The artist's dream
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] THE ARTIST'S DREAM ELLERTO N VINSENT. L. NEW YOK' CARLETON 0o., UBLI HERS, I: *LONDON': S. LOW, SON & CO. - I MDCCOLiXVIIL - % page: 0[View Page 0] Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by Q. W. CARLETON & CO., tn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the South- ern District of New Yorkl THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAPTER I. "If what shone afar so grand, Turn to nothing in thy hand, On again ;-the virtue lies In the struggle -not the prize." HOW beautiful are the dreams of childhood In after life, they will recur to our minds, in all their brilliancy and beauty. The phanton voice of Hope may have fled ; but still they will return to us. An Artist slept, and dreamed. Bright were his visions. To rise by his own exertions; to appear before the world a self-made artist, was his aim of life. At the commence* : ment of his career, little did he think of the obstacles that were to obstruct his path; the fears, the doubts, that were to take possession of his mind. Ambition urged , him onward; and Hope, with her winning smite, sus- tained him during the contest. Sorrow, andher attend- ants, came. Sometimes despair -almost reigned in his heart; but still he wearied not. Europe appeared to him, in his dream. England proudly displayed the author of Hamlet and Othello, th6e very Queen, the "little -gems" of I'Allegro, and ll Pen- seroso, and the Arcadia. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10t THE ARTIST'S DREAM. And Wordsworth, too, Nature's own true and perfect artist, shed his radiance over the intellectual world. Burns, and Scott, stood pre-eminent in the literature of Scotland. From Britain's rocky shores, his thoughts wandered to Italy, the land of beauty, and of love. There the musician flies, and listens -with ecstasy to the soul- inspiring strains of Durente and Pergolesi. There, the architect finds inspiration; and there, the Artist is taught to unfold his talents. Italy, beautiful Italy! In no other country does the sun shine with such brilliancy. The arches and columns of Rome andNaples glitter in its rays. The silver fountains cool the summer air, and diffuse their brilliant spray upon the blooming flowers. The bright waters of her noble rivers flow joy- fully; and'night zephyrs wander in the olive groyes. No other land abounds in such varied charms of nature, and of art. The European and American, when they find themselves basking in this sunny clime, are transported with its beauties; and even the wild African gazes, in childlike simplicity, upon the productions of art, and wonders what new objects will next meet his eye. The superiority of her artists is as indisputable, as that of her external beauties. Who has heard of the gifted Rapheel without a thrill of pleasure-of Palladio, or of Micheel Angelo? They have rendered themselves im- mortal by the exercise of their talents ; and their works will ever remain among the noblest monuments of gen- ius . The young artist sighed, as he thought of these bright THE ARTIST'S DREAM. S S., -stars, and longed to shine with half their splendor. He resolved to exert every power to attain so desirable an object, and it will be seen in the following pages how it success crowned his efforts. He possessed a fine mind, and what is bf much more importance, a heart sanctified by the teachings of the Holy Spirit. Gentle reader, will you not say, "God speed him?" page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 THE AMTINS DREAM. Let me die the death of the righteous."--N. dXiit. tiUxtJ LsEE was the son of a distinguished naval officer,-a brave and accomplished man, with genial manners and a warm heart-the true type of a Virginia gentleman. His mother, the lovely Cathaxine St. Clair, was the daughter of a princely New York merchant. Just after her marriage she went to reside at the homestead of the Lee family, situated in one of the fairest and most fertile portions of the "Old Donilioren." She found her life there novel, but very pleasant. Her lines seemed, truly, to have been castin pleasant places-the only obstacle to her happi- hess being the frequent absence of her husband on his oye. i-e was ordered off on a three years' cruise, when Arthur was but ten years of age. That fond pakt- -ing was the last. He was soon afterward lost at sea; leaving a little girl who had seen but one summer. It was a heavy stroke indeed; but the widowed mother bowed in meek submission, knowing it was a loving Father's hand which dealt it. Her brother, Edward St. Clair, (now the guardian of her children,) wished her to take up her residence in New, York, but she preferred remaining in a home en- deared to her by countless associationls, and where her THE ARTIST'S DREAAM. 1 little ones would be free from many of the temptations of the metropolis. Henceforth, all her energies were devoted to them.' She wished to bring the'e up in the ways of holiness; and earnestly prayed that strength might be given her for the work. For several years she was their constant companion, guide, and friend. It then pleased God to lay His af- flicting hand once more upon her. Sickness came, and she felt that her darlings would soon be made orphans, and her home desolate. Once, while weeping over her daughter, the little Ma-- rion, Arthur said, "Do not cry, dear mamma, I will take care of my little sister." With a bursting heart, she replied, "You are very young, Arthur, but you can help to teach her what is right.' Remember your dying mother's words, to love her, and shield her from unkindness. My precious chil- dren, how can I leave you!" But the struggle was soon over. Jesus, in whom she had so long trusted, gave her -comfort, and she cheerfully committed them to His care, with the hope, that when they were done with temporal things they would be re- v united to her, in a land where all is joy and peace. "There are no scattered homes in that far land, No riven friends, no agony, no pain, No broken hearts nor treacherous fortune there, No darksome graves where life-long love is lain, No trial, no temptation, and no sin; The ransomed race of men, to angels are ackin," page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAPTl'K II. ,ife's but a span, I'll every inch enjoy."-FAtQl . - GR OPE, Edward, you will not ask me to wear i\pl mourning for your sister. I cannot bear a black Act dress, and besides, it is so unbecoming to my complexion!" ' Certainly not, Maria, if your feelings do not prompt you to do so ; but I trust a sense of propriety will pre- -Tent you from going to large entertainments." "Surely, Edward, that is too much to require of me. I should die of ennui, if I had to give up parties. Mrs. La Costa's ball is to come off next week, and it will be a very brilliant one. My dress arrived yesterday from Paris, and is so elegant! When will your nephew and niece be here? I wish they were older. Children are always so troublesome." , Arthur is old enough to take care of himself, and Marion, I think, will not be much trouble to you," coldly replied her husband; for he thought of his 'own little daughter Lilia, whose delicate health he attributed more to material neglect than to any other cause. Edward St. Clair had married a beautiful woman, but she was cold, haughty, and selfish, and he was now reap- ing the fruits of his folly. TH E ARTIST'S DREAM. . 15 - He had met with a disappointment in early life, and like many other men, recklessly rushed into- marriage, finding, when too late, that there was no affinity of either heart or mind. While he endeavored to forget domestic trials in his office in Wall Street, his wife was devoting her time to fashion and display. She wore fashionable apparel, visited fashionable people, and attended a fash- ionable church. It was on a chilly evening in November, when a travel- ling carriage drew up at No. 60 Place. Mr. St. Clar was in the hall ready to receive his young relatives, lnd make them welcome to his heart and home. Poor things I how they yearned for their mother, when they met the cold looks of Mrs. St. Clair! That lady rarely noticed them, though she remarked to her husband that Arthur was a fine youth, and Marion would make a great sensa- tion in the world some day. She only wished Lilia was as pretty. The two little girls soon became good friends, and en- joyed themselves in their own way. They often walked :- with nurse Weston, and purchased toys and bonbons at -; the gay shops' on Broadway. Arthur was pursuing his studies at Columbia College; but he spent a little while each day in the nursery, with A his sister and cousin, telling them Bible stories, and pa- tiently replying to their childish questions. Sometimes he brought his portfolio and showed them his sketches. With eager pleasure they looked at some AN - . -1, page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. familiar scene on Staten Island, or at the magnificent scenery of the Highlands. "Why do you always make pictures from the country?" said Lilia; "I think the town is just as good." "Because, God made the country, and His works are al- ways beautiful, and it teaches me to look from ' nature up to nature's God.'"He hoped, he said, to be an artist. some day; and then he would paint their portraits sitting side by side. His cousin's sunny locks and pensive face would contrast prettily, he thought, with Marion's dark hair and becoming eyes. , t THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 17 CHAP PTE1 IV. My heart is sad to-day, With a grief tmknown before; Mhy little captive pet, My birdling is no more. His voice was rich and soft, His ways were full of glee; Dear birdie! I did love thee well, For joy thou brought'^t to me. The trees are clothed in robes of green, Wild birds are singing near,- But thy sweet tones have ceased to fall Upon my listening ear. Oh I my heart is sad to-day With a grief, unknown before, Hy little captive pet, My birdling is no more. HAT is the matter with my little cousin? said Arthur, as he entered the nursery one morning, and found Lilia weeping. "In tears, and on . your birthday too? This should not be." Tlilia led him to her bird-cage. "Poor Pero," said Arthur, looking in, "when did he die?" "I don't know. When I brought him his breakfast, instead of hopping about and chirping as he usually did, I found him dead " And she burst into a fresh flood of tears. Arthur sat down on the sofa, and took Tlilia on his knee, saying, "Don't grieve so much about your bird; I willgive yon another." - "But that won't be like having Pero. He knew me page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18- THE ARTIST'S DRAEM. so well, and had so many pretty ways. I don't think I would care so much if I were certain that I should meet him in heaven. Do you think I will, Cousin Arthur?" "No." "Why not? Pero was a good little bird, and I will try to be a good girl." "Pero's good conduct will not take him to heaven, be- cause he had no soul.-: Birds and beasts have not the faculties with which we are endowed. God has made us but little lower than the angel, and our souls will live forever and ever." , Here the conversation was /interrupted by Marion run- ing into the room and exclaiming, "aLilia, I have just heard that Pero is dead. I'll bet anything, that horrid Mrs. Jenkins killed him!" 'How?" said TAlia. "Don't you-remember she was here yesterday and put her eyes close to the bars of the cage, squinting all the time? Pero was so frightened that he almost fell from his perch, and I don't expect he ever recovered from the shock. If she were to lose her glasses, I won- der if she would go peering about as she does now. If it were not for making so many blunders, and looking so ridiculous, I should like to be near-sighted myself-it's so fashionable." "I don't think-I shall ever like Mrs. Jenkins anymore," said ULilia. "Marion -has been talking nonsense," said Arthur. "Mrs. Jenkins has had nothing to do with Pero's death, r E THE ARTIST'S DREAM. . - and no doubt thought she was pleasing you by noticing him at all. Monlking-birds are very tender, and gen- erally die suddenly. You will miss your little pet, I know. He was a sweet songster." "I like mocking-birds better than. canaries; don't you, Cousin Arthur?" "Yes, their plumage is not so pretty: but they are more graceful, and are much more easily tamed." Tilia thought that she would like to have Pero buried; so she and Marion held a long consultation on the sub- ject. They finally agreed to empty one of Dolly's boxes, and put Pero into it, wrapped into a winding sheet, in imitation of some of the ancient kings. Then, with measured steps, they bore him from the house, and de- posited him with much ceremony in a little grave. A wooden head-piece was raised to his memory, on which was written the simple words, "Our Pero." Poor Pero! He had been accustomed to sing and bask in the sun- shine of the nursery window. Now he lay in the cold - shadow of a corner of the little yard. i i '! ' * ' ,' ' page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CToAPElce V. It comes I it comes 1I the blessed rain, For which, we looked so long in vain. Gentlg,.it falls with a sound so near, Like sweetest music on my ear. Faster, and faster, now it drops * On the houses and tall tree-tops; The ground, the grass, and all the grain Eagerly drink the blessed rain. f Ax so glad to see the rain ' said Tiia, as she g gtood with her cousin, by an open window. 'k,c !"Papa said, at the breakfast-table this morning, ' that it was needed so much.' Howgood God is, to send ' Perhaps that lady with the beautiful magenta col- ored ribbons, wouldn't agree with you," replied Marion. "How flurried she looks I She is putting her handker- chief over her bonnet, as if that little ting would do any good. It reminds me of the ostrich, who hides his head and thinks he is not seen. Look! the lady is motioning an omnibus driver to stop. I don't see how she isto get in; the seats are full now. Well! she has actually squeezed in, hoops and all. I think ladieswho wear such immense skirts, ought to be charged extra. Don't you?" "I don't know about that," said Lilia, "but I feel sorry for the gentlemen, who are made so uncomfortable THE ARTIST S DREAM. 21 ^ by them. They sit bolt upright like sticks, and look as if they, could not move a muscle. Do you remember ' that great fat woman, we met in an omnibus one day in Madison Avenue? What a time she had getting in. Two person pulled her by the arms; while, a thirdpushed her in the back, much to the amusement of the pas- sengers." "-I should think Icidremember her," said Marion. "She .spread her hoops over my pink lawn dress, until, it looked like an old rag. I looked daggers at her, but she didn't care for that." The children's attention was now attracted by the pit- eous tones of a little girl on the walk, saying,, "All's gone." The pitcher which she had been carryingwas accidentally knocked over by a man who was hurrying ? past her, and she stood, looking in dismay at the scat- ; tered fragments. "Yes, the milk is all gone, poor little girl!" exclaimed , ' " Marion. - ." "What will you do?"Then putting her hand into her pocket, she drew out a dollar, and threw it to the' ,i: child, saying, Take that, little girl. Uncle Edwarrd gave it to me, to buy some chocolate, but' you may have it. You won't mind about the mnilk now, will youth : "I wish I had some money to give her, too," said TAilt, i "but I spent-all mine yesterday forcandy." i Then, as if a bright thought had entered her mind, ishe exclaimed, "but, I can give her some of that." : She ran to a drawer, and in a few minues a asupply of , : sweetmeats was at the feet of the little girl, on the pave- ': K: il page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. ment. A look of surprise and pleasure passed over her face, as she picked them up, and with an awkward attempt at a courtesy, she moved on. "I wonder if she has a mother," said Lilia, "and what she will say about the spilled milk?" "I expect she will punish her," replied Marion; "I fancy I see the old witch shaking her now." "Oh I Marion, you have not done your drawing-and Cousin Arthur is to be here after luncheon, to give us a lesson." "Sure enough. I forgot all about it. I will get at it now." She produced an unfinished sketch, opened her' box of pencils, and set to work vigorously. But she soon stopped, and with a despairing look, said: "I'1l never get this boy's arm right. Can5t you help me, Lilia?" "Why no," replied Lilia. "You know a great deal more about drawing than I do. The 'chimneys of my houses are always tumbling down, and my cow's horns never do turn the right way." Marion seemed to be in deep meditation, for a few min- utes, and then exclaimed, "I know what I'll do. I'll ask Dr. F to help me. He is in the library talking to Aunt Maria." Suiting the action to her words, she sprang from her seat, and was just opening the door, when a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and Weston said: "Oh! don't, Miss Marion, it wouldn't be at all proper. What would my lady say?" she added, as Marion shook TIlE ARTIST'S DRPA A. 23 off her hand, "and besides, the doctor couldn't help "Yes, but he could, though; for Sallie Mason told me that her brother got his arm broken, and that Dr. F-- fixed it, so that it was as good as ever." "Oh! but that was a different thing," replied the ser- ant. "When gentlemen break their bones, doctors set 'em; but you see there's nothing of that kind to be done, in this case." Arthur entered the room in the midst of the discussion, and was greeted. by Marion with "Oh, Arthur, my pic- ture isn't done. I put the little boy in the tree, to gath- er acorns; but of course he couldn't do anything with a bad arm." "And who gave him a bad arm?" was the smiling query. 'Why, I did," replied Marion, looking rather morti- fied. "I don't see any acorns to be gathered," said her ^ brother, taking up the sketch. - ; "I haven't made them yet. Acorns are such ugly- things. I can see beauty in apples and peaches, and in iJ the sunpnd moon-and there is something grand in a v thunder-storm, and in the waves of the ocean, as they - dash along; but, there is no beauty in an acorn." i "There is beauty in the apple, and the peach," said Arthur. "(There is beauty in the sun. There is beauty m the moon as she casts her soft and gentle rays over the page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. earth. -There is sublimity combined with beauty in the rolling thunder, and flash of lightning. There is a fear- ful beauty in the dashing wave, and the roaring billow- and there is beauty, too, in a simple, neglected acorn. Look!" he continued, taking one from his pocket, " how admirably it shows the wisdom of God, in the perfection of its organization. Thus, you see, that even an acorn is an instance of the goodness of that Being, who makes everything for some wise purpose." "Is it true," asked Marion, " that the big oak springs from a little acorn?" Yes, and did you know, that the Charter of Connecticut was concealed in an oak?" "I did not know before that the oak could be of any use." "'The Spartans," said Arthur, "constructed their couches on which they reclined when at meals of the wood of this tree, and ornaments were sculptured on it. Now, we will see what can be done with the little boy's refractory arm." "You will draw it for me, won't you Arthur?" "No, my dear little sister. That would not be right, and would do you no good. Take your pencil, and try your best." Marion made a few strokes, and then used her India rubber. But Arthur was very patient; and after some directions from him, and many blunders on her part, the arm was properly shaped. . "Are you not glad that you drew it yourself?" he asked. THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 25 "Yes, very glad. What is a sun-picture. Arthur? I i came across something about one, in a story-book, the I- other day. I thought, perhaps, it was a picture with the sun shining on it." "An approving conscience is a sun-picture," replied her brother. "The hope of hereafter dwelling in the presence of God, and the angels; the cherished wish of meeting the loved and lost, in that bright and beautiful land: above all, to be one of the chosen band of Him, who ruleth over all; are sunbeams, which illumine some people's existence. Glorious pictures they are; which animate them to deeds of love and mercy." 2 1* t . * . page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAPPTER VI. Fashion I what a cruel dame I Her votaries cringe and bow to her will- Not a spark of humanity tinges her veins As she draws around them her iron chains. WHEN the children became older, Mr. St. Clair wished to place them under the care of a com- petent governess. But his wife urged, that -they would be better off at a public school, and more out of the way. Oontrary to the usual custom, however, Mr. St. Clair's will prevailed, and a governess was secured. She was young, pretty, and engaging, all great faults in Mrs. St. Clair's eyes. According to her ideas, a gov- erness should always be old and ugly. This one, she "supposed, would plume herself on her doll-baby face, and flaxen ringlets; and put on numberless airs. Her name too, (Maud Vincent,) how romantic! and she laughed sarcastically. Ih truth, she had made up her mind, beforehand, not to like the governess on any terms. Miss Vincent was not long in discovering the shallow character of her hostess. She felt her responsibility doubled, in taking charge of children, under the influ- a- - . , ' THE AETISTS DREAM. -* - -' Ar, -^/'^ii' " ence of a woman, who had sunk so low as to be ruled, entirely, by the hardest of all tyrants, fashion; wound X up, like a clock, at her bidding, and running, until she - gives leave to stop. There are many such in the world, but that does not render the evil less deplorable. Marion and Lilia cast timid glances at the new teacher, from beneath their long lashes, but they soon learned to - l love and respect her She was gentle, but very firim; and entered into their amusements without any. sacrifice of her dignity. They improved rapidly under her tui- * tion; and a few kind words from her, were sufficient to settle their disputes. So passed the winter. One Saturday afternoon, to- wards the close of April, while they were arranging their playhouse, Eleanor Marshall and Augusta Summers, (their most intimate associates,) came bounding into the room. Their faces were bright, and animrated. They cametthey said, to invite them to a May-day party 'I am to be Queen," said Eleanor, triumphantly; "and we will hate such a splendid time! You must both promise to come." Hay was ushered in by sunshine, as if to please the young hearts, who looked forward with so much pleas- - ; Ure to its arrival. Marion and Lilia went to the party, .. and gazed with admiration on the pretty Queen, as she sat on her throne, surrounded by her maids of honor. The crown of flowers was placed upon her head, and there was a long cry, of "Vive la Reine ! A few days afterwards, as Marion was conjugation a page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 283 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. - French verb, Miss Vincent said, "You had better study this again, Marion; you do not know it, at all." ^ "No, I know I don't," replied the child; " but I hate X French, and don't see any use in it. People needn't talk but one way. I am sure, I'll never learn it," she continued with a sigh. "You can learn it very readily, if you will fix your attention upon it. Now tellme, were you not thinking of something besides your lesson?" "Yes," said Marion, "I was thinking how much I should Iike to be a Queen. Wouldn't it be a grand thing to rule everybody, Miss Vincent?" F a No, my child, I cannot say I think it would," replied X her teacher, with a smile. "The responsibility would be very great, and Queens are often very miserable." "Are they? I thought they were the happiest people in the world. So many to attend to their wants; and nobody to find fault with them." " "That is a mistake," said Miss Vincent. "They find it difficult to Please their subjects; and are sometimes made to suffer cruel deaths." 'Any person kill a Queen!"' exclaimed Marion, in astonishment. "Yes, your History of England will tell you that many have been beheaded. Do you remember seeing your Aunt a few weeks ago in a tableau, as Anne Boleyn?" "Yes and how lovely she looked I Was nne Boleyn as handsome as Aunt Maria?M" "Yes, Wing Henry the Eighth was so enamored of her - I THE ARTISTS DREA9M. 9 . * beauty, that in order to make her his Queen, he set aside the claims of his wife, Catharine of Arragon." " Was she a great Queen ?" c' No, but she had some fine qualities; and the forti- tude she displayed just before her death, entitle her to the admiration of posterity. Her reign is only remark- able for the influence it had on European affairs for a few years ; and its having led to the establishment of the Protestant religion in England." " How could she reform religion ?"" "Before Henry could make her his Queen, it was ne,- cessary for him to send to the Pope, Clement the Sev- enth, to get a divorce from Catharine. Clement's char- acter was weak and irresolute. From motives of inte- rest, he declined giving a definite answer; and finally refused to grant the request. This made the King ex- ceedingly angry. He threw off the allegiance of the Church of Rome, and united both Church and State un- der his own government." " I suppose Anne Boleyn was beheaded ?" " Yes, and by the orders of her own husband." " He was a wretch!" exclaimed Marion vehemently. "You should not call any one a wretch, my dear; but Henry the Eighth was certainly a wicked and passionate man." "Did he have any more wives, and were they killed too ?" "He had four, but only one, Catharine Howard, was executed." page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 80 TtHE ARTIST'S DREAM. "I shouldn't think anybody would have married him after his cruelty," said the child, "If he had asked me I would have said no, that-I didn't wish my head cut off." Miss Vincent could not conceal a smile, and Marion con- tinued: "He must have been the Bluebseard in the fairy books." "He was, unfortunately, a Bluebeard in real life." "On the evening of the tableaux," said Marion, "I saw Lady Jane Grey crowned. Did Iing Henry have her beheaded?" "No. It was when his daughter Mary ascended the throne, that Lady Jane lost her life." "I wonder she wanted to be Queen," said Marion. "It was not her wish to be one. She was gentle, lovely, and unambitious, and very happy in private life, with her husband, Lord Guilford Dudley. But she was compelled to ascend the throne, by her manoeuvering father-in-law, the Duke of Northumberland." i "Was she afriaid to die?" "No. Life had lost all charms for her. She walked with a firm step to the scaffold; though history tells us that she turned pale, when she saw the glittering of the steel axe. She knelt, and prayed, and then laid her beau- tiful head upon the block." "I heard a lady say yesterday," said Marion, "that you had on a collar, a la Mary Stuart. What did she mean by that?" "She meant, it was like those once worn by Mary Stuart, the Scottish Queen." :;-;5r- THERARTIST'S DREAM I ' 81 s Won't you tell me all about her?" , "Hers was an eventful life," replied Miss Viacent,j "and showed that rank and wealth are no safeguard - against misfortune. She was educated in France, (then . X the most enlightened country in Europe) and was cele- brated for her great mental and, personal attractions. When she was very young she became the happy wife of the French king, Francis Second. After his death she returned to her native country, and found it very difficult - ' to govern her subjects, for Scotland was in a most tur- j bulent state. She afterwards married Lord Darnley, and he caused her much sorrow and unhappiness. I have heard you sometimes sing an old Scotch ballad, 'Queen Mary's escape.' Do you know the origin of it?" -^ "Was the Queen of, whom you have been speaking, ever a prisoner?"* "Yes, and while she was confined within -the walls of Loch Leven Castle, through the fidelity of a friend, she G made an attempt to escape." ' "How- did she manage it?" eagerly inquired Marion. ' "She put on the dress of her laundress, who came into] her room one morning, and with a bundle of clothes in I her hand and a muffler over her face, she went to the X boat which was waiting to take the washerwoman across. - the lake. One of the men in it noticed her desire to - hide her face, and tried to pull off her mufAler. She raised her hands to prevent his doing so; an d they wereJ so soft and white that the trick was found out,,and she * had to return to the castle." ' page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 THE ARTISTS DREAM. "I thought she escaped," said Marion, in a tone of disappointment. ( She did, a short time afterward. One evening, while the family were at tea, William Douglas (one of her friends) secured the keys of the Castle, which had been laid on the table. He left the room, locking the door on the outside; and went directly to Queen Mary's apart- ment. Then,. he piloted her to a boats which was in readiness for-her. She, herself, assisted in rowing across the lake, and they soon reached the opposite shore." "How happy she must have been!" '^Her happiness was of short duration. On her way to Dunbarton, her troops were attacked by those of her brother, the Earl of Murray, and totally routed. It is said that the Queen stood on an eminence, and watched the progress of the battle. She passed into England, and sought the protection of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth. The latter held out promises of friendship; but congrat- ulated herself upon having so formidable a rival in her power. She was crafty, and designing. Her vanity was unbounded; and she had always been jealous of the superiority of the Queen of Scots. She kept her in cap-- - tinity for eighteen years, and treated her with great se- verity. Mary's health became seriously impaired, and her beautiful hair prematurely gray." "Did she die in prison?" "No. Elizabeth signed a warrant for her execution- oil. THE ARTISTS DREAM. 38' X an act which will be a lasting disgrace to the memory of the maiden queen." "When did it happen?" I u In 1587, more than two hundred years ago." "Oh! what a long time," said Marion. ('When as many years roll by, where shall we be?" It was a solemn question; and the heart of the young . teacher echoed, where? She replied, that'she trusted they would be found among the redeemed. "Do people go immediately to heaven when they die?" "It is the general belief that, when the soul is sepa- rated from the body, it goes to an intermediate state called Paradise, and remains there until the judgment. . The good then enjoy eternal rest, in heaven; and the - wicked are sent to a place of punishment." "And that is called hell!" said Marion. "I should be very sorry to go there. Every Sunday, when I go to church, and hear such good sermons, and say my Catechism, I think I will try to be a great deal bet- ter, but the nest Sunday find3 me as bad as ever. Lilia don't get angry, and never forgetsto say her pray- ers; but then she was bolm good, and I whs not. That's the difference." "That is a distinction without a difference. No one was ever born good. We are all-Sinful, by'nature; and it, is only by the grace of God, that we ever overcome temptation It is true, that some persons have more to contend witht oh ers; but, for that very reason, they; . should strive more earnestly to do what is right. Will page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 384 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. you try to remember to say your prayers regularly? It is a good rule to make, when retiring to rest, to think over all that has been said and -done during the day, and to ask forgiveness for what is wrong." "How came we by the prayer, ' Our Father who art in Heaven?'" "King Alfred translated the Holy Gospels into the Saxon tongue; and hence, we derive the simple and beautiful prayer, given us by our Saviour." i' Then he must have been a good man.!' "Yes, he was very pious, and one of the greatest mon- archs that every swayed the sceptre of England. He was sent to Rome, to receive his education. There he drank deeply of the fountain, for which he had so long thirsted. The regular militia was established by him; and he greatly encouraged literature. The most eminent scholars in Europe were to be seen at his court, and he left many excellent works, as evidences of his great lit- erary ability. But here is Lilia ready to recite. Go and study your lesson thoroughly, Marion, and then come to me." In a little while, Marion returned, and went through with the verb, without missing a word. She then said: "I find I can study a great deal better when I put my mind on my lessons. I won't think about being a queen any more." *,- ' s THE ARTIST'S DREAM. .85 .' CHAPTERk VII. -. Either our history shall with full mouth, ', Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave, . Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Nor worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. ,- SHASPEARE, : ; O I SS VINCENT was sincerely, attached to her pupils. As they advanced in their studies,-they became very fond of history; and their gov- erness did all in her power to encourage them. She frequently selected subjects from ancient and modern history for their compositions. She pleased them very much one day by permitting them to choose their own -- subjects, and it was curious to notice their different tastes. / ' . ' ! Marion said -she thought of selecting either Madame , - Roland or Jeanne d'Arc. They were both such splen- did characters; and she recommended Ze'nobia to her - cousin. Lilia replied that she did not wish to write - ^ about Zenobia gracing Aurelian's triumph; that it was i very unkind in him to force her to walk in his proces ' ?i sion,- weighed down by her, golden fetters, and having' im the Romans exulting in her downfall; but added: . "I feel very sorry for her sad fate, Marion; but I do " tlink- she ought to have accepted Aurelan's terms of peace. It seems to me she was rather fiery." :.] page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 THE ARTIST"S DREAM. "She was brave and high-spirited," said Marion; "but not fiery.- Suppose you take Maria Theresa, the em- press-queen." "No, I don't like her, because she was a hypocrite." "What makes you think so?" "When she desired an alliance with France," replied Tilia, " and found it necessary to conciliate Madame de Pompadour, the low-born favorite of Louis XV., she condescended to address her as 'Ma chere amie,' and 'Ma cousine.' When her object was gained, and the Emperor Francis declared, in his anger and astonish- ment, that he would never consent to the treaty, she laid the blame on her minister, and pretended to be as much surprised as her husband. What do you call that, but deceit?" "That was state policy," said Marion. "Maria Theresa possessed many fine traits. She was too generous to retaliate on her enemies; and was a patroness of the arts and sciences; and the best proof that she was beloved by her subjects is, that they re- membered her long after her death." "She not only involved Augtria, but other great European powers, in the Sevei Years' War with Prussia. The dismemberment of Poland was a great stain on her character." "Yes. But I do not blame her for fighting Frederick. s- He was her bitterest enemy." ' "But he once made overtures of peace, which were re- . %'.'"' *." I* X" THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 37 - fused by the Court of Vienna. Frederick was a very humane man. After the battle of Lissa, he shed tears, when looking at the dead and dying." "He was humane to his dogs," said Marion, "-for he attended to their wants with his own hands. But. his indulgence to them did not always speak well for his -personal neatness. He permitted them to go' at large over his palace, gnaw the furniture, and loll on the blue satin chairs and couches. I have no royal blood in my veins, but I couldn't be hired to sit on one of them. He took Biche with him in the campaign of -1745, and on being pursued by the Austrians, he put her in the bosom . of his coat, and hid underneath a bridge. Don't you, wish she had obeyed her canine instinct, and had been betrayed?" - "No; how can you be so vindictive! How nnst he ]S have felt after the capture of Breslaw, when he found that nearly the whole province of Silesia had returned to the obedience of Maria Theresa. Add what a splen- did victory it was, when, with only thirty thousand men, he defeated the Austrian army, numbering ninety thous- - . and." - X "He deserved the title of 'Great,' for he always rose superior to his misirtunes. His transcendent genius enabled him to master physical suffering, while many another would have sunk under it; and whatI admire . most, is, his patience and forbearance in -his last illness. Think of his being sick for eighteen months. How : dreadful it must be!" . page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 88 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "The most objectionable feature in his character, is that he didnot believe in Revelation." "How do you know he did not?" "Dr. Zimmermann, who was his physician, said so." "If he is your authority, I will say that I would not give three straws for the statement of a man who with- held hisareal medical opinion, for fear of royal displeas- ure. But we will not argue about a person who may never have have existed." "Then you don't believe there was ever such a be- ing?" "I believe it, but do tot know it. Belief is not knowl- edge." "Do you know there is a God, Marion?" "Certainly," replied xMarion, startled by the question. "How could I doubt it.?" "How do you know it?" "The Bible tells us so." "How do you know the Bible is true?" "It is the inspired word of God." "I suppose you mean to say you believe it to be true; but you don't know it." "I do knowit. Ifeel it! Everythingin Nature tells me so. I once heard Miss Vineent say that the mind must be dark indeed, which would attribute the symmet- rical proportions of this world to chance." "Then, by your own confession, belief is sometimes knowledge. But let us throw 'the mantle of charity' over that part of Frederick's character. Every one must THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Bmy admit that he was the greatest general of his time-per- ; haps the greatest in the world." "Napoleon was a greater one." "And our own Washington a greater one still," said - Miss Vincent, who had entered the room unperceived, a few minutes before. "I thought, Miss Vincent," said Marion,- "cthat eni the Duke of, Wellington once said that Napoleon was r the greatest general that ever lived?" * ;; "He said so in reference to 'his power of concentrat- ing such vast masses of men;' but not in the skillful management of his troops. Washington possessed every quality requisite to a great general." - "I wonder how Napoleon came to be a soldier?" "Through the influence of his brother, Joseph Bona- parte, who was in the army." "W ere the two brothers much alike?" d "Yes, in some respects. They were both retiring and' studious in their habits; and were very affectionate."1 "Joseph must have been the more affectionate of thel two," chimed in Lilia, "for when he parted with Na-n poleon at college, he shed a torrent of tears, while Na- poleon shed but one! I think while he was at it, he might have cried more." -. "Affection ought not to be measured loy the number of tears that are shed," said Miss Vincent. "Thoseper- sons possessing the greatest sensibility, often maethe least show of it." - ; "Why was Joseph Bonaparte called an Itaiian, and his . * \ o- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. brother a Frenchmen, when they were natives of the same place?" "Because the island of Corsica, at the birth of Joseph, was a province of Italy: and when Napoleon was born, it belonged to France." "It seems to me very natural," saide Marion, "that Napoleon should- have been idolized by the French. He was so noble and disinterested." "He was by no means disinterested 1" exclaimed Lilia. a I think his refusal to proclaim the emancipation of the Russian serfs proved him to be so. Lilia is very wrong in her judgment of Napoleon, is she not, Miss Vincent?' ' She is both right and wrong. No doubt Napoleon was actuated by feelings-of humanity, when he refused to do what would have conduced so greatly to his advan- tage. But at the same time, it is probable he thought of the light in which such an act would be viewed by the world." "Do you not think his answer to the Emperor of Austria, when the latter sued for peace, after the battle of Hohenlinden, was very magnanimous?" AVery, indeed. 'It is all that I desire,'he said; 'I am not fighting for ambition, or conquest. I am still willing to make peace on the fair basis of the treaty of Campo Formio. " "I should think," said Marion,-"that the Emperor would have felt rather flat at being obliged-to ask peace so humbly of one to whom he had acted so basely." THE ARTISTS -DREAM. 41*^ "Had not Austria been dependent uipon England,i she would not have dared to invade France. She stood-X '.y'^ in wholesome fear of Napoleon; but thought he would - never expose his army to the rigors of O march into- Germany during the winter season. She-therefore sent an army of seventy thousand men, under the command of the Emperor's brother, the Archduke John, to the banks of the Iser, for the purpose of invading France, in- the spring, in coalition with England. But Napoleon,^ equal to the emergency, dispatched General Moreau a with a large force to disperse the enemy." - "How strange, that he did not command it himself!" "He was unable to leave Paris. But General Moreau proved worthy of the trust reposed in him." . "Is Hohenlinden a large place?" "No. It is a mere village, composed of wood-cutters' huts; and is situated in an immense forest of firs and pines." - - - "Did not the two armies meet at midnight?" "Yes, and each hoped to surprise the other. It was av tenrible night. The snow was falling rapidly, and the roads were so muddy, that it was almost impossible to walk over them. The darkness was so intense, that, dur- I - ing the conflict, the combatants were sometimes guided only by the flash of the guns. It was one of the most-. horrible battles on record. The thunder of the artillery1 was heard above the roar of the storm. The air was filled with war shouts. The drums beat, and the bands sent forth their most stirring strains., * ' ' "' ' , ' '::.'S1 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. The wounded were trodden beneath the feet of charge ing cavalry. Many crawled, with bleeding limbs, into ' dark ravines: and listened to the storm, a it sung -to them the song of death. When morning dawned, the : snow was no longer white; but red, with the gore of hu- man beings. Do you remember those fine verses on Hohenlinden?" "Yes," replied Marion, with animation:- On Linden, when the sun was low, * Al bloodless lay the untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drums beat at dead of night,' Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. "By torch, and trumpet, fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, . To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills, with-thunder riven, Then rushed the steeds to battle driven, And, louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. , rBut redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills, of stained asnow, And bloodier yet, the torrent flow - Of Iser rolling rapidly. - - Tis momn, but scarce yon levelsun ? Can pierce the war-clouds rolling- dun, . 4V * M THE ARTIST'S DRBEAM. 4 "Wh4ere furious Frank, and. fiery Hun, -X Shout, in their sulph'rous canopy. - "The coimbat deepens,-On, ye brave t I . - Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave Munich!-All thy banners wave,- And charge with all thy chivalry, ' ,' Few, few, shall part, where many meet I The snow shall be their iinding-sheet, And every, turf beneath their feet - Shall be a soldier's sepulchre ;" .^: "How many men did the Austrians lose?" . "Twenty-five thousand, besides one hundred pieces of a:! artillery. They retreated, ih great disorder, down the valley of the Danube;- and were followed by the enemy,B who did them much damage in their flight.'^ "How sad it seems," said Marion, "that Napoleon should have died on the lonely island of St. Helena,- - that bleak and barren spot."; "Perhaps it savored somewhat of righteous retribu-x tion," suggested Lilia. -^ "Lilia is getting spiteful, you see, Miss Vincent," said I Marion, good-hamoredly. "She neqer- admired Napo-'- leon, as I do," ' ' "It is, indeed, both sad and strange," remarked Miss Vincent, not heeding Marion's last remark, "that onea whose ambition was so boundless, whose brilliant geniusB - commanded the admiration of the world; and at whose - l- shrine the crowned heads of Europe were,.at one time,- a ready to bow, should hare perished in captivity. It is page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " THE ARTIST'S DREAM. one of those things we cannot understand-a mysterious dispensation of that Being whose wisdom cannot err." "I think all Americans ought to like the French; for they helped us to achieve our independence, said Ma- rion. "France was certainly a powerful ally; and America" owes her a debt of gratitude. - The Marquis de Lafay- otte was one of her noblest sons." "General Washington liked him, did he not?" "He entertained for him the warmest regard and friendship. When the Marquis' son sought .an asylum in the United States, he extended to him his aid and protection." "How came the Americans to fight the English?" asked Lilia. "Great Britain assumed the right to tax the colonies: to which they refused to submit." 'Why, Tilia, don't you recollect 'the Boston Tea Party?"' exclairped Marion, in surprise. "Oh, yes! Just to think of throwing so much tea overboard. What a waste!" said Lilia, with the air of a practical, economical house-wife. "I don't think it matters how much tea people waste. 0 It is nmiserable stuff, just like slop water." "It is too bad, to say that, Marion; when it does Mrs. Broome so- much good. I heard her say, last summer, when we were in the country, that if it were not for her three cups of green tea a day, she would die." "And those three cups of green tea a day, put the old lady's nerves on the stretch, like so many pieces of India- ;' THE ARTIST S DRPAM. 45 rubber. She is a torment even to herself. She never endured me, because I wouldn't walk on tip-toe, and muffle my voice. Poor Tiger was sent off for barking too much; and one day she ordered the rooster to be taken to the barn, because he crowed. It was too funny, to see Tom trying to oatch him. He ran round and round the yard, while at every turn the rooster crowed louder than ever, as if for spite. Finally he was caught, and made his exit with such a tremendous cock-a-doodle- - doo, that it sent the poor old lady to bed for a week; or to use her own words, 'put her nerves all in a trimble. - She tried to instill some of her, penurious ideas into Libia's mind. She thinks it a crime to throw anything away, Miss Vincent. I have seen her walk over the house, picking up pins and needles." - "It is better to be on that extreme, than, the other," replied her teacher. ; cExtravagance is certainly a sin." "I suppose General Washington was economical" said ; Tjlia. aHe kept his accounts very strictly, at Mount Vernon. If the goverment was extravagant, I don't wonder that our poor soldiers suffered so much, for . clothing at Valley Forge."- :- *Such was the Winter's awfulsight, - For many a dreary day and night, A What time our country's hope forlorn, - Of every needed comfort shorn, Lay housed, within a hurried tent, ^1 Where every keen blast found a vent; And oft the snow was seen to sift Mong the floor, its piling drift; -s , , ' page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " THE ARTIST S DREAM. Or, mocking the scant blankets fold, Across the night-couch, frequent rolled. Where every path by a soldier beat, l Or every track where a sentinel stood, ^ Still held the print of naked feet, And oft the crimson stains of blood; Where Famine held her spectral court, And joined by all her fierce allies; She ever loved a camp or fort, Beleaguered, by the wintry skies,- But chiefly, when Disease is by, To sink the frame, and dim the eye, - Until, with seekigg forehead bent, In martial garments, cold and damp, Pale Death patrols, from tent to tent, To court the charnels of the Camp. * * * * * Such was the winter that prevailed Within the crowded, frozen gorge; Such were the horrors that assailed The patriot band, at Valley Forge." "The army suffered everywhere, not only for want of clothing, but for every necessary of life. Most of the men bore their privations without a -murmur, and the tender heart of Washington often bled for them." "If he had so much feeling, "said Marion," why did he let Major Andre die? I thought he was a brave man, and had won the esteem of the American officers." - Yes, he was a brave and accomplished officer, highly cultivated, and very polished and courtly in his manners. But the safety of the country required the sacrifice. THE ARTIST'S DREGM 47 - Had Arnold's treacherous designs succeeded, the most, fatal consequences would have ensued ;for West Point was the most important post, in the United- States, and . was called the "Gibraltar of America."- "At least, General Washington might have -granted Major Andre's requestand permitted him to die as aX soldier," said Marion. * "No doubt, he would gladly have done so; but the laws of war demanded, that all spies should perish on the gibbet." - , "I wish Arnold had fallen into the hands of his coun-] trymen."^ "If he had, he would most certainly have met the fate, he so justly merited. He was the only American officer, during the Revolution, who deserted' his flag." . "How wretchedly he must have felt, when Major \ \ Andre was executed." '": "He was so familiar with guilt, so' dead to all sense of - honor, that it is probable, he had very little feeling on the subject." "I should think that even his wife would have ab- horred him. What became:of her?" ' "General Washington permitted her to join her hus- band." ' ' . , "Were not the people very sad and anslxious, durinig the war?" "Exceedingly so. No doubt, many hearts could haves responded, to those lines by Read. ' page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] "8 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 6s 'Oh, would some sweet bird of the South, Might build in every cannom's mouth, Till the only sound from its rusty throat, Should be the wren's, or the blue-bird's note; That doves might find a safe resort, In the embrasures of every fort."' * "Howmany men did General Washington employ in the siege of Yorktown?" "Sixteen thousand French, and Americans. Lord Cornwallis had strongly fortified Yorktown and Glouces- ter Point; but the allied forces soon made his army feel the effects of their batteries. A frigate of forty-four guns, and several large vessels, were set on fire by their shells and red hot balls. They assaulted and carried the enemy's works, and reduced them to such an extremity, that Earl Cornwallis determined, if possible, to escape to New York. He failed, and was compelled to surrender Yorktown and Gloucester, with their garrisons, to the Commander-in-Ohief. The loss of the Americans during the siege was three hundred in killed and wounded. That of the enemy, five hundred and fifty-four; and seven thousand prisoners." "Did Sir Henry Clinton make no effort to relieve Lord - Cornwallis in his critical situation?" "He sent several thousand of his best troops to Vir- - ginia for that purpose; but they arrived too late to be of. e service. After the surrender, General Washington, with characteristic magnanimTnity, pardoned all who were under arrest." THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 4 "And so the strife ended." X "Yes. The war-eagle folded his dark wings in sullen silence. Swords were sheathed; and the roll of the 3 drum, and the sound of the fifewere hushed. The angel of peace smiled on our fair land, and waved her hand in - benediction. We were no longer the revoltedprovinces i of Great Britain' but, a free and independent nation." - page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] ' E60 THE ARTIST'S DRE AM. CHAPTER Vm1. "Now the storm is over;-- Oh let freemen be our sons; And letfuture Washin gtons Rise to lead their valiant ones, Till there's war no more." GENERAL WASHINGTON was the first President of the United States, was he not?" asked Ma- rion, the morning after the conversation recorded in the last chapter. "How glad he must have been!" "His feelings were probably of a mixed character, for he loved domestic life, and only left it at the urgent call of a grateful people. The country he had so long and so faithfully served, was involed in new difficulties. The treaty of peace with Great Britain had* not been amicably settled. Spain declined to negotiate with the United States; and even refused the navigation of the Mississippi to the Indians, who were on friendly terms with her. Even France showed signs of disaffection. She thought that the part she had taken in the struggle for independence, entitled her to meddle in our internal af- fairs. General Washington's great judgment and pru- dence, however, overcame all these difficulties. He was one of Nature's rioblemen. When some of his advisers , . ^- ' - i!