leave you?" cried the duchess, falling on her knees before Louis," mercy! mercy! sire, you are the greatest of kings, be also the most lenient!" "Is it for me to pardon you, when I am not the one ,f- offended?" said Louis XIV, turning toward Madame Maintenon; "as far as I am concerned I forgive you; but high as is my authority, I can do no more; so be contented, Madame, that I have no hatred against you, and receive here my farewell for the last time." " Ah! Madame!" sadly exclaimed the princess, ad- Iressing herself at last to Madame de Maintenon with a gesture expressive of desire, accompanied anew with sobs mnd groans. - This was all Madame de Maintenon was waiting for, nid this victory gained over her haughty rival was suffi- lent vengeance; she rose with a smile on her lips and ook the hand of Elizabeth-Charlotte de Baviere, who till remained on her knees, crushed by the invocation 'hich she mechanically addressed to her enemy. The rincess trembled with horror at the touch, and though ic repressed herself from uttering her real feelings, she as unable to give in reply a single word of gratitude r this forgiveness, which she regarded as by far the ost injurious triumph of that adroit and perfidious )man. "Sire," said Madame do Maintenon, with a skilfully sumed sweetness, " the Christain religion recommends arity to our neighbor, and the gracious pardon which u have granted to Madame will not permit me to hold 25 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 LOUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEAU. no longer resentment againt her. I pray you to retract your sentence: if I was the one offended I will forget it for ever." "Well, Madame!" said the king " are you not touched with such nobleness of soul? such is the effect of true re- ligion, which governs the human passions, and knows no obstacle to the accomplishment of good. Will you not imitate so glorious an abnegation? ought you not esteem a person so lofty, so sublime? "Madame de Maintenon has been afflicted at the un- happy division which has existed between you and herself without any cause," said Louis, who believed this to be a favorble occasion to reconcile, in appearance at least, these two implacable enemies; "Madame de Maintenon has told me in reply that she loved you; and I, as you well know, have been greatly attached to you. I wish to see you united." "You know that I am the eldest Madame," said the favorite, (dwelling on her age, with which the duchess had reproached her,) " however, I will with a cheerful heart take the first step." "Yes, Madame, I pray that this reconciliation may be complete," said the king; '"I am going to the chase, ac- compained by the ladies, and I desire that your perfect agreement with Madame de Maintenon be observable." / "OUIS XIV. AT FONTAINEBLEU. 195 h IIis majesty has already told you, that you are be- loved by me; is it necessary that I repeat it, and beg you, Madame, that all may be forgotten in this embrace?" The duchess had given no signs of life-although she was standing with her eyes wide open-since the time she was raised at the invitation and with the assistance of her enemy; one insupportabB idea filled her mind; she had seen herself at the feet of 3Iacdame de liiaintenon When she approached to embrace her, the princess, who was already cold and stiff as though struck with death, threw back her head, heaved a deep sigh, xnd fell sense- less on the floor. "You see it, sire!" exclaimed Madame do Maintenon, "nothing will suffice to break tlis stony heart; she hates me more than ever, and will some day have dhe assassinated!" "No, Madame, she is incapable of that," coolly said the : king; " but she will not praise you in Her corres2ondences. But it is time to go to the chase; will you come?" "I desire no greater honor in this world than to be at your side; but you do not wisl me to appear at the chase without Madame?" "Sire, you will never bring this inflexible German to sub- mit to reason until you give in marriage to her son, one of your daughters whom she has dared to stigmatize as-" "Enough! I will order it to be done." page: 196-197 (Illustration) [View Page 196-197 (Illustration) ] BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. "I will a plain, unvarnished tale deliver." SHAKESPBAUB. CHAPTER I. "So you have changed your seamstrcss, I see," said Mrs. Mayhew to her fashionable friend, Mrs. Harris. "O yes, and you cannot think what a difference it makes in our expenses; you know I paid Chilson half a dollar a day, and she only came at eight and worked till seven." "That was reasonable, certainly," interrupted Mrs. Mayhew; "I am sure I don't see how any one could work cheaper." "You don't; well then, I only pay the girl I have now, two and sixpence, and she works an hour later, and sews beautifully; what do you think of that?" exclaimed Mrs. Harris, triumphantly. "I think that is not enough," answered her friend. (196) page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] AMY. 199 "Only consider, my dear Mrs. Harris, twelve hours of steady labour, for the pitiful sum of two and sixpence; surely, it is hardly just!" "If I pay the girl all she asks, I don't see why it is not just!" replied Mrs. Harris, reddening. "Shei is a better judge, probably, than you or I, of what she can, or cannot afford; if she chooses to do my sewing for two and sixpence, I don't know why I should offer her more." Poor girl; probably she is afraid to demand the price ' which is by justice hers, lest, from the grasping and over- bearing spirit, with which such demands are too often met,; she would be refused all employment," said Mrs Mayhew. "There is a pitiful oppression exercised towards this class of persons, Mrs. Harris; there are those, even among the most wealthy, who will bargain and chaffer with the poor seamstress, to gain a penny's advantage. What matters it that justice is on the side of the weak, so long as might supports the oppressor? and, therefore, they must either starve or bend to the yoke." "That may be the case with some persons, but not with me," replied Mrs. Harris. "No one is further from wishing to grind the poor then I am. I pay to those whom I employ what they ask, and no more; and that, Mrs. Mayhew, I consider to be right. 'Charity begins at home.' and I contend it is every wife's duty to use page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] Guv AMY. judgment and economy in the management of her house. hold." "Very true; but not at the expense of justice and humanity," said Mrs. Mayhew. ( 'Live and let live,' is an old adage,and I wish it was imprinted in letters of gold upon every hearthstone. I simply plead for justice, not for charity; and, believe me, if the former were more frequently meted out, there would be less call for the latter! But, allow me to ask what has become of Miss Chilson? she appeared to be a very nice girl." "Yes, I believe she was, and very faithful," answered Mrs. Harris. "But, somehow, I never exactly liked her- in fact, it is very annoying to see persons in her situation put on so many airs as she did-it is very disagreeable." "Every person should possess a proper self-respect," said Mrs. Mayhew. "Oh, yes, cert;inly; but, sometimes, Chilson had a way with her which was really quite provoking. Now, for instance, one day we had company to dinner, and, only an hour before the time, our waiter took a miff at something, and left the house; of course, it was then too late to pro- cure another, and so I just simply proposed to Chilson to take her place, as it would accommodate me so much." "Which I presume she would not do," said Mrs. May. hew, smiling. AMY. 2U1 "Mercy, no indeed! why she looked as indignant as any princess; I always thought it very ungrateful of her. Then, another time, when I was out of a chambermaid, I requested her as a favor to do the work just for one day, and, I declare, if I had not actually demeaned myself to apologize, I believe she would have left the house, and my children's dresses half finished. To be sure, she was quite kind when little John and Annie had the measles, and insisted upon sitting up with them two or three nights." "And yet you dismissed her, Mrs. Harris, for no other reason than that you found a person who would work for you more reasonably?" said Mrs. Mayhew. "For that only; but I consider it a duty to save every penny I can, for you know we have a large family, and our expenses are heavy; and, if I can hire my sewing for less than what I was paying for it, why I ought certainly to take advantage of the opportunity. But, I confess I was sorry to tell Chilson she need not come any more." "Did she seem disappointed?" inquired Mrs. Mayhew. "You never saw any-one so agitated as she was at first," replied Mrs. Harris. "And when I was paying her what little money -was owing her, and told her I had no further use for her services, the tears stood in her eyes." 26 l* page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 AMY. "Poor girl! I fear, my dear friend, you have unin- tentionally done a cruel deed!" said Mrs. Mayhew. "It is a very difficult thing for a poor young girl to obtain a new situation. Men can rough and battle with the world, but with the friendless female it is different. Miss Chil- son may have many dear ones-a father-a mother, de- pendent upon her exertions; even the little mite she earned from you, may have been of vital importance to them, and of which, my dear Mrs. Harris, you have thus thoughtlessly deprived them." Mrs. Harris was really angry, and answered accordingly. "Indeed Mrs. Mayhew, I did not know-that I wgs ac- countable to you for my actions; when I am it will be time enough for you to assume the office of Mentor i!" "I am sorry for having offended you," said Mrs. Maly- hew, rising camly from her seat, " when we meet again I trust all this will be forgotten. One thing more; can you tell me where Miss Chilson lives?" "No; for I never asked her," ungraciously replied Mrs. Harris; "but I believe some where in Third Street. I am sorry I cannot relieve your benevolent curiosity!'I she added, ironically. Mrs. Mayhew bowed, and left the house; while Mrs. Harris, in no very comfortable frame of mind, ascended to the nursery. AMY. 203 How very disagreeable that woman is getting!" she muttered to herself; "I really believe I will cut her ac- quaintance-she is too much of the Fry school to suit me!" In one corner of the nursery, a pale, sickly-looking girl sat bending over her needle, surrounded by three or four noisy, quarrelsome children. "Heavens what an uproar!" exclaimed Mrs Harris as she entered; " be still all of you-you are enough to craze one! Have you finished the trimming to-my cape?" she asked turning to the sewing girl. "Not quite, ma'am," she replied, without raising her eyes from her work. "Not quite! why it is more than an hour since you began it; you must sew very slowly, I am sure," said Mrs Harris, snappishly. The girl made no answer; but a tear rolled very slowly down her pale cheek, and dropped upon the delicate silk in her hand. Mrs. Harris immediately observed the stain on the beautiful fabric, though not the cause. "Why, what is that Gales? See, you have spotted my cape, you careless creature; what is it? Is it grease or what?" she exclaimed, angrily. The color rose to the cheek of the poor girl as she answered." "No, ma'am, it is not grease, it is no stain; it is only water." J}i, page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 AMY. "Only water! Well, I must say, I think it is very careless in you not to put by your work when you drink! Have not you almost finished? for I have an engagement at one o'clock, and have my heart set upon wearing my new silk." "It will be very soon completed, ma'am," was the reply. "Ma, she don't sew so fast as Chilson did," whispered little Fanny; " and has been doing nothing half the time, but just sitting with her haidkerchief to her eyes; I don't- like her a bit!" Mrs. Harris turned sharply round; "I see you are