The miscellaneous works of the late Richard Penn Smith
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ]THE MISCELLANEOUS WORKS OF THE LATE Richard Penn Smith. COLLECTED BY HCS 80S, HORACE W. SMITH. PUBLISHED BY H. W. SMITH, No. 69 SOUTH SEVENTH STREET. 1856. page: 0[View Page 0] KING & BAIRD, PRINTERS, No. 9 Sansom Street, Philadelphia. TO THE MEMORY OF MY RICHARD PENN SMTH, AND ELEANOR M. SMTH, THS BOOK is affectionately dedicated by their only remaining child, HORACE W. SMTH. page: 0 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0 (Table of Contents) ] CONTENTS. Introduction... ......... ........... ....... ................................ 7 The Mariner's Tale.. ............... ................................... 16 Changes ............... .......................................... ......... 83 The Fisherman's Song .... ....................................... .87 Bornouese War Song ........ ........... 8-39 The Plague of Tripoli ................................................... 41 From Amalthaeus..; ................... ............ .............. 47 The Cottage Lovers ............ ....................... 48 Kiskauko ..................................................................... 51 Hope .................................................... .................. 54 Prologue to Oralloosa .................. . . .......:w ...... 55 Farewell Address ... .................. ................... ....58 A Health to My Brother ............................ ........ 61 Answer to a "Health to My Brother." .... ... ....... .....68 Prologue to the "Red Rover." ...................................... 65 Lines to a Favourite Actress ....... ................................. 69 Song of Mortality ................... ..... ....... ......................... 71 Lesbia's Sparrow ....... .. ................................................ 74 The Old Man's Lament............... ....... 76 Fishing Song ..... .... ........................................... . 78 Ode .............................................................................................. 80 Latin Poem... ... . .... .............................................. 83 Seasons of Life .. ....................... . .......... 84 Fragment .. .. ......................... .. .................................... 85 Apologue ... .................. ....... .a... . ....... ................... 88 To -- .............. ............................................... 89 Lines ..... .. ................................... ........................ 91 To a Lady ............................................................ 93 Song........ ............................................ . . . 94 -. .............. 94 Lines written in an Album ......................................... 95 Song ........., O,.... ...... ................ .... S. . 98 To .. .- ................ ........ ,, .......99 The Coquette ............................................................... 101 Stanzas to Ellen .......... . .............................. .., ... ............ 102 page: 6 (Table of Contents) -7[View Page 6 (Table of Contents) -7] 6 . CONTENTS. From Anacreon ....... . . ....................................... 104 The Penitent . ........ .......... ....................................... 105 Lines... . .... .... .................................................... 107 Epigrami..., ............a. .................o.......... 108 Epitaph on an aged couple...... .............. ...... ... 109 To ............................................ ...................... 110 Song..... ....... .... ... ....................................................... 112 Stanzas .................. ... .. .................... .......... . 11.3 France ... . 115 Stanzas ............ ...... 117 Epigrams ...... ............... ............., ......... ......... 119 " ................................................... ................ 120 " ..................................................................... 121 " ...................... re ............................................................... 122 Song for the Fourth of July .......... ............................. 123 Lines sent to a Lady, &c... ............................................. 125 The Labourer to his wife ............................................... 126 Forrest.. ............ ............................................ 127 To Rebecca...................... ......................e...*ee..... 128 Lines ..P .............. 129 " ........, .................................. ...................... .. . 131 Fragment ................. .................................................. 183 To the Lost One ..................................... .. 135 The Village School .............. .... ; 141 Salek... . .... ........... ........................... ......................... 147 Nettles on the Grave.6 ......... ........ 1651 The Dream of Mehemet................................. .......... 158 Self-Importanfce ................................ ...... .................. 168 - Bator the Dervise. 1" Azib and his Friends ............. ............ ....... ...... 180 My Uncle Nicholas ......... ................................. 196 Dydimus Dumps....... .................... .......... .... ..... 210 M r. Aspenleaf , .. ....................................................... 284 Lady of- Ruthvan... ........ .4. fe. e O'...... 263 The Visionary ..,.. . .................. . . ... ........... 270 The Widow Indeed .............. ......................... 288 The Recluse of Black Log Mountain..... ........, ............. 3804 INTRODUCTION. -IN publishing the following pages I have given them to the printer in the exact condition in which the author left them-I have not altered nor added a line, except by way of note. And not wishing to publish any thing which the reader might think was flattery, I have taken the liberty of using a biographical sketch-written some years ago by my father's friend, Morton McMichael, Esq.:-- RICHARD PEENN SMTH was born at the south-east comer of Fifth and Chesnut, on the 13th day of March, 1779; he received his early education at Mount Airy, and at Joseph Neef'sGrammar School, at the Falls of Schuylkill. He entered the law office of the late William Rawle, Esq., and upon arriving at age was admitted as a member of the Bar. From his father--the late William Moore Smith, a gentleman of the old school, of highly polished education and manners, and a poet of 40. page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 INTRODUCTION. considerable reputation, in his day--he inherited a taste for letters, and was early distinguished for the extent and variety of his acquirements. His first appearance as an author, was in the columns of the Union, where he published a series of papers, moral and literary, under the title of the "Plagiary." About the close of the year 1822, he purchased the newspaper establish- ment, then well known throughout this country as the tAurora, from the late Mr, Duane, and assumed the a'rduous and responsible duties of an editor. At this dray-horse work he continued about five years, when, finding it both weary and unprofitable he. abandoned it, and resumed his profession. A good classical scholar, and a tolerable linguist, with a decided bent for. the pursuits of literature, his mind was well stored With the classics, both ancient and modern; and amid the vexations and drudgery of a daily newspaper, he wooed the Muses with con- siderable success. t Perhaps, to the discipline whichl editorship necessarily imposes, and the promptness ' which it requires, may in part be attributed. the great facility-he possesses in composition. W. hile engaged in the duties of a profession, generally con- sidered uncongenial to the successful prosecution of INTRODUCTION. '9 literary adventure, he produced a number and variety of pieces, both in prose and verse, which showed considerable versatility of talent. His favorite study is the drama, and with this depart- ment of literature he is thoroughly familiar. With the dramatists of all nations he has an extensive acquaintance; and in the dramatic history of England and France, he is profoundly versed. Perhaps, there are few who have studied the old English masters in this; art with more devoted attention, and with a keener enjoyment of theirs beauties. But it is not alone in the keen enjoyment and appreciation of others that he deserves atten- tion. He has given ample evidence that he post sesses no ordinary power for original effort in this. most difficult department of literature. We do not; know how, many plays he has produced, but: the- following, all from his pen, have been performed at: different periods, and in most instances -with com- plete success:-Quite Correct--Eighth of January-- The Disowned, or-the Prodigals-The Deformed, or Woman's Trial--A Wife at a Venture--The Senti- nels- William Penn-The Triumph at Plattsburg --Caius Marius-The Water Witch--Is She. :a page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 INTRO DUCTIONX. Brigand?--ly Uncle's Wedding-The Daughter *-The Actress of Padua. Of late years, Mr. Smith has avowedly written for money, and he requires something more sub* stantial than the blandishments of the Muses, to tempt him to put pen to paper. If Green Room anecdotes can be depended on, he is blessed with a much thicker skin than usually falls to the lot of the genus irritabile vatum. It is said that on one occasion he happened to enter the theatre during the first run of one of his pieces, just as the curtain was falling, and met with an old school-fellow, who had that day arrived in Philadelphia, after an absence of several years. The first salutation was scarcely over, when the curtain fell, and the author's friend innocently remarked, "Well, this is really the most insufferable trash that I have witnessed for some time." "True," replied S., "but as they give me a benefit to-morrow night as the author, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you here again." At another time, a friend metvhim in- the lobby, as tihe green curtain fell, like a funeral pall, on one of his progeny, and, unconscious of its paternity, asked the author, with a sneer, what the piece was all " about. "Really," was the grave answer, "it is now INTRODUCTION. " some years since I wrote that piece, and though I paid the utmost attention to the performance, I confess I am as much in the dark as you are." As an evidence - of his facility in composition, it maybe mentioned that several of his pieces have been written and performed at a week's notice. The entire last act of William Penn was written on the afternoon of the day previous to its performance, yet this hasty production ran ten successive nights, drawing full houses, and has since been several times revived. His "Deformed" and "Disowned," -two dramas which may be compared favorably with any similar productions of this country--were both performed with success in London, an honor which, we believe, no other Americani dramatist has yet received. The tragedy of "Caius Marius,' . written for Edwin Forrest, and brought out by him at the Arch Street Theatre, possesses sterling merit. The plot is well imagined'-the principal characters are well developed and sustained-the language is* uniformly vigorous, and the sentiments are poetical and just. For more than three years Mr. S. has had in preparation another tragedy, commenced at the instance of his friend Forrest, and in view of- his peculiar capabilities which, though for a long time - page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 INTRO D U CTION. nearly fintished, has never, we believe, been com- pleted.* In 1831 Mr. S. published a work in two volumes, called The Forsaken, the scene of which is laid in Philadelphia and the adjoining country, during our revolutionary struggle. Five years ago, American novels-with the exception of Cooper's--were not received with the- same favor as now; but a large edition of the Forsaken was even then disposed. of, and it obtained from all quarters strong commenda- tion. In our judgment, it is a work highly credit, able to the author. The story is interesting, and in its progress, fiction is blended with historical truth with considerable skill and force. During the year 1836 Mr. S. published two volumes, entitled the "Actress of Padua, and other Tales," which have been eminently successful. We understand they were the means of increasing his literary profits, and we know they have extended 'his literary reputation. As a writer of short tales; he is natural and unaffected in manner; correct in description; concise in expression; and happy in the selection of incidents. He possesses, moreover * The Venetian-in Five Acts, since finished. INTRODUCTION; ' 13 a quiet humour, and an occasional sarcasm, which make his productions both pleasant and pungent. Mr. S. has written much for the periodical litera- ture of the day, both political and literary, and his; poetical pieces, if collected, would make a large volume; but these appear to have' been scattered. abroad, without any purpose of reclamation. His name is attached to a limited number, which are distinguished by a healthy tone of thought, neatness' of expression, and harmony of versification; but as, generally, they were produced for some particular occasion, they have--most of them at least--passed- into oblivion with the occasions that called them into existence. Mr. S. has been active as a politician, and as all politicians, no matter how pure the'patriotism they possess, look to the "loaves and fishes," he was not unwilling to accept the situation of Clerk to the Incorporated District of the Northern Liberties. In this station he remained four years, and as might have been expected, discharged his dpties with ability and dispatch, until he was himself discharged with corresponding dispatch, when his political opponents came once more into power. His mind is now engrossed with his professional pursuits, and page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " - INTRODUCTION. as he has always looked upon literature as being subsidary to graver concerns, it is problematical whether he will hereafter produce any laboured efforti though we know that highly advantageous offers have been made to induce him again to exer- cise his talents in the region of fiction. In 1822 Mr. Smith married a daughter of Samuel Blodget, Esq. She died in 1833, leaving but- one son, the collector of these works. In 1836, Mr. Smith again married--and retired to the family seat at the Falls of Schuylkill, near Philadelphia, at which place he died, August 11th, 1854. His remains were interred at Laurel Hill, in the same grave with those of his grand-father, the - Rev. Dr. William Smith-his father, and children. POEMS. page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] THE MARINER'S TALE. Scene. A Flower Garden of a Mariner's Asylum.' Characters. An aged Sailor and a Visitor. Sailor. All things must move in circles as earth doth. The orbs that make space gorgeous move in circles; E'en space itself is one eternal circle; For were it not, its end would sure be reached. All drag, a chain still moving round and round Until we join the two ends of the chain: Thus man completes his circle. No escape then. Stranger. You spoke, sir, of a voyage. Sailor. Oh I pardon me: I had forgot-those circles set me wild. Where left I off? 'Tis strange, the thread is broken. Stranger. In the South Sea. 2- page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 - THE MARINER' S TALE. Sailor. O, true!-'mong fruitful isle The jocund waters leaped when morn arose, And fringed each billow's snow-white pinnacle With golden tissue. Waves that wildly roared Through night, like. fiends contending for their prey, Now smiled serenely as a lawn in spring Spangled with herbage 'mid the wasting snow; And as our gallant vessel glided on The joyful waters, like some amorous dame, Kissed the bright prow in very wantonness, Regardless of the wound so rudely made In the too pliant bosom. Stranger. . You liken well The waters to a woman; beautiful In the bright sunshine of prosperity! But when the tempest rages, sea-tossed man Oft finds a shoal there, where his bark may strand, Expecting a safe haven. Sailor. . You are bitter: But truth is not always sweet. All on board Assembled on the deck to hail the sun Weaving with gold God's heaving world of green; While lowly murmuring the gladsome waves Sang matins to their master. Voices full THE MARINER'S TALE. 19 As deep-toned organ's swell, and others shrill As notes of linnets, mingled with the songs The glad sea made in praising Him who made it. Stranger. Let the great sea and all that therein is; The earth--its fruit-and all that live thereby- And all that live hereafter, praise-his name. -Sailor. Amid our happy concourse there was seen A father and his little family, And the fair partner of his joys and griefs, The mother of his children. While they gazed Upon the wide expanse, their bosoms heaved i With admiration for His mighty works Who rules the fearful sea. They thanked and ' trusted. Stranger. All thank and trust, who know the God they trust in. Sailor. Among them was a fair-haired rosy boy Who hugged his father's knee; his little hands Clasped in devotion to the unseen God, In ignorance adoring; for his spirit, Unstained of earth, was redolent of heaven, And instinct with the praises he had learnt From angel-lips in his celestial birth-place. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 THE MARINER'S 'TA'LE. Stranger. Childhood's inheritance, which manhood -squanders. God gives us all, while we return but little, Sailor. As the sun rose he sung a little hymn. The words were- these. I think. his father made it. In the morning of existence, Earth smiles, as Eden smiled on Adam; * With God and angels for companions, Man-little lower than the angels- Receives the truth as it was given Once--face to face, and fresh from heaven. In the noontide of existence, With bathed brow and stalwart limb, M- an, singing, struggles for subsistence For those in sin begot by him, Rejoices in those human frailties Which makes him imitate his God. In the sunset of existence, Alone, in thy Gethsemane,m Quaff the cup bravely and repine not- For man, thy God is there with thee. Meekly obey the mandate given, It purifies thy soul for heaven. . THE MARINER'S TALE. 21 Stranger. A strange thought that-childhood is Adam's Eden, Where man beholds his Maker face to face; 3 The close of life is his Gethsenane, Where he must quaff the chalice to the dregs, Without a prayer to take it from his lips. I've heard that hymn before. Sailor. . Why call it strange? The cup is sweetened though it smack of bitter, And the most bitter drops become the sweetest. Gethsemane was nearer heaven- with him Who bathed with tears and blood the sacred soil, Than fresh blown Paradise appears to have been With angel visitants. Perchance they are The self-same garden, typed by Spring and Autumn, Seed-time and harvest I If that thought be true, With bathed forelock and with steadfast soul Gather the harvest of Gethsemane, More precious than the flowers that smiled in Eden. The task is thine-first husbandman, then reaper. Stranger. Talk further of the boy whB sung the hymn. Sailor. That spotless child, the rudest of the crew Loved, for his presence made' us better men. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 THE MARINER S TALE. Stranger. True, all men who love children still grow better; And the best men are children to the last, At least in thought and feeling. Sailpr. There's the circle- Extremes must meet, and we are hedged within them. But to pursue our voyage-and the boy. Day past away, and as the night came on The full-orbed moon rolled in a cloudless sky, And the high waters now lay hushed in sleep. As gentle as the slumber of a child Wearied with gambols through the live-long day. The night-breeze from the orange-groves passed by, Laden with odor. Heaven was chrisolite; The sea a living mirror, in whose depths The richly studded concave was reflected, Making a perfect globe; and as the ship Pursued her trackless flight, she seemed to be Some spirit on errand supernatural, So dark and silently she glided on The babbling waves were scarcely audible. Stranger. A pleasant sail which landsmen only dream of-- But never enjoy. THE MARINER' S TALE. 23; Sailor. All joy hath bitterness. Stretched on the deck the sailor-boy reposed, And lived in dreams his infant years again. The seamen, 'mid the shrouds aloft reclining, Told o'er their tales of wreck and lingering death, And in the drowsy interval was heard The rugged cadence of the helmsman's song. "'A pleasant sail!"But pleasure has strange wings, She comes a zephyr and departs a whirlwind. Stranger. Kisses the flower to blooming, then de- stroys. Sailor. Sudden the helmsman's drowsy song was hushed. A fearful cry arose-"The ship's on fire" " The seamen from aloft sent back the cry; The sailor-boy shook off his happy dream, And woke to horror. All was wild dismay; Half sleeping--half awake, the crew came forth; Grim death, enveloped in his robes of flame, Marched on and laughed. There was no human power To put aside his footstep. On he moved In awful majesty; whate'er he touched, True to its origin, returned to dust, And Nature's master-work, man's godlike frame, page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 THEE MARINER'S TALE. Became as worthless as the spars and sails, Each made its pile of ashes-nothing more. Stranger. Ashes to ashes all, and dust to dust. The self-same mandate both on earth and sea. Sailor. The flames attained dominion. Tyrant- like, They ruled and raged. Upon the shrouds they seized, Kissing destruction-laughing as they kissed; While the broad glare they spread upon the deep Changed the sea's nature. Water soon became A lake of living fire. "A pleasant sail!" Stranger. You weep. Go on. Sailor. O that I then had perished! I seized the boy and leaped into the waves. Upon a fallen spar we safely rode Until the ship went down. "A pleasant sail!" Her knell one shriek of mortal agony. We had no heart to weep for their sad fate- No heart to pray for one less terrible. I gathered fragments from the floating wreck, And made a raft, where two immortal souls Struggled with time to check eternity With frail appliance. For three days we suffered; THE MARINER' S TALE. 25 And then a passing ship preserved our lives For greater suffering. Stranger. The boy--his fate? Sailor. His parents dead-the lad became my charge. I then was married to a worthy woman- God's kindest gift. We had an only child- My wife brought up the children as if twins, And at a proper age he sailed with me. He grew to manhood-noble-cheerful-kind As those -who love the artless lips of children; A very babe was he in his affections-- ; A very demon in his bitter passions. The eagle and the dove oft make their nest- The tiger and the ermin find a lair In the same bosom. Stranger. What became of him? Sailor. My wife grew sick. He loved her as his mother; He loved my daughter too. I sailed, and left him To till my little ground and smooth their pathway. After three years I came to port again. Crossing my fields, which now poured forth their increase, page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 T-HE MARINE'RS TALE. I saw a man resting upon his plough, Singing right lustily. Stranger. What did he sing? Sailor. In'the noontide of existence, With swarthy brow and rugged limb, Man bravely struggles for subsistence For those in sin begot by him; Rejoices in all frailties--sorrows, They draw him nearer to his God. Stranger. The hymn of early childhood still remembered. Sailor. A bending in the chain to form the circle. He led me to my home-and such a home! It seemed as if the fairies had been there Making their May-day-wife and daughter happy., Then, from an arbor overgrown with flowers, He placed a prattling child upon my knee, And, called him by my name. He laughed out- right- My daughter blushed. They now were man and wife. I danced-then blubbered like a very child. Tears are at times a truer sign of joy Than smiles and laughter. Stranger. 'Twas a boy you said? THE MARINER S TALE. 27 Sailor. A boy-his bud of Paradise, he called him. Such flowers, too, often yield most bitter fruit In man's Gethsemane. Stranger. Thank God I! not always. Sailor. We dwelt together for a few brief months. He then proposed to try the sea again, To place the beings whom we fondly loved Beyond the cold calamities of earth. : Three years we sailed-we prospered, and returned With means to make those happy whom we loved. On wearied pinions, like the dove of peace When land was found, he flew to seek the ark Where our best feelings day and night reposed, While struggling with the ocean. God! O God! No ark was there-no resting-place for him l Even Ararat was covered with the deluge. Stranger. I understand you not. Sailor. His wife was false. Stranger. Impossible! Sailor. But true. You tremble, sir. Her father curst the memory of his child; Her mother withered, and soon died heart-broken. You seem disturbed. Stranger. 'Tis past. What did your son? Stagr T at page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 THE MARINER'S TALE.- Sailor. He slew the slimy reptile that crawled over him; Put his hard heel upon her glossy front, Trampled her out in cold blood. Stranger. God of heaven! Sailor. And he did right. Stranger. Your daughter! Sailor. He did right. She who betrays the honor of her husband, Regardless of her parents, self and children, Should cease to live, though all unfit to die. Better to rot in earth, than crawl through life, Offending all things with her foul pollution. I love my God: knowledge increases love. I ask forgiveness of him, as Christ prayed. I am his child, and yet I curse my child. Her sin hath made the best of prayers from my lips An invocation of a lasting curse On her old father's head-a mockery I Forgive as I forgive--a lie to God! Her sin hath robbed me of my prayer of child- hood- The prayer I gathered from my mother's lips- The prayer that opens the celestial portals- The prayer He taught when He appeared as mortal. THE MARINER 'S TALE. '2 Stranger. His destiny. Sailor. He fled and took his child; But not as Cain fled with the brand upon him. 'T was sacrifice to virtue, and no murder. When I arrived my Eden was Golgotha; I found. a corpse-my wife bereft of reason. I buried one, attended to the other For years until she died. The fruits of lust! I went to sea again in search of strife- The quiet of the land near drove me mad. The ship I sailed in scoured the southern sea, To quell the pirates. We o'ertook a rover. A deadly strife ensued--'twas life or death; Their chief and I1 by chance met sword to sword; I knew him not, and strange, he knew not me. Oh, grief outstrips the rapid wing of time In -marring youthful beauty! See this scar l His cutlass gave it--but I mastered him. Their chief subdued, the rover soon surrendered. Stranger. His destiny? Sailor. The yard-arm, and a halter. I saw him pass away. Stranger. And said he nothing? page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 THE MARINER'S TALE. Sailor. Naught to the crowd--but I remember this: In the sunset of existence, Alone in my Gethsemane, I quaff the cup without repining, For God, I feel thou'rt still with me. Meekly obey the mandate given That purifies the soul for heaven. Stranger. His cradle-hymn still chanted to the grave. Sailor. The circle, sir-the end and the begin- ning- The two ends of the chain are linked together. Stranger. You said he had a boy. -Sailor. I said not so. There- was a boy -whom I have searched for since; But, like the shadows of all earthly hope, He hath eluded me. Stranger. I am that boy. Sailor. Thou!--thou that boyl The wheel is still in motion! -Stranger. ILstood beside the gallows when he died. Sailor. His bird of Paradise I A cherub then I I've seen you often sleeping among roses, And&he; a guardian angel, smiling o'er you. THE MARINER'S TALE. 81 You have not slept on roses often since, But wept beneath your father's gallows-tree. And my blind deeds have shaped your destiny. I brought your father to a shameful death, Which your young eyes beheld.\ And I've made known A thing, perhaps unknown to you before- Your mother's infamy. Alas! poor boy! What an inheritance have we bequeathed you! Stranger. You did your duty, sir. Sailor. Ay, there's the question. Can duty lead man's footsteps to God's throne, Making life death, the glad earth Tartarus? I snatched a fellow-being, winged for heaven, With God's own impress on him still unblurred, Who, but for me; would have flown chanting there , Anthems to angels. But with ruffian hands I checked his flight, and stayed him for perdition. Would that the ocean had received the child I Would, that I had let him perish in the flames! Would that his wound had marked me for the grave, Ere I had saved him for an after life Of sin and sorrow, though impelled by--duty. t page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 THE MARINER'S TALE. Stranger. Why do you pluck those, gorgeous poppy-flowers, And cast them in the walk? Sailor. They now are harmless; Suffered to ripen, they are poisonous. Let them die blooming, while they are innoxious. Would hemhad perished as these simple flowers, Ere his bloom faded, yielding deadly seed. Stranger. I've sought you, sir, to solace your old age. Sailor. God- bless my child I We're in the circle still. Good begets evil often-evil good. The grandsire and the grandson close the chain- Alone-forlorn! Yet both have done their duty. The world goes round and round, 'till hidden things Stalk forth as spectres from the rotten grave. All, all is plain I These circles drive me mad 1 CH A N G ES. o CHANGES, Here's pansies for thoughts. OPHEI A. All things on earth are subject to a change. Where firm-based mountains once upreared their heads, Snow-capped amidst the clouds, now valleys snmile. And shepherds pipe to flocks in flowery meads. Rivers forsake their channels and become ,As rippling brooks, that with a tiny voice Babble of former greatness. Mighty seas, Where navies battled and the strong whale dwelt, Now wash the axle of the globe we tread, Ne'er to be seen by mortal eye again. Nations, that in their pride and magnitude Threatened to burst the confines of this globe, Have passed away, and scarcely left behind A record of their names. The giant Rome Has dwindled to a pigmy. Macedon Is, as it were, a village among nations; 3 page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 CHANGES. Of Carthage scarce a single stone remains To designate her grave; and Egypt now, Though once the sun that hurled back rays to Heaven, Is in Egyptian darkness.' All things change! Say, where is now the race of Pericles, The -Ptolemies and Csesars? Look among The refuse of mankind, you'll find them there, Unmindful of their name, and what they are To us, the men we magnify will be To after ages.- Naught is lasting here! Wealth taketh wings and fleeth as a bird, While penury usurps her empty temple. Friendship gives place to hate, and love to scorn; Pride is o'ertoppled by-humility; Courage forsakes the strong man's heart to fear, And avarice-that yellow devotee Who would far rather starve for lack of bread Than take one glory from the golden god His own hands fashioned--plays the prodigal. Our rooted passions have not nerve to stay. CHANGES. 35 E'en Time, who changes all things in his turn, Wearied, must drop his scythe and crush his glass, And in his second childhood sink to sleep, And rise regenerate-Eternity. And what is man for man to magnify, Though made but little lower than the angels, And crowned with glory and with loving kindness! The dust we tread on was perchance a flower; The ox consumed it, and that shrub became His flesh and blood; then man consumed-the ox, And made the creature human, of that flesh That rises in God's image on that day, When spectral myriads of forgotten nations Stalk from the earth and deep to meet their doom, And in celestial armor feel a dread That human weakness knew not.--We are told All things were made for his use; he consumes Fish, flesh and fowl, and various:fruits of earth Combine to form and mingle in his frame, Making themselves immortal by the change, And subject to immortal punishment. Better remain the fruit, the fish, the fowl Than live as human, and to rise immortal As some must rise!- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 -CH AN GES. O i strange metemsychosis! / Lo! man returns to mother earth again, And from his dust new shrubs and beasts are fed, Who in like manner are by man consumed, Through countless generations, making thus Even the grave prolific, till earth's surface, By transmutation has at last become The human family and not its grave; Flesh of our flesh and bone of human bone, That, Saturn-like, devours her own creation To feed an after progeny, Ennd fatten 'On the stark limbs and heart's blood of her children. There's naught on earth wherein we find no change- Save empty pockets! ,. THE FISHERMAN 'S SONG. 37 THE FISHERMAN'S SONG. When the morning sun is breaking In a pure and cloudless sky, And the sleeping world is waking,- With a-burst of melody; Then we leave our humble dwelling, Put our little bark to sea, And though angry waves be swelling, Still we Sing, O merrily, Merrily, O merrily. When the storm is madly roaring, And death walks upon the wave, Then we think of friends deploring Lest we find a watery grave! Think then of our lowly dwelling, While the winds pipe drearily, Like wild dirges o'er us swelling, i. Still we sing O, merrily. Merrily, O Merrily. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 TTHE FISHERMAN S SONG. But our toils and dangers over, -Then the faggots brightly burn; Soon the festive board they cover, 'And to welcome our return, See the good wife blandly smiling With the child on either knee, And the bowl our cares beguiling, Then we sing, O merrily, Merrily, O merrily. BOURNOUESE WAR SONG. 9 BORNOUESE WAR SONG. Thou God of our prophet whose strength we all own, Whose smile is all sunshine, but tempest his frown; Look forth on the fight, make our spears like thy flame, To scathe where they strike, and to strike in thy name. Make the battle to us like the gay wedding feast, And the neigh of our steeds like thy btlt in the east, To the ears of the Kerdies: let us the fight wage With the strength of the elephant--uffaloe's rage. Make us rush upon danger with death in full view, For glory is sweeter than honey when new; And the faithful who fight -for their prophet and creed, Shall never expire, though in battle they bleed. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 BOURNOUESE WAR HONG. And now for Mandara I the battle of spears, The thunder of strife and the blood-stream of tears! Wherever we strike, may wild terror prevail. And the might of our strength make the Kerdies bewail. Our spears now shine forth like the red lightning fire, To shed the' foul blood of the foes who conspire To scoff at our prophet, his sheik and his laws- The all-seeing eye that looks down on our cause. Stronger than rocks, than the lion more fierce, Our forest of spears shall the enemy pierce, For who can the rage of the Bornouese restrain? The flame of his fixed eye what foeman sustain? Till prostrate on earth, they our mercy implore. Acknowledge our prophet, and vow to adore, Spear them, nor cease till the sun sees their bones, And hyaenas feast in the midst of their groans. The timbrels and zemtoos now bid us prepare, The yerma is floating too, proudly in air; Then onward, believers, then onward I away I The sword of the prophet must conquer to-day. ; \s ' . THE PLAGUE OF TRIPOLI. 41 THE PLAGUE OF TRIPOLI. ,'Tis midnight. 'Tis midnight, and the full orb'd moon, A globe of fire, seems motionless; Yon dark cloud will not pass it soon, But hangs in token of distress, For not a breath of air can stir To move the tender gossamer. Deserted is each busy street; The gorgeous halls dismantled now; Each object that the eye doth meet Is tott'ring 'neath disease and woe. The palaces and lofty towers, Feel conscious that their pride is gone; The maiden's green and rosy bowers, Are withering unseen, unknown, Or now are sought by her alone Who there had passed her blissful hours, page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 THE PLAGUE OF TRIPOLI. With him whom most on earth she loved, That she nmay bless her life's decay, And calmly breathe her soul away, Where all her earthly bliss she proved. But ah! that pale one tottering there! Thy fate is not in bowers of roses! Hark, to her vain and dying prayer, Whilst on the pavement she reposes; "A little water, Alla, give, And then my trembling soul receive; One drop to cool my -burning breast; T' assuage my dying agony; One drop, one drop would give me rest; I knew not half the pain to die I I left my couch to cool the flame That parches all my feeble frame, But not one grateful breeze returns, And e'en the flinty pavement burns H My child, my child, why art thou here? Hence to our home of wildest woe; Leave me, or thou my fate must share;- 'Tis death to kiss thy mother now; The big drops standing on my brow THE PLAGUE OF TRIPOLI.' 43 Soon to'the grave will press me; My feeble pulse is ebbing low; Bless thee, child, bless thee I Leave -me, my child, to die alone; Leave me, it is my latest prayer; Touch not my corse when I am gone, Or thou thy mother's fate must share.' Hush'd is the sigh I the plaintive moan, No struggle now, the spirit's flown. Around her neck the infant clings, Deeming his tender mother sleeps; ("Wake, mother, wake," he fondly sings, Then closer to her bosom creeps. He seeks the lips that oft carest With tenderest love her infant joy, And little dreams the lips that blest Him o'er and o'er, will now destroy. "Wake, mother, wake," he fondly cries, Then softly steals in sport away; He kisses now her rayless eyes; Now pats her cheek in infant play- : The livid cheek of gelid clay. "Wake, mother, wake," or I will leave thee, Fast sleeping here, page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " THE PLAGUE OP TRIPOLI. But that I know 'twould sadly grieve thee, When I'm not near. Forgive me, mother, do not weep, And have I then disturb'd thy rest?- Sleep on, dear mother, calmly sleep, And I will fan thy breast." Beside the spotted corse he kneels And waves his hand to stir the air; Now from her lips a kiss he steals, Then glides away with care, Lest he her endless sleep should break, And smiles to see she does not wake. The grey morn glimmers in the east, And still he fans the clay cold breast; But he has watched so long her waking He dreads that sleep will know no breaking, Since e'en the startling cry he hears, Disturb her not ; excites no fears. "Bring forth your dead, the pitman comes, To furnish the houseless with endless homes. When the tenant is dust and blown away, And the hands and the tools that build, decay, This- still must last In spite of the blast, THE iPLAGUE OF TRIPOLI. 