* i Goof, t; X -i THE ARTIST'S DREAM .51 thought pomp and state essential to the dignity of his - a office, he only wished for republican simplicity. His - splendid military achievements his lofty patriotism, his' unbending rectitude, his high sense of honor, and his gen- erous, unselfish nature, formed for him a coronet more a- I brilliant, and more to be desired, than any royalty . could have placed upon his brow." . "When did he die?" "On the night of the 14th of December, 1799, at j Mount Vernon,- the home he loved so well. He had the blessed hope of the Christian to sustain him in his last hours. Darlkess was as light to him, and he passed through the valley of shadows without a fear. You should read the life of Napoleon, in connection with that of Washington. The former/was a dazling meteor; the-latter, the majestic sun." - "I should think, if he was as great as the sun,)' said Iilia, innocently, "that Cousin Arthur ought to have named his beautiful terrier for him, instead of Brutus. Washington is a much prettier name, and besides, I don't like the character of Brutus. -Wasni't it wicked in himr to murder Caesar, Miss Vincent?' "Yes, very wicked indeed. Caesar not only pardonedA him, after the battle of Pharsalia, but made him Gover- nor of Cisalpine Gaul, and above all, honored him with his friendship." ' "Vhy did he desire Caesar's death 2" "In order to overthrow the republic and to re-estab-I lish the old-aristocratic regime." - - page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. -"How did he accomplish his object?" "He entered into a conspiracy with Cassius; who had also been one of Pompey's generals, and who had re- ceived his life at Coesar's hands. Many others were as- sociated in the plot. A meeting of the Senate had been appointed for the 15th of March; and it was decided to commit the fatal deed on that day." "I wonder he did not find it out in some way." "He had been advised to be on his guard, on the 15th, and at the urgent request of his wife (who, it seems, had a presentiment of evil,) he remained in his palace a part of that day. Then several of the conspirators called on him, and stated that public business required his pres- ence at the Curia. On his way thither, a letter was handed him, containing news of his approaching danger; but unfortunately, he did not open it. When he reached the Senate Chamber, he was received with the usual marks of respect; and when he was seated in the chair of state, (which was not far from the statue of Pompey the Great,) one of the conspirators, Tillius Cimber, feigned to approach him as a suppliant, and took hold of his toga. Then the attack began. Casca gave him the first blow with his sword, and the others wounded him in the face, loins and neck. He had sprung from his seat, and for awhile defended himself with vigor; but when Brutus struck him, he looked at him reproachfully, and said: "And you, too, Brutus I'" "Why did he love Brutus so much?" * I K THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 5 3 "It is said, that in early life, he was the devoted ad- mirer of Brutus's mother. That may account, in some degree, for his partiality for her son." - 1 "How frightened he must have been, when he felt ! : himself wounded!" -1 i "He threw his mantle over his face, and fell to the :!: floor, covered with blood." "Was Caesar very learned?" "He was one of the most accomplished, intellectual men of his time. He and Cicero were fellow-students at Rhodes." I "'Marion," said Tilia, "were you not sorry when Caesar was captured by the Greek pirates?" "No; he vented his spleen on them, by calling them ugly names, and treating them in the most disdainful ; manner. Very undignified conduct, to say the least of it. When he was set at liberty, you know, he put them all to death. I have not much sympathy for Caesar. His habits were depraved, and when he had command of the army in Gaul, he sold the young people- of both races . into slavery. When some German tribes, which had A been driven- out of their own country, wished to settle in. Gaul, he marched against them, in order to prevent their doing so. While they were negotiating -with him, his cavalry was defeated by a body of Germans. The chiefs went to Caesar's camp" the next day, and apologized or what had taken placej Instead of listening to them, he-, -, : detained them, and led out his army, to attack their. : ! * i " ' "I page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. troops. They were incapable of -making much resistance, without their officers, and: were slaughtered without mercy, by the Romans. It is a pity that Cato's proposi- tion to deliver him into the hands of the barbarians, was not carried into effect. It would have been a meet pun- ishment for such base treachery. He professed great friendship for Pompey, and yet constantly devised means to injure him." "Pompey acted towards him in like manner." "That's no excuse for Cmesar. "But he was very much affected, when he heard of Pompey's unhappy fate." It was well for himn, I suppose, to affect a few croco- dile tears; when the head and ring of his most formi- dable rival were presented to him; and he knew he was powerless to harm him. It was only another instance of his duplicity." "And it would be well for you, my dear, to do justice to everybody," remarked ]Miss Vincent. "Caesar and Pompey were great rivals, and each sought to crush the other; but it is natural that death should destroy all bit- ter feelings, even in the hardest heart." "But it seems to me, it would be better for people to treat each other with more kindness in life; and then in death there would not be so much regret." "A sage reniiark; but. one, unfortunately, which is not followed by the world." "Were not Pompey and Csesar related to each other?" THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 55 "They were connected, by marriage; Pompey being Caesar's son-in-law." "I should think that would have made them close friends." "It would probably have done so, but for their over- weening ambition. They both desired the first place in the empire; and neither would give precedence to the other. Did you know that one of our summer months was called after Caesar?" "Which one?" "Can you not tell?" "June,--Ju-oh, it was July," said Marion. "How odd, to call any month in the year after a man!" "Caesar was born in the month of Quintilis, which was afterwards changed to Julius (after him,) hence, the ori- gin of the word, July." "Just to think," cried Marion, indignantly, "of Caesar being called' The Father of his Countryr!' I did not know that any one, but Washington, deserved that title." "Caesar was not the -'Father of his Country,' in the same case as ashington; but he was sincere and ear,- nest in his efforts to improve Italy. He reformed the Roman Calendar; thereby conferring a benefit on the X " whole civilized world; and he did all min his power to check the reckless extravagance. of his people. He did i not attempt to amend the Constitution. He had usurped ; the reins of government; and he knew that he must first : show that he was qualified to rule a reptublic." : X \ page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "How fond he must have been of display, for he cele- brated all his triumphs." "But they were conducted with delicacy and con- sideration, for the feelings of his conquered enemies. He treated them at ail times, with so much generosity, that it won the admiration, if not the love, of the Senato and people. Revenge and cruelty formed no part of his character. Few men would have been so little spoiled by the homage which he received. Distinctions were heaped upon him. He was appointed Dictator for life, and acknowledged Sovereign of the Roman world." "Was it not profane to rank him among the gods, and to make his personsacred?" '"Very indeed, but we must remember that he lived in -a heathen age." "Was not his wife vey much alarmed when she heard that he was murdered?" '"So much so, that when Anthony went to her house, and took her husband's money and papers, she made no resistance." "How did the conspirators act, after they had com- mitted the bloody deed?" "They went into the streets, and'proclaimed that they had killed a despot, and called on the people to assist in restoring the republic. Very few, however, responded to the call." "Was COesar's body buried in the Campus Martius?" "No. It was burnt in the Forum, where it had been ( : f THE .ARTIST S DREAMV. 57 carried; that the funeral oration might be delivered over it. Anthony performed this office, and used all his elo- quence to excite the hatred of the people against, the , murderers. He spoke of the virtues and bravery of the deceased; and lifted up the blood-stained garment, pierced by so many daggers." "Look! in this place ran Cassius dagger through. 'See what a rent, the envious Casca made.- "Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, "And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 'Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it; 'As rushing out of door, to be resolved 'If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no; 'For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel; 'Judge, O, ye ghds, how dearly Caesar loved him! , This was the most uvkindest cut of all; - (For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 'Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, * Quite vanquished him,: Then burst his mighty heart; , And in his mantle, muffling up his face, ' Even at the base of Pompey's statue, ' Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell ' " "Was Ceesar's death an' advantage, to the Roman people?" "On the contrary, it was an irreparable loss. Civil war reigned for many years; and only the strong will of sovereign could have restored peace and security.' "What became of Bnrtus?" "He put an end to his own life, after the battle of Philippi, by 'throwing himself upon his sword." page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 THE ARTISS DREAM. "Did not a phantom once appear to him?" "One night, while he was sitting in his tent, a figure stood before him; who, on being asked who and what / he was, replied, 'Brutus, I am thy evil spirit; thou wilt see me again, at Philippi.' Brutus answered, 'I will see thee ;' and the vision disappeared." "A ghost," exclaimed Lilia, drawing herself to her full height; "'I did not know there was a sure enough one, in the world, although, I often heard so, when I was a little girl. "And pray, what are you now?" said Miss Vincent, much amused. "There is really no such thing as a ghost. Brutus was unhappy and disheartened, at the events of the war; and his phantom was merely the creation of a disordered fancy." "Was Cassius killed in battle?" "No. A far more terrible death awaited him. He too became discouraged about the war; and requested one of his servants to slay him, saying, that if he refused to do so, he himself would commit the fatal deed. Such was the end- of one of the warmest advocates of the re- public." THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 59 CHAPTER IX. Reignier-My Lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? Lao ucelle.-Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants I Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. HENRY VI. HE compositions were finished at the, appointed time. Marion's was on Joan of Arc. She opened it, and read as follows: "Gloom reigned over France. Terror and desolation spread their banners far and wide. Kind fathers, and loving brothers, bravely fought on the battle-field; and shed their blood amid the roar of cannon, and the strife of arms. Utter ruin threatened France. But there was a bright star destined to disperse the heavy clouds that hung over the fair Provencial land. In Lorraine dwelt a maiden, young and fair. Her origin was humble, and her daily occupation the pasturage of cattle. Visions of glory took possession of her. mind. The desire to see her King crowned at Rheims, was the object of her ambition. "In her enthusiasm, she fondly imagined that angelic voices whispered to her; and that she was entrusted with a divine commission. She presented herself before page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Charles, and declared -her object. She was at first treated with contempt, but afterward a body of troops was placed under her command. The armies of the French and English met at Orleans. The combat was long and doubtful. Joan was among the foremost ranks. Bravely she wielded the bloody spear. The groans of the wounded and dving were heard on every side. Soon, the French banner was seen waving in the distance; and the English, who had dreamed of glory and conquest, fled. Quickly, the French pursued; but were recalled, by the voice of Joan, urgng them to pay the last sad rites to their respected dead. Her great object was ac- complished. "In the cathedral at Rheims was a large and majestic assembly. The mystic oil was brought. Charles bowed himself before it; and the ceremony of his Coronation was performed with great pomp and splendor. "Acclamations greeted the ear of Joan; and she was styled the deliverer of her country.' But how little- did she know the fate that awaited her! Joan, once the pride of France, was accused of witchcraft, and burned at Rouen. Of what advantage was her fnme now? and did not her thoughts revert to her childhood's home? Did not her father's cottage, with its beautiful flowers, and clustering vines, come before her; and did she not wish, that instead of moving in warlike scenes, she had been contented to remain within the precincts of- her humble dwelling? . "Her fate but serves to showthe ingratitude of Kings!" THE ARTIST'S DREAW- 61 "And now for Lilia's," said Miss Vincent. "How pale you are, my dear!" she added, turning to Tilia. "Are you ill?" "My head aches, and my hands are hot." Miss Vincent drew the child to her side, and felt her hands. They were burning with fever. She would have taken her immediately to her mother, but Lilia begged to remain in the school-room, saying, in a meek tone, that she never felt very well. Her illness did not signify, and would soon pass off. She had selected Laura as the subject of her composi- tion. She dwelt on her many virtues; her modesty, her gentleness and sweetness, and her soft and pensive beauty. She spoke with much feeling of the death of this glorious woman, immortalized by Petrarch's verses. - ' *;- Tr * n page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 THE ARTIST S DREElm. CHAPT'l ' .t X. M It is the fall of eve, And the long tapers now we light, And watch; for we believe Our Lord may come at night. ADESTE FIDELES. "TS were muffled. Servants went about the house with softenend tan was laid in the street to prevent the noise of wheels from reaching the ear of the sick child, who was tossing rest- lessly on her couch. The silence was unbroken, save by Lilia calling for Cousin Arthur, and Miss Vincent, who had taught her about Heaven and the angels. "Good-bye, dear papa," she said; "I am going to live with Jesus, who 'called little children like lambs to His f fold.'" Thus the sweet flower faded from earth, to bloom more brightly in Paradise. "Well done of God, to halve the lot, And give her all the sweetness; To us, the empty room and cot,-- To her, the Heaven's completeness. "To us, this grave-to her the rows The mystic palm-trees spring in; To us, theoelence in the house,- , To her, the choral singing." THE ATIST'S DREAM. 68 The father wept tears of anguish. His child, his pleas- ant child, who had so long been a comfort and joy to him, was in another world. Would he meet her there? He knelt at the foot of the Cross, and his prayer was ever afterward, "Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee, E'en though a Cross it be, that raiseth me: , Still all my song shall be, Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee" Mrs. St. Clair spent more of her time with her family, and was more kind and considerate toward them. A- common sorrow uuited them now. Oh, that great sor- rows would always unite us in bonds of sympathy! How it would lighten our burdens! How it would help to turn all that is bitter in this life into love! Arthur, after receiving the highest honors of Colum- bia College, hoped to become' an artist. But his uncle had other views for him. -Hp could not enter into his feeling, with regard to a profession; and thought that so much talent ought not to be wasted in drawing and painting. With a heavy heart Arthur began the study of law; but devoted every leisure hour to his favorite oc- cupation. Miss Vincent had been called home by the illness of ,her mother, and afterward declined returning to M]rs. St. Clair's. Marion was then sent to St. Mary's Hall, and placed under them immediate supervision of its distin- guished founder. Her brother was much pleased with ' * ' ' ' page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " THE ARTIST'S DREAM. this arrangement, and watched her progress with great interest. For several years she remained in the Institu- tion, improving its advantages, and sharing its simple pleasures. - i- But the time had now cqme when she was to leave its protecting roof for the busy world. The last lesson was said; the last problem solved on the old familiar black- board; the last walk taken, in the well-known paths; the last blessed service heard in the chapel. She looked for the last time on the faces of many kind friends: on the shady banks, and on the majestic river, whose serene and beautiful waters glided gently by. With a swelling heart she bade them all farewell. Dear St. Mary's! It looks more and more beautiful, as we climb the, hill of life, and look back upon its peaceful shelter. How varied are the lives of those who have been murtured within its walls! Some sail smoothly down the ocean of time, fanned by gentle breezes, and kissed by the silvery spray. Some are tossed on the fierce waves of adversity, and are well- nigh wrecked by the raging storm. And now the teacher, monitor, and friend so loved by all, has gone to his rest. No more to gladden by his soul-lit smile?. No more to encourage the faint and weary No more to support and cheer the sinking soul! No more I These words strike upon the ear with a mournful sound, telling of hopes departed; of Joys forever past. They speak to the heart with tender pathos, often melting it to tears. In the cold North, in the I' sweet savannahs e THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 65 of the South," in distant climes beyond the sea, his name has become as a " household} word." His was the self-sacrificing life of the Christian Bishop. Was his not the sound faith that * A* * * * 'Argues not :Against Heaven's hand, or will, nor bates a jot Of heart or hope-but still bears up, and steers Right onward?" His remains repose in St. Mary's Churchyard, there to await the Resurrection. That grave is a sacred spot in-. deed! The hand of affection tends it. Pilgrims gaze upon it with saddened hearts, and bedew it with love's tears. Dear Bishop! though we mourn him, We would not wish him here: For we know him safe in Paradise, Without a care or fear. But we should pray,'-how fervently I To Him who rules the sky, That He would make us meet, To dwell with him on high. * . , . , page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " TTHE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAPTER XI. Paint her jetty ringlets straying, Silky twine in tendrils playing And if painting hath the skill To make the spicy balm distill, Let eirery little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gale. Where her tresses curly flow, Darkles o'er the brow of snow. Let her forehead beam to light, Burnish'd as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows sweetly rise In jetty arches o'er her' eyes Gently in a crescent gliding, . Just commingling, just dividing. ODES OF ANACREON. NOW beautiful!" was the involuntary exclamation of many lips, as Marion Lee appeared in the gay saloons of fashion. Gracefuly she danced in the light of c" sweet sixteen," full of happiness and love. Her debut was as brilliant as Mrs. St Clair could have desired. Her beauty, wit and reputed wealth made her an admired belle, wherever she went. The soft voice of flattery fell on her ear, and life, to her inexperienced eyes, was filled with sunshine and with flowers. Arthur trembled when he thought of what might be the effect of all this, on one of her temperament. He knew it was not the path which led to true happiness; and THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 67 that she was not kept " unspotted from the world," as his mother would have wished. He had long ago been admitted to the bar, and was an eloquent pleader, though his heart was not in his profession. A small room ad- joining his chamber, had been fitted up as a studio; End , there he might often be seen busily engaged on the por- trait of his sister, whom he had induced to give him an hour every day. She became very weary of the sittings, and sometimes laughingly threatened to run away. The i tedium was partially relieved, however, by pleasant dis-/ course-the artist endeavoring, the while, to catch the happiest expression of that ever-varying countenance. One moment it would be radiant with joy-then, sad. and pensive, as she thought of the companion of her childhood, who, had she lived, would have been with her at this time. ' Dear, gentle Lilia! Her picture was engraved on the leaves of memory. The hours spent in the various galleries of Art, were sources of exquisite enjoyment to Marion. With a nat- ural love of the beautiful, her taste had been greatly improved by her brother. At the Gallery, she was attracted by a picture which hung near the entrance. It was one of exquisite beauty. The light and shade were admirably blended, and the subject awakened golden memories in her mind. Venice was seenw in its. most be- witching aspect-by the light of the moon. Venice-the stately bridegroom of the sea, receiving the impassioned kisses of his peerless bride. The domes of St. Mark's; page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. the magnificent marble palaces; the sea and sky were bathed in the soft silvery light, which only the queen of night can give. A gondola glided noiseless by along the Grand Canal, bearing Jessica and Lorenzo from Shy- losek' home. The soft wind folded themin a gentle i embrace; and whispered sweet notes of love; but Tasso's songs did not float that night on the wildi waves of the Adriatic I "In such a night, ' Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew ;! And with an unthrift love, did run from Venice, Ai far as Belmont." By the side of this painting was one, perhaps of equal value as a work of art; but of a different character. It represented Tasso-his fine countenance marked by 1or-i row, standing in the guise of a shepherd, before his sis- ter Cornelia, to whom he had fled for sympathy and protection. Tasso, the gifted poet, whose fame filed all Europe, lonely, persecuted, and hopeless. Who could loo% at such a picture without recalling thoughts of her, who idndled in his breast an undying passion-whod charmed him byher gentle eloquence I Leonora D'Este," the idol of his dreams, at the shrine of whose beauty he} Iknelt in admiring devotion; and at whose feet he flung a! garland of poetic fancies.; Then come visions of the poet, incarcerated in his dreary cell, whose iron-barred grate rarely reflected the sun. And then the effort he made to awaken the compassion of Leonora and her sis- ter Lucrezia, by addressing to them the touching can- *n *, ' '. - I ' " " * ,THE ARTISTS, DREAM. O PP cc di Reata ,i:Dughter Of i zone, beainnning, "Figlia di Benaa "-D ghterof - Tenee!"And when .she, around whose brow he had, twined an immortal wreath of fame, lay lifeless amid the - gorgeous splendor of Alphonso's palace, did he offer no tributeto her memory? Nol He wrapped himself in the mantle of silence, and for so doing was accused of ofheartlessindifference. How cruel 1 As if the desolate heart felt less keenly the bitterness of sorrow, for notA blazoning-it to the world's cold eyes. Lastly, come TMs- ions of Tasso's illness, and the beautiful spirit in which ! he received the tidings of approaching death. "Acdowl- edging the goodness of God in bringing him to port, after so long a storm." His pure spirit was fixed upon eternal things, and he received not an earthly but a heavenly crown. Peace to Torquato's injured shade I 'Twas his In life and death to be the mask, when Wrong A m'd with her poisoned arrows,-bnt to miss. -Oh, victor unsurpassed in modern song! Each yeas brigs forth its miffllions but how long The tide. of generations shall roll on, And not the whole combined and contless throng Composes mindlike thine though all in onej Condensed their scatter'drays, they would not form a sum" As Marion was turning from this- picture, she saw a little girl;looking intently at a Cupid, cut in white mare-. ble-a little gem of art-with beautifully rounded limbs, and muscles that seemed elastic, .. "Do you like it?" she inquired, her aGioityi ma hex- cited. ' . - X page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "I don't know," replied the child, thoughtfully. "It' is so pale, and hasn't any jacket and trowsers on. I be- lieve artists are the only people who don't dress up their children; and indeed I should think it would be very nice to get rid of having one's 'clothes put on every day. Baby would like it." And at-the mention of the house- hold pet, her eyes grew brighter, and her countenance more animated. "Yes, baby would like it very much I know. She is always sweet and good until dressing-time comes. She kicks and squeals when nurse is putting on her little shoes; and bobs her head in all directions when her hair is being brushed. Sometimes she screws this way, and that way, and all sorts of ways; and curls herself up until it is hard to straighten her out. She is the fun- niest little baby in the world; and makes so many wry faces, when her pretty little white frock is being put on But when it is all done, and she is let alone, she laughs and crows, and is so glad."' Marion was much divased at the picture of domestic life, .thus unexpectedly presented to her; and she thought how shocked the sculptor would be at the idea of having his little winged god attired in stiff pantaloons and coat. She was reminded of a story she once heard of a lady, who, on seeing Powers's "Greek Slave," rushed from the room, exclaiming: C"She isn't ready; I'll wait until she is dressed!" Marion went to the other end of the gallery, and was examining a landscape, when she was joined by her friend, Mr. Hartwell, an artist of-considerable merit. THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 71 "You, seem to be greatly pleased- with that picture," he said, after the usual civilities were exchanged. "I like it very much,' she replied. "ItI is such a sunny one, -if I may be allowed the expression." "Yes; the coloring is rich, warm, and harmonious; and the perspective is admirable." "How beautiful those children" are on the beach, par- ticularly the one nearest the water. He looks almost like a seraph." "They have. been- gathering shells, and are grouped in a most picturesque manner. The head of your little. seraph is a study in itself-and see! the sunlight is play- ing in his hair, until it seems to be turned into a sheet of burnished gold. His fine eyes are dilated, and his lips slightly parted, as he listens to the Siren's song." "Mine are these waves, and mine the twilight depths O'er which they roll, and all these tufted isles That lift their backs like dolphins from the deep, And all the sunny shores that gird me round! Listen! O listen to the' Sea-maid's shell; Ye who have wandered hither -from far climes, (Where the coy summer yields but half her sweets) To breathe my bland luxurious airs, and dfink My sunbeams! and to revel in a land Where nature-decked out like a bride to meat Her lover-lays forth all'her charms, and smiles Languidly bright, voluptuously gay, Sweet to the sense, and tender to the heart;- Listen! O listen to the Sea-maid's shell; Ye who have fled your natal shores in hate Or anger, urged by pale disease, or want, page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] THE ARTIST'S DREAM{. -. " Or grief, that clinging like the spectre bat, Sucks drop by drop the life-blood from the heart, And hither comes to learn forgetfulness- Or to prolong existence! ye shall find Both-though the spring Lethean flow no more, There is a power in these entraneing skies And murmuring waters to delicious airs, Felt in the dancing spirits and the blood, And falling on the lacerated heart , Like balm, until that life becomes a boon, Which elsewhere is a burden and a curse. Hear then-O hear the Sea-maid's airy shell, Listen! O listen! 'tis the Siren sings, The Spirit of the deep-Parthenope-- She, who did once i' the dreamy. days of old Sport on these golden sands beneath the moon,. Or pour'd the ravishing music of her song Over the silent waters; and bequeathed To all these sunny capes and dazzling shores Her own immortal beauty, and her name." "How often I have wished, when walking on the sea- shore, that I could transfer the! beautiful shells to my own home." ^"Ajd did not the wish recall to your mind those graceful lines by Emerson : "( I wiped away the weeds and foam, i I fetched my sea-born treasures home; '- But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.' "Some artists do not earn their salt," continued Br. Hartwell, after a pause. "I was thinking of the proba-. THE ARTIST'S DREA. 73 ble length of time it took to fringe that ehild's eyelids; and to arch those beautiful brows. As to his toes, it must have taken two days, at least, to paint them." . "Impossible!" cried Marion laughing; "I should suppose they could have been cdone in as many hours, How unromtantic to tlinlr of seraphs having toes!" "They have them, though, as well as common mortal ; and we artists have to paint them. How much time do0 you think it would require to give .a graceful curve to your neck; to do justice to the contour of your face; or "To paint' the dimples in my cheeks," interrnpted Marion. "A lifetime, of course. But jesting aside, I had never considered how much more might be acco- plished by some artists than by others, in the same space of time. I should have said this landscape was finished with easy grace." "Some artists possess the faculty of concealing an im- mense amount of labor, under an apparently light execu- tion. Leonardo da Vinci was sixteen years in painting "The Last Supper." Titian worked for eight years, I believe, on his "Pietro Martire." When Domenichino was once censured for his tardiness in completing a pic- ture, which was bespoken, he said that he was continu- ally painting it within himself. Tintoretto tras the most : celebrated of artists for industry and energy. That pic- - ture," he added, pointing to one near them, "needs some of Rembrandt's magical touches. Can you distin- guish the difference in the works of rival schools'?" 2- page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 ' THE ARTIST'S DREAM. " am sorry to bet obliged to answer you in the nega- tive. I know there is a difference, and yet I cannot explain in what it consists. I only feel the beauty of a picture; I do not understand it." "You should study Art more closely. It is a double pleasure to both feel and understand its beauty. Com-" pare, for instance, the masters of the Flemish and Italian Schoqls. The Flemish are, perhaps, more true to na- ture. They paint more from life as it really is-in its common-place, every-day aspect; and the physical beauty of many of their pictures is unrivalled. The Italians aspire to something higher. They endeavor to delineate, the emotions of the mind.. With them, the physical is lost in the intellectual. Do I weary you?" he said, abruptly. "Not at all. I am very glad to gain all the informa- tion I dan," and he, pleased with having so interested a listener, discotrsed long and eloquently on the varied beauties of his art. "By Jove! What a magnificent creature! How well she carries her height!" Arthur looked up from the bust he was sketching, and recognized Monsieur Delarne, who had recently arrived in New York, and to whom he had been introduced a few days before, at the house of a friend. He was scrutinizing Marion, but soon turned to Arthur, saying: "Can you tell me who she is? She is the most stylish- looking person I have seen on this Continent; and alto- gether the best dressed." TItE ARTIST'S DREAM. 7 "Ii seems you do not admire the costumes of Ameri- can ladies." The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and remarked that the art of the toilette was better understood in his own country. "I suspect," he added, "that the lady, with all her beauty, and grace, prides herself on the little knowledge she has acquired. She probably hopes to win the favor of the artist, by rivalling him in his own profession-a mistake which can be readily pardoned in youth." "I imagine she has no such aspirations," replied Ar- thur, quietly. "Are you acquainted with her?" asked Monsieur Delarne, becoming rather nervous. "Slightly, as she is my sister;" andi closing his sketch- ;I book, he joined Marion, who was just passing them, on her way to the carriage. Mr. Hartwell followed, ; leaving the discomfited foreigner to the reflection that ^ the blunder he had made was worse than speaking bad English. i *i I t ' - *' z page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] "76 THE ARTIST'S DBEAM. CH'AP'TEg XII. There is an isle-a beauteous isle- Where grows the majestic palm; Where loveliest exotics bud and bloom, , Where all nature sings a thanksgiving psalm., RS. ST. CTITR A dl not give Marion much time to devote to her favorite pursuits. She insisted on her accompanying her, to all her gay resorts, knowing how much she added to her own eclat. Ma- rion's ingenuity was now called into requisition, in pre- paring for some tableaux, which her aunt proposed hav- ing, the following week. She and Eleanor Marshall rep- resented Rebecca and Rowena, in Ivanhoe. The nexst scene was Queen Philippa, interceding for the lives of the burgesses of Calais. Captain Ryland was KRing Ed- ward the Third, upon his throne, dressed in all the ha- biliments of royalty. Augusta Summers was his Queen, pleading, on her bended knees, for the lives of the bur- gesses. Arthur represented Eustice de St. Pierre-the first noble who offered his life for the safety of his com- panions. Five of his friends were with him, in the guise of malefactors; and laid the keys of their city at the feet of Edward. Then came Lord William Russell, parting with his fam- .t X .* THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 77' ily, previous to his execution; The characters were sus- tained by Mrs. St. Clair's brother, Mr f Morris, anl his family,-he sitting in a large chair, his wife and two daughters kneeling before him; while his little son was in the act of throwing his arms aroundhis father's neck. HMr. Seymour was the minister, standing with an open book in his hand. Arthur good-naturedly took the part of the jailer. When the curtain rose agaih, the wife of Bunyan was in the Swan Chamber, interceding for her husbsnd's re- lease from prison: Mr. Adair personated Chief Justice Hale. Eleanor Marshall stood before him with the peti- tion in her hand, and in a speaking attitude. She wore a coarse black dress, and a white cap on her head. Mr. Forester and Captain Ryland, in black gowns andclhats, were Judge Twisdon, and Judge Chester. The characters in the background were distributed among a few gen- tlemen friends. Some gayer scenes followed, taken principally from the reigns of Queen Elizabth, and i Henry the Eighth. Then followed the divorceof Joseph- ine. Mr. St. Clair was the Emperor Napleon leaning Ad against a pillar, his arms folded upon his brea -In the I centre of the room was a table on which was placed a writing apparatus. Before this table stood Mrs. St. I Clair, in the act of taking the oath of acceptance. Ma- rion and Arthur personated Hortense and Eugene, and Ithe lords and ladies of the court were in splendid cos- tumes. The Shadow Dance from "Midsummer Night's Dream," was made up by Gertrude Morris, Sue- Fellow- ton, Sarah Murdock, and two pretty young married la- w ..t' a page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. dies, Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Wolfe. The last tableau was the most beautiful. Twelve young girls, lovely in .their freshness and innocence, represented "The Brides of Venice." They were attired in robes of spotless white, and their long veils were fastened to their hair by wreaths of orange blossoms. Mrs. St. Clair was desirous of going to Cuba for a short time, and from thence to New Orleans. Her husband's business arrangements would prevent his leaving New York, but that he said need not interfere with her plans, as Arthur and Marion would accompany her. Eleanor and Augusta, Mr. Seymour- and Captain Ryland, afterward joined the party, and a gay winter was anticipated. The vessel on which they sailed was crowded with passengers. Some were going to Cuba for pleasure. Some in the hope of regaining their "losta blessing," health, or at least prolonging life amid the soft breezes of the tropics. When the steamer entered the fineharbor of Havana, even the consumptives with hec- tic cheeks and languid steps appeared on deck to enjoy the scene. It was one of surpassing loveliness. The picturesque looking city, with its many-colored houses; the surrounding hills covered with majestic palms; the waves glittering in the sunligh . Beautiful Cuba! Ah, no wonder that the followers of Columbus knelt on thy shores, and returned thanks to God for so glorious a gift. Mrs. St. Clair looked with much pride on. her young charges as they appeared in the parlor one evening, ready to accompany her to th- THE ARTISTS DREAM. 79 opera. Marion was as beautiful as a houri. Eleanor looked very lovely in her flowing dress of India muslin, with her soft auburn hair waving on her pure brow. Her neck and arms were without ornament, causing Captain Ryland to mutter something about " beauty un- adorned." Augusta could never be handsome with her little grey eyes and. turned-up nose, but her form was good and her movements graceful. She was one'bf those persons who make considerable show on a small capital, and having always on hand a stock of "small talk," which readily passes current in society. The Tacon Theatre was perfect in its arrangements, and brilliantly lighted. Percy took a hasty survey of the gay assemblage, and then devoted himself to Eleanor, who sat beside him. In low faltering tones, he spoke on a subject she would rather not have listened to just then, and most earnestly did he plead his cause. I looked into thy gentle eyes, And sought to penetrate their depths. I listened to the Sweet music of thy voice, 'and wondered why my heart Did flutter so. I touched its quivering strings, And they played a tine of love. Eleanor raised her large blue eyes with a look of sur- prise, almost. of reproach. "Forgive me!" be whispered. "' This was neither the time nor place for. such an avowal," but he added naively, "I could not help it." In the awk- ward silence that followed, Eleanor took from her bouquet a white rose, lovely in its spotless purity, and \x1- page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 THE ABTIST' DREAM. gave it to him. His -handsome face beamed with pleas- ure as he received it. The curtain rose. Steffanone sang divinely; but one at least, in that crowded house, listened not. A still sweeter' voice was singing to him; and-fancy was weav- ing a golden web for the future. The week spent at Matanzas was delightfulindeed, especially to Arthur, who looked at everything with an artist's eye. The country seemed like an earthly Para- dise; and he was often tempted to exclaim, "This region surely is not of earth Was it not dropt from heaven?" The days were brilliant with the sunlight, and the nights were illumined by the bright eyes of the cucuyos. Soon after their return to Havana, they drove to la Plaza de Armas. The band played delightfully, and the scene was very inspiriting. The Cuban ladies reclined grace- fully in their volante, and gently waved their jeweled fans. The next morning they were surprised to find the air cool and damp, and the wind roaring. The norther lasted but a short time, however: for when they took passage for New Orleans a day or two afterward, the fair Queen of the Antilles" was smiling im the brilliant sun- light. OF- TEE ARTIST'S- DREAM. OA& CHAPTER Xl - .x I' " Welcome joy and feast, Midnight shout and revelry." was the last day of Carnival, and New Orleains 'was full of excitement. For nearly -ffdur&,d- twenty hours there was a continuous scene of wild revelry. Little urchins were running about, the streets with their hands full of flour, and 'mtnWerrs were to be seen singly, or in groups; All the wild animals of creation seemed to have been congregated and tamed, for they were carrying in the most docile manner the quaintest and most grotesque riders. Ealy in the evening, Chartres, Canal, and other streets were lined with spectators awaiting the movements of th "Mistick Krewe of Comus." The procession appeared about nine o'clock, with lights on both sides. A -large semi-circular transparency was held aloft, hung withbhi- nese lanterns, and bearing the name of the "KC rewe?' The subjects of the exposition was " The Four Ages of Life." First came Childhood,--an infant in its cradle, followed by a nurse i Boyhood was represented .by a cu- riously contrived moving kite, a large sweet cake, a spin- ning top, marbles, etc. Then came Youth, with it vi- tues and aspirations, its temptations and its trials. Next -' : page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] TH ARTIST'S DREAM. Manhood, with its vices and its follies; and lastly Age, a with its contending passions land its struggles between virtue, and depravity. The "grim visaged monster," Death, terminated all; and was represented by a slowly moving figure wrapped in a winding sheet. The procession arrived at the Varieties Theatre, which was soon densely thronged. The dress-circle presented a brilliant display of Southern beauty and fashion. At the conclusion of the tableau, which was gotten up with the usual taste and munificence of that secret so- ciety-the - Krewe-the ball opened. The maskers entered with imuch apparent enjoyment in the dance, but at twelve o'clock they disappeared as' suddenly and mysteriously as did Cinderella from the Princes' ball. The guests remained, however, until a very late hour. It was nearly dawn when Mrs. St. Clair and her friends left the theatre. It was-the first celebration of Mardi Gras they had ever witnessed; and they were charmed with the novelty and brilliancy of the entertainment. A few days afterwards they received cards to a masquerade, which Mrs. St. Clair insisted upon their' accepting, as they would not have an opportunity of attending another. Augusta and the Captain maintained, that as they were neither Catholics nor Episcopalians, there could be no impropriety in participating in amusements during the season of Lent. The ball was given at Hotel, whither Mrs. St. Clair proceeded, as "Queen of Night," dressed in black velvet, studded with silver stars. "She walked in'beauty like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies " THE ARTIST'S DRE;AM - 88 Her party, who were en masque, nmitgled with .the crowd, anad were greatly amused by the novelty of the scene. Augusta and Arthur, as Venus and Mercury,-were beside her when they entered the ball-room, and were mistaken by the "Iron Duke" to be attendant constella- tions. He raised his telescope, and examined them with evident interest. Venus was of course expected to van- ish at an early hour. Instead, she complained of the" heat, and made a movement to unmask.- Talleyrand pressed eagerly forward, expecting to see a face as beauti- ful as the goddess wore when she rose from the froth of the sea, and his look of disappointment was ludicrous to behold. All nations seemed to be represented. Even a wild Indian was seen in fantastic costume, brandishing a tomahawk.- "Fair goddess, aim not thy arrows at my heart," said a gentleman in a black doming, approaching Eleanor. She passed on, but was soon accosted by the same per- son, "Though I bend the' knee at thy shrine, O Diana of Ephesus, I know thou wouldst be more in thy duty at- tending thy gouty husband, than minhng in the revels of the masquerade." Eleanor accepted Percy's invitation to dance the next quadrille, and found, to her dismay, that her persecutor would be vis-a-vis, "She is wrongly named. She should be called Juliet, and her partner Romeo," said a voice near them, to the great annoyance of Eleanor, and the amusement of Percy. "It was one of our own party, of course," he whis- page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 34 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. pered; and on turning his head saw Mars (Capt. Ryland) moving away, which was sufficient explanation. Eleanor became in some way separated from her friends, and 3he wandered hither and thither, in the hope of meeting some one she knew. Once she saw Arthur, but before ghe could reach him he had disappeared in the crowd. Co add to her distress, she was followed by her tormentor x in the black domimo. It was very late, and Mrs. St. Clair wished to return ; home. It was agreed that Arthur and Percy should go n search of Eleanor, while Mrs. St. Clair, Marion, and X3 Augusta should be accompanied to their hotel by Capt. Ryland. As he conducted them out of the hotel a voice hissed in his ear, . . "Of all gods that tread the spangled skies, Thou most unjust,--most hateful in our eyes." "A pleasant reminder of my godlike character," said ^ he Captain, good humoredly. Percy found Eleanor near one of the entrances, and he ed her immediately to a carriage. She unmasked, and ppeared pale and -agitated. "You are weary. Rest here, beloved," said Percy, Irawing her gently towards him. "Why, you are like i, frightened dove. Do rnot tremble so!" . She soon became composed, and looked, indeed, like a white dove, restliig in his bosom, safe in its peaceful iaven. When they reached the St. Charles, they found lCre. St. Clair anxiously awaiting their arrival. Arthur X THE ABRTIT'S DBEAM. &- n ] soon came -in, saying, thatWlss he had not seen eithe fpi them, he concluded they had returned home, so he madle no further search..- The following day, at the invitation of Mr. De Verp, .' they all went to Ravenswood, a sugar plantation a few . miles above New Orleans. Mr. De Vere was a near rela- . tive of Mrs. St. Clair,-a Creole of great wealth, and of the most refined and cultivated tastes. He had been travel- ling with his wife in Europe for some years, and they had only returned the previous autumn. Their elegant residence in the city remained closed, and Ravenswood had been prepared for their reception. The house was - built in true Southern style, with piazzas on every side- the front commanding an extensive view of the Mismsss- ' sippi River. Steamboats, and numbers of small craft were passing up and domwn, almost every hour, and pre-p ; ' seated quite an animated scene. On each side of the avenue were clusters of large trees. The cypress, the pine, and the live oak, -anll beautiful, grand and magnifi- cent,-fit abodes for sylvan deities. There were many such at Ravenswood, and Mr. De Vere took great pride' in them. There is, I think, something almost sacredB about old trees. They should be reverenced and- cher- ished. No amorous vine should be allowed to 'claspI themin its deadly embrace. No woodsman's axe shonlda ffell them-these stately veterans of the forest-these' heroes of many battles. Many of them please the eye, by, their beautiful proportions. They offer refreshinjg '- shade by spreading out their large branches, the leaves of which absorb the noxious qualities'of the air. They '. * \ . He page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] -86. ---THE ARTIST'S :bBEAM. sometimes become like old friends. They were planted before your time. You think earu will plant, perhaps- plant for the benefit of posterity. That is a serious thought! Ah, these old trees often make one reflect very seriously. 'The grounds at Ravenswood were laid out with taste and elegance, and were surrounded by hedges of arbor vitse, laurestine, roses, and oranges. In the centre was a large fountain. The water gushed from an exquisite marble urn, covering the sea-nymphs which sup- ported it with a transparent veil. Gold and- silver fish were in the basin, anid sparkling in the sunshine. There were cool grottoes, and arbors, glowing with lovely little lady bank roses, and the blossoms of the yellow jessa- mine. Beautiful magnolias were in bloom, looking "Like a flock of white doves peeping From their hermitage of green." Large banks of roses, of almost every hue, scented the air with their fragrance. Japonicas, fuchsias, oleanders, crape myrtles, and flowering shrubs grew in perfection, and smiled, as if in proud consciousness of their omn beauty. "Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living preachers, Each cup a pulpit-every leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous-teachers From loneliest nook.- "'Teath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfiue on the passing air, THE ARTIST'S DREAMb- 87 Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeths A call to prayer';- - "Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fame most catholic and solemn * Which God hath planned. '; To that cathedral boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir-the winds and waves; its organ-thunder, Its dome the sky. ' "Then amid solitude and shade, I wander \ Through the-green aisles, and stretched upon the sod, Awed by the silence-reverently ponder The ways of God." Mr. and Mrs. De Vere sat in the library with their guests, after their arrival, talking over the masquerade. "When our party entered the ball-room," said Arthur, "I heard an Egyptian exclaim 'What a heathenish set! which struck me as, very ridiculous, considering the source from whence it came!" "The speeches made to thee, fair goddess,"said . De Vere, turning to Eleanor, "were intended Tor the ' Queen of the Fairies.' It was her original intention to represent Diana, and as her form and height are similar to your own, the mistake was very natural." "I am glaal she did not hear remarks, that must have caused her some annoyance." "Indeed, I think it would have been well if she had heard them. Mrs. Finch has given herself up, heart and . soul, to fashionable follies, forgetting that she is a wife page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] - 88 THE .ARTIST'S DREAM. and mother. In short, she is a married belle, Poor bid Finch will probably soon drop from his perch, and she will be at liberty to choose a younger and more con- genial mate." "You are severe," said Eleanor. "No, not severe; only just." A little girl entered the room, and took her seat on Mr. De Vere's knee, with all the confidence of a petted favorite. "What has my little Adele been doing all day?" he asked, kissing her forehead. "I have been dressing my doll-babies, and feeding the white rabbits. There they go; they will eat up the flowers!" she exclaimed, as she sprang on the gallery. "She looks like a beautiful picture," said Eleanor. Mr. De Vere seemed pleased with the compliment paid to his only child. He asked Eleanor to go with him to the drawing-room, where he showed her a full-length portrait, which he said had been painted in Rome, a year or two before. There was the blue-eyed darling, lovely as" a poet's dream, stepping out of a brook, with her lap full of flowers. Arthur was soon absorbed in the contemplation of Thorwaldsen's "Jason," a noble statue, bearing on his arm the golden fleece. He was soon joined by his sister, who exclaimed: ' Arthur, you will be in your element here! Aunt Maria says there is a very large picture-gallery, and"-- She was interrupted by the entrance of the host, who was much pleased with Arthur's admiration of the Jason, THE ARTIST'S Da. . 89 - . "Thorwaldsen knew how to manage his subject," he said, as he looked at the finely-formed limbs. 'Ihave given an order for his '"Psyche" and "Lute-player." I wish they were here, so that you might see them." "His works on religious subjects are his best, I be- lieve," remarked Arthur. . "So I have understood. I saw one while in Copen- hagen. It was a large statue of Christ, in a standing posture. The arms were extended, and the hands open, as if inviting sinners to approach. The drapery was ax- ranged with taste and skill, leaving the feet exposed. It was simple and dignified, and expressed deep feeling. It will give me pleasure to show you my collection of paintings. Many of them were Selected for me in Europe, with great care." i Then followed a discussion on the respective merits of painting and sculpture. Arthur maintained the super i- ority of painting. "It presented," he said, "a wider scope for the exercise of talent, and appealed more fre, quently to human sympathy." "Sculpture is limited, certainly," replied Mr. De tere, "but its effects are greater, and perhaps more lasting. Look at some of the relics of antiquity. Do they not stir the soul to its inmost depths, and become asfi gares of thought in the mind?" "True, but such excellence can only be obtained by the happiest strokes of the chisel. Action -or fervent passion are so difficult to express in sculpture, tha the forms she presents are principally in repose. Intellet,' page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 - THE ARTIST'S DREY. * ' H sublimity of expression, the personal character stamped upon the features-these are more easily attained to, l in painting, than in sculpture. Indeed, portraiture is the highest point of the art. It is grand! It is god- like! * . "You claim much for your art." "Not more, I think, than it deserves. But we will agree that painting and'sculpture are twin sisters, each . admirable in her own department." . . . .' , Marion, who had been an attentive listener, ventured to ask, if poetry did not excel both, 'And why?" asked Mr. De Vere. "It seems to me," she replied, with some hesitation; "that it expresses more. Take, for instance, some his- torical work either in (painting or sculpture,) true and excellent, and harmonious as it may be, without previous '. knowledge of the subject, will it not be, in some respects, ; obscure? Now Poetry' gives it life, thought, imaginea- tion, nd motion. She endows the still canvas or the cold marble with human affections. She speaks to the: eye, through the mind, which she conducts line byline, ,4 page by page, to bygone ages, and through the laby- " rinths of the future. Her portraits. are even more true to nature, than those which painting presents. She is . great, and glorious in all her phrases-lyric, epic, dra- matic, and satiric ; and mighty as-Painting and Sculp- ture are, she can yet throw a halo around them." '"Warming with her subject, Marion continued : "There is poetry in everything; in the very air we THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 9 breathe, in the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the sun acndA moon; and you know Byron tells us that the stars are the poetry of heavenm Yes, Poetry is always with us- living, breathing, speaking, holding sweet communion with the spirits of her readers. In a word, she is human. - Few persons can be poets, but surely all must be pro- found lovers of., the art. In 'the Hierarchy of Art,' the- author has beautifully said: 'True poetry is immortal., Once born into the consciousness of the human race, it can never die again; nay, it partakes, in a manner, of - the omnipresence as well as eternity of the Great First Author. It is ubiquitous; and, while the temple, the- statue, the picture, can only be in one spot of earth, and even music itself must depend for avoice on material. aids (costly and laborious, almost in the proportion of -. its power,) poetry alone may gush from every humian lip, and spring in every human heart a fresh fountain of ever-living joy. There is no home so lonely, no wintry waste so desolate, no dungeon-cell so dark, but poetry may therein speak to thesoul she loves, to cheer, to bless, and to ennoble. Poetry, then, we may surely ad- mit, is the most perfect, the most comprehensive, and the most durable of the arts. A great poet-a true creator-artist in language-stands at the sumrnmit of-the hierarchy of art, There is no order above his own, or0 equal to it. -He is the supreme pontiff in the temple of, the Beautiful." ':} "Poetry bears off the palm, and you are a zealou- ad- ^ vocate," said Mr. De Vere, sniling. "But to descend to- * ' ^ * . , . . . . page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] "91,2 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. the- common things of earth: I hear that you are an indefatigable walker. If you willgo with me to-morrow, to the mill, I will initiate you into the mysteries of sugar- "It will give me pleasure to accompany you. I have never had an opportunity of witnessing the process of sugar-mnaking." After breakfast the next morning, the whole party set off for the mill. Work was going on vigorously there. The machines were rapidly grinding the juice. from' the cane, which was afterward put into large kettles to be boiled. The heat was regulated by a thermometer, and the greatest care preserved in every particular.. The visitors were shown the long open boxes, where the mo- lasses was cooled, and even the hogsheads, in which it and the sugar were finally deposited. Indeed, they saw everything connected with the manufacture of these val- uable articles, and were greatly astonished at the minu- tims. They had never before formed any idea of the im- mense amount of labor required in these mills; and no longer wondered at the high prices o6 sugar and mo- lasses. Augusta declared that she would never taste either without thinking of that morning's visit. "What is the meaning of all these holes-?" asked Ha- rion, as they were returning from the- mill "They are filled with water, and I have narrowly escaped stepping into more than one of them." "The Mississippi is beneath your feet," replied Mr. De 'Vere . THE ARfST'S DRE AM. W. X Is it possible! Why, we might wake somenorm , and find ourselves in the river!" "Very probable; and not a very pleasant awakering it ! would be, though perhaps Preissnitz and his disciples would approve of it. These holes are to be found along the lower coast. For that reason, our cisterns are made above ground, and our dead are interred in ovens. Feel- ings of insecurity, however, rarely disturb our n ds.: ' "Indeed, I should think one would be afraid of one's life." In the evening they all assembled on the front piazza, i to enjoy the sunset. The sky was robed in crimson and gold, and its glory was reflected in river and shore. 0 While gazing on it, one might have exclaimed with M- fred: . 'Glorious orb! the idol Of early nature, and the vigorouis race Of undiseased mankind,- the giant sons Of the embrace of angels, with a sex More beautiful than they, which did draw down The erring spirits who can ne'er return- Most glorious orb! that wert a worship,- ere The mystery of thy making was revealed! Thou earliest mTinister. of the Almighty, Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they poured Themselves in orisons! Thou material god And representative of the Great unknown- Who chose thee for his shadow I Thou chief star I Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth Endurable, and temperest the hues - page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 9N4 THE ARTIST'S DREA M. And hearts of all who walk within thy rays I Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes, And those who dwell in them! for near or far, Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects;--thou dost rise, And shine, and set in glory." The scene was lovely and peaceful, and everything so quiet, that the dove could be heart-cooing to its mate. Mr. De Vere asked Eleanor if she considered it a per- verted taste in him, to prefer the dull routine. of Ravens- wood, to the variety of the city. "On the contrary, I think it is much more agreeable here," she replied. "A few weeks spent in the city are pleasant enough; but for a life-time, give me the coun- trry. "How could any one tire of this beautiful place?" said Marion, who was sitting near them. "I could live here forever!" "Notwithstanding one would be afraid of one's life," said Mr. De Vere, archly. "And now for a game at ball," he added, as he descended the steps, with a basket of oranges on his arm. In an instant they were all on the green, like a set of wild children in a romp. But Captain Ryland assumed a military air, and gave a war-cry, "Barnet!" They formed themselves in battle array, and used their mimic weapons with much spirit. A white rose was soon held in' he'air. The Lancastrians threw down their arms, and with the words, "King Ed- ' ' ^ * * ;: ]'-, l THE ARTISTS DEBAM. 