very slow with your needle; my other girl, Chilson, would have done the work in half the time. I don't like eye-servants." The poor girl sighed heavily. "I am very sorry that I have not been able to do more this morning. I had a headache when I left home, and it lhas increased to such degree, that I fear I must ask permission to return." Mrs. Harris was somewhat touched by her sad tone and pallid looks. "Well, I am sorry you are sick, Gales-perhaps you had better go up stairs into the chambermaid's room and lie down a little while-you do look pale. Remember, I AMY. VoJ never require any one to work for me unless they are able-and, by the way, are you subject to headaches, Gales?" ' I have suffered very much, ma'am, but somehow I believes I am getting used to them," answered the girl with a faint, sickly smile. Because," continued Mrs. Harris, "if you are not healthy, why of course I cannot consider my engagement with you binding; I have a great deal of sewing, and cannot afford to hire any one who is constantly putting it by on account of sickness." Another tear stole down the cheek of the poor seam- stress as she meekly folded her work. "I should be very sorry to lose your patronage, Mrs. Harris," she answered, " and I hope you will try me a little longer-I will use every exertion to please you. If-if-I could have a room to myself I think I could do better." A room to yourself, nonsense-Chilson never thought of such a thing! Pray what objection have you got to this?" exclaimed Mrs. Harris. "I do not wish to complain, but-sometimes the noise of the children makes my head whirl and ache very badly." "That I can't help; if you sew for me, you must get used to the noise-that's all-Chilson did. I cannot have , page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] any other room but this littered up with work, and Ichoose the children to be kept here." "Very well," said the girl with the same sad smile, "I dare say I shall get used to it. If you please, I think I will go home now-I am very sorry to have disappointed you to day." Mrs. Harris deigned no answer, and putting on her bonnet and shawl, the pool, young seamstress wearily threaded the gay, noisy streets to her own wretched home. ClAPTER II. Six months prior to the scene just related, a small house, located in a quarter of the city densely packed with a hard-working, industrious class of citizens, had been rented to a family by the name of Chilson. The ground floor of the dwelling was disposed of to a book-binder, only reserving for themselves two small rooms above, and a kitchen in the rear. They were Strangers in the neigh- borhood; but from the fact that the father of the family was utterly helpless, from a paralysis, which had de- stroyed both mind and body, they excited lively interest and commiseration. Mrs. Chilson was evidently an invalid, although she was never heard to complain: if she suffered, it was silently, and with quiet cheerfulness and resignation performed ' / i her heavy duties. Amy was the, eldest, and had just entered her eighteenth year. Caroline was fourteen, and the little Nina a child of ten summers. Their united labours served to maintain them comfortably from day to day, and to meet the rent, and other necessary ex- penses of the family, but it was done by constant, un- remitting toil and labour, by using every penny with the most scrupulous economy, so that it was evident, should any untoward circumstance prevent the mutual aid by which their little fund accumulated, it would be severely felt by all. Their path in life had not been the humble one through which they now struggled, battling with disease and poverty; for at no very late period, though long enough to have escaped the memory of sunny friends, they had lived in affluence. But reverse came to them as to thousands of others, happily not always with such disasterous effects ; for the sudden loss of his fortine so completely mastered the energies of Mr. Chilson, as brought him in the course of a few months to his present deplorable state-helpless- hopeless-a burden to himself and family; but far were they from owning the burden. It was a lovely sight, the devotion of mother and children to that poor, helpless, old man. Upon Amy the hopes of this little family were placed. page: 208-209 (Illustration) [View Page 208-209 (Illustration) ] 208 AMY. She was their support and comfort. Althougl, as I have said, born in affluence, Amy Chilson now followed the humble occupation of a seamstress. She considered her- self fortunate in having obtained the patronage of two or three ladies of fashion, by whom she was kept constantly employed, and there is no need of saying that, on her part, Amy was faithful and unwearied in her efforts to please. Day after day, beneath the rays of a scorching sun or through drenching rains, did the young girl hie cheerfully to her toil-subjected through the day perhaps to super- cilious looks, the sneer, the cutting reproach, the whims and caprices of her patronesses. But it was to earn bread for the loved ones at home, and so poor Amy submitted to all with a cheerful, happy spirit, reaping the harvest at home of contentment even for her own lowly lot, when placed in comparison with the hollow, frivolous scenes to which she was a daily witness. Mrs. Chilson folded books for the honest bookbinder occupying the lower story. It was but little she could earn, it is true, but every little is much to the poor. Caroline embroidered in worsteds, knit comforters, mittens, and chil- dren's jackets, while it was little Nina's province to help all, to amuse father, tidy up the room for mother, and assort the gay worsted for her sister. Busy as a bee then page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] AMY. 2" was Nina from morning till night, and her voice, like the song of a young bird, brought gladness to the dwelling. It was late in the afternoon of a cold, boisterous day in midwinter, one of those days when one appreciates a rest within doors, and a nook in the "ingle side." A cheer- ful fire was blazing from the grate, while drawn up in one corner of the fireplace, a large, old, easy chair supported the helpless frame of Mr. Chilson. At his feet sat little Nina assorting her crewels, and spreading them as she did so over the knees of the old man, who, pleased as an infant at their rainbow shades, toyed and laughed as she play- fully waved each skein before his eyes, ere placing it with the- others. Seated near the only window in the room, that not a ray of precious daylight might be lost, sat Mrs. Chilson and Caroline, each busily engaged with her work. No carpet covered the floor-but it was admirably clean, and every little article of furniture--the few chairs, the table, the little bookshelf-was as neat as it could be. In one corner of the room a coarse muslin csrtain concealed the beadstead, which turned up to the wall, after a fashion now superseded by the more graceful sofa-bed and other ingenious devices. Poor Amy will have a cold walk this bitter evening," said Mrs Chilson, looking forth as she spoke upon the page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 AMY. dreary scene. "See, Caroline, how every one hurries along, as if eager to reach their fireside ;-God help those who have none to go to!" And with pious gratitude, Mrs. Chilson mentally thanked her Maker for the comfort yet left them. "I hope I shall be soon able to take Amy's place mother," said Caroline; "It is hard she should always be the one to encounter such dreadful weather; next year, don't you think next year, mother, I can work for Mrs. Harris as well as Amy!" "You are a good child!" said Mrs. Chilson, putting back the long golden ringlets. and kissing the fair brow before her. "Hark, how the wind blows!" exclaimed little Nina, listening to the gust which now swept around the dwelling. "How I wish we lived in Arch Street now; then dear sister could stay at home. Ah, I can just remember, mother, how, whenever it stormed, you always sent the carriage to bring Amy and Caroline from school. "Car-riage," mumbled the poor invalid; " car-riage- oh, yes, order the car-riage, and tell John to drive care- fully-care-fully-it is warm-very warm for the poor horses." "Poor dear father!" sighed Caroline, "he little knows how hard his darling Amy toils for us; ah, she is coming; page: 214 (Illustration) -215[View Page 214 (Illustration) -215] MY' RETURN HOME AFTER% BEING DISMSSED. AMY. - 215 yes, there she is just turning the corner: why how slow she walklis!" "The wind is very strong and directly in her face, poor girl!" said Mrs. Chilson. Nina in the meanwhile sprang from her seat, and ran fleetly down the stairs, to open Jhe hall door for her sister. Slowly, slowly, Amy toiled up the narrow staircase, for grief made her footsteps heavy, and with a pale, sad coun- tenance she ent[ered the little chamber. "Now God help us, dear mother!" she cried, falling on her mother's neck, and bursting into tears. Amy, my child, my darling, what is the matter?" exclaimed Mrs. Chilson. "Sweet sister, dear Amy wlat is it,--what has hap- pened?" exclaimed Caroline, hanging fondly over her, while little Nina, falling on her knees, threw her arms around both mother and sister, sobbing as if her little heart would break. "Amy. tell me, I beseech you, what is it distresses you; has any one dared to insult my poor child?" cried iMrs. Chilson. "Oh no, thank God, not that. dear mother!" answered Amy, unloosing her arms from. her mother's neck, and looking sadly in her face; " bu; I know not what is to become of us, nor where I shall find work for to-morrow, page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 AMY. for, alas, dear mother, Mrs. Harris has told me that I need not come to her again." "Amy!" "It is so, mother: and on calling at Mrs. Frisbie's and Mrs. Dunn's, I find through Mrs. Harris's recommen- dation they also have engaged another person to work for them." "My poor children," said Mrs, Chilson, regarding the weeping group; " and what reason have they for dismiss; ing you, Amy?' "They give none, and I know of none, unless they have found some one they can employ cheaper; but I should not mind it so much if I knew of any other situa- tion where I might at once obtain employment, for I fear dear mother, ere I am able to secure another situation, you will suffer for want of my little earnings." "'God-tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,' my love," answered Mrs. Chilson, kissing her. "Let us not forget that others must live as well as ourselves, and perhaps some one even more needy has obtained Mrs. Harris's patronage; let this thought reconcile us to a misfortune so unlooked for; we will place our trust in God, and look forward with hope to the future." "Dear mother, you are always so cheerful and so re- signed,' said Amy, " that it is a reproach for your children AMY'. 217 to give away one moment to despondency in your pre- sence. Come, dear Caroline, dry your eyes, and you too, darling Nina, let us follow our mother's noble example,- yes, we will look to the future with hope. And now, girls, let us get the supper ready, and then we will calmly consider what is best to be done in this emergency." Yes, sup-per, have sup-per," slowly articulated the old man; "we'll have oys-ters, Mrs. Chilson, and cham- pagne: John, bring in 'glass-es we'll have a glo-ri-ous supper!" "Amy bent over her poor old father, and kissed his cheek, tenderly smoothing his long silvery hair. '"Thank God she whispered!" to Caroline, ' our poor dear father does not realize our troubles." When their frugal meal was prepared, Amy kneeling on a low footstool by the side of her decrepit parent, fed him as tenderly as a babe, and then in a low, sweet voice sang a pleasing lullably, which soon closed the eyes of the old man in sleep. The evening was passed in forming hopes and plans for the future, which the morning was doomed to dissipate. For weeks poor Amy sought employment; occasionally the sympathizing neighbors favored her with some tri fling work, but this was at best precarious. Mrs. Chilson, became-uddenly ill-the father was daily growing more 28 page: 218-219 (Illustration) [View Page 218-219 (Illustration) ] 218 AMY. querulous and exacting-their little money was gone.