45 Or the tooth of Time that all corrodes, Or the shock that crumbles mortal abode." He passes the street where the corse is lying, Which he heaves in the cart 'mid the dead and the dying; His course resumes towards the spot, Where the lord and the pauper together must rot; The proud, the meek, the great, the small, The Christian, Jew, the Pagan and all. And that little child crawls after the cart, With fainting limbs and with sobbing heart, While still arise, 'mid the pitman's cries His plaintive wail, unmark'd by the other, "My mother, oh I my mother." "Bring forth your dead," the cry resumes, And sounds through the streets like a voice from the tombs, "Heed not the fondest ties of the heart; The bridegroom from the bride must part; The mother her infant child must yield, And tottering age his staff and shield, The miser, his gold and jewels now; A spot of death is on his brow. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " THE PLAGUE OF TRIPOLI. But silence your anguish and cease to complain For those who are severed, shall soon meet again, The plague poison's now every breath of the air, And the grave shall be wide enough, and to spare." Faint on, the pavement the babe is lying; The pitman hears -him feebly crying; Without checking his horse In his measured course, He hurls the poor thing 'mid the dead and the dying, And his feeble voice is drown'd, In the wild discordant sound, Of rattling wheels and the horse's tread, And the fearful cry, "bring forth your dead." He's now at the grave where the wicked and just, In the wildest confusion must mingle their dust; But each atom is known, By the Omniscient One, In whom now repose both their fear and their trust. The pitman covers the mortal clay And to-morrow himself may be as they. FROAM AMALTHEU S. 47 FROM AMALTHEI US. THERE were three distinguished Latin poets of Italy of this name, whose compositions were printed at Amsterdam in 1685. The following epigram was occasioned by the affliction of two children of remarkable beauty, though each had lost an eye. Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro; Et poterat forma vincere uterque deos. Parve puer, lumen quod babes concede sorori, Sic tu caecus amor, sic erit illa Venus. TRANSLATION. Of his right eye young Acon was bereft; His sister Leonilla lost the left; Still each in form can rival with the gods, And, though both Cyclops, beat them by all odds. Spare her, my boy, your blinker, be not stupid, She then will be a Venus, you a Cupid. page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 THE COTTAGE LOVERS. THE COTTAGE LOVERS. The mist of the morn is still gray on the mountain; The heather bell blooms on the brink of the fountain; Soft murmurs the stream from the mossy rock gushing, But wildly and loud through the dark ravine rushing. The heath-cock is springing elate from his nest; The pale morn is sinking in calmness to rest; The first streak of light is seen over the ocean; The chorister's songs put the dull air in motion. The horn of the huntsman sounds far o'er the hill; 'The voice of the fleet hound is frequent and shrill; While panting the chased 'stag appears at the lake; He swims the dark stream and then bounds through the brake. THE COTTAGE LOVERS.' 49 How sweet is the woodbine o'er yon lattice creep- ing, Which blushingly steals where the maiden is sleeping, Howsoftly the breeze sounds that kisses the billow; But softer by far is the sigh on yon pillow! The dash of the light oar is heard on the lake; The soft voice of love sings, "Awake, oh awake, The first streak of morning is gray on the hill; The voice of the barn-cock is frequent and shrill. "Then come, dearest come, where thy soul may be free, As the pure breeze that waft's o'er the marginless sea; We'll sport on life's stream as we gently pass o'er it; And feel not the breeze as we're gliding before it." The light form of one at the lattice is seen, And ruby lips glow through the foliage of green, Like a bud of the vine the fresh breezes perfuming, Ere the breath of the morning has kissed it to blooming. 4 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 THE COTTAGE LOVERS. "Oh come, dearest, come, to the cot of thy lover, Where souls may be free as the wings of the plover, And hearts be as pure as the vestal maid's shrine, And the day-star of true love shall never decline." The maiden now. stands on the brink of .the stream, And looks- upon life as a fairy-like dream; For she hies to the-spot where her soul may beeblest, With a passion as mild as the dove in its nest. On the sterh of the skiff she is seated in haste; Her lover beside ier, with arm round her waist; He presses her lips as they float from the shore, And they mingleo theirs songs with the dash of 'the oar. With spirits as wild as the fawn at the fbtLtain, They glide o'erAhthe lake and then' strbll up "the 'mountain,. ; .. i Where the day-star of true love in. beauty is shining, . And burns still more brightly as life is declining. , / KISKA UKO. ,. He Wrong'd me,;and when, I: forget - A kindness render'd, insult given, May my last sun in darkness set, And'he who rules thee white main's heaven! Blot out rmy name, until: I'know.- Fully to,pay both friend andfope. The tide of time had; cooled my blood; . My hairs became. both few and gray.; ' . And cheerfull as the babbling flood I hoped life's stream. mightpass. away . But serpent-like he crossed. my path,', And hissed to madness gray hair'd wrath. * The subject of the foregoing verses was 'a respectable Indian Chief, who, for some private and' iong-endured wrong, wreaked his vengeance in the iannerstated, upon ,oneof his ,tribe. This occurred twenty years ago, near D etroit. The murderer was arresthd for .thecrime, gonvi ted, and'executed. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 KISKAUKO. He fancied that the old chief's ire, Could be extinguish'd by his breath; He saw pale ashes dim the fire, And little thought hell burnt beneath. In strife for life shall youth control? No!--strength's not sinew, but the soul. We met, 'twas on a mountain's brow, That beetled o'er a turbid flood; "Time once was yours," I cried, "but now We tread a narrow path of blood." He laugh'd, for in a deadly strife, Age hath poor chance with youth for life. His throat my fingers clasped; 'Twas soul to soul and eye to eye; He quail'd; for thickening breath he gasped While ravens croaked his destiny- The strife was brief; I sneer'd and smiled. Then hurled him from me as a child. "Roll on," I cried, "thou carrion slave!" His death song was the raven's scream; From cliff to rock he sought a grave, And found it in the turbid stream, Where now he floats with sluggish motion, Ghastly and bloated through Time's ocean. KISKAUKO. Ot And I before the pale face stand, To meet the fate his laws decree;- Milder the red-man's scourge and brand Than death on Christian cross or tree; Tortur'd by laws too blind to know, Maneto asks but blow for blow. Some deeds call'd crimes by erring man, Are glorious in the eye of God; Fiends oft seem angels in his plan, While angels animate a clod; To prove his justice cannot be, Time born but of Eternity. ; . }' page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] Hope in the young heart springeth, As flowers in the infant year; Hope in the young heart singeth, As birds when the flowers appear.: Hope in 'the old heart dieth, . As wither those early flowers; Hope from the old heart flieth, As the birds from wintrybowers. But spring will revive the flower; And the birds return to sing; And death will renew Hope's power In the old heart withering. r - PROLOGUE TO bRALLOOSAi 55^ PROLOGUE TO ORALLOOSA.* , To wake the mould'ring ashes of the dead, And o'er forgotten ages light .to shed, Until the picture in such colors glows, That Place approaches,-Time his. power foregoes : T' anatomise the pulses of the soul, From gentlest throb to throes, beyond control': The varied passions from their germ to trace, Till Reason totters from her judgment place; To call the latent seeds of virtue forth, And urge the mind to deeds, of lasting worth. For this the Stage in. ancient days arose;, In:teaching this she triumphed o'er her foes, And soon became, in spite of bigot rule, , - A nation's glory, and a nation's,school. ' , Too long we've been accustom'd to regard Alone ithe dogmas of some foreign bard; ^ * Dr. Bird's Tragedy, .. .;I page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 PROLO-GUE TO ORALLOOSA. Too long imagined, 'neath our shifting skies, "That Fancy sickens, and that Genius dies." Dreaming, when Freedom left old Europe's shore, Spread the strong wing new regions to explore, Her altar in the wilderness to raise, Where all might bend and safely chaunt her praise, The gifted nine refused to join her train, And still amidst their ruined haunts remain.- Banish the thought; extend the fostering hand, And wild-eye'd Genius soars at your command; With " native wood-notes wild" our hills shall swell Till all confess the muses with us dwell. Our bard, to-night, a bold adventurer grown, A flight has taken to the torrid zone;- Calls from the grave the ruthless Spaniard's dust, To meet the judgment of the free and just, Shows, in the progress of his mournful song. The Indian's vengeance andd the Indian's wrong: How bigots, with the cross, and sword in hand, Unpeopled and laid waste the peaceful land, Then scourg'd the conquered with an iron rod And stabb'd for gold with seeming zeal for God. Critics I a word!-we pray be not too hard On native actor or on native bard. PROLOGUE TO' ORALLOOSA. 57 A second time th' offenders stand before you, Therefore for mercy humbly we implore you. When last arraigned the cause was ably tried, For GLADIATORS battled on their side: A Took you by storm:--ere you knew what to say The valiant rogues had fairly won the day. Should ORALLOOSA prove a victor too, His triumph here repays for lost Peru. page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 5$ . FAREWELL ADDRESS. FAREWELL ADDRESS. We are all pilgrims here. From clime to clime We're doomed to wander through' the realms of time; Some with light hearts-others their journey trace, Like Noah's dove, without a resting place: No olive branch appears above the wave; No sign of peace until they reach the grave. We are all pilgrims here. We journey on, Hoping the ideal meed may yet be won, Day after day, scene after scene flits by, And scarcely leaves a trace on memory! Still, though the promise of the present day, Like morning mists, should quickly pass away, We trust the morrow may our hopes fulfil, And hug the phantom confidently still. * Spoken by Mrs. Sloman, at her farewell benefit at the Chestnut Street Theatre. FAREWELL ADDRESS. 59 Thrice bless'd are they, who in their progress find One joyous scene to captivate the mind; Stamp, on the mem'ry in such bold relief As bids defiance to all future grief; A spot of green that in the waste of years, Will freshy bloom, though watered. by our tears. That boon is mine-for ne'er shall I forget The kind reception that I here have met. Time may roll on, and space may intervene, But nought can cloud the mem'ry of that scene. I came a stranger from a distant shore, Left kindred, friends,-new* regions to explore; I sought the country that gave birth to one; Whose name still stands, and ever must-alone! Where freedom moves in beauty, unconfined; The exile's home; the nation of mankindl Where all the stranger's welcome did extend, Until the welcome made the stranger-friend. Land of the brave and free, though now we part, I bear those sacred feelings in my heart, That when between us rolls the expansive sea, "My mind untravell'd still will turn to thee ;" page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 FAREWELL ADDRESS. The happy hours I've past, again live o'er, And friends far distant, to my soul restore; Still scan with rapture life's most flattering page, Until death's curtain falls upon the stage. t!;, A HEALTH TO MY BROTHER. 61 A HEALTH TO MY BROTHER. Fill the bowl to the brim, there's no use in com- plaining; We'll drown the dark dream, while a care is remaining; I And though the sad tear may embitter the wine, Drink half, never fear, the remainder is mine. True, others may drink in the lightness of soul, But the pleasure I think is the tear in the bowl; Then fill up the bowl with the roseate wine, And the. tears of my soul shall there mingle with thine. And that being done, we will quaff it, my brother; Who drinks of the one should partake of the other. Thy head is now gray, and I follow with pain,- Pshaw! think of our day, and we're children again. page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 A HEALTH TO MY BROTHER. 'Tis folly to grieve that our life's early vision Shone but to deceive, and then flit in derision. A fairy-like show, far too -fragile to last; As bright as the rainbow and fading as fast. 'Tis folly to mourn that our hearts' foolish kindness, Receive in return but deceit for their blindness; And vain to regret that false friends have all flown.; Since fortune hath set, we can buffet alone. Then fill up the glass, there's no use in repining That' friehds quickly leave us, when fortune's declining- : Let each drop a tear in the roseate bowl; A tear that's sincere, and .then. pledge to the soul. ANSWER TO "A HEALTH.'" 63 ANSWER TO- "A HEALTH- TO MY- BROTHER." BY WM. R. SMTH, OF WISCONSIN, Yes, brother, quaff the gen'rous bowl, Though tears have mingled with the wine; Our, pledge-let each congenial soul ' Respond--"Thy joys, thy griefs, are mine!" Our sun of youth rose brightly gleaming, And promised flowers in every path; How soon, aroused from blissful dreaming, We struggled with the whirlwind's wrath; Now, in the world alone, my brother, Two scions of one parent tree, Soon shall the earth, our common mother, Reclaim her own, and set us free! page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " -ANSWER TO "A HEALTH." Religion teaches souls immortal To bear submissive worldly pain; For, soaring -up to heaven's portal, The pure in bliss shall live again. Then let us bear our griefs awhile- No cause exists to shed a tear, When we look backward with a smile, And forward gaze without a fear. PROLOGUE TO THE BRED ROVER." 65 PROLOGUE TO THE "RED ROVER." Spoken by Mr. Wemyss and Mr. S. Chapman. Enter the Manager, followed by the Call-Boy. Manager. Another author what is this you say, Another author, with another play- Who vows with all the vehemence of rage, That I mustforthwith bring it on the stage; The fellow's mad-stark mad--to brave the town, And vi et armis, force his rubbish down; But show him in-(exit boy;) theyv shall not make me fear Tho' authors now like -Banquo's race, appear A moment, and then vanish. (Enter Author.)-Sir, your most- A virgin author, to give ip the ghost. Author. You're wrong, my friend, my drama;- (offers MS.) Manager. Let me see! Author. We'll charm the town, and fill your treasury. 5 page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " PROLOGUE TO THE 1'RED ROVER." Manager. A modest youth-the town-I under- stand; But genius-like, you write a d--d cramp'd hand, Which I cannot decypher;--Sir, no doubt You can explain what this is all about. Author. The title will explain-there-there, turn over; One leaf speaks volumes. Manager. (Reading.)-"The Red Rover." A cunning rogue, the critics to confound, Here builds his fabric on another's ground; But let us hear what arguments you bring, By way of recommending this strange thing. Author. Oar scenes are drawn from Cooper's graphic page, Sufficient passport, surely, to the stage. Sublime his taste--in beauty e'en profuse; Yet yielding little to the Drama's muse. For these descriptions, which with nature vie, The painter's brush but feebly can supply; Yet much depends upon the painter's art; And how--the plane--and saw--perform their part. So critics who uphold the stagyrite, lMay close their ears, and shut their eyes to-night. Manager. Zounds! how is this? PROLOGUE TO THE "RED ROVER.' 67 Author. Be patient, you shall see, A scene to tickle the catastrophe; "One," as Bays say, " shall set the audience mad, And pit, and box, and gallery it, egad, With anything extant." Manager. (Surprised.)-You mean to say, With hammer, paint, and boards, you wrote thtis play. Author. Precisely so. Manager. And should it chance to hit, Of course you'll lay a claim to taste and wit. Author. You're right again. Manager. Modest,-but if it fails-- Author. Well! damn the carpenter, the boards and nails. But that's impossible-impossible. Manager. Indeed I Author. My dukedom to a dernier, 'twill succeed. A showy drama from a native tale, In this fair city, ne'er was known to fail. Manager. 'We'll try that point. Author. Perhaps 'twill be the rage; The "' Rover"--what! already on the stage- This looks like expediton, cries that beau, While sauntering in the lobby, to and fro page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 8 PROLOGUE TO THE "RED ROVER." A wish to please the town; egad! that's right- A native play--I'll take a box to-night. Manager. To please the town has been, I here declare, My proudest study, and my hourly care; And when I prove imperfect in the part, The fault lies here; (touching his head,) but comes not near the heart The wish to please, at least all must allow: The "Rover," shall be done--so make your bow. Exeunt together. "NES TO A FAVOURIT"E ACTRESS. 69 "NES, TO A FAVOURITE ACTRESS.* That thou art fair and lovely the coldest heart must feel, And the arrows that thy dark eyes shoot would pierce a heart of steel; Thy lips will match the coral, and thy teeth with pearls may vie. Thy locks are of the raven's hue, thy step is majesty. Thy every look and action is fraught with match- less grace, And those who once have seen thee, can thy image ne'er efface; But what avails, thou fair one, the arrows of thine eyes? They're quick to shoot, but cannot reach time's strong wings as he flies. - Mrs. D. P. Bowers. page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 LINES TO A FAVOURITE ACTRESS. Thy cheek where health now revels, and the lips where roses grow. O! soon will fade, in the dust be laid, and grass from out them grow. And she whose grace and beauty made the coldest bosom burn, As a brilliant ray must pass away and dust to dust return. But what wise mortal can foretell the fate of his remains, J A crock may from his bones be formed, and brick- bats of his brains; And in some future age, perhaps, a potter may discover, The porcelain clay of her who fixed the heart of many a rover. And from the syren of the stage may make a tea- pot fine, If that's thy fate, I trust he'll make a water-pot of mine, 7 That I may meet my lovely friend upon a silver tray, 'And still enjoy the presence of the Jordan of the day. SO N- G OF MORTALITY. 7- SONG OF MORTALITY. Overture, full orchestra. Sing, sing, and dance it merrily- Why drag our chains so wearily! i 1st vocie- Young Debauchery. The hectic spot upon my cheek, My wasted frame, my shortened breath; My voice subdued, my spirit' meek Proclaim the near approach of death. 2nd Voice-Truth. These mortal vestments, soiled and torn You'll lay aside as over worn; And ne'er again shall you resume-- Such gear as useless in the tomb. rChorus. Sing, sing, and dance it merrily-- Why drag your chains so wearily! page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 SONG OF MORTALITY. 3rd Voice-Old Decrepitude. Though slowly moving, swiftly going; (Like snow in spring dissolving fast,) To where no fiery sun is glowing, Where I shall fear no wintry blast. 2nd Voice-Truth. Where all the heavy laden rest; Without oppressor, or oppressed- Where truth and justice ever flowing.-- 3rd Voice-Old Decrepitude. I feel I'm going.- 2nd Voice. You are going. Chorus. Sing, sing, and dance it merrily- Why drag your chain so wearily I 4th Voice-Sanctified Hypocrisy. Though I brought nothing in this world, My anxious spirit hopes to see When its last pinions are unfurled, Time's death beget eternity. SONG OF MORTALITY. 73 2nd Voice--Truth. Did you bring nothing-have you grown From earth, where seed was never sown? Yet hope to take--though blurred, indeed, A record for your God to read? Chorus. Sing, sing, and dance it cheerily- Why drag your chain so wearily! 5th Voice-Human Nature. Nay ye brought all-to man was given The greatest gift-The power to be- Enjoy, prepare a soul for heaven, And stand before Immensity. 2nd Voice-Truth. And is this nothing? a mere clod, Endued with attributes of God, By him approved and stamped as good? All-the voices. All nothing " says Ingratitude. Chorus. Sing, sing, and dance it merrily- Why drag your chains so wearily! page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 LE9gBIAs'S SPARROW. FROM CATULLUS. "ESBIA'S SPARROW "Lugite, Ohl! Veneres Cupidenesque." Ye Cupids droop your heads and mourn, My Lesbia's favorite sparrow's gone, Which she did prize, More than her eyes. He was so fond and faithful too, Whene'er a pang touch'd Lesbia's breast, He'd nestle in the place distrest, As if he were in love with woe. But when a smile her face o'erspread, With joy he'd raise his drooping head, Then plume his wing, And chirp and sing, His heart brim full of song and play! Then fondly bite her coral lip, All twittering now the nectar sip, And then in frolic wing away. "ESBIA S SPARROW. 75 Upon her finger he would stand, And eat his meal from her fair hand, His feathers sleek, And wipe his beak;- Her laughing eyes with joy would glisten, When speaking in a playful mood He'd chirp as if he understood, And archly turned his head to listen. Oh, death! curst be thy craving jaws, That never yield to Pity's laws, For kindred dear Or friends e sincere; But thou a shaft for all art steeping; Even this sparrow thou hast ta'en, For whose sad fate I now complain, And Lesbia's eyes are red with weeping. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 THE OQLD MAN'S LAMENT. THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT. My boyhood, my boyhood! has long since passed away, And like the flowers of spring its hours have faded in decay, And time, with all -his promises, hath yielded scarce a joy That can repay those swept away from me whilst yet a boy. The'world lay fresh before me and like a summer bird, On eager wing I rose to sing where melody was heard. The heavens were calm, the air was balm, the earth was gemm'd with flowers; And shouts of joy with6ut alloy brought on the winged hours. THE OLD MAN' S LAMENT. 77 . But now I mourn my infancy, as I my babes v" deplore, Who like bright visions flitted by and then were seen no more. But when as they I passed away, O! not a tear was shed, Although my boyhood is a thing now number'd with the dead. All radiant in their innocence my babes again shall live; But' the bright boy that time destroy'd no power can bid revive, And of the beings manifold that breath'd and moved' in me, An old man broken down with care is all, that God will see. My boyhood-my manhood 1, have vanish'dlike the wind, Or eager birds that clip the air and leave no trace behind, They lived-they died-both suicide, and are for- ever gone, Or at the judgment I appear a myriad in one. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 FiSHNG SONG. FISHNG SONG.* Come, pull, boys, pull, and row, boys, row, We all are fishermen here below. Some fish on land, and some on sea, And some where fish could never be. Some bob for whale and some for sprats, While others catch but water rats. No matter where our boats we row, We find all fishing here below. The statesman who protests that he Would die for us and liberty: The swain who swears in spite of time, The' wealthy widow's in her prime: The demagogue who makes a fuss,- Are fishing all to gudgeon us. Then pull, boys, pull, -and row, boys, row, We all are -fishing here below. * Written for the Centennial Celebration of the Pishing Company of the State in Schuylkill, May 1, 1832. FIS HNO SONG. 79 : The lawyer casts the wily net, The parson, too, some. lines has set. The damsel, timid as the deer, The widow with the roguish leer, Though modest as the wife of Lot, Are fishing both for-you know what. Then pull, boys, pull, and row, boys, row, We all are fishing here below. Yes, e'en below extends the plan, Old Nick himself 's a fisherman.' And: few like him can bait a hoQk- The best, sometimes, have " fisher's luck?" But rain or shine, what e'er befall, He never gets a water haul. Then pull, boys, pull, and row, boys, row, We all are fishing here below. . x page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 o I; E. ODE. Read at the celebration of Penn's Landing, 24th October, 1829. "ET poets sing the Victor's praise, And Time, until his latest days, The echo of the strain prolong; Let Fame the bloody page record; The human sacrifice applaud, "And nations deify the sword," Far other thoughts demand my song. O I what was he of Zama's plain, Or they who piled the countless slain At Marathon-ThermopylSe! To him for whom our strains ascend, Who taught the savage knee to bend Who made the savage foe his friend, And gain'd a bloodless victory. ODE. 81 The Victor's laurel wreath must fade ; The sceptre in the dust be laid; The proudest works of man consume. Obedient to the voice of God, Together in their last abode, The beggar and the prince corrode- Virtue alone defies the tomb. Then sing his praise whose copious plan, Confess'd the work of God in man, And from THE BOOK his precepts drew; At whose approach the forest smil'd;-- A brother found in nature's child His brother's breast of fear beguilrd, 'Till strong the bond of friendship grew. Let others sing the warrior's deed, Who lives to make a nation bleed, Then meteor-like from earth depart; My humble muse I consecrate To him who raised--not crush'd a state: Whose victories were countless--great!- For lo! he conquer'd ev'ry heart. 6 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 ODE. Then never be his name forgot And verdant be that hallow'd spot, Beneath the ancient Elm tree's shade, Where erst the lesson was imbib'd Of faith unbroken-virtue tried; And now upon the stone inscrib'd, Rever'd and classic ground has made. * - "ATIN POEM.- 83 "ATIN POE-M. Vitce Humance Tempora. BY WM., ALEXANDER. Mane veni ;' erat Ver, Atque risi. Meridiano tempore, Perdeambulavi, Erat tEstas; Atque gavisus Sum. Consedi Vesperi; Erat Autumnus; Atque tristiti, affectus Sum. Nocte quieti me dedi; Erat Hyems; atquedormivi. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 SEASONS OF LIFE. SEASONS OF LIFE. A Paraphrase of Wmin. Alexander's Latin Poem. I came in Morning; it was Spring, And I smiled. At Mid-day, I, on eager wing, Rambled o'er the green to sing, As bird or-child. It now was Summer, fruitful, bland, My Soul and Joy walked hand in hand O'er flowery fields in merry glee;- I smiled at Joy, he laughed at me. Shades of eve came slowly on, 'Twas Autumn now; My joys had vanished one by one, Grief pressed my brow. Although my breast was sore distrest, Soon night approached to give me rest; 'Twas Winter now, all nature wept; I shed no tear, but calmly slept. FRAGMENT. 85 FRAGMENT.* Art thou a husband?--hast thou lost The partner of thy joys-thy woes; Didst watch her when in anguish tost, And share the dire conflicting throes Of agonized mortality, Till e'en to thee 'twas bliss to close The last fond look of her glazed eye? Art thou a father?--hath thy son, The prop of thy declining life, Fail'd ere his manly race was run, And left thee to a world of strife? *From a poem entitled Francesca, written before the author was aware that Leigh Hunt had pre-occupied the subject. This circumstance induced him to-withhold it from publication. page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 FRAGMENT.- Dost thou pursue in cold neglect The remnant of thy journey here; No one thy frailties to protect, Or gray-hair'd sorrows to revere? Is it denied thy stricken heart To gaze upon the face -of one, Who seem'd thy former counter part, Recalling ages long since gone? To see, the follies that were thine When life ran frolic through each vein; And thus, e'en in thy life's decline To live the hours of youth again. Art thou a lover?-is the theme Of all thy raptures torn from thee? Hast broke the wild ecstatic dream And woke to actual agony? The eyes where countless cupids play'd; The form as light as gossamer; The neck where thy warm lips have stray'd-- Say, does the grave-worm fatten there? If so, say, hast thou never known The joy of gazing on the sky While nature sleeps, and you alone Seem roused to thought and misery. t& FRAGMENT. 87 Hast never watch'd the pallid moon, While rested on some sifted cloud, Pure as the fretful ocean's foam, And filthy as an angel's shroud. Gazed on her while her cresent pride Seem'd through a sea of pitch to float; Then from the depth of darkness glide, And burst to view a fairy boat; And shed her beams so strong and bright, That the globe seemed a crysolite? 'Tis heavenly at that hour to muse, When sleep is o'er the senses stealing, And e'en to agony profuse, Indulge the luxury of feeling. The features to recall of those, Who moulder in their last repose; To chase each image that may rise In mockery before the eyes, Until you catch the happy clue That brings to life the wonted smile, And gives the cheek its roseate hue That moulders in decay the while; Then dead to reason; dead to pain, You dream an hour of bliss again. page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 A'PO LOGUE, APOLOGUE. A Tar, who long had roam'd the main, About to trust the sea again, Was thus addressed at his departure, By Hodge, who had no faith in water. "Your father, and his sire before him, - And many others of your stock, sir, Have left their children to deplore 'em, Stow'd snug away in Davy's locker; Then how the d---1 can it be, You trust again' the treacherous sea?" "Pray answer me," Jack Tar replied, "And where was it your father died?" "He died," quoth Hodge, and scratch'd his head, v "Where his own father died--in bed." "You're a bold, man, if that's the case," Said Jack, "to trust to such a place: The scene where all your tribe were slain- Pray never go to bed again." TO 89 TO t . When lowly in the dust thou rt laid, And all has faded, that can fade, I shall not, shed one tear for thee, To stain thy Angel purity. Tho' thou art all on earth I own, The spot my spirit rests upon; Till torn with earthly agonies, It finds a solace in the skies. Tho' in thy angel breast I trace The link that binds me to my race;: And tho' I feel when thou art gone, I here shall wander-dark- alone. Yet not one bitter tear shall flow, To break thy sleep-to sooth my woe; No sigh be heav'd--no tear be shed, No more than if thou wert not dead. - page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 TO For who could shed one tear for thee, Knowing, belov'd, thy purity? Say, who could force one sinful tear, To mourn thy loss, to wish thee here? But if one tear should chance to flow, Belov'd, itf shall not spring from-woe; But calmly to thy grave be given, To prove, I feel that thou 'rt in Heaven! + w [. LIN ES. '91 "NES. There is an hour of 'sadness- A balm for every woe- A wild delusive madness, That forms our Heaven below. 'Tis when at eve we're roving, To brood upon our pain, And feel the pangs of loving, Yet dream of bliss again. E'en then the eye that waileth, Will glisten through the tear; E'en then the hope that faileth, Is calm and doubly dear. Oh! Mary, though now parted, It brings thee to my sight; Though almost broken hearted, I feel a faint delight. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 LINES. That tells me hard fate left us One hope to rest upon, The act that has bereft us, J Had made our Spirits one. TO A LADY. 93 TO A LADY. Upon her asking "What is Love?" And can'st thou dearest gravely ask The meaning of the word " to -Love?" How could'st thou teach so oft the task, And yet its meaning never prove? But since thou'st taught my breast to burn With love's delightful misery, It were but justice in return That I should teach the same to thee. But, ah Imy tongue would strive to tell In vain the' agony I feel, For as the trembling accents fell Thy cheeks would check the tender tale. Then in my breast, thy blushes hide; The brain the meaning ne'er can prove; The heart will tell, and thou'lt not chide, The heart alone can tell what's love. page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " soN N. SONG. There's not on earth a joy so sweet- As that the tender maiden proves- When kneePling--sighing at her feet, She see's the youth she fondly loves. She weeps and heaves a broken sigh; And cannot tell the reason why. There's not on earth a pang so great, As that which stabs the doating fair, Who falls deserted-knows her fate; Her lover false--her life despair, She weeps and heaves a broken sigh, And well she knows the reason why. -LINES WaITTEN, ETC. 95 "NES WRITTEN -IN THE ATBUM OF MSS ETEN M --. I walked with thee beneath the sky, When the angels had hung their lamps on high, And I loved the moon as in early years Ere I found this world was a world of tears, And I loved the stars with a holy love For they win the soul to their realms above, And I thought what a heaven of joy 'twould be To rove through that world of love with thee. But I turned from God's resplendent skies To gaze in the heayen of thy blue. eyes; Little dreaming I'there should see The star of my evil destiny, That told me there is nought to hope, Within my gloomy horoscope. page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 LINES WRITTEN IN THE Ellen-I love thee for that name So long familiar to my tongue,-- So cherished in my heart, my brain, When life and love and hope were young. That there is not a sound on earth, Nay, there is not a note in heaven, Could waken to a second birth The holy feelings crush'd and riven. In my poor heart, like that dear name, It comes like the eternal flame Of light on chaos, rousing up The speeches of departed years- They tempt me with the rosy cup, I taste and find it steep'd with tears, Still do I love thee for that name, More than ambition, power or fame. Thou little dreamest, gentle one, The mischief that thine eyes have done; How like a little thief you- stole, Into the cloister of my soul, And scattered round my foolish heart, Visions of bliss, so heavenly wild, Like to an angel's whisperings In the ear of a sleeping child. ALBUM OF MSS ELLEN M----- 97 Still I'll not blame the artless wile That killed me with an angel's smile, Though, true, at times, I may regret We ever parted, ever met, And I may grieve, that thou wilt be As dear to others, as thou'rt to me. But fare thee well-we soon must part And ne'er perhaps lo meet again, I bear thy image on my heart, And on the tablets of my brain Is written much that I shall read,- When thou'rt not near, and thy loved voice Shall cease to makp my bosom bleed, With recollection of the joys Of former days, and as the flower Kill'd by the wintry snow and rain, Peeps forth at spring's reviving power E'en so my heart may bloom again, And so my thoughts still fondly dwell with thee Love, Hope and Joy will break their sepulchre. 7 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 SONa. SONG. Yes I should mourn, The false friends gone- If you had left me too forlorn, But still you are; The Polar star; That guides my weary foot-steps on. A meteor light, In the darksome night, Whilst all around the stars are set, That struggles to show, In the midst of woe, There are things worthy living for yet. Whilst your smiles beam Thro' life's dark dream, Unbroken 'twill be with sigh or tear, I shall not grieve, If fate but leave, The angel that cheers my existence here. TO - *99 TO When the gloom of the grave is around me, And the scene of mortality sunk in decay; When the visions of love that so madly had bound-- me - To thee, and despair have all flitted away. Perchance thou'lt remember that I did adore thee, And cease to reproach the sad spirit that's gone; Nay e'en thy proud bosom may deign to deplore me When virtues, not faults, tare remember'd alone. When thou shalt remember how fondly you hung On the breast where the grave-worm make his repast; How falsely you smiled and how madly I clung To the lips that swore they would love to the last. page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 TO - - Perchance thou wilt weep, and oh! well I may claim, One drop of affliction to hallow my urn: The tears that-I've shed in my anguish and shame May ask this of thee as a trifling return. Since our fatal loves, a dark record of crime, Tmagined or real has been blazoned to me: Reproach for my faults I Heaven knows since that time, My greatest was too much affection for thee. But now let that pass, since you wish to forget That I once adored, and -your bosom could feel, I shall not recall the sad moment we met, And the scenes that soon follow'd, shall strive to conceal. Aye, even from thee, for if there be a sting In recalling the past, I should cease to repine, Could I bear it:alone, and reflection ne'er bring One pang to the heart that has near broken mine. THE COQUETTE. lQl -THE COQUETTE. I love little Mary to madness I've told her a hundred times o'er, From all I have hidden my sadness, Yet all seem to know I adore. How is it the world should discover The secret I closely conceal; And she alone know not I love her, Though I daily my passion reveal-? page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 TO ELLEN. STANZAS-TO ELLEN. I knew thee when thy heart was light, As down beneath a seraph's wing, No tears thy rosy cheeks to blight Or thought that left the poisoning sting; When all was calm within thy breast, As the grave where sainted mortals rest. I clung round thee then, In the madness of bliss, And felt naught was worth living for, Ellen, save this. I knew thee when thy heart was rent, Thy brain to madness nearly driven; When every earthly hope was spent, And e'en perhaps thy hopes in Heaven; And 'twas to me as bitterest gall, To know that I had caused thee all. TO' ELLLEN N W 103 I clung around thee then, In my grief and dismay, And saw all that I doated on, Fading away. Thy shame has past-thy fears have gone; Thy brow as calm as Heaven appears- Thy voice-'tis bliss Hthe only one, That soothes me in this vale'of tears; Thine eyes-I draw from them the light That guide me through this world of night. I cling round thee now, From anxiety free, And find all that I live for, Oh I Ellen, in thee. page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 FROM-ANAORIEON. 1 R O MF A-B-.k R OE O N. FROM ANACREON. If hoarded gold would but bestow On -man a longer life below, 'I never would forsake the pleasure Of adding to the valued treasure, And thus when death would call, I'd pay My fee to live another day. But since the proud and poor are doom'd Alike to moulder in the tomb, And wealth of worlds hath not the power One moment to prolong the hour, Why should I strive that dross to save, Will yield it pleasure in the grave; Then give me whilst through life I, pass The smiling girl-the sparkling glass, That I for griefs may make amends With faithful love-and cheerful friends- But where's the man possesses here A faithful woman-friend sincere I THE PENITENT. 