5 - ward forever 1" from the Yorkists, both parties entered : the house. ' - A red rose dropped from Augusta's hair, and was acci- dentally trodden upon by Captain Ryland, "My poor Lancastrian!" she exclaimed, in much dis- tress. He stooped to raise the foe, but life was extinct, and his fingers were stained with its crimson blood. The conversation turned upon the "War of the Roses," and upon British chivalry, and admirable training. "I think," said Captain Ryland, "that one of the most remarkable instances of bravery and coolness was displayed, when the British were assisting the Spaniards to drive the French from their territory. Weary and dispirited as the troops were, at not being able to make their retreat from Corunna; yet, at the first discharge from the French battery, they seized their arms, and ar- ranged themselves with as much regularity and self- possession as if on parade." - "Sir John Moore was the master-spirit there," said - Arthur. "Even Napoleon admitted his superior talents. I have often thought of what the feelings of soldiers must be, at having to leave their dead behind them. It must, at least, be a mournful satisfaction to give them burial."' "That, you know, Sir John Moore received; and the hearts of his comrades must have been sad indeed, when ; they ' left him alone with his glory.' 'f "Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, . I As his corse to the raimpart we-hurried; -' : : page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 THEE ARTIST'S DRRAM. Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. "We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; :By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. "No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him: But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. "Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. "We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread on his head, And we far away on the billow! ,' Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;- But little he'll reek, if they'll let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing. "Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame, fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory."' THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 97 97 At Mrs. De Vere's request, Eleanor seated herself at the piano, and her magical touch made the instrument - speak. Some of Mozart's and Beethoven's pieces were , performed with much taste and skill. Strain after strain of harmony was poured forth-an intertwining of exquisite melodies. When she had finished, Mr. De Vere proposed a quartette, and rang the bell to order the piano, (upon which his wife' usually practised,) to be removed from her sitting-room, into the front parlor. He placed him- self beside Eleanor, at one-instrument, while Marion and Augusta seated themselves at the other. The quartette was from Bellini's Opera Sonnambula, and was sauperbly rendered. Percy was asked to sing. He ran his fingers lightly over the strings of the guitar, and sang the sim- . pie and beautiful air, "The Mocking Bird." He pos-, sessed a voice of wonderful brilliancy and compass, and could perform the most'difficult solos of Handel, with ease and grace. Few persons cared to sing after hearing him; and another, and yet another song was called for, until the clock struck the hour of midnight. - Soon'. after : the ladies had retired, they were aroused by a serenade on the water. Wrapping their mantles around them, they hastened to the window. Several beautiful melo- dies were sung, to the accompaniment of the guitar. r Then the boat glided gently down the current, and the ' soft, pensive notes of the flute sounded from the 'dis- . : tance. I ' . Notwithstanding it was nearly two, before the gentle- - I men sought their pillows, they were in the garden before page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. brealkfast, eating figs, fresh from the trees. The Cap- tain even ventured upon several species of delicious plums, which effectually spoiled his appetite for more v" substantial food. THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 9 . CT APTER XIV. Then blest be Nature's guardian Muse, Whose hand her perish'd grace'redeems, Whose tablet of a thousand hues The mirror of'creation seemsi , - CAMPBELL. HER family at Ravenswood spent much of their time in the picture-gallery. It was indeed well X worth seeing. One might have stayed there days and weeks, and yet have found something new. There were paintings from many countries of Europe- - rare gems from classic Italy, and from grand old Spain. 'And there were also fine productions of Gray, Hunting- ton, and many other American artists. Fauns, dryads, naiads, all were there, and all in appropriate places., I There shone the gorgeous landscapes of Turner--the matchless grace of Paul Veronese--the glowing skies of ' Salvator Rosa-the poetical delineations of Rubens, anda the exquisite"views of Poussin. There Claude Lorraine . invited to Arcadian scenes, and there Fuseli endeavored to "Produce those permanent and perfect forms, ? Those characters of heroes and of gods, Which from the crude materials of the world, - ' His own high mind created." - Vernet's warlike scenes stirred: the heart; Reynolds's page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] i00 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Shepherd Boys charmed by their simple elegance; Sir Thomas Lawrence's angelic female faces beamed from the silent canvas:; and Vandyke's dignified burgomaster peered from under his queer old cap. Pan, the rural god, piped his reed; sea-nymphs sported in the waves of the Mediterranean; and there might be. seen the Cestus of Homer's Venus. "An ambush of sweet snares, replete With love, desire, soft intercourse of hearts, And music of resistless whispered sounds." There Adonis,was crowned with flowers; and there Cupid lingered with his quiver and bow. There Orpheus lamented his lost Eurydice; and there might be seen "The noble sister of Poplicola, The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle That's curdled by the frost, from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple." The voluptuous Cleopatra, in rich, warm and glowing beauty, sailed on the waters of the Cydnus. Her drape- ry hung closely about her person, as if enamored of the loveliness it concealed. "The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne Burned on the waters, the poop was beating gold, Purple the sails, and so profound that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, 'Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat, to follow faster, 'As amorous of their strokes." Hector stood erect and fearless, with his, infant son in v' - i " THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 10 his arms. His crested helmet lay upon the ground, and he looked as if he had just uttered that beautiful prayer, "That his boy should be the Trojan's help-that he should live a brave life, and rule well in Troy, till men should say, ' The son exceeds the sire by a far glory.' " Andro- mache stood by his side, with open arms and tearful eyes. Virgil's goats browsed on the mountain side, and his beautiful' heifers grazed in green pastures. The lovely Ariadne stood near the ocean's brink, looking wildly around her. When she found that Theseus was not there, i "Her voice went moaning over shore and sea, Beside the halcyon's cry . .... Her grief did make her glorious; her despair Adorned her with its weight. Poor wailing child! She looked like Venus when the goddess smiled At liberty of! godship, debonair; Poor Ariadne! and her eyelids fair Hid looks beneath them lent her by Persuasion And every Grace with tears of Love's own passion." . "I see you have some of Wouverman's splendid + horses," said Arthur to Mr. De Vere ; " and this picture," he added, turning to. one near the entrance, is literally bathed in glory." "Yes. It makes one think of the Piazza before the Villa Torlonica," by Archenbeck of Duss. Here is a marine view by Collins, which I think you will ad- mire. How natural it is! The setting sun, the long breaker, the shore strewn with sea-weed. It seems as if page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. old Ocean-was thundering in one's ears. You will readily recognize the two fishermen of Theocritus. "Two ancient fishers in a straw-thatched shed- Leaves were their-walls, and sea-weed-were their bed- Reclined their weary limbs; hard by were laid Baskets, and all their implements of trade; Rods, hooks, and line, composed of stout horse-hairs, 't9, . And nets of various sorts, and various snares; The seine, the cast-net, and the wicker-maze, To waste the watery tribe a thousand ways; A crazy boat was drawn upon a flank; Mats were their pillows, wove of osiers dank, Skins, caps, and coats, a rugged covering made; This was their wealth, their labor, - and their trade, No pot to boil,-no watch-dog. to defend. Yet blessed they lived with penury their friend; None visited their shed, save, every tide, The wanton waves that washed its tottering side." "Here is a statue of the Sibyl of Iinaldi." "It is very fine indeed; and this child sleeping in a sea-shell of Parian marble is exquisite. How beautifully the features are cut; and what perfect repose is diffused throughout the figure! Every muscle is at rest." "Do not pass by this dear child," said Mr. De Vere, as Arthur was moving away. "Is not my 'Hope' lovely, standing upon tip-toe, holding in her hand a triple-leaved grass?" "Lovely, indeed," he answered, looking long at the picture. "Ah! here the ladies of Joyous Palace are dancing Rinaldi to the banquet which is spread under a THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 103. bower of damask rose ; and near which plays a spark- ling fountain. The artist has done full justice to Boiar- do's beautiful story. So many exquisite paintings!" he exclaimed in delight; "I scarcely know which to look at first. See these splendid old yew trees. Why, they ,are worthy of Wordsworth's description: "Each particular trimk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine, Up coiling and inveterately convolved, . Nor uniformed with Phantasy and looks That threaten the profane." And this picture, how beautiful, and, oh, what a moral it contains! The shipwrecked mariner, on a rock in the nmighty ocean, with bended knee and clasped hands; the4 waves dashing and roaring around him; no help near,- his only hope in the God who rules sea and land." "Do you not like this?" asked Mr. De Vere, showing a statue of the Virgin? "Might not one say of it, what Paulina said of Hermione? "'As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you -look'd upon, Or hand of man hath done?" "One might indeed." " '0 royal piece, l' There's magic in thy majesty ....... Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins Did verily bear blood?" "Masterly done, The very life seems warm upon her lip," page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "The picture of her eye has motion in't As we are mock'd with art.'"' Arthur gazed in admiring wonder, at a large painting by Northcote,-a "Descent from the Cross;?' though he did not stand for hours before it, waiting for Christ to come down, as Murillo is said to have done, before the famous "Descent from the Cross," by Juan Campana, in the Cathedral at Seville. Arthur's attention was, at- tracted to a stalwart Indian chief, arranging his bow and arrows in front of his wigwam. His head was adorned with feathers of various colors; and his arms were covered with scars, denoting the number- of victims he had slain in battle. A fair young girl sat in the shade of a birch tree, in all the abandonment of grief. Her eyes, which matched the heavens in their blue, were filled with tears; and her long luxuriant hair fell loosely around her like a mantle of gold. She was a hostage- a daughter of the despised white race; and her appear- ance formed a striking contrast to that of the swarthy chief. The summer moons had passed, and the autum- nal sun lighted up tree and wigwam, river and shore. There was, in the- collection, a portrait of a young Zingali in all her native grace, by Pacheco; and the "Loves of the Angels " in pastel. At the further end of the gallery was a large painting, set in a massive frame of elaborate workmanship. The artist's subtile skill had traced in tree and rodk, in vine and rill, the outlines of divinest grace. The subject was Hermes approaching the, abode of Calypso, so exquisitely rendered in the Odyssey. s I THE L ARTIST'S DREAM. : 05 "Then swift ascending from the azure wave, 'He took the path that winded to the cave. Large was the grot in .which the nymph he found, The fair-haired nymph with every beauty crowned, She sat and sung: the rocks resound the lays: The cave was brightened with the rising blaze; Cedar and frankincense an odorous pile, Flamed on the hearth and wide perfumed the isle. * While she with work and song the time divides, And through the loom the golden shuttle guides, Without the grot a various sylvan scene Appeared around, and groves-of living green; -Poplars and alders ever quivering played, And nodding cypress formed a grateful shade, On whose high branches, waving with the storm, The birds of broadest wing their mansion form i asThe chough, the sea-mew, and loquacious crow, And scream aloft and skim the deeps below. Depending vines the delving caverns screen, With purple clusters blushing through the green. Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil And every fountain formns a separate rill, In mazy winding wanderings down the hill: Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crowned And glowing violets threw odors round A scene where, if a god should east his sight. A god might gaze and wonder with delight! Joy touched the messenger of heaven; he' sayed Entranced, and all the blissful'hunt surveyed" page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. - , I CHFAP'TEl XV. "Their beauty makes you glad." WORDSWORTH. DE VERE gave a large party to her young guests. The suite of parlors at Ravenswood were divided by arches supported by lofty pillars, of beautiful workmanship. The walls and ceilings were ele- gantly frescoed. The silken couches and chairs sank into downy softness, beneath the slightest pressure. The mantles, tables, and chandeliers, were adorned with rare flowers and lighted by wax candles of various colors. The soft air stole in through -the rich curtains. Enchant- ing music floated through the rooms and mingled with the perfume of the flowers. As it was Leap Year, it had been arranged that the ladies should act the part of the gentlemen; and cards to that effect were given to each guest on his or her arrival. / "There is a beautiful girL Pray let me introduce you," said Mrs. De Vere to Augusta, who was walking through the parlors in search of a partner for the dance. Augusta raised her glass. "The arrangement of her hair gives her the appearance of a Major General on parade, and her color is scarcelynatural," she said, with admirable sang-froid. THE ARTIST'S DRE . 107 "I did not mean her, but the lady in pink tarlatan." "Ah, quite pretty; but she has no style, I wish one who can serve as a model for Corinne." The circuit of the rooms was made before her fastidious taste could be suited. The favored gentleman was a young swell-head of New Orleans, an insufferable egotist, who prided him- self on his wealth and personal appearance. Augusta was not slow in discerning this; and heartily wished that fashion had clothed him. for this one evening at least, in long skirts that could be accidentally torn. But she consoled herself for this defect in his attire, by inwardly vowing to tread upon his toes if she had half a chance. "The heat is oppressive. Permit me to fan you," she said, when the dance was ended. Does 'not I this remind you of Theocritus?" she added, taking an antique drinking-cup from the mantelj and examining its curious workmanship. "A deep two-handled cup, whose brim is'crowned With ivy joined with helichryse around : Small tendrils with close clasping arms uphold The fruit, righ speckled with the seeds of gold." Her companion stared. "Here is a fine engraving of Lake Pontchartrain, with a partial view of- the Shell Road," she said with ready tact; as she drew one from a large portfolio. That was better'adapted to his com- prehension; and he went into a rhapsody about- the races, his " two-forty " always winning, of course. "Miss Summers, or Mr. Summers, as I suppose you ought to be called this evening, you never saw such fine horseflesh. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] lUO 8 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. . The greatest display "i New York is nothing to it. I will-just tell you how many prizes my full-blood trotters have won. The d--! as my habits as a-gentleman do not permit me to swear, I will say that I have forgotten-X but I know that a silver salver was one, and a pitcher, besides any quantity of cups and goblets."' Marion ap- proached for an introduction. "Rather weak," said Augusta to her in a low tone as she passed into the nextX room, tapping her own forehead significantly. It hap- B pened that she went into supper with Captain Ryland. : When she helped him to cream, she contrived to spill a little on his white sati4 vest. A shade of annoyance- passed over his face, but in an instant he recovered his ;X self-possession, while Augusta begged a thousand par- H dons. O -- The ladies hurried the gentlemen through, at which* they loudly protested. Each fancied himself a Tantalus( as he looked at the rich salads, the luscious fruits, the transparent jellies, the golden custards, and the costly wines. Augusta delicately hinted to. Captain Ryland, that the gods never partook of grosser food than nectars and ambrosia. "Allow me at least to feast my eyes on these beautif I A flowers," he said, turning to a vase blushing with ex- quisite pink camelias. She offered her arm, and after- procuring him a seat in the parlor, returned with great ,, satisfaction to the supper-room.. lrs. St. Clair and her party intended spending several- weeks at Washington, before returning home. , * 6 - ' * * '!" * " '-; ' . THELEABiRTI S D M.. O X As they were all desirous of seeing the Mammoth Cave, , theyconcluded to stay a few days in ientuck Mr De Vere said that they had better defer their visit there, until summer. But a gentleman from Louisville,. who was present, remarked that he had visited the cave in both cold and warm weather, and that he- thought the cold season preferable; is the explorer, after breathing the. exhlarating atmosphele of the casve, would not be so oppressed on reaching the outer air. ;The air within the cave is much purer and cooler then?" said Arthur, interrogatively. ' "Infinitely so ; and that is assigned as a reason of the j immense amount of physical fatigue, that can be endured there. Theairis the same in every part of the cave-the - thermometer standing .at .fifty-nine degrees the year round." , The delightful visit was over. The boat was at the landing; and there they bade adieu to their kind enter- tainers. They were soon steaming up the river; and j Ravenswood, with its stately trees, its myrtle groves, and its beautiful flowers, faded in the distance. They passed numerous plantations. The houses were embowered in orange groves glowing with their golden fruit. The night set in dark and gloomy. No star gemmed the sky, and: the moon wrapped herself in a veil. The waves were angry and sullen, and seemed to be chanting a wild dirge to the memory of their discoverer. Poor De Soto! How little could he have thought of -the future - , . . - . ' : ]. - ' E- * * .' I page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O THE ARTIST'S DREAM. importance of this mighty stream, of the wealth of nations'it would carry upon its broad bosom. The few persons who were on deck, soon repaired to the saloon, which presented a most lively scene. Some of the passengers were dancing to the sound of gay mu- sic; some were playing whist, some euchre, while others were quietly looking on or conversing in little groups. The "Blankhawk" was one .of those floating palaces which once plied the waters of the Mississippi. No event of interest occurred during the passage, excepting a race with the "Water Nymph." On they went, those high pressure boats, rushing, hissing, groaning like sea- monsters in mortal agony. The excitement was very great, and bets ran high. Cracklins were mixed with the fuel, in order to increase the speed of the Blackhawk. Sofas, chairs, and tables were cut to pieces and thrown into the flames, whereupon the Captain was dryly asked if the passengers were to be consumed next. For some time the steamers kept pace; but the Blackhawk gained headway, amid the cheers and shouts of her crew. THE ARTIST'S DEEAXM 11i CHWAPTEI XVI.' The sun to me is dark, And silent is the moon, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. MLTON. O balmy breezes met the travellers in Kentucky. Old Boreas was in a furious mood, and gave them a most ungracious reception. It was late Satur- day evening when they reached the Cave Hotel. Mrs. St. Clair remarked, that she hoped they would all be suf- ficiently recovered from the fatigue of their journey to visit the cave the next day, as she would like to leave on Monday for Louisville. Most of the party objected to this, partly on account of its being an improper manner of spending the Sabbath, and partly because they would be unable to see all they desired, in so short a time. Mrs. St. Clair argued .that they could see what people i generally saw in one visit, and that was quite enough to talk about hereafter. That was a new light in which to view the matter; but it was evident that her mind was made up, and her companions reluctantly consented to accompany her. The proprietor, however, objected to furnish them with a guide, saying, that when persons chose to go on the Long Route on Sunday the responsi- page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. bility rested with themselves. One of the guides, black as the ace of spades, volunteered his services. The la- dies attired themselves in Turkish costume, with crimson scarfs and pretty liitle jockey hats; and at nine o'clock on Sunday morning the party marched into the mouth of the cave, which certainly did not invite entrance. "Hush! for my heart-blood curdles as we enter, To'glide in gloom these shadowy realms about; Oh, what a scene!--the round globe, to its centre, To form this awful cave, seems hollowed out! Yet pause-no mystic word yet hath been spoken To win us entrance to this .awful sphere-- A whispered prayer must be our watchword token, And peace-like that around us-peace unbroken, The passport here. "And now farewell, ye birds and blossoms tender, Ye glistening leaves by morning dews impearled, And you, ye beams tlfat light with softened splendor The glimmering glories of yon outer world! While thus we paused these silent arches under, To you, and yours, a wild farewell we wave, "And yet farewell! the faintly flickering torches Light our lone footsteps o'er the silent sod; And now all hail, ye everlasting arches, Ye dark dominions of an unseen God! Who would not for this sight the bliss surrender, Of all. the beauties of yon sunny sphere, And break the sweetest ties, however tender, ! To be the witness of the silent splendor, ^- That greets us here "' ge - THE ARTIST'S DRFAV. ' 138 They emerged from the "Narrows" into the Rotun- da," which the guide illuminated with Bengal lights. Augusta declared that she had herself expected to see Plu- to seated on his throne, guarded by Cerberus. The guide directed attention to wheel tracks, and to the footprints of oxen, made while saltpetre was being manufactured during the last war with Great Britain. Ruts were also pointed out, and the remarkable preservation of the wood was duly discussed. In the explanation of the. guide, so much stress was laid on the year 1812, that one might have supposed it the beginning of time; and that. 'every important event transpired within that period. After passing through the "Methodist Church," where they were told the Gospel had-been preached more than a half century before, they stopped in front of a rock, forty feet in length, which all instantly declared must be the "Giant's Coffin." "Who knows but what Titus rests beneath this stone?" remarked Captain Ryland. "That is-not possible,"re- plied Arthur, "as Mythology tells us that his body covers nine acres of ground. It would be' a fit receptacle for Polhemus, or one of the Cyclops." After a glance at the Ant-eater, and passing a few moments in the "Deserted Chamber," which Augusta maintained was not deserted at all, as they were in it,they scrambled with much dif- ficulty up and down the "Steeps of Time." When they reached the "Bridge of Sifghs," and the dark recesses of the "Pit" were illuminated, the scene was wild and page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. fantastic. The gentlemen threw in stones, and, as they bounded from side to side, and dropped into the depths below, with strange unearthly sounds, one could have. fancied this to be the helf of Virgil--that, a The loud scourge, and louder voice of pain, The crashing fetter, and the rattling chain." were here. Some minutes were passed in "Revelers' Hall;" then the party sojourned for a while in the "Valley of Humility," clad in sackcloth and ashes-a very necessary process, preparatory to going through the "Scotchman's Trap," and "Fat Man's Misery." Much physical incon- venience was endured by all, but Captain Ryland, being rather corpulent, twisted, writhed and groaned, in flesh and spirit; but finally, with a feeling of profound grati- tude, emerged into "Great Relief." He straightened himself, expressing, at the same time, some doubt as to the safety of his scalp. But Arthur (whom the Captain always said had mistaken his calling) pronounced it in a good state of preservation, and the company proceeded to the "Bacon Chamber." "f Help yourselves to a substantial dinner, my friends," said Augusta. "We will take our dessert in Martha's Vineyard,'" where 'Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,' holds his orgies." Alas, for good shoes! thought the par- ty, as they traversed the "Great Walk.", The sail on "Echo River" was charming. Mrs. St. Clair requested THE ARTIT'S DEA. Am115 Percy to sing the "Echo Song." Oh, the wonderfxl power of that voice! It was- deepened and extended, until it sounded-like a full-toned instrument, thrilling the heart of every hearer. Several pieces were sung in concert, and the delicious harmony swelled and rolled along the dark waters, edho- ing far in the distance. s; I wish so much it was not Sunday, and that we had a band of music with us!" exclaimed Augusta.. "Why not wish for Orpheus, or Amphion, to charm our subterranean voyage?" replied Marion. "This pass is well named," said Arthur, as he nearly slipped up in the "Infernal Region." After- the exertion of climbing the "Hill of Fatigue," and after a look at the "Great Western," they rested in "Ole Bull's Concert Room."' While viewing the savage grandeur of "'El Ghor," they concluded that Phlegyas must be standing in deadly terror beneath- one of the "Hanging Rocks." "Would that all the flies in the universe were congre- gated here," exclaimed Mrs. St. Clair, as she surveyed the ceiling of the "Fly Chamber." i "Shall: we place this 'Crown' upon your head, and proclaim you queen of these dolorous regions?' said Percy to Augusta. "'Uneasy is the head that wears a drown.' Cer- tainlythe words are very appropriate in this case," she smilingly replied. They listened to the "Chimes," and page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "t'6 THE ARTUTS' DoEwA. soon -afterwards entered "'Washington Hall," where they took lunch. Captain Ryland remarked, that some one at the hotel had informed him, that a marriage once took place in the Cave. "Is it possible!" ." What could have winuced them to select such la spot!" and such like ex- clamations, were heard on every side. "I suppose, the ceremony was- performed in the 'Methodist Church,'" said Augusta, raising a glass of sherry to her lips. "No, in the 'Gothic Chapel,' I believe." "It is to be hoped, the bride did not confound the Catechism with the marriage ceremony, as I heard a lady once did in New England. When the minister asked, ' Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance, in the holy state of mat- rimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him; love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, for- sating all others, keep :thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?' she answered, 'Yes, verily; ant by God's help so I will. And I heartily thank our heavenly Father, that He hath called me to this state of salvation, through Jesus Christ our Saviour; and I pray unto God, to give me His grace, that I may continue in the same unto my life's end.'" "The disciples of Terpsichore could not conveniently hold their-revels here," continued Augusta, "and that would be sufficient objection for me. If I should ever marry, it would be for the opportunity of giving a grand ball" -THE ARBTisTs DB1V - 3 ," What Would become of the marriage-vow?" as'ked Arthur. "Is it so serious .' He looked at her earnestly, 1n d -repeated the beautiful lines, Speak it not ightly-l'tis a holy thing, A bond endx'ring through long distant years, When joy o'er thine abode is hovpring, Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears' Recorded by an angel's pen on high, And must be-questioned in Eternity.' " 'Oh, for a game at ball as we had with oranges at ave nswood! exclaimed Eleanor, in Snowhall oom' "Mr. Lee, I challenge you " Some time was spent -in examining the curiositis in Cleveland's Cabinet" . "These flowers would be fit ornaments foi the state apartments of a queen " said Marion. "Perhaps, at your suggestion, Proserpine would con- vert this garden into. a reception-room," replied her brother. , "Tis the, last rose of summer . Left blonming alone, : I'll not leave thee, thou lone one," exelai imed Au sta, makig. a. threatenig gesture with a cane, toward the ceiling, in the centre of the avene. The- - 1- . oked in rm t the ls t movement, of nadse laughingly threw down the offending weapon . page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 THE ARST'S D"AM. i wish I could present you with one of these crys- tals," said Percy, as they entered "Diamond Grotto." "Nature has surpassed herself here." As they climbed the "Rocky Mountains," Arthur asked his aunt if she knew she had walked nearly nine miles, "No, I am not much fatigued," she replied, "but how will we ever walk nine miles back?" When they reached the sumrmit, they examined "Cleopatra's Needle," and looked down into "Dismal Hollow." In "Groghan's Hall," Percy placed a beautiful lime- stone stalactite in his pocket, saying that he intended to have ornaments made of it, for the queen of these dolor- ous regions. "A cricket! a cricket!" exclaimed Augusta, as one vainly struggled intier hand for its liberty. "Its chirp- ing days are over; for Ii shall put it inm alcohol, as soon as we get to the hotel." The guide explained that the Cave crickets never chirped; and offered to try to procure an eyeless fish for her, when they recrossed "Echo River." Some. of the gen- tlemen suggested that one of the frogs, which are said to croak to the echo of their own voices, should also be procured to grace her cabinet. They retraced their steps-very' slowly, however, as they wished to re- examine the various curiosities, and impress them more -clearly on their minds. ..'. THE-'ARTIT'S DRAM. 119 Scene after scene was passed. Arthur thought of the beautiful lines, written by Mrs. Welby, after visiting this" "Wonder of the West." 'Ye glittering caves, ye high o'erhanging arches, A pilgrim band, we glide amid your gloom, With breathless lips, and high uplifted torches, All fancifully decked in cave costume. Far from the day's glad beams, and songs, and flowers, We've come with spell-touched hearts, To glide, enchanted for a few brief hours, ' - Through the calm beauty of your awful bowers, And o'er your waves! "Hark! hear ye not those echoes ringing after Our gliding steps-my spirit faints with fear- Those mocking tones, like subterranean laughter-- Or does the brain grow wild with wandering here? There may be spectres wild, and'forins appallig Our wandering eyes, where'er we' roqve, to greet Methi-nks I hear their low, sad voices calling Upon us now, and far away the foiling Of phantom feet. "The glittering dome, the arch; the towering column, " ,- Are sights that greet us nowjir every hand; And all so wild-so strange, so sweetly solemn-- : So like one's fancies, formed of fairyland!. And these, then, are your works, mysterious powers; Your spells are o'er, around us, and beneath These opening aisles, these crystal fruits and flowers, And glittering grots, and high-arched, beauteous bowers, As still as death." ' page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] a2o TTHE ATIS DEEAM. The guide made the startling announcement, that there was not a sufficient quantity of oil in the lamps. "It is strange,' said Arthur, sternly, "that you should have neglected so important a duty. But I have under- stood that there are depots for oil, within the cave." "They chance to be empty to-day, sir," replied the guide, some-what discoinerted at the rebuke he had so justly received. "Such a thing never happened before." "It is to be hoped not. I think we had better leave the cave with him," said Arthur, turning to his compan- ions. The guide insisted that he could walk much more rapidly without them; and urged them to remain where' they were, while he went to the hotel, to procure the -necessary oil. Promising to return as quickly as possible, he started on his errand. The' ladies and gentlemen seated them- selves on the ground, with their lamps beside them. Their situation was novel indeed.' Captain Ryland complimented the ladies on the picturesque effect of their I cloaks and turbans. "I dare say we look very romantic," said Mrs. St. Clair; "but I, for one, do not feel so. This place is like ; a vast catacomb." They talked lightly for a while, on indifferent subjects, but the conversation gradually assumed a graver tone. They spoke of the consumptives, who had dwelt within the cave; and of the sad effects of darkness upon their "THE ARtISt'S DEEAM . 121- systems. Augusta declared, with her usual volubility, that nothing would induce her to spend a night there. She was sure she would die of fright; and so on. Ar- thur thought of the instances recorded, of persons who had wandered from their companions, and had lost their reason, from being left alone in the darkness. He thought it most prudent, however, to say nothing on this subject. .Hour after hour rolled on, and they became very uneasy. Mrs. St. Clair suggested that'they should endeavor to find their way out of the cave. But Arthur told her it would be risking their lives to do so, and that there was no alternative. "I am not surprised," said Eleanor, "that Dr. KEane thought the darkness of the Arctic night such a solemn thing. How he endured its horrors, in his delicate state of health, I can scarcely imagine. His career- shows what can be accomplished by an indomitable will." Farewell to the noble and brave, The great and gifted one, The sun of his life is set, His work on earth is done. In his beautitul, silent home, Quietly he sleeps ;- While o'er him many tears are shed, v For him a nation weeps. C Ah, well may she weep! , A beacon that gave a brilliant light, : : Has vanished ;--a star that shed Its lustre far, is hidden from our sight. Our country weeps for one, who bravely toiled page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] t2 TS DREA3 * - When hope was on the wane:- I She weeps for the eat, the good, The honored Kane, The piercing Arctio winds, No mbore 'will on him blow;- * Never again will he force his way through drifiing ice and snow, , , The voice -that inspied hope, Amidst the Arctic gloom- Is hushed forever In the silent tomb I J- Sweefly he rests in the home of the dead After the honors he has won- Colnmbia will never cease'to mourn Her brave and gifted son. One by one, the lights went out; and the inimaites of the cavern wereh nveloped in darkmess, as terrible as , that of the Arctic night. CRAPTER XVAA. Oh, I have passed a miserable Wght, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days So full of disaM terror was the time.. order to pass away the time, Cap in Ryland x Suggested that they. should imagine thlemslvesbt . in Dante's Inferno';' under the special guidanme of Virgil. "Oh, no!" cried Augusta; "a faint, cold fear thrills : through my veins." "Do not shrink," he said; ,let your languid spirits rise, as did Dante's, .when he heard that Beatrice had. i descended from heaven, t{ commend him to Virgil's care. Ah 1 here comes hoary-headed Charon, to pilot us to the dark regions of everlastiag fire and e ow we are in the first circle. Dost thou hear the sighs, which :. tremble in the air, breathed by the souls of :those who died unbaptized? Their 'only suffering consisti in hope- less desire.' Mark well the spirit that is approaching,: sword in hand. It is Homer, 'the poet's sovereign' C "Do not shrillki' he said, "let ;srour languid vpirits-*"- page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 I THE ARTIST'S DREAM. He is followed by other bards, and they will conduct us to a green meadow, where dwell a band of illustrious philosophers. There they are, Socrates, and Plato, Diogenes, Cicero, Democritus, Euclid, and others. Sit- ting in the group, I perceive good old Father Hippo- crates.' As my system is out of tune, I will call on him for a prescription, which I have faith to believe will set me all right." "'What spirits are those, hurried to and fro, in the tempest?' "'Achilles, and Paris, and the proud Semiramis are among the number. Next comes Dido, who broke faith to the ashes of Sichbeus.' "'And what two weary souls are those in her train- yonder pair, that hand in hand seem borne before the dreadful wind so light?' ", Paulo and Francesca,' was the reply. "' I would like to speak to them' "'Wait-until thou seest their band Sweep round. Then beg them, by that love, to stay; And they .will come, and hover where we stand.'" * * ** "'Oh, if Iasknaughtill, Poor weary souls, have speech with me, I pray. " "As doves, that leave some bevy circling still, Set firm their open wings, and through the air Sweep homewards, wafted by their pure good will; "So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair, Cleaving to where we stood, the air malign; Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer." , , , , : - . . /1 THE ARTIST'S RwAM. 125 "The female spoke. ,0 living soul benign!' She said, ' thus, in this lost air, visiting Us, who, with blood stained the sweet earth divine; *I "Had we a friend in heaven's eternal King, We would beseech hih keep thy conscience clear, Since to our anguish thou dost pity bring.-- "Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear, Ta that we also, till this lull be o'er That falleth now, will speak and will give ear. "The place where I was born is on the shore, Where Po brings aUl his rivers to depart In peace, and fuse then with the ocean floor. "Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart, Seized him thou looks't on for the form and face, Whose end still haunts me like a rapkling dart. "Love, which by love will be denied no grace, Gave me a transport in my turn so true, That lo! 'tis with me, even in this place. "Love brought-us to one grave. The hand that slew Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain. " \ "Alas! All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led To love, but brought them to this doloreois pass.." "Francesca, see-these human cheeks are wet- Truer and sadder tears were never shed.' "But tell me. At the:time when sighs were sweet, What made thee strive no longer?-hurried thee To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?" * .. ,' ' . page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] IVtV26 - THE ARTIST'S I)EA]M. "' There is no greater sorrow,' answered she, : And this thy teacher -here knoweth full well, Than calling to mind joy in misery. "But since thy wish be great to hear qg tell How we lost all but love, tell it I will, As well as tears will let me. It befel, "One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill At her he, loved, and what his lady said. We were alone, thinking of nothing ill. "Oft were our eyes suspended as we read, And in our cheeks the color went and came; Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead. "'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame, Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he Whose lot and mine are now -for aye the same- "All in a tremble, on the mouth. kiss'd me. The book did all. "Our hearts within us burn'd Through that alone. That day no more read we.'" "Will you faint, as Dante did, at the recital of their woes?" asked the Captain. * * * "Now we have reached the iron walls of the city of Dis. But the devils refuse to open the gate. 'See the Furies, with snakes for hair, and smiting themselves, crying aloud for the Gor- gon's head. Screen- thy faces, for if thou lookest upon the Gorgon, thou wilt never more behold the light of day. Listen to the noise of the 'heavenly messenger's wings, as he comes over the Stygian lake, to bring the rebel angels to submission. Bow silently before him, as " TSBE A'TH;St-SDRB^M. WZt he touches the gate with his wand. Enter, zowj, and- be-' hold the cemetery of Arch-heretics. We will now pass through a forest, where the Harpies wail among the trees, and where the leaves are black. Pluck them not, for they will bleed and weepl At a little distauce, on red hot sand, there lies the proud spirit of Caplmeus. We will decline the honor of riding on Gorgon's back, and pass quickly to the region, where the hypocrites walk in perpetual tears In theieighth gulf, Ulysses will relate to us the end of his adventures. Stop your ears, for we have come to the place, where all kinds of impostors howl and cry. I warn you not to attend to any abusive converse, among the inhabitants; but, like Dante, you should be reproved for indulging in a pleasure, fit only for vulgar minds." 'On the lake of ice, behold the. traitors Gauellone and Tribaldello. Listen to :he dismal story of Count Ugo- lino; how he had been confined in the Tower of Famw ine, and had seen "many a new moon," through his prison window; how he had dreamt a dream, that fore- shadowed evil; and on awakening, heard his children- ask for bread-he,.having none to give them; and how they died 'one by one," before his eyes. "Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three : Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and!sifht : Whence I betook me, now-grown blind, to grope ;^ Over them all, and for three days aloud Called on them who Were dead. Thus fasting got The mastery of grief." %' ^' page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128. THEE ARTIST'S DR'EAm V In relation to the imprisonment of the children, Chau- cer said, ,that it was "' great cruelte Such birdes for to put in such a cage." Fictitious as this part of the story may be, Dante has fully vented his wrath against Pisa. 'Ah, Pisa! thou that shame and scandal be To the sweet land that speaks the tongue of Si, Since Florence spareth thy vile neck the yoke, Would that the very isles would rise and choke Thy river, and drown every soul within Thy loathsome walls. What if this Ugolin Did play the traitor, and give up (for so The rumor runs) thy castles to the foe, Thou hadst no right to put to rack like this His children; Childhood innocency is." O wonderful Dante I truly may it be said of him, "Hell grows darker at his frown." "Matthews wonders, in his 'Diary of an Invalid,'" said Arthur, " that the poets have made no use of (sea-sick- ness,) in describing the place of torment; and thinks it might have afforded .them useful hints, for improving the horrors of their hells. 'The consolations of hope,' he says, 'are denied to none save the damned and the sea-sick.' Surely Dante could never have been sea-sick, or he would have inflicted that terrible malady upon some of the inhabitants of his Inferno. Not all his pun- istnents, I should think, could equal the throes of sea- Msickness." Mr. Hunt, spealng of the Inferno, asks "Cui bono?" THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 129 nd says, that "even in a theological point of view, the i-. if milder shades of purgatory ' are something like a bit of Christian refreshment, after the horrors of the Infer- no." How beautifully Dante has described the scene, which presents itself after emerging from the hideous vault. The. delicious air, the sky of-"sweetest oriental sapphire." How the planet"madeallthaorient laugh;" and how the four northern stars, which had not been seen since the time of Adam and Eve, seemed to cause heaven to rejoice in their lustre. How beautiful is the part, where the pilgrims descry, in the distance, the trembling of the sea. How the an- gel, who conducts departed spirits to Purgatory, is wit$- out sail or oar; and unveils his splendors, in the shape of wings and garments-his face being too intensely bright to be gazed upon. How; when Dante attempts to return the affectionate embraces of Casello, "his arms again and again find themselves crossed on his own 'bosom, having encircled nothing." And when he asked the shadow, to sing to him one of the soft airs, with which he was wont to beguile his weariness on earth; Casello selected one of Dante's own poems. Howhu- morous the meeting, with the idle Belacqua; who even in Purgatory does not think it worth his while to hasten - his steps, as he is doomed to walk round the foot of the mountain, for as many years as he has delayed repent/- ance. And when Pia requests Dante- to remember her, on his return to, earth; saying that Sienna was the place of her birth, and the Marshes of her death,--he, :: E uR page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 - TEE ARTIST'S DREAM. who put upon her finger the "spousal ring," knoing what she said to" be true. Then the part that the Pro- venal -poet Sordello accompanies the pilgrims to the hollow, covered with flowers, which surpass the loveliest dyes; and grass, which is greener and brighter than emeralds newly troken." The friagrance, that arises from the hollow, and the chant to the Virgin, beginning "Salve Regina:" sung by the souls, sitting among the flowers. And those lines on the evening-how exquisite I Then the angel, clad in ash-colored robes; who opens the portals of Purgatory, with keys of gold and silver; and the voices which meet the pilgrim's ears, on their entrance, chanting that glorious hymn "Te Deum lauda- mus." The terrible noise which announces the presence of Oain--the intense silence that ensues. How'surpassingly elegant is Dante's answer to the question of Buonaggiunta, as to whether heis the au- thor of a certain poem-- "I am one that notes When Love inspires; and what he speaks, I tell In his own way, embodying but his thoughts." And when he wanders through the forest, whose ver- dure offers refreshing shade,-the pure invigorating at- mosphere,-the birds singing for joy, at the brightness- of the morning,--the "trees themselves joining in the concert with 'a swelling breath, like that which rises among the' pines of Chiassi, when Eolus lets loose the south wind, and the gathering melody comes rolling through the forest from bough to bough." THE ARTISTES DREAM. 3 , Percy remarked, that he thought the most beautiful passage in Dante's Heaven, is where he transports him- self thither, by the attraction of Beatrice's eyes. Though only in the lowest Heaven, he sees the splendor of the Empyrean, and listens to the music of the spheres. "Then mortal ears Had heard the music of the spheres." What a happy simile is it, w hen heasks Piceardo, and her sister spirits, if they do not desire greater bliss, and they "gently smile and answer, with faces as happy as first love, that they will only, what it pleaseth God to give them, and therefore are truly blest." How lovingly he compalres'Beatrice to "the bird that sits among ithe dewy leaves in the darkness of night, yearning for the coming of the morning, that she, may again behold her young, and have light by which to seek the food that renders hpr fatigue for them a joy." And how immeasurably grand is the description of i the radiance of Christ, , Where am I now? Angels and God are here:' page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 182 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAPTER XVIII. A Perhaps this awful spot may sunder Our hearts from all we lIve-this world of wonder @ Maybe ourgrave, MRS. WELXBY. BORNING dawned. The sun rose high in the heavens; but there were some eyes that could not be gladdened by its beams. All was confusion -and alarm at the Cave Hotel. It Oas remembered that the New York guests had gone into the cave the previous day, and had not been heard of since. ITmmediately after breakfast, the proprietor went with a guides in search of them. They looked carefully about them, as they went along, and presently gave a loud halloo. Their voices rang through the vaulted chambers, and corridors, reverberating far in the distance. Then a death-like silence reigned. On they went. Again they shouted, and again only echo answered. Their sense of hearing had been strained until effort became painful. Not a sound was heard. They looked at one another in silence, each being unwilling to express his fears. Once more they shouted. Hark! was not that a human. voice, faint indeed, but human? They proceeded in the 'direction from whence it came. As the lights appeared, ^ * ' TEE ARTIST'S DRE A. 183 the gentlemen assisted the ladies to rise from their seats. Their hearts were- too full for words; and they silently followed the guide. Eleanor was weak and dizzy. She fell against a rock aind hurt her ankle, and was with difficulty carried out of the cave. A physician was sum- moned; he found that the ankle was sprained, and the hip injured; but to what extent could not then be ascer- tained. Examination was so painful, and Eleanor was so much exhausted from fatigue and loss of sleep, that Mr. Cavendish left a mild narcotic, promising to return in the evening. Investigation was made as to the cailse of the party being left so long in the cave. It turned out the guide met some of his boon companions, on reaching the realms of light, and could not resist getting on a "spree." He afterward deemell it advisable to leave that part of the country, for a time at least. Ma- rion was so much indisposed as to be compelled to keep her room for several days after the adventure related in the last chapter; but 'she was soon restored to her usual health, and promised to accompany Augusta and the gentlemen on the short route. Mrs. St. Clair could-not be persuaded, to enter the cave again. 'It was a bright, beautiful afternoon, when the party followed their trust- worthy guide into the realms of Erebus. "Oh, the everlasting giant and giantess!",exclaimed a Augusta, as they stopped before a group of figures on the ceiling. "I suppose the child, poor little innocent, will have to grow in the air, as there seems no probabil- ity of its ever reaching its mother." .H , .