- and with rigid economy their small stock of fuel and groce- ries was rapidly diminishing. What wonder poor Amy almost despaired-for she saw only poverty and wretched- ness, impending over those she loved. Such was one result of Mrs. Harris's policy. CHAPTER III. AFTER an absence of six years, Leonard Darlington returned from India. During this long separation from country and friends, he had accumulated a handsome for- tune, and had come home, as he expressly declared, to look out for a wife, and settle down into the sober state of matrimony. He was not yet six-and-twenty, fine-looking, graceful in his manners, and agreeable in his conversation. But what was far better, he added to these outward gifts a noble, generous heart, and fine talents, highly improved by education and travel. The morning after his return, Leonard strolled into' his sister's apartment, and throwing himself carelessly upon the lounge, proceeded to make inquiries about those of their friends with whom he was most intimate ere he went abroad. "The Nixons, Ida, what has become of them?'" IDA. o page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] l;, I f AMY. - 221 "Oh they are immensely rich, and are living in splen- did style. Cornelia-you remember Cornelia?-she is a sweet girl, I assure you, and quite a belle." -Time does work wonders then!" answered her brother, laughing, i' for I recollect her as a little, freckled, awk- ward school-girl, with great grey eyes. Well, the Cassidys and the Dewarts?" 'Very dashing, fashionable people, I assure you, Leo- nard," replied Idia. "To be sure Mr. Cassady failed a year, or two since, and every body thought they would go down, but it made no difference at all in their style;-- they did, I believe, give up their carriage for a month or two, but they now sport one of the most elegant equipages in Chesnut Street. "The Chilsons, Ida; are they still living in Arch Street?" inquired Leonard. "Oh no; their glory has departed, Leonard; indeed I know nothing about them. Mr o Chilson failed ever so many years ago,-just after you went away, I b elieve,- and they lived so shabbily, that of course mamma could not think of visiting; afterwards I heard Mr. Chilson had a fit or something of the'kind, and then they moved off, I don't know where." "You surprise me," said her brother, " when you and Amy were such intimate friends, surely the loss of pro- page: 222-223 (Illustration) [View Page 222-223 (Illustration) ] 222 AMY. perty could not have affected your friendship in such a manner!" "Why, you know, Leonard, people of our style cannot visit every body;-Amy was a dear girl, and I am sure I almost cried my eyes out at first, because mamma would not let me visit her any longer; but I suppose it is all right; we must do as the rest of the world do." "No, it is not right, Ida," answered her brother ; and who or what constitutes the world you speak of? A few people who live in fine houses, and ride in, fine coaches! Fie, Ida; if upon such you pin your faith, if of such is your world, then break from its trammels at once and for ever, dear sister; such servility is unworthy of you." "Nonsense, how you talk, Leonard!" exclaimed Ida. "What queer notions you have picked up-as odd as the people you have been among. Recollect, Mr. Leonard Darlington, we are ranked among the elite of the city, and to extend our acquaintance to bankrupts and beggars, would be folly." "Ida, my dear sister, if you are, as you say, among the elite, which, I suppose, means the most fashionable, then set a noble example, and welcome the good and virtuous to your circle alike, whether they come in ermined robe, or in the homely guise of poverty." "Ridiculous Leonard!" said Ida, turning pettishly away. fq4 CORNEL [A I 'H. S page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] I I j AMY. i225 "And listen, Ida," continued her brother; "suppose you in turn should become poor, do you think your world would longer recognise Ida Darlington the belle of W-- Square? No, Ida, you would be forgotten in a week, and your dearest friends would pass you unrecognised, or with a condescending bow, more cutting than their neglect!" 'You talk so strangely," answered Ida; "as if ue could ever become poor and if we did, I am sure the loss of wealth could never alter our position in society!" Leonard smiled: "Well, dear sister, I trust you may never be able to acknowledge the fallacy of your present belief! Poor Amy Chilson! Then you can tell me nothing of her?" "Nothing, Leonard; why you look as forlorn as Don Quixote. Ah, I had forgotten your boyish penchant; now I remember, you used to call her your little wife. And so six years of absence has not obliterated the im- pression the soft blue eyes of Amy made upon your heart! Heigho, poor Leonard! But come with me, I will introduce you to Cornelia Nixon; in her brilliant smiles you will soon forget your old flame; come, Leonard." "Ida I will not rest until I find out what has become of Amy Chilson," replied her brother; " and if I find her all I expect, and her heart free, it will go hard but my youthful dream shall be realized. However, I have 29 page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 22a AMY. no objections to renewing my acquaintance with Miss Nixon. Ah, sister," he continued, kissing Ida's rosy cheek, "the world has almost spoiled you; this little heart must beat more healthfully ere we part again." CHAPTER IV. THE reader will recollect Mrs. Mayhew, and the inte- s rest she expressed for Miss Chilson. She had been in the habit of seeing her occasionally at Mrs. Harris's when invited by that lady to the nursery, either to pass material criticism upon the swollen gums of " baby," or to examine the "love of a silk cashmere," just sent from Levy's. At these times she had been much struck by the modest and ladylike deportment of the young seamstress, and, upon learning her sudden dismissal from Mrs. Harris's, felt deeply interested for her. She resolved to find her, that if, as she feared, the selfishness of Mrs. Harris had been a cause of misfortune to the young girl, she might herself repair the evil. Upon calling at Mrs. Frisbie's and Dunn's to ascertain the address of Amy, they professed the same ignorance as Mrs. Harris. So long as the needle plied faithfully, what interest had they in the machine by which it was wielded! Mrs. Mayhew, however, continued every possi- -AMY. 227 ble measure she could devise to discover Amy's abode, but her efforts proved vain; whe it happened one morn- ing that her youngest child was leized with a sudden ill- ness, which in a few moments br ught the family physi- cian to the bedside. After adminstering proper re edies to the child, the Doctor sat down, and, turning to Mrs. Mayhew, said: "I have met with a very singular adventure, and found an old friend under the most pai ful circumstances. Last evening I was called in great h ste to attend a person whom the messenger reported to be, as he feared, in the agonies of death. I lost no time my gig was fortunately at the door, and, bidding the ma get in with me, I drove as fast as possible to the house f the sick person, and hastened up the gloomy stairway, and into the room my conductor pointed out. Upon a low bed lay a woman, apparently nearly exhausted by violent hemorrhage of the lungs. The blood was still dozing from her mouth and nostrils, and a cold, clammy sweat already bedewed her death-pale countenance. At the head of the bed sat a beautiful little girl, propping th pillow which supported her mother; while, kneeling, on the floor, a young girl, with a face almost as deathly as he one over which she was bending, gently wiped the bl od as it gushed forth, and tenderly chafed the brow and emples of the suffering page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 AMY. woman. Never shall I forget her look of agony as she read the doubt upon my countenance. I bade her take courage, that I yet hoped to save her mother. I soon stopped the bleeding and applied proper restoratives to the almost inanimate foir. Her pulse gradually strength- ened, her breathing became more regular, and in a short time I had the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes. There was something in her countenance which struck me from the first as being familiar. I could not help think- ing I had seen it before; but when or where I could not remember. It appeared to me, also, as the poor sick lady languidly opened her eyes, there was a ray of recognition as they met mine. The young girl beckoned me into an adjoining room, where another harrowing sight awaited me. An old man lay stretched upon the bed, as cold and senseless as the clods, which must soon cover him. His eyes were open, but the film of death already hid the world from their sight. Painful was the heavy, laboured breathing which told that he yet lived. Another fair girl, whom I had not seen before, sat by the bedside, and held one hand of the dying man clasped in hers. "' Tell me, tell me, Doctor, will she live-will our dear mother live?' whispered the lovely girl -whom I had first seen, catching my arm, and looking up, breath- lessly, into my face. AMY. 229 "' I cannot answer for the event, my dear young lady,' I replied; 'yet, I assure you, from her present symptoms, I think I may safely bid you hope.' u' Thank God!' exclaimed both sisters. "I then inquired how long t;heir mother had been ill. "' For many weeks,' answered the elder; 'she has not been confined all the time to her bed, but has suffered greatly from debility and a heavy cough. We are too poor, as you see,' she added, glancing around the scantily furnished apartment, while a slight colour mantled her pale face, 'to call in medical aid, when it is possible to dispense with it, and, therefore, our dear mother has been gradu- ally getting weaker and weaker!' A tear rolled down her cheek as she drew me to the bedside of the old man. "ook; our poor father has teen for years, but little better than you now see him-scarcely conscious of exist- ence. About two hours since, I was preparing to go out for a few moments; my father was sitting, as usual, in his chair, and my dear mother had just thrown herself on the bed. I think my poor father must have had another fit, for he suddenly became convulsed, and fell forward upon the floor. My mother screamed, and sprang from the bed; but, alas, ruptured a blood vessel in the attempt. The fright and exertion was too much for her, and she sank into the dying state in which yoea found her.' page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 AMY. "The poor girl could no longer suppress her tears, and, for a few moments, wept unrestrainedly. I told the un- happy young girls that their father would not, probably, survive until morning ; and recommending such measures as I deemed judicious, returned into the other room. As I approached the bedside of my patient, she opened her eyes, and made an effort to speak. Placing my finger on my lips, I entreated her not to make the exertion. She then smiled faintly, and extended her hand. Now the truth suddenly flashed upon me: "' You are Mrs. Chilson!' I exclaimed, clasping her feeble hand in mine." "Chilson-did you say Chilson?" eagerly demanded Mrs. Mayhew, for the first time interrupting the narrative. "Yes, my dear Mrs. Mayhew. It is indeed too true; in that suffering family I recognized that of the once wealthy Richard Chilson." The Doctor paused a moment to subdue his emotion and then continued. "In their days of prosperity I was their friend and physician, and now found myself again singularly brought to the bedside of the once beautiful Mrs. Chilson. But how great the contrast! When last I stood by her sick couch every luxury and comfort surrounded her, all the delicacies which wealth could furnish to tempt the appetite, AMY. 231 the soothing kindness of friends, the most experienced and careful nurses-and now----But I cannot go on; you should witness their present misery to feel the force of what I would say! But to return. After a while, finding I had known them in their prosperous days, the young girls fieely related their sad history. It seems the chief support of the family was dependent upon the eldest daughter- a beautiful, charming girl, Mrs. Mayhew--who for some time had followed the profession of a seamstress. A month or two since she was suddenly thrown out of work, and"- "Oh, I know all the rest!" cried Mrs. Mayhew, burst- ing into tears. "Poor, poor girl! thank God I have at last found her!" She then related to the sympathizing Doctor those events with which the reader is already acquainted. "C And now, dear Doctor," she continued, "take me there at once; let us not lose a moment in going to the relief of the unhappy family!" "God bless you, my dear woman!" exclaimed'the Doctor, his honest countenance glowing with pleasure; "God bless you!