105 TTHE PENITENT. Spirit of Hope, I have gazed upon thee, With thy radiant- smile and thine eye of flame; When Time, sped on with his merriest glee, The burthen of which, was thy heart cheering name. And the fairy dreamas of earliest love, ' (When the soul is pure, and the heart is light,) O'er my enchanted senses would move, As the first planets shining on Eden bright. Spirit of Hope, I have called upon thee, When, the daemon of folly pass over my soul, And I felt, as thy smile was turned fondly on me, It embittered the poison that mantled the bowl. And I turned from thy smile, though thy heavenly glance - Would have banished me far from my sinful fate; Yet senseless I lay in the pride-killing trance, 'Till roused to a world that was desolate. page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 1Q.6 THE PENITENT. Spirit of Hope, thou hast past from my sight, Like the wild eagle's course through the trackless wind, I heedlessly gazed at your terrible flight, That left but a voidless bloom behind. 'Till the fitful star that led me on From all the bowers of Eden, with promised bliss Had darkly set-'till its splendor had gone And left me to utter wretchedness. "NES. -107 "NES. In answer to some verses from a Lady. Oh! yes, thou art mine till the sepulchre close, Thy moments of bliss and my measure of woes; Till the last mortal sigh shall have scatter'd the gloom That dampens all raptures this side of the tomb. I feel thou art mine, whilst a spark shall remain Of life in thy heart, or of sense in my brain; And till my life's blood, or my reason depart, Thy image, beloved, shall remain inmy heart. 'Tis the light of my life, and oh I thou art to me, As the watch-star over the turbulent sea- And though the world deem it afatuous flame, I'll follow it even to death or to shame. I ask but that light--'tis the light of my soul, Call it madness or reason-no word shall control; For whilst you still love, I care not for the name, Guilt, rapture, or phrenzy, so thou art the same. 4, page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 EPIGRAM. E-PIGRAM. My little babes-said Jane to Kitty, Are quite unlike-though both are pretty. One has a little flaxen poll, The. other's hair is black as coal- This striking contrast I admire. The reason why, said Kate to Jane, 'Tis not so easy to explain, Tho' one has eyes as black as jet, The other's blue as violet, Still eath resembles much his sire. EPITAPH ON AN AGED COUPLE. 109 EPITAPH ON AN AGED COUPLE. Their joys through life were one, and so their woes; In the same grave their ashes now repose; At the last trump when myriads shall arise, God grant they hand in hand ascend the skies, "And the bright hope that guided to their rest,.- Angels may sing-' Consummatum est.'" . .^ page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O' TO TO- True, we may dream awhile, my dear In all the4uxury of feeling, And I may drink thy smile, my dear, 'Till madness o'er each sense is stealing. And I may gaze upon thee, too, 'Till all is fairy land around me, And you may dream of love, 'tis true, Nor see the snake that lurks to wound thee. But when from madness' waking, love, And there is nought but sorrow near us, And when our hearts are breaking, love, Without a single hope to cheer us, In vain we'll dream of blisses past, Forgotten, then, thy love for me! Thy heart will wither in the blast, E'en as the rose in Araby. TO ------ 1" Then shall we cease to cherish, dear, The passion that will shortly doom us? 'Tis better far to perish here, If such a Heavenly flame consume us, Than pass an age of littleness, And scarcely find a pleasure in it. Then light the la mp of love and bliss, We'll liveta life in one short minute. page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 soNG. 'SONG And wilt thou, Mary, never say; The feelings of thy breast disclose? See, on my knees I weep-I pray My fate impart and end my woes. If life by thee can ne'er be blest, I shall not live to mourn my fate:- If pity dwell within thy breast Then end my woes and say you hate. / -' STANZAS. 113 STANZAS.' Whilst there's a star in the dark blue sky, Or sand on the desert of Araby: Till the winds be hush'd, and the ocean be dry My bosom shall doat and cling fondly to thee. The stars of the night in the morn may set, And winds be all hushed in the holiest sleep: But, Oh I thy affection I ne'er shall forget, While my soul can feel, or my heart can' weep. And thou wilt be mine while thy bosom can beat, While woman can love-or thy memory last; And when we are doom'd but in anguish to meet, We'll turn with delight to the blisses we've past. And dream over moments of rapture again, 'Till life burns more brightly, and woes disappear: : But e'en when the bosom is deluged with pain, We'll sigh not, but live for each other, my dear. page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 STANZAS. Yes, I will be thine, while my bosom can beat, While honour remains, or my memory last: And when we are doomed but in sorrow to meet, Oh I I shall still love for the blisses we've past. / ,e FRANCE. 115 FRANCE S Unfold your banners to the wind; Display the sleeping blade to light; Send forth the slave-the trembling hind To perish in the unholy fight. The banner deep in slaughter dy'd The blade encrusted o'er with blood, The heart by tyranny well tried, That ne'er a Louis' frown withstand; Compose the band that would control The flight of freedom and the soul. Go forth, sweet France, while damsels sing Thy former pride and majesty, The first great deed of Gallia's king Is now to shackle liberty. * Written in 1821. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 FRAN CE. For he is gone, whose deathless name Stands forth among the great, the brave, Whose sword bequeath'd a nation's fame That now igs cringing to a slave; But he is gone, or else this blow Had laid his exiled bosom low. Thy banners wanton in the wind, The sleeping blades now leap to light, The monarch sends the trembling hind To perish in'the unholy fight. But Io! around the dotard's head The fates the wreath of cypress twine; And now/ the crimson mantle spread To catch the bitterest drops of- brine Shed by that poor and trifling thing,' All Europe's dupe-no longer-King I STANZAS. 117 STANZAS. I- imitation of some French verses. Source of my bliss; thy soothing smile Consoles me in this world of ill; For in the midst of shame and toil, I find a bliss in living still. Though wreck'd, forlorn with worldly care, And fainting with my load of grief, Thy image flits between despair, To yield my wounded soul relief. The taunting world may shun-despise - Pursue me to the wilderness,; Whilst fondness sparkles in thine eyes, My anguish only serves to bless. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 ST A N ZA S. Despair is in my wild retreat- My only comrade.--misery-- But whilst this wretched heart will beat, 'Twill throb with gratitude for thee.' My life--my Mary--thy dear form Raises such transports in my soul, That in the midst of sorrow's storm, I mock the tempests as they roll. Yes; Mary, whilst thou cling'st to me, I'll mock the tempests of my woes; But when deprived of love and thee, I'll sink into the grave's repose. EPIGRAM. 119 EPIGRAM. In days of old-so stories go; Old Orpheus took a trip below, But modern husbands need not roam They've wife and h-ll enough at home. ANOTHER. Eurydice, as stories tell, Led her spouse Orpheus down to h-11; But wives have long since changed the evil, Now drive their husbands to the devil. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 1i2 EPIGRAM; EPIGRAM On a certain Doctor, rmnning for a seat in the Senate of Pennsylvania. A Roman Emperor once, it is said, Of his favorite horse: a Senator made; But a wonder far greater has now come to pass, We'd make a grave Senator out of an ass I PAUPER'S DEATH. Hard Case. He was a stranger, no one took him in,--, Oppress'd by poverty--perchance by sin; No nurse assisted, and no parson pray'd, Alone he died, without a doctor's aid. 1E?I B AM. IZ I EPIGRAM. "Delia, my dear, you're so unkind, That I have lost my peace of mind ;" Quoth Delia "that's no loss at all, Your piece of mind's so very small." ' , ANOTHER. "I owe you a grudge," said Brown to Jones, - "And when we meet I'll-break your bones,;" "An idle threat," Jones calmly said, "No debt you owed was ever paid." page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 EPI aRAM. THE SCOLD'S LAST SQUALL. "A woman overboard! my eyes! she's lost t See, on the foamirne billows how she's tost Jack, can you swim?" "Like any fish." "O save That struggling victim from a watery grave." "Not I. Row on, and pray make no alarm, Her worthy husband never did me harm." SONG FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 123 SONG FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. The shrill bugle sounds'and the war-horse is prancing, The flags and the plumes -are now waiving on high; The bright polish'd arms in the sun' beams are glancing, But brighter the beam that is shot from each eye, Each bosom is bounding, each pulse now is filling With drops that are rich as the gems of the sea, And each one we meet in his extacy thrilling Has stamped on his visage the soul of the free. The cripple goes forth to the splendid array, With spirit roused up that long dormant had lain ;- ' He shoulders his crutches, to honor the day, And fights o'er his battles, and conquers again, page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] }-24 SONG FOR THE-,FOURTH OF JULY, His little grand-child that is scarcely knee high,- : Now mnmic -precisely his fugleman sire, He stedfstly looks on the warribrs'eye, And adraws from-their beamn an- unquenchable fire. The voice of the maiden is sweeter by far As she breathes on this day the bold national song, And ringlesg the emblems of peace and:of war In a wreath for the brows, where her feelings belong, ERach heart is as buoyant as gossamer new, Fach drop in it pure as a gem of the sea, For where is the spirit so dastardly low Could sleep through the moment that shouted you're free I' j * s - "NE .S. 125 "NES SENT TO A L ADY -WITH'- A BROACH. -This broach I senad, dear Nell, Is an emblem fit for thee; Behold, the otle spotless shell, Is as pure as pure can be. And though the bauble's made Of but a spurious shell, - The likeness still prevails, My fair and lovely Nell. The time may yet arrive When cherub boys and girls May call thee, gentle Nell; Mother of many pearls. , ; r v , . page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 THE LABORER TO HS WIFE. THE-LABORER-TO HS WIFE. Our love was born in poverty, His cradle rocked midst doubts and fears i But still the urchin stoutly grew, Though nourished with our tears. Though roses bloomed upon his cheeks, His bright eyes sickened with despair., But as we nursed the angel child, We found great beauty there. At length we kissed away the tears That had bedewed his rosy cheek: And then we saw the rays of Hope Within his bright eyes break. And since he has to manhood grown, And dried with smiles the infant's tear, He proves a very Hercules-- Our strength and solace here. s FORRE ST 127 FORREST. Let no one question his transcendent art, ' The tragic muse to him should yield the throne, Who to Bird's muse new beauties can impart, And cast -a veil e'en o'er the faults of Stone. 2 . . page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 TO REBECCA. TO REBECCA. Be pure in heart and strong in mind, Perform your duty-kind on earth Towards the feeble, and unkind, For God creates a second birth. Our mortal birth to-Time was given, The trist of joy and misery- Earth's but the vestibule of heaven, Time-doorkeeper to eternity. y "NES. 129 "NES. Written in a young Ladly's Album on the eve of her Marriage. The world laughs out before thee, The heavens smile brightly o'er thee, Hope revels in thy heart. Flowers in thy path are springing, Birds on each spray are singing; While heaven and earth-are ringing, "Joy, joy can ne'er depart." The mountain stream when gushing From the pleft rock, and rushing Through green and flowery vales, Long ere it meets the ocean \ Are lost in wild commotion, Its brightness-the devotion Received from fragrant gales. page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 138' LINES. The world soon frowns before us, The heavens soon darken o'er us, Still hope will cheer the heart. Though thorns in your path-way spring, dear, Though some may rankle and sting, dear, While fondly to one you cling dear; "Joy, joy can ne'er depart." The white and filmy icloud, That floats like an angel's shroud, By the storm is rudely driven; And when it is rent asunder By the lightning and the thunder, It ceases to raise man's wonder, That cloud is still in- heaven. L I NES. 1 "NES. Say what has bound my soul to thee, With fetters death can scarcely break; Is it the fire that lights thine eye, Thy fairy form or rosy cheek? No-there are other eyes as bright, Cheeks as rosy, forms as light. Is it thy breast of driven snow, Or jetty curls-that bind my soul, Thy coral lips where pearls do grow, Or kisses sweet, that thence I stole? No- there are bosoms full as fair, And lips that all those treasures bear. Then what has thus ensnared my breast, If not that thou art heavenly fair? Oh! when thy angel form I press'd, And felt a heart of fondness there. 'Twas then my mind confess'd there's one To rest all earthly hopes upon. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 182 LIIN E S. When I beheld thy parting glance, And heard the sigh that bade farewell! Oh! there was more in that short trance, Than years of bliss--or words can tell. It bade hope rise--life brightly roll And fixed thy image in my soul. FRAGaMENT. 133 FRAGMENT. Adieu farewell earth's bliss, This world uncertain is; Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys, None from his darts can fly. I am sick, I must die; Lord have mercy on us; Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health. Physic himself must fade; All things to end are made. The plague full swift goes by. I am sick, I must die; Lord have mercy on us! page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 184 FRA'GMENT. Haste, therefore, each degree, To welcome destiny; Heaven is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage. Mount we unto the sky. I am sick, I must die; Lord have mercy on us! TO THE LOST ONE; 135 TO THE LOST ONE.* Vale et Benedicite. In joy we met; in anguish part; Farewell thou frail misguided one! Young hope sings matins in thy heart, While dirges ring in mine alone, Solemn as monumental stone. Thy life is Spring, but Autumn mine; Thy hope all flowers; mine bitter fruit, For hope but blossoms to repine; It seldom hath a second shoot;- A shadow that evades pursuit. Though poets are not prophets here, Yet Time must pass and you will see, While o'er dead joys you drop the tear, This world is one Gethsemane Where all weep-die-still dream to be. * This is the last poem written by R. P. S. It was pub- lished in Graham's Magazine a few months before his death. H. W. S. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] I136 TO THE LOST ONE. Flowers spring, birds sing in the young heart, But Time spares not the flowers of Spring; The birds that sang there soon depart, And leave God's altar withering- Flowerless and no bird to sing. God pronounced all things good in Eden; Young Adam sang-not knowing evil. Until the snake plucked fruit forbidden, And made himself to Eve quite civil.- Did he tempt her, or she the devil? True, she made Eden Adam's heaven;- Also the green earth Adam's hell; Tore from his grasp all God had given; Cast him from bliss in sin to dwell; To make her food by his sweat and blood. Then what should man from woman hope, Who hurled from Paradise his sire? Her frailty drew his horoscope, And barred the gates of heaven with fire; Changed God's intent for her desire. TO THE LOST ONE. 137 And what should she from man expect Who slew his God her soul to save? A dreary life of cold neglect;- For Eden lost;-a welcome grave, Where kings make ashes with the slave! A welcome grave! man's crowning hope! All trust from dust we shall revive; Despite our gloomy horoscope, Incarnadined God will receive His children who slew him to live. A frail partition but divides Your husband from insanity; He stares as madness onward strides To crush each-spark of memory- I gave you all-this you give me! Vale et benedicite. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] FUGITIVE PROSE FIRST COLLECTED. page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. How unstable is human opinion! In childhood we look forward to the years of maturity for the consummation of our dream of happiness; and when that period has arrived, we call up the recol- lections of youth, and they bloom again as spots of green in the desert. ' I passed by boyhood in a village far remote from our populous cities, and the occurrences of those thoughtless days made so-deep an impression, that at this distant period they retain their freshess, and. doubtless will do so even to the close of life. The joys of youth take deep root in the mind arid bloom for years; whether it be winter or spring' with us; but the pleasure-of :after life are'but as flwersof a season, that blossom for a day and fade and fresh seed must be scattered before others appear. - I re visited the village nrot long since,. ater an absence of manly years. It had undergone numer- ous changes, -and;, as I walked - along the' streets, page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. many new faces presented themselves, and- but few of the old ones were to be seen. In fact, time had rendered me a stranger in a strange place, though I had imagined that all would be as familiar to me as my own fire-side, and that my welcome would have been as cordial. With feelings of disappointment, I extended my walk to the commons beyond the skirts of the village where the school house stood. That had undergone no -change; it was still the same but it struck me that time had materially dimninished it in magnitude. It is remarkable how our optics deceive us at different stages of life. I looked around with delight for every thing was familiar to me: but the picture was now in miniature. Objects that I had considered remote were near at hand, and mountains had dwindled away- to comparative mole-hills. While enjoying the recollections that the scene awakened, the door of the school house opened, and a man approached. He would have been known among a thousand, by his step and air, for a country school master. After an awkward bow, he said: ("A pleasant evening, sir. A charming land- scape, and you appear to enjoy it." THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 148 "Yes; ;it is delightful to look upon familiar faces after a long separation." He gazed at me earnestly and muttered, "Faces I I have surely seen that face before!" "Very possibly I but not within twenty years." "At that period I was a pupil in this school," said he, " and if I mistake not, you were also." I answered in the, affirmative. He' grasped me immediately by the hand, and shaking it cordially, called me by my name. "But," continued :he, "you appear not to remember me 1" "True; the human countenance is a tablet upon which time is constantly scribbling new characters and obliterating the old, and his- hand has been busily employed upon your fronit?" "Yes; another story has been written there since the time when we used to lie in wait by a salt lick, at midnight, for the coming deer, or glide over the surface of the river, with a fire in the stern of our canoe, to light us to the hiding places of the salmon trout." I knew him now to be the same who had been my constant companion in the excursions of my boyhood. "But, how is this?"I exclaimed: "have page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. the old duties of the school devolved upon you? Where is our preceptor?" "Debemur morti nos nostraque!" "Dead!" "So his tombstone informs us; and in this in- stance it speaks, the truth, contrary to the usual practice of tombstones.- He took a cold by exposing himself when overheated by the labour of a severe flagellation "inflicted upon. the broad shoulders of a dull urchin. You may remember that his manner of teaching was impressive, for he -rigidly pursued the ancient system for imparting knowledge." O!- I remember. And doubtless you are' as great a terror to the rising generation as he was to us and our companions. Well, I: might have fore- told your destiny.. Our inclinations are early deve- loped; and it was a prime joke with you, as soon as the school was dismissed, to put on-the teacher's gown, and cap and' spectacles,: and seating yourself in his large oaken chair, call upon us, with mock gravity, to go through the forms we had, just finished." "You may also remember," said the school mas- ter, "that upon one of these occasions you clam- bered up behind me, and gave me a libation from - , THE 'VILLLAG -SCHOOL. ' 145- an inkhorn, while the master was standing in the door-way, the only one present who could not enter into the spirit of the farce we were performing.' - "Nor did we highly applaud his epilogue to Our entertainment. But'where are they now, who Joined in our thoughtless amusements on that day?" "Scattered as far: apart as the four corners of the earth! A small room there contained- them, and they found happiness in it; but grown to :man's - estate, they roamed the wide world in pursuit of the phantom and it-eluded their grasp." ; i "What became of- little Dick Gaylove; who, on that occasion, was detected making a profile of our old preceptor on the door? He was a promising lad, the pride of his father's heart, and a universal favorite in the school." "He was, indeed, a boy of fine talents: but judge not of the fruit from the flower. He left the village for the metropolis, and was educated for the bar. He was admired and caressed by his acquaintances, became dissipated, ruined his father's fortune, and died the death of a prodigal at five-and-twenty." "And his brother Tom, who overturned the bench upon which Jack Williams and his cousin were seated?" 10 1 ^ page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 1Q6 THE VILL-AGE SCHOOL. "He imitated the example set by father Adam;. and by cultivating the earth, supported his aged parents. If more would do so the world would be happier." As we walked to the village he gave me a brief history of the whole of our schoolmates, and the picture presented a vast deal more of shade than sunshine. Life may be compared to a tree in full bearing.: Of the multitude of blossoms how many are nipped in the bud I Of the fruit more than half falls in its green state, and of that which attains maturity much goes to decay before it is gathered to use. SALEK. 147 SALEK. ONCE upon a time there dwelt, in a cave near Ispahan, a poor dervise of the name of Salek. He belonged to the most self-denying class-of hisorder, and as his wants were few, his scanty food and miserable raiment satisfied the necessities of nature, and daily did he thank Allah for his beneficence. Salek was happy in the midst of privation, but his heart was touched for the sufferings of others, and he prayed that it might be granted him to lighten the burthen of those who were heavy laden, and wipe the tear from the eye'of the mourner. He went forth and gathered alms by the way-side from the rich, which he distributed to the helpless; and he found that his .charity, like the blessed dew of heaven, revived alike the drooping weed and the flower, wherever it fell. Again did he pour forth his soul in gratitude for the charities he had been enabled to confer,'and in the purity of his heart he prayed. that his sphere of usefulness might be 4,4 page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8- SALE K. enlarged, for countless tears were shed he had not the power to wipe away. He' then threw himself upon his bed of torture and qlept in peace. There were genii in those days. In his sleep the dervise -had a vision, in which a genius appeared and promised that his prayer should be granted to the extent of his :-wil; that eveti rthe whelth::bf Ispahan; if necessary, should flow- into his coffers, on condition -that he would daily bestow but one tithe of his -receipts in .charity. Fervently did he thank Allah in his dreami, and promise that his :feet should know no'rest im soeking objects who needed. his assistance. When he 'awoke he found a bag of gold on the floor of his cell, which he grasped with equal amazement and delight-, and went forth on -his charitable mission. Many a heavy heart, dida Salak that day relieve of its: burthen-; =and on retdrning" to his cell at night, he found ten: bags of'gold. of -the same size as that the had distributed j He prayed and slept. Early; the next morning: hel adgai went forth, bearing as many of the bags as he could carry, and wherever he :appeared the stricken a-nd:the oppressed went on: their way rejoicing... At inight he again founnd that the alms he had distributed had been replaced tenfold; and thus he continued his SAL tK. 149 good works,' day after day, until his narrow cell became too small to contain -the wealth:that Allah showered-upon him. The dervise now purchased a palace in the Square of Meyden, and his gardens were freshenedl ith cascades from the sparkling waters of the Zender- out.. For a time he continued to bestow his charity, which daily yielded him the :promised harvest win return; but possessed of the means of indulging his appetites, he gradually yielded to the frailties of his nature, which:he pampered until :it. became irk- some to relieve the craving necessities of his feliow mortals.: He slept in luxury; thought lightly- of the stewardship that had been intrusted to him; and at length wholly neglected to perform the condition upon which his wealth and happiness depended. " The'genius again appeared, and- said, "Awake, thou sluggard I Thy promised inheritance, though boundless, will escape thee through thy indolence. He who bestows all, has asked but one tithe out of thine abundance, which has been refused. He asked not of thine necessity, but of his own profusion; and thou has withheld a mite from the cravings of his children, though thy own reward would have been multiplied to the extent of thy wishes. f page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 - - SALEK. :Awake, thou fool I He who refuses to scatter the seed, must not hope to, gather in the, harvest"' When the dervise awoke, he discovered that his wealth had vanished, and that he was again as destitute as when the genius first appeared to him. Humbled in spirit, he left his palace and returned to his cell: and as he resumed his garb of penitence, he sighed, "In my poverty I was keenly alive to the misfortunes of the most lowly; in my pros- perity, dead even to my God." He again gathered alms by the way-side, and dried the tears of the stricken. He -no longer gave sparingly from pro- fusion, but freely from his frugal store; and at length the genius again appeared and renewed the promise, "Thou art now truly the almoner of Allah. He has entrusted but little to thee, yet of that little thou bestowest all, and with all thy heart. Thy reward shall be, not only tenfold, but as the single grain of wheat compared to the yield of the harvest field; and it shall be garnered for thee where the thief cannot break in, nor time consume it." NETTLES ON THE GRAVE. 151 NETTLES ON THE .GRAVE. STROLLING: through a cemetery, I beheld Within one of the enclosures a - widow who had buried her only child there, some two years before. I accosted her, and tendered my assistance. "Thank you," she replied, "my task is done. I have been pulling up the nettles and thistles that have overgrown little Willie's grave, -and-have planted mnemonies, hearts ease, and early spring flowers in-their place, 'as more fitting emblems of my child; and though they may fail to delight him, they will remind me that there is a spring time even in the grave, and that Willie will not be neglected by Him who bids these simple flowers revive. But is it not strange how rank nettles and all offensive weeds grow over the human grave-even a child's grave?" "I remember you mourned grievously at losing him, but trust time has assuaged affliction." "Its poignancy is blunted, but memory is con. stantly hovering around my child, Duty and reason t page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 NETLES ON THE GRAVE. have taught me resignation; still I seldom behold a boy of his age, tut fancy pictures to me how he would have appeared in the various stages of his progress toward manhood. And then again I see him like his father-and myself a proud and happy mother in old age. True, you may call it an idle, baseless dlreamT; ; and so it is,:but I cannot help'in- dulging in it." "Dream on, the best of life is a dream." ' We .walkedna few steps, and :paused before an in- -closure where reposed the remains of a worthy man, with mnothing more than his unobtrusive name ins scribed upon a marble slab to designate his- resting- place. He was respected for his integrityand energy; beloved for his utility and benevolence. Here was ,no lying inscription, making -the grave gorgeous, as if monumental mendacity might- deceive- Divinity. His record wap elsewhere, traced by unseen- fingers. "There are no nettles on that good man's grave," said, the widow. ' I knew him well; weeds. would wither there; nothing but flowers should cover his shes" . A few, young men at the/,time were idly passing. They, paused, when one tearing a weed from the pathway, hurled it among the flowers, exclaiming, . \ NETTLES ON T0IE GRAVE. 153 "Let him rot there with weeds for his covering." The slumbering dust thus spurned had long sustained the ingrate who now voided his venom upon the bene-. factor who had fed him until there was no longer faith in hope. The widow sighed; "And this is on the grave of the good and just!" "Had Willie lived, he might have been such a man, and such would have been lis harvest." Li the next tomb a brave soldier mingled his ashes with the red earth of Adam. In his .early career he was placed- in a position where daring energies alone could command success. He .-succeeded, and was rewarded by a nation's approbation. No subsequent opportunity pccured to acquire peculiar distinction; and when he died, a shaft was erected commemd- rating the most remarkable action of his life. His tomb attracted the attention of some visitors. who read his epitaph. "Characteristic of the age!" ex- claimed- one, throwing a pebble at the inscription, "to swell a corporal to the dimensions of a Casiar. It was the only action of a protracted life, worthy of record, and here it is emblazoned for the pride of posterity." HEad the thoughtless scoffer of the un. conscious dead occupied his position, which gained renown, history possibly might have perpetuated page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 15-4 - NETTLES ON Tl E GRAVE. disgrace, instead of a tombstone record of gallant services-the patriot's sole reward. "You knew the soldier?" "For years, and well. - A brave and worthy man. The current of his useful life,flowed smoothly on, without being ruffled by the breath of calumny." 'And yet nettles cover his grave already!" "Such might have been your child's destiny-but that matters little; praise or scorn are now alike to the old soldier." We passed to a spot where a gay party was lean- ing on a rai'ling. A young woman had plucked some of the gayest flowers from the enclosure, and was laughing with her -merry companions. As we ap- proached, she threw the bouquet already soiled and torn, on the grave; and they went their way with some idle jest upon their lips. The widow paused, and struggled to suppress her emotion, "Did you know the tenant of this grave?" "From his childhood. He loved that woman, and struggled to acquire wealth to make her happy. He succeeded, and when she- discovered that he was -completely within her toils, she deceived and left him hopeless. There are men whose hearts retain the simplicity of childhood through life; and such NETTLES ON THE GRAVE. - 155 was his. Without reproaching her, or breathing her name to any one, he suddenly shrunk as a blighted plant, and withered day by day, until he died. Like the fabled statuary, he was enamored of the creature his own mind had fashioned, and in the credulity of his nature, he made her wealthy, trusting that time would infuse truth and vitality into the unreal vision of his youthful imagination. The world of love is a paradise of shadows t The man beside her is now her husband; the wealth they revel in, this grave bequeathed them." "The fool! to die heart-broken-for a dream, But great men have -it times died broken-hearted. I should not call him fool. It is a common death among good men." "Great menl But women, sir, have pined away to death." , ,' In poetry, the bill of mortality is a long one; in real life the patients seldom die, unless they chance to be both vain and poor. Did a rich widow ever grieve to death for the loss of the noblest husband? -Wealth is a potent antidote to the malady, and teaches resignation; while poverty, with the first blow of his iron sledge, will make his cold anvil smoke with page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] ? 156 NETTLES ON THE GRAVE. the heart's blood, for he is buried who for years had withstood the blow." ' That woman did not cast nettles on his grave." "No nettles, but faded roses which she tore from it-blooming when she came there. Better cast stones and nettles than those withered flowers. Your boy has escaped -this poor man's destiny-the worst; of. deaths I His. was the happiest I he died-- smiling--on his fond mother's bosom! But there is a ;grave around whichf weeds grow more luxu- riantly, than about the sepulchre where mortal dust reposes. Daily watchfulness is required to prevent the bright creations therein- buried, from being so over-run until nothing is, seen to designate the beautiful tomb, where we had carefully embalmed them, as if in amber." , "What grave, sir, do you refer to?" "The human mind. A mighty- grave wherein we-daily bury crushed hopes and brilliant epheme- rons, too fragile to survive the chill atmosphere of a solitary day. Keep the weeds from growing there and smothering their-memories. They are the pro- geny of -the soul, and should not be allowed to perish Shall the joyous and beautiful creations of childhood be forgotten in age? must the noble 'NETTLES ON THE GRAVE. 1657 aspirations of the vigor of manhood pass away with- out even an epitaph, because crushed in their vigor? Rather contemplate them hourly; plant flowers beside them,: though tley bloom but, briefly and fade, they will send forth perfume even in decay, and inevitably revive indue season, bearing refresh- ing fruit; and old age, with palsied hand, will readily gather up the" long account of his steward- Ship, and as he glances over the lengthened: scroll that must become a record in the archives of eternity, may rejoice that he has not been an ingrate and idler in the heat of the harvest-field,- but hath- diligently labouted to make the entrusted talent yield the expected usage. Tear up the weeds that are incessantly growing there, ere he::who was placed -little lower than the angels, becomes an empty cenotaph--a stranger's grave-mouldering and mingling with his mother earth unheeded ,and unknown." page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 1'58: THE DREA;M OF MMEiHEME'T* T THE DREAM OF MEHEMET. An Apologue. THtErs spoke the gray-haired dervise. "Selim was left to my care; his dying parents-bequeathed him an ample fortune, and their example of virtues and affection. Such was his inheritance. He was a dreamy, boy, in whose soul the opposite passions revelled. Gentle as the dove, yet, under aggression, fierce as the tiger. He loved as angels love; hated as fiends hate. Framed as delicately as the gazelle, yet every sinew was endowed with the ' tenacity of steel. At the age of manhood, I,-his old preceptor, bowed to the superior endowment of my pupil, but knew not the fountain of his know- ledge. I have said he was a dreamy boy, yet he had made the broad pages of nature his book of know- ledge, even while dreaming. The fertile earth pre- 9, THE DREAM OF -MEHEMET. 159 sented her abundant lap. overflowing with fruit tQo delight his palate; the flowers peered in his face with their variegated eyes, :and sent forth their incense, even while he trod -upon them, The cadence of the waterfall, the low twittering, of the wearied bird as it flitted to its fledglings in the nest, and the murmuring of the passing breeze as it- struggled through the grove, were to him a lullaby that charmed to sleep as the angels sleep. $Nature was his mother, and she nursed him with playthings as her child. I have seen him by. the small streams composing songs to the music that the dimpled waters babbled/ until his rosy cheeks dimpled- and laughed- i, con- cert with the rippling brook, as if it were a thing of life, rejoicing in its existence, as is owrn pure:, heart/rejoiced.; They:laughed and babbled together. On the wood-clad mountains at, midnight when,. the .elements battled,; I have seen him strain'ig: his) feeble voice to. sound the masteifkey that attunes to- universal harmony; and havin:ght it, he wo d spring like thee, antelope, to aell to dis cover the. same note there -n, turn, up -his bright face to the stars I - upa him,and laugh, expecting to h-rond3 to his note: page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] -. 160 THE DREAM OF MEHEM-ET. as they revolved on their eternal axes. "fHis dark eyes smiled, and the conscious stars -smiled back in the heaven: of his dark eyes, which, glanced with delight in the diamond rays of the stars. Flowers were books to him, and from every leaf he read wisdom fragrant with truth. He cultivated them- as a father would his last child. The little birds were his companions, and every- morning he joined their concert until the tiny minstrels' seemed to imagine that he was the leader of their orchestra. All nature was to him one mighty minister, bestow- ing a11, while he asked from niature no more 'than the blessed privilege of imitating hers by bestow- ing on his fellow-man all in- return. He had a dog, whose former owner had thrown into a stream to Selim' drown as Worthless. Selim swam and saved the ill-looking cur, who followed him ever after until it appeared that-instinct trod close upon the heel of reason. -Selim in his turn, while bathing, became exhfitisted, and sinking beneath the stream, tihe dog plun6aedin and saved his dying master. Was -this instinct or reason? It matters not, but Selim- per- ceived itha ththe Prophet: had. made his .humanity toward a friendless dog the means of prolonging his own existence here. Despise not little things, cried THE DRE-AM O MEHEMBT. 