- page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 184 TiE ARTIST'S DREAMy The guide displayed the wonders of the "Star Cham- ber" to great advantage. The, dark firmament studded with innumerable stars, the comet, the soft moonlight. Clouds passed overthe sky, betokening an approaching storm. The heavens became more and more overcast, until the most intense darkness prevailed-darkness such as one mightfeel. In the awful silence that followed, one could count the pulsations of one's own heart. Was there no escape from these dreary dominions? Were they forever cut off from light and hope? Hark I! what cheering sound is that-a cock crowing in the distance. Louder and louder it sounds; and then, oh beauteous sight --Aurora smiling in the, east. And lol the sun bursts upon the enraptured vision in all the refulgence of his glory. ': Gorin's Dome" was seen from a natural wmindow, half way between the ceiling and floor. It was illumin- ated by a Bengal light, and the view-was sublime in the extreme. "Your arm, Arthur, if you please," said Mrs. St. Clair, as they prepared 'to ascend the steps leading to the Gothic- Arcade. "I think it will be of great assistance to me, the guide's opinion to the contrary, notwithstand- ing." "Perhaps you would like to rest here," he replied, in a jocular tone, as he conducted her to the "Seat of the Muny. a ." * -No, I thank you," she said-turnig away. "It makes one think of the poor Indian woman, who was found dead there, in her dress of animal skins." * ' WTE ARETI 'S DREAM. ' 135 "Oh, what a shame to have disfigured this smooth white ceiling!" cried some one in the "Register's Room." They were lost in wonder in the "Gothic': Chapel." A lamp was suspended from each of the large stAlaotites, that supportthe ceiling, and in that shadowy light, one felt an almost irresistible impulse to kneel in silent awe. Would some cloistered nun glide past! some venerable monk be seen bending over his- rosary; or would some Bishop descend from his Cathedral splendor, to give ab- solution to the faithful, in this Chapel of Nature? "I am sorry that Vulcan is not at his anvil, forging thunderbolts for Father Jupiter," said the Captain, as he looked at the charred cinders, in the "Smithy." After examining, with a military eye, "Bonaparte's ) Breastworks," -he approached the "Devil's Arm-chair"' "This is quite too comfortable a, seat, for his satanic majesty," he said, throwing himself into it. "You nighet personate him," said Augusta. "In that case, you will have to make your obeissance to me, as my subject." t "King of Hell, I salute thee!" she said. "How' very unkind, Miss Summers, to fancy -me like his Imperial Highness, even in appearance.' Perhaps, in your opinion,' I would compare unfavorably, even with' Dante's Satan." "Rather more presentable," she replied, "inasmuch as you have a single face; and are not devouring even one sinner, much less three. Only- the most irascible of poets could have conceived such a 'banquet of honors. " page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 186 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. . "Neither of my arms are as large as a giant, it is true," said the Captain, "but' I can toss them, and ren- der myself in some'degree like a wind-mill in motion. As to wings, I might procure those of a bat, as than animal hibernates in the cave. They would be rather diminutive, certainly; but. when flapped, would produce a considerable quantity of wind; though not enough to freeze everything in Tartarus." , "We will now leave you to the enjoyment of your dreary realm," said Augusta. "The sovereign of this dreary realm craves the honor of being your humble servant," he said, rising and fol- lowing her to the "Elephant's Head." Jokes were freely circulated at the "Lover's Leap." Captain Ryland said that he supposed Percy would peep several times over the rock, as Diogenes did over the promontory of Leucate, and retreat. "As to myself," he added, " if I were sure of escaping as well as Aridseus, I would make the leap. I would not care much for the loss of a couple of front teeth, and as to my nose, I dare say it would be improved by a little flattening. Will you not imitate Sappho, the Lesbian?" he continued, as he turned to Marion, " and attire yourself like a bride, be- fore talring the leap? You might be transformed into a swan, as you fall." "I could not, like Sappho, carry in my hand a musical instrument of my own invention; neither could I com- pose verses, so my leap would be less remarkable than hers," replied Marion. "The metamorphosis was very TEN -ARTIST'S DREAM- 137 poetical, I grant. But, in the event I did not pass through the same, I should certainly fall seventy feet to the bottom of this ugly pit; which would be even more terrible than being enveloped by the waters of the Ionian- Sea." After surveying the other curiosities of the Arcade, the party prepared to leave the cave. "Do you know that you are under the dining-room of the hotel?" asked the guide, as they entered the "Ro- tunda." "'Mercy, no!" cried Augusta. "Let us get out as soon as possible. It must be nearly tea-time, and if this roof should give way, the tables and crockery would fall on our heads, to say nothing of the house and people." "First, I propose that we shall lay the foundation of Matte Monument," with the hope that it riray soon be the height of 'Nicholas's Monument,' in 'Wrighti Ro- tunda,' " said Captain Ryland, picking up a stone and talding it to another part of the Rotunda. His com- panions followed his example, amid the bows and smiles of the guide. Arthur proposed that at some future time, they should make an effort to go over all the ground that had been explored. "-What, one hundred miles!" exclaimned his sister. The guide remarked that discoveries were constantly t being made, and that many of the avenues had never been visited by tourists. on reaching the outer world, they found the ground quite -damp, and some leaves of the post -oak,'that Ar- page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. thur pulled were covered with moisture. A gentleman informed them that soon after they entered the cave, the weather changed, and there had been a storm of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning,; adding, that of course they could have known nothing of it, as thun- der was never heard in the cave. The next morning they mounted into an ambulance, and afterl jolting and tumbling about for three miles, over a break-neck road, alighted at a logcabin. They sat down on benches that were placed around the walks, until the guide should arrange the camps, and then de- scend a short flight of wooden steps. The avenues were so narrow as to compel them to walk in single file on the plank floor. Captain Ryland threatened to turn gipsy, and carry off the -Dressed Chicken," that hung so tempt- ingly from the ceiling. Unlike the lammmth, Proctor's Cave is exceedingly damp, but the visitors felt repaid for the discomforts they endured, by-the sight of the great variety of (stalactite and stalagmite formations, that abound there, the number and grandeur of the domes, more particularly the "Curtain Dome," with its wonder- ful drapery and scrolls. "How delightful the sunshine is!" said Marion, as she breathed the outer air once more. "I confess to being thoroughly chilled." A fire was soon kindled in the front of the cabin, and all were glad to feel its warmth and brightness. They refreshed themselves with champagne, and admired the wild character of the scenery. h" THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 139 "If there were robbers here, they would find good hiding-place in this cavernous region," said the Cap- tain, as he e tered the ambulance. Eleanor's ihdisposition afforded her friends ample time for underground travel; and they made the trips to the smaller caves very leisurely. "There is nothing like early morning air, for the pre- servation of youth, health, and beauty," said Captain Ryland, as he saw Marion enter the hotel, fresh and blooming as Hebe, after her customary morning walk. "And that reminds one of the infinite variety of ex- quisite theories that nobody feels willing to render prac- tical." He made an engagement withi Marion and Augusta, to go with them the next morning, on an exploring expedi- tion. He rallied the former on her habit of early risig, saying that he supposed they would have to be up, 'Brushing with hasty steps the dew away,- To meet the sun upon the upland lawn."' "You need not be alarmed," she answered, laughing; "I have no intention of taking you out on an empty stomach." Arthur and Percy joined the party. The air was still and pleasant when they set out. The robins hopped 'from branch to branch, on their approach, as if seeking to hide themselves from their inquisitive eyes. The grass was looking quite springlike. All were good walkers, and roads, fields'and woods were traversed without much fatigue. At last Marion page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O THE ARTIST'S DREAM. ' proposed stopping at a house near by, to rest. It was not a pretty rustic retreat, half hidden by vines, suggest- ing thoughts of "love in a cottage;" but a rough, un- sightly dwelling. A knock at the door was answered by an old woman, whoseappearance accorded with the sur- roundings. Her dregs was disorderly, and on her head' was perched a white muslin cap, trimmed with lace and faded ribbons-a tawdry piece of finery evidently put on for the occasion. To the question, "Will you allow us to rest here, for a little while?" she readily replied, "To be sure I will, walk in." And she bustled about to pro- cure chairs. A log of wood blazed cheerily in the large, * old-fashioned fire-place; and a cat sat on the hearth, washing her face. On the whitewashed wall, hung a flaming picture of Jonah being swallowed by the whale, covered with cracked glass, and set in a frame of red wood. The dame inquired if her visitors "lived any- where in these parts?"When Augusta replied that they were staying a short time at the Cave Hotel, she raised her longhands, and ejaculated: "Goodness gracious! why, no wonder you are tired. That's several miles from here. May I ax where you got that stuff?". she continued, surveying Marion's styl- ish-looking dress, with admiring eyes. "It's the prettiest thing I've seen for many a day." "I purchased it in New York," was the reply. -"And pray where may that be? I s'pose you got your bonnet there. That's perty too, but nothen compared to the face that's in it. Sich eyes I never seen in a body's THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 141 head. They look for all the world like the finest kind of black beads. I see you wear plain colors, too," she said, looking at Augusta's fawn colored poplin. "Well, now, to my mind that's the mostinteelest. My darters wear are, over the river now staying a spell with their grand- mother's great niece, but when they are at home, I'm al- ways a-telling em to dress proper. Betsey Jane and Euphemia Araminty, says I, you may take my word for it, plain colors is sure sign of genteelness." Arthur changed the conversation, by asking after her health. "Health," she repeated, " why I've got no health. I've got a pain in my head, a pain in my face, apain in my neck, a pain in my shoulder, a pain in my chest, a pain in my stomach, and I haint well nohow." "A bundle of pains as usual,?' said her spouse,. who entered the room at this juncture. "Always a grumblen, grumblen, grumblen. Sich a dance as you've led me these thirty years." /t "Come, Jacob, you know we haint been married thirty years." "Thirty years," he repeated emphatically; "thirty years come Whitswtide." ' The visitors, anticipating a matrimonial squabble, rose Ito depart. As some as they were out of hearing, they burst into a peal of laughter. Augusta amused herself by making allusions to Marion's "black beads." "I think the old hag might have offered us some re- I S page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. freshinents," she said after a pause. "I confess to being reay hungry. The sight of yonder pond, puts me n a mood for angling. If there was an Iceland geyser here, we might cook some fish." The wind, which had been gradually rising, blew a per- fect hurricane before they reached home. It was no re- specter of persons, for it dashed dust into the faces of ^ the ladies, and took unpardonable liberties with their at- tire. They held down their veils, while they secretly wished the inventor of hoop skirts at the botom of the Black Sea. The gentlemen's coat tails flapped, and their hats rolled on the ground, while they ran like school- boys in pursuit. Some chickens, which were unfortu- nate enough to be out, were like little balls of down at the mercy of the wind. Even the grown-up members of the feathered tribe sometimes lost their footing. "I am glad you have come," said DMs. St. Clair, as the walking party joined her in the parlor; "I was apprehensive you might be blown away." "And not without reason," returned Augusta. "But fortunately we are made of substantial flesh and blood, so here we are." I "I suppose I ought to apologize for presenting this dandelion," said Percy, approaMching her. "I picked it up just before we came into the house. It is the first I have seen. I have great regard for the dandelion. It is al- most the first flower that comes to cheer us after the long winter." "Thank you," said Augusta. "My poor little dan- THE ARTIST'S DRF:AU 143 D delion," she continued, as she placed it in a glass of water. "'Much abused flower, Thou art brought to me With an apology. A gentlemran gives thee with the reason That thou art thefirst of the season. But so it need not be, For I would fain See thy little form so plain; It, makes me think of days gone by When I played without a sigh- - Of the time, When flowers of thy kind I used to fiid, And make the stems Into curling ings, Over my ears to fling. Do not fear, Never to thee Will I so cruel be; But carefully I will tend thee day and n!ght, Till thou fadest from my sight. "Now, after that brilliant effusion, none of you cma find it in your hearts to say I am no poetess. In truth," she added, laying aside her bantering tone, "the dande- lion often reminds me of myself; it is so homely and in- significant. What pleasure can people take in riding in this storm. Caught out, I presume, as we were. What magnificent horses! The lady sits gracefully on her sad- dle, and her habit of black cloth is extremely becoming. They are comng here," she said, returning from the win- s . * page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] ,4 THEE ARTIST'S DREAM. dow as she spoke. In a-few minutes, Mr. and: Miss Cav- endish were announced. Keturah was the eldest daughter of Dr. Cavendish-a tall dignified girl of eighteen years. She was like Ken- tucky ladies in general, a fine equestrian. Indeed horse- 'manship was one of her father's hobbies. He was a portly, fine looking man; who, if report was true, had been as handsome in his youth as Abdallah, whose personal and mental attractions had caused two hundred virgins of the tribe of Koreish to die of broken hearts on the night of his bridal. 1His children, nine in number, (a pair of steps as he called them,) were robust and active. The -sons had been taught to ride as soon asthey could stride a horse, and Howard, cwho was at Yale, astonished even the students by his wild exploits. The girls were brought up on the equestrian system also, though not so strictly as the boys. Margaret, the second daughter, better known as Madge Wildfire, was quite celebrated for her feats in this department. She galloped over thb country with her elf locks flying in the wind, and sometimes joined in the chase with her father andbrothers. The manage- ment of her favorite steed Bucephalus, was admirable. He was a noble, high-spirited animal, and did not always feel i. the humor to' brook restraint. Then a contest was sure to ensue, in which Madge always came off vic- torious. She made him bear his head proudly, advance, go back, turn on either hand, pace, trot, and gallop to perfection. When the Doctor wished to impress the importance ) , 2 TH E XRTIST'S DREAM. 145 of out-door exercise on the minds of any of his lady patients, he would point with pardonable pride, to his two eldest daughters, who he said were neither pale nor languid, and could walk and ride equal to the English ladies. Keturah reminded one of a fresh peach, and the blood seemed'ready to start from the clear dark skin of Madge. Sometimes a gleam of wildness shone in the misty depths of her dark eyes, and her laugh sounded like the carol of a bird. Think oflMadge in tight stays, and breathing the suffocating atmosphere of a crowded ball-room! Her balls were held on the ice. While her sisters tumbled down and received the gallantries of the gentlemen, she, stood erect and firm. Indeed she was the most expert skater in all the country, " striking out boldly with the left foot," and skimming the ice like a graceful bird. Madge was Nature's playmate, a " child of the forest! strong and free." She bounded like a gazelle over the woodlands, gathering hyacinths, polyan- thus, half-blown lilies, and all the fairy treasures of spring, to lay at her mother's feet. She bent over the brooks to pluck the first wild flowers that grew on the margin; though she did not, Narcissus like, fall in love with the image reflected there. She loved all the dogs as well as the horses on her father's place, and often patted the sleek sides of the cows, as the dairy-maid milked them. At fifteen she was still skipping the rope, and revelling in her wild freedom. Her mother often said that she ex- pected to see her brought home some day with a broken leg or neck. Mrs. Cavendish did not altogether approve 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 - THE ARTIST'S DREAM. of the training of her children, but owing to ill-health, she did not see a great deal of them. She was silent and reserved, and had an odd way of dozing early in the evening-a habit which, her husband asserted, could be overcome by following the example of the Lord Chancel- lor of England, and binding wet towels around her head. When Keturah and Ellersley returned from the hotel, they found their parents in the study; Mrs. Cavendish askedif they had a pleasant visit. "Very," replied Ke- turah." "How strikingly handsome Miss Lee is!" ex- claimed her brother. "She has the most expressive eyes and mouth I ever saw, and such a complexion! Do you know, sir, to which one of the young ladies Mr. Sey- mour is engaged?" he added, turning abruptly to his father, who was leaning back, pen in hand. "Really, I never inquired," said the Doctor, indiffer- ently, and resumed his writing. It was plain that no in- formation was to be gained in that quarter, and Ellersley turned on his heel, thinking that his father looked very much as if he had swallowed a box of his own pills. From a remark dropped by Captain Ryland, he had in- ferred that Percy was engaged to one of the ladies of his own party, and somehow he found himself hoping that it was not Marion. T12HE BARTIST'S DREAM. 147 , \ CHAPTER XIX. This sweet intercourse Of looks and smiles. J HLTON. gA T iTiT I read, write, or what shall I do for you, Eleanor,"' aid Marion, after dinner. "My even- ing is at your disposal." "I should like some music, if you please. Playsthe Carnival of Venice." Marion seated herself at the piano; which the gentle- manly proprietor had allowed to be taken to the room. Eleanor was better than she had been since her accident, and Dr. Cavendish had promised that she might go into the parlor, in a day or two, and lie upon the sofa. Marion played until Augusta rose, and said it was bed- time. "First join me in a duet. My soul is full of music, and now, good night." Not wishing to alarm her mother, Eleanor had re- quested that she should not be apprised of her situation. It was hoped, that she would be able to travel in a short time. Mrs. St. Clair bore her disappointment in having to remain at the Cave Hotel quite philosophically, feeling, t page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. no doubt, that she was partially to blame for what had occurred. lMarion and Augusta were cheerful and kind; and Percy was untiring in his devotion to his betrothed. He had been an, orphan since childhood; and, like many persons in the same situation, had been very much cut off from the society of his relatives. Perhaps it was for that very reason, that his love for Eleanor was deeper, that it became an all-absorbing passion. He sat hour after hour, by her side, conversing with, or reading to her. Sometimes they enjoyed long intervals of silence-silence so full of thought and feeling. -"Leaning face to face, With sweet half listenings for each other's breath." "It is so selfish, to keep you here," she said to him, one day. "(It is my pleasure, to be here," he replied!"If itwere not for your sufferings, I should be very happy, for I see you alone much oftener than I could do under other-cir- cumstances." "It must be very dull for the others. I am so sorry to have been the cause of their staying here." "They are a secondary consideration," said Percy, "You are the one to be pitied." "Oh, don't, lMr. Seymour," cried Eleanor, with sudden energy. "I never could bear to be pitied." "Don't mister me, Eleanor." "What shall I say, then? 5My Percy, my own," she said, after a pause, will that do?" There was no, answer, and none was needed, for there THE ARTIST S DREAM. 141 is often much more eloquent discourse in a glance, thal in an homily of an hour's length. "How changeable this climate is,' said Eleanor. "Yesterday the weather was quite mild. To-day it ii cold and dreary." "I feel no cold, no dreariness when I am with you. I only know that it would be sweet to live, to labor, to mak( sacrifices for your sake. I used sometimes to fear, thai I would have to pass through life alone; and now, at ith very- threshold, your love has been vouchsafed to me You will share life's joys with me. You will help me tc bear its sorrows, and to live as a Christian shoult. Givc me your hand, it is mine now," he said, touching his lip, to the soft, white flesh - "Oh, love me, Eleanor, love me, darling! "Love me, sweet, with all thou art, Feeling, thinking,. seeing,-- Love me in the lightest part, Love me in full being. "Love me with thine open youth In its frank surrender; With the vowing of thy mouth, With its silence tender. "Love me with thy voice that turns Sudden faint above me; Love me with thy blush that burns When I murmur Love me!" "A man's Requirements!" said Eleanor, smiling. "In return, I will give you woman's purest, deepest, holiest love. page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 e THE ARTIST'S DRBEAM. ' I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight, For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a lovejI seem to lose With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life!-and if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." S" [ THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 1p CTTA PTEI XX. Not in life's early morn, shien all is fair and bright,- When no cloud hath crossed its sky, And obscured the brilliant light ;- Not then can wedded life be proved:- But in the calmer silver age, When trials are patiently borne, And deeper thoughts the mind engage. The love-tuned lute is touched again, And plays softer, sweeter lays- Sadder, perhaps-but not less dear, Than those that were heard in the early days. The nuptial torch gives a steadier flame, More sacred seems the marriage tie- Hand clasps hand in a warmer embrace, Then fill your flashing goblets high.- God bless them! INVITATIONS for Thursday evening, from Dr. and Mrs. Cavendish, to a silver wedding," said Mrs. St. Clair, as she handed cards to Augusta and Marion, who were deep in a game of chess. "Will you accept?" "By all means," replied Augusta. "The very words silver wedding savor of romance." "I should thinkl the romance of wedded life would be over, after five-and-twenty years," was the reply. Thursday was a true April day--a mixture of smiles and tears. In the evening Marion walked in Eleanor's room, and seated himself by the sofa. page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "Are you not going to the wedding, Miss Marion?" asked Percy, who had been with Eleanor for the last hour. "No!"Eleanor remonstrated.,. No one must thinkl of staying on her account. She was doing very well, and it would be so pleasant, at the doctor's. "Very pleasant, I have no doubt," replied Marion, "but I prefer spending the evening with you. Will you not trust her to me?" she added, turning to Percy. Be- fore he could answer, Augusta hastily opened the door, and exclaimed, "Good-bye, Eleanor. Do come, Mr. Seymour, they are all waiting at the coach." With a hurried bow, he left the room, talcing his hat from a table, as he walked through the open passway. He seated himself opposite Mrs. St. Clair and Augusta, in the hotel coach, which had been engaged for the oc- casion. After a drive of nearly two hours, they arrived at the residence of Dr. Cavendish-a large, substantial brick house, situated on "A gentle hill, Green, and of mild declivity." No lofty trees " in circular array," crowned the height. But the chestnut, the oak, the black-jack, the walnut, and that most graceful of all trees, the elm, grew at ir- regular distances. Our party was the first arrival. As1 Mrs. St. Clair and Augusta aseended the stairs to the dressing room,-a little girl peeped through the balus- THiE ARTIST'S DRIAMf.- trade, crying, "I say,- nursy, I shanty go in. Iwar see the ladies." There was a suppressed giggle; and three-year old baby was pulled into the nursery. ladies soon entered-t-- parlor; and after the dev were made to the host and hostess, Augusta commen a flirtation with Ellersby Cavendish. The doctor , covered that-he and Arthur had mutual friends in 1 York. "How is young Linwood," he asked; "I must e take an interest in his welfare." Arthur replied that he graduated at the Universiy t year before, and that his thesis was the admiration all the professors. He was still attending the lectur, and' improving himself in everypossible way. "That is more sensible than rushing into .practic and putting people into their graves, when they ought l be kept out of them," said the doctor, warmly,. "H father was a classmate of mine, and a young man splendid talents. I admire him greatly. He is 'a pr found pathologist, a born physician. Is he still in part ership with Doctor?" "I believe he is." "No two men ever differed more widely in individua character. It must be a strange bond which unitek them?" Had the doctor never heard of the almighty bond oJ dollars and cents I "I wonder," he continued musingly, " that Linwood did not dissolve the partnership long ago." "It would not have been to his interest to do so," said page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] -164 THE ARTISr'S DREAM. Arthur, if what-I have understood is correct,-that the reputation of physicians is dependent upon the opinion of their professional brethren." A little girl, appa- rently five years of age, and a boy several years older approached, at this moment; and presented a wreath, composed of twenty-five white roses twined with myr- tle. The doctor introduced them by saying, "'this is our little Empress Eugenie, and this one our son Dick." Arthur admired the fair-haired Eugenie; and drew the little boy to his side. "So your name is Richard," he said. "There's no Richard about it," replied the boy. "My name is Dick, only Dick." "Oh, Dic, then;-well Dick, do you go to school?" Dick's eys sparkled as he said, "No sir, Mr. Lazeroy our teacher, has gone away." 1"There is a story connected with that," said the doc- tor, laughing, "And why did Mr. Lazeroy go away?" Dick needed no further encouragement to tell his story. "I was called on to recite my Latin lesson, and made a dead stop at the past participle of offero. Mr. Lazeroy told me to go on. I said I couldn't; so, I was put upon the dunce's stool, with a paper cap on my head. I was dreadfully mortified, and so scared that I couldn't study. When the scholars were dismissed, I was locked up in the school-room, to study until bed-time. Harry was locked up too. He had been chewing pieces of paper and spitting them on the ceiling; and pulling Madge Wild- fire's hair. The school-room is off by itself, in the back/ t. * .. THE ARTISTS DREAM., 165 yard. A tub had been -placed under the spout to catch the water, for the rain was coming down in pitchforks. About nine o'clock, we heard a tremendous splash, and somebody crying out, 'Oh, mercy!' Harry and I ran to the 'window, but the night was so dark we could see nothing. "Oh, Dick," said Harry, trying to smother his laugh- ter, "I do expect it is the whale floundering in- the tub (we always called Mr. Lazeroy the whale, when we got angry with him)--and sure enough it was. He- was com- ing to let us out, and could not see the tub on account of the darkness, and so tumbled in. He got out and crept into the house; but suffered for days, with contusion of the head. He would never believe that Harry and I did not plan the whole thing; and he left the house, vowing he would not teach such refractory urchins. Ever since he went we have had such a good time." "And such a good time you will not have much- long- er," said his father; "I am on the- lookout for a teacher, who will put you and Master Harry into strait jackets, when you play your mad pranks; and who will give you something to do besides learning a little Latin, and writing silly rhymes--love and dove, bright and light,"-- "and fight," chimed in Dick, who was rather belligerent. The children were privileged-this evening. Even the baby of the house-the little girl, who had peeped at the ladies, was brought into the parlor for a few minutes. The doctor's attention was called to fresh guests. Ar- thur took an album from a table near him, and was soon attracted by the photograph of a little girl, in a kneeling * ," ; - \ page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. posture. iter face was buried in her hands, and her long hair covered her slight form like a veil. Arthur in- quired of Madge, who was standing near him, if it was a fancy picture. "C No," she replied, " it is my sister Eugenie. She had never seen a likeness taken of any one, and when we took her to the photograph gallery, she fell upon her knees, as she alwas does, when frightened. . The artist was so delighted with the attitude, that he took her like- ness forthwith." "I see you have a pretty dog here," said Arthur, look- ing at another photograph. "That is my Italian grey- hound-the most graceful little creature in the world. By holding a piece of sponge cake before him, as a bribe, I induced him to sit upon a cushion long enough to serve the photographist's purpose. Here is my horse Buce- phalus," she added, turning the leaf. "Is he not superb?" "He is indeed a splendid animal," returned Arthur, but, I notice, he is without his rider." "Oh, she would spoil the effect," said Madge, modest- ly. Arthur thought not, as he looked at her graceful figure, her beautiful features, and expressive countenance. She accepted his invitation to promenade in the hall, which was more pleasant than the crowded rooms. As they passed out, Arthur noticed that the wreath of white roses (the gift of Eugenie and Dick,) occupied a promi- nent place, among the presents. It was placed in a rich cut glass dish filled with water. Hany of the wedding offerings might be more valuable, but not more beautiful tha t olse simple flowers. THE ARTIST'S DERY. ta "How beautiful!" exclaimed Arthur, stopping before a portrait of Charlotte Corday. It seems to live, to breathe, and the- smile is almost divine. That -must have- been thesmile with which she went to her execution." "Papa calls her the lovely enthusiast," said Madge, "What do you think of her crime?" asked Arthur.- "It was dreadful." "'But did she not rid France of a cruel monster-?" he questioned, anxious to draw her out. "And was not the deed a fortunate one for Marat himself? His folly and madness would no longer have been tolerated by the party who were concentrating themselves to form a new government; and the blow came just in time to make him a martyr, and a saint. It not only gave the Jaco- bins an opportunity of making an. imposing funeral dis- play, and of exciting the passions of the people, but it afforded the only pretext that was wanting, to send the detained deputies to the guillotine." "That is all very true," returned Madge; "but I can " {(. not think Charlotte Corday justified in committing the murder." "You are right!" exclaimedArthur, earnestly. "' Ven- geance is mine, I will repay,' saith the Lord God." "I have sometimes wondered that Marat should have been the chosen victim. Robespierre and Danton were equally conspicuous, and if possible more obnoxious." "Robespierre!" ejaculated Arthur. "Why, he was the most honest man the Revolution ever produced." "Honest!" repeated his companion. \ . * page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 THE ARTIST'S DREBAM. "Yes; he was not worth a sou, when he died," said Arthur, with much gravity. "Honest seems to have been a cant word, in ancient, as well as in modern times," said Madge, with a hearty laugh. "Marat was more dreaded by the provinces, than either Danton or Robespierre," said Arthur, " and there was another reason why he should have been selected as the victim. He had, several years before, instigated the death of Belzunce, a young officer, to whom Charlotte Corday is said to have been attached." "Sister Madge has been drawing her!" exclaimed the little empress, pointing to the portrait. "Will you not let me see the drawing?" said Arthur, turning to Madge. ! "It is only a sketch of the head in crayon," she re- plied. It was produced, and Arthur examined it attentively. "Will you permit me to point out one or two defects?" "Certainly. I would be glad to have you criticise it." He did not spare her. With all the frankness and kindness of an elder brother, he spoke of the faults. He saw that she possessed some talent, and wished to direct it rightly. He gave her much useful information, and spoke with keen appreciation of the beauties of Art. When he had ceased, she asked his opinion concerning a frame for the sketch. "I had thought of a black walnut one," she said. "It would be very suitable, but I do not think you THE ARTIST'S DREAM 159 would be satisfied without a passe-partout. That would give it the necessary finish. Do you paint?" "A little. I will show you a landscape in oil, which I completed a few days ago." While she went in search of it, Captain Ryland ap- proached, and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Is it possible you intend to devote the evening to that child?" he said. "There is a good deal of beauty here. Miss Atkinson is particularly handsome-the lady in straw-colored silk, with full voluptuous lips, and large almond-shaped eyes, which seem to have concentrated the. rays of the sun. Their glances will soon magnetize you." Arthur looked at the lady in question. "Her dress is very decolletee," continued the Captain, "partially revealing the most exquisite bust I ever saw. Come with me, and be introduced.. Perhaps she will recline her head as affectionately on your shoulder, in the dance, as she did on mine, a little while ago." Madge reappeared. "What a fine old tree you have here!" said Arthur, taking her picture, and placing it in a good light. "Did you sketch it from nature?" "Yes, it is a favorite elm, which stands near our house." "You have made free use of umber on the trunk, I see. This is a lovely little oriole sitting on its hanging nest. I have a special admiration for fine trees. A few months ago, I saw an immense mountain ash, which I 10. page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] A60 THE ARTIST'S DREAM, Sketched. It was beautiful, with its pinnated leaves, and bunches of red berries, which looked like so many rubies. Your sky," he added, turning again to the painting, is quite brilliant with lake." "It was at first so cold with ultramarine, and white fleecy clouds, that I thought it best to give it some warmer tints." "The cascade is very pretty," said Arthur. "The natural one is exceedingly so. How often have I seen rainbows in it, as beautiful hs those in the heavens." , Artificial rainbows are easily made, I believe. I have heard- that colored bows are sometimes formed on the grass, by the refraction of the sun's rays in the morning dew." "I suppose, like artists generally, you consider water an essential element in a landscape?" "Yes, I do not: think any scenery complete without it;." "There is the loveliest little brook on our place," said Madge, " situated in the most sequestered spot imagin- able. It leaps, and runs, and sings in its hidden nook, secret as the nest of Robin Redbreast.' In the sunlight, it looks like a great diamond, in an emerald setting. I wish so much you would go with me some day to see "I will do so with the greatest pleasure," he replied, and could but think that every one, even the sneering, satirical Captain, must be refreshed by her native ingenu- outness. THE ABCTSTI DRE- A81 "I wonder how the ur seasons, would appear on oa e piece of canvas?" I "They would certainly present very striking con- - trasts," said Arthur, smnlin g at her queer idea. "Which "of the seasons do you like best?" "I hardly know. Whether the Spring, when the spirit of life breathes on the woods, and the saprises to the branches, and the wild flowers seem almost to spring under the feet-or Summer, when one can recline on verdant slopes and listen to the bubbling of waters and the whispering of the trees, and when the wild bird flings back its song from the neighboring boughs--or the gorgeous Autumn days-or Winter, when the ice-king wields his sceptre; I believe, however, I must-give the preference to the latter. Sleigh-riding and ska ting are so delightful; and it is so pleasant to sit by a glowing fire, during the long evenings, and crack walnuts and hickory nuts! You must have splendid skating at Cen- tral Park." "It is very fine. There are often many thousands on the ice at the same time'." "I should so like to go there I! I presume the parks in the city are very inferior to it?" "Yes; but they answer the purpose for which they were designed. One can breathe freely in them. They are to New York, what the eminent Dr. Abernethyli said the parks of London were to that city--'the lungs of the metropolis.' I should think every denizen of the crowded city would long to get to the country, to breathe S. page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. the pure, fresh air: to see the ground carpeted with grass, and the beautiful flowers sparkling with morning dew; to watch' the glories of rising and setting suns;' to feast the eye with magnificent mountain scenery; or to listen to the solemn roar of the sea?" , Which is your favorite season?" asked Madge. "That question I can best answer in the sweet words of Coleridge: Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee- Whether the summer clothe the genial earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the turfs of snow in the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the night-thatch Smokes inthe sun-thaw ;--whether the eave-drops fall, Heard only in the truces of the blast: Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles. Quietly shining to the quiet moon.'X "Do you spend much of your time in drawing?" "No; they tell me at home, that I cannot stay still long enough. I am particularly fond of active pursuits; though I suppose I ought to read a good deal now, as I am not going to school. It is not well to read novels, is it, Mr. Lee?" "Not at your age," he replied. "If you read fiction, it should be well selected." Will you mark out a course of reading for me, before you return to New York?" "Will :you permit me to do so?" he said, surprised, though evidently pleased at the question. THE ARTIST'S DREA 163 Their pleasant tete-a-t6te was broken up by Mrs. Cav-' endish, who wished to introduce Arthur to some of her guests; and'he was forced to play the agreeable to ladies, whose remarks were cut and dried, and whose acts aard gestures were smoothed down, to accord with the pol- ished usages of society. He grew weary, and would gladly have turned to the wild child of nature. ' As usual, everybody fell in love with Percy's voice. Ellersley heard some one say that it-was music itself; and , he thought that few ladies would be able to resist-nts pleadings. He was much disappointed at Marion's ab- sence. Augusta had been, tirting with him, and he resolved to make her useful to himself in turn. It seemed to him, that she could not be Percy Seymour's choice. Like many other people, he often jumped at conclusions, which indeed sometimes, serves instead of sober reasoning. With assumed indifference, he made a diplomatic plunge. "How is the fair fiancee this evening?" Not understanding the drift of the question, Augusta readily played into his hands. "She is better, thank you. I believe your father is now quite sanguine as to her recovery." That was enough. Ellersley asked, with his usual vivacity, if she were pretty. "Very. She isther pale, if you admire that style. There-is a general appearance of whiteness and delicacy about he&, which I think very attractive." "I had hoped to see Miss Lee here, to-night," he said, after a pause. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 THE ARTIST'S DRBTf. "She concluded to remain with Miss Marshall, whom we never leave entirely alone,", replied Augusta. "Will you let me have your telescope a while, El- lersley?" asked Harry. "You will not want it this eve- ningo. "Do you devote your evenings to star-gazing, Mr. Cavendish?" "I spend much of my time in the observatory," he re- plied. "Do you not like the study of astronomy?" "I know very little about- it. Is it so very interest- ing?" "Intensely so," he said, with great animation. "Think of the stars coming in the stillness and darkness of night, and their annual revolution in the heavens. It is) a pleasant thought, that at the same time with ourselves, they may be seen by our friends, in different parts of the world. They were seen by those who lived before us; and they will be seen by those who are to succeed us. They are, as it were, an enduring bond of friendship. Earthly things will pass away, but they will last forever. In their contemplation, we sometimes fancy them beau- tiful windows, through which we can look into heaven itself, Then comes the thought, Are they indeed worlds, inha bited by beings like ourselves? or are they fixed orbs shedding light and splendor? Astronomy is a subject worthy of the loftiest mind. It elevates moral senti- ment and religious feeling. It is at once noble, beauti- ful and grand. Oh glorious, oh celestial science!" A general movement was made to the supper-room. I THE ARTIST'S DREAM. I.1 Amidst the clashing of glasses, and drinking of healths, a large Newfoundland sprang upon the table, to the imminent destruction of china and glass-ware. He up. set a pyramid of silver cake, and in his efforts to escape from the confusion he had created, his forepaws were lodged in a dish of charlotte russe; while the rear ones, in conjunction with his tail, threw over a large bowl of cream, the contents of which whre poured on the un- lucky animal. He seemed as much confounded as his betters, at what had occurred; and at the words, "Down Leaper," from Harry, he jumped on the floor, and walked, with downcast eyes. out of the room, tracking the carpet as he went. i That's papa's dog Leaper," said Dick, by way of ex- planation to a lady, who was standing near him.. "He makes the most wonderful leaps you ever saw;" (an as- sertion she could readily believe, after such ocular dem- onstration.) "No doubt, he heard the noise, and fol- lowed the servants in the house, and the sight of those high pyramids excited his ambition." After supper, Percy asked Eugenie, with much gravity, if he should have the honor of dancing with her majesty? She declined, confessing herself sleepy, and not very well. "I was vaccinated the other day," she said, ( and have felt badly ever since. Papa vaccinates a great many people, but he don't have such a time as Dr. Jenner did." . "How was that?" asked Percy, curious to hear her answer. page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 L THE ARTIST'SI DREAM. ", Why, when Dr. Jenner discovered vaccination, to be a preventive of small-pox, and published' a book on the subject, he was laughed at f It was said that he put diseased matter, from the cow's udder, into people's? arms, and that they became ox-faced, and had breakings out, which looked" like sprouting horns, and that their voices sounded like the bellowing of bulls. Even the ministers got up in the pulpits, and declared that vaccin- ation was ' diabolical,' which means, I suppose, that it was like sold Satan. At last some ladies of rank had their children vaccinated. The physicians quit- abusing Dr. Jenner, and some even tried to steal from him the credit of his great discovery. Now, I call that bad treat- ment," concluded the little empress, rubbing her e s. "Who told you all that?" "I heard papa talking about it. But I must go now, and attend to my -dollies before I go to bed. Would you like to see them?" "Very much, if. you will let me," said Percy, following her into an ell room, where he saw the very perfection of a play-house. Tables, sofas, and chairs, adorned it, and the carpet was bright and pretty. There were little shades to the windows, and muslin curtains were suspended from the gilded cornices. The walls were hung with tiny pictures in neat gilt frames of the "Babes in the Wood " and "Little Bed Riding-hood." In one corner was a French bedstead. The covering was of snowy whiteness; and the pillow slips were beautifully embroidered with a vine around the edges, and centre pieces of grapes and leaves. A lounge had been wheeled before the mimic 7 * '.'-TEE 'JJS....D.. :': i:::i6! . Xi:: grate, aS if one of the little ladies had been taking -an . 1 afternoon'nap. The bureau was ornamented with a pin- - cushion of white satin, with perfumery bottles, and all the paraphernalia of a lady's toilette. The drawers were filled with fancy articles of costume, and prettily made dresses ? A hung in the wardrobe. "This is surely the palace of the fairies," enxlaimed X Percy, in genuine astonishment.' "Where did you get it?" "Papa gave it to me last' Christmas. The dolls and their clothes were given to me at different times, by my aunts and cousins. Come, now, Mr. Casa Biancea, it'sI time you were in bed," she said, taking up a doll in maleI attire. "Casa Bianca! How came he by that name?" "Did you never hear' The boy stood on the burning " deck.'" "What would you have done in his situation?" asked Percy i "I think," she replied with frankness, "that I should have left the ship." "Your pupils are remarkably studious," said Percy, glancing at some jointed dolls sitting with books in their hands, made of pieces of paper tacked together. "Yes, they have been at school since early in the X? morning. I should think it would be so,nice to go to school. I have begged papa to send me. He -says I am too young-' but she added, thoughtfully, "I can go when X I am married." p, . ( - "You will have other duties to perform," said Percy, - much diverted. ( . " '"w . (. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "Well, then, I will go when I am engaged. I wonder if all the ladies who are engaged, have the gentlemen's arms around their waists, and look as pleased as Miss Ophelia in the play? Oh, my poor babies!" she ex- claimed, as she accidentally upset a box containing dolls with broken arms, legs and necks. "The babies are in rather a dilapidated condition," said Percy. "Yes," returned Eugenie, hastily putting away her broken treasures, and feeling mortified that he should have seen them. "Good-night dollies, good-night sir," she said, turning to Percy. "I am going to bed now." When she reached the nursery door she stumbled over a pet cat which had fallen asleep there. Poor pussy, I did not mean to hurt you!" she said, stroking its back until it purred with joy. It followed her into the room, and stationed itself in front of the grate. "I have been waiting ever so long to put you to bed, Miss Eugenie," said Frances; "how sleepy and tired you must be!" She undressed her, and confined the beautiful golden hair under a cap. "Now sit there while I take off your shoes and stockings," she continued, placing a chair by the fire. She removed the pretty little boots, unbuckled the garters, and had partially drawn off one stocking, when there was a knock at the door. She rose instantly- and opened it; and pussy, who had watched her opera- tions very demurely, took the toe of the stocking be- tween his teeth, and drew it entirely off. "Well, if ever - ' W: THE 'IST-'S"DBEM. ' I ;i: anybody saw the like!"exclaimed Francis, returning to= :: the fire, a cat turning to be a nursery maid Such a 1ilg btobe su e, nightasthiistobesure. There'sLeaper, who,instead ;t of being asleep in his kennel, like a respectable dog, has been disgracing himself a-hoppingollthe supper-table.' She put Eugenie into her cot, and tucked her in, telling Xher that she looked as c snug as a bug in a rug." When Percy made his way back to the parlor, he en- evening, but had broken down after the firsjt qU:le, and was still resting in an easy-chair. Keturah and Arthur were chatting cozly on a sofa, while the waltzers whirled rapidly past them.. H" eow cn you resist excaimed phia t- is so delightful." "Do you waltz, Miss Cavendish?" asked Arthur, '"No," she replied, coring slightly; "that is, I never waltz with gentlemen; and the conversation which had been so unseasonably interrupted, was continued. "We must have the oldfashioned country dance," said the doctor, coming out of the supper room. "It will make me feel young again." At the sound"of the music, all rose -to thei feet. Even Mrs. Cavendish joined with some spirit in the dance. Up and down they went. arry jerked up the shovel for a partner, while Dick followed with the tongs, 8 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 -THE BaTIST' DRAAM. i C-HAPTER 7XT. Gipsy doff thy pretty hat, Tell good fortunes only: Search with mystic eyes the future, Say that hearts will ne'er be lonely. CONFOUND this place!" exclaimed Captain Ry- land, sauntering out of the dining-room with Ar- thur, a few days after the silver wedding. "There is nothing to be seen here." . "There is a great deal to be seen in the caves. I think I shall go again to-morrow to the Diamond Cave," said Ar- thur. "For my part I am tired of the lower regions, and shall take in sheer despair to blowing soap bubbles." "You remind me of a grown-up child, Ryland." "Soap bubbles are not to be despised, my friend," said, the Captain, goodhumoredly. "They suggested to Dr. Young his beautiful theory of interferences, and led to his discovery relating to the diffraction of light." "I suppose you expect to enlighten the scientific world by further discoveries." "Of course; but come first and take some old port." They entered the bar-room, but before an order for wine could be given, p parrot that was swinging herself in a cage by the window, screamed out lustily, "Brandy- 't"i THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 17 strong "g a trick which she was in the habit of playing on the gentlemen who frequented the bar. "How pro- vokingly happy Seymour always looks!" said Captain Ry- land to his companion as- they walked into the open pas- sage, "I should think the sight of his lady love on the sofa would effectually cure his passion." "A recumbent posture is not the most graceful in the world, certainly," replied Arthur; but surely no man with proper feeling would love a lady less because she suffers." "Sentimental stuff!" mentally ejaculated the Captain. Just then' Percy descended the stairs, and handed a note to a seryant;with directions to give it to Miss Mar-' shall. "No doubt," exclaimed Captain Ryland,. The lines are filled with many a tender thing, All the impassioned heart's fond communing.'" "Really, Ryland you are too bad!'" said Arthur. Percy took no notice of the remark, but ascended the staircase and shut himself in his own apartment. "A lovers' quarrel, perhaps. I had not thought of that before. I quite envy them the pleasure of making it up," said Captain Ryland, ironically. "Their names may be written on the trees and rocks, and on the walls," looking round as he spoke, "as were those of Angelica and Medoro," in and around the cottage where they spent their honey-moon." "Will you have your fortunes told, gentlemen?" They turned and saw a young female standing on the steps, with clear olive skin and sparkling eyes. . A straw page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 THE ABTST'S DREAM hat was set jauntily on her head, and her long black hair hung negligently over her. scarlet cloak. Now for some fun! thought the Captain. He approached 'her hur- riedly, and whispered a few words in her ear, while Arthur went to meet Ellersley Cavendish, who was rid- ing towards the house. In a few minutes they entered the porch and passed on to the parlor, without noticing the fortune-teller. She followed, however, telling Ellers- ley that she had good news for him about a certain lady, with eyes as black as jet, and whose complexion was a blending of the lily and the rose. Arthur dispatched a servant for the ladies, who soon made their appear- oance. "The madame's fortune is told,' said the woman, bow- ing to Mrs. St. Clair. Then turning to Marion and Au- Sgusta, she told them things which made them look at her in surprise. After telling some very flattering for- - tunes, she opened the door as if to depart; but turned back and shuffled her cards. "Are there not other ladies in the- house who would like their fortunes told?" she asked. "Perhaps she would amuse Eleanor," said Augusta to Mrs. St. Clair. "I will go and tell her she is here." The fortune-tel- ler, afraid of being refused, admittance, quickly followed. She told Eleanor that she would soon be well, and that her nuptials would speedily follow, with a gentleman with beautiful dark eyes, and the sweetest voice in the - world. i HS ARTIST'S DREAM. 173 "Here comes Mirs. Rossitur, with a bundle, of nos-. trums !" exclaimed Augusta, looking out of the window. "And who is Mrs. Rossitur ?" asked Eleanor. " Oh,-you will find out soon enough, my dear. She will be sure to ask for you. She inquired particilarly after your welfare the night of the silver wedding, and expressed: a great desire to see you. But I must go to the parlor." After greeting Mrs. Rossiur, she seated herself by Carion, exclaiming, "Such a fortune as Eleanor. had ! I wish you could have heard it.'" "Good or bad?" asked the Captain. " Good, of course." "It is wonderful, how correctly thatgrant guesses," he said; "She told me of things that I thought no one knew but myself." " I haven't a doubt of it," said Marion, with a meaning look. "What's all that you are talking about?" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, from the opposite side of the room. " A fortune-teller, did you say?" " Yes, one left here only a few moments since." " Oh, I wish I had dropped in a little earlier (Ellersby heartily wished that she had not dropped in at all). Do tell me everything she said, now do." When Mrs. Ros- situr was ushered into- Eleanor's presence, she over-< whelmed her with a torrent of questions. "How are you, my dear? I am charmed to see you. I should certainly have been over before, but the roads are, so page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 THE ARETIST' DRWAM , . dreadful. Sad accident you met with, my dear. I -was inexpressibly grieved to hear of it. What are you doing for yourself? Using proper and judicious remedies, I trust. Have you ever rubbed with frog ointment? and taken herb teas? They would cure you, I feel sate. I am afraid you are addicted to taking blue mass, or arse- nic, for your complexion. I can see every vein in your forehead. It's very pretty to have a clear skin, certainly; but you are as white as a lily. You ought to be getting up some color by this time." Eleanor felt as if an? avalanche had fallen upon her, and she was being borne down by the current. Mrs. St. Clair sat in dignified silence. Even Augusta could scarcely-edge in a word. As Irs. Rossitur left the ho- tel, Dr. Cavendish entered it. " Good afternoon, Miss Marshall," he said, sitting down and taking her wrist. "As I approached the -house, I felt some doubt as to whether I should find you alive. What quack panacea has been recommended, or &did she go farther,. and thrust it down your throat? That woman, he continued, bluntly, "is a nuisance to the community. She nearly killed a patient of mine, a short time ago, by her gossiping tongue. She is constantly meddling, and knows everybody's business better than they do themselves. When I recommend a gargle for the throat, she orders an outward application of Rad- way's Ready Relief." When I think a blister advisable, she says that a mustard plaster will do quite as well. She is the mischief-maker of the neighborhood, a walk- THE ARTIST ' DRpAM. r ing newspaper, or more properly speaking, the electric telegraph" The doctor seemed relieved after thus vent, ing his spleen, and asked Eleanor if she felt like exer- cising a little. She gladly assented, and he put his arm around her, to assist her to her feet. ; That will do," he said, after a few minutes. ("Better not attempt too much at once. Keep still, until I come to-morrow. You are doing remarkably well, and with prudence on your part will soon walk as well as ever. Now, I will tell you, that for a while, I entertained serious apprehensions regard- ing your hip." "So I understood from Mrs. St. Clair." "Did you? I did not mention it to you, because I was unwilling to render you unhappy on an uncertainty. You will soon be well enough to continue your journey. I am rejoiced for your sake. -.It ,must have been a great trial to you, to suffer here so long. You have borne it well." "You helped me to bear it," she replied. "Would you advise me to go under any kind of treatment when I got home?" "Treatment," he exclaimed. "No, indeed. Do you let doctors alone. They will only confuse your mind. One will- probably tell you that your hip joint is dislo- cated; another that your knee is at fault; a third theat your ankle is the source of all your troubles; .and a fourth that you have a combination of diseases Each will consider his dominion absolute, and expect you to submit, without a word, to his experiments. The course page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 THE ARTIST'S DBREAM. of 'drugging, and the surgical operations that will fol-' low, will soon ruin the constitution." What a doleful picture you have drawn,"' said Eleanor. "You need not look so incredulous, It would be no isolated case, I assure you. Hundreds of human be- ' ings are injured by similar means. You would be a spe- cial mark for mal-treatment, coming, as you do, under the head of what we doctors call idiosyncrasy. Physi-; cians do very well in their places; but many persons are much better off with out them, if they would only think so. Nature sometimes proves the most efficacious physician." "Are you not running down your own profession?" asked Eleanor. "No, I am only speaking the truth. My profession is one of the noblest on earth; but like all others, it has its empirics. I would advise you," he continued, "to use your limb gradually, until you regain your strength; then live as much as possible in the open air. You will find it a strong stimulant, a powerful life-giver. It is very important to discipline the mind, to keep its ma- chinery in proper motion, and to resist disease most vigorously. A cheerful, sanguine temperament is often the best prophylactic. Sir Thomas Bernard called anx- iety of mind the eighth deadly sin. The mind does in- deed exercise a most powerful influence over the body, and should be regarded with vigilance. The poet of health has said, M"'l is the great art of life to manage well The restless mind." TE ATIS'S DREAM. Z" "Mylecture is ended. Do you intend to profit by it?" "Oh, yes, if I rightly understand it. You mean that I must let all medical men alone, present company ex' cepted." "Present company included," he replied, half sur- prised, half amused. "If you should remain here any length of time, I would not attend you." - "Indeed?" " No." " "Why not?" "Because you would not require my services. When my patients get well enough to do without me, I make it a rule to discontinue my visits." "But I am not well enough to do without you yet." "No, not quite." "I presume, doctor, you will, now give me permission to eat anything and everything I like." "I shall give you permission to do no such thing," he said, decidedly. "Do you suppose that one kind of food makes as good chyme as another; and that if improper in its quality, the pylorus will readily allow it to pass into the intestines? A feeble person can scarcely be too careful in diet. What have you been eating lately-to- day, for instance?" "^ Coffee and hot muffins ateight. Fish and vegetables "Anything else?" " A dessert of boiled pudding and sauce." "Aboninable At this rate, you willn not gain our strength as rapidly as you should. You had better di g page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] [78 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. , card sweetmeats. Eat plenty of beef, mutton, and such food as will make good blood. Do you like meats?" - "No sir." "I hope you have not adopted Alcott's theory, and reject milk as well as animal food." "Alcott has at least practised what he preached." ,Yes; and that is more than some of mfiy fellow-men do." "Do you not admire some of his views?" "No; there is not enough of common sense in them. He would class you, with your blue eyes and fair corn- plexion, with the children of light, while I must be content to belong to darkness. I do not admire philosophy so A. futile and visionary. I am no Transcendentalist. Are you always so pale?" he asked, with interest. "I never had much color. When I get- strong, I be- lieve I will follow the example of a friend I have here. She walks several miles every day, and has the most :: beautiful color I ever saw." "Is it Miss Lee?". I "Yes." , . "I have noticed her," said the Doctor ." Such bril- liant coloN does not alway indicate health. The victims ' of severe chronic disease often possess it." Eleanor did not take much notice of the remark, at the time, but she often thought of it in after years. I "How is the little boy who you told tme was suffering j with anchylosis?" she asked. A "He has been very sick for some time. But he is so i young that I think there is much hope for him.'" TH. ET ARTISTS DREAM. tf "Oh, that one might always be young!" sighed Elea . nor. "Rather a premature wish for, seventeen," said the Doctor, passing his fingers through his luxuriant hair, which even at forty-five was without a silver thread. "Unfortunately, 'the elixir vitse;' has not yet been dlis- covered. One would hardly like to waste one's life in .! seeking for it, and then find, like Paracelsus of old, that it was only alcohol. Descartes thoughts not impossi- ble to find in medicine, the means of prolonging the life of man, and rendering him a wiser, a more useful and happy being. He believed that the human frame might be 'exempted from an infinity of maladies, both of body and mind, and even, perhaps from the decrepitude of old age, if one had sufficient lore of their causes, and of all the remedies which nature provides for theeA.' He declared his intention of devoting his whole life to the ; search of so important a science. The result of his ex- * perience is couched in the most expressive terms. ' In- stead,' he says, 'of finding the means to preserve life, I have found another good, more easy, and more sure, i which is-not to fear death.' I believe I feel age creep- : ing over me more as regards my memory, than in any . other way," continued the Doctor, "though indeed I cannot complain, as Seneca once did, of being-no longer able to repeat two thousand names, in the order they :i were read to him. I could never do that in my be'st : days." "If your memory is defective," .said Eleanor, "why '* -' ;,1::' page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 THE ARTI8T'S DREAM. not adopt Theodore Parker's plan, and have a chrono- logical chart hung in your room, and commit all the names and dates from Father Adam and' the year one, down to Nimrod, Ptolemy, etc." "I think I had better have a chart containing the va- rious symptoms of my patients. I was called, last sum- mer, to this very house, to see two chronin cases at once. I went from one to the other, listening attentively to their different symptoms, but could not tell which was which, until I saw them a second time. Are you work- ing for the fair, too?" he added, as Eleanor took a small needle-case from her basket, and began to put on the ribbons. "This is all I have done," she replied. "The ladies j 'here have made a number of articles, and I thought I would throw in my mite." J!I "How pretty it is!" said the Doctor, examining the ? needle-book. "The silk is the exact color of your eyes, as blue as the heavens. They are all monomaniacs on the subject of this fair, at my house. Even my wife, F7l whom I never wish to take a needle in hand, is busily A engaged." -. "Do you have fairs often?" - "Not very often. This one is for some benevolent ;i purpose, and is to be something of a novelty, I believe." "I should think it would be pleasant to attend," said Eleanor. "Yes, pleasant enough for those who like a crowd, and are willing'to suffer with headache the following day." When Doctor Cavendish reached home, he found the * .S. + s t :: ^- , ' ** - .1i, THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 18 house in great commotion. The three-year old baby was marching from room to room, beating a drum, and blowing a trumpet; acting the part of "Noisy Cecilia," in "Truelove's Tales." Her poor mother was on the couch, suffering with a violent headache. Keturah bathed her temples with cologne, while her maid ran for the harts- horn. Madge Wildfire was at the piano, practicing her last new piece. It was in C major, and very difficult for her; for though Madge had taken lessons since she was six years old, she had not progressed as she should have done. Mrs. Cavendish had her children taught music early, as their fingers were then more pliable. The time spent on music was a time of drudgery to Madge. In truth, she liked Bucephalus much better than she did, her piano. All the notes, treble and bass, the scales,' sharps and flats were secretly anathematized. Florence, a little moon-faced girl of seven years, (who had spent much of her short life with her grandparents, with whom she was an especial favorite,) was playing on the jewsharp, stopping occasionally to bang on the bass keys of the piano, to the great discomfiture of Madge. Not until the previous night, had Florence been convinced of the propriety of sleeping in caps. While sweetly dream- ing on her little pillow, a mouse, in its eager haste to get, over the bed, got its feet entangled in her short, thick curls. Her screams aroused the household; while the poor little delinquent- was more frightened than herself. ;: It was extricated from its perilous position, at the sacri- .. 