-you will cheat me of my prerogative of doing good if I don't take care!" page: 232-233 (Illustration) [View Page 232-233 (Illustration) ] CHAPTER V. "ET us now give a brief space to Mrs. Harris. On the same evening when poor Amy Chilson was bending almost heart-broken over her suffering parent, she was dressing to attend a brilliant party given by the fashionable Mrs. --. For more than a week the suc- cessor of Amy had been unremittingly tasked, in prepar- ing the elegant costume in which Mrs. Harris chose to shine for that night," and that night only." Another chef-d'euvre of this politic lady, was to put into the hands of her hired seamstress all the fine and difficult work, the embroidery, flouncing, and furbelowing, and the endless trimmings usually left to the expert dress-maker or milliner. But such a course saved her many a dollar, which she felt free, therefore to expend upon some new and costly article of dress, in turn to be made up in the same cheap manner. (232) MRS. HARRIS. 30 c C page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] v I AM* ..235 Patient and uncomplaining, poor Lydia Gales sat at her task, but the fingers of the ceedle-slave moved slowly, for her strength was nearly e hausted, and a headache, as merciless as her employer, tormented her. Now and then she raised her eyes timid y, and with a look of dread to the time-piece, for it only vanted half an hour to the time when the dress would be required, and, alas! there was yet much to be done to the beautiful robe, ere it could adorn the well-made figure of ] rs. Harris. That lady, enveloped in a costly negligee, was under the hands of her hair-dresser, listening to choice bits of scandal, and trying to look grave at the gross flattery of her maid, whose chief business Heemed to be throwing her- self into every possible attitude expressive of her admira- tion, like a dancing Jack, set in motion by a string. Mrs. Harris however, was not so abso bed as to forget her robe. and now and then broke out wi h, "Pray Gales, have not you al ost finished? Do make haste! I never saw any one so edious-,there, as I live, you are placing that flower upsi e down!" She might have seen that tea s were blinding the eyes of poor Lydia, who, making no reply, meekly corrected her mistake. The obsequious har-dresser gave the finish- ing touch, and taking a last look as he made his exit, pronounced the head 'Imagniiq e," and the maid, giving page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 AMY. a tragedy start, protested her mistress could not be more than sixteen. But Mrs. Harris was growing impatient-it was getting late, so she hurried and scolded unmercifully, which, only served to procrastinate. At length, however, the dress was pronounced finished, and so indeed was the poor seamstress; for, as she withdrew the last basting-thread, she fainted and fell to the floor, unfortunately crushing, as she did so, a splendid bouquet, which, at the price of five dollars had just been sent in from the florist's. Of course there was a great outcry in the dressing-room, shrill screams, and cries, for hartshorn and cologne, and when, at length, the poor girl was restored to conscious- ness, her awakening senses were greeted with "Dear me, what a fright I have made of myself! and look at my dress! I declare the trimming is quite rumpled! So you have come to," continued Mrs. Harris, looking over one shoulder at Lydia. "Well, Gales, I may as well tell you, you need not come to me any more; I cannot have my nerves so dreadfully shattered-why it would kill me in a week, I have so much sensibility. Here is a levy fox you; it is all I have convenient-there, you may go now; to-morrow you can call for the rest of your money. I hope you will get better, Gales, but you look dreadfully sick, and you must see the absurdity of my employing AMY. 237 any body who is too feeble to work. I told you so, you remember, when you first came to me, so you see you have no one to blame but yourself; you ought to exert yourself more-there, good night, Gales." And, turning to her mirror Mrs. Harris coolly adjusted her ringlets, and admired th6 exquisite lace which draped her shoulders, Tho poor girl staggered to tlAe door, and was forced to lean for support against the banisters for some moments, ere she could trust herself to descend the stairs. Oh, Mrs. Harris, could you have followed the tottering frame of that wretched girl to her shelter-could you have entered with her into that low, damp cellar, where scarce a ray of sunshine ever breaks the desolate gloom- have listened to the cries of starving, ragged children for "Bread, bread!"---would not the blush of shame have outrivalled the rouge upon your cheek? In one corner of this squalid abode sat a man, whose red and bloated countenance told too plainly the tale of his degradation-before him stood a small riband-loom, but the shuttle was idle, for the arms of the man hung sluggishly down, his head resting on his breast, while his heavy and muttered breathing showed him to be sleeping. In another corner a pale, haggard woman, her hair falling matted and tangled from a dirty, torn cap, and her fea- tures ghastly with want and poverty, was striving to soothe page: 238-239 (Illustration) [View Page 238-239 (Illustration) ] 238 AMY. the feeble wailing of a miserable little infant, which she held to her bosom. Poor Lydia! What though her temples throb until the swollen veins seem bursting, and her trembling limbs can scarce bear her o'er the threshold, yet there is work, work to be done! No time for sickness have the poor- work-work-work; though the brain may whirl, and the heart sink, and the strained eyeballs fain court! the darkness of the grave, yet hand and foot must to the task-work, work,-or starve! The step of Lydia, feeble as it was, aroused the sleeper. With a look of greedy joy, he arose and staggered towards her. "The money, the money, girl!" wrenching the work- bag from her hand, and eagerly rifling the little change it contained. "What, is this all?-curses on you!-now finish that job quick," jerking his head towards the loom; "quick, do you hear it must go in in the morning." And then with savage brutality thrusting aside a little child, who, clinging to his knees, begged for something to eat, the miserable wretch slammed to the door, to spend at the next grocer's stand, the little earnings of his child! And there is no work for the morrow-there is no work for the day after-a week, and still no work-no employ- ment. Alas poor Lydia! Who shall dare to judge thee?- -LYDIA'S FATHER. page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] AMYo 241 Who shall dare to scorn thee, that, to save thy mother and those helpless babes, thou hast parted with thine only jewel-thy innocence- "The good name,-the virgin's pure renown- Woman's white robe, and honour's starry crown, Lost, lost for ever?" Better would it have been for the poor girl to have died! Such was the second result of Mrs. Harris's selfish policy. And would this were no common case. Yet could the secrets of all hearts be read, might not many of those whose sickly beat is beneath the gauds of vice and shame, betray that the hand of selfishness-the pitiful desire to make the most of the bargain-the power which wealth must ever possess over the needy and destitute, has thrust them thus piteously forth to live and die out- "ast and degraded! Think of this, ye favoured sons and daughters of afflu- ence, and deal mercifully with the poor. CHAPTER VI. IT. is pleasant to look upon a brighter side of human nature than the last gloomy picture. Under the unremitting and skilful care of Dr. M-- 31 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] -* * * . A M Y * e and the kindness of Mrs. Mayhew, which brought comforts and luxuries to the sick couch, to which the poor invalid had long been a stranger, Mrs. Chilson was soon able to be removed to a pleasant little dwelling hired by the good physician, and a nice Irish girl employed to assist in the work of the family. Caroline and Nina were placed at school, while the patronage of Mrs. Mayhew soon supplied Amy with constant employment, such, too, as she could do at home, without being forced to leave her mother, who was still in very delicate health. One morning having finished a piece of work for which she knew Mrs. Mayhew was in a hurry, Amy put on her bonnet and carried it to her residence, which was only a few steps from her own. As she went through the hall, she met a gentleman apparently just leaving the house, who, as he passed the unassuming girl, politely raised his hat. Their eyes met, and, without knowing why, both parties involuntarily bowed;-although strangers, the thought for an instant glanced through the minds of each-" we have met before!" Strange!" exclaimed Leonard Darlington, as he walked slowly down the street, " strange how the counte- nance of that girl perplexes me. I am sure I must have seen it before, but where I cannot remember,-heigho!- only in my dreams I fear." , AMY. 243 ( Why, Leonard, I have waited for you this half hour!" cried his pretty sister Ida, meeting him. "Do you forget, truant, that you engaged yourself to Cornelia and me for the morning? Fie, what an ungallant lover!" "Pray, sister," retorted Leonard somewhat impatiently, "don't apply the title of lover to me quite yet, if you please. I have told you often that my heart can never belong to Miss Nixon,-but ah, Ida, such a sweet vision as just met my eyes!-would that I could trace it!" "And where, my sensitive brother, did this same vision cross your path demanded Ida. "In the vestibule at Mrs. Mayhew's. She was not a visiter, I should judge. I migh:, perhaps, from her simple attire, conclude her to be some humble relative of the family." "I a ha! poor Leonard!