161 Mehemet,. for the smfmlest' i:of imagitde :i the' sight of the prophet, 4 Astraw-may break he back of the over-burthened; one word may .nsign a manto p O prosperty r spity, oae deed hell or heaven . ' Sim'6 s wnts -wee few, his fortune ample, which he bestowed upon the deserving withy as liberaM a hand as it had been bestowed upon hiself. Stg he labored in the pursuit he had aO pted,-not for self-aggrandizement, .bt to .asAt ahers; ;.and ^heq knew not why man should be a asl uggard whHle a, Uature w 5eswatly at -w-rl . Te be- a d anf work inteir.:asqonT-,and ev-en th si -too. Hgarden blossomed as E3denand/ e ,flowers offered up their gratefI ;n'eae evep .sthey faied ad died Upon the umiversl :atAr f '.NOt .urg- ,od. His .aviry .from morn iuntil sight wa wal, ad when the flaming chariota of tho b rghj:,ye of dary waswhirled byfery-footed, steeid ver thae. ast e- hils, I have seenhim with his: i -lua oded by nature's iny horisters!poring.:orth' thew :tnatin :i1 oe note a n. the uemrsal hroyUed th ert pf ii. poor sp A0 .rpoted Umwnd ndaed l-to b1rl? in gpi;pt Thes, ,SOm }^aEbed :outright, -rad the birds ..bfr pepd ;their page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 THE DREAM' Or MEHEMET. hymhns and seemed to laugh with Selim, and the poor dog slunk away -abashed, and slyly laughed at his miserable failure. He married the dark-eyed Biribi Selim was a poet; his soul revelled alike in tempest or sunshine; and his voice was as musical -as the wings of the bee when he distills honey. He possessed the* sweets of the bee, and his sting also. Biribi was abjectly poor, but in Selim's eyes as full of truth and as beautiful as the- hounes. He exclaimed, Ii will raise poverty, above oppression, and place virtue where all her handmaids may minister to-her enjoyment. Alasl it was but a young poet's dream --and such dreams are too frequently disturbed by palpable agony., Thus spoke Mehemet. He had a fiend who was his fellow-student while under my charge. -Selim loved him as a brother, and when he married he requested Zadak to dwell with him, Neither house, garden, nor. fields could be more beautiful, wshile his; flocksand herds were nature's ornaments. Such was Selim's Eden., Zadak borrowed- a portion of his fortune, which he squandered; but the poor: boy simply replied, "no matter, we require but little, and enough still remains to make us happy. Thank the Prophet for TE E DBRE AM OPF ME EMET. 16. that which we still possess, and repine not for that which we have lost. We can labor with our fellow; men." - Biribi became estranged from the pure being who fancied he: had made in her bosom abnest for his dove-like heart to sing in. ie awoke from a dream of repose to battle with the tempest. Zadak, had betrayed him, and the gentle spirit of my boy was crushed between the sledge and the anvir; but the eternal fire that burnt within him, burst forth in one mighty blaze as the sledge fell; and even the sledge and the anvil rejoiced at the fire they had elicited from his heart's blood. 'What was to- be done? The question -was soon settled. The dove had winged -its way to. heaven, but left the tiger on earth to punish the injuries done :to 'the dove, Selim -slew. Zadak, and then walked to: the tribunal- to receive- hisj sentence, knowing -that an act that- was. approved by thie immutable principle of-eternal justice. in heaven, would be pronounced a damning crime, by drones who are fed to-dole out punishment for breaking the convetional rules by which fools and. knaves arei inked together .on,-earth., He confeessed all before man as he had already. confessed before God. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 16T THE D& E A M OF ME RE M E V Isgominious death as his sentence in .the eye of his fellow-crere;, - but God changed ahis sentence to that. of eternal life; he died of a broken-hearti nid esc'aped- man's justice, tempered with degrada- tion, and -flew to' the' limpid :and overflowing fountain--the bosom of is Creator for justice- knowing it to be a prindiple of eternity, and not of time. I buried him beneath a cluster of trees, where he had pursued his :studies t He had no mourners except myself and his dog. The grave of the rich man is seldom bedewed by the tears of his heirs-; while the poor hard-working man may have many siancere mourners, provided they depended upon his daily labor' for their bread. It was spring-time, .I planted flowers from, his garden over :his grave, and placed shis arviary among the trees. The birds sang and the flowers smied, as if he were still with them. One morning I missed his dog, and searched for him' until .the impulse of nature guided my foot; steps to 'the, boy's grave. The dog wass there, pil- lowd :on a cluster of fragrant flowers-dying;--big toars stood: in his -idened eyes,'while -the :little birds-from the blooming trees, warbled. his requiemi They knew the dog, and -he- knew the birds, evea THE DREAM OP MB EErMET. ;165 ,while dying. TheQ flowers were bedewed with his tears, and I buried'him beside his master, beneath the flowers. - Autumn came; the little birds had taken wing, the grove was: no longer vocal; the flowers had faded, and their fragrance had passed away. Well, I exclaimed, the- rosy-fngered stream will return, leading the birds back to warble as, usual, and the flowers will revive with their former fragrance and beauty? "And is my boy dead?" my soul shrieked. "No i" replied a voile, kindly,- and it seemed to me as if the lips .were smiling as the judgment passed the lips, "the, boy is not dead, but sleepeth, awaiting, his spring-time, when the- birds will sing, and the flowers bloom for him again, and bloom for eternity." Thus spoke, the dervise, and his old frame chuckled with delight, for he was confident of the fulfillment of the promise ., I reposed by his grave, said Mehemet, and had: a vision, which was this. - is grave opened, aznd. he arose more beautiful than when in the bloom-of manhood. There was a bright .star just over. his heart, and methought it was composeda of the itears his dying dog had shed upon his grave, and :sm'iled in my sleep at the fantastic thought. The flowers page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] !166 T E -ID - Rk-ED A M O F MB HE E ME T. sent forth their incense, and myriads of birds, as he ascended fromt his tomb, fluttered about him, leading the way, warbling their anthems; the gay flowers smiled at heaven, as if they were the eyes of ..the teeming earth, laughing their gratitude, The features of Selim became more benign as he ascended; the songs of the birds more seraphic, and the fragrance of the flowers more refreshing. ! Suddenly a cloud of inky darkness covered the face of -the earth. Two ghastly figures emerged from it, with uplifted eyes that were-rayless, and supplicating. hands that trembled with terror. Oh l what must that man be, exclaimed Mehemet, who trembles before the All-merciful, even while sup- plicating mercy I Selim cast a look of compassion upon the guilty pair, and tried to tear, the star from his bosom to throw to them, but the more he strove, the brighter the star became--it illuminated his ascending spirit-and finding his efforts fruitless,- he raised his radiant face toward the boundless blue canopy, cheered onwards by the hymns of his little choristers through regions of light, and the teeming earth smiled as she poured forth her grateful incense, as if jealous that the disembodied spirit TSHE;DRZEBAM --O MEHEMET. 16Z might forget the fragrance of this world while reveling in the atmosphere of heaven. I heard a shriek of despair, and- turning to the sea of darkness which was fearfully troubled, I beheld the guilty pair, desperately struggling -in their agony against the angry billows. They struggled in vain. With a fiend-like shriek they disappeared, and sunk through a rayless abyss of doom, without even the tear of a dog to bewail their destiny. Selim soared upward, and still- more effulgent became the heavens as he - ascended. There was one mighty strain of seraphic music that filled the universe; the blue arch opened, from which issued a stream of light strong enough to restore vision to the rayless eyes of the ancient dead; then I awoke as I beheld Selim enter the eternal portals. This continued the old man, may be but a dream at present, but the time will come when it must be verified. He then slowly tottered to his cell to dream out the remnant of his existence. , , , page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 8 E FI MP O NE, S^L FIMPORTANXOE. *t\ ',- . .. : ,; SELF-IMPdRTANCI is a promineft feature in the genus hom6. Most, men delude themselveswith the: idea that they are naturally endowed with abilities for all purposes, but oiroUmstances have retarded the full developmentof theirfacultiest We accord, ingly have tinkers mending the constitutions of the several States, which our forefathers imagined were framed by the wisest sages of their times; and we behold: the artit whbSe business' it is to heel-tap our soles and patch up our understanding, gravely tevising the deoiions of our highest judicial tribunals, re versing their judgment atnd satisfying 4 approvingAudience that he and the chief justice of the United States should change positions for thhe benefit of the universal human family. Nec, sutor, ultra crepidam. There is not a venerable crone, whose wisdom consists in a portion of Esau's peculiar beautyon eea tts ha wlrfte-iaiegi - t B F-f? t-A NdE. 169 he' echin, ^nchiwho may have prepared sa I ve- to ure -a disease, vergy annoying to the motive-power of fubsy dowagers; and celebrated on the.- hoofs of Caesars horse, who does not imagine that the mantle of OGalen- has descended on her shouilders, and that the whole medial faculty, compared to her in the healing art, are immeasurably worse than even old womenr When some fashionable 'finisher of the humnian form divine, has managed to equip a noe- descript so as to pass muster in a ball-room, whose? proper pla3e- of exhibition- would -have been t menagerie- of strange animals, but that the goods Uture of naturalists, stretching to the extent M-onboddc's theory, classified him as belonged e those who form the first conneeting link:, With human beings-we,behold hin, like Ancient Pistol strutting about as if the world were his oyster, and imagining that- all- gazers are his admirer, and t^inly striving to beome- his icon--and :then: he thow his pacer and his graces, to make manifest th- utter futility of the attempt of his unmiitiated imiitatorg The female belonging to this variety, as entomol gists' term it, labor under a similar delusion; and when they have- buckled on their panoply, and page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 SELF-IMPORTANCE. sally forth for mighty deeds of arms, they feel them- selves as invulnerable as Achilles, unmindful that, like'him, .one spot is frequently left unguarded-- the heel I Better remain within their fortress and darn their hose before they march to the battle- field. Many a captive, who has fallen prostrate at the victor's feet, has miraculously escaped through an unsightly hole espied in a dirty stocking. Linnaeus has clearly demonstrated that all perfect Heliconii and Nymphales, most thoroughly cleanse themselves of the remains of the Larvae and Pupa state, before they venture to appear as the Imago. A scribbler who has written a sonnet on a setter slut will class himself among literary characters, and because Shakspeare and Milton both wrote sonnets, he entertains"a fraternal feeling for them, and that they may not be forgotten, he condescends to review the dramas of the one, and the Paradise Lost of the other; and it is a daily entertainment to hear pot-house politicians pronouncing judgment upon the gravest questions of national policy, and measuring the ocean of intellect of profound states- men by the shallow capacity of their own conceited craniums. ,But what is the result of this self-esteem- . . 8 E .I r M?O R T A NoE. 171 assumption of the tripod-supposed ability for all things? Most who entertain such an exaggerated estimate of thepmselves, become dissatisfied with the pursuit in which they were instructed, and looking with envy upon the 'success of others in a different calling, they listen to the promptings of vanity, and imagine they would have been equally prosperous had they adopted the same course. They abandon a trade in which they have skill, and steer their frail bark into an -untried channel, which almost invaria- bly conducts them to wreck and ruin, and society loses an adept in an important pursuit, and gains a miserable quack in another, who brings disgrace and poverty upon himself, and injury to those who are sufficiently credulous to entrust him. By way of illustration, suppose a village where the blacksmith, from having been a farrier, turns physician, and is prepared to bleed and drench any donkey-biped or quadruped-who will entrust his life in his hands, and the disciple of Galen exchanges his pestle and mortar for the sledge and anvil. We may safely assert there would be but little entertain- ment for -either man or horse in that village. The tailor, from having made many suits, imagines that he could conduct one as well as the attorney, and page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 SE LP-IMPO R A N E. they accordingly change positions. ' What would be the result? It is proverbial, that when a man goes to law, he will certainly have his coat stripped from his back--and perhaps he deserves it; but if the village litigants should be so fortunate as to prove the proverb a fallacy, and escape with a certain por- tion of those external embellishments which Adam, when he made his entr6 into the wide world, thought it decent and proper to put on, they must go about in their shirt-sleeves, or wear garments of more fan. tastic fashion than the party-coloredi coat which the fond old patriarch made for his favorite child. Al1 though there are instances of legal scoundrels being made of -very indiffeent tailors-for lawyers are now manufactured from all sorts of mongrel mate- rial-yet it is nat of record that a pettifogging law- yer ever made even a tolerable tailor, from which it may be inferred that-the villagers would soon desire to behold their Knight of the Goose and Shears seated, like the god Vishnu, cross-legged, on his shop-board- again, making- pockets for others to pick, and the lawyer-tailor attending to his legiti- mate pursuit of stripping backs instead of covering them. It is a dogma that all men are born free and equal, b BL.- I M?o ORTANo E. 173 consequently all factitious distinctions have very properly been abolished from among us. We look with sovereign contempt upon a star and garter, min tended to distinguish one mass of conceited mortality from another, but at the same time frequently dero: gate from high moral worth and intellectual endow. ment when they combine to create pre-eminent dis- tinction. We shrink sinstivncely from all titles, such as-my lord, count, duke, or prince-for they are the Shibboleth to test our sense of equality; and yet every man in the limited circle of his acquaint tance has a whole regiment ,of captains, colonels, majors and corporals, every one iof whom would feel curtailed of his fair proportions, if his title of distinction be omitted; and if you write to your tailor-as that impoant artist -was styled in the olden time, but mercer in this age of improve- ment-to send home your galligaskins, you wound to th6very quick his chivalrous spirit and delicate sense of etiquette, if you fail to attach esquire to his name. Self-esteem is illustrated by an anecdote related by the Duke of SaxeWeimer,'in his book of travels through this country. He was waiting in front of a tavern for a stage coach, when .the driver accosted page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 SLr-zIMPORTANO .E. him thus: "Ae you the man who is going to Con cord; if so, get in--for I am the gentleman that's to drive you." Now-there was a man of keen percep- tive faculties. True, he failed to discover the gen- tleman in the duke, but the gentleman, with all his inherent rights, titles and appurtenances, could not escape him when he contemplated the coach-driver. We eling to petty distinctions, however insignifa cant, and accordingly address some by the title of "your excellency;" and others we style "-the hon- orable ;" though at times it happens that they never possessed one spark of excellence or honor on God's earth, until we thought proper to make them either a governor, a judge, or a member of Congress. This silly vanity is increasing to such an extent that the time must arrive when we shall be unable to find a private and untitled citizen in the whole United States. We shall become a perfect anomaly on the map of the- world, presenting a nation composed altogether of corporals and generals judges and gov- ernors-or at least, not to speak it profanely--jus- tices of the peace. Although, as a nation, we, are ever ready to mag- nify the worth of our great departed-the sages of the revolution-and with one accord admit that SEL F-MPORTANO. 175 there were giants on the earth in those days, we are blind to the fact, though :the civilized world bears voluntary testimony to its truth, that there are giants in this nation even now. But, unfortu- nately, self-conceit- and 'envy, have generated myriads of little Davids in the land, who imagine they possess the ability with their pebble-slings to reach the radiant foreheads of those giants,- and bring them to the dust; and what is rather remarka- ble, these pigmy Davids, in the vanity of their ambition, aim at slaughtering Goliahs only. Self. importance, with a smack of envy, soon begets the spirit of detraction-all things on earth pay tribute to detraction. It is a tax which the little and envious exact from the great and good; but no nation can become truly great without entertaining an honest veneration for the characters of its distin. guished citizens. What would have been the history of Ancient Greece and Rome but one noisome record of aggres- sion and voluptuousness, had it not been for their philosophers, statesmen, patriots, and poets. Those nations are indebted for their permanent glory to the exalted virtues of individuals; for their down- fall and degradation to the weakness -and vices of page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 8ELF-IMPORTA:NoE. the multitude. Let us not becomeweary of hearing Aristides called the Just, but rather render unto Cesar the things which are esar's. Sustain those whom merit has exalted, and not from envy, attempt to pull them down to our individual leveL The reckless and imbecile defamer should ever bear in mind, that although the filthy snail may leave his slimy trace even on God's sacred altar, that altar is still as sacred, and is approached by the pure and just with undiminished veneration, not- withstanding the mark of the snail may continue for a time. , \ BATOR THE DERV SJE. 1" BATOR, THE DERVISE. IN the olden time there dwelt near Basra, a poor dervise by the name of Bator. He belonged to the most rigid and pure of their numerous orders, and such was his zeal that he refused to recognise the Naeshbendies as belonging -to their fraternity, for they mingled with mankind as other men, while he dwelt in a cave secluded and alone. No human ear heard his incessant shout-"Ya hu! ya Allah l"-that commenced with the morning sun, and ceased not, until h6 fell through exhaustion at midnight, on the bed of spikes he had prepared to receive him. No one beheld the unsightly wounds he had inflicted in the zeal of his devotion; and not even Allah himself heard a sigh of anguish at his sufferings. There were good genii in those days. They knew that Bator wished to strip off all human frailty, and cultivate alone those virtues that would render him acceptable in the sight of Allah. His 12 page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 BATOR, THE DERVISE.. prayers at length were heard; the few evil passions he possessed were exorcised, and charity, mercy, benevolence, and all the heavenly emanations that mortal may attain, came and took up their dwell- ing in the lonely cell of Bator. He was now happy; no mortal more so. Sur- rounded alone by virtues, the solitude re-echoed his incessant-cry--"Ya hu! ya Allah I Praise to thee I am not as a Naeshbendie, and dwell not among sinful men." And then he would scourge his flesh, and stretch himself upon his bed of torture, and turn smiling, for the approval of the heavenly attributes, who sat drowsily beside him-all save Pity, who at times would drop a tear as she beheld his sufferings. Thus years passed away, and the guests of Bator, from sheer idleness, slumbered undisturbed even by his shouts of devotion, and Pity herself had no longer the tribute of a tear to offer. One day as he beheld them sleeping, and thought-" why is it they sleep?"-he heard a voice cry-"Bator, come forthl" and suddenly there appeared at the door of his cell the most beautiful and fascinating figure, the imagination of the recluse could conceive. She was attired in a fantastic manner, and in the brightest colours, but Hi BATOR,YTHE DERVISE. 179 every movement was full of grace and seduction. The hermit felt her influence, and tried to woo her to his cell-"-I may not dwell with thee there," she cried, "I should perish soon. But arise, Bator, and come forth, and I am thine." It was beyond the power of the dervise to resist, he rushed into the embrace of the tempter; and all,-the virtues that were slumbering in his cell, suddenly awoke, and followed him. The gay visitant was Vanity. She led Bator and his train to Basra, and as they mingled in the populous city, the dervise found that the virtues that had hitherto slept were now even prompting him to deeds of benevolence. Charity opened his hand, and Pity the fountain of tears, while Vanity prevented him from relaxing in his labours. There passed not a day in which Bator did not some good; and his fame spread, abroad until it reached the ears of the Shiek of Basra,. who made him his public almoner, and then the dervise cried, "Ya hu ya I Allah! Praise to thee l--thou hast made me a Naeshbendie, to live among men as other men"--alfd it was a -saying of his to the day of his death, that 'all the virtues are of little use to the human heart, if we strip it of the frailties of mortality; for; they would seldom go far'from home if they were not accompanied by Vanity." page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 AZIBB AND HS FRIENDS. AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. AZIB'S father was a wealthy merchant of Bagdad. He did not garner to gratify avarice or ostentation, but that his strength might sustain the feeble and unfortunate, Azibfill-of intelligence and benevow lence, was the pride and joy of his father's soul; and when the old man was dying, he blessed him, and sad, "Thou hast been to me, my son, all I could have asked of Heaven to make earth heaven; and though you have dimmed my old eyes with many a tear, they were but tears of gratitude to Omnipo- tence for making me the father of such a son." The dying blessing was a richer inheritance to Azib than all his father's wealth. . Azib had now many friends, for he was liberal in aiding those- less prosperous thar himself. On the anniversary of his birth-day he entertained them splendidly, and even the caliph could scarcely have numbered as many friends as surrounded Azib, on, AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. 181 that occasion. A feast will furnish the rich man with many friends, but very few friends will furnish the poor man with a feast. Among the guests, Azib discerned one whose graceful movements riveted his attention; he was charmed with him, but he could not recognize him, for his features were hidden by an impervious mask. The stranger appeared to be familiar with all the company, yet all avoided him. Azib requested his guests to introduce him, but all disavowed the slightest knowledge of the stranger. Azib approached the intruder, gave him a cordial welcome, and asked his name. "Not at present," he replied. "I am the bosom companion of all your friends, yet they are ashamed to acknowledge me in your presence. My appear- ance seems to please you; still, at some future day; when you thoroughly know me, you will recoil from me with disgust." . Azib smiled, and taking him- by the hand, said: "'You are -frank, however, my friend. Come,'our feast is ready; and though your friends may disown you, sit at my right hand at the head of the table." It was a joyous festival; the guests smiled- to be, hold the favor that Azib bestowed upon the stranger, who chuckled with such inward delight, that it was page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. with difficulty he prevented the mask from falling from his countenance. Years passed away. There is no well so deep but that it may be drained. Azib's wealth was now exhausted, like a spring in a dry season, that had supplied manifold babbling streams, which never return a drop to the fountain head, but when ex- hausted, unmindful of the days of plentitude, reproach their source with the last drop given. In his difficulties, Azib gave a feast, confident that his friends would be anxious to return him the money he had loaned them, and relieve him from his embarrassment. All assembled at the time appointed, with smiling faces, and the man in the mask, though not invited, was among them. Azib made his necessities known to each, but so far from being grateful for benefits conferred, they excused themselves from being even honest. As a last re- source, he appealed to his unknown guest, who laughed in his face, and turning on his heel, min- gled among the guests, shaking each cordially by the hand; they knew him now, returned the grasp, aind smiled. "And who are you, sir?" demanded Azib of the stranger, " who appear so intimate with my friends." AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. 183 "That is of little moment now," he replied, with a sneer, " as it is improbable that I shall ever cross your threshold again." "Unmask, that I may see your face." "As you please. I have no longer any reason to conceal my features, homely as they are, since your dispensing power is at an end." The mask fell, and Azib recoiled from the repulsive object, who coolly continued: "Well, I perceive you do not admire my appearance. If you wish never to see me again, there is but one way by which you can avoid my intrusion." "Name it; anything to escape your presence." "It is simply this-never confer a benefit on your fellow-man, and henceforth I shall not trouble you. "But who are you ; Answer me." "The paymaster of your many friends." "Your name?" "INGRATITUDE." Saying which, he joined the other guests, and they hurried away to lighter- hearted companions, for it was too painful for their delicate feelings to behold a benefactor in adversity. Azib was now alone; no one to condole with or encourage him. His first reflections were bitter, page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 AZTB AND tIS FRIENDS. but he soon tore from his bosom the serpents that were coiling within him. He exclaimed: , "Never confer a benefit on my fellow-man 1-- Shall I not hand a crutch to the cripple, lest, when strengthened, he turn it as a weapon against me? Shall I not give bread to the famished, for fear his fangs may wound the hand that feeds him? Death were better than life, deprived of the power of doing good and of forgiving injury. And how dare man repine at ingratitude, since it is the most common vice of his nature, and daily -manifested towards his God. All the good bestowed upon him in this world is overlooked, until he finds it- necessary to pray for greater in the world to come. The true man never repines at his own afflictions, when he reflects upon the suffering that the ingratitude of the universe hurls back to the fountain of benefi- cence. May my heart cease to beat when it has no room for. benevolenee towards man and gratitude to God." A mendicant now entered the deserted hall of Azib, and asked for food. The master of the feast placed: the beggar at his board, and with his own hands served hini with the best. "You appear dejected," said the mendicant. AZIB ANBD RIS FRIENDS. 185 "For a time only," replied Azib; "the darkest night must soon give place to morning, and the sun will shine forth again." "True, but where will his rays fall to give light andc life? Even the sun rejoices in the lofty and proud places, but leaves the obscure valleys shiver- ing in darkness. Although the shades of night have already taken possession of yon mountain's base, ascend, and you will stillfind the golden glo- ries of the setting sun encircling its brow, proud to pay homage. A few short living rays of his cheer- ing influence would make the valleys smile with gratitude, but they are withheld." "Man imitates the example of the sun," replied Azib; "for even the sun himself may rise gor-e geously, but let hi-m set in clouds and tempest, and the splendor of the morn will be forgotten until he shines forth again." The mendicant, refreshed, pursued his journey. 'Azib's career was one of struggle, without friends or relatives to aid or encourage him. They had little else to bestow than reproof for having lost what he once possessed. Still he was happy, and daily returned thanks for the little his efforts yielded. Years passed; and again the mendicant called at page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 180 AZIEB AND HS FRIENDS. the now humble dwelling of Azib, and asked- for food and shelter. Both were bestowed as freely as when he was entertained in a palace. When the old man was refreshed, Azib-discovered, for the first time, that a singularly beautiful companion, in the vigor of youth accompanied him. "You have a companion, I perceive; will he not feed also." "He fed as I fed. You see he is refreshed, and smiles cheerfully.", "His features are your own, though brighter.- Who is he'?" "The first-born of my soul." "Your first-born I You are, aged and apparently $worn down with a long life of care, while he is still in the vigor of boyhood. How can that be?" ; "His beauty can never fade, and he can never grow old, for he has little to do in this world; while my daily trials have left their wrinkled record on my brow, and furrowed channels in my cheeks for tears." "His name?" "GRATITUDE. He and myself will never leave you; for on a former occasion, you gave us an invi- tation to stay with you through life, and we are bhere." AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. 1Q7 "I understand you not I Invite you for life! I am poor; still you are welcome." "Remember your words when in deep affliction --dMay my heart cease to beat when it has no room for benevolence towards man and gratitude to God."' "Still, I know you not." "Yet I have been the inmate of your heart from its first pulsation. Man boasts of- his wisdom, even while blindly ignorant of that which dwells within himl At my birth I was called BENEVOLENCE.- My life has been most active; incessantly required to perform the most arduous duties; and where I most expected the cheering approbation of my son, he has withheld the light of-hiiscountenance. He is a wayward boy, though he doats on his father; and my fondness for him is such, that at times I am sick even to death at his long absence." From that day Azib and his guests dwelt together, and their wealth increased, until, from the position of an humble dealer, Azib became -the wealthiest merchant in Bagdad. Then his kindred, from the nearest of blood to the most remote, flocked around him, open-mouthed in praise of his sagacity; cla- morous in asking his advice, and in the same breath s page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 AZIMB AND HXS PRIENDS, his assistance. His friends were now so numerous that he could- not name them; they were once so few that he labored under a similar difficulty. His Coffers were constantly open, and old Benevolence, who was the cash-keeper, industriously scattered the -contents with a self-satisfied and idiotic smile.- Gratitude, at times, would look exceedingly blank, and remark- . "' Father, with all due appreciation for the purity of your motives, may the Prophet pardon me, when I most respectfully suggest, sir, that I consider you a consummate old fool." "Son," replied the old man, with becoming dig- nity, "I care not a fig for what you think. True; I do a great many foolish things which you never mention; but if I were to await your slow-paced sanction, before I perform my duty, my office would be a sinecure." Saying which, he thrust his hands into the coffers, and scattering the gold broadcast, exclaimed, with an air of importance-"There, take an account of that, you idle scamp. Therej there; I will find you employment." "You will never hear of a sequen of it from me, father. It will be picked up by those who use my name most familiarly, protesting that I am never AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. 189 absentfrom them, though they never beheld me, and care not a rush for me." Azib overheard them. He smiled somewhat sadly, while raising his hand towards heaven, but it fell upon the old man's head, and he patted it fondly. Gratitude raised the uplifted hand to point above, his face all radiant as the morning sun- "There, there!" he cried. "Right, right, my child!" exclaimed Benevolence. "There, there alone. HE gave us all; and no one but you can teach us to deserve it." Gratitude fell upon the neck of Azib, and a copious flood of tears bedewed his bosom, and the old man chuckled, as a father, in his second childhood, would over a re. claimed son, and he scattered from the abundance- before him as if it were but child's play, and he had escaped from leading-strings thrown around him by his favorite child. Azib died, and, of course, was followed to the grave by-an extended' retinue. "Man is a noble animal; splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave; solemnizing nativities and deaths with equal lustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his nature."' After the funeral came a feast which was more. speedly buried than poor page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 1g,60- tAZiB ANB HS FRIENDS. Azib,. for there is nothing like grief for whetting the appetite for a funeral festival. When gorged to the' gullet, some thought it appropriate to commend the'virtues of the departed, to which his immediate heirs yielded a cold assent, tempered by a censure for his misplaced extravagance. With prudence, he would have died more wealthy. The man in the mask was present, for he is ever in the house of mourning wFen it becomes the house of feasting. "O man, -thou fool!" he' exclaimed, ".he who would die deplored should die poor, leaving idle ingrates' dependent on his labor for their-bread and shelter. Hunger will make them mourn without the aid of hypocritical tears. But die wealthy, and your heirs will make a merry feast, and dance on your grave before the grass is green; and if perchance they revert to your memory, it is but to deplore that on some particular occasion you failed to increase their inheritance." The day appointed for reading the will arrived.- All again assembled, more serious than at his funeral. No will was found; and then the heirs, in disputing about their individual rights, became as clamorous as crows dissecting carrion. They thought' little of the living Azib, who was pure , AZIB"AND H8S FRIENDS. 19t gold; but very much of the dross he had left in passing through the fiery furnaces of this world. All-were now disposed to gather up the- fragments of the eaten feast, and see that nothing was lost, though no one had a scrap to throw upon- the same board, when famine shrieked there. When the contest was at its height, old Benevo- lence drew a paperfrom his bosom, and applying; the thumb of his dexter hand to the termination of his nasal organ, at the same time vibrating signifi-. cantly the extended digits, coolly and emphatically exclaimed, in pure Arabic, "You can't come it, no how you can fix it. Here is his will; I am his sole heir; and what is better, his executor also!"A half- suppressed chuckle shook his old frame, and a sar- donic twinkle danced in his eyes, which, however, no sooner beamed, than it was quenched by a tear of pity for their disappointment. The man in the mask meandered gracefully through the assemblage, bestowing upon each a fashionable salutation of condolence, then clapped his hands as if he were the floor manager of a modern menagerie ball, cried aloud, "choose your partners!" then, with a har- lequin leap--stampede in uno, he extended his dex. ter pedestal, which vibrated as if touched with St. l page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 AZIB AND HS FaIENDS. Vittus' dance, which exhibition was succeeded by an unparalleled number of pirouettes. After this, he contorted his attenuated figure into all sorts of angles and curves, as if he were resolving a problem in Euclid by ocular demonstration; he significantly snapped his thumb and finger, as much as to say- "Azib be hanged I Promenade I Forward two t- Go it you cripples!"He led the way to the grace- ful measure of an expressive dance, now familiarly known to all enlightened nations by the euphonical title of the polka. The heirs silently dropped into the-retinue, two by two; but their movements were by no means as nimble and hilariou s when they followed Azib to the grave. Now Gratitude came in to see how the fortune would be disposedof by the old man, whose youth seemed to be renewed by his inheritance. They walked through the streets of Bagdad hand in hand, in search of the feeble and the oppressed such as adversity had rendered so unsightly, as to curdle the milk of humanity in the breast of charity. His pensioners consisted principally of destitute and care-worn old women, with scarce sufficient strength to bear them to the grave. His presence, however, renewed the flickering lamp of life, and his atten. AZIB AND HS FRIENDS. 193. tions became so marked, that his son, in alarm, ex- postulated against his imprudence. "Old gentleman," he said, "allow me to intimate that your motives are misunderstood; that you are losing caste daily, and what is worse, the old ladies are looked upon with a suspicious eye. Consider their reputation." "Reputation I Fudge I They need not be alarmed about that. No one will take it from them, for there is nothing to be made out of it. It is of no use to any one but the owner, and frequently of very little use to him. If it were worth a fig, they would have been robbed of it long ago." "You are called an old reprobate Il" "What do I care for that? But reproof comes with an ill grace from you, for already you have made a deeper impression on the old ladies' hearts, than all that I have done." "Father, that is true; I confess that, as you opened the door, I quietly crept in." "Then oblige me by quietly creeping out again, for I have all my life been trying to get absolute possession of an old woman's heart, without success, for, I assure you, it is no small undertaking. If you want a job, see what impression you can make upon page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 AZIB AND HS FRtENDS. the hearts of the young and beautiful; leave the old. and tough to me."