'ice of some of Florence's soft brown hair. The little - . X ': ' 1 page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 THE ARTISTS DREAM. empress, was in the nursery, relating to Frances a story which had been read to her a few days before. "Such a pretty story," she said, "about poor old Robin, who used to wander in the churchyard, where his wife and three children were buried; and who was not exactly right in his mind, and always wanted to -go home. And little Annie, whose thorns always turned to flowers; who always prayed, and thought she heard the sound of music, and the whispering of the wind. She leanied a great deal from :Robin," said the empress, in conclusion, "and died soon after he did." "'What a bad way of ending the story," argued Fran-l ces. "She should have growed up to be a handsome -young lady, and have ever so many fine things." "Oh, no, Frances; when sisteri Keturah read it to me, she said what a good thing it was, little A nie died. J That she was with Robin, and heard sure enough music playing. Sou see, she was taken fom the evil to come." "Oh, was she?" said Frances, greatly perplexed. The story was called "The Old Man's Home," and is among the most interesting in the Sunday School. Anid thou art gone, Robin, Gone where thou wished .to be; To the home where dwells thy wife, And little chldren three. They waited for thee long, Robin, Whilst thou on earth did roam; But thy wanderings are over now, Thou art in thy blessed home.' No iron ohains oppress thee now, TEG ARTIST'S DREAMR l No prison cell is 'thine,-- No tyrant keeper to command, And tell thee of the time. In the village churchyard yonder Thou wilt net wish to stay ;., For the spirit of thy loved ones, Are dwelling faraway. Thy long and painful journey Hath now drawn to a clse; There are no doubtful conflicts now, Njo bitter, treacherous foes. The soldier's march is, ovyr, The battle of life is done ;- A halo of brightness around thee shines, For the victory has been wfn. Little Annie obeyed thy teachings, In her fleeting, earthly hours; And all her thorns w6re magic ones And quickly turned to flowers. She used, oft times, the voice of prayer, And heard the music play ; The Holy Spirit was with her, And the wind whispered on the way. But a little while she lingered, In the dreamy world below; : Very soon she followed thee, . X 'Where thou didst long to go. She is happy-with thee now, And by the river of life does roam, . Oh blessed are all thosei, S Who reach that heavenly horoe I Harry and Dick burst into the nursery, holding u several dresses belonging to Marie Attoinette, . .u..nioe. - , ' . - page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] A . E[THE ABET'S DREAM. largest and handsomest doll. They had been blown off the clothes-line by the wind, and Leaper had made sad havoc with them. The little empress was in a state of mind bordering on despair. She looked in dismay, at the tattered garments which Dick said would now an- swer for alags. "Here is a calico dress which Heaper didn't get a chance to riddle," he said. "It --is thicker and more suitable for the season, than those lawns and tarletans." "I won'bhave it," she replied, throwing the frock on the floor in aaet. "1lt is not nice enough for my pretty queen!" "You needn't turn up your nose at calico, my little miss," said Harry. "Calico printing was once the voca- tion of Sir Robert Peel. He used to sketch his figures on pewter plates which, after-coloring, he put with some calico through a calendering machine, and of course re- ceived impressions in reverse. 'A parsley leaf was his first pattern. I see there are leaves of the kind in this dress, which is much too good for that piece of painted wax," (casting a contemptuous glance, as he spoke, at Marie Antoinette, who was lying in blissful unconscious- ness on the centre-table.) Dick declared- her to be an unsightly object, fit only to be used as a scare-crow. "I would not soil my fingers by, toue,hing her," he said, and taking up the -tongs, he suspended her in the air, by the hair. He then shouldered the tongs like a musket, and marched round and round the apartment. The sight was too much for the composure of the empress, and she hid her face in her handkerchief. TIE ARTIST'S DREAM :fi "I'll exhibit her to the populace," shouted Dick, " and then off with her to the guillotine." "Oh, Dick, Dick!" sobbed the empress. But Dick was :inexorable, vowing that the blood of royalty must pave the way to republican freedom. "You will please make less noise, Master Dick," said' a servant, opening the door. 'LMfy mistress is suffering with one of her bad headaches." "Thunder!" cried Dick. "What is a headache, Har- ry?" hi added, turning to his brother. "Is it the nerves in the head jumping up and down?" "What is the meaning of this uproar?" said the Doc- tor, entering the nursery. ' "I wish one of you boys to take this note to Judge Fielding's.'/ He laid it on the " table as he spoke, and hastened to his wife's apartment. Then ensued a high quarrel as to whictshould-be the * bearer of the note. - "You take it,!'," said Harry. "No I won't. I am tired of being made an errand boy." "You are not made one more than I am. It was only a few days ago, that father sent me to Mr. Latimer's. Now do be obliging for once, and deliver the note, only don't get into a pitched battle with Charles Fielding, and come back with a black eye. We will go hunting to- gether, to-morrow. I will have the guns and hounds"? : ready by nine o'clock, or, if you prefer it, we will go , fishing." \ Papa does not permit us to shoot at the birds at this page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] [T86 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. eason, and Idon't wish to be fined for shooting squr- rels. Indeed, I don't expect to go hunting or fishing before the dog days," said- ick, dolefully. "'What do you know about dog days?" said I arry. ,I know they take their name from the dog-star, or - Sirins, and that the weather is then too hot for a fellow to have any fun." "How came the dog-star to be calied Sirius?" cate- chized Harry. "From the word Siris, one of the names by which the 1 Nile was called. The Egyptians observed, that when this star became visible before the morning dawn, the overflowing- of the river immediately followed. They paid divine honors to it, and called it the Star of the Nile"." , , ' . Nile." "Wbat a pretty Aame, is'n't itW.-the star of 'the "Oh yes, pretty enough," said Harry. "But what a queer fable the Greeks had respecting the origin of the [ constellation Canis Major, of which the dog-star is the principal one." . "To what fable do you allude? The Greeks had quite a number." "It wassupposed," said Harry,t "that the constellation Canis derived its name from the dog which was pre- sented to Cephalus, by Aurora. Cephalus tested its strength by running him against the fox, which was considered by the ancients to be the swiftest of all ani- mals. After a long race, in which neither obtained any TLE ASTS'ST m A. e a. -'TS 'tI. . '. advantage,' old Jupiter thought proper to reward tthe dog, by placing him among the stars--an honor wch c,1 he- certainly did not deserve, for not outstripping his - competitor in the race. But we will talk about the dog- star another time. To go, or not to go; ;that is the e I question now." : - "Suppose we go together in the buggy?" suggested Dick. "I had intended to mount the guns in our fort," said Hairy. "You know the enemy might come upon us un- awares, and force us to surrender."' * t 'Had Harry never thought of a more important fort, Ai every point of which should be strongly guarded? "Well, I'll go," said Dick, "and ride Bucephalus." "Don't you do that!" exclaimed Harry. "No one on this place can manage him, except Madge Wildfire." But Dick, with characteristic obstinacy, insisted on having Bucephalus. Great was the astonishment of -the- servant, when he received his orders. He saddled and brought him from the stable; but said to D',ek whb quickly mounted him: ' "I am afraid no good will come of this ride, young master. There's a look in that horse's eye, that I don't : like. He is the most vicious animal that ever wore-bit and bridle." ' : "Never fear," returned Dick, "rI'l manage him." But Bucephalus knew he had some one on his back who was incapable of managing him, and determined not to move. He merely pricked up his ears, at the strokes of the whip. X page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] :s% THE 8ARSTS DATBM. ",Why, he don't mean to budge!" exclaimed: Dick. r'll fmd a way to make him go.?' He used his spurs with vigor, and Bucephalus plunged headlong down the yard, throwing Dick with violence to the ground. Several of the servants, who had been watching the encounter, ran to the boy. He had fallen on his right'arm, which was broken at the elbow. They put it into a sling, and assisted him to the house. One of them went in search of Bucephalus, who was running wildly about the yard, and led him to the stable. -"What induced you to get on Bucephalus, my son?" said the Doctor, after he had set the arm. "Did you not know how intractable he was?" ' c "I'll break his neck for him, when I get up!" ex- claimed Dick. "No, you won't," said his father. "Promise me that you will never attempt to ride him again." Dick gave the required promise, which he kept most faithfully. t * T IRE A3THBTIlST '-IttlEA. ':,i'"I CGHAPTER X I !. , ;* Novel is the greatpreut of pleasure." time for opening the fair'arrived It-had " - ., ' ' " -' *" been decided to hold it during the day, in the E -- open air; rather a doubtfal proceeding, in so fickle a climnate. r ' "I have seen to the transportation of your contnbu- , tions, and am now ready to take charge of a more re- spectable package in your owpn person,' rernarbd El- -.l lersley to his sister Keturah. "The carriage is at.. the door. Where is Madge?" ' ' "Here I am!" said that young lady, descending the ' stairs. She had forgotten her handkerchief, however, and had to go back for, it. "Where is your net f" asked Keturah, as they entered the carriage. - "Oh, sure enough! H must go and get it! - "You have suddenly become very particular," said. : ElUerley. "You are generally satisfied to have your haitr" ' streaming over your shoulders." . ':B "But rnamnma told me I should not go' to the fair ' " without my net."' - - Out she got, and ran to her room. After arranging ara*g, X page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] ^0 NSBE ARsTISTS DIFftAT. , her hair, she went down stairs at railroad speed, and was unfortunate enough to tread on her dress. "Mercy!" she cried, "I have torn nearly a breadth. What shall I do?" "Let me pin it up," said Harry. "Of course not; that will never do. Imust change a my dress. It will not take me more than ten minute*" she called out to those in the carriage. a "I should think not!" exclaimed, Ellersley, out of all patience. * "You ought to chazge it in half that time." iHarry took advantage of the interim to visit Dick, who was unable to go, on account of his arm. "I'l keep my eyes open, and tell you about every- - thing when I get back," he said, by way of consolation; "So cheer up, my good chap." That youngster, however, groaned in the spirit. He handed his pocket money to Harry, with the request that he would get the worth of it. Give me some idea of what you would like to have," said his' brother. "I have been thinking a good deal about it, and have come to the conclusion that I would like one of Oolt's revolvers." l "One of Colt's revolvers!" echoed Harry. "Such destructive weapons are not to be had at fairs. Why, the good people would hold up their hands in holy hor- ror at the thought; and besides, I doubt if you have money enough. Four, eight, twelve dollars," he said, e counting the bills; "not sufficient. But I will do the - $ . , $ - WrE; :atltyJ;rP B 191 -: best I can for yOu. I would likeo -send up some rok- - ets to-days but the thing s impossiblP," , -, At lIngth DIadge -was ready, dress, net, handkerchief, . and all; and the coachman drove off. When they A"- rived at the fair, they found ae Tmense crow'. "The 1 world and its wife" seemed to be there, and the children- too.,' Fllbrsley conducted KIeturah to the table, where. she- was to stand, deposited Madge at the post-office,'and , then went in search of Mrs. St. Clair's party, TUhere ' was a shade of disappointment on his face, when he -saw' Marion walking with Captain Ryland. He bowed, passed on, and offered his arm to Mrs. St. Clair. CI wonder where all those children came fromF'^-said. the Captain to his companion. "I -never saw such a- quantity before. What on earth makes 'people rbring - babies to such places," he added, as a servant knocked4 against him, with a screamning child in her arms. Well- my little empress, are you in charge to-day?" he added, as they stopped at a small round table, by which she sat. " "I was put here to sell this cake," she replied. Itis ; the ring cake." '- "How do you sell it?" "Five cents -a slice. Oh no," she alded quial as. she caught sight of Harry holding up his fingers and- thumbs, "Ten cents!"' Harry tapped rapidly on his forehead five times' ,' "ifteen cents," said the empress, in a tone of mortifi- '} , . ' 0 \ ' * * * - . X' ', T--] page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 TM BAEISTES DBEAMo cation. I was told to ask that price before I left home, but forgot it. IFiftfeen cents is a good deal for a little piece of cake; but may be you'll get the ring," she said, looking at Captain Ryland. He and Marion had been infinitely amused at this little pantomime. The cake was, soon sold. Arthur was the fortunate possessor of the ring, and made the empress quite happy by present- ing it to her. She pushed through the crowd, to exhibit it to her brother. After admiring it, he asked if she had made much money Byher cake. "Oh, ever so much!" - '(How much is that 2" "A big pile." "What did you do with it?" "I left it on the table." "You should not have done that. Come, we must see about it." They made their way to the little table; but not only had the money disappeared, but the cake-basket, and Eugenie's pretty silver knife. She began to cry,. "I have them," said the shrill voice of Mrs. Rossitur. "I expected some pickpocket would make a clean sweep of them, if they remained there, so I brought them to my table." "I am very much obliged to you," said Ellersley. "My little sister will not be so careless again," he con- tinued, as he took her hand, and moved away. "So much for trusting things to children!" muttered . . TEE ATISTS DREEm 13 Mrs. Rossitur. -Her table was filled with a variety of. fancy articles. All the dolls in Christendom seemed to I be there, and in all the glory of silks, satins, and gauzes. Percy noticed a little girl, who evidently belonged to the I ower classes, looking wistfully at a doll in sky blue vel- met. "Wouldyou like to have it?" he said, approachinga Ler. She nodded assent. When it was put into her hands, er eyes sparkled, but she said nothin g. "Where did you come from?" he asked. She shook her head.. "Who brought you here?" . Again she shook her head. Percy feared she was imb, and ceased to question her. But Harry alled it in a loud voice :; "What's your name?". "Haven't got any." "Who made you?" a "Nobody." . "How came you to be what you are, then?" he said, he stood by her side, to measure her height by his 'I growed myself," she said, and ran off with her. asure, in sky blue velvet.1 'What a queer childl 1" exelaimed Iarry. "Sheacts if she had come from the backwoods."-1 'She probably belongs to one of the poor families on river. They are very ignorant and degraded, and O *, . page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. are in a most wretched condition," said Mrs. Rossi- tur. That lady was greatly astonished, when Percy pur- chased a certain blue silk needle-book, which had been put on her table for sale. "What an odd fancy for a gentleman I This penwiper would suit you much better," she said, taking upone of black cloth, embroidered with steel beads. Percy and Harry went to a circle, where wooden horses were moved by machinery. There they met Augusta and Arthur, laughing merrily at some children, who were riding. "Sixpence to ride!" cried Harry. "Hop up, Eugenie." I Bound and round they whirled, apparently as much delighted, as if mounted on some spirited steed. "How absurd it seems!"' said Augusta;) "and yet I remember once riding on a wooden horse at Cape May, and liking the amusement better than any bther on the island." After some sport with Madge at the post-office, Ar- thur asked Augusta if she would go to one: of the con- fectionery tables, and have some cream. "I will take something more substantial, if you please," she said. "I admit to belonging to a racM of beings, which cannot subsist on airy nothings." / "Fowls, game, or what would you liked: There are oysters, though I am almost afraid to recomrimend them; as it is rather late in the season, and they were brought from Baltimore." . . THE ABTIST'S DREAM. 195 "I prefer a slice of ham to anything else," said Au- gusta. -He was tog well bred to express surprise, either by pword or manner, and ordered the ham with the necessary appendages. - / "Here is chicken salad," he said, "which I think may prove good." ' -!, "Nothing more, I thank you," said Augusta, laying aside her plate and fork. "Suppose we join some of our party, whom I see col- lected under yonder oak." They found Mrs. St. Clair complaining of weariness and of heat. . Ellersley hastened to get her a glass of wine. She tasted it, and proposed going home. "Can I offer you no inducement to remain longer?'" - he said. "There is a panorama of some kind on the ground, which I believe you have not seen." .:H "I would not see it on any account," she replied. "I never liked panoramas. They are so trying to one's eyes. If this is a specimen of Kentucky fairs, I never wish to attend another. What with the press, the noise, : and-continued walking, I am nearly worn out. This is a modern Babel." ' "There is far more to be seen at one of the State fairs," remarked Ellersley, politely, though he felt pro- ' voked at her selfishness and indifference. After a short pause, Mrs. St. Clair asked, languidly- -:. "O page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 THE ARTIST'S DAF,AM. "I wonder if all these things will be sold to-day?" "Probably not. But such as are left over, will be dis- posed of at auction, either this evening, or to-morrow. I understand the managers expect the profits to be quite large." The last sight Percy had of the little girl, that growed herself, she was seated in an impromptu swing, being sent to the tops of the trees with her doll in her lap, while a group of children laughed and shouted below. Percy soon joined his friends, and found them prepar- ing to leave the groeUds. He was rather surprised, as it was not very late, but felt glad to go. Clouds had been gathering in the sky, for an hour or two; and they were no sooner seated in the conveyances, when down came the rain. Such confusion, such running under trees, and jumping into buggies, or any kind of ve- hileA that was convenient. It was only . a shower, yAt the wilted bonnets, and languishing skirts of some of the ladies bore testimony to not having fared very well Many of the children sought shelter under the tables, and some even crept under a wagon, which hap- pened to be on the premises. The little empress was discovered underneath a large rockin-chair, which irs.- Rossiter had ordered to be taken there for her ownl in- dividual comfort. So ended the fair. 197 Of sunshine on lifis's hours 1 IIANE you," said Eleanor, as Percy handed her me flwer "hese mock orange b oms are o pr Blessed be Go d for flowering ondtoo. pgrns ,apomica is a deeper color, ad the bloom nre Forpeec than I have seight, gen thoughts , that breathe Fromt in beauty and fragrance ath tViol^ e always lovl e anor, as Percy, handed her ;! some flowers. PThese - "d -see more SVo are fter reading that exquisite little. 'The Oriein of thee Violet;" written by A We "written by a Western poet. ns-herself more beautifal than any flower." "Repeat it to me, I have never heard it." Percy ' id so, in low musical tones. ' - When fro the sheth-e of Paradise-misgided Eve was driven, Wherfett the subtle tempters art, o soe te eyond the gate-forever shut-w an here oebims now kept - Cher ngil with a flaming sword, our ontrite mother wept i *nd as the plaintive, mournful cry of some poor wounded bird, et GMod' e terna reany-seat, her trembling prayer was heard: Fatheer , on thise widet; wide earth, I e hither psh rom yon blest home, for which in vain my ern heart dot y'e arni e ,1am? -*"*'--1 - ^ "*! Wee'gisthesubleteptr's ar'^=, so feelysehdsien -^ts^^s. I page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 THE ARTIST'S DREA. "' Forever parted from the flowers, whose fragrant memory start, Like spirit-blossoms, round the grave of joy within my heart; And from the birds, whose shining wings flash through the citron j grove, -As flutter through my darkened soul the memories of thy love. "'My life-breath was the air of Eden, I breath no fragrance here, i No blossom on the dark, cold turf my aching heart doth cheer; But there behold! a graceful cloud its purple shadow flings, In which Eve's guardian angel hides the glory of his wings. "Who, when he saw her heavenly eyes their rain of sadness shower' Upon the earth, so desolate to her, without one flower, Quick caught the azure of those eyes within the crystal swell Of every tear, and breathed a charm upon it as it fell. "And when upon the turf they rained, all glittering at her feet, ! From every tear a violet sprung, fresh, beautiful and sweet; Soft, shadowy pictures of her eyes, upon the deep green sod, A type of w6man's penitence, they blossomed unto God. ,RAnd she, the Queen of Paradise, of stately flowers and fair, To kiss'those humble violets knelt till her shining hair - Fell rippling o'er their sapphire leaves, vhich from that glorious shroud Looked forth, as glimpses of the sky fron morning's orient cloud. "And, as she kissed each modest flower, the fragrance of her breath Left sweetness on the violet that lingere'en in death; And when in spring, 'mid tufted leaves, its sad blue eye appears, With night dew wet, it 'minds us of Eve's penitential tears." "Beautiful " exclaimed Eleanor; "I shall think of them whenever I see a violet. While in the South, I \ enjoyed the flowers more than anything else. I never ) wearied of looking at a little arbor near the library wearied of THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 199 window at Ravenswood; which was literally covered with the loveliest pink convolvulus. What a privilege it must be, to live in a country where there is such a variety of flowers the year round!" "Speaking of flowers, did you ever meet with a little book translated from the French, called 'Flowers per- ' : sonified?'" "No." . 5- "While reading it, I thought how appropriate the rose was to some of my friends; the daisy, the violet, the heliotrope and jessamine, to others. Are you not curious to know, dearest, which one of the floral train I associate with you? Nay-I dare not tell you, lest ; even the thought of its delicacy and fragrance might : tempt you to assign the emblem of flattery to me." . "Before we left New York, you, sent me a bouquet composed entirely of heart's-ease. It looked like a beau- ' tiful purple cloud." ' "You know Shakspeare says, that heart's-ease is purple with love's wound." . "Those were the first flowers you ever gave me, Percy." "You remember them well," he said, a brilliant smile over-spreading his features. "I remember the first and :i onlv flower you ever gave me." He drew from his pocket a small case of mother-of-pearl, and took from it. the white rose she had given him in Havana. e "Is it possible you have that yet?" she said. "Why do you not throw it away?" "I pressed it the night you gave it to me," he replied. . K O .il page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 300P TEE ARTIST'S DREAM. It is far dearer than the brightest flower, for it recalls I the happiest hour of my life." No fragrance lingers within its petals, No freshness upon its leaves;- BUt ask 'me not to reject my rose-. Though faded, it is lovely in its calm repose.- And it is saying sweet things to me, I It is speaking of thee, love, speaking of thee. I long for the-time, when thy whole soul I can possess, When thou wilt give me-not a quick, short, light caress; But a long, long passionate kiss, Pressed deep down upon my lips, in sweet ecstatic bliss. Love gilds life with golden hues, In its pathway bright flowers strews. Love for us a wreath doth twine, Love is heavenborn,--'tis divine! 'Kney talked of their first signs of preference for one another, exchanging thoughts and feelings, interesting only to themselves. A servant brought in a letter from the office. "It is from my mother," said Eleanorr after reading it. "She wonders what can detain us so long in Kentucky. I believe you know that she has never been informed of my illness." "Shehas been spared much needless anxiety," he re- plied, "It must make you very glad to know, that all the jfears concerning your health were groundless." "It is something to" be thankful for, certainly;" said Eleanor. "I should thill ill-health would be the great- est misfortune that could, befall one." "It must make life a very serious thing. To be cut , ' TIIE ARTI'S DREX. 20t off from the blessed sir, and light of heaven; and all the exquisite enjoyments which health affords, must be a bitter trial indeed." "I feared I: should have to give up something which was even dearer," said Eleanor. "What was it?" he inquired, greatly interested. "Your love," she replied, timidly. "You surely would not have been so eruel as to break our engagement for no better reason?" 1 "I thin," she replied slowly, "that I would have had t the courage to do you that kindness. I could not bear - the thought of benmg a burden to you." . . "That could never be, Eleanor. You should have known, I would not Mew it in that light. Believe me I when I tell you that your feelings on this subject, are -I morbid."' "Do you reccollect, "the Lady of La Garaye," which X you read to me last week? After that fatal fall from her horse, would you not have been tempted to exclaim- "'Are those her eyes-those eyes so fullof pain-- Her restless looks that hunt for ease in vain, Is that her step,'that halt, uneven tread? Is that her blonoming cheek so pale and dead? i Is that the querulous, anxious mind that tells. . Its little ills and on each ailment dwells- The spirit alert, which early morning, strred Even as it rouses every cladsome bird, : Whose chorus of irregular muski goes 'Up with the dew that leaves the sun-totached rose?" I would never have been satisfied with onlythe hours your pity spared. Well might the question be asked on beX'Aske: page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. - Would it prove As warm and lasting as adairing love?e or, - Would all the hopes of life at once take wing?"' " "But the "Lady of La Garaye" received more fromn her husband than 'only the hours his pity spared," said Percy. "He gave her, as he should have done, his undying love." "Yes, but she had nothing with which to reproach herself, as the accident occurred after their marriage." "I see you are determined not to .be convinced, and happily there is no necessity of dwelling upon the subject. J We will turn to something brighter. You will soon be well, and there will be nothing to prevent the prepara- tions for our marriage, when we reach New York." "So soon?" she aslked. "Will it be too soon for you?" "We are so happy just as we are!" she said, with sim- plicity. The door was opened at this moment, and Mrs. Ros- situr entered nnannounce'd., She seemed flurried, and was as red as a peony. This was not the first time she had interrupted their conversations; and it would have been quite provolking had she nLot appeared so uncon- scious of having done anything amiss. '"Good morning, my dear," she said in a shrill treble, stooping to kiss Eleanor, as if she had been an old friend. "I had such a horrible dream about you last night I I * ,.I THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 203 thought you were in your coffin, dressed in the purest' white, with a beautiful white tea rose upon yourbreast. I could not rest without coming to see how you were. They say dreams go by contraries, and I believe it: for - you do not look at all, as I saw you last night. You must be getting a great deal better. You are no longer like a pale lily, but a delicate pink rose. Though per- haps your dress has something to do with your color," she said, surveying Eleanor's pretty dressing gown of peach-blossom silk. "I met Harry Cavendish on my way here. I told him to tell his father of my dream, and-that I considered it a very bad sign. By the bye, I should think the doctor would have enough to do to keep those wild children of his in order. I advised Harry, inasmuch as he was not going to school, to get his father to instruct him in the rudiments of medicine. -a He coolly informed me that he never intended to roll- pills, or pound the pestle and mortar in any man's labor- atory. Just thilr of such impudence! Both he and- a Dick generally sleep at church, during the delivery of the sermons. Last Sunday Hhappened to look up dur-a ing one of the prayers, and I saw Harry drawing on his - thumb nail in the style of Hogarth; while Dick was lean- ng over the pew in front of him, and rubbing his hands ver a gentleman's head, who had fiery red hair. When : asked him what people would think to see him act in - hat manner, he pertly replied that if they attended to heir prayers, they- wouldn't see him. Here are some lossoms ofthe wild cherry, the apple and plum trees. was walking in the orchard just before I left home, and page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] x 204 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. gathered them. Those trees are in all their glory now. I really wish you could see them. Some are in the shape of a sugar loaf, a perfect cone. The peach bloom is all gone. I brought some things which I intended to give you, Nellie, in case my dream did not come true. This blackberry cordial is excellent," she said, taking a bottle from a basket, which she had placed on a table, when she entered the room. "And this," she continued, hold- ing a bird's nest before Eleanor, "this I made with my own hands, and a world of trouble it was." "I am very much obliged to you," said Eleanor, with- out appearing to notice her rudeness. "How pretty it isl" "It ought to be pretty. The nest is composed of strips of preserved lemon peeling, cemented with calf's feet jelly. The eggs are made of blanc mange. How very happy you both look, to-day," she -exclaimed, turn- ing to Percy. I am supremely happy, madam," he re- plied, with a slight curl of the lip. Mrs. Rossitur left soon afterwards, and told a number of persons, in confi- dence, that she was grieved to say, she had seen Mr. Seymour very much intoxicated-though she afterwards confessed she did not mean with wine, but with love. "What an amount of assurance some people have," re- marked Percy, as hi resumed the seat by Eleanor, which he occupied on Mrs. Rossitur's entrance. "She always makes me think of a torrent." "She is a kind-hearted person,-I think," said Eleanor. "Ah, I see the bird's-nest aiid the cordial have won you over. Don't let any one call you Nellie." or THE ARTIST'S DRFA. - o ' Do you like Eleanor better?" she ased "Do Ilike it?"he repeated. No name ever sounded so sweetly. Itis almost sacred to me, for it anshrines m;y love, my all."- The shadow passed from his face, and his old smile- a smile of ineffable sweetness--rested there. He talked again of their love, and revelled in the gush of its sweet waters. "Shall I read to you?" he said at length, taking Col- eridge's works from the table. "Will you be the "Ancient Mariner?" - "No, I thank you.- It is too weird-like to suit my mood to-day." "Here is a volume of miscellaneous poetry. Will ou listen to Herbert's 'Pearl?' Will you "With pleasure." "I know the ways of learning, both the head And pipes that feed the press, and make it run; What reason hath from nature borrowed, Or of itself, like a good housewife spun - In laws and policy, what'the stars conspire What willing nature speaks, what fored by fire; Both th' old discoveries 'and the ne-found s eas; The stock and surplus cause and history, Al4 these stand open or I have th j keys,. ' Yet I love thee. I know the ways of honor, what maintains The qUick returns 'of courtesy and wit, In vies of favor whether party gains, ' When glory swells the heart and maouldeth it alT e 1rxessions both of hand and eye ' W Ineh on the world a traeove knot mav tie . . t i e . page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 THE ARTIST'S DREAM, And bear the bundle wheresoe'er it- goes: How many drams of spirits there must be To sell my life unto my friends or foes; Yet I love thee. 'I know the ways of pleasure the sweet strains The billingsand the relishings of it The propositions of hot blood and- brains, What mirth and music mean; what love and wit . Have done these twenty hundred years and more; I know the projects of unbridled store; My stuff is flesh, not grass; my senses live And grumbled oft, that they have more in me Than he that curbs them, being but one to five, Yet I love thee. ' I know all these, and have them in my hand; , Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes I fly to thee, and fully understand , Both the main sale and the commodities; And at what rate and price I have thy 1ove, With all the circumstances that may move: Yet through the labyrinths, not my grovelling wit, But thy silk twist let down from heaven-to me, Did both conduct and teach me how by it, To climb to thee' . "Does it not speak eloquently of his life and experi- ence? Here is something very pretty in' its way. Dar- win, unlike Herbert, never appeals to the heart. His poetry is a series of beautiful paintings, without senti- ment or passion: "' Stay thy soft murmuring waters, gentle rill; -Hush, whispering winds; ye rustling leaves be still; Rest, silver butterflies, your quivering wings; THE IARTIST)S DREAM 7 'X Alight, ye beetles, from your airy wings; ? Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plrnage furl, Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks uncurl; Glitter, ye glow-worms, on your mossy beds; Descend, ye spiders, on your lengthen'd threads; Slide here, ye horned snails, with varnish'd shells; Ye bee-nymphs, listen in your waxen cells." "Now for a piece friom your favorite authoress: "'Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the head-stone thus, And wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly The hard types of the mason's knife, As heavens sweet life renews earth's life With which we're tired, my heart and L '.You see we're tired, my heart and I; We dealt with books, we trusted men, And in our own blood drenched the pen, As if such colors could not fly. We walked too straight for fortune's end, We loved too true to keep a ftiend; At last we're tired, my heart and L 'How tired we feel, iny heart and I! We seem of no use in the world; Our fancies hang gray and uncurled,J About men's eyes indifferently; Our voice which thrilled you so, will let You sleep; our tears are only wet; B What do we here, my heart and I? ' 'So tired, so tired, my heart and I ! It-was not thus, in that old time. "hen Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime, i . I .r page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 THE ARTIST'S DREA1. To watch the sunset from the sky. "Dear love you're looking tired," he said; I sniling at him, shook my head; 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I, ,So tired, so tired, my heart and I I Though now none takes me on his arm, To fold me close, and kiss me warm, Till each quick breath ends in a sigh Ofhappy languor. Now alone, We lean upon this graveyard stone, -Uncheered, ulkissed, my heart and I. 'Tired out we are, my heart and I. Suppose the world brought' diadems To tempt us, crusted with loose gems Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. We scarcely care to look at even A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, We feel so tired, my. heart and I. "Yet who complains? My heart and I? In this abundant earth, no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by l And if before the days grew rough We once were loved, used well enough, I think we've fared, my heart and L'" "It is beautiful," said Eleanor, "but so sad! It might well have been written among her last poems." "I wish I had Celio Magno's Canzone, in contempla- tion of his decoase, to read to you. It breathes the very soul of melancholy, and is so exquisitely. beautiful and touching in its tenderness, that the mind would fain THE AARTIST'S DREAM 209 linger over it. Perhaps its greatest charm consists in its truthfulness to nature. With the joyful anticipations of a higher and purer existence is mingled the painful dread of death. But here comes your doctor," he said, looking out of the window, " which means that I must go."' He passed from the room, and in a few minutes Dr. Cavendish entered it. He apologizea for not coming sooner; and was evidently a little out of sorts, as the saying is. The small ills of life had generally 'no power to disturb his equanimity. He had a very happy disposition, and possessed that graceful spirit, which "can, from the wisest, win their best resolves." But hu- man nature is the same the world over, and certainly too much must not be expected of the medical fraternity. "I am heartily sick of the practice of medicine," began . the doctor. "I scarcely get time th breathe. Yesterday, I went to church-the first time for several months. The discourse was very ably handled. The speaker seemed to combine the gentle wisdom and charity of Fenelon, with the deep spirituality of Neander. I never felt more interested in a sermon; but of course I was not allowed to hear the end of it.' I was sent for in great haste, to see a sick child. Away I went through mud and mire, fearing I should see it in the agonies of death. When I arrived at the house, I found the in- fant was teething, and suffering with its gum, which re- quired lancing. It-was the parents' first child, and I could not help telling them, that by the time they had two or three more,.they would not summon a physiian for so slight a cause." page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "No doubt it is very trying to be so constantly with the sick,"' remarked Eleanor, not knowing exactly what to say. "I suppose, too, that people imagine themselves worse than they really are." 'I have not found it so generally," he replied. "In- deed, with regard to some patients, I may say with Blackmore, that it is wonderful to observe how inappre- hensive they are of their disease. I think many persons are more easily alarmed for their friends, than for them- selves. I intended coming here in the afternoon, but on reaching home, my little girl Florence needed my attention. She had been complaining for several days, and yester- day at noon fever came on. I spent the night at her bedside." "Florence! what a beautiful name," said Eleanor. "1 My wife called her for Biss Nightingale, whose char- 'acter she greatly admires." "It must be very pleasant to reflect that one has done so much good in the world. What a beautiful incident it was, when the sick soldiers in the hospitals at Scutari, unable to sleep through pain, blessed her shadow, as it fell on their pillows in the night-vigils. I should think that alone would have compensated Miss Nightingale for her labors" "No doubt it did," replied the doctor. "Hers was a -noble work." "I suppose few ladies have been of so much service to their fellow beings," said Eleanor. c A woman's sphere is so limited." "That it is limited, in one sense, I grant you. A THE mATIST'S DREAM. 2" lady's proper sphere, is usually her own home--her life is a calm current of domestic -duties and charities. The faithful performance of these constitute, I think, her greatest charm. Home is the axis, on which revolve the, habits and principles which control life. The child there receives impressions, which go with it through maturer years. I -would wish, if possible, never to re- move my children, especially my boys, from the influence of their*mother. What would men be without the softer sex? 'The gentle bevy that adorns the world."' A beautiful tribute to his wife; which, could she have heard, would have repaid her for many a heart-trial. "As you are going away so soon, liss Eleanor," he said, " suppose you take a walk with me on the gallery." "I have been out there several times," she replied, "but I will go again with pleasure." She took his arm, and they promenaded slowly up and down the long gallery. Eleanor greatly enjoyed the fresh air, and the exercise did her good. She soon proposed a stroll around the grounds. . "-What magnificent weeping willows these are!" she ! sa;id. "Kentucky soil must agree with them." "Willows do not flourish in all parts of the state. -In the blue grass region they are rarely found." : "I suppose the soil is too rich for them." ;- "That means, that you think the land here is very 4 poor. I will have to admit that it is.", ' * page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 THE ARTIST'S 'DREAM. "And I will have to admit, that many parts of my own country are also very poor." "You are getting on famously," exclaimed the doctor, greatly pleased. "You will walk equal to Ariosto after a while," he added, laughing. "Was he a good pedestrian?" "Excellent. It is related of him, that he once walked from Carpi to Ferrara; and in his slippers at that. It was done in a fit of absent-mindedness,-he happening to-stroll in that direction." "At least, I should not care to imitate him in that par- ticular," said Eleanor. "Are you very weary?" asked the doctor, when they entered the house. ' "Yes, and no." "Now you, are speaking paradoxically, and must not -expect me to understand you." "I mean," she said in explanation," that I am tired; but not half as much so as I expected I would be." No doubt the doctor felt all the interest that he ex- pressed in Eleanor. It is easy to excite the interest of a physician, if the patient improves; but if not, then is his sincerity put to a severe test indeed. Doctor Cavendish was very weary; perhaps more so than his fair patient. He had not slept for four-and- twenty hours. But he did not make that an excuse to lie upon the sofa, and assume the air of one who must snatch every moment of rest, to enable him to minister to the united world, which without his services would 1' ' WHE8 AfiThy,S DRUEAM. 2 die a premature death. Neither did he tilt back his chair, fold his arms over his head, and stretch his lower extremities to their full length. He maintained an up- right posture, and never for one moment forgot the dig- nity of a gentleman. gon i m . I page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 2 fn CHAPTER XXIV. And now for the water, the element I trade in." I. WALTON. ONE morning, while Maion was in her room read- ing, Arthur knocked at her door. He came, he said, to see if she would join a fishing party the following day. Oh don't ask me, Arthur. I am so weary of strange faes." "Do go, Marion. Young Cavendish has gotten it up; and I expect expressly for our benefit. However uncon- genial it may be to us, I think we should accept the in- vitation. It is really very kiid of that famJly to pay us the attention they do. We have no right to expect it." "Of course not. There is nothing more to say. We ill go. I suppose you have seen Aunt Maria and Au- gnsta?" -"Yes, and they have consented to join the party." Augusta was very fond of angling, but she offered to remain with Eleanor. The latter declined, however, and would say nothing but "no," even to Percy's entreaties to be allowed. to stay. When they went to the river, the next morning, they found a party of about a dozen persons, awaiting their arrival. Ellersley hadrods and lines in readiness for them, "Permit me to bait your hook," he said, taking a minnow from a basket near him, as Marion seated herself by the water's edge. Do you like angling?" "I enjoy it occasionally, if I am successful." "Then you have not the true spirit of an angler. I confess to having a passion for the amusement. On a day like this, I wish, like Izaak Walton, to take my fish- ing rod, and'follow some winding stream." "Do you not wish too for an agreeable book? That is ai important item you have omitted." "No.. I prefer a'companion that can speak'to me." "None can do that more effectually than, a book, Does not a writer's thoughts flow out to his reader, and oftea- times in the most eloquent language? mWhen perusing a book, I feel as if I knew the author. His heart is laid opep to me, I see its thoughts and secret workings." "I like the clear eyes of my companion -to look into mine," said Ellersley, "I like to note their various changes, their brilliant flashes, and their pensive droopings. Is not this a glorious day?" "It is beautiful; I quite enjoyed the drive here. The breeze was so delightful!" "This is the finest day we have had this spring; which for us is an unusually forward one." L You have some beautiful scenery in Kentucky. I wish, that I could see more of it," "I wish, indeed, that you could," he said, much pleased. "Many parts of the State are well worth seeing. The Kentucky River has been called " the miniature HudSon. page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216g LTHE ASTISTS8 .BREA'a. Its banks are magnificent, although in a state of native wildness. Art, you know, has contributed greatly to the beauty of the Hudson. When you go to Louisville, you will pass through some very beautiful sylvan scenery. You should be here during the summer months, when the trees are in their most luxuriant foliage; when quan- tities of wild flowers smile from amid their green leaves; and when the voice of waters greet you as you pasS along. Do you toow anything of agriculture, Miss. Lee? ; J "Nothing at all. Most of my life has been spent in E the city, though I always enjoy the country, while in it. H tA cnd oh, the loveliness of the summer evenings!" said Eller ley. "There is such a delicious quiet in na- ture-suob a holy calm resting oninanimate objeets. It is the depth of a contemplative trance; as if every tree were a living, thinking spirit lost in the vastness of some absorbing thought. It is the hush of a dreamland; the motionless majesty of an enchanted forest, bearing the spell of an infrangible silence.' * "You are an enthusiastic lover of Nature, I see." "I love her-love her inexpressibly!" bhe said, "love her with an everlasting love. I love to bask in the sun- shine of a beauteous day, 'amid the sparkling dews, the waving flowers, the running waters, and all the delights of earth, air, and the blue o'erspanning sky.' I love to sit under some forest tree, and muse, and dream. Oh, there are a thousand nameless charms in a country life i" Marion had suspected hini of being somewhat of a THE ARTIST"S DREAX- 217 : dreamer, and a dreamer he certainly Was. His tastes were beautiful; but he was not likely to put them to practical use. "Have you always resided in the country ?" she asked. Yes; with the exception of four years that I was in college. I sometimes wish that I could travel, and see something of city life; but perhaps I would be less hap- py than I am now. Did you ever consider how many of the greatest men, both in ancient and modern times, found their chief enjoyment in rural life? Homer, Hesiod, Seneca, Varro, and Horace. Cicero in particu- lar seems to have delighted in agricultural pursuits. The emperors and dictators of Rome were ever ready to retire from the honors of state to their peaceful villas; and even employed couriers to run between the capital and their rural residences. - We all know how welcome the retirement of Mount Vernon was to Washington. What exquisite glimpses of rural life have been given us, by Wordsworth, Spencer, and a host of other bards. Hear the words of an accomplished courtier, which have so often been quoted in vindication of the quiet pleasures of country life: Would the world now adopt me for her heir; Would Beauty's queen entitle me the fair; Fame speak me Fortune's minion; could I vie Angels with India; with a speaking eye, Command bare heads; bowed knees; strike justice dumb, As well as blind and lame; or give a tongue To stones by epitaphs; be called great master' In the loose rhymes of every poetaster- page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Could I be more than any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, Than ever fortune would have made them mine; And hold one minute of this holy leisure Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves, These guests, these courts my soul most dearly loves. Now the winged people of the sky shall sing My oheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; A prayer-book now shall be my loolking-glass, In which I will adore sweet virtue's face. Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, No broken vows dwell here, no pale-faced fears; Then here I'll sit and sigh my hot love's folly, And learn to affect a holy melancholy: - And if contentment be a stranger then, rll ne'er look for it but in heaven again." "A voluntary renunciation of the pleasures of a coUit life would perhaps surprise you as much as Spagnoletto's return to labor, after he had acquired means to be inde- pendent of it." "No, the courtier lilke Spagnoletto wished towithdraw from temptation, and from that, the country must be comparatively free. While I must admire .Spagnoletto's motive for reassuming his labors, I confess I should think it would require a great deal of courage to follow in his footsteps." Ellersley had laid down his rod long before. He was so much interested in conversation, that he would proba- bly have forgotten there was such an animal in the THE ARTISTE S DRBM. 219 world as a fish; had he not assisted Marion from time to time. He expatiated on the pleasures of field sports; and then his thoughts went back to his boyhood, to the de- lights of botanizing, prowling after water-fowl, nutting, and bird-nesting. . "Like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led." He stopped suddenly, astonished at his egotism. " I will have to cry pardon for boring you in this way," he said. "It is not uninteresting to me," she replied, " but I am surprised, that at your time of life, you should dwell with such fondness on your boyish days. I have heard that the young never- did so, excepting when sickness, or any other great sorrow, cast a shadow on their lives. But it is a proof that' 'Remember'd joys are never past.'" " Do you never look back to your childhood ?" " Sometimes, though I find the present too agreeable to think much of the past." "You cling to life, then, to what has been called ' the sweet habitude of being ? " " Yes, life is very beautiful. The nature you love so much offers many attractions; and there is much to' en- joy in the quiet of one's own thoughts. It is only natural that youth should look forward to happiness." page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 THE- ARTIST'S DREAM. {' Youth!" he repeated musirgly, "I will be two-and- twenty the day after to-morrow." "Then you have no claim to be called young," she said, laughingly. "How very antiquated you are." "Considerably your senior, I imagine." "A little more than five years. I am nearly seven- teen." "My father was married before he was my age," said Ellersley. "One would not suppose that he had been married twenty-five years. He is remarkably well-preserved." "He has led a very happy life, and I think that makes a great difference in a person's appearance. His only grief, I believe, has been my mother's delicatehealth. He never seems to have trouble, even in anticipation." "Why should people anticipate sorrow? Enjoy the present, and let the future take care of itself. That's my aTnxim." "One cannot always dothat. The greater the pleasure the more fear of losing it. Take love, for instance, that most absorbing of all passions. How great is the charm it throws'around everything! How exquisite the emo- tions it excites, how delicious the fluttering of its downy wings I Do you think it would be a light trial for a man to relinquish all, to have his future happiness blasted in a moment?" "I should think he would crush the feeling--that he would rise superior to the disappointment," she replied. * * * THE ARTISTS DREAM. 221 "You do not, you cannot know how very hard that would be," he said earnestly. He need not have taken so much care to discover her sentiments. She was uncon- scious of being the object of his affections, and merely supposed that, if he were in love at all, it was with some one else. ' ' "What enthusiastic anglers you two are!" excl!nimed Mrs. Rossitur, in her usual high key, approaching them. "That line has been moving at a great rate for several minutes, and neither of you have observed it. There is something. biting there, that's worth having, I'll war- rant." Hlersley bit his lip with vexation, at the interruption. Marion drew her rod instantly, but the line came very near being broken by the weight attached to it. "A turtle! a turtle!" cried -several voices at once . s "You have been eminently successful," remarked nilersley, as he removed the turtle from the hook.- I "Your perch are very large, and you have a quantity of new lights." Marion was delighted. "More fish than I ever caught in my life before,'" she said, " and the turtle crowns my triumph." . "You will wonder how I came here," said Mrs. Rossi- tur, addressing Ellersley. "I heard of the Sfibing-party, and as I was not invited, I thought I would come out of S X spite. On the way I met Mr. Donnelson, and prevailed a on him to accompany me. I knew I could offer him great attractions.. "Mr. Donnelson," she called out, page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 THE RTIST'S DR AM. That gentleman, who was conversing with Keturah, came forward, and was formally introduced to " the New York belle," as Mrs. Rossitur was pleased to call Marion. Mr. Donnelson was a middle-aged man of comely mien and tolerable address. He had come into possession of some wealth, a few years before, and Hiad made an effort to overcome the defects of his early education. He man- aged to scrape up some little knowledge of two of the learned professions, discoursed lengthily on the merits of Blackstone, and on the wonderful beauty of anatomy. He had travelled four or five years in Europe, and in the East., A considerable portion of that time was spent in Germany, and his mind was somewhat tainted by the skepticism -of that country. He had very recently re- turned to his "native wilds," as he termed the Green River country, and wasso full of what he had seen and heard-abroad, that his acquaintances took care not to broach the subject of his travels. He imagined himself of vast importance, in this world of ours, and was a very good Specimen of the moneyed aristoracy of the land. "He will be a fine subject to exercise your conversa- tional powers upon, Miss Lee," said Ellersley, in a-tone loud enough only to be heard by herself. He is a gentle- man of few words, but will prove an excellent listener." Marion prepared herself to encounter a silent bore, and thought how disagreeable it would be to have to in- troduce one topic after another, and perhaps receive only monosyllables in reply. Ellersley moved a few yards off, and began talking to THE ARTIST S DREAM. 228 Sophia Atkinson. Marion naturally spoke of angling, but Mv. Donnelson evidently took little interest in the sub- ject. She was revolving in her mind some more 'agrea- ble topic, when he asked if she had ever ascended Mount Vesuvius. - N.. No. "Indeed! You should by all means make the ascent. I was taken up in a sedan-chair; and had the pleasure of looking into the crater." Marion glanced at his person, which was as corpulent as Sir John Falstaff's, and thought the bearers must have had hard work of it. "Have you been to Constantinople?" "No. I have never been out of my own country." He looked at her compassionately. "Then you have seen nothing. You should not fail to visit Constantinople. I shall never forget the first view I had of it. The palaces, domes, and minarets shone in the brilliant sunlight; and the Bosphorus was alive with- gaily decked galleys. Constantinople is truly a beauti- 'ful town!" :I Marion smiled involuntarily, and thought of the' En- glishman, who, on meeting withsome of his countrymen I at Venice, told them he intended going to a town called I Rome., "When I crossed Lake Leman," continued Mr. Don- I nelson, " which' wooes me with its crystal face,' I saw a lady in hysterics over Byron's description of a storm on - the lake. I besought her to dwell on his beautiful picture page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] :-224 THE ARTIST'S DRBE&LM of icalm. She soon became as 'placid' asthe lake, and said that she would be warned--, 'With its stillness to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.' You ought to see Mont Blanc, 'the monarch of moun- ains;' it is grand indeed. 'Whoso first beholds, the Alps, says Rogers, ,. Instantly receives into his soul A sense, a feeling that he loses not- A something that informs him 'tis a moment YWhence he may date henceforward and forever. , I felt those words, Miss Lee, felt them to myheart's core. 'As to Paris-well, Paris is indescribable!" Marion heartily wished that every place was equally "London is superb. When I went into Westminster Abbey, I soon sought the 'Poet's Corner,' as is the fashion. I should like to have been presented at Court, but could not quite make it out. However, I got a peep at' the Queen, when she went out one "day for an airing. Mr. Donnelson paused for sheer want of breath, air Marion inquired if he went to Ireland. "Faith and by Jasus," he replied, and then followed a long description of that country-the words rolling from the speaker's mouth in a rapid and vehement manner, to' the great amazement of his auditor. Her eyes sought those of Fl,1ersley, and the mirthful look in his, explained Wa. To her relief they were summoned to lunch, which THE ARTISTS DiEAM. 2 was spread on a snow-white cloth, under the shade of a large oak, "I hope," said Augusta, " that like the pic-ni party in Voss, we will find the tea-spoons have been forgotten, and have to use pieces of sticks instead. Then I can ex- claim with the pastor's wife: 'Oh, dear Nature,/thou art almost too natural!'" "am sorry you will not have that pleasure,'" returned Keturah. "Tea is not on the bill of fare to-day. Sup- pose you substitute wine and porter." "Very agreeable substitutes. But as- I have taken a fancy to use a stick in some way, I shall hope there will be minus a fork." "In that case, why not use your fingers?9" asked Mr. Donnelson. "It is no unusual occurrence, in Eur pean travel, to be hurried from the' table, when you have not swallowed more than a mouthful of scalding tea or coffee,.- One person may be seen snatching a leg, of chicken; another a wing; another a hot roll, and so on-- - all making use of Nature's forks. What fine chaim- pagnel" continued Mr. Donnelson, who considered bhimp self a judge of wines, as well as everything else. "When in " Just then, he was seized with a violent fit of cnugh- ing, much to the gratification of some of the company, Captain Ryland made a remark about the porter. - "Ah, London porter!" exclaimed Mr. :DonTnelon, be. tween his paroxysms of coughing-but the ;Captain, fearing along story, hastily changed thei Subject. : page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. "Alexander of Macedon once said, that if he were not Alexander, he would like to be Diogenes; and if I were not myself, I would like to be yonder eagle, flying in the air. How rapidly and majestically he wings his flight. He must see much more than we poor mortals." "I should think balloon-traveling would be very pleas- ant," said Augusta. "Charming, especially if the balloon happened to descend in the branches of a tree, or in the middle of a stream." "The most agreeable kind of locomotion is on the back of a camel," remarked Mr. Donnelson. "When !" Marion looked at Arthur in despair. Fortunately, a diversion was created by the arrival of a buggy, in which were seated Harry and the little empress. One played on a jewsharp, the other held a long comb covered with paper, to her open lips, and -made sounds, which she called music. Leaper was at her feet; out he sprang in a frenzy of delight. Harry threw him a sandwich, and pouredlout a glass of porter for himself. He soon dis- appeared. On his return, he handed theL empress a bird's nest, containing four speckled eggs. ":For shame, Harry!" said Ellersley, "to rob a bird's nest!" Harry hung his head, and said that he had not taken any young birds. "I asked him to get me the eggs!" exclaimed the em- press. '!Harry did it for me, so please don't scold him. THE RTIST'S DPAM. 22 Dick once got me a nest right full of little birds. Is it very bad to take them, Ellersley?" "Yes. How would you like for some one to take you away from your home, and all that you love?" "I would not like it at all. I would cry my eyes out." "'Who stole four eggs I laid, In the nice nest I made?' That is what old birdie will say, when she goes home;' said Ellersley. "Oh, Harry, do let us go and put the nest back before she gets there," cried the empress, and off they trudged. "Do not look so reprovingly," said Ellersley, turning to Marion. "I have not forgotten our conversation of the morning; and my lecture was not very long." Some one proposed a walk to' a spring which was not far off. Mrs. Rossitur threw -her shawl under a trbe, saying it was too warm to wear it. ,Arthur offered to take charge of it, but she insisted on leaving it where it was. She went in advance, and called out to the others, that they would get no water from the spring that day. The party came up, and saw a flock of white geese frolinking in the clear water. "Now you can have an opportunity of using a stick, Miss Summers," said Ellersley, "though not exactly in the way you proposed." "I have not the heart to disturb their enjoyment,',' she replied. As they were returning, they saw a drove of pigs pull- ing and tearing Mrs, Rossitur's shawl . : . . .,' page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 . THE ARTIST'S DRBAM. "Give me a stick," she cried; "I will use it to advan- tage." She threw it at the pigs, and away they sc am- pered with the old sow at their heels. It was time to leave the river. The transatlantic gen- tleman asked permission to call upon the ladies at the hotel the following day, and the party seated them- selves in their respective vehicles. 'What fine poultry!" said Arthur, as a hen strutted along the -road, looking with motherly pride on her well-grown chickens. "They are worthy of Hondek- veter's pencil." "And there is a subject for your pencil," remarked Mrs. St. Clair. "See the lady in that cottage door, toss- ing up her merry little infant. What a very pretty picture they would make!" The carriage was very close. Mrs. St. Clair complained "being unwell, and proposed exchanging seats with her niece, who was riding in an open buggy with Percy Seymour. The carriage was stopped. As Marion was stepping out of the buggy, Harry Cavendish dashed rapidly by. Percy's horse became frightened, anid started across the road, throwing Marion on the ground. All was confusion; and the occupants of several vehicles sprang out to offer assistance. "Are you hurt?" inquired Ellersley, anxiously. "Not in the least," she replied, rising. "Only a little bruised; that is all." :We must send right away for Dr. Cavendish," ex- claimed Mrs. Rossitur, who -always liked to make as much THE ARTISTs DRAM. 229 fuss as possible. "She is hurt, I know; though she will not admit it." Mr. D(nelson volunteered his services; but Marion i politely declined. "The Doctor would be rather nervous, I imagine, at being called by another accident," she said to EHllersley. "Nervous, oh, no;" he said, smiling, "My father is" never nervous. And if he were he would never let his patients know it." "It is to be hoped not," said Arthur. "A nervous patient is bad enough, but a nervous physician must be ten times worse. I once heard an eminent physician say, that no man of a nervous temperament ought to practice medicine, unless he could exercise self-controL Certainly it would be unpardonable to make the sick feel the effects of his misfortune. Suppose you take my seat in the carriage, Seymour. You must be tired of-that restless horse," he added, finding that his aunt was rather timid about Percy's driving. When they reached the hotel, Marion hastened to Eleanor, who asked her to tell her all about thejaunt. "I am half inclined to tell you nothing; because you would not let-anybody stay with you." "I know of some one who will, then!" said Eleanor, as Percy entered the room. "You think he cannot resist any wish of yours' and as I think so too, I will give you the description you desire,"4 said Marion. It was graphic and amusing. "I came very near having a thrilling adventure to relate conceim- page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 280 THE RTIST'S RBBAM. ing m yself," she said in colusion. "A broken limb or neck, perhaps; but fortunately, or unfortunately, which- ever you may deem it, I escaped without injury." Percywatchedheranimatedface. He silently acknowl- edged her wonderful beauty; though it was of too cold and stately a character to suit him. His heart turned lovingly to the gentle being at her side-his white dove, as he delighted to call her-a pet name he had given her soon after their engagement. She soon turned her soft eyes upon him, and said, that she was glad they had spent such an agreeable day. "It was very pleasant," he replied; "but I should have been happier had you allowed me to remain here. Come, now, tell me what you have done to-day." "And what I have thought?" she asked, merrily. ' Yes, if you will."' "Oh, if you are going to confessional, Eleanor," said Marion, "I am off. Good bye." i . THE ARTISS DREAM. 2&R CHAPTER XXV. The sun shines fair and bright, On this day of meeting; Thou'lt hear new doctrines preached^- And have many a cordial greeting. jT is time to quit this noisy game, if you intend going to the Camp Meeting," said Mrs. St Clair, leaning over Augusta's chair; who was playing backgammon with Arthur. ' The game is almost finished," said Augusta. "I have the advantage, and may be considered to have won." "I am not so sure of that," returned Arthur. i' Of I were to get doublets, I would probably beat you. There is too much chance in backgammon to allow of any cer- tainty of winning, until the last throw." "Do you not think it a scientific game?Y "There is of course some art in making the, moves; but as a proof that it is mostly a game of chance, indif- ferent players are often the most successful."' "I suppose that is a hit at me. You know I have beaten you several times this morning." "By no means," he said, laughing. "I beat Miss Marshall thirteen consecutive games, last evenimg; and yet, she is the best player of the two." "Well I I haven't time either to discuss the question , ' ' ' : "', page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 282- THE ARTIST'S DREAM. or finish the game," exclaimed Augusta, closing the box. "Are you not going with us? From all I can learn, a camp meeting is as good as a circus." "I should enjoy neither the one nor the other," said Arthur. In a few minutes the hack was at the door, and he handed in Augusta and his aunt, who drove off, accom- panied by Percy and the Captain. "We are approaching the camp," remarked the latter, as their olfactories were regaled with savory smells. "Surely people do not have cooking at a -religious meeting!" "Don't they!" he replied, as they passed a large fire, where some servants were proing their culinary skill. On alighting from the conveyance, gonsiderable diffi- culty was found in obtaining seats, the crowd was so great. A young preacher was on the rostrum, dashing his long, black -hair from off his massive forehead, and sending his audience to hell. 'Some listened with pro- found attention, some were affected to tears; while some very young girls giggled, and whispered with their beaux, Percy was thinking of the strange medley gathered together, when he heard a commotion behind him, and saw Mrs. Rossitur borne insensibly fram the scene of action. She soon recovered, however, and cried out in an exulting voice: "Glory! Hallelujah!" Her example was followed by several persons. When the sermon was ended, and a hymn, "Canaan, bright THE ARTIST'S DrEAw. 233 Canaan," sung, quite a number pressed forward to the anxious seat. "Amen!" said a gentleman, in a weak treble. "Amen 1" said- another in a deep bass. "Amen I amen!" was heard on every side. "Good morning, ladies," said Mr. Donnelson. "I hope you have been much edified by the eloquent discourse, to which you have been such attentive auditors." "You have not, I know," replied Augusta, "for you have done nothing but cough for the last half hour.' "Yes, I am afraid I annoyed every one around me. I could not well make make my way through the crowd, or I should have retired to another part of the grounds. A cold is the greatest infliction that can be sent on any one; a stupor of body and mind, 'a whoreson lethargy,' an utter abomination." - "What a catalogue of horrible epithets! Your friend Mrs. Rossitur would probably recommend water-gruel, or flax-seed tea." "I have an antipathy to all, such processes." "Dr. Cavendish is coming this way. I suppose he is here to-day, to restore the dead to life." "His art would not be available, I imagine," replied Mr. Donnelson, "as thedisease is of a spiritual nature." "It seems somewhat of an effort for you to move in this mass of human beings, doctor," said Mrs. St. Clair, as that gentleman approached her. "A mighty effort, I assure you. One requires an ad- ditional set of muscles for the legs, at these places. Such a sea of heads," he added, looking about him. page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 28, TMF ARTISTS DREAM. There is quite a crowd collected around the young minister. I noticed that he touched upon the political events of the day, in his sermon." "Yes, I should like to know what business politics have in the pulpit. But he dabbles in them occasionally, aswel as in ever ylthing else." "'Where -is he from? His discourse was altogether the most remarkable I ever heard." "'He is from- one of our western cities, and preaches damnation wherever he goes. He appears to be of Sel- deans opinion that to preach long, loud and damnation, is the Way to be cried up; we love a man that damns us, and we run after him again to save us I To him, the world is'a dark abode, of sin and wretchedness-the inhabitants heathenis, and incarnate devils. He thinks, I presume, to frighten them into religion. He is an ascetic, and a cynie, a true disciple of Antisthenes. Possibly his creed wrill'.not be needed two or three generations hence. The' world will then be a marvel. Nature will be changed. Ministers will be superfluous, for all men will be religious. Philosophical schools will be useless, for all men will be philosophers. Infants of a fewmonths, will calculate eclipses, and solve plain and spherical'triangles." "'I should thiTnk they might do that now," remarked the Captain. "There are so many hot-beds prepared for-the brain." "Yes, and it is a great mistake. Cramming the brain is lik6 overdrugging the stomach. Both organs will-re- bel. A child's constitution oght, to'be established first. It will be time enough to attend to the mind afterward." THE ARTIST'S DRYA. 2A -Wh6n the doctor ceased speaking, a gentlemuan came up, and shook him cordially by the hand.- Affer convers- ing a few minutes, he moved away, and Mrsl St.. Clair expressed her admiration of his intellectual head, and benign countenance. "If you had arrived earlier,' said Doctor Cavendish, "you would have had the pleasure of hearing him preach. His thoughts-are beautiful, and always clothed in the most appropriate language. His delivery is dignified and graceful He bids the sinner look to the meek and lowly Jesus for forgiveness. His theme is Christ, and Him crucified. In the pulpit and in the social circle he is equally charmiin His conversation, is. unrestrained, and various,. full of information and anecdote." , "You do not seem to admire- gesture, id the pulpit/' remarked Percy. "What do--you think of the fervor of some of the Scotch divines? It is stated, that when Dr, Chalmers preached in Edinburgh, the heavy chandeliers were all in motion; and that he had frequently to stop, during the delivery of his sermon, and have a psalm sung, until he recovered from his exhaustion." "I should think the congregation would have been electrified. Theatrical gestures are, I think, unsuited, the pulpit. - is not surprising that Dr. Bennie was worn out before his time, by the vehemence of hiwsstyle The Scotch clergy are on an extreme." - "And the English clergy on another," returned Perey. . I Sydney Smith complained of their want of animation. 'The English,' he said, 'generally remarkable for doing , : page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 286 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. very good things in a very bad manner, seem to' have reserved the maturity and plenitude of their awkward- ness for the pulpit. A clergyman clings to his velvet cUshion with either hand, keeps his eye riveted on his book, speaks of the ecstasies of joy and fear with a voice and a face which indicates neither, and pinions his body and soul into the same attitude of limb and thought, for fear of being thought theatrical and affected. The most intrepid veteran of us all dares no more than wipe his face with his cambric sudarium; if by mischance his hand slip from its orthodox gripe of the velvet, he draws it back as from liquid brimstone, and atones for the inde- corumm by fresh inflexibility and more rigorous sameness. Is it wonder, then, that every semi-delirious sectary, who pours forth his animated nonsense with the genuine look and voice of passion, should gesticulate away the congre- gation of the most profound and learned divine of the established church, and in two Sundays preach him bare to the very sexton? Why are we natural everywhere. but in the pulpit? No man expresses warm and ani- mated feelings anywhere else, with his mouth only, but with his whole body; he articulates with every limb, and talks from head to foot with a thousand voices. Why this holoplexia on sacred occasions only? Why call in the aid of paralysis to piety? Is sin to be taken from men, as Eve was from Adam, by casting them into a deep slumber? Or from what possible perversion of common sense are we all to look like field preachers in Zembla, 'holy lumps of ice, numbed into quiescence and stagna- tion and mumbling.'" THE 2RTIS7TS eo"AM. 2sa "I am delighted to see you," said VMrs. Rossitur, asshe elbowed her way through the crowd, and knocked down one or two children, in her attempts to get to Mrs. St. Clair and Augusta. "I am delighted to see you!" she reiterated. "People have to take care of number one, in such a place as this." After describing her depression of the morning, and her subsequent exalted state of feeling, she invited them to go to her cottage, as she called it-one among a number of rough rooms, which had been erected for the occasion. After resting there awhile, they were ushered to one of the long tables, which were set in the open air, for refreshment. It was surrounded with people, old-and young; and eating seemed to be the chief object in life-if one might judge by the quantity of .meats prepared in the most approved' styles, breads light as snow-flakes, pastry, syllabubs, and other dainties, which disappeared in a wonderfully short space of time. Augusta observed a gentleman, on the opposite side of the table, looking curiously at a brooch, which confined her collar. He drew to it the attention of the lady who was by his side; and they agreed that it was "a right nice ornament." "That is equal, in its way, to some one in New York calling Bierstadt's "Rocky Mountains,' a' neat picture,'" said Percy, in a low tone to Augusta. The brooch was exquisite-the head of the fabled Circe, in cameo set with pearls. "Perhaps Circe would not deign to prac- tice her art on everybody," continued Percy, with a glance at his opposite neighbors. "It would not be ne- page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 288 THE 'ARTIST'S DREAM. cessary to fill their ears with wool,' as Ulysses did those of his sailors, when at the Cape, where the Sorceress dwelt." I Augusta stepped into a mud-puddle, on her way to the carriage, to the detriment of her pretty gaiters, and new spring silk. "Too bad!" she exclaimed, "my best dress, too. As to my gaiters, they are the only respectable ones I have left. I have nearly walked myself shoeless. If I get into any more puddles, I will have to keep still; which will be a cross to me, unless Mr. Seymour will give me a pair of his boots." "They are at your service," he replied, laughing; "but I fear you will be lost in them." "Possibly!" she said, looking at his small well-fitting boots. "If I ever step into them, I will make a des- perate effort to fancy myself 'Hop o' my Thumb,' in the seven-league boots." "It would not require a great stretch of imagination," he returned. "Well! I suppose it will become me to make the best of my misfortune," exclaimed Augusta, as she sprang into the carriage. -THE ARTISTES DRF:AM. 23g CHAP'TEij X .X Vi. "Alas for poor humanity, Its weakness, and its vanity, Its sorrow, and insanity, Alas!" i XT was the last day of their stay at the Cave. All were glad, more especially Mrs. St. Clair, whose face wore a brighter expression than it had done for many weeks. The visit to Washington, from which she had anticipated so much pleasure, had to be aban- doned, however. In the afternoon, Marion and Augusta, accompanied by Captain Ryland and Arthur, started on a farewell ramble. Urs. St. Clair, who never liked to walk, remained with Eleanor and Percy. Eleanor sat by one of the parlor windows, enjoying the bright sun- shine. Her dress of blue cashmere contrasted well with her fair complexion and auburn hair. While the walking party were admiring a little water- fall, which came dashing down a hill, like a child at play, they met Mrs. Rossitur, who was on her way to the hotel to bid them good-bye. That noted match-maker, always on the qui vive for gossip, seeing Augusta and Arthur in earnest conversation, followed at a little distance by Marion and the Captain, hastily concluded there was a prospect of another pair of -turtle doves. She alighted from her buggy, saying, that she preferred walking with . . it page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] -2HO GE ATrijzet te T2 IS DIERAMt. them to riding, and ordered the servant to drive on. The conversation of course became general. "What interesting topic were you discussing?" said " Mrs. Rossitur to Arthur. "We were speaking of the instinct of the brute cre- ation, compared with the reason of human beings," he replied. "Oh, was it that?" she said, in a tone of disappoint- ment, which she could not conceal. a Miss Sunmmers was maintaining," continued Arthur, that the lower animals are more powerfully impressed by natural phenomena than man-that their instinct is often of more service to them, than reason is to us. Grant- ing her supposition to be correct, the sympathies, the tender feelings-all that constitute humanity--have been bestowed only on man; for he is destined to a better, a higher existence. To use the eloquent words of an ac- complished .writer: "'I cannot believe that earth is man's abiding place. It can't be that- our life, cast up by the ocean of eternity, is to float a moment upon its waves and sink into nothing- ness. Else why is it that the glorious aspirations, which peep like angels from the temple of our heart, are for- ever wandering about unsatisfied? "'Why is it that the rainbow and clouds come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off andcl leave us to muse upon their faded loveliness? "'Why is it that the stars, who hold their festival around the midnight throne, are forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? "' And, finally, why is it that bright forms of human THER ARTIST'S SDRIAM. A23 beauty are presented to our view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow back in Alpine torrents upon our hearts? "' (We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth; there is a realm where the rainbow never fades, where the stars will be spread before us like islands that slum- ber on the ocean; and where the beings that pass before us, live in our presence forever. " "Julius Caesar expressed in public, his disbelief in the immortality of the soul," said Captain Ryland. "He belonged to the Epicurean school, you know, and denied all divine mediation in worldly affairs." "And yet, with all his atheism," replied Augusta, "it was not without hesitation that he crossed the Rubicon." "Man is a queer compound," said the Captain. "He is an anomaly, an incongruity."' "tHe should be something far nobler," said Arthur.'. "Man is capable of comprehending abstract ideas; and it is in abstractions that man grounds not only all philoso- phy, all science, but all that practically improves one generation for the benefit of the next." The conversation afterwards turned on friendship. Marion quoted Emerson's beautiful remark: "A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere, before whom I may think aloud." "I think just that way!!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, with emphasis. "A friend is a second self, in whom can be placed every confidence. There is nothing that one friend ought not to be willing to do for another-ay, even to die, if necessary. In short, a friend is a friend 1" "- * . .. page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 24j2 RTISr'S ,DBEAAM. Her sincerity was soon put to the test. A furious mastiff came running towards them, evidently with no peaceable intentions. Mrs. Rossitur forgot her fine speech on friendship, and left her companions in the i lurch. With a yell that scared an owl from its hiding- place, she turned and climbed a fence, with an agility for which no one would have given her credit. Captain Ryland moved a little in advance, and with one blow of his cane felled the airal to the earth. When assured that it could do no harm, Mrs. Rossitur rejoined her friends, and on reaching the hotel, went simpering into the parlor. "Such an adventure as we have had'." she said. She then related it, glossing over her inglorious retreat ! as best she could. Marion placed a bunch of snow-drops ! she had gathered, in Eleanor's hair, which was confined by a pearl comb. Mrs. Cavendish's old fashioned car- rige drawnby a pair of fine baysdrove up, with Keturah and Ellersley; whom M s: St. Clair had invited to spend the evening. When .they were presented to Eleanor, Mrs. Rossittr, (who could not imagine, how a stranger could be left unsought, whether sick or well,) ex- claimed. "Is it possible you have not become acquainted in all these weeks?" "I have not had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Marshall before," said leturah, "but I have often heard my father speak of her." "I am so glad that he isso much erl TE - ARTIST' ' "DIE AM.'R ' . '3. Rossitur, "It's a mercy, tobe' sure. Poor dear l" she continued, looking compassionately at F leanor, "I thought it was all over with her, when I had that dread- ful dream.", She repeated the account of her vision, saying, that she never saw people plainer than when dreaming. . , "We have Miller's authority," said Keturah, " for be- lieving that ' the images of dreams are really seen.' Sir David Brewster says, 'that the objects of mental con- templation may be seen as distinctly as external objects, and will occupy the same local position in the axis- of vision, as if they had been formed by the agency of light.'" - "What a splendid opal!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, taking one of Eleanor's hands in hers. "Though its beau- ty is almost lost beside this magnificent large diamondY ' The glittering diamond was a gift from Eleanor's mother, and was highly-prized on that account. But the opal, "with its heart of prisoned light," was -more pre- cious, for it was the seal of her betrothal. Mrs. Rossitur soon wearied of looking at the rings, and for the want of something to do, opened a book which lay on a table near her. "O! minstrel monarch! the most glorious throne -Of Intellect. thy Genius doth inherit;-- Compeer, or perfect rival thou hast none- O Soul of Song!--0 mind of royal merit.- Is not this high, imperishable fame The tribute of a grateful world to thee?. A recognwiing glory in thy name, page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 - THE ARTIIST S D:RAM.' ;From a great nation,' to thy memory? "ord-of Dramatic Art--the splendid scenes -Of 'thy rich fancy are around us still;- Al snhapes of thought to make the bosom thrill Are thine supreme! Many long years have sped And dimmed in dust the crowned and laurelled head, But thou--thou speakest stiAU, though numbered with the dead!" "What a rhapsody to get into over Shakspeare!" she said, closing the book. "For my part, I could never see any poetryin his works." , "It is true," replied Marion, "that some of his finest passages are only relieved from prose, by the cadence of the verse; but that, in itself, is so admirable, that it constitutes poetry of the highest order. "Well! I never enjoyed his plays, be they what they may?-poetry or prose." Then you could never have heart Mrs. Butler read them?" "No, I never did. Don't she read like other people?" 'Not exactly," replied Marion, smiling. "To hear her read: Shakslpeare's dramas, is better than seeing them acted on the stage. She possesses the most wonderful power of expression, and flexibility of voice. She takes her hearers into the scenes which she represents. She elhaills their attention, and electrifies them by her magi- cal art." "The last of her, I hope," said the Captain, in a low tone, to Percy, when the sound of Mrs. Rossitur's -horse's hoofs died away. "She probably comes nearer #awy THE ARTIST'S DR!EAM. j5 being a vinegar cruet than any other human beaig. I believe in natural aniagotismS." ? Mrs. Rossitur had given a world of advice to Eleanor, at parting, and requested her to write and' letiher:know how she bore the journey home.; Her' adieus to; all the ladies had been made, amid profuso protestations off'1, un- dying affection, and with. the assurance, that if she ever visited New York, she would call to see them-an, event which some of them devoutly hoped would never -take place. Captain Ryland inquired if she were a widow? "No," replied Ellersley, " so there is no chance for you, in that direction. Mr. Rossitlr is alive and well,- though one rarely sees or hears of the poor man. He seems- to be kept in the background by his -domnilnat spouse, aied is what might be called a hen-pecked htsbandc' DJr, Rossitur condole "with you very much,: o t hvibi to give up your trip to Washington," he added, tUi*in- to -Marion. "Yes, she would persist in thinking that it was a great disappointment to me not to go; although I tocl' her it was none at all; and considered my effort to be con- tented like the 'beautiful resignation,' which Mrs Yoti- phar so much admired in the Rev. Cream Cheese, when he declared 'He never could marry an heiress unless he clearly perceived it to be his duty. " Mrs. St. Clair, who was sitting close by, re aratke that she was glad Marion was-. not disappointed; and that their stay in Kentucky had been more agree- able than she had anticipated-that there were: more - . page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 1246 THE 'ARTISTS DREAM. comorts of life in the State than she had supposed pos- sible. "An amused smile passed over Keturah's face, and she. exchanged significant glances'with her brother. It was not the first time they had heard a stranger express surprise, at seeing something better than log cabins, and finding the inhabitants a few degrees above semi-barba- rians. Not another one of the party would have been guilty of such rudeness. But Mrs. St. Clair could say suceh things with a very good grace, and was never weary of boasting of her own Gotham. After tea, Augusta seated herself at the piano, and rat- fled off a brilliant overture. Keturah then played Weber's last waltz, and. several variations of s'Home, sweet Home;". after which she asked Eleanor- if she felt strong enough to sing. "I will sing for you with pleasure," replied Eleanor. "What would you like to hear?" "Play, 'Come haste to the Wedding,'" said a voice from the doorway. There was a general laugh, when the parrot was seen there with her gay feathers of crimson and green. ,'Come Poll, you veritable sinner," said the Captain, - taig her on his knee; " what trick -will you play next?" Polly showed her displeasure at this speech, by walk- ing to the other end of the room. She climbed the back of Mrs. St. Clair's chair, perched herself on that lady's Shoulder, and almost kissed her. "Go away, you ugly bird!" she cried, in disgust; and Polly forthwith sought refuge underneath the piano. A gentleman from St. Louis, an acquaintance of Percy, THE AITI8?8 DBEAM. 7 arrived at the hotel the day before, ancd feeling veny uai well, he sent early in the evenipg for Percy to come to his room. Eleanor noticed his absence, but was igno- ! raint of the cause. She sang "Comin thro' the Rye; saad afterwards, that exquisite Italian melody, "No, I will sigh no more." * "'One more song," pleaded Elersley, who stood by Eleanor' side. She had commenced "While this hear its joy revealing," when Percy approached the parlor. Not wishing to interrupt the music by his entrance, he stood outside the door with folded arms, and downcast eyes. No moustache covered the beautiful mouth It' was worthy of the sculptor's chisel, and seemed formed to speak words of love. His head was slightly bent for- ward, as if fearing to lose one tone of that voice.. It was, what is so rarely found, a fine contralto. She sang with deep feeling, and passionate emotion; and her list- eners were charmed with her grace of execution and ex- pression. The song-ended. Eleanor rose from her seat, and Percy entered the room. Their eyes met, and in that look, Rf]ersley Cavendish could have read the secret of their engage- ment. It was the first time Percy had heard her sing, since her illness, and his eyes expressed his pleasure, "Do play the Lancers, for my special benefit, Eleanor," , cried Augusta; after which, Mrs. St. Clair petitioned for "The Seasons." Eleanor immediately complied, and Percy accompanied her! on the violin. The piece was exquisite, comprehending and interpreting the wonder- * ' " ^ page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 18 ETHE ARTIBT'S DREAm. ha3 beauty of creation. Eleanor grew very weary before he evening was over. But she felt repaid for the exer- tions she had made, when she had heard Keturah's and Fllrisley's warm thanks for the pleasure she had given them. Ellersley did -not inherit his father's handsome face. His features were too irregular to be strictly beautiful. But his form, which was naturally good, had been per- lfected, by all kinds of athletic exercises. Although tall and strongly built, his hands and feet were not large. No continued muscular exertion had been confined to one- part of the body, to the comparative weakening of the next; but all the members were justly and beautifully -proportioned. He possessed that most desirable 6f all earthly blessings-- health - that wondrous physical ,strength, which brings with -it so much enjoyment, and which one must always admire;-ay, which it seems to me one might almost worship. ",It is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant." "I hope we will hear the stage-horn once more. I confess, I think there is a good deal of music im it," ex- claimed Augusta, the next morning, as she walked down the little yard in front of the -hotel, and stood on the wooden platform, waiting her turn to enter the coach. After some delay the passengers were seated. The driver cracked his whip, and off went the horses through a forest of oaks, haws, black-jacks, box-elder and dog- TEB BTSE'SB DREFAM. 249 wood. The road was rough enough, certainly; but peo- ple can afford to be jolted for a few hours, especially if the scenery through which they pass is attrate and their fellow travellers agreeable. The coach stopped as usual, at Indian Cave; and when Augusta and Ma- rion found that no change of costume was necessary, they consented to accompany Arthur and the- Captain underground. They soon returned, and Augusta gave rather a confused account of the ".Pool of Bethesda," the "Secessionist," "Statuette Hall," and other curiosities. "I wanted to bring you a flower of the "Magnolia Grandiflora," Eleanor, she continued, "but not a speci- men of any kind were we allowed to take from the cave." At Cave City they were not sorry to exchange their primitive mode of conveyance for the railroad. When they;arrived at Louisville, instead of taking the direct route to Cincinnati, they passed for a few days into the interior. While at Lexington,-the most beautiful portion of the state,-they visited the Cemetery. It is highly improved, and is a most lovely spot. How often have the solemn words been repeated there, " earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust!" "Hark! how the saered calm that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;: -In still smallaccent whispering from the grbund A grateful earnest of eternal peace." There are four graves in this city of tha dead, to which my heart must ever fondly turn. The chilio who rest within them were of one happy f. mi. appy . page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 2-0 THE: ARTIST'S DtSRAM. taken im the space of a few short weeks. L "ovely in "fe, m death they were not divided." cHow grows in Paradise our store i" "Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead! For this, through its leaves hath the wild rose burst, For this, in the woods was the violet nursed I Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift-bring flowers, pale flowers!' A few steps, and there rises to view a lofty monument surmounted by a full-length statiue of him who sleeps be- neath-K-Kentucky's greatest Orator and Statesman, Henry Clay. O ye snows and rains of winter, fall gently on his last resting place! Thou, glorious summer sun, sent to gladden the earth by thy splendor, shine mildly Thou, -lovely and serenest moon, shed thy holiest beams! Ye countless- stars, set in the heavens like jewels in a regal 4iadem, look kindly! Guard him well, yel stately trees I Give him your softest breath, sweet winds; lest he should waken and sigh for the shades of "Ashad!" Does not menory fly on rapid wing, to the grave of his compatriot and friend, the peerless Webster? He rests beside the deep, blue sea, fit emblem of so grand a spirit. (Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, his honor, and the greatness of his name shall be!" Clay and Webster I Illustrious names in their coun- try's npnanls! As Italy needed her Cavour, and England ier Peel, so do We nieed thee, 0- thou mighty spirits! : ;i-riten morelmwfl I your eloquence be heard in the Sen- @ . ,YOM TH-' ARTI3STSlr:- .: ate, thrilling the hearts of every listener. Nevermore l So true 'it is,-that, "s The paths of glory lead but to the gravoe!" A few hours' ride, by railway, brought the travellers to Covington; and they were soon sailing on the turbid waters of the Ohio. Kentucky, - Bright star of the West, TLand of sunshine and song, Land of heroes, and martyrs Land of cavaliers, peerless and strong, Land of the brave and the true, Not soon again thy shore 11ll see, (Nor hear familiar sounds;) But I'll ever cherish sweet memories of thee. O Kentucky! mother land! My love for thee, no words can tell--. Where'er I go, my spirit will turn to thee, I bid thee a long, long, fond farewell I Al right, TO. page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 THE ARTIST'S DREA. CHAPTER XXV1L. "A mother yields her gem to thee, On thy true breast to. sparkle rare, She places 'neath thy household tree The idol of her fondest care." MS. SIGOUENEY. TRANOR was very glad to be at home again, with her mother. She was to be married in a few God?^ weeks; and Marion had promised to be the first of six bridesmaids. Although she felt gratified, that Eleanor should have selected her from among her nume- rous friends, and glad to be associated with her, in an hour of such absorbing interest, she was tempted to withdraw from her engagement, when she found that she was to stand with Captain Ryland. He was a person with whom she had no congeniality; and she would ne- cessarily be .much in his society. The wedding was very large, and parties followed in quick succession, The most brilliant was given by Augusta. Her mother had been dead for several years; and she dispensed the hos- pitality of her father's house in University Place. There was a proud light in Percy Seymour's eyes, as he entered with his lovely bride. Her complexion was almost trans- parent, in its exceeding delicacy; and her dress was covered with fleecy clouds of white lace. The front of the corsage was adorned with several glittering diamonds; ,TE AIRTISTnS DEAM 2- and streams of dazzling light-flowed around her neck-and arms. Ellersley Cavendish entered soon after the bridal party. He had followed Marion to New York, and- lived only in her smiles. She soon wearied of dancing? and accepted his invitation to walk on the verandahs- The rooms were warm, and many persons followed thetr ex- ample. .Ellersley had never seen his companion look more beautiful. . Her dress of white tulle waq every be- coming; and several exquisite japonicas rested like sno wy crystals in her coal black hair. A set of pearls encircled her throat and well-rounded arms. FTlersley looked! at the one which lay in his own, and thought it even more white and beautiful than the clasping pearls. He had resolved to summon sufficient courage to offer his hand in marriage-to knovp his fate before the evening-was over. Persons constantly passed and repassed them; some conversing gaily, others in more subdued voices. Ellersley spoke in a low tone, and bent his head to catch Marion's answer. But no sounmd issued from her lips "Will you not speak to me," he said; "give me one l word of hope? Or may I interpret your silence as my heart wishes?" h "I would fain be your friend," she replied. "Yes, the friend of my bosom, my wife," he pleaded. Her clear eyes met his. "You have misunderstood me," she said. "-I meant a friencd in a different acceptation of the term." "It can never be, much as I appreciate the honor you confer upon me." page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 2 IS I ARTMT'S DRVIAM. -Ae-looked at hims in surprise, and remarked that she supposed the truest friends were sometimes made under such circumstances. "'Youspeak from experience, then?" -"I ,$did not say so." "May Iask if you are engaged?" "I decline answering a question which you have no. "ghtito ask." "Pardon me. The dread of losing. you forever, in- duced me to do so." "I can never entertain the sentiments toward you, which you desire; though I must feel the compliment you have paid me to-night, the very highest a lady can ever receive." "'0h, you Save been everything to me," he said, sor- rowfully.. "The brightest vision that has ever crossed my path. For weeks I have dwelt, as it were, only with you. During the day you were constantly in my thoughts, ,a4d when we parted at night, it was only to be drawn still nearer in my dreams. You were to me, as a beaute- ou star, or a constellation which became more and more brillAnt, as I gazed upon it. You were to me a being of angelic purity, whom I longed inexpressibly to call my own. Lately, I had cherished the sweet hope that you were not altogether indifferent to me. It was only a dream, a bright, blissful, intoxicating one, indeed; but it isover now. It would never do forme to stay where I could look upon your peerless beauty. To be near you, *wovuld only be to keep alive my burning, passionate love. And I could never bear to see bestowed upon another, TH: 4 ARTIST$w DowAM. 2 what is dearer to. me than life- itselft, wii go-,he "con- tinued; and Marion thought:there was some bitterness in his tone. "I will go and. endeavor to do what you : once said a man should do under such cirtumstsan-es,- crush the feeling, rise superior to the disappointment." Her face wore a puzzled expression. For a few minutes she could not recall when, or where, she ,.ad :uttered those words. The occurrence of the evening caused her deep regret. She had a sincere regard for Ellersley, and I was sorry to have wounded his feelings. Had she given him encouragement?- was the question she silently asked her own heart. She had not, had the vanity to believe that he cared particularly for her, as no words to that effect had escaped his lips; and she had not stopped-to reflect that his attentions were directedc-almost exlu- sively to herself. Her nature was free from coquetry;' and yet she had by her naive nmanner led hin to think that he might have some interest -in her heart. Why, she thought, because a gentleman is attentive to a lady, should it necessarily follow that his affections are en- gaged? She might be to him only an agreeable compan - ion, and it was time enough to think differently, when he should declare his sentiments. Why couldl there ot be more free, uninterrupted friendship between the sexes? With such- thoughts in her mind, Marion left ESlerley and sought her aunt, whom she found in. oneof thwepnr- lors. 'She seated herself by'her on, the sofa, aAd ithe band struck up the most inspiriting music. - . "You are engaged to me the next quadrille, MiaasLee page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 THE ARTIST S 'DMFAM. said-a gentleman, approaching her. "I have been look- :ing for you, for the last ten minutes." "Will you excuse me?" she said. "I do not feel in the humor for dancing any more this evening," He did not seek another partner, but stood talking to her. "Why are you not dancing, Mr. Cavendish?" said the host, seeing Rlylersley in the verandah. ': It is too warm to think of dancing, sir," he replied. "I did not -suppose that the weather or anything else would prevent young people from participating in that amusement. Come, let us go to the card-room." After playing one or two games of whist, Ellersley quit. The heat and the brilliant light were intolerable, and he longed for quiet. Before leaving, however, he felt an irresistible desire to see Marion once more. She was still seated on the sofa, and was conversing with the same person. Ellersley went out on the verandah, and let the night air blow on his burning brow. He then stationed himself by the edge of a window, where he could gaze upon Marion unobserved. For a moment he expe- rienced a feeling of jealousy, at seeing her with any one. With all a lover's apprehension, he fancied that every gentleman who approached her, must be as much in love with her as himself. He had entertained some unpleas- ant feeling toward her, for her rejection of his suit, though it was soon over, and he readily acquitted her of any design to trifle aith his feelings. Her usual beam- ing happy expression of countenance was gone, and a pensive shade rested in its place. Did she grieve for ; .?HEWE A RTsa DREAM. 7j him? There was comfort in the thought. She wastoo young to be spoiled by -the world, too noble, too pure, he thought, as he watched the clear light which shone from the depths of her dark eyes. Hefelt -asif he wold be contented with, his lot, if he knew she would never marry. But it was probable her life would be spent in the sweet society of husband and children.,! Poor Ellersley! He would have spared himself that picture, if he could have looked with a prophetic eye into the fu- ture. He entered one of 'the brilliant drawing-rooms, to make his adieus to Augusta. "It is early yet," she said: "I hope you are not ill?" "Not at all, thank you; but I expect to leave early in the morning for the West." He went directly to his room,. on reaching his hotel But the repose he so much needed would not come at his bidding, and he spent the sleepless night-in pacing up and down the apartment. After the bridal parties, there was a lull in the fashion- able world. Arthur took advantage of it to induce his sister to visit the poor, and to interest her in many use- ful works. He felt that in a great measure she was his charge, and like a guardian angel hovered near to pro- tect her from evil influences. Mrs. St. Clair protested against all this. She was, she said, the best judge of what was suitable for Marion, and considered it very im- proper for her to go into the narrow, unfrequented parts of the city, and to be in contact with low-bred vulgar people. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] ' 2;E8 TEx ARTIST'S- DBEAM Alas for Marionl While one endeavored to elevate her thoughts and aspirations, the other was equally assi- duus in her efforts to drag her down to the frivolous amusements of the world. Which will prove the stronger? C many of 'them. openbarouches, thus displaying the superb toilettes of he occupants. - Passing by a door opening into the hall, Marion heard the angry tones of Martin (her aunt's footman) ordering some one to be gone, and not soil the marble steps by tI treading upon them. : Listening for a moment, she caught the sound of her own name, then walked rapidly to the front door. Mar- tin was much disconcerted when he saw her, and stam- mered an apology, muttering something about beggars. She called to a little boy, who was slowly moving away. "What do you want, Bobbie?" He turned his large blue eyes, filled with tears, upon her, and said that his mother was very ill, and he thought he would ask Miss Lee if she would go and see her. Marion ran up stairs, threw on a hat and scarf, and in a few minutes was hur- rying down the street, with Bobbie by her side.. Many curious glances were bent upon them. The petted daughter of fortune, her face glowing with kindness and sympathy, and the child of poverty, with his patched page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 THE ARTIST S DREAM. - clothing, no shoes upon his feet, and no covering for his curly head.' When they reached the miserable attic where Bobbie lodged, they found his mother in great dis- tress. Her -features were contracted, and the whole countenance bore evidence of extreme suffering. Marion's experience in sickness was very limited, and it is not surprising that she found herself at a loss what to do for the invalid; but a neighbor came in, and under her directions, she made herself very useful. Not until then, had she noticed or thought of her- dress. The gay. silk, with its trimming of cosily lace, was indeed ill-suited to the time and place, and she regretted that in her haste she had forgotten to change it. The violence of the paroxysms gradually abated, and in a few hours she had the satisfaction of seeing the poor woman free from pain, though in a state of great prostration. With the promise of returning in the morning, she took her departure. After proceeding a few squares, she called a carriage and drove rapidly homewards. It was six o'clock, and feeling too weary and forlorn to appear at the dinner ta- ble, she went directly to her room. Layiing aside her rich attire, she put on a simple dress, and threw herself upon a sofa. But her rest was not of long duration. There was a slight tap at the door, and Mrs. St. Clair unceremoni- ously entered the apartment. Her brow" was dark and lowering, and the storm burst forth in all its fury. She was deeply offended at her niece's conduct, and had never been accustomed to control her high temper. Marion's face flushed with indignation. She darted a -THE ABTIST S DEtEABM. 