-now I'll bet you your wed- ding gloves that you have lost your heart to Mrs. May- hcw's pretty chambermaid, or her dressmaker ;-fickle, fickle fellow! And what becomes, pray, of your six year's fealty to poor Amy Chilson?" interrupted Ida, laughing merrily. "Amy CNlilson!" mused Leonard; "Amy--By heavens! her very eye; but no, it cannot be-yet how strangely her countenance brings up before me the beautiful features of Amy." * ; page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 AMY. The same evening Leonard presented himself before Mrs. Mayhew, not a little to the surprise of the lady, for only that morning he had offered ass an apology for not accepting some invitation she had for him, a previous engagement to the opera. Leonard soon introduced the subject which brought him there by observing: "As I left your house this morning, my dear madam, I passed a young lady in the hall whose countenance greatly interested me, and my desire to discover who she was, is the only apology I have to give for my apparent fickleness of purpose." "This morning, Mr. Darlington? I believe I have had no visiters to-day, but Miss Cassady; you are ac- quainted with her, I think?" "Oh, no, it was not Miss Cassady by any means," said Leonard, smiling. "The young lady I allude to was dressed in very simple mourning, and if I mistake not, she had a small paper parcel --" "Oh, now I think I know-yes, she has a very sweet countenance indeed,-I don't wonder it struck you," cried Mrs. Mayhew. "But who-who is she?" inquired hpr visiter. "It is Miss Chilson--Amy 'Chilsori-a 'young lady who---" AMY. 245 Leonard waited to hear no;hing further, but springing from the sofa, he seized the hand of Mrs. Mayhew, pressing and kissing it, as though the dainty little digits of Amy were already in his clasp. "My dear, dear lady, you have made me the happiest of men!" he exclaimed. "You have restored to me her whom for months I have vainly sought;-where is she,- where may I find her, Mrs Mayhew!" "Not a thousand miles off!" she replied, smiling; " only up one flight of stairs--as the young lady happens at the present moment to be engaged in a game of romps with little Miss Lilla and Master Harry,-you shall see her presently; only restrain your impatience, and hear me for a moment." She then gave Leonard a brief sketch of her acquain- tance with the Chilsons, to which you may be sure he lis- tened with breathless interest. We will not trace the path of our young heroine fur- tlher-we found her in poverty, and we leave her in a state of affluence, which, as the wife of Leonard Darlin-g ton,- she honours and adorns. With her, mother and sis- ters find a happy home, and it is needless to say that she, who could make so dutiful a child, cannot fail to be, an exemplary wife. As for Mrs. Harris, she was the first to call upon the page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 AMY. once despised "Cilson." But Amy shrank from her with abhorrence. Whenever she meets her, the memory of that bitter night when she was turned hopeless from her door- the image of that poor old man-of that suffering mother- comes up before her, and she turns faint and shuddering away. Let us hope, however, there are not many of my fair country women who resemble Mrs. Harris in heart, al- though there may be those who are thoughtlessly pursuing the same destructive course, who sincerely think they are not only doing their duty to their families, but really take credit to themselves for the cheap rates which they pay their poor seamstress. This is not because they are hard- hearted, or would willingly impose upon those whom they employ-it is want of consideration-culpable, I allow, but not irreparable. There is room for better state of things; and may the day soon come when the truth of Hood's touching appeal may no longer ring upon the conscience. page: 248 (Illustration) -249[View Page 248 (Illustration) -249] MR. BOOLEY. ,it r 1coqP of i txji(oS^j q J bcJkelle No longer ago than this Easter time last past, we be- came acquainted with the subject of the present notice. Our knowledge of him it is not by any means an intimate one, and is only of a public nature. We have never inter- changed any conversation with him, except on one occasion, when he asked us to have the goodness to take off our hat, to which we replied, "Certainly." 32 (249) page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTMAORDINARY TRAVELLER. Mr. Booley was born, we believe) in Rood Lane, in the city of London. He is now, a gentleman advanced in life, and has for some years resided in the neighborhood of Ishngton. His father was a wholesale grocer (perhaps,) and he was (possibly) in the same way of business; or he may, at an early age, have become a clerk in the bank of England, or in a private bank, or in the India house. It will be observed that we make no pretence of having any information in reference to the private historiy of this remarkable man, and that our account of it must be received as rather speculative than authentic. In person Mr. Booley is below the middle size, and corpulent. His countenance is florid, he is perfectly bald, and wears a wig; and there is a composure in his gait and manner, calculated to impress a stranger with the idea of his being on the whole, an unwieldly man. It is only in his eye that the adventurous character of Mr. Booley is seen to shine. It is a moist, bright eye, of a cheerful expression, and indicative of keen and eager curiosity. It was not until late in life that Mr. Booley conceived the idea of entering on the extraordinary amount of travel he has since accomplished. He had attained the age of sixty-five, before he left England for the fist time. In all the immense journies her has since performed, he ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAO DINARY TRAVELLER. 251 has never laid aside the Englis! dress, nor departed in the slightest degree from English customs. Neither does he speak a word of any language put his own. Mr. Booley's powers of end rance are wonderful. All climates are alike to him. N othing exhausts him; no alternations of heat and cold appear to have the least effect upon his hardy frame. I is capacity of travelling, day and night, for thousands- f miles, has never been approached by any traveller of whom we have any know- ledge, through the help of boo s. An intelligent Eng- lishman may have occasionally pointed out to him objects and scenes of interest; but otherwise he has travelled alone, and unattended. Though remarkable for personal cleanliness, he has carried no I ggage; and his diet has been of the simplest kind. He has often found a biscuit or a bun, sufficient for his supp rt over a vast tract of country. Frequently, he has travelled hundreds of, miles, fasting, without the least abatement of his natural spirits. It says much for the rotal Abstinence cause, that Mr. Booley has never had recourse to the artificial stimulus of alcohol, to sustain hi under his fatigues. His first departure from the se entary and monotonous life he had hitherto led, strikingl exemplifies, we think, the energetic character, long suppressed by that un- changing routine. Without any c ommunication with any page: 252 (Illustration) -253[View Page 252 (Illustration) -253] ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRA RDINARY TRAVELLER. 25:3 member of his family--Mr. 0ooley has never been mar- ried, but has many relation -without announcing his intention to his solicitor, or banker, or any person en- trusted with the management of his affairs, he closed the door of his house behind him at one o'clock in the after- noon'of a certain day, and imm ediately proceeded to New Orleans, in the United States {f America. His intention was to ascenq the Mississippi and Mis- souri rivers, to the base of the .ocky Mountains. Taking his passage in a steamboat without loss of time, he was soon upon the bosom of the ] ather of Waters, as the Indians call the mighty stream which, night and day, is always carrying huge instalme Its of the vast continent of the New World, down into t e sea. Mr. Booley found it singular y interesting to observe the various stages of civilisatio obtaining on the banks of these mighty rivers. Leavin the luxury and bright- ness of New Orleans-ar somewhat feverish luxury and brightness, he observed, as if the swampy soil were too much enriched in the hot sun-a- d passing various towns in every stage of progress, it wa very curious to observe the changes of civilisation and of vegetation too. Here, where the Negro race were wor ing in the plantations, iwhile the overseer looked on, trop cal trees were growing, beautiful flowers in bloom; the lligator, With his hor. page: 254-255 (Illustration) [View Page 254-255 (Illustration) ] 254 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. THE ALLIGATOR. ribly sly face, and his jaws like two great saws, was basking on the mud; and the strange moss of the country was hanging in wreaths and garlands on the trees, like votive offerings. A little farther towards the west, and the trees and flowers were changed, the moss was gone, younger infant towns were rising, forests were slowly dis- appearing, and the trees obliged to aid in the destruction of their kind, fed the heavily-breathing monster that came clanking up those solitudes, laden with the pioneers of the advancing human armv. The river itself, that moving highway, showed him every kind of floating con- page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. INDIAN BURIAL PLACE SEEN BY MR BOOLEY. trivane, from the lumbering flat-bottomed boat, and the raft of logs, upward to the steamboat, and downward to the poor Indian's frail canoe. A. winding thread through the enormous range of country, unrolling itself before the wanderer like the magic skein in the story, he saw it tracked by wanderers of every kind, loaming from the more settled world, to those first nests of men. The float. ing theatres dwelling-house, hotel, museum, shop; the floating mechanism for screwing the trunks of mighlty ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TrAVELLER. 257 trees out of the mud, like anjedeluvian teeth; the rapidly- flowing river, and the blazing woods; he left them all behind-town, city, and log-cabin, too; and floated up into the prairies and savannahs, among the deserted lodges of tribes of savages, and among their dead, lying alone on little wooden stages with their stark faces upward towards the sky. Among the blazing grass, and herds of buffaloes and wild horses, and among the wigwams of the fast-declining Indians, he began to consider how, in the eternal current of progress setting across this globe in one unchangeable direction, like the unseen agency that points the needle to the pole, the chiefs who only dance the dances of their fathers, and will never have a new figure for a new tune, and the Medicine-men who know no medicine but what was medicine a hundred years ago, must be surely and inevitably swept from the earth, whether they be Choctaws, Mandans, Britons, Austrians, or Chinese. He was struck, too, by the reflection that savage nature was not by any means such a fine and noble spec- tacle'as some delight to represent it. He found it a poor, greasy, paint-plastered, miserable thing enough; but a very little way above the beasts in most respects; in many customs a long way below them. It occurred to him that the "Big Bird," or the "' Bie Fish," or any of the other 33 page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. braves, was but a troublesome braggart after all; making a mighty whooping and holloaing about nothing particu- lar, doing very little for science, not much more than the monkeys for art, scarcely any thing worth mentioning for letters, and not often making the world greatly better than he found it. Civilisation, Mr. Booley concluded, was, on the whole, with all its blemishes, a more im- posing sight, and a far better thing to stand by. Mr. Booley's observations of the celestial bodies, on this voyage, were principally confined to the discovery of the alarming fact, that light had altogether departed from the moon; which presented the appearance of a white dinner-plate. The clouds, too, conducted them- solves in so extraordinary a manner, and assumed the most eccentric forms, while the sun rose and set in a very reckless way. On his return to his native country, how- ever, he had the satisfaction of finding all these things as usual. It might have been expectel that at his advanced age, retired from the active dutris of life, blest with a competency, and happy in the atI cetions of his numerous relations, Mr. Booley would now have settled himself down, to muse, for the remainder of his days, over the new stock of experience thus acquired. But travel had whetted, not satisfied his appetite; and remembering ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. 