- "I would rather break stone in the streets of Bagdad. Vanity can find an easy entrance there, and rich entertainment; while I too frequently, after snapping, with patience, the iron bound barriers, have found myself famished in an empty citadel, from which I was speedily ejected by vanity and affectation. I am perfectly at home in the hearts of your poor pensioners, and as you do not expect me to work hard there, I will take my repose in their bosoms." "Then -let us finish the work we have in hand." Gratitude followed the footsteps of Benevolence as he performed the labors of love, and the recipients of his bounty became so enamoured with the heav- enly smile of Gratitude, that finally their shrivelled features were moulded into the beauty and freshness of his own.., The, work progressed until they had fashioned from the refuse of mortality, immortals, more bright and beautiful than the houries that revel in the imaginary paradise of Mahomet. "The work is done!-' cried Gratitude, " but father, you have been extravagant, in your day." "True; but one smile of yours always repays me AZI B AND HS FRIENDS. 195: tenfold, and without that smile, we could never have revivified our old women into angels. They loved yoA boy, in their dotage. But you seem restive. Where are going now?"; "To carry our work home, and render an account of your stewardship. There, there, to the place from whence we came." "But when shall we meet again?" "As soon as you find another Azib who will en- trust you with the disposal of his fortune; for until then, you will have but little employment for me on earth." Benevolence, now destitute and alone, pursued a thankless labor, until his countenance became so care-worn and repulsive that even the scalding tears he shed for the unfortunate were rejected, for they seemed to be forced from an iron heart, to bedew a channel in the haggard features of misanthropy.- "Alas!" he sighed, "with Azib's wealth I was wel- comed by all-from the pauper to the prince; --but unassisted, my best wishes are flowerless and fruit- less; they cannot call forth even a smile from Grati- tude." page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. "Call no man happy 'till you know the nature of his death; he is at best but fortunate."-BLON TO CRBsUS. TIME eats the children he begets, and the memo- ries of few men outlive their monuments; nay, myriads pass into oblivion even before the elements have sullied their epitaph. My uncle Nicholas, notwithstanding his deserts, has not escaped this order of things. I knew him in the April of my years-the flower-time of my life; and as my mind reverts to those sunny days, the first object it rests upon is the beloved image of my uncle Nicholas. ' He was a placid being, overflowing with the best of humanities.- His heart and his doors were open to all his fellow beings, and there was not a creature endued with animal life, towards which he did not studiously avoid giving pain. His dogs loved him, and he could not walk abroad into his fields but his cattle followed him, and, fed out of his hand. "He was a scholar, a ripe and a good one," at MY UNOLE NICHOLAS. 197 least I viewed him as such in my boyhood. His mind was stored with good learning, but his favorite companions were those hearty old poets who have retained their freshness for centuries, and who possess a re-productive faculty that will make- them blossom through succeeding ages. With what de- light would he pore over the harmonious numbers of Spencer, and Drayton, and Drummond, and the vigorous dramatists of those times I and there was scarcely a gem of the minor poets that he had not culled to grace his memory. These he would recite with all the feeling and enthusiasm of early life, and at times I imagined they were golden links that inseparably bound him to his boyhood. They appeared to possess the faculty of making him young again. He was a quiet humorist, but with no more gall than might be found in a dove. His face was ever mantling with some pleasant thought, and his mind 'flowed on as gently as a secret brook, that ever and anon dimples and smiles at its own babbling. He was married, and my aunt was one of the gentlest of creatures. You might have searched the world without finding a pair whose hearts and minds so perfectly harmonized. She was a deli- page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. cately attuned instrument, ever breathing the softest music; never depressed to sadness, and seldom exhilerated beyond a placid smile. If perchance she laughed, it was at some jest of my uncle Nicholas; not that it excited her risible faculties, but that she perceived by the mantling of his countenance there was more intended than came within the scope of her apprehension; and she would laugh outright that he might more fully enjoy the freak of his imagination. How they loved each other I My uncle dwelt on a farm on the outskirts of a village. He had selected it as a residence in early life, and had lived long enough to see the primitive settlement assume something like a name on the map of his country. He was identified with the spot; all the villagers in a measure looked upon him as a patriarch, and even the children would break off their amusements to salute him as he passed; and he ever had a kind word and a jest to bestow upon the humblest of the little troglodytes. They all called him uncle Nicholas, and he was so kind to them, that many grew up in the belief that he was actually the uncle of the whole village. His residence was a delightful spot. His farm MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. 199 was well cultivated, and his buildings, while they afforded every comfort, were not so ostentatious as to awaken the envy of his less prosperous neigh- bors. A river flowed beside it, and in the rear were shady walks of sugar maple, to which the villagers would resort of a summer afternoon for recreation, and few would fail in returning to stop at my uncle's cottage and partake of the hospitality of his board. Indeed he and his were looked upon as common property. At these social gatherings, all the belles of the village would rival each other to se6ure my uncle's attention. He was ever the gayest among the gay, while his gentle manners and. playful fancy minis- tered to the delight of all; and it was amusing to behold the quiet complacency of my aunt as she gazed on his little gallantries, and to watch her countenance gradually light up, as her mind would pass from the scene before her, to the halcyon days when he wooed and won her, and then she would turn to her next neighbor and whisper in a tone mingled with pride and fondness, "You see his winning ways have not yet left him." And then she would smile and look on in silence, as if life page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 MY UNCLE N-IXHO-LAS. could afford Lno delight like gazing on my -uncle Nicholas, when he was happy. Happy --The heavens themselves are never so bright and clear, but that a cloud overshadows some portion, and there lives not that' man whose mind is so free, but that at some period a phantom pursues it, from which he fears escape is impossible. My uncle's phantom was the dread of poverty. He had lived generously and from his habits and tone of mind was ill calculated to increase his posses. sions. As he advanced in life he perceived that his property had imperceptibly wasted away; and to increase his terrors, there was a lawsuit against him that had been pending many years. He dreaded its termination would result in ruin, though con, vinced that justice was on his side; but the boasted trial by jury is by no means as infallible, as its'encomiasts pretend, for it is a difficult matter for one man who does not understand his case to explain to' twelve who frequently are in. capable of comprehending the matter under any circumstances. And by this frail tenure do we ding to our possession of liberty and life. The sword of Damocles is a type of the trial by jury. X It was a melancholy sight to behold the old MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. 201 gentleman, term after term, attending court to learn the issue of his cause. It absorbed all his faculties and sapped the very foundation of his mind. He was wont to have a word and a cheerful smile for all he met, but now he would pass his next neighbor, without token of recognition. His little friends, the children, no longer followed him. His favorite volumes remained undusted on the shelves -their charm had passed away, and those vernal fancies, that were wont to make his heart like a singing bird in spring, had died and -it sung no more. He would at times struggle to disengage his mind from the phantom that embraced it with iron clutches, and affect more cheerfulness in the presence of my aunt, for he perceived that his melancholy was contagious. How tenderly she watched over him, and soothed him and encouraged him God bless her HAt one of those tender interviews which were frequent, he -appeared sud- denly animated with hope-the world was open to him-he was a man and could labor like other men-his countenance brightened, and he exclaimed, exultingly: ' The spider taketh hold with her hands and is page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. in king's palaces."--He fondly looked into the recess of his wife's heart through her glistening eyes, and, continued. The ants are a people not strong."-He paused, and finished the proverb in a tone scarcely audible,--"yet they prepare their meat in the summer.-AlasI the snows of many winters are on my head."-A tear dropped from his eye on the pale forehead of the partner of his bosom. She consoled him no more that day. He had contracted various small debts with the tradesmen of the village, among whom were some new-comers who had not known him in his palmy days. And even if they had, the chances are that it would not have altered their conduct towards him. Few men make an sagis of the past to shield them from present evils. True, he has been as liberal as the sun that shines on all alike without'distinction but' how soon do we forget the splendor of yester- day, if the sun rise in clouds to-morrow. His creditors became impatient, and though there was some hesitation in taking out the first execution, yet that being done, others followed as regularly as links of the same chain. 'There-was a time when he felt as confident and secure among the villagers as in the bosom of his own family; but now there was MY 'UNCLE NICHOLAS. 203 no longer safety for the sole of his foot on his hearth- stone. He was humbled, and he moved among his neighbors, a broken down man, with fear and trem- bling, dreading all whom he chanced to meet. At length his library was seized upon and sold. His books were of no great value to any other than himself, but he prized them beyond every thing. He had bought them in his boyhood; to lose them was to sever the chain that bound him to happier days, and as he beheld them scattered one by one, he wept as if they had been things of life that had abandoned him in his misfortunes. It was a melancholy sight to behold him after this event, seated in his study, gazing on the empty shelves, and repeating various choice passages from his- favorite volumes. I witnessed him once, looking intently on the vacant spot where a fine biold copy of Herrick's poems had stood for near half a century. I knew the place well, for at that time it was my delight to delve for the pure ore of that t" very best of English lyric poets."' A melan- vholy smile came over his bland countenance, and he repeated, in a low tremulous voice: " * , page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204- MY 'UNCLE NICHOLAS. Call me no more, As heretofore, The music of the feast; Since now alas 1 The mirth that was In me, is dead or ceased. Before I went To banishment Into the loathed west; I could rehearse A lyric verse And speak it with the best But time, ah me -I Has laid, I see, -My organ fast asleep; And turn'd my voice Into the noise Of those that sit and weep. His eyes slowly moved along the empty shelves until they rested upon a place that had been occu- pied by a collection of the old dramatists. He smiled, though he shed tears,- "Beshrew me, but thy song .hath moved me." I turned from the window through which I was gazing, unperceived, and left him breathing frag- ment upon fragment. MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. 20S My uncle was accustomed to rise with the sun, and continued his habit to the last. But he no longer enjoyed the songs of the birds, the babbling of the waterfall, nor the fresh breeze of the morning laden with fragrance-their influence had departed from them; still he adhered to his custom, and would wander from his green meadows to the maple grove and from the grove to the river, as if in pursuit of something-he knew not what. On his return, his usual remark was, "Is it not strange that the flowers should have lost their fragrance, and the little birds their skill in'singing?"In happier days how he would praise the flowers and the birds I As term-time approached, his malady ever in- creased. His morning meal would scarcely be over when he would adjust his dress, and call for his hat and cane, and on being asked whither he was going, he would invariably reply, "To the village to see my friends. Of late they have ceased to come here, and it is right that I should see them." He would for hours walk from one end of the village to the other, and bow to all who accosted him, yet pause to converse with none; and on his return, when my good aunt would inquire whether he had page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. seen his friends, the constant reply was, "No, I have fallen in with none of them." 'Alas I my poor uncle, how thy brain, must have been shattered to imagine that a man in adversity can ever find his friends I At length the dreaded day arrived--his cause was marked for trial, and in a few hours the result would be known. The matter in dispute was not of such a great moment, but he had brooded over it until his fears had magnified it to vital impor- tance. His opponent was a course and brutal man, and in their protracted contest, the abruptness of his demeanor had awakened whatever latent asperity had found a hiding place in my uncle's bosom. He looked upon that cause, trifling as it was, as the most important matter of his life. His daily thoughts and irritated feeling had magnified it. Even the little ant by constant application can create a mound altogether disproportionate to its size, and there is not a column so beautiful that may not be defaced by the trail of a slimy snail. My poor uncle feared the ant-hill and recoiled at the filth of the worm. The morning his cause was to be tried, he dressed himself with unusual care, and my aunt, knowing MY UNCLE NICHOLAS. 207 the bent of his mind, exercised all her little appli- ances to encourage him. He went to the court house, and took his seat, a dejected man. He looked around as if in search of some one to sit beside him to aid and sustain him, but none such were present, and he sat alone. The cause was called, the jury empanelled, and the investigation proceeded. Every question that arose in its progress, wrought up my uncle's mind to painful intensities. In the ardor of his feelings he at times interrupted the proceedings, and was rudely ordered by the court to sit down and be silent. He obeyed, while every fibre of his frame shook with passion, and offended pride. His opponent smiled in triumph as he beheld his confusion. He sat alone; no one approached to sympathize with him, and he felt as if deserted by all. In conse- quence of the distracted state of his mind, his defence, though a just one, had been imperfectly made out. Facts had escaped his memory; papers were missing that should have been produced, and the result was, the jury returned a verdict against him without leaving the box. It fell like a thunderbolt upon him; he fancied the last busi. ness of his life was over, and in the triumph of the page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 MY UNOLE NICHOLAS. moment, his adversary taunted him, and openly charged him with dishonesty. The old man rose to repel the insult, while every limb shook with passion as if palsy-struck. All was confusion. The judges interferred to preserve order. My uncle heard them not. He was commanded to sit down, but still persisted to vindicate his character. A second-a third time was he called upon to sit down and be silent, which awakened him to a sense of his position. He beheld his antagonist still smiling; he slowly sunk into his seat, and as if abashed, his head hung over his bosom, and gradually descended until it rested on the desk before him. Order was again restored, and the court proceeded in its business. A few moments after, some one approached my uncle, and on raising him, he was -found to be dead I Thus died that good old man. There was a time when I looked upon him being secure from the shafts- of fate; but who may boast 'of to-morrow He was wealthy, had health and friends, and his gentle spirit made his home a paradise. His sources of enjoyment were boundless, for all nature, from her sublimest mysteries, even down to the petals of a simple flower was one mighty minister, and he MY UNCLE NICHOLA8. 20 drew wisdom and delight from all. And yet a single cloud was magnified until it overshadowed his heaven of happiness, and he died friendless and hearthroken, all, had vanished that made earth beautiful. But is this strange?-The flowers of life pass away as the flowers of the seasons, without our being conscious of the cause of their decay, and there breathes not that -man, however prosperous but like my poor uncle, hath his phantom, and in time, discovers that "even in laughter the heart is sorrowfil and the end of that mirth is heaviness., " page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 DYDI,3US DUMPS, DYDIMUS DUMPS. ^On' Horror's head horrors accumulate." SOME are epamoured of the graceful movements of a horse, others of a painted, dancing gipsy; some pass their lives in examining the petal of a flower, or the brilliancy of a bug-some disregard the earth and read the heavens, while others find nothing half so beautiful in all creation as a well-cooked terrapin or partridge pie. Dydimas Dumps belonged to neither of- these varieties-he eschewed the beauti- ful; his taste was for the horrible. The parentage, education and pursuits of Dydi- mus tended to develop this prominent feature in his Character. His father was a little, consumptive tailor, who was obliged to ply his needle incessantly for cabbage, and as tailors are proverbially melan- eholic, his hard fate, acting on his temperament, according to the settled laws of Gall and Spurzheim, rendered him as solemn and mysterious as a tomb. DYDrMUS DUMPS. 21 stone without an epitaph. Subsequently he turned to exhorting in the conventicle, which increased the longitude and acerbity of his meagre visage, and also the sonorous bass of his deep-toned nasal organ. Spirit of Slawkenbergesl with such a second, you might have deceived the dry bones of the valley with the belief that the diapason of universal nature had been rudely set in motion, and that it was time to come' forth and attune their pipes to concert pitch. His favorite text was the transgression of mother Eve, against *ihom he declaimed inmercifully, not so much on account of her having brought sin and death into the world, but that for her curiosity he never would have been condemned to the unappre-: ciated and indispensable vocation of finishing man's god-like form in such a fashion as to appear in de- cent society. Pure nature shrinks abashed when castigated by conventional rules. A babe denuded of its swaddling clothes may not cut its caprioles on a Brussels' carpet, without awakening spasmodic delicacy in the painted face of factitious modesty, that never blushed in thie dark. The mother of our hero was a layer out of the dead, and from her calling she imagined herself a page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 DYDIMUS DUMPS. sort of connecting link between this world and the next-a hyphen between time and eternity. Dydi. mus, in early childhood, attended her on these solemn missions, and he claimed it as a prescriptive right to officiate as chief-mourner- in all fashionable funeral processions. It was flattering to his juvenile ambi- tion, and that his grief might be rendered the more impressive, his considerate mother invariably har- nessed him in the longest weeds and weepers, and the best black silk gloves that the bereaved relatives had furnished to make a public demonstration of their secret sorrow. Such was the serious cast of his mind in his early years, that he despised the restraint of the ordinary system of education, and actually made considerable progress in the alphabet by conning over the epitaphs on the tomb-stones, and ultimately acquired as much knowledge of the dead languages as most collegians with the appendix of A. M., LL. D., and A. S. S. to their otherwise insig- nificant names. Many years ago I knew Dydimus intimately. Hee was at that time a middle dged and independentl man, having come into possession of the wholesome. Eccretions of his prudent and watchful mother. He was fond of relating narratives of barbarity, whether DYDIMUS DUMPS. 23 fact or fiction, it was immaterial, for he believed all heesaw in print, and as I was a patient listeer-th most gratifying compliment that can be paid to all- old women of either sex-it afforded him infinite pleasure to bestow all his tediousness upon me. His library was limited--" better have a few volumes," said he, "and digest them well, than, as some pre- tenders to literature, make a large collection without reading beyond the labels." His library consisted of "The Life and Death of Cock-Robin," with colored sculptures-his mother's first present-which time had already rendered exceedingly valuable, for there was no other copy of the same edition extant; Fox's Book of Martyrs, horribly illustrated; the Buccaneers of America, and a History of the Span. is h Inqisition. His walls were adorned with pic. tures in keeping--one of which he highly prized for its antiquity and truth of design. It-was the sacri. fice of Isaac, taken from a Dutch bible, published in an age when they weather-boarded books, and put iron clasps upon them, anticipating Locke on the Human Understanding--which illustration of that most solemn and impressive narrative, represented the agonized, yet obedient parent, with a huge blunderbuss presented at the -breast of his innocent page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 'DYDIMUS DUMPS. and unresisting offspring, while an angel, propor tioned and appareled like a well-fed Amsterdam belle, seated aloft on a cloud resembling a feather- bed, dropped tears as big as hail-stones in the pan of the fire-look, while Abraham was in the act of pulling the trigger. Poets and painters in all ages excite a shudder or a smile by their feeble attempts to bring within our perceptive faculties sublime mysteries over which an- impenetrable veil is drawn, yet which the intel- ligent mind feels and understands without the assist- ance of corporeal agency. The seminal ideas were implanted at our birth, they grow with our growth, and imperceptibly produce their fruit without the light- and heat of external sunshine. How vague are the ideas we entertain of the personal appear- ance of the angels I Enthusiasts of all nations, arro. gantly people the celestial scenery with the female beauty of their own time and clime; and the poetic creation of the Venus de Medici-the softened lineaments of Lucrece Borgia, have been used as the archetypes of the female personages in altar- pieces, before which the purest in heart and the strongest in brain bow with reverence. The coun. tenance and the drapery of angels depend upon the DYDIMUS DUMPS. 215 fashion of the age in which the artist lived, and the nation to which he belonged. Michael Angelo's angels are not those of a modern Italian or a French- man--in the age of Elizabeth-of England, a high. starched ruff and hooped petticoat were angelic, be- cause they concealed that which would have ren- dered the saint equivocal-some artists fancy fat angels and others lean, and a Flemish painter of the old school would indignantly reject such angels as they fashion in China or Hindostan, as unworthy of a place in the general exhibition. Even Mahomet's houries will have a hard scratch to hold their own, when the curtain is raised, and myriads of long-for- gotten nations-the progeny of orbs unknown to earth-denuded of the costume of time and station, stand forth to be tried bythe impartial and immu- table test of universal beauty. But I am losing sight of Mr. Dumps. His regi- men was somewhat remarkable. His organ of ali- mentiveness was largely developed, and his temper'a- ment was what phrenologists would pronounce the bilious melancholic, combined with the nervous, and a sprinkle of the lymphatic. This is all Hebrew- Greek to me, but doubtless is correct, for he was an extraordinary man, and richly entitled to all the page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 DYDIMUS DUMPS. temperaments referred to by Gall and Spurzheim. He supped every night on clam fritters, hard-boiled eggs, pickled sturgeon, and raw cabbage, all of which he washed down with an unconstitutional quantity of muddy beer, that he might more fully enjoy the fantastic and horrible caprioles of the night-mare. The profound gravity with which he would attack his nightly repast, would have inspired Apicius with veneration for his gastronomic abilities. One morning he called upon me, and appearing more dejected than- usual, I inquired the cause-he replied: "I have exhausted all the places of rational amusement in the city, wax-works, puppet-shows, and all. I finally purchased a season-ticket of ad- mission to that meritorious institution called the W ashington Museum, esteemed as the only exhibi- tion that could awaken the sensibilities of a deli- cately attuned and cultivated mind. But I have gazed so long upon the headless trunk of poor Marie Antoinette, the dying Hamilton, Moreau, and many others-including the emaciated Baron Trenck, peeping through the bars of his cage, like Sterne's starling, that they have lost their pungency. The fountain of tears is exhausted, and I am most mise- DYDIMUS DUMPS. 217 rably cheerful. I feel no more pleasure in contem- plating the jealous Moor- in the act of stabbing his sleeping Desdemona, or Queen Dido preparing to hang herself in her garters, than I do in beholding those immortal worthies, Washington and Franklin, placidly seeming to read unutterable things illegibly scrawled upon a piece of dirty parchment, or the portly William Penn, in the attitude of leading out a fair Quakeress to a country-dance. Nay, you will scarcely credit it, but it is a melancholy fact-I have become so accustomed to the horrible discord of that eternal organ-grinder, who silenced and put the starved treble of fish-wenches out of counte. nance, that it no longer creates any titillation on my tympanum, but sounds as melodiously as the music of thespheres I am in absolute despair What shall I do?" "You are a bachelor, and rich. Get married." "That would be horrible, indeed; but then it lasts for life. I wish' variety; a monotony of horror would pall upon the palate." Yet Dydimus was a kind-hearted man., His bene- factions were liberally bestowed. His pensioners were comprised of the lame, blind and destitute, whom he visited systematically to drop his unseen page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 DYDIMUS DUMPS. charity, and though he could not minister to their minds by cheerful converse, he Inever failed to. awaken them to a keen sense' of their forlorn con- dition by his tears of sympathy. ' What's to be done 1!" continued Dydimus. "This dearth of excitement will drive me to do something terrible." "Do you never go to the theatre?" "When Cooke was here, I went, but seldom since." "Go now, and you will find the exhibitions most truly awful." "Say you so? You cheer me," he exclaimed, leisurely rubbing his hands and smiling like a caput mortuum. "Pray inform me what sort of shows do they exhibit to gratify a cultivated taste?" "I see it announced that Mr. Stoker will hang himself for the first time, at the circus, this evening, for the edification of an enlightened public." "Hang himself I That indeed approximates my ideas of the interesting. But is there no humbug about it? I despise humbug." "I am assured that it falls little short of a bona fide hanging, and that the exhibition is really delight- ful to-those who take pleasure in witnessing execu- tions of the sort." DYDIMUS DUMP S. 219 "I never saw a man hanged in all my life, and as it is probable I never shall, I would not neglect this opportunity of having my ideas enlarged as to the manner of performing this interesting branch of jurisprudence. Will you accompany?" "With pleasure, as they only hang in jest." "The real thing must be exciting!" "Doubtless, and more especially .to the principal performer." We accordingly repaired to the circus at an early hour, and took our seats as soon as the doors were open. Dydimus was impatient until the horseman- ship commenced, but as the equestrians performed their feats with so much self-possession, he soon became wearied with the monotony of the exhibi- tion, and emphatically pronounced it to be a popular humbug. At length an artist appeared in the arena, mounted without saddle or bridle, who rode like a lunatic fying from his keepers, who had out-voted him on the score of sanity-throwing himself into all perilous attitudes upon his untamed Bucephalus. "Ha I ha " exclaimed Dydimus, "this is reality I What was Geoffrey Gambado or the Macedonian compared to him The progress of the human faculties toward perfection is wonderful. A few page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 DYDIMUS D UMPS. riding-masters of that description would soon send harness-makers to the region where the son of Philip no longer obstructs the sunshine of Diogenes. He may have conquered a world, IaB-M ould not make salt to his porridge if he were a circus-rider in the present age of improvement. A fig for the ancients and their Olympic games." Mr. Dumps expected every moment to behold the daring rider's brains dashed out, but to his great astonishment, not to say disappointment, the agile equestrian invariably regained his equilibrium when apparently in the most perilous position. The 3 anxiety and all absorbing interest awakened in the mind of Dydimus, became apparent by the contor- tions of his countenance, and the gyrations of his nervous system. A lad seated beside him, who was "native and to the manner born," and who for some time had watched his movements with mischievous satisfaction, addressed him in a tone loud- enough to attract the attention of those around us: "Stranger, there's no use in fretting your innards to fiddle-strings; I know that 'ere covey, and he would see the whole house, managers and all, in a place unfit to mention, before .he would break his neck for the amusement of a levy spectator. Remem- DYDIMUS DUMP-S. 221 ber we are in the pit, and he can't afford such a show as that for a shilling every day. He will break it on, his benefit night; you can go then and get the worth of your money, and encourage merit." This remark excited the risible faculties of .those who overheard it, and Dydimus, disconcerted and looking unutterable things, stammered out: "Pshaw! Fudge I Do you take me for a green- horn? I know it all to be catch-pennuy-consum- mate humbug-imposture 1", "You wouldn't have him break his neck for a shilling? Posterity, I grant, has never yet done anything for us, but then, only think, how could posterity, possibly get along without that man? Let posterity know that we foster- genius and patronize the fine arts." To escape the impertinence of the boy, Dydimus, turning to me, remarked: "That equestrian would have been distinguished among the Persians. To be a great horseman with them was second only to shooting with the bow and- speaking the truth." . "The horse'jockeys of the present day differ from page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] those of Persia. Ours draw a much longer bow, and seldom speak the truth." TWhe horsemanship being over, Mr. Stoker made his appearance, and as he ascended to the rope, sus- pended from the roof of the theatre, Mr. Dumps' pulse could not have throbbed more rapidly if he had been placed in similar jeopardy. He was all eye. The gymnic commenced operations, and when at full swing he sprang headlong from his seat-thirty feet from the floor. "Huzza!" shouted Dumps, starting to his feet. "Huzza I there he goes Not a plank between him and eternity 1" There was a spontaneous burst of applause, which the showman modestly appropriated to his own credit, though Mr. Dumps was entitled to more than an equal division of the honor. Fortunately for the rope-dancer, though to the chagrin of some of the spectators, he had taken the precaution of fastening his right leg in a noose attached to the swing, and thus he was suspended, head downwards, -like Ma- homet's coffin, between heaven and earth. He was greeted with a more hearty and spontaneous burst of applause than Newton received: when he illus- trated the laws of gravity. But what was Newton and all his discoveries, in popular estimation, when brought in juxtaposition with the science of a rope. dancerl- Mr. Stoker, soon discovering that it was an unpleasant position for the blood to circulate through the human form divine, that wonderful work--"Finxit in eflgiem'moderantfm cuncta de. orum"--than he hastened to regain his former position, which he effected without even dislocating a limb, and recommnced his operations with a self- complacency, which plainly demanded of the spee- tators-.Ladies and gentlemen, whatdo you think of me?" After various feats of surprising agilitt, he arrived at the acme of the exhibition-the be all and the end all-which -was to hang himself by the neck. It was with difficulty that I could prevent Mr., Dumps from making another ridiculous display of his excited feelings as he beheld him adjusting the loose around thatticklish part of the human frame. laving fixed it to his satisfaction, he set his swing n motion, and when at the' height, he slipped from is seat, and to the inexpressible delight of all true dmirers of the sublime and beautiful, there he was, as. per. col., as natural - as life-no fiction, but the te thing, hanging dingle dangle. A shriek of page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] horror burst from the uninitiated, but Dydimus, a true admirer of theg beauties of nature, in the ecsta. cies of the moment,- sprang to his feet, and clapping his bony hands, shouted in a sepulchral Voice: "Beautiful I wonderful Encore, encore 1 Do it again 1"- '"If the rope had broke," suggested the boy seated beside Dydimus, " the laws of the land would com- pel him to do it again, if it was the real thing and no gammon-the people's majesty is not to be trifled with on such occasions--but by the laws of the play- house, if you are dissatisfied, your only redress is to apply to the box-office for the return .of your shil- ling. You couldn't expect a man to hang himself all night to procure the means of getting a breakfast in the morning." a You be-dashed," exclaimed Dydimus, adopting from a sense of decorum a different word from that which was uppermost in his thoughts, but the exam pression of his countenance plainly indicated that he by no means intended to mollify the asperity of his denunciation by the change of a consonant. The showman coincided in opinion with the mis. chievous persecutor of -Mr. Damps, and accordingly, after hanging long enough to satisfy any reasonable Spectator, he manifested his disinclination to termi. nate his illustrious career in this ridiculous manner, and scrambling up the rope as gracefully as circum. stances would admit, he regained a position of com. parative security. The breathless suspense that had pervaded the theatre during his suspension, was Succeeded by an unanimous burst of applause, which made the sounding-board in the dome vibrate with ecstasy, and the hero of the night, having made his obeisance with a solemnity becoming the important "asion, withdrew from the scene of his triumph, ts full of the conceit of dignity as Sancho Panza vhen installed governor of Barataria. And this- is me." "Sepiterno nomtnabitur." On leaving the circus I inquired of Mr. Dumps Ow he was pleased with the entertainment. "It is the very place for me," he replied. "He caped to-night, miraculously, but I shall live to e that fellow- hanged yet. I shall purchase a sea. n ticket to-morrow morning and attend regularly til some mischance puts a check to his proud Lbition." ' You certainly would not be present at such a lancholy occurrence?" 'He is bound to be hanged. His death-warrant page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 2226 DYDIMUS DUMPS.' is already signed and sealed, and there is no reason why I should not enjoy the exhibition as well as another. If reasons were as plenty as blackberries you could not give me one." He accordingly purchased a season-ticket, and be- came a constant attendant at the circus, in expecta- tion of witnessing some appalling accident, but after wasting much time in this way, and nothing serious occurring, he became dissatisfied, for though hanging' he admitted to be a very rational amuse- ment for a week or so, yet by constant repetition it was deprived of its stimulating -properties, until it dwindled to a mere burlesque upon the impressive sublimity of the real thing. "I despise humbug," said-Dydimus, in conclusion, "and shall never again cross the door of a circus." Some months after I walked with him along a street, when his attention was suddenly arrested by an organ-grinder and an immense placard, which exhibited, in wood-cuts, humanity more brutal than the ravenous animals over which, by the first law, man had been placed as the shepherd, and in blood- red characters was emblazoned the attractive adver- tisement- ' The Horrors of the Inquisition Illustrated." DYDIMUS DUMPS. 