21 look of witherinmg scorn at her aunt, and was about to make an angry reply, when she thought of her brother. For his sake, she remained silent. Her generous,-unsel- fish nature could have but little sympathy with the' cold calculating spirit of Mrs. St. Clair. She knew she was thoughtless, but was conscious of having acted from a good motive. Poor Marion! She was beginning to feel that there are thorns, as well as flowers, in the pathway of life. page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] , D CTTAPT'ER, X C APIER XXTX. As a mother throws out her arms and folds her children In. downy -softness on her gentle breast, So ripe summer casts her warmest beams On fields and woods and smiling streams. -XMMT!R, with its long days, had come. The air in the city was warm and oppressive, and many per- sons had already sought cooler quarters in the country. Away to green woods and running brooks! Away to mountain views, and beautiful breezes! Away to the bounding sea, and dashing spray! Away! Away! Bobbie Blanton was a protege of Arthur's. Two years before he had seen him on the street a rag- ged, delicate-looking child, with his only possessions, a hand-organ and a monkey, the inheritance of his father. He turned the crank, while the monkey danced and held out his hat for the pennies. The Artist was struck with the boy's bright intelligent countenance, and iU- quired into his history. He found that his mother was a confirmed invalid, scarcely able to earn, by the needle, a scanty subsistence for herself and her child. He pro- vided many comforts for her, and took Bobbie to the Sunday School. Mrs. Blanton had not recovered from the attack, re- lated in the last chapter; and it was thought that she could not survive the summer, in the city. Arthur had therefore made arrangements for her to spend several j weeks at a farm-house, a few miles out of town. Tears of gratitude filled the widow's eyes as she told him how glad Bobbie would be; and that it, would seem to her like being well again, to get to the country. Poor Bob- bie! he had never been, out of the close city, and al:he knew of grass and trees, was what he had seen in the parks. Oh! the joy of that visit to the child of toil, undo. the care-worn, anxious mother. Bobbie never wearied of wandering through the green fields,- and listening to the singing of the birds, .,He, sometimes gathered nosegays of wild flowers for his mother, and her wan face lighted up with pleasure as she received them. He read a chapter in the Bible: to her every day, and they often talked together of a land more beautiful than the country which he so much, admired. "I should like to go there," he said, one day; "but I am a little boy, and cannot be'good enough to live in that beautiful place." "Not so," was the reply. "It was Jesus who said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me;"' and she tried to make him understand how, in baptism, he had been.. made a member of Christ, the child of God, and an in- heritor of the kingdom of heaven. Mrs. St. Clair was anticipating a brinliant season. , few days at Niagara, the month of July at Saratoga, and the remainder of -the summer at her cottage at Newport. Artlur proposed a jaunt to the White Mountains of New Hampshire; but she, would never consent, she said, to page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264,' THgE ARTIST'S DREAM. buryherself in that stupid place. Some of their friends were going the same route, so it was quite a large party thati found themselves, one bright morning, on the deck of a North River packet, admiring the magnificent sce- ar i e at NA r ain, a nd They left Albany the next day in the early train, and arrived at Niagara about twilight. Pleasant rooms were obtained at the Cataract House, and they were soon lulled to sleep by the roar of the Falls. They enjoyed themselves in different ways. Some danced and firted, with scarcely a sight beyond their hotel. To others, these things seemed almost like mockery, in a place which spoke so eloquently to every thoughtful mind, of the might and majesty of God. To Arthur, each hour was fraught with intense enjoy- ment. He generally sketched from the Canada side, as the finest views were commanded there; and he gazed upon the cataract with more intense feelings of awe and wonder, than when he saw it for the first time. The last evening at Niagara, he spent on Goat Island; and his soul was imbued with the solemn grandeur of the scene. The setting sun cast a golden glory on the sheeted foam of the Falls, and when the moon rose, she shed forth her beautiful silvery radiance. Oh, those roaring, rushing waters! Whence came they, and whither were they going? His heart waslifted in silent adoration; for he knew they were made, guided, and ruled, by the same Omnipotent hand that shapes and controls the destinies of men. He went awaycheer- ful and hopeful, girded with new strength for the battle TE ARTISTS DREMV., 265. of life. On reaching Saratoga, Mrs. St. Clair's p ty- took possession of the apartments, which had been en- gaged for them at one of the hotels. Marion's- rare beauty and graceful proportions, did not require the aid of dress. In the simple morning costume, or the elaborate ball-room toilette, she looked - equally lovely. She smiled gaily, was always ready for a playful war of words, and entered with apparent -zest into every amusement. Her aunt thought she had never seen her appear to more advantage, and secretly rejoiced at the influence she believed she had gained over her. To the casual observer, she was a light-hearted, joyous- girl; but Arthur detected, amid all her gayety, an under-' current of anxiety. Marion was indeed restless and un- happy; but she did not take time to analyze her feelings.' The "still small voice," was speaking .to her, and she sought to. drown its warnings by plunging more deeply into the vortex of .fashionable life. She looked so pale one day, when driving to the lake, that Arthur asked, with affectionate interest, if she were well. "Quite well," was the reply. How he longed to be alone with her, and at home once more. The season was far advanced, when they arrived at Newport, and belles and beaux were making the most of their butterfly existence. How refreshing it is to breathe the life-giving, air of the sea! It imparts fresh vigor to the frame, and. awakens new emotions in the soul. How picturesque the scene on the beach I The bathers in their many col- 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 288eTE atEIT'S DR EA. ored suite-some battling with the breakers, some swim- ing, some floating on the sun-lit waves. Once Marion ventured too far, and would have been lost, had not' a life-boat been plying near. She was conveyed to the cottage, and restoratives applied; but it was long before animation returned. Arthur hastened to his sister in much alarm, but re- ceived the pleasing assurance, from the attending physi- cian, that she would be quite' well in a few days. . . -. " ' , , ' , .THE ARS'I S DREAM. 26? "There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced choir below, In service highand anthems clear, As may with sweetnessthrough mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes." MLTON. ES the music disturb you?" "Oh, no, I like to hear it." The rich tones of the organ fell on the ear low and sweet; then swelled louder and louder, as if some spirit had burst-its tenement-of clay, and was-making its triumphant entry into a happier world. The building' was so arranged, that the wards opened in the chapel, thus affording the patients the privilege of hearing. the beautiful service of the Church, Mrs. Blanton lay on her bed, surrounded by neatness and comfort; her face radiant with an expression of cheerfulness. She had been strengthened and refreshed by her visit to the country, but it was thought best, on her return to the city, that she should be placed where she would receive all the attention her condition required. This was found at St. Luke's EHospital. Not only are hired nurses in at- tendance there, but a gentle sister band-accomplished, intellectual ladies-who devote their time and energies page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 THE268 ARTISTS DREBA. to this noble mission. Many a pang has been assuaged, and many a heart made lighter by their mninistry of love. Bobbie had been sent to one of the public schools, but was allowed to visit his mother frequently. He became much interested in a little boy and girl at the hospital, who, although incurably diseased, had bright and happy $ faces, and were often seen looking at pretty picture- books, and playing with their toys. THE ARTIr'S DRE F .. 269 - CH'APTER X-X A. Hither, hither, to the Park And all its varied beauties mark Each flowery hicket-each lovely glade, . How sweet the cool refreshing shade How smoot;h the grass-each blade in place Each tree and shrub, how full of grace I Lightly the robin hops along; List to its little chirping song. Through the Ramble now we'll go, Then on the Lake we'll swiftly row, The stately swan sails all around; Dost bear its ugly guttural sound I Loudly plays the band, I ween; Merrily the children skip on the green. ' ' g2Y darling is better to-day," said Mr. St. Clair, as he saw Marion sitting by a cheerful fire in her dress ing-room. ' "Oh yes, so much better, dear uncle. Don't you think I could ride out this afternoon? I wish Dr. F would come!" "His camiage is at the door, now," said her unle, looking out of the window as he spoke. "I was just wishing to see you, doctor," said Marion, as he entered the room; "( and to ask what you think of my driving to the Park." "That will be a long ride for you, my dear. Do you feel quite able to bear the motion of a carriage?" "Oh yes! You will not refuse me?" she said, seeing page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 ATHE BTISTS DREAM. Imn look grave. "I have not been out of the house since we returned from Newport, in August; and this is the first day of November-such a long, long time." "Yes, a very long time," said the doctor, kindly, smoothing the dark hair from her forehead. "The weather is exceedingly mild for the season, but you must be careful not to take cold, for you have been very ill." * A long life, spent in the practice-of medicine, had not trendered Dr. F callous to the sufferings of himan- ity. His heart was as warm, his feelings as tender as when he entered upon his professional career, thirty years before. With all the advantages derived, from a residence in the first capitals of Europe, and standing, as he did, at the head of his profession in his 'own country, it was not necessary for him to assume the brusque manner, and air of nonchalance, by which some of his inferiors seek to add to their importance. He was always the plain, unaffected, courteous gentle- manly physician-admired by all, and envied by many; for, like other great men, he had not achieved his reputa- ton without brushing away many cobwebs of vanity, and exciting many petty jealousies. He had been the personal friend of Mrs. Lee, and felt deeply for her daughter; who, in the bloom of youth, was debarred from the pleasures of an' active life. His sagacity had fore- seen that her disease was assuming a chronic form, and that it might be years before she recovered, if indeed she ever did. The accident at Newport had been a great shock to her nervous system; but that was not the only THEE ARTIST7I DRB A. 27 cau se ofher llne' . She 'Sherited delicate on'stit- tion; and excitement, dissipation, and fatigue W, their work; SuppoSed by pillows, she went in her: easy, -.luxiou s - carriage, to Central Park. It was quite thronged an vehicles of every descrnption ere to e seen. grounds were in beautiful order, and had been greatl improved since she had seen them, the preons: ay Row-boats -were on the lakes; and the swans, gee" a white ducks, addaed muchto the beauty of theee Marion was more fatigued by her ride, than she hacd anticipated. The confinement o a sick room w s Par- tiularlytrying toone of her buoyant temperament; :and, at times, h sufferings were very great.- -ne most:emi- nent physicians in the city had been called in for, con- sultation, an(d one of themn .aid that, there was only the possibility of her:being well fgain--words twh h: feU on Marion's ear like a funeral lmneHl ho' cau e e^- the tumnultuous feelings that filed her heartl S. E had so much to give Up!-such bright hopes: and pBnsfor the future! "So the' d:eams depart, So the fafdg phatoins ee. Andfhe sharp reality . Now must act its part r" Dr. Fo was too honest to deceive his patienis,?- he gently told her of her condition, but--;ldo u.::the hope that her youth might do much for her. He:ssi . ed her greatly, in her severe ordeal, and- treaeed er "e page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] THE7 ARTIST'S DMREAM. with a consideration, and kindness, for wich she felt verygrateful. Arthur was with her a great deal, and was untiring in his efforts to divert her mind. He alone, was- admit- ted into the sanctuary of her tinner life. It grieved her to, see the pitying expression of her uncle's face, as he bent tenderly over her; and she strove to appear cheerful in his presence. ' Mrs. St. Clair was kind .after her fashion; but she was too much engrossed in her own amusements, to have much time for anythinu else. She regretted that her niece should be cut off from a- world which she had so much, adorned, and thought her matri- monial prospects sadly blighted; but she was utterly in- capable of entering into her higher. feelings. She was still handsome, and 'graceful; and never wearied of re- peating the idle compliments she received.- Mrion's young friends were very attentive. lany were the beau- tifl bouquets, and other tokens of their thoughtfalness, which she received. Eleanor and Augusta were especially k 'd. The latter was not one whom either Marion or Eleanor would have chosen for an intimate friend; but circumstances had thrown them together, and they had found that, with all her frivolity and worldly-mindedness, she was verygood-natured, and possessed a warm and generous heart. She came in, one morning, with Elea- nor, and gave Marion an amusing description of a small party she had attended the night before, at MArs.- Je- rome 's. "Among other thigs," she said, "they had the THE ABRTIST 'S DREAM. 278 'Taming of the Shrew,' in pantomime. Can you guess who Katharina was?" "No, I am no Yankee at guessing.' "Well, it was myself; and I am of the opinion, that I did remarkably :well;--though Captain Ryland said, that the character would have suited you better. A little bit of revenge, you see, for your indifference to him last summer." Marion smiled. "So you were the Shrew," she said. "Youare looking in very good order-not at all as if Petruchio had nearly starved you." "Oh! but you do not know what I have undergone, Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty, have a present alms; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;-- Bult Hwho never knew how to entreat,-- Am starved for meat-giddy for lack of sleep;- With oaths kept waking,-and with brawling fed:- And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love;-- As who should say,-if I should sleep, or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness,-or else present death,--' I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast;- I-care not what,-so it be wholesome food." ' What say you to a neat's foot?' ' 'Tis passing good;-I pr'ythee let me have it.' ' I fear, it is too cholerick a meat:-- How say you, to a fat tripe, finely broiled?' ' "I like it well; good Gramio, fetch it me' I cannot tell: I fear 'tis cholerick; What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?' o, page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 27 's 2- . i 1E: ASTIDREA. 'A dish that I do love to feed upon.' 'Ah, but the mustard is too hot, a little.' 'Why, then the bee, and let the mustard rest, 'Nay, then I will not; you all have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio.' 'Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.' ' So you threw aside the cap, that Petruchio thought Became you not; and told those headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands? Yes, for our lances are but straws; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most, which we least are."' - "But enough of Shakspeare. I wish you could have heard the music, last evening. Was it not fine, Elenor? Several persons played splendidly on the piano; and one or two ladies peoderformed very well on the harp. But oh, Em. Jerome! Such playingl and after all her advantages, too. She began the recitative of'Casta Diva,' and murdered it until I felt like stopping my ears. Mr. o- a desto said in his broken English, that he would as soon ttempt-to beat -music into the'head of a rusty nail, as to teach Signorita Jerome." She rattled on in this strain, until Arthur came in; when she began telling him of the encoraiums she had heard a connoisseur bestow upon some of his paintings; which were being exhibited at the ganery. arion tu red o Eleanor, and remarked that she had hoped to have her for a neighbor as Arthur had told her that b. Seymour thought of renting a house a fewr doors below them, it . THE ARTIST' S DRE LM 2 7;5 "It is a very desirable residence," replied her friend "rather too large for us, but still Percy would have-takehi it, had it not beent for mamma's distress. I don't thinlk she will ever consent to our leaving her." "What in the world do you- want to. go to housekeep- ing for?" exclaimed Augusta, who, in a spause of her con- versation with Arthur, had caught Eleanor's remark, "You will have a world of trouble on your hands, I can tell you. I wish papa would break up, and go to board- ing. I would prefer a large hotel, where I could see and hear everything that was going on." "That life would never suit me," was the quiet reply; then she added, in- a lower tone, "I sometimes wish that we could live in the country. The continual round of gay- ety, which a city life involves, is so senseless and weari- some." There was a tone of sadness in the Sweet voice; and Marion wondered if she, too, were longing for a rest which this world can never give. During the long nights, Marion often heard the car- riages roll by, to some place of gay resort; and remem- bered the time, when she too participated in the same amusements. At such times, she said, mentally, "How little people miss me now! If I were to die, low soon they would cease to regret me! Ah! the world will soon forget me When I die, And its flowers w wi bll om as b rightly, And its birds will sing as sweetly, Though I love d them, and I die." page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 7O . THEAERiSTS DRE"a ; OhI tho0elong, longhours Hwhen the heart,flle with the silcening throes of self-scrutiny--torn and bleed- ing-threw aside its mask of smiles, and wept such bitter, bitter tears. When it longed for the night to pass, yet knewmorning would bring no reief-'when it turned and sought in vain for one ray of light to illumine the "' darkness of despair. Oh God! Can- any agony be like that -' THEE ARTIST'S DEGA 27 CFAPCTE XXZX. J #, "Existence may be borne, and the deep rooft Of life and sufferance make its firm abode ' it"In bare and esolated bosoms; mute" : - D CThe camel. labors with the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence :--not bestowed In vain should such examples be; if they, Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Endure and Shrink hot,-we of nobler clay May temper it to bear,-it is but for a day." . , - rCmIDE AbOD. J NE frosty morning in the early part of December, 3^ Mr. St. Clalr entered Marion's roomrsd and asked %';' if she felt well enough to go down stairs. ' The. air is very keen," he said; "but you will not feel ith- the 'house is so thoroughly heated. I think- the change will do you good. ' Cbme, my love, let mie take you;" and in a few minutes Marion was comfortably ensconced on, the soft cushions of a sofa, in the drawing-room. She smiled her thanks, and said it was very pleasant to be a there. Do you recognize this young lady?" said her unle, going up to her portrait, and glancing from it to the original, as if comparing thetwo. He did not wait for an answer, but made some remark about Arthur's artis- tic skill. Marion looked at the portrait, and its radiant. loveliness could not be concealed, even from herself. The raven hair, braided around the well-shaped head; the speaking eyes; the rich bloom on the cheek; the rosy page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 THE ARTIST'S DEA. lips, and the exquisite proportions-were they, indeed, her own? And that passage "of Scripture came into her mind-l-"lavor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord, the shall be praised." Beauty is like music, or painting, or oratory, God's gift; and a most powerful one Marion had found it to be, in the world in which she had moved; She thought the precious gift of talent would be useless in her hum- ble sphere. She did not know how priceless it would be to her, or that even in the obscure life of an invalid, it can be employed for the glory of God. But MaUin soon found the value of a well disciplined mind; andh-ber unsm fishA nature showed itself in all its beauty. She re- solved, that'whatever might be her lot, she would bear it firmly and nobly. For the sake of those so dear to her, ashe would wear a calm and cheerful exterior.. She took her great sorrow, as it were, in her hand. She turned it over and over, viewed it in all its aspects, and received it with that womanly courage, which so often puts to shame man's boasted fortitude. Dr. F , with all his experience, wondered 'at, and admired her self-control, and patient endurance; and earnestly wished that she possessed a strength greater than her own. Hers would do far more for her than medicine; but it might fail, in the progress of disease, and he knew the strength of the Alrmighty one was unchangeable and everlasting. E A&TIST'ST D EA. .2 CIAPTER XXXi . e forth a tarinmplha shouta For on this day, the Incrate Sonof God appea s To redeem a dying world; To wipe away all ail doubths aud fs Then rejoice, snd sing, tosaEnna to the ttighest! ^feST MAS, with its 3oys, and its blessigs, ches^ 1er^ dotheain Bteirbe'u- come. The Church s were world united in praise nd thankegivirg to ourEeavenly shared alike, banday Cheats were h ; ,Tyill take this little bird to my baby sister" said Mrs. Smith, as ofe tooa by Son J, ^ lootring at the toya, broobt htode by Althuro ^T ey Cranmer. "Itisn't a sreal live obebu, b i is e;st s . sm t , , * .i ** ^takethi litle. s:^^ ^801"1"^^"e bt i page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 2g8 280 .T ABRET'S DREAM. ' nearly scratched each other's eyes out. Now, hey mind every word Isay. to them, and help me a good deal, on Bobbie Blanton divided the sweetmeats he had re- ceived, with his monke--who, to show the force of habit, still daned, though no music guided his motions; -and still held out his hands for pennies. Leaving him to the enjoyment of his feast, Bobbie hastened to St. Luke's, to exhibit his gifts to his mother. and to read his pretty books to her. He really read very well. Mrs. Blanton was delighted with his improvement; and fondly hoped he would soiie day realize the epec- 'tations of those whohad so kindly interested them- selves in his welfare. Above all, she trusted that God 'Would make him His own cild--"Al that He loves and blesses." -Bobbie afterwards went to Mrs. St. Clair's; and timidly asked Martin if he could see Miss Lee. But Martia was very civil this time, and showed him up stairs to lIa- rion's room. She received the little boy very kindly, and inquired if he were spending the holidays pleasantly. "Oh, so pleasantly!" he replied; cm y Sunday School teacher says it is everybody's privilegeto throw aside care and trouble at this season; and sing the Angels' song, 'Glory ibe to God on high.'" Opening a box he had brought with him, he took out a cross wrought of evergreen, and presented it to ia- rion, saying he had wanted so much to give her some- thng, and as he had heard that the Cross was the o t TE ARTIST'S DB) M. 281 emblem of salvation, he had made one for her, in the: hype that she would like it. Would she accept it from him? 'Touched by the child's thoughtfulness, she assured hid it gave her great pleasure to accept it, and that it should be placed where she could see -it from her couch. "It is indeed the emblem of our salvation," she said, "and will ever speali to me in a language more expres- sive than any framed in words." e"Don't you get tired of always being in bed?" asked Bobbie. "Yes, very," replied Marion gently. "Mother does too, sometimes; and she says, she prays. more than ever for strength-and then Patience watches beside her, like a kind, good nurse, and Faith points to a world where people are never sick and weary."' . - - Mation was soothed, and cheered by this saith. The child had unconsciously taught her a lesson. His simple. present was more prized than all her costly-gifts. She never looked at it without remembering -the Saviour's bleeding cross, which had been borne- for her sins; and she hoped that -strength would be given her, to endure her cross on earth, so that, hereafter, she might wear a crown in Heaven. When her uncle expressed a wish that she could be up, and enjoy the Christmas with them a all, she hastened too assure him that she enjoyed it very much where she was. , And she did enjoy it, by e ntering into the feelgi fngof others, and forgetting herself. She had learned that the truest way of being happy'one's self, is by trying to make others so. page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 1"3w much goe iwith it to the grave Of life's most precious things I Methinks each year dies on a pyre, ,ike the Assyrian kings. Affections, friendships, conIdence There's not a year hath died, But all these treasures of the heart Le with it, side by side. The wheels of time work heavily; We marvel day by day, To see how from the chains of life The gilding wears away." / L. E. IiANDO N -fl Imell of the Old Year had tolledfor departure. e It was henceforth to be numbered with the Past. How many persons it found in-health and strength, that it left langishig on beds of pain! How many hearts that hailed its advent, had ceased to beat-how many bright eyes were closed in their last sleep!- The cstom of paying calls on New Year's day, is very beautiful. Marion enjoyed seeing her friends, and receiving their. cordial greetings, and best wishes, for her every interest. It was an especial pleasure to see the Rev. Mr. C , who. approached her with a sweet smile, Saying, "I wish you a happy New Year, and may each succeeding year- be more and more auspicious, until life's garnerjs full." e visited her very often, -: . :... ]HE ARTISTS DRE.. 28 and never failed to cheer her with his words of kindness and encouragement. Arthur came in after dinner, telling her she had held such a levee that he could scarcely get a peep at her. Then holding a painting in water-colors before her, asked her if she recognized it. "Oh, yes. It is our old Virginia home; and looks just- as it did when we visited it, five years ago. There is the mill, and the bridge; and the little summer-house, in the garden, where I have so often played. Where did you get this picture?" "I painted it from memory; and now offer it as a New Year's gift, to you. It is a simple one, but I thought you would value it." "I value it more than anything you could have given me. How thoughtful you always are, dear Arthur;" she added, affectionately. s"Dear old home!' I think of it so often; and wish that I was a happy child tlere once more." Softly, there comes o'er me stealing Sweet memories of my childhood's home; They come like angel-visitants, When my spirit is sad and lone,- They bring with them cheering thoughts, They whisper of a life above; A home unchanging, eternal, WhIere all is happiness and love. It was a beauteous, rural spot, My childhood's happy home, Where, in the wild green woods, My careless feet did roam;- - . . . . page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Where grand'old oaks, with banehes wide, And bright winged birds were hoverin nigh the air with melody, As the rivulet went dancing by. Bright flowers in the garden grew;- The rose lifted her queenly head, NWhile an humbler sister, the lily of the valley, Gently reposed on her downy bed. Primoses, crocues, and daisies were there, And tulips bright and fair; And the blue-eyed violet, meek and mild. Shed its fragrance on the air. Life seemed like a golden dream, In those gay and joyous hours;- Its sky as clear and cloudless, Its pathw ay strewed withflowers, Its music was soft and sweet, ile tones of those most dear; Like strains from some magi flute, They fell upon the ear. Long years have passed away And the old home is falling to decay; For no loving hand is near, Its ruin and dust to stay;- And though I may never see it more, It will ever be dear to me;- I shall think of it as 'twas in my childish days, A vision of beauty it. will ever be. ar/on's roooms were adorned with beautiful paintings of them were in oil, and the work of Arthur's hand. In a massive frame, above the mantel, was the coroa- * Eu AXRTIST'S DREA M. - - 285 tion of Richard - Ceur de Lion, and Berengaria. X;,ng Richard was in military costume, and was a model of manly beauty. He had the light hair, and complexion of his uncle, William Rufus; and his lustrous. blue eyes looked tenderly on his fair bride. She was dressed with royal magnificence. Her flowing locks were covered with a transparent veil; and upon her head a double crown was placed to denote that she was Queen of Cyprus and England. From this bright and glowing picture, Marion often turned to one of more subdued coloring., It was a scene in Verona. Juliet was by an open casement, look- ing so transcendently beautiful, that the artist must have seen the vision of an angel, before he created her. The form was full of grace; and the delicate symmetry of the arm and hand, worthy of Canova. "See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand Oh that I were. a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!" Her soft dreamy eyes were fixed upon - he stars; and the envious moon , pale and sick with grief, veiled her. face. a "It is the hour whe n lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered whrd And gentle winds and waters neas Make music to the lonely ear,-- Each flower the dews have lightly wet And on the sky the s tars are met;- And in the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a brighter hue;-- And in the heaven--that clear obscure So softly dark, and darkly pure, page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] That follows the decline of day, As twilght melts beneath the woon away." Jlits cobuntenane ws pensive; and as sighesaped her, it was bore on airy wings to add fresh perfume to the flowers. At the sound of her voice, the nightingale, who was accustomed to sing on the pomegrante free, was Blent, atd hung its head, abashed at its owninferiority'. Romeo was in the garden, his face beaming with impas- sioned love; while he listened with delight, to the de- liious harmony of Juliet's to nes.. She speaks;--' O, speagk akain, bright angel! for thou artA As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, S As is a winged messenger of heaven Ulato the whitfe uptumed wondeneg eyesE Of mortals, that fell boak to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds , 'And sails upon the bosom of the air." -X During the festival of the Epiphany, Arthur brought s sister an engraving of the "Adoration of the Magi," pressing his regret, at the samne time, that she couldX see the origial painting. The engraving, however, s very beautiful, and she thanked him for the pleasure ,aveher. The light above the head of the infant Sa-1 Ur was-perfect, and the figures of the wise men were Y good, as they prostrated themselves before Him. How exquisite:l" exclaimed Marion, as Arthur laid a quet on her couch, a few days afterward. THE ABTISTS DMBktA. 287 "These camelias and roses are ouperb. How kind youU all are, to think of me so often." "I believe you like flowers better than almost anything,: do you not?" - "Yes. I love them one and all, from the humble a dandelion to the stately magnolia. They are sweet em-. blems of peace and innocence, and are as frail and de- pendent as ourselves. How lovely they are, as they bend their fairy forms .beneath the weight of a few dew-drops, and then raise them again looking brighter than ,er, V E and wafting their sweet perfume on the. morning'br eze.. They bless the sick-chamber like bright stars slni tr through gloom. The lily of the valley is your favorite, Arthur." :l "Yes, it is so spotless in its purity. You know the Bible says that' Solomon, in all his glory, was not ar- rayed like one of these' On the desert sands, flowers have with ' airy tongue ' written God's name, and smiled away the travellers despair; and on the rocks they haive "e gleamed up firom the chasm, to inspire new strength. II thinkl they should bloom on the graves of our loved ones. ' They held no lowly place among the gems of- the created ] world. They look up to the sun, as the soul looks up to God, everywhere; and how strikingly do they bring the- grandest of all truths, the idea of immortality, to our L minds. Often shall our pilgrim feet be turned thither- ward; and from the tree of life we shall pluck fruits of love, as we garner in our minds the precious flowers of Truth." - Lo ---. * * * , Wogi': page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 2s8 THE ARTST'S DREAM. CHAP' TER XXX. Sleep on, fair dreamer, Let earth all glorious seem; Let her whisper sweet things to thee, As with springing step thou wanderest. When thou wakest thou will find 'Twas but a dream. } HA D such a delightful! dream last night, Ar- ^ thurl" said Marion. A t' "What was it?" he asked, looking admiringly- into the sweet face, which was radiant with even the memory of that beautiful vision. "I thought I was well again. My m din was no longer chained by disease, my-perceptions dulled by suffering and depression, but all were clear and active. My cheek had lost its pallor, and was tinged with the hue of health. With a bright step, I roamed over hill and dale, and saw Nature in all her loveliness. Earth spoke to me as' she used to do. I heard her voice in the rustling of the leaves; in the murmuring of the streams, and in the mu- sic of the wild bird's song. Oh, Arthur! 'I sometimes think that even a few short hours of perfect health, would compensate for months of suffering. I am afraid I love this world too well; for even the hope of recovery makes my heart bound with an exulting thrill of joy. Was not my dream beautiful?" THE AB ST'S DREA M. 289 "Beautfful indeed! But life, you know, dear Marion, is something more than a dream. We all have a work to do." "Yes, but still-work is the hardest of all." "I should think so," he said, tenderly; "but perhaps it is the kind intended for you. Some are born to lead an active live, to carry out, wherever they may go, a spirit which shall rouse the energies of souls; who only stand still until they catch the tone of a. master-mind, and then are stimulated to do great deeds. Some can go abroad, and take relief to the poor and the ignorant, and shed joy and gladness in every path of life. And there are some who, from one little spot, exert an influence extending far beyond their vision-more potent than the busy restless activity of those who appear to accom- plish so much more. Such is the influence of a patient, uncomplaining temper, like that of a dear sister I might name. We cannot estimate the value of a single ex- ample I . It is a beautiful truth that they also serve who stand and wait. Others, with less heavy burdens, are shamed into silencing their complaints, when -they wit- ness the cheerful composure of those whose weight of oare might well bow them down. And many are taught to look unto the c"God of all comfort," to sustain them, also, when they see how His faithful ones,are upheld. 'How far a little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deedin this naughty world.' Forgive me, Marion, but these thoughts are so often in my-mind, in connec- tion with you, I cannot help. expressing them. I fear 13. page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. that I should never bear affliction as you do. Your faith has indeed been sorely tried, but I think you must feel that "God doth not willingly afflict or grieve the chil- dren of men. And that He is ever near--' a very present help, in time of trouble.' Dearest is it so? But you look pale and weary. I have talked too long, and must now say good bye. I expect to leave in the early train to-morrow for Boston; and as I have an engagement to- night, I shall probably not see you again." "To Boston! May I ask if Miss Vernon is the cause of your frequent visits there?" "Yes." "I wish I had made her acquaintance last summer, at Saratoga; but I did not know, then, that you were inter- ested in her.. She is very pretty, with refined and ele- gant manners. How long will you be absent?" "Perhaps a week; but if my suit should be unsuccess- ful, I will return immediately." "She cannot refuse you, Arthur, I don't think any one could." "That is a fond sister's thought," he said, playfully, as he left the room. When he presented himself at Mr. Vernon's, the morning after his arrival in Boston, his heart beat high with hope and fear. In simple, eloquent language he told his love, and awaited with trembling eagerness the reply. Sweet as the tones of an Eolian harp, soft as an angel's whisper, were the words which made her all his own. * TEi ARTISTe 3 DRA. h M Had life in store for either, another hour of such ex- quisite happiness! The day on which Arthur left Boston, it was intensely cold. The snow was very deep, and the wind whistled with a mournful sound. The passengers in the cars drew their' wrappings more closely around them, and vented their spleen on the weather. The cold, and the wind, and the grumbling of his companions were alike unheeded by Arthur. Tmagination had carried him back to his betrothed. Her head, with its wreath of golden curls, was upon his breast, the soft dove-like eyes looked confidingly into his. Life seemed so beautiful; and he trusted that this precious love would not make him cling too fondly to the things of earth. The shrill whistle an- nounced the arrival of the train in New York, and he hastened to his sister. His quick step and smiling face, told their own story; and Marion entered warmly into his happiness. If any selfish feeling had entered her heart, at the thought of giving her dearest friend and companion to another, it was gone, and she listened with interest to his future plans. "We are to be married in May," Arthur said, "and were it not for your -illness, my cup of happiness would indeed be full. Mary will be a kind, loving sister, and will do more for you than I can." "That could never be," she said affectionately; ("but I have no doubt we will be very happy together." page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 TIE ARTISTi DHUM. CHFAP'TER XXXVY "The reason firm, the temperate will, ' Eudurance, foresight, strength, and skill, A perfect woman, nobly planned." 2 ' WOIDSWORTH. RY VENON was the daughter of a distinguished lawyer, in Boston. She had been carefully and religiously trained; and the good seed sown in her heart, had ripened into precious fruit. From infancy she had breathed an atmosphere of Christian love. Without it she would have been as a blighted, withered flower-a delicate rose, exposed to the fury of our wintry blasts. And now that she was soon to enter into the holiest of all ties, well was it for her that she had chosen one in whose heart dwelt the pure love of God. She felt that she had found her perfect earthly rest. Marion had Arthur with her more than ever. Her intellectual tastes had not improved during her illness. She often regretted that so much leisure time could not be em- ployed in study and profit. On this couch, I weekly lie on, While I count my memories,-- Through the fingers,-which still sighing, I press closely on mine eyes. I , , g . f THE ARTIST'S D:RrAM. A -"I have lost-oh many a pleasure- Many a hope and many a power- Studious health and merry leisure-- $ . . "I have lost the dream of Doing, And the other dream of Done- The first spring in the pursuing, The first pride in the Begun- - "( Some respect to social fictions Hath been also lost by me; And some generous genuflexions, Which my spirit offered free, To the pleasant old conventions of our false HuEa'tity." Arthur proposed that they should read history to- gether, to which Marion gladly agreed. Those hours of reading, how delightful they were I How quickly they sped on, cheating even ill-health of some of its horrors I For a time all was pleasant excitement; but the reac- tion was too great for the delicate frame. Marion became more languid and weary; and was less able to battle with disease. Dr. F was out of town; and his part- ner, a young and very gentlemanly physician, was in at- tendance. He advised thatthe invalid should be kept perfectly quiet. Bestowing a grim smile upon the unfor- tunate books, he said: "These are hot very good companions for you, Miss Lee." "They are at least more agreeable th anthose you have substituted," was the laughing rejoinder. "( I am sorry to be under the necessity of adding to the . . . , , , page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] list;.but Ithnil IIcaaVentu ^ " frjreto presacribe a new remedy. Willo tk iP * Certainly," (Itis agente toic, will order it -to be made into I hope you nrtst hw oatl them with silver, I hpe ouWM not flnd'them, %npleasaitht He loo-ked at his Watch; and sai tt h n tent at Bel vue Flospitall bowed himsel fo the oom elffro ; H Ai ^^ " CH APTER XAXVIL Life I we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather. 'Tie hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaaps twiRl cost a sigh, a tear. Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time $ Say not good night, but in a happier clime Bid me good morningl " Mus, BABBAXLD. ^i^ ^ENT W^ith its solemn warnings, its fascigsg, and its prayers, had passed. The Church bahd fol- lowed Jesus to the Garden of Gteths-'em-n and witnessed His cruel crucifixion. She had wept tears of sorrow at His grave, and now-her altars were adorned with fresh flowers, in token of His Resurrection. While the echoes of the Easter Anthem were still ringing through the world," the angel of Death was hovering over one whose walk was close with Gtod& On the bed of sickness,in the hour of trial, she had learned the great lesson of love. Death was toiler the gate of eternal life and happiness. In leeble accents she asked for that beautiful hymn to be repeated- 'I would not live alway-live alway below Oh, n, IT not linger when bidden to go; The days of our pilgrimage granted us here, Are enough for life's woes, fAll enough for its cheer; WouldI shrinr feom teateah which thepo f page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 THE ARTIS'S DRE AM. Apostles, and martyrs, so joyfully trod? Like a spirit unblessed, o'er the earth would I roam, While brethren and friends are all hastening home? I would not live alway; I ask not to stay, Where storm after storm inses dark o'er the way; Where seeking for rest we but hover around, Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found; Where Hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air, Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night of despair, And joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray, Save the gleam of the plumage that bears him away. I would not live alway-thus fettered by sin, !Temptation without, and comruption within; In a moment of strength if I sever the chain, S..carce the victozy is mine, 'ere I'm captive again; E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears, And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears; The festival trump calls for jubilant songs, But my spirit her own miserere prolongs. I would not live alway-no, welcome the tomb-- Since Jesus has lain there, I dread not its gloom; Where Hedeigned to sleep, 111 too bow my head, All peaceful to slumber, on that hallowed bed. Then the glorious daybreak, to follow that night, 'The orient gleam of the angels of light, With their clarion call for the sleepers to rise, And chant forth their matins, away to the skies, Who, who would live alway? away from his God, Away from yon heaven; that blissful abode Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the. bright plains, * And the noon-tide of glory eternally reigns: Where the saints ofall ages, in hmony meet : Their Saviour and brethren, transported to greet, While the songs of salvation exultingly no ll, And the smile of the Lord is the feast of .the soul ' That heavenly music! hark, sweet in the air The notes of the harpers how clear ringing there I And see, soft unfolding those portals of gold, - The King all arrayed in his beauty behold I Oh give me,oh givme the wings of a dove, - To adore Him-be near Him-enrapt with His love; I but wait for the summons, I list for the word- Alleluia-Amen-evermore with the Lord!" Kind friends were near, and watched the stream of life, as it flowed rapidly on. A few short struggles, and d Mrs. Bl]anton's soul was with its God. How, singnifi- cant do the petty distinctions of the world seem, at'fh a time I Oh, that we -could always remember that we must lie down in the same dust; that, at the sound of the trump, at the last day, we must all appear before the same Judge. Bobbie was for awhile inconsolae at the loss of his mother. He had been accustomed- to see her suffer, and could not realie that she Wa so soon to be taken from him. How happy he had: been at his: last visitl How unconscious of the shadiow that was so soon to fall upon his young heart I His mother had talked to him so earnestly and tenderly, and he had heard the little children chatting merrily, over their cream -an annual present, at this joyous festival, from a Kl1d - gentleman in Twenty-fifth Street. Arthur had been with Mrs. Elaton in her last hours, page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] and he garbv a touthig description of the scene to his sister. "She bade me tell you, dearest, that she hoped you would have strength to endure unto the end. That suffering seems long and weary,"and for the present grievous; yet; it is but a little moment, a twinkling of an eye, compared- with the everlasting inheritance of the saints in light, when the days of their mourning shall be ended. 'When there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying,' neither shall there be any more pain. " "Hers was a pure and holy life," said Marion, much affected. . "It was indeed," said her brother. "When she lived o^-th fourth floor of a tenement house in'--- Street, destitute of almost every comfort; I heard her praising -God, for the many blessings- He had conferred upon her. What a rebuke to the ingratitude of those who hve health, and strength, and -all the luxuries of this world I It seems to me that there is something almost rretveretili (if Imay be-allowed theexpression) in seeing :person bear the heavy trials of life with such patience Za b ; sa d CHAPItER XIX-VLi. "Cold winter's winds have passed awfy, Spring's gentle breezes, round us play; The snow that dcokeA the sleeping flowers, Is melted into gentle showers." fin; ! beauteous season! Lovely art thou, in thy f'^^L robe of green. Bright and sparkling gems at- tend thee, rendering thee fairer than ever How beautiful is the repose of naturie, on 'a fiene sprg morning! How cheering to the heart is the frei tess of the air, and the verdant :foliage, clothed with a mist, of light and airy texture. There seems a so- and 'd n- tie fush upon' the air, which tells the - oly hour, wie day and night have kissed each other. The pure and honeyed fagrance that seems to breathb onh ll around, betrays where dawn has dalli d ith:; . rose. And as the glorious Sun -rises in beautyi' tie flowers uphold their cups of nectared dew, as'-6rnSa offerings to the great orb of light. Not a somd i'hed, amid the quiet of the scene, save the blithe' Sii f joyous birds, that are forth at the first flAsh of day. The tranquil river, too, glides on amid the dreansm g flweir. All things conspire to harmony. The air, the earthe water, all seem redolent of purity and peace; as if :N ture had never known that marring blight that:waitss : upon the fairest and loveliest." upon th fai .-t page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 800 d S i E/JTH- uDaRas A^, i It was on such a morning that Marion, reclinlng in her carriage, with Arthur by her side, reached the Brook- lyn ferry. The boat, for which they had to wait several minutes, arrived, and they were launched on the blue waters of the bay. Marion's pale cheeks flushed with excitement, and her eyes kindled with something of its old lustre, as she looked upon the lovely scene. The little vessels glided like graceful birds over the undulat- ing waves, with their white sails glistening in the sun; and the shores of Long Island were green and luxurious. When they reached the opposite bank, the coachman drove rapidly, and they were soon lost to city sights and sounds. Now, they saw the country in all its beauty. Pretty gardens, green fields, and woods were before them; and the large trees refreshed them- with their shade. They entered "Greenwood," with its quiet dells, its stately monuments and obelisks rising above the un- conscious sleepers. It looked lovely and peaceful, as if inviting the weary spirit to sink to rest, Arthur alighted, and approached the grave of his mother, whose remains 7had been removed .from Virginia some years before. Reverently he laid upon it the offering of flowers, which he had brought for that purpose. Marion's tribute was a simple wreath of daisies, and she could have selected nothing more sweet and unas- suming? The daisy is seen everywhere, imbibing, as it were; spme portion of humanity. We journey through life, borne down by each passing touch of care, by sor- row depressed. . . . TV* A' l'DGwAMA; " - : ' -.:i 'i ",But Thou would'stlteach us how to-find A shelter under every wind, .. . And every season." I ; . page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] v -A THE ARTIST'S DUiEAM CFOTAPT I- Xxxx. Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear l- They were born to blush in her shining hair. Her place is now by another's side,- Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. Mags. IThMANS. "THUiL 'S wedding was to take place on the 28th, and Mrs. St. Clair had announced her intention :Ha- of going. Her husband hesitated about leaving Marion, but the latter settled the point, by insisting that he should accompany her aunt, and saying that she would not be lonely. The ceremony was to be performed in St. Paul's Church. Mary Vernon looked very lovely, as she walked up the aisle, lea ning on the arm of her father. The white satin dress hung m delicate folds around the slight form, and the rich lace veil was grace- fully arranged. But it was the look of quiet happiness that attracted every eye; the peaceful, yet serious ex- pression, that showed how much she felt the vows she was about to take upon herself. The solemn and beautiful marriage service of the Episcopal Church was rendered still more impressive by the deep, full tones of the officiating clergyman. It cost the parents many tears, to part with their only child; but they knew they had given her to one worthy of the precious trust. After the reception, at Mr. Vernon's TBE ARTIgSTS AEAM. 80 residence, the bridal party proceeded to New York, where they were to remain two weeks, and then em- bark for Europe. -With a proud and happy -smile, Arthur led his bride into Marion's room. She bent over the couch to embrace her new sister, and thought, as she looked on her face, how little she resembled the brilliant beauty she had seen not a year before. Mrs. St. Clair thought her house had been very dull during Marion's sickness, and that her nephew's marriage would afford her a plausible excuse for giving a fancy ball. Arthur and Mary would have preferred being quiet. Mr. St, Clair expressed his disapprobation in a very decided manner, but Marion begged that no, change should be made in her aunt's arrangements on her ac- count. The invitations were sent out, and notwithstand- ing the party-going season was over., much of the beauty and fashion of New York were present. Before the guests arrived, Mrs. St. Clair went into her niece's room, richly attired, and blaring with jewels. She advised her to keep the doors elosed, to prevent the noise from reaching her ; and her countenance assumed at expres- sion of self-complacency, as she surveyed herself -in a full- length mirror. Most of the company were it fancy cos- tumes. Eleanor was a Quakeress, and the character was well suited toher gentle, pensive beauty, Augusta made - a very good fortune-teller. Em Jerome was beautifully dressed as a flower-girl. "Who is that butterfly, with gossamer wings?" she page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 804 TME ARTIST'S DR-AM. said, addressin- Captain Ryland, as a sylph-like creature fluttered near them. "I shall die of curiosity if I don't find out." "To save you from such an unnhappy fate, I will tell you, that she bears the aristocratic name of Smith." "Where is she from? She does not look like a New Yorker." "New York is not worthy of being her place of resi- dence. She belongs to one of the ' F. F. .'s,' " said the Captain, in a tone whose irony was lost on his obtuse companion. "I believe Mr. Lee is from Virginia," she said. "Yes, he is also one of the innumerable multitude." "Do you know Miss Smith?" "No; I have not the honor of her acquaintance." "A little while ago," said Em, " she stood for several minutes so near me, that her wings brushed against my dress. I wonder they were not crushed." "A butterfly should certainly be careful of its wings ; but I am not surprised that it wished to rest where it could sip so much sweetness," replied Captain Ryland, gallantly. "I believe you always spread a carpet of compliments for the ladies to walk upon," said Miss Jerome. "There comes the bride! How pretty she is, with her large, liquid eyes I "And her smile, it seems half holy, As if drawn from thoughts more far Than our common jestings are. THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 805 It would never do for an artist to have a homely wife. He would be forever criticising her. I suppose Mr. Lee will take her for a model for his pictures now. I under- stand his sister used to be hiW beau-ideal of beauty; but she is in ill-health, you know, and very much faded." "Then he must admire two very different styles. Mrs. Lee is a madonna-like beauty, and is not tall. Her sister- in-law has black hair and eyes, and is almost regal." "Is it possible!" exclaimed Em; " there is Mr. C--, just entering the room. I shall not dare to speak above my breath fotrthe rest of the evening, much less dance." "And why not?" said Eleanor, who had just joined her. "Because he is so solemn, and gives one the blues. I don't thinkr ministers ought to go to parties." "I can't see why they should not enjoy the innocent pleasures of life as well as other people," was the smil- ing reply. Mr. C 's presence, however, did not appear to have the anicipated effect upon Miss Jerome's spirits; for her voice was pitched to its usual high key, and she danced with evident enjoyment. At three o'clock in the morning, Marion heard the, ladies go into the cloak-room, which was near her cham- ber. She recognized the silvery laugh of Augusta, and heard her telling some one that she would have to sleep half the day, to make up for the dissipation. State-rooms had been engaged on the Persia, and the preparation for the voyage was completed. page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] O6 THE ARtST'S- DREAM. "It makes me feel so sad, to leave New York," said Marion, to her brother, as she cast a last lingering look at the objects around her. "I wonder if I shall ever see mamma's grave again? Arthur, I sometimes fear that I shall die, and be buried in a foreign land." "Do not speak so despondingly, dear sister," he re- plied. "It is thought the change will be of service to you. We must hope for the best, you know, and trust in- od." Mr. St. Clair was much affected at parting with his young relatives, who had become as son and daughter to him; and he felt how desolate his home would be with- out them. Dr. F had suggested many things by which the comfort of the invalid was promoted, and himself accompanied her to the steamer. The wharves were thronged with people. Many friends were there to offer their best wishes, for the safe arrival of our party in the Old World, and they waved their last farewells as the noble vessel passed from her moorings. Bobbie Blanton fixed his earnest gaze upon her, until her white sails were lost in the distance, then turned with a sorrowful heart to his lodgings. Marion soon became sea-sick, and was for several days very ill. In the extremity of suffering, she longed to siik to rest beneath the foaming waves. They had once swept over the loved form of her father. The weather was beautiful during most of the voyage, with lovely moonlights, charming crimson sunsets, and starry skies. Truly "the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork." ARig Marion was allowed to occupy a sofa in the saloon. When she became better, she looked upon the vast deep, and thought of the treasures it contained-its beautiful coral wreaths-its myriads of precious stones-and the number and variety of the animal life that dwelt in its broad bosom. And she thought, too, of the fantastic air sung by Ariel on the shore of " the Enchanted Island" in the hearing of Ferdinand, who believed his father to have been drowned in the "Tempest." "'Nothing in him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-ehange, Into something rich and strange." On the twelfth day they landed on the green shores of England. A fortnight was spent in Liverpool,:for Ma- rion to recruit.