259 that he had not seen the Ohio river, except at the point of its junction with the Mississippi; he returned to the United States, after a short; interval of repose, and appearing suddenly at Cincinnati, the queen city of the west, traversed the clear waters of the Ohio to its falls. In this expedition he had the pleasure of encountering a party of intelligent workmen from Birmingham, who were making the same tour. Also his nephew Septimus, aged only thirteen. This intrepid boy had started from Peck- ham, in the old country, with two and sixpence sterling in his pocket; and had, when he encountered his uncle at a point of the Ohio river, called Snaggy Bar, still .one shilling of that sumn remaining Again at home, Mr. Booley was so pressed by his ap- petite for knowledge as to renain home only onei day. At the expiration of that short period, he actually started for Tew Zealand. It is almost incredible that a man in Mr. Booley's sta- tion of life, however adventurous his nature, and however few his artificial wants, should cast himself on a voyage of thirteen thousand miles from Great Britain with no other outfit than his watch and purse, and no arms but his walking-stick. We are, however, assured on the best authority, that thus he made the passage out, and thus appeared in the act of wiping his smoking head with his page: 260-261 (Illustration) [View Page 260-261 (Illustration) ] 260 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. NEW ZEALANDERS. pocket-handkerchief, at the entrance to Port Nicholson in Cook's Straits: with the very spot within his range of vision, where his illustrious predecessor, Captain Cook, so unhappily slain at Owyhee, once anchlored. After contemplating, the swarms of cattle maintained on the hills in this neighborhood, and always to be found by the stockmen when they are wanted, though nobody takes any care of thcm---which Mr. Booley considered H In ijlHI fj MiIt II Ii i i page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] I I - I ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. 263 the more remarkable, as their natural objection to be killed might be supposed to be augmented by the beauty of the climate--Mr. Booley proceeded to the town of Wellington. Having minutely examined it in every point, and made himself perfect master of the whole natural history and process of manufacture of the flax- plant, with its splendid yellow blossoms, he repaired to a Native Pa, which, unlike the :Native Pa to which he was accustomed, he found to be a town, and not a parent. Here he observed a chief with a long spear, making every demonstration of spitting a visiter, but really giving him the Maori or welcome-a word Mr. Booley is inclined to derive from the known hospitality of the English mayors-and here also he observed some Euro- peans rubbing noses, by way of shaking hands, with the aboriginal inhabitants. After participating in an affray between the natives and the English soldiery, in which the former were defeated with great loss, he plunged into the bush, and there camped cut for some months, until he made-a survey of the whole country. While leading this wild life, encamped by night near a stream for the convenience of water, in a Ware or hut, built open in the front, with a roof slooping backward to the ground, and made of poles, covered and enclosed with bark or fern, it was Mr. Booley's singular fortune to page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARiY TRAVELLER. t TIIE CHEF WrIThI THE LONG SPEAR. encounter Miss Creeble, of the Misses Creebles' Boarding and Day Establishment for young Ladies, Kennington Oval, who, accompanied by three of her young ladies in search of information, had achieved this marvellous journey, and was then also in the bush. Miss Creeble having very unsettled opinions on the subject of gun- ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRA RDINARY TRAVELLER. 265 powder, was afraid that it e tered into the composition of the fire before the tent, nd that 'something would presently blow up or go of. Mr. Booley as a more experienced traveller assuri g her that there was no danger; and calming the fea s of the young ladies, an acquaintance commenced bet ween them. They accom- plished the rest of their travel in New Zealand together, and the best understanding prevailed among the little party. They took notice of the trees, as the Kaikatea, the Kauri, the Ruta, the Pulatea, the Hinau, and the Tanakaka-names which Miss Oreeble had a bland relish in pronouncing. They admired the beautiful, arborescent, palm-like fern, abounding eve y where, and frequently exceeding thirty feet in height. They wondered at the curious owl, who is supposed to demand "More Pork :! where ever he flies, and whom iss Creeble termed " an admonition of Nature's against greediness!"And they contemplated some very ramp nt natives, of cannibal propensities. After many plea ing and instructive vicis- situdes, they returned to England in company, where the ladies were safely put into a hackney cabriolet by Mr. Booley, in Leicester Square, Lo don. And now, indeed, it might I ave been imagined that that roving spirit, tired of ra bling about the world, would have settled down at ho e in peace and honor. 34 page: 266-267 (Illustration) [View Page 266-267 (Illustration) ] 266 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. AN AUSTRALIAN. Not so. After repairing to the tubular bridge across the Menai Straits, and accompanying Her Majesty on her visit to Ireland (which he characterized as " a magnificent Exhibition,") Mr. Booley, with his usual absence of pre- paration, departed for Australia. Here again, he lived out in the bush, passing his time chiefly among the working-gangs of convicts who were carrying timber. He was much impressed by the fero- cious mastiffs chained to barrels, who assist the sentries in page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] L ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRACRDINARY TRAVELLER. 269 keeping guard over those misdoers. But he observed that the atmosphere in this part of the world, unlike the descriptions he had read of it, was extremely thick, and that objects were misty, and difficult to be discerned. From a certain unsteadiness and trembling, too, which he fiequently remarked on the face of nature, he was led to conclude that this part of the globe was subject to con- vulsive heavings and earthquakes. This caused him to return, with some precipitation. Again at home, and probably reflecting that the coun- tries he had hitherto visited were new in the history of man, this extraordinary traveller resolved to proceed up the Nile to the second cataract. At the next perform- ance of the great ceremony of "opening the Nile," at Cairo, Mr. Booley was present, Along that wonderful river, associated with such stu- pendous fables, and with a history mrore prodigious than any fancy of man, in its vast and gorgeous facts; among temples, palaces, pyramids, colossal statues, crocodiles, tombs, obelisks, mummies, sand and ruin; he proceeded, like an opium-eater in a mighty dream. Thebes rose before him. An avenue of two hundred sphinxes, with not a head among them-one of six or eight, or ten such avenues, all leading to a com on centre-conducted to the Temple of Carnak: its w lls, eighty feet high and I; page: 270-271 (Illustration) [View Page 270-271 (Illustration) ] 270 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER, twenty-five feet thick, a mile and three-quarters in cir- cunference; the interior of its tremendous hall, occu- pying an area of forty-seven thousand square feet, large enough to hold four great Christian churches, and yet not more than one-seventh part of the entire ruin. Obelisks he saw, thousands of years of age, as sharp as if the chisel had cut their edges yesterday; colossal statues fifty-two feet high, with "little" fingers five feet and a half long; a very world of ruins, that were marvellous old ruins in the days of HHerodotus; tombs cut high up in the rock, where European travellers live solitary, as in stony crows' nests, burning mummied Thebans, gentle and simple-of the dried blood royal maybe-for their daily fuel, and making articles of furniture of their dusty coffins. Upon the walls of temples, in colors fresh and bright as those of yesterday, he read the conquest of great Egyptian monarchs; upon the tombs of humbler people in the same blooming symbols, he saw their ancient way of working at their trades, of riding, driving, feasting, playing games; of marrying and burying, and perform- ing on instruments, and singing songs, and healing by the power of animal magnetism, and performing all the occupations of life. He visited the quarries of Silsileh, whence nearly all the red stone used by the ancient Egyptian architects and sculptors came; and there beheld THEBES, page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] I I IL ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. 273 enormous single-stoned colossal figures nearly finished-- redly sowed up, as it were, and trying hard to break out- waiting for the finishing touches, never to be given by the mummnied hands of thousands of years ago. In front of the temple of Abou Simbel, he saw gigantic figures sixty feet in height and twenty-one across the shoulders, dwarfing live men on camels down to pigmies. Elsewhere he beheld complacent monsters tumbled down like ill-used dolls of a Titanic make, and s;aring with stupid benignity at the arid earth whereon their huge faces rested. His last look of that amazing land was at the Great Sphinx, buried in the sand-sand in its eyes, sand in its cars, and drifte d on its broken nose, sand lodging, feet deep, in the ledges of its head-struggling out of a wide sea of sand as if to look hopelessly forth -for the ancient glories onco surrounding it. In this expedition, Mr. Boley acquired some curious information in reference to the language of hierogTlyphics. He encountered the Simoom in the desert, and lay down with the rest of his caravan, u xtil it had passed ovrer., He also beheld on the horizon some of those stalking pillars of sand, apparently reaching from earth to heaven, which, with the red sun shining through them, so terrified the Arabs attendant on Bruce, that they fell prostrate, crying that the Day of Judgment was come. More Copts, 35 page: 274-275 (Illustration) [View Page 274-275 (Illustration) ] 274 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. Turks, Arabs, Fellahs, Bedouins, Mosques, Mamclukes, and Moosulmen he saw, than we have space to tell. Iis days were all Arabian Nights, and he saw wonders with- out end. This might have satiated any ordinary man, for a time at least. But Mr. Booley, being no ordinary man, within twenty-four hours of his arrival at home was making the overland journey to India. He has emphatically described this as "a beautiful piece of scenery," and " a perfect picture." The appear- ance of Malta and Gibraltar he can never sufficiently commend. In crossing the Desert from Grand Cairo to Suez, he was particularly struck by the undulation of the Sandscape (he preferred that word to Landscape, as more expressive of the region,) and by the incident of behold- ing a caravan upon its line of march; a spectacle which in the remembrance always affords him the utmost plea- sure. Of the stations on the Desert, and the cinnamon gardens of Ceylon, he likewise entertains a lively recol- lection. Calcutta he praises also; though he has been heard to observe that the British military at that seat of Government were not as well proportioned as he could desire the soldiers of his country to be; and that the; breed of horses there in use was susceptible of some improvement. page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] gr ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. 