227 "There is something to be seen here," exclaimeed Mr. Dumps, " which will enlarge the mind of the uninitiated, as regards the progress of humanity and Christianity in the civilized world." "The quackery of charlatans to aggravate the diseased imagination of ignorance, at the moderate price of a shilling a dose." "You are skeptical, but observe, sir, the illustra. tions are said to be by the best artists, and there is a full description in print of each particular case- and by the best authors. You would not doubt what you see in print?" , "Certainly not, if printed on hot-pressed vellum, with a spacious margin. Swallow the Talmud and the Koran, and all the elaborate lucubrations of insane philosophers, that repose on the dusty shelves of every well selected library, and your cranium will soon become a more miscellaneous menagerie than nature originally intended to confine within sol limited a compass; a sort of rotating kaleidescope, where beautiful images have but a momentary exis- tence, crumble in giving place to others more attrac- tive, and no power on earth can ever reproduce them." Dydimus paid little attention to my remarks, but page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 DYDIMUS DUMPS. was intently reading the various placards strewed about, like bills of fare, to stimulate a morbid appe- tite, when a man approached and invited him in, at the same time assuring him that he could not fail being pleased-"As it was the most diabolical exhi- bition ever presented to a Christian community." "Enough!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into the attitude of Hamlet, in his first interview with his father's shadow, clad in. a coat of mail-which incorporeal vestment must unquestionably have been Reduced to pig-iron, if there was any truth in the statement of the ghost as to the temperature of the regions whence he had ascended,-and the ghost was an honest ghost-Truepenny could not lie-"Go on," said Dydimus, in a sepulchral tone-"Go on, I'll follow you."' We entered an apartment which had been care- fully fitted up to represent the infernal regions, and was doubtless as accurate, in the main, as the descrip- tions by Dante, Quevedo, Bunyan and others, who have published their travels to that interesting country-but, strange is the inconsistency of man, who freely pays to understand the fabricated accounts of impudent impostors, when he has a reliable pro. mise, reiterated once a week, that he has already DYDIMUS DUMPS. 229 commenced his journey there, and will shortly wit- ness the real thing without fee or reward. -Our guide, perceiving the astonishment of Dydi- mus, turned to him, and remarked in a lachrymose and nasal tone, which would have elicited tears from monumental alabaster, upon which no tears had ever been shed: "Ah, sirl I see you have a soul to enjoy these matters. Man, who was placed as the pastoral pro- tector of all animated nature, becomes the tyrant, and finally directs his inhumanity to man, and makes-" "O1 Burn the quotation. I am in pursuit of facts and not ethics-go on with your show, and let me understand what entertainment you can afford an inquiring mind." "Look you here, sir," continued the showman, "and observe the operation of this wheel. This gentle motion delicately disengages the thigh-bones from the sockets--aiid this dislocates the arms- never was there invented a more perfect piece of mechanism-this is the exact expression while the wheel was in this position. The portrait was taken from life-or rather between life and death, by Al. bert Durer--an exceedingly clever sketcher in his page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230; D-YDIMUS DUMPS. day, and wonderfully endued with a proper apprecia- tion of the fantastic and horrible. By this motion, sir, the chest you observe is considerably elevated, but so gradually as notto give any sudden shock to physical endurance, until by this additional turn of the wheel we dislocate the spine. Every thing com- plete, you perceive, sir. Take a turn at the crank, and you will see how systematically it operates." "Beautiful l" exclaimed Mr. Dumps. "Equal to a modern corn-sheller. Man's talent for mechanics is wonderful! Even in his instruments of torture he manifests refinement. That machine must have cost the ingenious inventor much deep reflection before he could have rendered it so perfect. It moves like clock-work." "Beats it all to nothing," said the showman; " for no one who has tried that machine, ever' stood in need of clock-work afterward. Here, sir, is the in- genious process of filling the bowels of an obstinate witness with water for the purpose of washing out the truth. If the proverb be correct, that truth lies at the bottom of a well, the surest way to get at it is to fill a man's,bowels with water and then pump it out of him." "In vin veritas, is a proverb of equal authority," DYDIMUS DUMPS. 231 said Dydimus; they should have filled him with wine. But truth hath many hiding-places and is hard to be discovered." "Look this way, sir. Here are two children whose feet were roasted to a coal in the presence of their parents, and the instrument of torture in which they were confined. This is the exact expression of the countenance after ten minutes roasting; and. this, after the lapse of half an hour. "' If 't were done when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly.' " "Here is the punishment of the iron boot, celebra- ted for being the most dreadful ever invented; by which the bones in the legs are crushed and the mar- row forced from them." Thus he went on, describing the various modes of torture in the exhibition, and perceiving the in- terest felt by Mr. Dumps in his exaggerated narra- tive of blended fact and fiction, concluded by inform- ing him that in the course of a few days he would have it in his power to afford him inexpressible pleasure, for he hourly expected "The Virgin Mary and her hundred lances," so celebrated in the history of the infernal inquisition. page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 282' DYDIMUS DUMPS. Mr. Dumps continued his visits here for several weeks, to study out the complicated machinery of ,the hundred lances with which the victim was trans- pierced, while expecting to receive a benediction and maternal embrace. He admired the refinement and humanity of dispatching a wretch from this world, when his mind was wholly occupied with serious thoughts of another. Finally, even this scene of complicated horrors, became "flat, stale and unpro. fitable," and his mind could find no food to fatten on but itself. He was now indeed a melancholy man. I had missed him for some time, and on inquiry, learned that he was dead. As -his departure from this mundane sphere was rather unceremonious for a gentleman remarkable for his rigid observance of decorum, a coroner's inquest was held to'ascertain the cause of his hasty exit, but more especially to put money in that worthy officer's pocket. It ap- peared that on the evening previous to his death, his mind being much depressed, he indulged to excess in his favorite repast of clams and sturgeon, in order 'to keep up his spirits, from which some conjectured he had died of a surfeit, but as they found in his chamber a wheel-barrow, load of the writings of D YDIMUS DUMPS. 233 modern French novelists, a volume of which was open before him, one of the jurymen exculpated the clams and sturgeon from all participation in the transaction, for as he remarked, "Those books are' a vast deal harder of digestion, and in truth, if taken in large doses, would be enough to kill the-dickens. There was a difference of opinion in the minds of those jurors who flattered themselves they had minds, as to the cause of the death of Dydimus, and as they found it impossible to agree, they buried him without a verdict, and the county paid the coroner his costs. page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] '234 A SHANDYISM. MR. ASPENLEAF.-A SHANDYISM. "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return unto the ground."-GENESIS. "Let more work be laid upon the men that they labor therein."--ExoDus. "The prince cannot say to the merchant I have no need of thee; nor the merchant to the laborer I have no need of thee."-SwIFT. "Sir, I-am atrue laborer. I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe noman hate; envy no man's happiness."--SHAKSPEARE. ANTHONY ASPENLEAF and I studied law in the the same office. The students for a time familiarly called him Toney, but as he recoiled from the insignificant patronymic, delicacy prompted them to address him by the title of Mr. Aspenleaf, for they were gentlemen, and would not disturb the self-esteem of a very amiable though over-sensitive creature. At that time we made lawyers out of gentlemen--when will the time arrive that we can make gentlemen out of lawyers? Mr. Aspenleaf belonged to the order of society who mince their steps upon a Turkey carpet, fashion their countenances in gilded mirrors on pictured walls,-study their smiles, their bows and paces, until their shadow gives assurance of a man, and A SHANDYISM; 2835 then they step forth into the open air, daintily tread upon the bosom of mother earth, as if fearful that the raw material of which they are themselves com- posed may sully the science of the shoemaker. Mr. Aspenleaf had received as collegiate educa- tion; at least his father had paid divers sums of money to obtain a certificate from a learned institu. tion that he was enabled to call himself-" dunce" in two dead languages, while the "l profane vulgar" could pronounce him such only in the vernacular, Education had, in that particular, afforded him con- siderable advantage over the uninitiated. But Mr. Aspenleaf was no dunce. His mind was a great reservoir into which countless streams poured abundantly their delicious waters, but as there was no living spring within, they soon became a stagnant pool. There was not a gem inthe Latin and Greek authors that hadc escaped him, and he would sing them out with heart-felt glee-and then in English literature to see him poking along the hedge-rows -raising the rank grass in nooks and corners, like a botanist, where the sun seldom shines, and dis. covering a violet-with what triumph would he present it, and expiate on its beauty, until his spirit page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 A SHANDYISM. became saddened by reverting to the hard fate of him who planted it. Toney's father was introduced upon this mundane sphere. especially to sustain the fallen fortunes of long silk-hose, white-topped boots, and velvet small- clothes. I see him now, in my mind's eye, passing along the street--perchance meeting an acquaint- ance, and then the solemnity with which he would bend his powdered head, gently shake it as if appre. hensive of disturbing some sleepy idea, and then the practiced smile, that creamed and mantled on the stagnant pool of his finely chiseled countenance, while he gracefully waved his right hand, and, with head erect proceeded with- becoming gravity. Oh, it was beautiful I We threw aside our Chesterfield and made old Mr. Aspenleaf our high priest when sacrificing at the altar of the graces. Toney was admitted as an attorney-at-law, and with sound credentials, for he could construe-"In- teger vitae"-recognized the truth 'of the precept, and reveled in the poetry-had diligently served out the required apprenticeship-and most deser- vedly received a certificate that he was an honorable gentleman. He had eschewed Bacon--attempted to digest Littleton as cooked up by Coke-and we A SHA'NDYISM. 237 occasionally took a hunting excursion through fern, and cared not a rush about our contingent remainders. Ambition pointed out a vacant seat in. the judiciary, as a crowning reward in the distant perspective, but we little dreamt that the time might arrive when such distinction would be spurned as an indignity proffered as a compliment to an honest life of intellectual labor. Shortly after he was admitted, we were seated in the Court of Quarter Sessions, big with the conceit- of dignity. A poor fellow was arraigned for some offence against the conventional rules that castigate morals in this latitude, and as he had not the means to purchase a word that might palliate his error, the judge, under the mask of humanity, called upon Mr. Aspenleaf to make his maiden speech in his defence, that the poor creature might be deluded into the idea that he was convicted according to law. Oh, mockery He was indicted, if my memory fails not, for taking improper liberties with a hen-roost-a-, hen-roost should be as intactus as a maiden. The counsel for the offended commonwealth-cocked and primed-let fly at him with the whole of Cicero's oration against Cataline, (as it blew up the conspirator, one might reasonably expect that it still page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 A SHANDYISM. retained force enough to knock down a chicken thief,) and Toney deluged the jury with a blast from Demosthenes. The judge shoveled up his legal accretions into a sort of a wind-mill, such as farmers use to winnow the chaff from the corn, though in its revolutions making considerably more clatter, and when done, he requested the twelve geese penned up in the jury-box to pick up the grains, and accordingly they gobbled all, without regarding cockle from wheat. Toney tried- the case, but unfortunately the case proved restive, and tried Toney and floored him. The prisoner was found guilty of arson, he did not clearly understand by what course of reasoning they had arrived at their equitable deduction, and was more amazed when called upon,- a week after, to hear the learned judge sentence him to the penitentiary for manslaughter. But he was grateful; he knew that he deserved punishment for a dirty offence, and felt proud that his character had been exalted by a record of man, slaughter, instead of being branded with the petty- larceny pilfering of a hen-roost. There are grades of rank even in rascality, "Every man has business and desires such as it is." Mr. Aspenleaf and I separated; he in pursuit A SHANDYISM. 233 of refined pleasures on the continent of Europe, I to the turmoil of professional drudgery. -Near thirty years had elapsed since I set eyes upon him, when ,one morning in last August, while employed in my garden in consultation with my cabbages about what should be done for our mutual benefit we were interrupted with- "Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis." I raised my head and beheld a white-haired man standing on a slight eminence above me; his right hand resting on a gold-headed cane, while in his left he held a jeweled snuff-box and cambric handker- chief. His blue dress-coat, of the finest fabric, was ornamented with bright gilt buttons, and his Mar- seilles vest in like manner. He wore a white ecra. vat, tied with studied precision, and in all respects was a second edition of old Mr. Aspenleaf, revised and corrected, with an appendix to, the breeches, converting them into pantaloons, which were tightly strapped beneath his polished boots. He smiled blandly as we shook hands, but from some nervous emotion he did not attempt to speak as I conducted him from the garden to the library. Being seated,. after the lapse of a few minutes, he page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 A SHANDYISM. recovered himself and remarked in a low, tremu- lous, silver tone: "I have just returned from Europe after a long absence. Learning that you had retired to this spot, I availed myself of the first opportunity of visiting you, and the old fields where we rambled in our school-boy days. How we loved mother earth then!" "That is some forty years ago, if the old almanacs be authority." "I beseech youi not to mention it," he replied imploringly. "Remember, your favorite Martial says; " :oc est vivere bis, vita posse priore frui." "He may say so, but I care very little about looking back, and even the perspective is not over attractive.' "What,-sir, were your sensations on settingi foot again on your native soil, after so long an absence." "I can best reply in the words of John Foster-- ' What is become of all those vernal fancies which had so much power to touch the heart? What a number of sentiments have lived and reveled in the soul that are now irrevocably gone They died like the singing-birds of that time, which now sing A SHANDYISM. - 241 no more I The life that we then had now seems almost as if it could not have been our own. When: we go back to it in thought, and endeavor to recall the interests which animated it, they will not come. We are like a man returning after the absence of many years to visit the embowered cottage where h'e had passed the morning of his life, and finding only a relic of its ruins."' "Your Horace and your Homer are still attrac- tive?" "There was a time I fancied their freshness would never fade, but their wand is broken and they charm no more. ' The mind soon sickens that still feeds on verse.' As well might the intellect expect to sustain health and strength quaffing such stimu- lants, as the body when pampered with nothing but delicacies. Would I had been compelled to make my bread before I ate it I. The Adamus exul was a blessing and no curse, he would have sickened in. Eden. At least that is the fate of his children who are pronounced most fortunate. I perceive my error when too late to be recalled, however, 'ut semen- temrnfeceris, ita metes.' What we sow, we must mow." "You must have enjoyed yourself in your- travels?" 16 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 A SHANDYISM. "For a few years abundantly. I possessed feel- ings alive to the stupendous works of nature, and sufficient attainment Ato invest the artistic efforts of man- with incidents of their history, which seemed to sanctify the interest they awakened. For years the feast was 'never ending, still beginning' but ultimately I enjoyed as the Zoophyte enjoys. How is it that some retain the elasticity of their spirits to the last?" "They build up daily to fill the vacant places of those things that daily decay. They form acquaint- ances with the young--the future useful, and become of them, for the young grow old time enough for the distinction to vanish. By clinging only to the associates of our youth, we soon find ourselves as the last leaf of a stately tree shivering in the blasts of autumn, though the foliage in spring-time was refreshing and gorgeous. Build up incessantly! Even- the grave is oraculous in enforcing the pre- cept. The time will arrive when the- grave in his turn will build up and forever." He turned his eyes upon a picture hanging against the wall, and inquired--" Whose portrait is that, sir?" "It is the likeness of Thomas Gbdfrey, the author A SHANDYISM. 243 of the first tragedy written in America, some ninety years ago. The portrait was painted by his young friend, Benjamin West, a Pennsylvania boy, who after the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, was elected President of the Royal Academy in London." "I have. heard of him, and also of the Royal Academy in my travels, but recollect no poet by the name of Godfrey." "And yet you have recently crossed the Atlantic without being aware that that man's father contri. buted materially to the safety of your voyage. We should look at home before we travel abroad. iHe was a humble painter and glazier, and self-taught. mathematician of Philadelphia. In 1734 he in- vented the sea-quadrant, which now goes by the name of Hadley's quadrant. The scientific Anglo. Saxon furtively appropriated to his own especial. use the discoveries of the poor and. obscure, but mathematical glazier of Philadelphia, at that time little more than a village in the, wilderness. This. was practically picking the pocket of the pauper, and kicking the crutch from the cripple."- , "Alter tulit honoes," responded my friend,:vi- brating his head with a solemnity which -was, page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 ' A SHANDYISM. intended to convey more than the quotation-- "Another takes the honors!" "And the profit also. But is not this in keeping with the general conduct of that blustering old Bobadil John Bull, who for centuries has committed the grossest aggressions upon the feeble, and then enacts ex post facto laws to make it justice. Twice he has pawed up the dust, growled, shook his head and thrust his horns at Uncle Sam. But Uncle Sam seized him by the tail, whirled him round, and most irreverently applied his foot to his seat of honor and sent him home again roaring lustily. In the blind- ness of self-esteem he swore that he must have been thunderstruck, or it never could: have occurred, when in truth he was only struck with a cane." "I fear that the alarming words are now so plainly written on his wall that it requires no Daniel to interpret their meaning." "They are inscribed in damning characters on the pallid faces of his over-worked and half-fed children; on the bleeding hearts of a noble sample of the human family--and this is effected under a system of government formed to elevate the char- acter and secure the happiness of mankind. May the words be wiped from the wall, the face and the A SrHANDYISM. :45 \ , heart, before, the Daniels become weary of inter. preting. The world owes- John Bull a debt of gratitude, which will be remembered through many succeeding generations, in despite of his countless aggressions and present dotage." After we had dined, Mr. Aspenleaf inquired where Godfrey, the inventor of the quadrant, was buried. I told him that his remains had been removed to Laurel Hill, which was but a'short dis. tance from us. He proposed to walk there. He ,stood beside his monument in deep thought for some time, and on leaving it remarked-- "That obscure and illiterate man did much for his fellow creatures; would thata I could -say that I had done something, however so little." I conducted him to a terrace that overlooks the Schuylkill. I seated myself, while he stood at a short distance, leaning upon the railing of an enclo- sure, his mind absorbed with the beauty of the scenery. Suddenly I heard him murmuring to himself- "Glorious mother earth, I have loved thee for ,many years, but at times I have smiled to see thee so fantastic. You prank yourself in your old velvet coat of green, and stick in your bosom enormous. page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 A SHANDYISM. -and gorgeous bouquets, like some sprightly Dutch widow in her lustihood, going to a Flemish painter, :to sit for her picture. It ill becomes 'thee, at thy time of life, to assume such coquettish airs of juve- nility. And then again, I see thee matronly-with sunburnt cheek, robust limbs, smiling in soberness- -thy lap filled until it can hold no more, unblushing mother earth If thy female children in the olden -time were found in that condition the beadle would question them; but you, shameless, laugh outright, 'and impudently court the eye of heaven, expecting it to wink. and smile at thy dereliction, pregnant mother earth!" In amazement, I exclaimed, " what in the name of common sense are you talking about, and who are you talking to?"But he did not heed me, and after inflating his lungs, continued:- "And again, when the fruit of thine iniquity is brought to light, in-thy decline, enfeebled by thy labor, setting thine house in order, as if preparing for death, thou callest all thy children around thee, to an abundant feast, and bid them rejoice, and dance, and sing, and not weep over the faded beauty of thy youth; and when thou art chilled to the ' heart-sapless - sterile - apparently lifeless--sud- , W A SHANDYISM. 247 denly, we behold you arraying yourself in that ever. lasting coat of green, sticking fantastic flowers in your old breast, and then, with a boundless orchestra, of varied and discordant notes, attuned to universal harmony by your matchless diapason, heralding your revival, and you spring forth with smiling face and sparkling eye, laughing like a very wanton, prepared to play your merry pranks again. O! beauteous mother. earth!" "But is it earth? Her children named her- in their darkness, and, perchance, may have erred; while he, who could christen, came here .to make her-Heaven. Let her first sponsors look to it, and give place to him who followed. She would become heaven, if we were only obedient to his precepts and example." Toney looked up, as a poor player would at a prompter, and continued: "Perchance, she may be heaven--a part of it at least-say but the vestibule! I know not'even that, but this we all know, that he who made the heavens, made you also, most kind and bountiful mother. I will never return to your bosom, without having poured forth to the fullest-extent, my measure of gratitude to you and your children. I love you." page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 A SHANDYISM. "Toney, have you been poring over Jacob Boehme, or pouring in too much sherry?"He did not hear me, but inhaled the passing breeze, and continued: "'I can make you the altar of my God, and wor- ship him upon your bosom with as pure a spirit as I can elsewhere. There is light sufficient in our comparative darkness to see that He is here with us, then, why treat him as a stranger. Humanity dic- tates to treat with hospitality a fellow creature- then, why not throw open your door wide to him who gave all; bar it not like a craven ingrate against his landlord; but open wide. N6 matter how humble your dwelling, he will enter, and you will soon find it large enough to contain immensity. Commune with him, not as an abject thing would, unfit for him to have made, but as a proud son would pour forth his gratitude to an ever watchful father, and say, I thank thee for my creation.' Though humble in thine own estimation, hold up thy head and aspire to decent society. He is the best, and the most easy of access. He makes -no distinction between the hovel of a pauper and the palace of a prince. All that he requires is a heart- felt welcome, and he, who has bestowed that, when A SHANDYISM. 249 it becomes necessary for him, whether prince or pauper in this world, to knock -at his celestial por- tals, he may confidently walk in, without feeling himself a stranger there, having entertained Him to the extent, of his ability on earth. Remember, we are all by common courtesy bound to return the visit. Look to it, that we keep our doors hospitably open while he condescends to sojourn with us here, lest we knock there as strangers." Mr. Aspenleaf having disembogued :his mind of its wholesome secretions, leisurely took up the line of march, apparently unconscious that I had accom- panied him. I hastened after him, but as his mind was deeply absorbed, we leisurely proceeded to my home in silence. Our evening meal was prepared, but he declined to partake of it. "Our bottle of sherry awaits us, and there are good cigars. We enjoyed those appliances some thirty years ago. Refresh yourself, and crow like Chanticleer. Stir up, old rooster, clap your wings -crow-though you may be troubled with the phthysic, make the attempt and never show the white feather." "I will not indulge in luxuries to-night." He looked me full in the eyes, and something like a 1 page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 , A SHANDYISM. smile flashed across his gentle countenance-if it were a smile-he was most distressingly nervous; he continued--"Our walk, I fear has been too much for me, and at your pleasure, it would be well for me to retire to my chamber." I took a light and conducted him to his apart- ment, and seated myself, while he prepared for rest. He knelt beside his bed. There may be pictures more attractive than that of a gray-haired, intelligent man kneeling and re- peating the prayer which he had daily repeated from the hour he nestled in his mother's arms, but there are few pictures can be more impressive; none more pregnant with meaning. He commenced the prayer in a subdued tone, and when he came to the passage, "Give us this day our daily bread"-his frame became deeply agitated, he buried his face in the pillow, and he sobbed audibly. I approached him. "What is the matter, sir?" "I have never Learned my bread for a single day!" His whole frame shook. "Through a long and useless life I have daily besought God for my bread, without doing a hand's turn to make it. Pampered with all luxuries, and yet a mere pauper, wholly, 4 A SHANDYISM. 251 dependent upon the labor of my fellow-man, and he, perchance, half-starved, on coarse food, to furnish me with luxuries." "Reason not thus, sir; there is another side to the question." "I can anticipate all that you would urge. I have never intentionally done wrong towards another, I am naturally, I think, benevolent. I entertain no ill-will-and at times, I have been reproved for allowing what I considered charity, to extend beyond the limits of liberality. But what does all that amount to? I am indebted'for my benevo- lence to my God--an innate impulse; for my means of charity to the hands of others-no product of my labor." I touched him gently on the shoulder, and would have spoken when he checked me. "Say nothing more, I pray, to-night, sir. In my present tone of feeling, I can recognize but one astounding truth-it possibly may be an error, but I feel as if I had not done my duty, either toward myself, my fellow-creature, or my God. And there's a thought for an old man to dream upon." "Good night, and may pleasant dreams refresh you." I took him by the hand. page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 A SHANDYISM. "Good-night, and God bless my old school-fel- low." He gently pressed my hand and hastily smothered his face in' the pillow. I paused for a --moment as I opened the door and looked, back, and as I closed it, I heard something like a deep-drawn sigh. -I applied the thumb and index-finger of my right hand to my eyes, and drew them together until they met at the root of my proboscis; there was moisture there, but how or why it got there, God only knows. I proceeded to my solitary bed. The -following morning was a bright one. I arose with the sun and resumed my great horticultural pursuit. With hoe in hand I selected a remarkable drum-head cabbage, and went to work with a science worthy of Cincinnatus. In a few minutes I became philosophical; I rested on my hoe-handle, and having no one else to converse with, I addressed the cabbage, somewhat after this fashion: "Thou magnificent esculentl Upon thy broad forehead I will place the crown of my Eden. Thou art henceforth prince of the cabbage-bed. I will aid thee to sustain thy dignity. IN have fattened thee with poudret and-guano; I have studied Leibig, solely to stimulate thee to carry out the important project we have in hand. Conceal thine ambition; A SHANDY i M. 253 be careful that you burst not with your importance, when you learn the honors that await you. I am prime minister, all depends upon me, but you shall take the honor, and I will content myself with the profit." His royal highness stared at me with his broad unmeaning face, yet seemed to say- "The profits!-surely you would not sell me, prime minister?" It was a home question, which I was too politic to answer, but methought, "That depends altogether upon the price -you will bring in- the market, O king! otherwise I am unfit to be prime minister." I continued my instructions as if I held within my grasp the destiny of all cabbages, from the noble drum-head and Savoy even down to the skunk cabbage. "Listen. When our mighty scheme is matured, and there is no danger of any screws getting loose,'I will have thee' conveyed, with considerable pomp and circumstance, and place thee conspicuously in the most public position that we can command in- the approaching exhibition of the Horticultural Society. I will enlarge upon your utility in sup. plying that great alembic Colon with gas, in order page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 - A SHANDYISM. to keep the liver, the nerves, and the brain in action, and then expatiate upon the sufferings to which the insatiate tyrant has condemned you; to be boiled with rusty pork; mangled to shreds, undergo the process of fermentation, and even then not satis- fied with the indignity, he will sentence thee to be imprisoned in the excavated stomach of a smoked goose, that he may swallow you, and triumph over your humiliation, O cabbagel IWhat is it thou. hast not suffered for thy country and the benefit of man- kindI When you depart this mundane sphere, in truth, may Colon exclaim, ' in a windy suspiration of forced breath,' as Hamlet phrases it, 'Another revolutionary hero gone! Toll his requiem.' I paused to remember some of the long political harangues used to inflate bladders, until they swell to the requisite dimensions of a statesman, upon the same principle that children blow bubbles through the stump of a pipe, from material but little more e vanescent-but the child's bubble is more orna-- mental than the bag of wind, and frequently quite as useful. I jerked up the waisthand of my nether integu. ments, and throwing myself in the attitude geome- trically laid down in the old editions of Scotts' A SHANDYISM. 255 immortal work on elocution, I extended one arm at an angle of forty degrees, and elevated the other to forty-six, and there I stood, like the cross .of St. Andrew, in a somewhat rickety state, but regaining my equilbrium-then- "my eyes in a fine frenzy rolling" over the unmeaning face of my passive listener, I let him -have it-O Jupiter Tonan's!- full of wrath and cabbage, until his green whiskers fairly curled with approbation. Thus I began: "Thy capacious head contains the concrete result of Leibig's investigation; poudret and guano have contributed their aid to enlarge thy understanding; the dews of heaven have -been distilled upon thy forehead to refresh thee, and thou hast thrust thy toes into the chemical alembic of mother earth. Few are aware of the labor bestowed, and the science evoked, to make thee what thou art. What shallwe do? Thou must have a sheep-skin that thy science henceforth may not be questioned. What college shall have the honor of conferring the honor upon thee? And what degree wilt thou take-an. ". D., M. D., or D. D.; or wilt thou take all? Let not thy diffidence interfere with thy preferment, for rest assured you will find many who have re- . page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256- A SHANDYISM. ceived similar distinction standing in the same category with thyself." No reply; but from the palor of his countenance he seemed to say, "O leave me alone an unobtru- sive cabbage!" "That will never do. Thou shalt) go to the exhibition, and if the managers do not uncon- stitutionally offer their own heads in competition, beyond the shadow of a doubt, thou wilt be crowned by public acclamation, ' ing of the Cabbage- heads!' Think of that. And then upon the imperishable records of the society we shall descend to posterity together. But bear in mind, sir; our. great project accomplished, I expect that in your, gratitude for my services you will appoint me minister plenipo, to the King of the Mosquetos." My candidate was silent. Taciturnity is fre- quently mistaken as an evidence of profound thought and wisdom, when in fact it is nothing more than a -panoply assumed by dignified igno rance to protect itself from public exposure. "He says little but he thinks the more," whispers an admirer of the sage philosopher, while the sage has not sufficient activity of mind even to think he s/ A SHANDYISM. 257 thinks. I concluded that my appointment was settled. Suddenly my ears were saluted with "Buz, buzt buz!"Curse the mosquetoes I "Buz, buz, buz!" Is a plenipo to be annoyed after this fa hion? "Buz, buz, buz"' "The whole swarm is about me; I will not except of the appointment, great king!" "Buz, buz, buz " I whirled my arms about like the wings of a wind-mill to rid myself of the annoyance, but in so doing I destroyed the cross of St. Andrew, and knocked Scott's trigonomical illustration of elocu- tion into sufficient geometrical figures to solve the most abstruse problem in Euclid. I resumed my hoe., "I will establish for thee a broad platform, upon which we will erect a monument more lasting than brass-that's from Ovid; Latin. When you shall have passed through your A B ab's, and B A ba's, you will perceive the importance of those sublime mysteries--" "Cockey-doodle-doo!" "Those troublesome chickens are in my garden againl Shewl Shew!"I did not raise my head, my mind was too intent upon raising --the broad 17 page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 A SHANDYISM. platform upon which I might establish the radical principles of my cabbage. I worked with my hoe, believing that it would produce better results than the brains of some politicians. "Cockey-doodle-doo "' "Confound that rooster, he shall understand that he is not cock of the walk about these diggins.". I cautiously looked around for a stone, intending to have a whack at him; having found one, I raised myself very gingerly, fearful that I might disturb his self-complacency, when, to my confusion, I beheld my friend Mr. Aspenleaf standing on an elevation a few yards from me, smiling blandly.! I dropped the stone: and laughed.' "Crow again." He flapped his arms against his sides in imitation of, Chanticleer, and crowed with a voice' as clear as the note- of a church bell chiming the Ave Mary. Immediately: all the roosters within hearing, each on his own dung-hill, of course, answered the chal- lenge, sent it back , again, and made. my, friend Toney appear as a nervous kindred of St. Yitus. I addressed my Drum-Head. "There - are many champions -in the field, sir, and from the notes' of their clarions, 'Iinfer they will make a .hard fight.", He looked as if he had already been converted A S A'NDY ISM. 259 into krout. "Not a word, sir? Thou hast all the elements of gas within thee; blaze away; make a noise; rumble about the revolution you kicked up in Colon-the, era of the great hurricane-eh? Still silent! I indignantly decline the mission to the Mosquetoes; I throw down my hoe at the foot of your platform, but as I am your prime minister, I will sell you in open market, at the proper, season, to the highest bidder, and put the proceeds in my pocket." I approached Mr. Aspenleaf and took him by the hand. "How did you rest, sir?" "I feel much refreshed.- But, pray, to whotm were you making that impassioned harangue? For a moment I imagined that you were dreaming and' talking aloud in your sleep. "'Byron somewhere remarks, 'the best of life is. sleep,' however that may be, the greater part' of life is but a dream, from which :many are never awakened until old Time shakes them up, pats them ' on the head encouragingly, and kindly says, I trust I do -not disturb your repose, but it'.is:-my business, sir, to call upon you, and' mention that; you have had a long sleep; I trust by this time you page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 -A SHAND'YISMo are refreshed, and after you have opened your eyes, so that you may understand that my mission with you has terminated, I will respectfully suggest to you that you can quietly lie down again, take another nap; and if my heir, Eternity, be as indulgent a father as I have been, perchance you may sleep forever. Sleep on."' "Give me a peck of corn " exclaimed Toney, "I feel that I belong to the class, 'fruges consumere nati,' but wish to make my bread for one day, that I may appreciate what those of the stalwart limb and sunshine face, throwing out rays strong enough to disperse the mist of the bathed brow, have to endure in order to make their daily bread." "Their daily bread I Each will make enough by one month's labor, properly distributed, with the assistance of mother Earth, to sustain him for a year. His daily bread would be a small requisition upon his energies, if he were not required to stuff the maws -of swarms of non-productives with delicacies." "Give me some corn, and a- hoel" exclaimed- Mr. Aspenleaf, flourishing his gold-headed cane, and extending his right leg with a spasmodic movement, . A SHANDYISM. 261 "-Give me some corn, and I will raise a crop that Ceres herself shall be proud to harvest." "I fear, sir, it is rather too late in the season for you to plant. That is the business of spring-time. There is an appointed season for all 'things, and I fear that the frosts of autumn may catch your harvest before it is ripened for the garner." "True. I thought not of that. To see it-when half ripened, checked in its promise-mildewed- worthless, and then reflecting what it would have produced had I but attended to my work at the pro- per season. That, methinks, would give me pain." "Still we are aware that the eleventh-hour men received as full wages as those who toiled all day and endured the heat of the sun." "And so they did." "Still something can be done, My little crop was sown, as I thought in due season, and appears pro- mising, but as I may be light-handed at harvest- time, come out to me and lend -a helping hand. The smallest aid is gratefully received in those emergencies. "I will most assuredly be with you." "And then when we have it faithfully garnered- where the thief cannot break in-sheltered from page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 A- SHANDYISM. the weather and the vermin, we will sit down to- the harvest feast, a- board of abundance, in amity with' those who have toiled with us through the heat of the day-see with what appetite they feed, and how cheerfully they retire to their rest after their labor." "But what shall I do? A- mere looker-on in the harvest-fleld, when I am summoned to take my rest?" "You and I can be watchful that no one depart dissatisfied; and the feast over, let it be our care to gather up the fragments and see that nothing be lost." "My feast is ovtr,"-he smiled sadly as he pressed my hand--" all that remains to me is to gather up the fragments, and see that nothing be lost. There is more meaning in your apparent levity than I at first discovered." "Possibly so. Call it truth in masquerade." "I shall not forget the harvest-feast, and the frag- ments. I will be with you. Would I had labored throughout the heat of the sun, that when I go home I may honestly take my wages, and feel that I have honestly earned them." j TEE LADY OF RUTHVEN. 263 THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. TRAVELLING in the northern part of Great Brit- ain, I turned aside from my road to view more closely one of those ancient edifices that stand, as it were, a connecting link, between times gone by and the present. I ever took delight in contemplating these mighty piles of past ages, for they operate as a talisman on the imagination, and in an instant the mercurial mind, in defiance of space and time, lives whole centuries. While surveying the building an aged man approached, and accosted me. - "You appear," said he, " to be a stranger, andI interested with the exterior of the castle; perhaps the interior may equally'excite your curiosity; if so, I will attend you through the building." I gladly accepted of the old steward's invitation, for such he proved to be, and I could not possibly have hada d better / guide, for he was communicative, and intimately page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. familiar with the history of the castle and its inmates, from the time the corner-stone was deposited. He led me through lofty chambers that frowned in all the gloom of Gothic times; extended galleries and stately halls, concerning each of which some anecdote was rife in his memory. He paused with peculiar satisfaction in the armory, hung around with banners, arms, and the trophies of war. He was familiar with the history of every weapon and coat of mail, and gave with tedious accuracy an account of the various conflicts in which the several indentations, perceptible on the warlike apparel, were received. From the armory we passed into the gallery of family pictures, which afford many of the rudest, with some of the finest, specimens of art, Here might be seen the mailed knight scowling death to his prostrate antagonist, or gazing with his eyes full of devotion on his lady love; there a judge, with fat, unmeaning face and full-bottomed wig, looking askance at a hoop petticoat, and a diminutive countenance peering beneath a wilder- ness of curls; not unlike an owl from an'ivy bush; a little farther, a group of corydons and shepher. desses, watching their flocks, which had called forth ) THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. 265 the greatest care of the artist, and then canie the matter-of-fact portrait of modern days, which can do nothing more for an ugly face than make it handsome, or place a man in a studious posture with a book in his hand, though he scarcely com- prehends the alphabet. While surveying the different portraits, my eye fell on one calculated to make the spectator shrink at the first glance. It was a warrior clad in a coat of mail, his hair was gray, his countenance thin and cadaverous, and his eye as fierce as that of the -enraged tiger. His forehead was bony, capacious, and reposed on a pair of thick bushy brows. His cheek bones were high, his chin robust, and his thin lips compressed, indicative of cool determination. "That," said the old man, "is the portrait of Lord Ruthven, who: was at the slaying of David Rizzio. He left his sick bed, to which he had been confined for three months, pale and emaciated, too feeble to bear the weight of his armor, or even to support- his own body without assistance, to do a murder at the bidding of, and in the presence of, his king." "And is that," said I, "the man who took life in cool blood, and calmy sat down in the presence page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. of his insulted Queen, and tauntingly called for drink to quench his thirst, while his bony hands were still reeking with the life-blood of her favorite? But who are those young men to the left, on the same canvass, whose countenances are full of manly beauty, and glow with intelligence?" "The last of the name of Ruthven. The sons of that Earl of Gowrie, whose restless spirit burst forth at the maid of Ruthven, and finally terminated its earthly career on the scaffold. His sons were the pride of Scotland in their day, and fell at the same instant, while perpetrating the- most inexpli- cable conspiracy that history has recorded. Their dead bodies were brought into parliament, indicted for high treason, their honors and estates were forfeited, and the ancient and proud name of Ruthven forever abolished." ' "And who is that," I inquired, pointing at a female portrait " whose face rivals in loveliness all that the Italian artists have combined in their ideal beauty? Where female softness is so admirably blended with masculine vigor, that the trial for mastery at the first glance appears doubtful, but on a nearer view it is plain to see that the latter, in this instance, as in all others, maintains a transcendent THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. 267 influence over the former I Behold the arched brow where pride sits enthroned; the eye beneath it- beaming love, and the lips that would tempt an anchorite to press' them, were it not for the latent fire in that eye, and the firmness of purpose indica- ted by that chin, at the same time that the curve of beauty is- preserved, forbids even the passionless kiss of an anchorite I This I should judge to be the work- of some enthusiastic painter, who, in a delirium of love, delineated the mistress of his imagination, rather than the being that nature had created." The withered cheek of the old- man glowed at my praise, and he replied, "That is the Swan of the house of Ruthven, who was reared in the raven's nest when her own flock was scattered; She was the child of the last of the name; still an infant at the time of her father's murder, and when the storm tore up, root and branch, the noble tree that had withstood the rage of warring elements for centuries, this last frail scion was transplanted to a foreign land, where it grew in beauty worthy of its parent stem. Rightly have you judged in pronouncing that picture the work of an enthusiastic lover; it is by the celebrated Vandyck, to whom nature not only lent her coloring, but watched page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. every touch and carefully guided his hand. Charles, the martyr, at whose court the orphan of the fallen house of Ruthven was a maid of honor, bestowed her in marriage on the impassioned painter, and never did the skilful artist exercise -his brush with greater success, than when delineating the lovely features of the object of his adoration." I left the gallery with my mind filled with widely different reflections from those which occu- pied it on entering. The mute canvass on which I had been gazing, had read to me a striking lesson on the vicissitudes of human life, and the futility of the attempt to perpetuate a name. Here I beheld a long line of ancestry, who had kept monarchs in awe and been linked with royalty, extinguished by a breath-a single word--and the last remaining drop of their haughty blood, the very essence of their race, a thousand times distilled, indebted for its preservation to charity, and finally bestowed on one whose progenitors had passed as obscurely through the world as the purling stream through the untrodden wilderness, and yet to the talents of this man is she more indebted for the duration of her name, than to the daring deeds of her turbulent ancestors. I here also learnt that he THE LADY OF RUTHVEN. 269 who was the monarch's terror, the monarch himself, and she for whose charms the monarch might proudly have sighed, can obtain no more sub- stantial fame than an outline of their features on perishable canvass, or a page in history seldom opened. Most glorious guerdon, after a feverish existence, when we reflect- There's not that work Of careful nature or of cunning art, How strong, how beauteous, or how rich it be, But falls in time to ruin. page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 THE VISIONARY. THE VISIONABRY. "He travels on, a solitary man; His age has no companion."-WoBDsswoRT. IT was a bright morning in spring, my uncle had returned from his accustomed walk and retired to his study, a small building erected for that purpose, a short distance from the main dwelling. I entered to announce that his breakfast awaited him, and found him busy writing. Hle threw down his pen, and said to me, smiling, "I scarce needed another proof to satisfy me that I am but a sorry poet; but we have all sufficient vanity to imagine that we can approach the sun on dedalic wings, and unhappily the nearer the approach the greater the danger." "What subject has engaged your pen, sir?" "In my walk this morning," he said, "I met poor David Wayland, the village pauper. The old man has seen prosperous and happy days, and now he lives on common charity. Oh I my boy, how bitter THE VISIONARY. 271 must be that crust that is grudgingly given and reluctantly received, but to prolong the useless remnant of a wretched existence!-David was, seated in a solitary place on the margin of the river. As I approached, I found him engaged in deep thought, and there were tears in his eyes. I demanded what it was afflicted him. "'I have little to do, but think,' he replied, 'and the mind is' an inn that admits strange guests at times. I have been viewing myself, fr6m my joy- ous infancy unto the present hour, as in a glass, and thoughts have occurred that are beyond the scope of my understanding.' "'And what were your thoughts, David?' I He turned to me, and with a sorrowful look replied, 'I am a miserable old man, sir, a mere wreck of the creature that God had richly endowed, and all I have to offer him in return for his bound- less beneficence, is a wretch despised by his fellow- man and crushed to earth by the evils of mortality.' "' I do not comprehend you.' "I had children-they were the counterparts of what I was in infancy; they passed to the ..grave and their loss was mourned in bitterness- by me. But the being of my own childhood has as irrevo- page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 THE VISIONARY. cably disappeared, and where is it? No one deplored its departure but myself. They will re-appear, radiant in fheir innocence, but I never again as I then was. Our changes here are mani- fold. The being of but yesterday ceases to exist to-morrow, and time and circumstance render man a daily suicide, as every stage destroys the preced- ing, and a new, creation, phoenix-like, springs from the ashes of the old. They pass away, but whither? Responsible agents if when called hence, they had cast off this mantle of mortality; but self-destroyed, and leaving this frail tenement for their successor, where are they? How shall I appear hereafter? as I now exist, when the pro. tracted lamp is flickering in the socket, or as one of the countless beings that have moved and breathed' in this house of clay in my progress from infancy to age?.--Alas I I alone remain-the last metempsy-- chosis of a numerous progeny, long since passed away, the only record of whose existence is in the tablets of my own memory. I have seen them all, and must they, infant, youth, and man, re-appear in me, as I am now, or each assume in his own peculiar shape, his individual responsibility?' "I replied, that they were all one and the same ^ n v 1 1 S X A R Y. 2713 essence and indivisible, and that the infant and youth he deplored, still lived in David Wayland, borne down with age and sorrow. ' "Then truly has it been written,' said he, sigh.- ing deeply, "The child is father of the man," and the sins of that father are visited upon the head of countless generations.' "Visionary as you may pronounce the old man's theory, blood has been shed ere now to establish doctrines scarce as plausible." David had returned with my uncle to the cottage to get his morning's meal, as was his custom, and his hunger was no sooner satisfied when he with. drew to some secluded spot among the wild hills to meditate on his visionary notions of futurityi "Poor fellow," said my uncle, looking after him, as he slowly bent his way from the cottage.-"The prophet has said 'it is good for man that he bear the yoke in his youth,' thou has borne it, still the joy of thy heart is ceased; thy dance has turned into mourning." "You knew him, then, sir, in happier days?" "No,-not in happier. My first acquaintance 18 page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 THE VISIONARY. with him was somewhat remarkable. A few years ago I left the little village of Munster, to descend the Allegheny mountain late of an afternoon. Heavy masses of clouds portended a coming storm. The traveller at that period was compelled to pursue his solitary journey through the wilderness along a narrow and doubtful path, deeming himself for- tunately if he found a hospitable hovel to shelter him after the fatigues of the day's journey. I had not proceeded many miles when it was with the utmost difficulty I discerned the winding path before me. Night was approaching, and the lofty trees of the forest groaned with the weight of the tempest. I spurred my horse with impatience, but he ambled on as philosophically as if he thought it as well to be overtaken by the storm in one place as- in another. I coaxed him, expostulated with, flattered him on the score of his spirit and speed, to -no purpose, and finally I became exceedingly, indignant, but still he doggedly ambled on, as much-as to say, 'This, sir, is altogether your own business; mend matters the best way you may.' The rain now came down in torrents, and large branches torn from the trees were falling in every direction around me. I hurried on, without know- THE VISIONARY. 275 ing which way I directed my course, and was soon completely lost in the wilderness. I dismounted to search -for shelter, when fortunately a projecting rock offered itself as a protection. I secured my horse and was endeavouring to reconcile myself to my uncomfortable lodgings, when I fancied I heard a faint strain of music in the intervals of the tempest. I arose in astonishment-the music con. tinued, and seemed to proceed from beneath the surface of the earth. When the storm abated I left the rock to ascertain the occasion of this mystery. I descended a hillock and discovered the feeble rays of a cavern immediately before me. I paused at the door-a tremendous, but melodious voice still solemnly chaunted: 'His voice doth rule the waters all as he himself doth please; He doth prepare the thunder claps and governs all the seas. The voice of God doth rend and break the cedar trees so long, The cedar trees of Lebanon which are both high and strong!' "As it ceased I pushed open the door and dis- covered an aged man in the act of devotion. His flowing beard covered his bosom and his feeble hand trembled as it held the book of prayer. When he page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 THE VISIONARY. finished his devotions, he rose from his knees and welcomed me to his solitary dwelling. My curiosity was excited by the rudeness of his habitation, which was too low to admit of a man standing upright. " I perceive,' said the hermit, 'that you are astonished how a human -being can exist in a miserable cell like this; but no mortal knows what he can undergo, and how very little he absolutely requires until he is put to the trial.' "' True,' I replied, but are trials of this nature conducive to. happiness,"' "' Happiness,' exclaimed the old man, 'is a word which scarcely conveys a definitive meaning; for what we fancy one moment .to be happiness, frequently proves to be misery the next. It is scarce worthy to be taken in the calculation of human affairs, for if at the close of the longest life we were to enumerate our joys and sorrows, even the most fortunate would wonder at the fortitude that sustained him through the chequered scene of existence. At least such has been the case with me.'" On my expressing a curiosity to learn what had induced him to abandon society, he replied: THE VISIONARY. 2;7 "' The circumstances of my life are soon related; they possess neither novelty nor interest, however, I will comply with your request. "' In youth we looked upon life through a prism, and from brilliant illusions that can never be realized. We pursue the gaudy phantom with ardor, until awakened to a sense of our folly by repeated disappointment; and -highly favored is he who possesses the philosophy: not to become dis- gusted with the world, when calmly contemplating it in its real colors. "'! was born in the interior 'of Pennsylvania. My father was a substantial farmer; and as I was his only child, I received every indulgence from my tender parents. Nothing but flowers sprung up in my pathway. My days were passed in wandering through the lofty mountains that sur- rounded our humble dwelling, framing visions of the fancied paradise which lay. beyond them, and in tracing the lines of my future conduct even to the sunset of existence. Nay, my dreamy speculations were not limited to this world, and I arrogantly believed that the whole plan of the creator was miraculously divulged to me. "'In time I began to repine at my unvaried page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 THE VISIONARY. mode of life, and panted to pass the barriers that restrained me as I thought from happiness. 'This world,' I said, 'was made for action--it is full of joy, and he who supinely passes his life in a remote corner, is a recreant to his duty and should be classed among the dead and not the living.' "'I left my aged parents and went into the world. They wept bitterly at my departure. But what of that Is it uncommon for children to wring the hearts of their parents even to weeping tears of blood?-The stream of ,affection flows downward, sweeping away all obstacles, from parent to child, but alas! how seldom does it know a returning ebb, with the same strength to that pure and holy fountain "'I entered the army and continued there for several years, and distinguished myself in the field of battle, but 'eventually I was sorely wounded. During a .tedious recovery, whilst lying in a wretched hospital, I began to reflect that my dangers and suffering bore very little resemblance to the illusions. of my boyhood, for even here I found no other reward for my daily trials than rest when fatigued, and food when hungry.-These, I sighed, might have been attained without the THE VISIONARY. 279 hazard of life, or the curse of having poisoned the peace of those who gave me being. No-it is not: in the army that my destiny is to be fulfilled and my happiness completed. I threw up my commis- sion, disgusted with the pursuit of military glory, and returned to my native village a wiser if not a better man. "' When I arrived, I learned that both my parents had died some time before. I sought out their graves, and as I stood beside them, bitter was the recollection of the tears I had caused them to shed when we last parted. The heart kept a faithful record of its transgressions in burning characters; we may turn from it; devote a life in striving to, obliterate what is therein written, but in vain- sooner or later it must be read. I read and wept. "' I converted the effects left at my father's death into money, and directed my steps towards Philadelphia, where, in a short time I appeared as a merchant at the exchange. The exciting scenes continually rising to view promised that I should soon find the world as I imagined it. My heart expanded as it daily quaffed professions of friend- ship and blandishments of love, but still there was something wanting-fruition never realized the page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 THE VISIONARY. dream of anticipation.-However, there was suf- ficient to make the world an enticing one; but alas I the gay delusion was not permitted to continue long. I was cheated of my fortune by the man I considered my bosom friend; and then the mistress of my heart, with whom in a short time I - was to have been united, thought it prudent to forget her protestations of eternal affection, and marry the wretch who had reduced me to poverty. I did not reproach her, for it is written-"The poor is hated even of his own neighbor, but the rich hath many friends."--Human nature hath not changed a jot in this respect since the days of Solomon. The world said she acted wisely. "(I left the city, but not without a sigh at having discovered, that my vision, though so near com- pletion, was not to be realized in the mercantile world. As I trudged along I consoled myself by reflecting that even in the midst of prosperity, I had no other actual enjoyment than sleep when I was weary and food when hungry. Every other was deceitful and illusory. Then why should I complain, for I shall be able to command a crust of bread and a pallet of straw, even in the most abject situation; nature requires no more; and possessing THE VISIONARY. 281 these, the wealth of worlds cannot add toi my happi- ness--"Better is a little with the fear of the Lord, than great treasure and-trouble therewith." "' I had been in affluence long enough to discover that prosperity is attended with a greater crowd of afflictions that adversity. It affords the means of gratification to every human passion, while adversity closes the heart to the follies of the world, and points out the vanity of human wishes. The one- pursues objects that are attained with difficulty, and when attained, frequently yield disgust to repay the labor of pursuit, while the other enjoys the sweets of life in every difficulty overcome, and encounters those which it is necessary to surmount in order to pro- mote happiness. Again I exclaimed-"Better is as little, with the fear of the Lord, than great treasure and trouble therewith," Poverty points out the straight path to true wisdom." "'I entered my native village at sun-set, weary and forlorn. Very little change had taken place during my absence, and I felt a peculiar interest in every object that presented itself.- How pleasingly melancholy are the feelings we experience in visiting the place of our birth in adversity. The recollection of former days rushed in more vivid colours on my i page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 THE VISIONARY. dejected spirit, as I received the cordial greeting of the friends of: my childhood, and I felt convinced that my air-built castles at length had found a firm foundation on the spot that first gave rise to them. :" 'Before I made choice of a future pursuit I nar- rowly investigated the lot of those who appeared to enjoy most purely the blessings of the world, and resolved to tread in the path of one who had the reputation of being happy. The lot of a neigh- bouring farmer delighted me. I observed that he rose with the sun, his body full of health and vigor, and his mind untainted with the corruption of the world, to cultivate the soil which God had bestowed upon him. This, I exclaimed, has been the osten- sible duty of man since his expulsion from Eden; there is no pursuit more innocent, it yields all that nature requires, and injures no one. At evening- when the labor of the day is over, he returns to his cottage; his blooming wife hastens to meet him with smiles and caresses, while the rosy offspring of health and innocence, impede his anxious steps until the kiss is given! I will get married and cultivate the earth, for this is the only sure road to happiness, and fortune's favours extended beyond \ . THE VISIONARY. 283 this prove the severest affliction, as I have already experienced. "' I continued, ' the burden of the world is on the wealthy and not on the poor man. The one has ani artificial station .to fulfil, the other but a natural one. The one has a thousand ideal wants to gratify, without the ability to divine the method of doing it, whereas the other hears but the wants of nature, who at thet same time points out the simplest manner of satisfying them. Yes, the burden of the world is on the wealthy and not on the poor man, for the one expects every thing from the world, and the world expects very little from the other. "' I now made choice of the partner of my fate, to whom in due season I was married, and having rented the farm where I was born, in' course of a few years, by dint of industry I succeeded in stocking it to my satisfaction. I now resolved to be happy.--I rose with the sun, and whistled at my daily task, for I, laboured for her whom I loved with the utmost tenderness. We had three children; I watched over them and loved them as my parents had watched and loved me. They died in their infancy, and I mourned their loss in the bitterness of a broken spirit; but I have often thought page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 281 THE VISIONARY. whether the tears I shed on their graves, were as scalding hot as those I wrung from my aged parents' hearts when I forsook them. Even thus, had they lived, might they have repaid my tenderness. If so, God was merciful, in taking them and in sparing me. "' Still my heart was comparatively cheerful in i the midst of my struggles' for bread, and I continued to contemplate my vision of bliss with the same hope as the shipwrecked mariner the symbol of the covenant, after a tempest; but as my wife was the keystone of the arch, the dreamy fabric was fre- quently shaken to the foundation.--In my own mind I had prescribed her line of conduct, but as she was not gifted with intuitive forecast, she knew not, and, perhaps, cared not how I wished her to act. In the grief of my disappointment I frequently sighed,-"No blooming wife runs to welcome my return after the labors of the day over; no rosy offspring impede my anxious steps until the kiss is given." "' I became discontented, and entered upon. the duties of the day with disgust instead of cheerful- ness, for I labored for one incapable of feeling my e affection, or estimating the worth of my exertions- THE VISIONARY. 285 There was a flame within my bosom that preyed upon my life, and would of itself have worn me to the grave-but one trial-was still remaining to con. firm the vanity of human prediction and complete the load of mental suffering.- My farm was now neglected, and when the horrors of poverty sur- rounded me, the death-blow came. My wife, who had given me daily proof of her ingratitude and aversion, gave me a fatal one of her loss of chastity. O, God the bare recollection dissolves the frozen blood of age, and forces the few remaining drops, scalding hot, from the withered fibres of a broken heart I I beheld the vzper who had stung me to the soul, coiling in the bosom of her paramour-the scene deprived me of reason-0O that I had continued so, for when I returned to my senses, the hapless. wretch was weltering in his blood at niy feet-the victim of his crime and my revenge. "' I went forth and surrendered myself into- the hands of justice. The offended law must be appeased I But laws insufficient to redress injuries, beget self-avengers, and too often make victims of the injured. I was tried and convicted of murder in the second degree, and sentenced to ten years imprisonment, part of the time in the solitary cells. page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 THE VISIONARY. \ I shall not attempt to describe to you the horrors of a dungeon, as the picture would not represent my own but the sufferings of my fellow prisoners- for me it had no terrors. He who has placed his happiness on this world must necessarily be wretched when deprived of the power of-enjoying it; but he whom the world has deprived of happiness can feel but little regret at being removed from the scene of affliction. I had now time for reflection, and the vanity of my earthly pursuits flashed upon my brain. My life had been spent in pursuit of the vision of my youth; in struggling to realize scenes which could only exist in imagination, and which led me to wretchedness and disappointment. I had lived for others and not for myself. I now dis- covered how very few were the real wants of human nature.; and on recurring to my past life, I was astonished to observe how severe a tax the world imposes on its votaries, for instead of having the courage to live for ourselves, we live for the rest of the world. At the expiration of my sentence, finding I could be of little service to mankind, I retired to the wilderness, well convinced that man. kind could be of as little service to me. I here have every thing that the world afforded me in the IILNV VVJ uy THE VISIONARY. 287 brightest hours-food and rest-without the unceas. ing agitation of mind and body, that preyed upon my life; and removed from temptation, I mourn over the follies and weakness of my nature, and strive to make amends for the past errors. And, though all my earthly hopes proved to be of such stuff as dreams are made of, there is one remaining that this world cannot take away, and it renders even the pauper's brow more beautiful than a kingly diadem--"The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness." And to such it is promised--"Thine age shall be clearer than the noon day; thou shalt shine forth, thou shalt be as the mornin g."'" page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 THE WIDOW INDEED. THE WIDOW INDEED. "She that is a widow indeed, and desolate, trusteth in God, and continueth iJ supplications and prayers, night and day." POOR old Miriam I We behold objects in child- hood that remain our inseparable companions through life, whose lineaments are still fresh in memory, though myriads of intervening things may have passed away like shadows. Such is the impres- sion made upon my mind by the patient creature whose humble career I am about to record. Miriam's parents were too unobtrusive to awaken malevolence, and too independent to apprehend oppression. She was their only child. Possessed of intellect, they afforded her every opportunity of cultivating it, and with their virtuous example before her, she attained the years of womanhood, lovely and beloved. Gray-haired men still speak inrap- TH-E WIDOW INDEED. 289 tures of her youthful beauty, and deny that the present age can produce her- paragon. True, it sounds strange to hear her queen-like figure, raven hair, ajnd pearly teeth enlarged upon by decrepid age, sans teeth, sans hair, sans every thing; but where breathes the artist can portray in such glow- ing colors as memory, when she places before the eyes of the aged their themes of young delight! Miriam married; her choice was worthy of her, and he fully appreciated the good bestowed upon him. Their union was as one cloudless summer-day; nor was their happiness confined -to themselves; its influence was felt wherever they appeared, for no one ever received at their door the answer given at the coming of the bridegroom-" not so; lest Sthere be not enough for us and you." "- Their union was blest with an only daughter. Their cup of joy was filled without one dash of bit- ter, and daily thanks to the Fountain of all, hallowed their happiness. But- boast not thyself of to-mor- row, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth." They had been married some ten years when her husband died. In the spring time of life when earth laughs out as the primitive Eden, few- reflect 19 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 THE WIDOW INDEED. that the winged hours are incessantly working a fearful change, and that the time must arrive when the magic spell will be broken, and nothing remain but "the flaming sword that turneth every way" to bar man from his lost happiness. Miriam anticipated-- the blow as little as others, but she was better prepared than most to meet it. She knew from whose lips the mandate issued; "that whatsoever He doeth -it shall be forever; noth- ing can be put to it nor any thing taken from it." She had watched by the bedside of her companion with that unwearied jdevotion which a true wife alone can display. She had marked the gradual inroads of disease, but continued to hope on, for while he-breathed, it did not occur to her how nearly allied life is to death.; how brief the passage from the one to the other-a single respiration and nio jmore. But when the last sigh was breathed she awoke to a full sense of her loneliness. He was all to her on -earth and :now nothing remained to the rfuture but the recollection of departed:joys. Whena the paroxysm, had subsided, she arose-grief and resignation struggling for mastery-she clasped her C hands, and turning her tearful eyes toward heaven, ,meekly articulated-"Not as I will, but as thou wilt." THE WIDOW INDEED. 291 Years passed away, for time pursues the same even course whether this world smiles or weeps, Iter spirit did not shrink from the severity of her trials, for there were duties to be performed, hopes uncrushed-and the human heart, like the dove of peace when flitting over a deluged world; bears up, trusting still to find the solitary resting-place amidst universal desolation. Her husband had left sufficient for the support of herself and child. The widow devoted her days to the instruction of ittle .Mary, and she was rewarded, Iby seeing her as she approached womanhood sur? -pass a fond mother's anticipations.: She was a deli- cate flower, nurtured in an atmosphere where n6 breeze passed over her rudely, but where all around was fragranee: and sunshine; Such plants soon pine away and die when removed from their native soil Mary knew nothing of the world beyond her mother's threshold. Her young-imagination peopled it with such beings as her own kind mother. In *her mind all had:their peaceful himes-the universe all love and harmony-the flowers, the streams, the hIills unfailing fountains of deligh-all joyous,. and he the mosit gladsome being in a joyful world; Morn but awoke her to twitter her light-heaited page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292- . TUHEF- W-I D W I ED. song: like a summer bird, and- at night she hymned His praise in the same innocent strain of rejoicing, while--her glad mother's heart overflowed with grati- tude :for the blessing- conferred. They indeed were happy. - Happy 1 If you have entrusted your happiness in the hands-of your fellow creature, await the rising of the morrow's sun. Call no man happy until death. He alone is -happy who cares not how soon the sun may set forever--and he himself' arise be- yond the influence of the sun. ..,That man may dream that he-is happy. Dream on thou glorious dreamer! There lived: in the village a young man named ]Mark Moreland. .He was handsome, and possessed taste for books and music, and-abounding in animal spirits, he was usually the victor in -all the village sports. As he wore his laurels proudly, the young men envied him, but the -aged shook :their 'heads, and prophesied that Mark would come to no good, for he was idle. Mary's- beauty did not escape his notice; and her mother's little possessions rendered her more attract tive. It -was Mhis custom when returmning&from shooting or fisM-ing, tp stop at the widows ,cottage, and to :presenther .with: the 'choicest .of his spoils. n, to prs h'r -,ih S st,r TEHE tWIDOW INDEED. g91 Hee would -read;l to -them of evenings, and the notes of his flute harmonizing with the clear joyous voice of little Mary, often arrested the step of the passing villager. To the inexperienced girl he -appeared to be all he assumed; not so in the eyes of- her * mother. 'Mary loved him with'that depth of devotion the human heart can feel but once. Imagination' had clothed the object of her idolatry with all tlfe attributes of perfection.-Young love bends to an idol of its own creation, and zealously threads the universe in pursuit of the richest offerings: to increase its 'ideal beauty; but when: the charm it broken, and the clouds of incense -dispelled;' the object is frequently found to be as repulsive as the ass's head around which Titania entwined her- fairy garlands. . The widow discovered with grief the bias of her child's :affections, and usedall persuasion to estrange her, feelings. She referred to their peaceful - nd happy condition, and deprecated a- change. "Henis idle,' said she, "and such seldom obtain the: respect of:their -fellow men". Our :lives: have been,. simple and harmless, histhe' reverse. iHe is not of usea Scoffer at.