2" Once more in his native land, with the vigor of his constitution unimpaired by the many toils and fatigues he had encountered, what had Mr. Booley now to do, but, full of years and honor, to recline upon the grateful appreciation of his Queen and country, always eager to distinguish peaceful merit? What had he now to do, but to receive the decoration ever ready to be bestowed, in England, on. men deservedly distinguished, and to take his place among the best? He had this to do. He had yet to achieve the most astonishing enterprise for which he was reserved. In all the countries he had yet visited, he had seen no frost and snow. He resolved to make a voyage to the ice-bound Arctic Regions. In pursuance of this surprising determination, Mr. Booley accompanied the expedition under Sir James Ross, consisting of Her Majesty's ships, the Enterprise and Investigator, which sailed from the river Thames on the 12th of May, 1848, and which, on the 11th of Sep- tember, entered Port Leopold Harbor. In this inhospitable region, surrounded by eternal ice, cheered by no glimpse of the sun, shrouded in gloom and darkness, Mr. Booley passed the entire winter. The ships were covered in, and fortified all round with walls of ice and snow; the masts were frozen up; hoar frost settled on the yards, tops, shrouds, stays, and rigging; page: 278-279 (Illustration) [View Page 278-279 (Illustration) ] 278 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. around, in every direction, lay an interminable waste, on which only the bright stars, the yellow moon, and the vivid Aurora Borealis looked, by night or day. And yet the desolate sublimity of this astounding spec- tacle was broken in a pleasant and surprising manner. In the remote solitude to which he had penetrated, Mr. Booley (who saw no Esquimaux during his stay, though he looked for them in every direction) had the happiness of encountering two Scotch gardeners; several English compositors accompanied by their wives; three brass founders from the neighborhood of Long Aere, London; two coach painters, a gold-beater and his only daughter, by trade a stay-maker; and several other working-people from sundry parts of Great Britain who had conceived the extraordinary idea of " holiday-making" in the frozen wilderness. Iither, too, had Miss Creeble and her three young ladies penetrated; the latter atttired in braided peacoats of a comparatively light material; and Miss Creeble defended from the inclemency of a polar winter by no other outer garment than a wadded polka-jacket. He found this courageous lady in the act of explaining, to the youthful sharers of her toils, the various phases of nature by which they were surrounded. Her explana- tions were principally wrong, but her intentions always admirable. page: 280 (Illustration) -281[View Page 280 (Illustration) -281] ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. 281 Cheered by the society of these fellow-adventurers, Mr. Booley slowly glided on into the summer-season. And now, at midnight, all was bright and shining. Mountains of ice, wedged and broken into the strangest forms-jagged points, spires, pinnacles, pyramids, tur- rets, columns in endless succession and infinite variety, flashing and sparkling with ten thousand hues, as though the treasures of the earth were frozen up, in all that water-appeared on every side. Masses of ice, floating and driving hither and thither, menaced the hardy voy- agers with destruction; and-threatened to crush their strong ships, like nutshells. But below those ships was clear sea-water, now; the fortifying walls were gone; the yards, tops, shrouds and rigging, free from that hoary rust of long inaction, showed like themselves again; ind the sails, bursting from the masts, like foliage which the welcome sun at length developed, spread themselves to the wind, and wafted the travellers away. In the short interval that has elapsed since his safe return to the land of his birth, Mr. Booley has decided on no new expedition; but he feels that he will yet be called upon to undertake one, perhaps of greater magni- tude than any he has achieved, and frequently remarks, in his own easy way, that he wonders Where the deuce he will be taken to next! Possessed of good health and page: 282-283 (Illustration) [View Page 282-283 (Illustration) ] 282 ACCOUNT OF AN EXTRAORDINARY TRAVELLER. good spirits, with powers unimpaired by all he has gone through, and with an increase of appetite still growing with what it feeds on, what may not be expected yet from this extraordinary man! It was only at the close of Easter week that, sitting in an arm chair, at a private club called the Social Oysters, assembling at Highbury Barn, where he is much re- spected, this indefatigable traveller expressed himself in the following terms: "It is very gratifying to me," said he, " to have seen so much at any time of life, and to have acquired a know- ledge of the countries I have visited, which I could not have derived from books alone. When I was a boy, such travelling would have been impossible, as the gigantic- moving panorama or diorama mode of conveyance, which I have principally adopted (all my modes of conveyance have been pictorial,) had then not been attempted. It is a delightful characteristic of these times, that new and cheap means are continually being devised, for convey- ing the results of actual experience, to those who are unable to obtain such experiences for themselves; and to bring them within reach of the people-emphatically the people; for it is they at large who are addressed in these endeavors, and not exclusive audiences. Hence," said Mr. Booley, "even if I see a run on an idea like page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] i IA AUUVIVJN L vI AlY JPAllAUlDINARfY 'TiAVELLE. ZdOO the panorama one, it awakens no ill humor within me, but gives me pleasant thoughts. Some of the best re- sults of actual travel are suggested by such means to those whose lot it is to stay at home. New worlds open out to them, beyond their little worlds, and widen their range of reflection, information, sympathy, and interest. The more man knows of man, the better for the com- mon brotherhood among us all. I shall, therefore," said Mr. Booley, 4now propose to the Social Oysters the healths of Mr. Banvard, Mr. Brees, Mr. Phillips, Mr. Alien, Mr. Prout, Messrs. RBonomi, Fahey, and Warren, Mr. Thomas Grieve, Mr. Burford and Mr. Frankenstein. Long life to them all, and more power to their pencils!" The Social Oysters having drunk this toast with accla- mation, Mr. Booley proceeded to entertain them with anecdotes of his travels. This he is in the habit of doing after they have feasted together, according to the manner of Sinbad the Sailor-except that he does not bestow upon the Social Oysters the munificent reward of one hundred sequins per night, for listening. t t; page: 286-287 (Illustration) [View Page 286-287 (Illustration) ] OR THE WIDOW MOREL. BY E. B. GARDETTE, 1. D. THE spring rains in the latitude of New Orleans are so heavy and incessant, as to astonish and een terrify those who ar eunaccustomed to that climate, and some- times involve a serious danger to person and property, from the singular rapidity with which the city may be flooded. The rain falls in such torrents, as almost to lose, or to seem to lose, its character of multiplied drops of water, and become as one wide-spread stream pouring from the mouth of some enormous vessel upheld by mighty and invisible hands, above this deluged spot of earth. The suddenness too with which these rain-clouds burst, affords but little notice to the unprotected edes- trian, who11 is often drenched before he has fairlythought of the necessity for seeking shelter or a safe footing. {2.MOREL DISCOVERED ON THE DOOR-SILL. page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 1 1- TIE CREVASSE. 289 About the year 1810, no attempt had yet been made to pave the streets of New Orleans, and indeed the char- acter of the soil, which seems but a crust of earth with water but a few inches below its surface, still induced the belief that paving was impracticable. At this period the citizens often witnessed the curious sight of navigation mmediately through the streets-boats traversing the town, as the only medium of intercourse between the inhabitants for two or three days together; while through the same aquatic channel came the necessary supplies from the butcher and the baker. It was but a few hours in advance of one of these heavy deluging rains in the month of April, that the poor widow Morel had sent her little son, now about eight years of age, with the early flowers of the South, to deck his little sister's grave; a pious duty, which yearly, until that day, since the death of her promising Emma, had been faithfully performed by the fond mother. Leopold, the only remaining child of Mrs. Morel, was a fair-haired boy, whose pale cheek. and languid blue eye bespoke an appearance of more fragile health than was really his portion; for this resulted rather from sedentary habits and close and constant companionship with his mother than from any bodily ailment. The boy's heart beat proudly at the suggestion that he should go alone and 87 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 TIIE CREVASSE. perform the sacred task they had many times accom. plished together, of strewing fresh flowers upon the tomb of their dear Emma. Mrs. Morel, though still in the prime of life, was suf- fering from a rheumatic affection, which scarcely per- mitted her, on that morning, to raech the neighboring market-place, supplied with green-house plants and flowers, and where she habitually procured those she needed for her holy purpose. Her lameness tempted her now, for the first time, to permit Leopold to go alone to the cemetery, about a mile distant from her humble dwel- ling. Accordingly he was soon dressed in his best suit, and in his hand held the little basket of sweet flowers, as he listened attentively to his good mother's parting instructions. She had more than once repeated her earnest injunc- tions "not to stop by the wayside," either going or re- turning, and "Remember, my darling boy," said the fond mother, as she constrained his eagerness to start upon his proud errand, and recalled inwardly the sentiments associated with flowers, "remember, my son, these are the blue violets and half-blown roses (expressing love;) these the passion-flowers, amaranths and white daisies (hope and immortality and innocence,) which you will carefully place at the head of sister's grave." With her i THE CREVASSE. 291 hand still on the basket, she continued, pointing to the flowers: "Next are the yellow and purple heart's ease (forget me not;) the rosemary (for remembrance)-these are for the centre of the: tomb; and then the heliotrope And locust (devotion and affection beyond the grave) are for the foot." Mrs. Morel made her interpretation of the language of flowers in thought only, and yet they seemed comfort- ing to her heart. She now terminated her instruc- tions by saying, "You will be sure to place the flowers, my son, as mother has directed you, and then think of the little prayer she has*taught you to say at sister's grave." Imprinting a gentle kiss upon his cheek, that now was blooming with excitement, the mother, from her doorstep, saw her boy depart upon his sacred duty; her heart was sad with the associations of the past, and her eyes watched his cherished form, until it was no longer visible in the dim distance, and then with a feeling of irresistible melancholy, she returned to her neat little apartment, and sat down to her needle-work. In the first half-hour after Leopold's departure, Mrs. Morel drew from her bosom an old silver lever watch, one of the few legacies that still remained of her late hus- band's limited property; and she was greatly surprised to discover that only thirty minutes had elapsed; it page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] '292 THE CREVASSE. seemed so much longer, and yet ere another half-hour ha'd slowly passed away, the mother opened a door leading out upon her front balcony, and looked in the direction of the cemetery. The beloved object her eyes were in search of, was no where visible, but she plainly and quickly saw a coming storm; black clouds were rapidly and fearfully gathering, with all the indications of heavy thunder; and ere Mrs. Morel had reached the chamber for preparations to go after her son, and again returned to the front of the house, the rain was already falling fast. Her anxiety of mind hurried her on, heedless of exposure and forgetful of her lameness or delicate health. She knew the danger- ous character of the floods at that season, and her heart now pictured them in their most exaggerated form, when her little Leopold was alone and exposed. No rheumatic pain could be imagined as having recently afflicted her, ? whilst with a scanty umbrella, upheld by a more fragile hand, she started at a rapid race, seeming rather to run than walk. At the end of the first square, the high wind dragged the poor covering from her grasp, and her umbrella in another moment, was seen whirling round the corner, far beyond reach or recovery. But this did not delay her steps; her thin locks and clothing drenched, with uplifted hands and calling aloud for Leopold! Leo- 'I TIE CREVASSE. 293 pold! she still attempted to make "headway" against the swelling streams that rushed across or followed her path, with equal danger at the various angles, as the un- guarded streets might direct them. From several win- dows as she passed, the promply lifted sash and unheeded expressions, bespoke hospitable, kind hearts within, offer- ing shelter from the storm; but so long as her strength endured she struggled onward, paying no heed to sum- mons of kindness, or dangers and suffering to herself. Iad the alarmed and excited feelings of Mrs. Morel permitted her to notice the scene of passing events around her, at such a moment of general consternation, her better judgment would have pointed out the fruitless helplessness of her attempt. At one point, ere she reached it, she might have seen the long line of a funeral procession, with priests at its head, greatly quicken the slow dignified movement habitual in the journeys with the dead, and eventually take shelter, as best they could, within the houses in front of which they were passing. Had she then paused for a short time, she might have observed the drenched driver of the lightly framed hearse quit his seat for safety, as he found his horse about to be swamped and eventually disappear in tie middle of Cus- tom-house Street. But the poor mother saw none of these troubles or page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 THE CREVASSE. difficulties; her own were too overwhelming to allow attention to any others. Her progiess had been but slight in comparison with her wishes or her exertions, and she had scarcely accomplished more than half the dis- tance to the cemetery, when the cry of "Crevasse! Cre- vasse!" was hoarsely shouted in her ears by a man, who ran past her at the top of his speed. This startling word added greatly to the existing terror of the drooping woman, who fell prostrate upon the door-sill of the nearest house, fainting with suffering and fatigue. She was soon perceived by the family and carried in, the citi- zens being very generally watchful at such a moment either to succor the helpless and distressed, or laugh at the precipitate movements of those who are unwilling to receive such duckings upon broadcloth. Whilst the cries of "Crevasse!" were multiplying with the increasing sense of danger, too well understood in those days by the inhabitants of New Orleans, the poor widow was kindly and tenderly cared for under the hos- pitable roof of a wealthy lady; and while dry clothing and restoratives were being provided for her, little Leo- pold was not so lucky in misfortune. The city had be- come at once in a convulsed condition of excitement and apprehension, from the announcement by many voices that the long feared crevasse had at last taken place. TEE CREVASSE. 295 For some weeks, rumor, with her many exaggerating tongues, had alarmed the timid, and roused the prepara- tions of the prudent, with unfounded reports of a break in the Levee at one point or another above the town. The high state of the waters in the Mississippi at this season of floods, gave good grounds for fear, and now they were destined to be realized by this sweeping and frightful visitation. So well is the danger of a crevasse understood on the Mississippi, that the dwellings, and particularly those out of the city in isolated situations, are built upon piers, with hydraulic cement, eight or ten feet high, which brings the first floors above high-water mark. In the city of New Orleans this may be the -ea- son why-the basement story, in those days of insecurity, was generally devoted to horses and cows, while the family resided above them. But to return to Leopold. Intent upon the strict per- formance of the duty entrusted to him, he had quickly reached his little sister's tomb, and the fresh flowers were disposed of according to his mother's directions. He had murmured the inward prayer, and rubbing off the tear from his cheek, he started on his return homeward. Not many paces from the gate of the cemetery, Leopold encountered boys at play. The marble-ring and chalked fingers were rare and seducing sighllts to one of his page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 THE CREVASSE. domestic habits, and he stopped but a brief moment, as he thought, to observe them, while interest in the scene made him a poor judge how rapidly the minutes were passing away. The cemetery was situated in the lowest ground about New Orleans, and presented at the period we speak of, an appearance quite peculiar to itself, and very different from such domiciles for the dead, at the north. The shallow earth did not permit the digging of graves, and hence the bodies are disposed of (we cannot say buried) above the ground in a species of ovens or narrow vaults, several of which often cluster together, both side by side and over one another; a few are sufficiently spacious to bear some resemblance upon the surface of the earth, to our vaults below it. The shrubs and flowers indigenous to the climate, ornament the grounds, but the deficiency 2 of shade trees, and especially of solemn lofty evergreens, deprived the spot of an important feature, lending an air of sanctity and quietude such as belongs to "Laurel Hill" and "Mount Auburn." The storm came up suddenly, as we have said, and it had begun to rain quite fast ere Leopold was conscious of it, and when, with the rest of the boys, he felt its rapid increase, in his momentary fright at seeing himsef f thus caught unprotected, he started to run with all pos- " THE CREVASSE. 297 ; sible speed, as he thought, towards his home. But he had unluckily gone up the wrong street, at right angles with that he should have taken to reach his mother's house, and was unconsciously directing his course towards a bayou or basin on the outskirts of the town. The in- creasing rain and fast swelling waters hastened him along, and amounted to a stream that would have greatly im- peded his progress had he been going in the opposite direction; but its even more unfortunate tendency was towards the low grounds of the bayou, and when, after a short time, there came added to the rain, a sudden and heavy rush of waters in the rear of poor little Leopold, he was soon overtaken by a strong, irresistible current, and his feet were carried from under him. The efforts of the alarmed boy to regain his footing were unavailing, and his resisting limbs were overpowered by the violence with which he was, from time to time, thrown against projecting fragments of trees or other obstructions encountered as they were hurled along, by the swollen, discolored torrent. The little sufferer was deprived of all sensibility, and his piteously bruised and lacerated per- son was now unresistingly tossed about and hurried on- ward by the muddy stream, amid logs and portions of buildings or trees, into the bayou, where the angry ele- ment sought its level. 38 : page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 TIIE CREVASSE. Meanwhile the cries of "Crevasse 1" had sounded in the ears of Mrs. Morel with fearful associations of danger to her precious boy, until the loss of all consciousness gave the relief of temporary death. When sufficiently recovered, the presence of strange faces around her brought back the reality of her sad position. Her first words were to call for Leopold, whilst the frantic manner and unintelligible nature of her demand, to the strangers with whom she now chanced to be, gave rise to the thought that they had sheltered a poor maniac. When the distressed mother more calmly insisted upon person- ally going in search of her Leopold, at a moment when the streets were scarcely safe to the stoutest man, there remained no doubt in the minds of those around her, as to the nature of the duty they had to perform. Gentle but positive restraint was now resorted to, and the suffer- ing stranger, while in a supposed lucid interval, was pro- mised that efforts more effective than her own should at once be made, to find her lost Leopold. Orders were accordingly given in her hearing, but with the accom- panying wink that negatives their fulfilment, that the ' servants of the house should with all possible speed and 1 assistance, go towards the cemetery in search of the lost 1 *boy. The poor afflicted widow gradually sank into a state of TIIE CREVASSE. 299 calm submission to the will of heaven; her good sense told her how vain were her own individual exertions to aid in finding her son, and her drooping heart seemed yet sustained by hope, and her burning brain relieved by tears. Her mind dwelt unavoidably upon the dreadful consequences to life and property that had been known to follow a serious break or crevasse in the Levee, occasioned by a sudden or great rise in the Mississippi; and then she would attempt to persuade herself, against her better judgment, that possibly Leopold had been able to reach his home before the severity of the storm, or at least before the greater danger from the crevasse. The Levee banking out the river and reclaiming thou- sands of acres of valuable land between its channel and the more or less distant bluffs, consists of artificial mounds, thrown up, and composed of cypress logs an d clay, to the height of about fifteen feet, and thirty at their base. At New Orleans, the spring floods often create a rise of twelve feet in the Mississippi, causing the singular spec- tacle of a city lying as many feet below the threatening level of that mighty stream first seen by De Soto, which receives the 'swelling 'waters of numerous tributaries, during its circuitous and hurried course of more than three thousand miles. For the two or three succeeding days after that on % page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 THE CREVASSE. i which the widow Morel was left under the surveillance of strangers, who had mistaken her misery for madness, the flooded city was still navigated by small boats; and each day brought intelligence to the housed inhabitants, of newly discovered calamities. Among these painful re- citals was one of a fair-haired boy, apparently nine years of age, drowned in the bayou, whose body, rescued by two sailors, remained unclaimed by his friends. This sad story, on the third day of the flood, reached the mansion where Mrs. Morel was still a guest against her will, and at the moment too when its misjudging inmates had sue- ceeded in securing a place in the lunatic department of the hospital, for the bereaved mother whom Heaven had permitted them thus accidentally to succor. Each succeeding spring, for some years after the date of our story, a fragile, pale woman, might be seen strew- ing fresh flowers upon an unostentatious tomb, where more newly-made letters from the sculptor's chisel had -added to the words "MY' EMMA," those of "MY LEO- POLD," with only these simple lines: "Twins in a mother's love and care, Though doomed this narrow grave to share, Their spirits shall in union rise, To claim the mansion of the skies,"