-those:. things'we hold miost sacred, and Scoff ere * tnd page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 T-HE WI'DOW INDEED. remember the ingrate to his God is never trusted by his fellow man-not even by his fellow scoffer," The scoffer will be somewhat astonished, if after all, :the things he scoffed at should turn out to be the eternal truth, and the wisdom of ages-has been exceedingly favorable on that side of the question. Scoff on,:thou fool 1 You first assume to yourself the attributes of Omniscience, and then impudently deny that Omniscience can exist elsewhere than in your own brain. Thou know-all-worml it is possi- ble, by -chance, you have missed a figure. Mary wept, for it was the first time she had given her mother pain; the first time she believed her to be in- error, still she appreciated her motives and struggled to comply with her wishes. It was a con- flict of deep-rooted feelings-a strife between duty and love. It is unnecessary to add which proved the ictor. Aware -that Miriam would never consent to their union, Mark persuaded the infatuated girl to- be married privately. It was her first act of disobe- dience; she no longer felt herself the guileless being she had been up to that hour, it seemed to her that she had changed nature with some abhorred and guilty thing, and Mark endeavored in vain to as- THE WjIDOW INDEED, 295 suage the poignancy of her feelings. She had de- ceived her mother-confidence had ceased to -exist -and she trembled as a criminal in her presence. When the unhappy tidings were divulged, .the widow wept in secret over her blighted hopes, :but not a word of reproach fell from her lips to embitter the chalice her deluded child had prepared for her own lips. She received Mark in her humble dwell, ing and- treated him as her son. Mark's conduct underwent a thorough change, and Miriam imagined that he had seen the errors of his, ways, and turned from them. In the simplicity of her heart, she said--" this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found." Mark having gained her confidence proposed to embark in business, as he was weary of an idle life. But he had not the means, and he applied to Miriam to assist him.-Mary added her entreaties, and the widow pledged her little all to promote the' welfare of her children. The result might have been fore. seen. Inexperienced-reckless-self-willed,-in a few years he exhausted the widow's means andc deeply involved all who trusted in his visionary speculations.--He became bankrupt; the widow destitute. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 THE WIDOW INDEED. The descent to adversity is easy, but to retrace our steps over obstructions which we had, ourselves, thrown in theopathway, require energy possessed by few. Bad became worse daily with Mark Moreland. The amusements of his boyhood assumed the fea- tures of vices in his riper- years. The budding of sin, in a child, to some appears attractive, but when matured-repulsive.-The most poisonous weed, in spring time may produce a gorgeous flower, but in autumn the seed is death. The widow seeing all was lost, trusted to her own resources. She opened a school, that the children of the village might benefit by her moral and intel- lectual culture, and she maintain her independence. There was a purity of purpose within her threshold which creates an atmosphere the impure cannot breathe. Mark returning from his midnight orgies to behold the quiet simplicity of the widow's home, felt, as did the rebellious angels when the subli. mated atmosphere of heaven drove them mad, Mary had a child, a boy, some two years old. Late one night Mark returned from his companions, ill-humored and intoxicated. He would fondle with the boy, but Mary, alarmed for the child's safety. opposed his wishes. He snatched the boy from her , - T HE WIDOW IN-DEED. 297 arms and fell with the infant beneath him. From that day the child, who had given promise of all that partial parents anticipate from their first born, became an idiot. Mark was now a changed and melancholy man. He daily witnessed the desolation he had occasioned, no part of which came within his power to alleviate. He was chained, a hopeless spectator of a scene that drove him wild. The va- cant stare of his beloved boy--the silent but iil-con- cealed repinings of his wife, that were evidently hurrying her to an untimely grave;' the conflict between resignation and despair which was laying desolate the widow's heart, strewed the pathway to duty with thorns, and the purer he became the more poignant became repentance. Destitute of the means to relieve their necessities; too infirm of purpose to contemplate the result of his own vices, he fled from the ruin in its desolation, selfishy hoping to find a Lethe for remorse in the hurried vortex of a heart. less world. Deserted by her husband, and reproaching her- self for the trials her disobedience had imposed upon her mother, Mary wasted to the grave with a disease that knows no cure--If the body be afflicted, there is hope for extraneous remedy; if the mind sickens, page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 THE WIDOW INDEED. it must be its own physician. Mary watched over her idiot -child-sat statue-like beside her -patient mother--seldom spoke-never smiled--and died. The innocent to die thus--of self-reproach and broken-hearted, is indeed, the human agony of the cross and crown of thorns. Miriam was now destitute and alone, but she knew that "he who faints in the day of adversity, his strength is small." Her time was devoted to her little school and unwearied efforts to infuse light into the mind of her benighted offspring. At length he could imitate the sound of a few words, but not for the purpose of imparting ideas. She took him repeatedly to his mother's grave, and taught him to pronounce the word-mother, and kneel in the atti- tude of invoking a benediction. She taught him to repeat the Lord's Prayer, word by word, as it fell from her lips, and though its import made no im- pression upon his mind, still, morning and night, he prayed with as much outward zeal as many do who possess all the advantages of the light of revelation. The principal difference consisted in this-he prayed in their lowly chamber, with no other witness than his grandmother and his God, while many seldom invoke the attention of the Creator without requiring THE WIDOW INDEED. 299 a crowded congregation to bear witness. Wthy hide your candle under a bushel I Let the meek and lowly behold with what audacity pride and ostentation can approach the Deity-as if there were an -aristocracy in heaven. A few years rolled on rapidly. One evening, as the boy was paying his accustomed homage at his mother's grave-zealously repeating the overwhelm- ing appeal of deity to deity--too often an unwinged prayer, and, doubtless, at times, a malediction self- invoked upon the head of the Pharisee, the boy, as le arose, beheld a man standing beside him. "Whose grave is that, my child, .you are kneel- ing on?" "My mother sleeps here." The stranger read the simple inscription on the head-stone-shuddered, and inquired in a tremulous voice, . "Your father-do you know your father?" "Our father who art in heaven," began the boy, standing erect, and with uplifted hands- "His name?" ' Hallowed be thy name." '"I mean your father." "I have no other aither." page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 8'00 TH-E, WIDOW' INDEED. The thunder of heaven could not so have shaken the iron nerves of that strong man, as did the simple reply of the idiot-boy; but was it not thunder of heaven that spoke in that small voice-.-"I have no other father." "Come, come," said the boy, taking him kindly by the hand--and the unnerved man suffered him- self to be led away as if he were both maimed and blind. Marvel not at that; men of the sternest minds, at times, allow themselves to be led away by idiots. They reached the widow's cottage as she was ip the act of dismissing her little school. They paused, and overheard the admonition and blessing she be- stowed upon her pupils, about to leave her for the night, while each shook hands with her as if impa- tient for the coming morrow. The man bowed his head and wept, as if he were a child again. Chil. dren always make good men feel as children; and at tines they restore the blurred record of childhood so vividly to the minds of the impure, that they wish / they were children again. But as that is impossible, let them indulge in a prospective view of their second childhood-early vice in the seed. They entered the cottage-Miriam was surprised THE WIDOW -INDEED. 801 at beholding a stranger thus introduced; she turned her face toward him--recognised him and clasping her hands, sunk, upon a chair exclaiming, ".Mark Moreland" . -- Where she sat was the place where the boy was accustomed to pray of nights. He ran to her and knelt, saying, "Mother, I pray as Christ prayed ;" a phrase she had taught him. He commenced, and coming to the passage, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us'-which the widow had taught him to pronounce with the solemnity due to its importance--- she looked into the eyes of the contrite man, then into the secret recesses of her own heart, and the prayer, passing from the untutored lips of an idiot child, sunk more deeply than ever before, though aided by theatrical gesture--pomp--and the studied elocution of -the preacher. Mark was forgiven as far as human infirmity can forgive. During his absence he had acquired some pro- perty. His habits had undergone a change, and all with whom he had any dealings pronounced him an upright and industrious man.,-Yet he felt himself a vagrant on earth, without the prospect of ever becoming a denizen of heaven. page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 802 T E WIDOW INDEEDn I '- The? widow received him as her son, and he employed himself to render their home the abode of peace. True-it was lighted up with genial sun- shine, but bright rays never played there. Clouds seldom intruded, except upon Mark's soul, when he contemplated the vacant stare of his child. He had brought him into the light of life only to give him -darkness. Morning and evening he beheld the boy appealing to his God, in the darkness of his intellect, and arise from his prayers, happy. The thought occurred-I have intellect of which I was once proud, yet stand aloof from the path that leads to Him who gave it I He knelt down a humbled man beside his idiot son, and prayed. The boy smiled to see him pray, and patted him on the head in imitation of his grandmother's benediction, and ever after led him to their bedside, and prayed together. Truly, in this instance, "the child was father of the man," though not in the sense the. poet intended. All nature is at times oracular, speaking in a voice too plain to be misunderstood. The earth, the sky, the ocean, are unwearied and eloquent teachers. The rustling of the autumnal leaf may awaken faculties that would slumber on- the sea-beach-the THE WIDOW INDEED. 803 rippling brook babbles its lesson, and even the stroke of the dark iron upon the dull flint, may elicit a spark sufficient for some minds; man knows not when nor whence he may imbibe the semi; annual idea that expands the soul, until darkness becomes luminous, and light gleams through chaos. God's ministers are legion. We move in circles. Miriamn's unoffending life had promised all, and yet she suffered all. Her child died, harmless; had she lived longer, would she so have died? The widow infused a glimmer of light into a blank mind, which. guided the foot- steps of: a cast-away. His sacrifice of the unof- fending had worked out his own salvation. Good came out of evil. The purest on earth was sacrificed for the sins of man, and human nature should strive to imitate the example.-The greatest evil has conferred on man the greatest good. The boy lived and died a blank, still he was born for good. The'widow soon followed,him -to the grave, having fulfilled, her duty; and Mark is living to this day a grey-haired wealthy man-and of course, respected by all; and yet. he would give all earth to be respected by himself and God. page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] O4 - THE RECLUSE. i TtHE RECLUSE OF BLACK LOG MOUNTAIN. Ox. a sultry day in the month of July, business called me to visit the village of Shirleysburg, situ- ated on a level piece of ground, rising gradually from the banks of Aughwick creek, which is sepa- rated from the town by cultivated meadows. A long and wide street, or rather the public road, lined on each side with plain but substantial dwelling houses, to each of which is attached a sufficiency of ground for gardens and out-houses, makes the town, in all respects, conformable to the generality of Pennsyl-- vania villages in its appearance and structure. The creek pursues a northerly course, and on its western side the lofty summit of Jack's mountain frowns in gloomy majesty over a narrow valley. On the east of the village, the sandy ridge breaks the prospect, and seems as a step designed by nature to enable the adventurous traveller to reach the rugged and- romantic heights of the Black Log Mountain, whose THE RECLUSE. s0 precipitous sides, as yet undivested of the forests of ages, bound the view for many miles in a continued undulating chain of hills, which rise behind the vil- lage, casting their depths of shade over the well cultivated vale of Germany. There is something peculiarly pleasing in arriving at the end of a journey, especially if travelling alone, or if little accidents on the road have in any degree destroyed the equanimity of our temper. Unusual heat of the weather creates lassitude, clouds of dust are very incommoding; the careless tread of an animal ever ready to obey the voice of his rider, and to quicken his pace over a rough road may cause a momentary stumble, which often pro- vokes the goad of a spur, the lash of a whip, or at least an angry jerk of the bridle, accompanied with an exclamation of impatience and discontent. The unexpected sound of a loose shoe as it strikes the rolling flint, gives indication of trouble and delay, and all thoughts are banished save those of a smith shop, or a lame horse in default of one- 'the increased jingling of the receding nails are the death knells of expiring patience, hopeless glances are repeatedly cast at the broken hoof, until a sudden, overpower- ing rattling is succeeded by a soft tread, and a full 20 page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 THE RECLUSE. conviction'that the unlucky shoe is cast, when the remains of good humor are apt to be cast with it. These, and many other trifling causes,-powerfully operate on the bile of the equestrian traveller; but the end of his journey approaches, and the house of his friend, or the sign of his host, appears within his reach, and all frowns are quickly dispelled; the tired animal partakes of the returning satisfaction of his rider, and moves with a brisker step, whilst imagination depicts the hearty welcome, the good cheer, and the pleasures of rest and ablution to the weary traveller. With feelings of this nature, I approached Augh- wick creek, over which is thrown a huge covered bridge, whose ponderous timbers and iron-work support a roof, rising and falling like the waves of the sea; bidding defiance to all rules of architecture, and conveying the preposterous idea of expending hundreds of dollars to save a penny worth of floor. ing. After crossing the bridge I soon discovered the ancient site of Fort Shirley. Long previous to our revolution, a block-house and outworks had been erected, as well to secure the few inhabitants from the predatory incursions of the red men of the forest, as to form a chain of posts extending through -THE REOLUSE. 307 the State, on the frontier of the settlements of the agricultural adventurers of early days. The British general was honored -by his troops in having his name given to the strong-hold, and though the plough and the harrow have long since levelled all traces of a warlike station, yet the village still retains the ancient name, and the old men can still point out to the curious inquirer, the spot where once the brave dreamed of glory, whilst wakeful sentinels paced the confines of a gloomy forest in constant fear of the deadly rifle aim, or tomahawk stroke of the concealed savage of. the wilderness. The village school-house stands at the entrance of the town; it was noon, and the busy hum within announced that the hour of relaxation from the abstruse study of spelling-books, and the unknown numbers of the rule of three, and temporary relief from the terrors of the awe-commanding birch, had happily arrived to the rising generation. A little stream of water crossed the road, rapidly hastening' to join its tributary rill to the Aughwick, and by its strong current to be borne along through many channels until the whole should be lost-in the world of waters. And this, thought I, as a group of happy urchins rushed from the school-room, is an emblem page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 THE -RECLUST. of human life I! Youth is like the mountain spring, bright and pure at its source, delightful to view, and yielding its refreshing benefits in silence and modesty. Leaving its native bed to seek its pas- sage through the vale, it murmurs over rocks, thunders down precipices, and winding its devious course over unforeseen obstructions, it now becomes a morass, and now a perturbed and polluted stream; the rivulet presses forward, and each step from the fountain adds a stain upon its purity, until swelled by descending rains, and mingled with the streams of the valley, the mountain spring is known no longer, but a rapid torrent hastens to lose itself in the bosom of the ocean. Such is the varied passage of man through life: pure at his outset, ambition points out the enticing valley below him; rocks and quicksands in vain obstruct his way; he passes onward, but the stream has partaken of the nature of the obstructions; the evils of life descend upon him; the tide-of contending passions hurry him into the vortex of the world, whence he rushes on- to the ocean of eternity My horse had stopped midway of the, stream, to drink: I had an opportunity of examining the group before me. The town children were running, or THE RECLUSE - 09 rather jumping, through the dusty road, with all the wild hilarity of unrestrained joy, towards their respective homes. Near the road a large apple tree afforded an excellent shade for the children who lived at a distance, and who were now preparing their frugal meal of pie and cakes, each from a little basket, and spreading their cheer on the grass be- neath the tree. Between two logs of the school- house, a long, narrow frame, extended the whole breadth of the house; this had been covered with sheets of copy-books, in place of glass lights-a kind of "lucus a non lucendo." Some broken sheets disclosed the faces of three unfortunate delin- quents, who were peeping at, to them, forbidden pleasures, for, although the door was open, they were kept in until the frown of the master should relax, and the welcome sound issue from his lips, "Go "--although an admonition never failed to accompany the starting word, "Mind you behave yourselves better after this." The master made his appearance as I approached the door, and I observed that he was in conversa- tion with an elderly, magisterial looking man, who was about to leave the school-house. -They were standing in the doorway, and I overheard park of page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 810 THE RECLUSE. their discourse, as the latter took his leave-- No one but a crazy woman would live as she does; I tell you she must be looked after; she must be examined; she may become a burden on the town. ship; it will never do, I tell you."--"Well, sir, I will accompany you to the mountain to-morrow, and I will give you a holiday for .that purpose; we shall then know all about her." I rode forward, not without some curiosity respect- ing the mysterious subject of the conversation, which was increased by a question put by the daughter of the stranger, who was waiting until her father should leave the school. "And does she live all alone on the mountain? I wonder who she is, father." "That's exactly what I wish to know myself." And that's what I will know before I leave this place, said I, mentally, for I began to feel myself just as much interested as people generally are when part of a mystery is- disclosed, which shows that something worth haying is withheld. With this determination, I alighted at the door of the inn, and was cordially welcomed by my old host, whose gouty limbs did not permit him to leave his chair, but his smiling countenance, hearty salu- / TEK E ECLUSE. 3" tation, andcl outstretched- hand, told me I was, at home. I soon concluded my business, and after having dined, I ordered a bottle of wine to be placed inL a cooler and a cigar' on the table, and addressed my- self to my landlord on the subject of the mysterious woman of the mountain. He could only inform me that she was the subject of much curiosity, that few people had visited her, and she would not speak to any one except the schoolmaster, who had twice been to her lonely habitation, and perhaps knew more about her than he chose to mention. But, added my host, I will send for the master, and no doubt he will be pleased to communicate to you all he knows concerning the "mad woman of the mountain," as she is generally called. She surely can have no good reason for concealment now, as the overseers of the poor have spoken to the magis- trates on the subject, and the master has been already officially called on to disclose his knowledge of the stranger. And besides that,- a glass of wine and a cigar are great promoters of a good understanding, and freedom of conversation; and, to conclude, as the master says, "in ving veritas," that is, as I take it, " when wine is in, wit is out." page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 812 THE RECLUSE. I much approved of this measure, and in a few minutes the master made his appearance, and hav- ing learnt my determination to visit the mysterious stranger, politely offered to dismiss his school for the afternoon, and to accompany me to the hermi- tage of the Recluse of Black- Log Mountain. "It is," said the master,. "not only for the purpose of obliging you, but also to apprize the lonely inhabi. tant of the mountain, that to-morrow the arm of civil authority will be extended to protect her; that is, in other words, if she refuses to give a satisfac- tory account of herself, the law will presume her to be, what perhaps she is not, and send her to the house of correction as a vagrant, or trundle her out of the township as an intruder on its charitable funds." Having dismissed his school, the master returned, and one of my friends having joined us whilst we were finishing our wine the following brief statement, concerning the Recluse, was made by the master: "The unknown female first made her appearance in the vale of Germany early in the spring of last year; she was well clothed, but appeared much dejected, no one knew from whence she came, and she would not disclose to any one her name or for- THE RECLUSE. 3138 mer place of residence: although certainly in want, for she had no money, she would not accept of any gratuitous offering, but demanded to be set to work and received her wages. - It was only at two or three farm houses that she would ask for employment, and although her habitation is but three miles dis. tant, she has never been in the town but once. - As soon as she had accumulated a little money, she pur. chased flour and meat from one of the farmers and disappeared. For some time it was not known where she had gone, until she again made her appearance in the valley, demanding employment. To every question relative to her place, of conceal. ment she refused an answer, and at times spoke incoherently, and apparently abstracted from the knowledge of the- transactions around her-but still she labored assiduously, received her pay, again- bought provisions, and again disappeared; a third time she came into' the settlement, and conducted herself in the same manner; but suspicion being now awakened, as soon as she had purchased pro- visions, she was watched and followed at a distance until she was seen to enter the thicket of Black Log mountain, at a spot where no path was known to lead through the forest. A party of the neighbors page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314T T. HEE RBECLVUSE. assembled, and after the utmost, difficulty succeeded in clambering over rocks, and through locust thick- ets, until they discovered something like a path, by the twigs being broken from the bushes on each aide. Pursuing this until they came near the sum- mit of the mountain, they discovered a rude hut built .of stones, on a shelf or rocky bench of the mountain, and in the hut the object of their search. She appeared more irritated than alarmed, and expressed her anger that her privacy should be broken in upon. But these good people had no motive save that of befriending her in their appa- rent curiosity. They were Germans, who seldom had communication out of their own immediate society with the rest of the world, and this may account for the knowledge of the conduct and habi- tation of the mysterious female remaining so long unknown to therest of the inhabitants of this dis. trict. By the exertions of her friends, her dwelling ,was in some degree improved, and as no persuasion could induce her to leave the mountain, except when necessity drove her into the valley to seek for pro- visions, she was permitted to remain unmolested in her hermitage during the winter. She suffered much from the extreme cold of a most rigorous ; THE RECLUS-. 315 season; and the terrors excited by wild beasts, as she has confessed to me, had less effect on her than the dread of entering the habitation of human beings, unless she was compelled to do so by the mandates of hunger. I have twice been to see her, but the conversation I have had with her I am not at liberty to disclose, as she has made her communi- cations under the promise of secrecy. But I will conduct you to her dwelling, and as it is possible she may be as communicative to you as to myself when she learns that the powers that be require her submission to their decrees, your;-visit may be pro. ductive of pleasure to yourself and of essential -benefit to her." Our wine lasted just as long as the schoolmaster's tale, and we were still as dry as when he began. Whether this was owing to the weather, the heating tendency of the wine, the exsiccant quality of the cigars, or the dryness of the tale itself, I leave to my readers to determine. In the meanwhile we shall commence our walk towards the cave of the Recluse of the Black Log Mountain. We passed through a lane dividing the fields adjoining the town, and having entered a deep ravine at its eastern extremity, our path ascended re ,orpahacne page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 816 THE RE-CLUSE. the sandy ridge through a deep shade of lofty pines and-oaks, the "monarchs of the forest." From the summit of a high ridge we could not obtain a view on either side of the valley, as the whole face of the hill was thickly covered with an impervious wood, and eastward the Black Log Mountain seemed to unite its base with the sandy ridge, whilst all below us was one deep black gulf of forest. We descended the hill by a precipitous, narrow, winding path, and over our heads the meeting branches of the underwood already cast the gloom of night upon our footsteps; a gurgling stream of water ran at the foot of the ridge, and having crossed it on stepping stones, we immediately descried a substantial farm-house on the opposite bank. Hav. ing ascended the bank the effect was magical-a few minutes since, and with difficulty we sought our path through the darkness of the forest. We had crossed the Lethe, and although we did not drink of its -waters, yet all recollection of dreary ways was at once lost as we emerged, in the glorious sun- shine of a summer's afternoon, into the Elysian prospect which lay before us. The beautiful vale of Germany extended to- our left, presenting to the view as far as the eye could THE RECLUSE. 317 reach, the well cultivated farms of -its numerous and wealthy inhabitants. Small copses of wood separated the plantations of the proprietors, and in many instances a row of trees along the fence divided the- fields, so that the whole country appeared like an irregularly laid out garden, whose beds are surrounded with evergreens. The country was burthened with the harvest, and in some fields, already the hand of man had partially gathered the kindly fruits from their parent earth. The yellow surface of the stubble interspersed with the thick shocks of grain; the waving -tops of the yet stand- ing patches of wheat now bending to the light breeze, .and now falling before the sickle of the reaper; the long line of industrious harvest men stretching through the field with military precision, and now stooping, and now rising, each intent on keeping pace and stroke with his leader; young women and little children gathering, binding, and- gleaning, like beauty and innocence preserving what strength and labour had achieved; in some fields the happy groups of labourers enjoying their evening refreshment under the kindly shade of trees; and the beautiful long streaming green leaves of the Indian corn, shedding here- and there a- page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] l8 THE RECLUSE. verdant relief over the golden scene of the grain fields, altogether presented a picture which drew forth exclamations of rapture from our little party. The deep pause which followed convinced me that my companions felt as I did: the heart was softened and the soul elevated to give praise to the Dispenser of all good gifts for the enjoyment of rebellious man. We enjoyed this beautiful prospect for -some minutes in silence, but as our path did not lie through the settlement we turned abruptly towards the mountain and pursued our course through an open wood until at the distance of half a mile, our progress was impeded by a swamp, on the farther side of which the pine clad heikts abruptly rose from a bed of granite. Our guide after -some reconnoitering discovered stepping stones irregu- larly laid Across the swamp, and led the way to the rocky thicket which skirted the base of the Black Log Mountain. Having with some difficulty discovered an entrance through the thicket, our guide assured us that we were on the right path, which was only perceptible by means of the dead branches which had been broken and twisted from the bushes on either side, apparently as well to assist a person in THE RECLUSE. 319 the difficult ascent, as to designate by which way he might return in safety. The perpendicular height of the mountain is about a thousand feet above the level of the waters in the valley, and we had with considerable difficulty clambered our way about two-thirds up its precipitous sides, when our guide stopt and pointed above our heads to a rude structure of stones, which appeared to be heaped together without order, on the summit of a rocky shelf which jutted from the side of the hill. Two large trees against which the front of :the building leaned, apparently prevented it from falling over the precipice; between the trees an opening in the wall served for an entrance, and in this aperture we descried a female, who by her movements in adjusting her dress, we conjectured had already discerned us. Our last successful effort in climbing, landed us on a flat -piece of ground which surmounted the rocky precipice, and was covered with a few trees and low bushes. In the front, overhanging a steep descent, and preserved from destruction by two supporting pines, an irregular rheap of stones, rudely piled on each other, and covered on the top with pieces of bark stripped from the living trees, page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 TH-E RBELUSES. composed the dwelling of the Recluse. Behind the building, a few paces distant, the mountain rose in gloomy grandeur, and on one side a few yards of earth, now made bare by gathering the loose rocks for the walls of the hut, served as a garden, in which a few vegetables and herbs were growing. A little- below the hut in front, a small hole in the ground, with sand in the depth, indicated that a spring at times flowed from it, but it was now dry; a rude seat was constructed at the foot of one of the trees before the door, upon which, after saluting the Recluse, I seated myself, as her taciturnity, and the circumstance of her remaining standing in the door of the hut with her back turned on us, did not lead us to expect an invitation to enter. My com- panions seated themselves on the ground near me, and perhaps we had alarmed the Recluse by our hasty approach, and the station we -had taken, for she still continued inside her habitation, and spoke with her back towards us during our whole conver- sation.--Her bonnet was on her head, and her answers were at times indistinctly heard, but she always repeated them when required, and by de- grees resumed confidence,' so that in the end I obtained admittance into the rugged apartment of T HE REOCLUSE. 321 the solitary, and then conversed more freely face to face, but her position never was changed during our stay. I observed to her that-we had come to visit her habitation, and were much surprised that she had chosen a spot -so solitary, and so difficult of access, whilst the friendly inhabitants of a beautiful valley would be pleased to afford her accommodation and assistance. She answered-"I live here as well fromV choice as necessity, solitary spots are best for those whom tyranny or unkindness has driven from the world, and for those who .have suffered by the world's duplicity, and have sought retirement as: a relief from witnessing the professions of false friendship." I hope, said I, that in society neither of these disagreeable events has fallen to your lot. "Both--I have experienced both--false friends professed much and then deserted me'; the world believed much, and I was excluded social comimuni- cation.-I might have died-for I felt that I was alone in the world-pride saved me-I despised falsehood, and pitied the credulity of the world-I sought for solitude, and am happy that I have here found it." 21 page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 822 TIE RELXUSE. "But it is not proper to fly from society because disappointment in friendship has been experienced, or because the shafts of calumny have wounded reputation; besides, you are unprotected in this wild and dreary mountain." "True: Heaven knows I am here unprotected, but I was not less so in the midst of society-I have no friend left--why should I say no friend left, I never had a friend.-Yes--my father"-- here she wept bitterly--"but he is dead-or dead to me. I shall never see him more-I could return to the world for a moment to see my father,-but that is impossible-my Father, oh I my Father!" I endeavoured to soothe her by observing that if she would give us any clue by which we could obtain information respecting her parent, we would exert ourselves, and had no doubt of success.-"Im- possible-they would have sent me word-I know he is dead-they brought me to see him die--I know not how I left him--But--my brain-no recollection--Thank God 'tis over and I am happy here." I suffered her to pause for some time to recover herself; I perceived that the string bf insanity had been touched, and I wished the chord to cease to THE BECLUSE. 823 vibrate. I told her that I was much fatigued, and wished for a draught of water. She pointed to the sandy basin below the hut, and observed, "Like the rest, of my false friends, the spring has also left me." I asked permission to enter the hut, which was granted. The building was about six feet in length and four feet broad, composed .of rude stones heaped upon each other without cement, so that wind and rain could not be excluded, even were there no apertures; but there was one door in front together with a small opening for a window and another doorway, at one end, opposite to some- thing like a hearth, upon which some embers were burning, and above, the smoke escaped by reason of one half of the top of the building being, left uncovered. I could scarcely stand upright in the centre of the hut where the roof was highest, and there was no article of furniture, except a box apparently holding provisions. There was no bed -the floor was the bare earth-a bundleof clothing was carelessly thrown imi one corner, and a few iron materials for cooking hung against the wall. I, had now an opportunity of examining the solitary. She appoared to be about thirty-five page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 THE REOLUSE. years old, not handsome, but with regular features; deeply tinctured with a cast of melancholy, and her face and hands bearing the effects of anhembrowning sun, and a rigid winter. Her clothing consisted of a gown of coarse home made cloth, which covered her to the throat, and long sleeves; a coarse bonnet of plaited straw, and a pair of men's shoes completed her, dress. Comfortless, indeed, said I, is your dwelling. Is it possible that you can sleep here on the earth? and how could you, endure the severity of the winter? the wind, the snow and rain have' free access?- "I sleep on my parent earth-would to heaven I could sleep beneath itl My misery indeed was great during an excessively cold winter--my feet were frozen. But what are these sufferings when compared with the wretched situation of those who live in the deceitful world! I endure all with more pleasure than when a downy bed received me in my days. of prosperity. One terror I experience here that reminds me of the world--the wild beasts-- often have the wolves howled around my dwelling- often have the bears approached so near that I was almost tempted to escape into the valley, but I THE RECLUSE. 325. recollected that I should meet with human brings not less savage, and I remained. I trembled and wept in the world, and- I feared and wept in my retreat-the wild beast of the forest cannot harm me more than man has, and why should I again mix with human beings." I requested her to inform me if I could be of service to her-she replied that she only wished to hear from her father, and under a promise of secrecy she disclosed her name, at the same time telling me that her retreat was not known to her former friends, and she was fearful of being dis- covered. But her anxiety to hear from her parent overcame her repugnance to being known. The schoolmaster now informed her of the purport of the intended visit of the next morning, and she observed that he knew as much of her history as was proper to be known from herself, but that she was fully prepared for any necessary inquiries. The sun was sinking in the west, and after wish- ing a compassionate farewell to the Recluse, we descended the mountain, and as the shades of night closed in, we regained the village. I feel so much interested in the story of the unfortunate solitary, that if I can prevail on the page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 THE RECLU SE. schoolmaster, with the permission of the persons interested, to give me the details, I will certainly make it public, and perhaps some good effect may result to the unhappy Recluse of the Mountain. THE END.