- They then went into the country, to enjoy the beautiful scenery-to ' View the ground's most gentle dimplement, As if God's finger touched, but did not press,' In makriing England." Afterwards they visited Paris, and from thence pro- ceeded up the Rhine. "The river nobly foams and flows, The-charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round," They remained some time at Baden-Baden, as Marion seemed to improve, and to enjoy the picturesque scenery. page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 808 THE ARTIST'S DREAL October found them in Rome, throned on her seven hills. , And the heart ran over, With silent worship of the great of old, The dead, but sceptred sovereigns who still rule, Our spirits from their urns." The voices of her orators no longer sounded from her Forum, and the- triumphant march of her warriors was no longer heard in her street; but she was grand and eloquent, even in her silence. Arthur walked out on the broad Campagna, and thought what she must have been, when she was " mis- tress of the world." ", She who was named Eternal, and arrayed Her warriors but to conquer-she who veiled Earth with her haughty shadow, and displayed, Until the o'er-canopied horizon failed, Her rushing wings-oh, she, who was Almighty hailed i" He wandered through her picture-galleries, and looked with delight upon the magnificent works of art. In the Vatican he saw the exquisite statue of the Apollo Bel- videre; and stood silent and motionless before the mas- ter-piece of Raphael-the Transfiguration-a painting in which the divine and the human are blended with such consunmmate skill, that the mind must not only admire, but reverence the genius which planned and executed it. The artist's last look was on this picture--his eyes closed, to open, no'doubt, on a more wonderful transfig- uration. At his funeral, the painting was placed above THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 309 his coffin; a speaking monument to his glory, and at the sight of it, his friends wept bitterly. "And when all beheld im, where he lay, how changed from yesterday-- Him, in that hour cut off; and at his heal His last great work ; when, entering in, they looked Now on the dead, then on that master-piece, Now on his face, lifeless, and colorless, Then on those forms divine, that lived and breathed, And would live on for ages-all were moved, - And sighs burst forth, and loudest lamentations." What emotions must throng the mind at being in Italy-the land so filled with historic associations. Arthur's brightest hopes and anticipations had, from boyhood, centred there! He returned one day to his hotel in raptures with Guido's portrait of Beatrice Cenci, which he had seen in the Barbarini Palace. HEe told Marion of " her touching loveliness, her expression of patient suffering, her quivering, half-parted lips, and. tender hazel eyes, her half-turned -head, with its golden- locks escaping from its white drapery," until she smiled at his enthusiasm. She had often heard of this wonder- ful picture, and wished that she, too, could have seen it. fl pitue page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 381 THE ARTIST'S DRRAM. CTTNPmu XL. CHAP'l't E XL. "Of all the fairest cities of the earth, None is so fair as Florence. 'tis a gem Of purest ray. Search within, Without, all is enchantment. 'Tis the past Contending with the present, and in turn Each has the mastery." J T -was the winter before Arthur settled in Flor- ence, and began the study of the old masters. His soul drank in the spiritual loveliness of Murillo's paintings--the matchless tenderness of Cor- reggio's-the glowing beauty of Titian's-and he turned again and again to gaze upon the heavenly creations of Raphael. He toiled by day and by night. Nothing seemed too arduous, so he could win the true reputation of an Artist. He and Mary were now in a home of their own; a pretty villa on the Arno. It was fitted up with taste and elegance, and sanctified by their love. It was their especial delight to beautify Marion's boudoir. Among the pictures was a portrait of our Saviour, by Raphael. The contour of the face was perfect, and the countenance beamed with love and mercy; the eyes were lifted with supplication to the Most High, to remove the cup from Him: but "not my will, O Lord, but Thine be done." There was a madonna, with golden hair, and a mouth which, in the language of an Italian poet, looked like a ( crimson shell;" and there was a dying Magdalene, THE ABTIST'S DREAM. 8" with clasped hands, and eyes meeldy raised to Heaven. A landscape hung above the sofa. It represented a lake, in which several swans were swimnming; while others were lazily resting near the edge, and dipping their bills in the crystal waters. The bank was carpeted with green, and here and there were clusters of flowers, of different hues, btit all graceful and beautiful. A weep- ing willow drooped its branches over a mausoleum, be- side which knelt a young girl. Her auburn hair fell in luxurious ringlets over her fair form. The struggle in her soul was ended. The choice between good and' evil had been made, and the touching serenity of her coun- tenance betokened inward peace. Floating in the clouds was an angel, whose face beamed with celestial joy. This picture was the conception of Arthur's genius, and was executed with exquisite taste. It was Marion's favorite, and while looking at it, she had never moth fully realized that " a thing of beauty is a joy forever." One very beautiful painting was descriptive of Babylon. "It was night, and many glittering lamps shone from the mighty domes, and mingled with the clear stars of the Chaldean's azure sky. Proud Belshazzar sat en- throned in his regal hall, surrounded-by adoring slaves. About him were showered, in rich profusion, all the treasures that expand beneath the burning East. He called 'for the sacred vessels used in sacrifice, that they might deck his feast.' They were brought-those holy, vessels, to be used profanely. On the illumined wall, a hand traced the mysterious words, the tongue of some X d trae 'te, m page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] $12 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. distant land, 'Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin.' The life of the feast was gone; the song was hushed; the wine re- mained untouched; and Belshazzar, the haughty ruler of men, trembled before a shadow. In vain' men of science tried to explain the meaning of the mysterious words. Earth hath no voice to speak the mysteries of Heaven. But a child of other sires was present-one of those captives, 'who hung their harps on the willow trees,' and sat and wept. E His eyes were bright, yet the deep repose of his features told of a soul of loftier stamp than that assigned to earth. He said, '0 king, elate with pride! Thy God, the God by thee defied, hath spoke thy doom. Thy days are full; they come, the Persian and the Cede I ' " The finest statuary was placed in the niches. The beautiful Etruscan vases were filled each day with the choicest exotics, and the air was laden with'their per- fume. The windows opened on a balcony, whose columns were covered with a creeping vine, bearing a flower of gorgeous hue; A small fountain, adorned with a statue of Venus, was so near, that the sound of the water falling into the marble basin, could be distinctly heard. Marion often listened to the exquisite songs sung by Italians, in the soft, melodious accents of their native tongue. Mary's voice was not powerful, but clear and sweet, and when she sung the simple ballads of her own country, Marion thought of the truth of the lines: ' Music hath the-key of memory, And thoughts and visions, buried deep and long, Come at the summons of its sweeness nigh." TH. ARTIST'S DREAM. - 313 Marion was guarded by unceasing love. Her brother and sister watched with intense eagerness, for the lan- guid eyes to become brighter; the weak form to grow stronger, in the delicious climate where the sense of existence alone is pleasure. Arthur described, in such graphic language, the ravishing beauty of this sunny land, that Marion once said to him, that she fancied she could see it all. But he felt, with Wordsworth, "Ah! that such beauty-varying in the light Of living Nature-cannot be portrayed By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill But is the property of those alone Who have beheld it, noted it with care, And in their minds recorded it with love." " page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. CHAAPTER XTT. "I have learned To look on Nature,-not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth ;-butt hearing, oftentimes, The still, sad music of humanity ;- Not harsh and grating,-though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts --a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky,-and in the mind' of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things,-all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things." WORDSWORTH. one can so fully appreciate the works of the Creator, as an artist. Everywhere, the Beautiful is opened to his view. The snow-clad moun- tain; the green valley; the rushing waterfall; the cluster- ing vine, that adorns his cottage door, the simplest flower, and leaf are looked upon with wonder, and with an intense feeling of their beauty. He treasures them in the mind, and transfers them to canvas. He invests the commonest objects in life with interest. The rocks, the pebbles, and the sea-weed, have their own peculiar charms. Deformity, in inanimate things, does not im- press us with feelings of aversion; as when seen in ani- mal life; so even the old, gnarled, ill-shaped trees, with TRSE ART'TS DEEAM. D15 twisted branches, come in for their share of admiration. Painting teaches, some of the holiest and deepest les- sons of life. It exalts the mind, and speaks to the heart with glowing, passionate, and devoted feeling. It causes it to be glad, to rejoice, and exult in the beauty and glory of the created world. Art is glorious indeed, but it cannot equal nature. Look at the colors on an artist's palette! How bright and rich they are--yet how in- adequate to rival the delicate blush of the rose, or the matchless purity of the lily of the valley. Nature, like a fond mother, leads her children step by step, upholds them with her mighty arm, and reveals to them the mysteries of the beautiful and sublime. She bids them go forth and revel in her varied charms. She takes them to the forest in the spring, that they may be glad- dened by the sight of the budding trees. In the sum- mer, that they may feel their cool refreshing shade. In the autumn, that they may see the ground covered with leaves of rich crimson and gold, and watch them play like merry children, at a game of hide-and-seek. In the winter, that they may behold the trees in robes of spot- less white, decked by the sunbeams with resplendent jewels, until they look like brides ready for the marriage altar. She bids them notice the light dancing and spark- ling on the billows of the ocean, and sometimes diving to their inmost depths. She tells them to go to the woodlands, and watch this same living, breathing light, coquettishy leaping from tree to tree, from bough to bough, and then, as if weary of so much motion, rest- page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 816 THE ARTIST's DREAM. ing on some object, and clasping it in its warm embrace. The artist who studies Nature closely, will find all his enthusiasm excited, his faculties aroused, and his soul filled with gratitude, with reverence, and with fear. He walks, as it were, in a new world. He looks, upon a brighter sky, and breathes a purer and diviner atmos- phere. Nature sets her seal of love upon his brow, and teaches him to humble himself at the shrine of the eternal, the spiritual, and the divine. She is at all times, in all seasons, a delightful companion, a faithful friend, a true, unerring guide. "Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy; for she can so inform The mind that is within us; so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts; that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is fall of blessings." ' The enjoyment of many persons is greatly enhanced by imagination-that wondrous gift, so blessed to some, so dangerous to others. "To those who seek for beauty and happiness, it lifts the veil of nature, and discloses all her charms ; unfolds the rosebud to the morning sun, and awakens the lark to sing its matins to the purple dawn. But to those who close their eyes to the loveli- ness that awaits them, it darkens, with a tenfold gloom. :.. TEA ARTIST'S DREAM. 317 To the good, it seems like an angel, whose protecting wings are stretched out, above the pathway to the gates of Heaven. To the evil, a demon, whose image beckons from precipice to gulf, down into the fathomless-abyss of endless night. It comes, at times, like a gentle vis- itant, who brings a tribute of sweet flowers. Again a harbinger of storms and darkness. It is like a wreath of beauty, shadowing our upward gaze. A crown of thorns, encircling a bleeding brow. It penetrates into unknown paths, gathering riches for the supply of con- fidence and hope; or collects evidence from 'trifles light as air,' and sharpens them into the pangs of envy. It is not a light to be extinguished. Behold that criminal at the gallows foot, when priests and judges have done 'their utmost to fortify his soul for its last struggle! Ask him if imagination does not paint the picture of his cottage in the woods, with her whose prayers he has neglected, fondly watching for his return; and whether the voices of his children come not on the wandering gale, as they lift their innocent hands to heaven, and bless their father, in their evening hymn." page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] CHAPTER XTiTT. "A wellspring of pleasure. , ONE bright afternoon in March, Arthur brought an infant, wrapped in white muslin, and laid it on Marion's couch, saying: "We have named her for you, dear sister." Marion looked at the tiny being beside her. Arthur's child! How dear it was to her; and she hoped that it would look like him. But it had its mother's deep blue eyes, and light silken -hair. A baby, in a house, is like perpetual sunshine; and little Marion soon made her home resound with her in- fintine prattle. At length she became very mischievous, upsetting her manmma's work-box, taking sly peeps at Aunt Mariohns treasures, and once came running into her room, holding up her hands, crying, "See, see, how red and pretty!"The little elf had been to her father's paints, and dipped her fingers in the beautiful carmine. How strange life seemed in Italy! The out-of-door existence-the soft dreamy languor that stole over the senses-the calm and quiet, so different from the rush and bustle of Anglo-Saxon life. Arthur found it very pleasant; and if Marion's health had improved he would have been very happy in his beautiful Tuscan home. But ahe was weaker than usual, and was deprived of many THE ARTIST'S DREAS, 319 of her former pleasures. She was dependent on others for readiig, (which had been her greatest solace,) and she strove to guard against the morbid sensibility which is so often engendered by disease. She felt that her mental powers were not what they had been-a fact which caused her many a secret tear. Experience taught heri the bitter lesson, that the mind could not bear close thinking; that it would surely turn, and make its victim pay the penalty. She was able to see but very few persons, and endeavored to make her thoughts, (on which she had frequently to rely for companionship,) flow into healthy channels. Those lines of Mrs. Brown- ing were often in her mind- "I lived, with visions for my company Instead of men and women, years ago, And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know A sweeter music than they played to me." Howinexpressibly touching and beautiful is the poetry' of that gifted being, whose genius was developed amid the darkness and seclusion of the sick-chamber! How like a flood of melody it pours over the heart, making it wish that she could have been immortal! How the poetical world was filled with sadness, when she had warbledlher last song, and sighed to think her spirit would return to earth no more I "The mother of the beautiful child " sleeps in peace. "Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace surpassing this, He giveth his beloved sleep?" How grand and beautiful must be the -union of two high poetic souls She sleepsj while he who threw the magic of his love! around her suffering life, lives to bear the double weight of her glory and his own. Does not his very name cause the pulse to beat more quickly; the heart to leap with an electric thrill? The sun of fame is shining o'er him, In golden splendor now- Bring hither the laurel wreath, And place it on his brow. Yes, Browning, , There is delight in singing, though none hear Beside the singer; and there is delight In praising, though the praiser sit alone, And see the praised far off him, far above, Shakspeare is not our poet, but the world's, Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walked along our roads with steps So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song." Arthur was now almost constantly at his easel; and his perseverance did not remain unrewarded. Gradually, THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 321 he grew into repute. It was discovered that a genius of no common order was rising slowly, but surely, to the "Temple of Fame," to quaff from its glorious foun- tains the rich waters of their Perennial Springs. He was considered as " a gem of great price," and now ap- peared like the diamond which glistens with redoubled lustre, from having been so long concealed. Marion listened with delight to his praises, and looked upon him with all a sister's pride. He showed her a portrait, which he had just completed, of his wife, seated in an attitude of careless grace, with her child playing at her feet. The figures seemed starting from the canvas, in their life-like beauty. "Dear Arthur," said Marion, "how often I have re- gretted, that we have no likeness of mamma. It would be of such inestimable value to us. I sometimes try to fancy how she looked. Dear, dear mother!- "Far back, through the dim vista of years, I try to catch a vision of thy lovely face; To gaze upon thy snowy brow, And each dear ineament to trace- To hear once more the low sweet voice That fell like music on my ear, And made my heart rejoice. "But no-it will not be; , Memory, the Gtardian Spirit of the Past,' Can scarce recall the pleasures That were too bright to last, For when thou left me, mother, To seek the realmg above, "* - page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 822 THE ABTTsT'S DE . I was but a little chil--too young To know the loss of thy dear love. "Dear mother! dost thou know That' I have on the couch of suffering lain, And for years I have a captive been, Bound by disease's heavy Chain? Within my dreary prison walls, The sunmlight scarcely dares to creep, While with sad and aching heart, O'er buried joys I weep. "I long to feel my pulses bound With buoyant life and health; That would, indeed, be a priceless boon, A mine of precious wealth. But if it cannot'be, I wish for strength To meekly bear the agony I feel-- To hide, beneath a smiling face, The ills that none can heal. "When darkness covers all the earth, And throws her mantle wide,. I shrink with a vague, dim sense of fear, And wish thee by my side. Well may I dread her presence, For she brings little rest to me As I count the long, long hours, That help to make life's troubled sea. "When each nerve is rent-with anguish, And Patience has grown weary; . When griefs dark torrent o'er me rolls, Making life so dreary; When it is a task to enter * T -- ARTIST!S DREAM. : E'en into the joys of those most dear; When the soul sends forth its bitter wail, Will not thy spirit then draw near? "Yes, I feel that thou wilt come, To bid me rest 'neath the Cross' shade, The weary, heavy burden, That is on me laid. I feel that thou wilt come To love, to comfort and to bless; To shed thy brightness o'er my soul, To be my heavenly guest." * page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 824 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. X CTTAPLTER XTTTT. . Ad Not in the crowded street, / Amid the strife of busy tongues and noise of busy feet, Let the Death Angel come to summon me. ' T must be often amusing to the artist, to hear the remarks of flippant critics upon works of art. Upon one occasion, while Arthur was painting behind a screen in his studio, several visitors entered, and he heard the following conversation. "How pleasant it is to meet one's countrymen abroad. I could tell an American at the end of the world. I saw - M. Adair at the Opera last night, and I was so delighted, that I only half enjoyed Salvi's superb singing. I drove with him to the Cascine this morning. He told me the Flints were here, and that their portraits had been taken by r. Lee. I wonder they selected him." The speaker was Miss Jerome; and one of her com- panions replied: "CMr. Lee is a fine artist, and appreciated even in Italy. "Oh, I have no doubt of that; but Mrs. Flint is al- ways so fond of anything foreignI I expect she will purchase any quantity of trashy pictures, and represent them, on her return home, as works of the old masters. She is such a parvenue. But do look at that wolf in sheep's clothing." THE ABTIST'S DRFAM,8 32 "Bearing the feature's of Mr. Eint," said another. * "Yes, the likeness is excellent; but what an odd idea : to have a portrait taken with a fur cloak on, espeeially in this climate. Perhapsheis subject to chills. There is rs. Flint without her false teeth, and her accustomed smirk, and looking ten years younger than she really is. it is to be hoped the artist was well rewarded for his trouble." Arthur could scarcely refrainfrom laughing He re- membered the annoyance that both Mr. and Mrs. Flirt had caused him during the sittings. Theywerenotonly void of taste, but had constantly suggested alterations, evidently regarding him as a mere machine. "Papers from America," said Mary, as she received a package handed her by a servant. "Welcome visitors, always. I will read the 'New York erald' rst, Ma-a rion, and give you all the newsy of your bustling Ocity. Here is a long speech of Senator G 's, would you like to hear that? ' Great fire in Broollyn-immense loss of property.' Who do you thinrk is manied?" "I have no idea," replied Marion. "Your old friend, Augusta SElmmers." ( To whom? ha "Captain Ryland. As he could not obtain the hand of the icy qeen, I suppose he thought he would console. hinself by marrying perpetual Summer. One evening at Saratoga, he entertained me with his sacatic rev marvli upon different individuals After critiiing omSe southerners, he turned his eyes n the direction i - ' . 1' :1 * ,3 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] *AmI- amirpsrC ' DREAM. which you were pronrending, with a distingiished look- ig gentleman, and said: Miss Lee looks, in her cold beauty, as if she might be queen of the regions of ice and snow. Her attendant cavaier will soon be so thoroughly frozen, that he will not. thaw even inth sunshine of-Miss Sulner's perpetual smiles. He is one of my brother officers, and dreads the edge of her wit more than the keenest sabre on the field of battle. I coness to having achillwheneverI am in her presence' and as you passed us a few m- utes afterward,he laid aside the fan which he had been using and feigned an expressive shiver. By the way, you do not know that I once stood very mlch il awe of you?" o," replied Marion, much amused. Ynou were so stately and queenly, I fanced yon must be haughty too, and when I became engaged to Arthur, I wondered if I could everlove you. But did not know you then, dear sister. Will you forgive me for hating entertained even an unkind thought of you?" "There is nothing to forgive," said Marion. "I date say I did seem haughty, sometimes but it is not well to judge by appearances." "Seymour is dead," said M lncing at the Uit of deaths., "Is it possible! Poor Eleanor! How will he bear tl a d. Seymour was a very fine young man; and I hought when Eleanor maried him, hat a fair pros- pect she had of a happy life. She seemed to realize that wwral', a d I dsympathj andeonganialty of thought T E E T ISfTX S S p..D 3E . 3'- Tas* . i1Ss,- g, and tastes are .better promoters dof comfort, than w"Ilth axd display without them. -Is it -not strange" a- coa-o tinued, musingly, how thesame incidents, wi the same train of hopes and anxieties are ever repeating them- selves? The. hand of Time traces the same history, gen- eration after generation, and we are agitated by the sae feelings, whieh under the same cirecumstances have char- I acteried people in every age of the world." "Oh, how dread" ; she stopped, turned pale, and grasped the paper convulsively. "'What is the matter?" asked Marion l Mary endeavored to pass it over, fearing the effects of her imprudence; but her sister insisted on knowing the cause of her agitation, and the following passage *as read aloud: it It is our painful duty to announce the death-of the wife of our. esteemed fellow-citizen, Mr. Edward St. Clair. On Thursday night last, she was returning from the opera, her horses took fright, and, became unmanageable. They plunged forward, in their mad career, until they reached the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Mr. M St. Clai was ; then thrown out, and carried into the office a lifeless corpse. She was beautiful and accomplished, and an ornament to the brilliant circle in which she moved. Many, with us, will warmly sympathize with the bereaved husband."r Poor Mrs. St. Clair! She had been taken tke without warning, from the gay scenes she loved so well. A sol-. emn silence fell upon the sisters. They felt that her A soul had not been washed in the blood of the Lamb, and a presented, pure and spotless, to its Ma aker B page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] wyy THE ARTISTS I)RFAM, The next na^il brought a letter from Mr. St. Clair, giv- ng a detailed account of the accident, and announcing hisdetermination of sailing for Europe in a few weeks. As his children, he said, could not come to him, he must go to them. There was also a letter from Bobbie Blan- ton, thalnKrg Arthur for his generous aid, and saying that he was about to begin the study of the ministry. That letter gave Arthur deep pleasure, and he thought that even the fond mother could have had no higher wish for her orphan boy. -- THE GARTIST'S DEAML. 82 CH APTEU "TTV. BAlas, for the bright promise of our youth I How soon the golden cords of hope are broken, How soon we find that dreams we trusted most, Are very shadows." , HEN Mr. St. Clair arrived at Florence, he was received with all a father's welcome. He took the little Marion in his arms, and scrutinized- her features, (probably in the hope of seeing some re- semblance to his own Marion,) and remarked that her name made her dearer than ever. 'When he went into his niece's room, and bent over to kiss her, she twined ' her arms around his neck, saying, "Dear, dear uncle, how glad I am to see you " Although Arthur had tried to prepare him for the change in her appearance, he was greatly shocked. The symmetry of her fine form had . been destroyed by her sedentary life. The features bore traces of much suffering, and her complexion was dead white. But she was calm and serene. Inadversity, she had learned that most difficult of all lessons-to con- quer the natural weakness of one's own nature. The soldier marches by the sound of martial music to the' battle-field, and braves its perils, animated by the hope . of future glory. But how much more courage it requires to bear the stillness and solitude of a sick-room. The- page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] *i8O80 5PTHE ARTIST'S DREAM. giving up of life's brightest, fondest hopes ;-the restless longing for an active life ;-the eager effort to interest the mind; --the agonizing pains ;--the languid sinking down of the weary frame. Who has forgotten these? They are enough to appall the stoutest and bravest; and the feelings of intense anguish- they cause, can be ]known only to Him, who is able to read the secrets of the hu- man heart. He alone can understand the peculiar trials and temptations of those whom, in His mysterious Prov- idence, He has called to pass through the hidden state of sickness. He alone can give them strength. He hath said, "As thy day is, so shall thy strength be." It is a prevalent, and at first sight would seem a very natural idea, that a sick person is exempt from all temptation, and has nothing to do but serve God. It is not so. The temptations are of a different character, it is true, but they are more numerous and important, and the weak- ened body and clouded intellect finds it very difficult to resist them., Those roseate with health and strength, rejoicing in their superabundant vigor, must surely be able to overcome more easily the temptations which be- set their daily paths. In various forms of trial sent for our discipline, how many hearts are tempted to ex- claim: "My cross I cannot bear, Far heavier its weight must surely be Than those of others which I daily see." One feels so weary of always struggling, always bat- tling to live! And yet the world is beautiful ;-yes, very THE, ARBTIST"I DBAM. 8 bright and beautifl. But O, this languor, this excessive weariness Oh, this deep, unfathomable yearning to be strong again-to have hope, love, and Jolight up the * heart once more I How strange is'the panorama of life I The motley crowd, hurrying to and fro to business orto leasure. And those who are set aside only to endure, to act a still part in the drama of existence. Those whose" spring of youthfulness " has been early broken, and followed by premature age. Those who pass months, and years, marked only by physical and mental suffering, and whose deep courage sinks at last into quiet patience. In a life-long sickness, One counts first by days, 'then weeks and-months, A:d then, O then, by years. By years Of suffering, years of anxiety, years of keenest soxrw; Years that go by, Ever pointing to the morrow, Slowly, slowly moving on. On, and on, and on, How the words sink into the heart, Causing it to heave a weary sigh, To pine and droop: To utter its despairing cry, "Be pitiful, O God!" My heart is like an open page-it lies . Bare before Thee, O my Gqod! What seest Thounthere? Shattered hopes, broken resol!utios ;- Cleanse it, and make it eallmly bear The years, that drag so wearily on. page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 382 THE ARTIST'S DREAXM Tears come and go, and sorrows gather thickly- But in all, through all, above all, Teach me thy goodness to adore, For all the blessings left. Father I Thy mercy I implore For the years that drag so wearily on. O heart! O soul! O mind Bear up bravely in the struggle- Do not faint, do not languish, 'But gird thy armor on, remembering That 'tis God who sends the anguish, And the years that drag so wearily on. Go, ask Faith and Hope (Beauteous sisters) if there is a land Where time is not counted by weary years- Where no sickness dwells, no fears, No night, no sighs, no tears? They will smile, and softly answer, Yes, in Heaven! Little Marion seemed to consider Uncle Edward as her especial property. She sat on his knee, climbed the back of his chair, pulled his hair, and played all kinds of pranks upon him ;-all of which he bore with perfect good-nature. One day, while searching in his pockets, she found a piece of tobacco, which she trans- ferred to her mouth. She was- unfortunate enough to swallow it, and was for a few hours quite sick. After she recovered, her uncle asked if his little gipsy would have some more tobacco, to which she replied: "No, no, tobacco's hocky;" at the same time making an expressive gesture with her mouth. . ? THE AETST'S DRBEAM 838 , "Gipsy would rather have can'dy;" which remark brought forth a package of delicious confectionery, hrom her indulgent uncle. Ir. S. Clair spent most of his time with Marion, and it was an unspeakable comfort to her to have him with her. He thought her character became more like her mother's every day. They sometimes talked of Lilia, and of the joy it would be to meet her in Heaven,. The father's heart had yearned for his child, but as he looked at Marion, and thought of her sad life, he was glad that Lilia had been taken. He had been in Florence six months, when business of importance required his pres- ence in New York. Marion bade him farewell, with cheerful words, but a sorrowful heart. She felt that she would see him no more, until they met in that world, "Where no farewells are spoken, Where hearts that truly love, love on, and are not broken." I page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334- THE ARTCS STS' DRs M. CHA-P'fJ EXLV "Thou art lke night, O eickness, deeply stilling Within my heart the world's disturbing sounds, And the dim quiet of my chamber filling With low, sweet voices, by life's tumult drowned." IiE best medical skill in Europe had been em- ployed for Marion. She realized that one of the painful parts of sickness is seeing strange physi- cians :-the alternations of hope and fear excited by their varying opinions. Her thoughts often wandered over the vast Atlantic, to the physician of her childhood. No one so thoroughly comprehended her temperament as himself; so fully appreciated the struggles and sacrifices she had made. Certainly there was no one in whom she so much trusted, and she had often thanked him in her heart, for telling her the plain, unvarnished truth. With all his varied learning, Dr. F was as humble as a little child. He manifested the same interest in Marion's welfare, as when she was within his sphere of action. Amid his arduous duties, he found time to write her kind and cheering letters, and the regard and fi endship of such a man were very gratifying to her. One morning Arthur gave her a letter from him, which she read with blinding tears. It was written on the . o TH: .RIST'Si DIREAYf Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity, and had been a long time in reaching her. -In it, he expressed his sorrow that her health had not been improved by her long resi- dence abroad, but hoped that her heart was as brave and cheerful, as in the early days of her sickness. His in- terest in her, he assured her, was far more than svm- pathy for all she endured. He went on to say, "Perhaps this world would be too beautifuli, too alluring, were it not for its heavy trials, its crushed and disappointed hopes. God places His chosen ones in the furnace of affliction, and waits to see' His glorious image displayed in their humility, their patience, and their love.' I know not, my dear Marion, how I can better express all that I would desire for you, than by transferring as my own, for you, St. Paul's prayer for the Corinthians, in the Epistle for to-day. May it be fully realized'in you, as the earnest of a happier lot on earth, and all the great and glorious blessings promised in the life to come." Alas! happier days on earth were not for her, but she trusted that the blessings of the life to come, were in store for her. Where were now, the impassioned hopes, the joyous anticipations of her girlhood? She had learned to give up all. She remembered the time when the thought of dying in a foreign land, had been very painful to her:--now, she was reconciled to it. She felt, that at home, or in a distant clime, "Jesus can make. a dying-bed soft as downy pillows are," and she knew that the love which had smoothed her rough path in life, would beam as a bright halo around her last hours. page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 THE ARTIST'S DREAME "When I die," F she said to Arthur and Mary, "I would have your voices soothe me, 'Till they mingle with the music Of the angels in the sky"; Brother, sister, kiss me often, When I die;- And my lips will smile in closing, As if clasped in dreams so golden, That I will hot wake to sigh.'" . S . THE ARTIST S DRE AT. 337 CHAPTEt XLVI. , No more, no more, much honor aye betide The. loftly bridegroom, and the lovely bride, That all of their succeeding days may say, Each day appears like to a wedding-day." Sfr ALT, I commence this epistle, dear Marion, by saying, as the children do, "I take this oppor- tunity of writng to you?"Neither will I begin by apolo- gaing for former remissness, but simply say that I hope you will be glad to hear from me. Some one has said, that "( a letter is half a meeting," and such I desire this to be. I write more particularly just now to tell you of my marriage, which took place three weeks :ago. Will you wonder who has had the courage to take your rattle- brained quondam friend for a wife? Both the-courtship and the engagement were very short. Indeed, when the important question was put to me, I was so surprised I scarcely knew whether to say yes or no. I twitted him on his former penchant for you; but he told me he had gotten over that before you were- taken ill; so I was forced to be content, and became forthwith, Mrs. Captain Ryland.- The name would once have sounded quite grand to me; but in these days of military titles, it seems very small indeed. The wedding was a perfect squeeze. You know I al- ways said that I would have a blow-out when I married. 15 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 888 THE BRTIST'S DRRAM. I was in the hands of the hair-dresser for one mortal hour. My hair wouldn't go right, and after all the pull- ing and twisting, I had to wear it down on my forehead. I did not care about it myself, for I abominate rats and waterfalls; but the Captain was disappointed. His look said plainly, ' something is wrong.' It-is rather tiresome to be always in the fashion. Thinking you may have sufficent feminine curiosity to wish to know something of my dress on the grand occasion, I will mention that I wore a white moire antique, with a shell wreath and Brussels lace veil, which reached almost to my feet. I was not so much taken up with my husband, as to pre- vent my examining some of the elegant toilets. Em. Jerome's was as usual in exquisite taste. A blue silk which might have stood on its own weight, and head dress of roses to match. She returned from Europe several weeks ago. She is exceedingly pretty and grace- ful, but has a habit of leaning almost in the gentlemen's arms, which I should think would disgust them with the sex. My presents were beautiful. By the way, I dislike the practice of exhibiting wedding presents. One is in an agony for weeks beforehand, for fear of not havinrg a gooddisplay.' The Captain's gift-a set of diamonds-was quite the handsomest I received. They are indeed mag- nificent, absolutely blazing with light. His mother (of whom I stand in awe) sent me a pair of antique vases. You ought to see her. She is as stately as a duchess, always on her dignity. Perhaps I will become accus- tomed to her in time, and dare to laugh before her. It r THE ARTIST'S DBEM. is more than probable that she would have liked some one else for a daughter-in-law. However that cannot be helped, and I will endeavor to be on my p,s and qas. There were hosts of people at the reception, and I cannot fltter myself that any one thought the bride pretty. We went to Washington for a few days. I took my seat in the cars, -and looked indifferently out of- the window. The Captain sauntered in a few minutes afterward, and read the 'Times;' taking no more notice of me, than if I had been in Kamntschatka. That is pleasanter than having everybody staring at and criticising you. Don't you think so? Whew! How everything smells of tobacco. The Captain will persist in smoking in my room, (such an abominable practice,) and ever wishes me to keep him company, by using cigarettes. That, I vow, I'll never do. On the whole I believe I am very happy, though- I confess ,to feeling a little hurt this morning, when I heard him, as he went down stairs, humming "O would I were a :boy again!" and the honeymoon not over either. It was really too much. When I told him of it, he only:laughed, and said, "How silly!" But he kissed me afterward, in -a very loverlike fashion, and declared his belief in the .fol- lowing lines of Sidney: "There is no. greater bliss Than is the quiet joy of loving wife; Which whoso wants half of himself doth misse; Friend without change, playfellow without strife,; Food wiiout fillness, counsaile without pride, Is this sweet doubling of our single life" ' / *8 . ' . ,. page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 TmE ARTIST'S DREA "You will call this sentimental trash. I was not in the least sentimental when a girl, as you know, and surely I ought not tobe so at fie and twenty. Ican scarcely blieve I have arrived at that age, and yet, I certainly was twenty-four this time last year. The Captaintells me that he just saved me from being an old maid. Sarah Murdock was married last week to General Bibbman. It Beems to be what they term on the continent a "ma- riage -de convenance." He is old enough to be her father, and is the greatest fright you ever saw. His name is Ebenezer, (I am thankful my husband's is Howard,) but then he is a general, and has an income of $40,000 a year, which makes him a very desirable match in the eyes of the Murdocks. They have moved to town, and are nakring the most desperate efforts to keep up appear- uncea 'They seemnto think that living in a brown-stone front, on a fashionable street, is the height of human felicity. There are only six daughters in society this inter, and the parents hope that some, if not all of them, will receive eligible offers before the season is over. At a party at their house a few evenings since, I met Sue Fellowton, now Mrs. Pinkley. She has displayed good taste in changing her colors. The pretty Mrs. Brown was there, and the Blues, Redds, and Greenes; all colors seemed to be present. The Flints, who arrived in the last steamer, were also there. Her ladyship swept ito the parlor full of airs, but dropped her plumes when Ahe saw her husband reel in the supper-room. They have recently lost an adopted hild. M . F---, I under- TBEB ARTIST'S DREAM. 341 stand, forgot her grief, in her anxiety to learn if Jtere . was a fashionable attendance at the. funteral;" ' If," ever . people sailed under false colors, the Flints do. :WheneI :I paid my visit of condolence, Mrs. F. was at the head of the stairs. It is her custom to station herself there, when the door-bell rings. It is not to be wondered at, in h-, r, but the habit exists among some people of refinementi here, and I suppose it is to be attributed to the ineffi- ciency of servants. I met Mr. Adair in the street not long ago. He -either did not or would not recognize me. His appearances is very much changed since he went abroad, but -Ieould never mistake the swing of his coat tail, as he turned ithe corner. Would you believe it? Mrs. Wolf has been to Stewart's to purchase a gleam of comfort; and-her-hus- ' band has not been dead a year. Caliing at- her house soon afterward, I was nearly knocked'down by the lifte wolves, who came running, full tilt down the stairs. When ushered into the parlor, I found their mother inm earnest conversation with Commodore Marstowi, who it is thought is addressing her. At my request-she sang a - beautiful piece which has just come out. In the :mist. of it, while the Commodore was turning o ver the, mUSic, : in rushed the little wolves. "VMammia!" cried ^:one, "Tommy won't let me fly his kite; won't you :mank him" I and "Mamma! please to tell Willie to quit pinChMigfme'l - How mamma maintained her good nature, I can not tell; s I really felt quite angry, If they were my children, (heaven be praised they are not,) I should have settled eah with "X ': a%, page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] TAE ARTIST'S DREEA, a spank/ng. I mean, of course, after the company had gone. The Mfollong evening, I saw ]E/s. Wolf at the Academy of Music, attended by Commodore Iarson, and looking prettier than ever. OUr old friend Returah Cavetdish is livg in beautiful style on Fifth venue. Her husband is a Kentuekin like herself, and is here speculating ingold. The marriage I should think a joy- les one. I often look at her, and wonder if she can love hrm. te is a dyspeptic, and a miserable hypochondriac; the most peevish, fretful being I ever saw. His ife is the slave of his whims. pHe sometimes treats her with disrespect, even in the presence of the servants, which is unpardonable. Yet he believes himself a model husband, and addresses her as "My dear." I awayl s suspeet the devotion of a husband, who makes frequent use of these two monosyllables. I would not brook his petty tyranny fo- one day; but her amniable, lovely disposition enables her to endure it patiently. Mis disease has not de- troyed his epicurean t astes. The hours f or meals, the dishes tiat are served, must all tend to gratify his fasti- dious stomach. When eating he makes one think of a shark He devours his food rapidly and smacks his lips until one feels like turning away in disgust. u tutah could never have seen him at table, or this union of rinement and vulgarity would never have taken :place. eeaven preserve mefrom such a dyspeptic! If the Captain gets the disease, I shall go mad. .Mercy! hoWt I have dished up people in this letter. It seems very ill-natured to writein this strain, and yet it is as THE ARTIST'-DR FAW. 3 true as preaching. I suppose some persons ought to be pitied, rather than censured. Keturah has had IM4dge with her for two months--no longer Madge Wildfire, however, but-Margaret :Cavendish, or the "beautiful Pearl," as I understand the Doctor calls her. She has developed into one of the most lovely Christian and intel- lectual characters, I have ever known. She has created quite a sensation here, and is the acknowledged belle of the season. She is called the "YoungPeri of the West." Her eyes are like the flashing of diamonds. She reminds me of a frightened fawn: Her manners are very easy and natural. Indeed, her very simplicity is what I think most attractive to men of the world. She is not at all spoiled by the adulation she receives, and is already wishibg to return to her father, to whom she says s he in- tends to dedicate her life. Mr. Adair has been specially devoted in his attentions. By the by, at a ball last night, I heard him tell her of his attachment. After the dance, he led her to a seat in the music-room which was desert- ed. Most of the company were promenading in the ad- joining rooms, and in the hall. Inz consequence of the crowd, I was detained several minutes by the door of the music-room, and as Mr. Adair in his haste and eager- ness splke louder than was necessary, more persons than myself got the benefit of his declaration. Her: a n- swer reminded me of Berkley's lady love iM "Hyperion, when she told him he was attracted by certain attributes. "Damn your attributes, madam. I know nothirg'o at- tributes." page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] a - THE ARTIST IDREAM. ; Si," said she with dignity, "you have been drink. Mr. Adair would never have suited Madge. The umon would have been absurd. He is pompous as ever, and ta3s as-if he had swallowed Webster' Diction- ary, and washed it'down with a heavy draught of BHorace's Satires. I have ventured to tell you of this affair, knowing it would go no further. One is glad of a little variety at these parties.- There is so much tame. ness iii them, such winking and blinking, such " nods and becks and wreathed smiles.? Ellersley Cavendish is aga in his native land, after an absence of five years. What advantages he has thrown away I He travelled for some time in Great Britain, France and Germany. He crossed the mighty Alps. He stood beneath the great dome of St. Peter's, and listened to the far-famed Miser- ere. Hie gazed" at the wonderful pyramids of Egypt, tar- ried awhile in the Holy City, and knelt devoutly on Mount Olivet. Yet he has returned home to study medicine with his father. Do emplo:y him, Marion, when he' gets to be an M. D. He will treat the case most skillfully, I am sure. Probably he continued the study of his favorite science, astronomy, as I hear he has discovered a new planet. The report needs tonfirnma- tion. I tam told that Hr. Donnelson is content to re- nlain in his "native wilds," and that he is as much of a pyrrhonist as when we knew him. Eleanor-is well. She still receives occasional letters from Mrs. Rossitur, who subscribes herself, "Yours most devotedly, ever . -* : . . *- * your attached:friend,"tc, I'tcalls to mind aady Iolitee read of, who, after appointing a day for her mrrtiage with a certain gentleman, wrote to inform himtthat she had chosen another suitor, and signed herself, "Yours faithfully," Respectfully, or with regard, as mi busineqs transactions, would- be better, I think. Formalit; is preferable: to insincerity. Are you aware that Rvens- wood has passed into other -hands?-the beautiful Ravenswood of happier days. Mr. and Mrs. De Vere have established a small select boarding-school,. aifew miles from New York. A school par excellence, they think, but I believe it is considered by some persons to be utopian. The place where they reside is very pretty, (plenty of lovely flowers and nodding ferns,) but of course it is all very different from' anything to which they have been accustomed. How strange are the changes and chances of life! Both Mr. and Mrs. De Vere are particularly anxious about the education of their daughter, who is now almost as tall as her mother. She is no longer the playful child of yore. Though only eleven years of age, there is a thoughtful shadow on her brow; and the experience of life is showing itself in the unmistakable expression of the eyes and mouth. I have wanted very much to go and see the family, since my re- turn from Washington. But' the carriage which we ordered from the manufacturers before our marriage, has not yet arrived. How provokingl The horses are be- comning quite wild, from being kept so constantly--in the stable. Papa has presented me with a very fine parlor 16* ' ' '"' '?! t5 *' 1:- page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 846: THE ARTIST'S D-RIAM. organ. You must know that I have practiced very faithfully in the last two or three years, and now fancy that I perform equal to Saint Cecilia. Youir health in punch! I have just received an invitation to a social gathering at Mrs. Jerome's. I suppose I will have to accept, though I detest tea-squals. How I have spun out this letter I Well! you see I am growing garrulous. I hope it will fmid you in better health. There! my liege lord has come, and I hear him calling "Augusta!" I must go to him. Good-bye. P. S.-.Some of the gossips predicted that I would not survive the galling fire of the Captain's sarcasm for one month. Thqank heaven, I am not dead yet. AUGaUSTA 4. ' : , -? . THE ARTIST* D.^EA. . ; CHAPTER XLYIi. Now therefore I do rest, ' A prophet certain of my prophecy, That never shadow of mistrust can cross Between us PERCY SEYMOUR died after a short blnes of typhoid fever . A short time before he expired, 'he asked to see his oDY c hild, a little boy two years ol . le looked at him tenderly, Eaying, "My pre' cious little cherub!" then turned to his wife, wih the words, "My poor Eleanor!" He was taken in his prnime, an at seemed mysterious, that oe st to live, ould be thus cut short in his career! Bu God owsbest. He was ready for the summons, and weny to his impulses,its high aspirations, anc its no ble deeds,was blessed light to follow afar off and feel after, I ike plants or vines which never saw the sun But dream of im, aand guess where he may be, And do their best to climb and get to him. ha scarcely. , page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 838 THE-ARTIST'S DREAM. The day before his death, he was well, and laughed and played with all the innocent glee of childhood. He was running a hoop on the nursery floor, when Eleanor en- tered, and seated herself in an arm-chair.' He immedi- ately left the toy, and sprang into her lap, threw his arms around her neck, and called her his pretty mother. During the night he was seized with croup, and sur- vived but a few hours. The stricken mother seemed completely stunned. The blow had fallen so suddenly, that for a while she could not realize her loss. She took the child in her arms, looked at it long and earn- estly, wondering if it were indeed gone from her forever. :Baby! over thy little form so many tears I've shed, And yet I cannot, cannot believe that thou art dead! Wake, my precious chlld, awake! Wake, for thy loving mother's sake. Say that it is not death--'tis only seeming, That for a while, thou'rt sweetly dreaming;-.- Say that thou didst wish to rest Thy pretty head upon my gentle breast. Wake, and see the bright new toy, 4 - ,That yesterday gave such pleasure to my darling boy. Be merry, and-full of pretty ways again, and deck With thy little dimnpled arms, thy mother's neck-- Unfold the tiny hands that are now so firmly clasped together, Smile one of thy glad smiles, and call me mother. Look at me, baby,'with thy father's eyes, Let me see again the beauty that within them lies -- Speak to me with his-voice, so sweet, so clear,- oh, how I long To hear once more the music of its gnshing song- The voice' that is soar:away, yet seems sonear, The voice for which I've longed, with many a sacred tear. T$ - ABlSt T& / 819 s It's faintest toine would chase away', my sadness, And fill'my soul with intense joy-and gladness;- But I hear it not, and the yearning comes, so deep and wild, For my husband, and my child. A little while ago, life seemed so full of sweetness- * So fair, so beautiful in its completeness ;- For in my heart two streams had met together, The double love-the wife and mother. Alas! now how changed, and I must stifle my heart's moan, And bear to' kiow that I am desolate and alone. What meansj that noise-that rustling as of many wings, Stirring the summer air, as it softly sings? Hush! my baby is sleeping, But list, O list, the angels are speaking: "Gentle mourner, 'Peace, be still r We've come with comfort, thy soul to'fill-- Thy loved ones wander by crystatlstreams, Gilded by the Sun of Heaven's glorious beams; ' They listen to strains which never tire, Softly chanted by the angelic choir ;- Wouldstlhou wish to call them here, To have them by thee, ever near? - Rather strive to bear, thy cross-lay thyself at Jesus's feet, Bide /is time-thy beloved ones again to meet." They ceased, and quickly by me swept, And then I laid me down and wept; The fountain of sorrow swelled in my soul, Wave after wave of anguish o'er it rol'd ;--. Wildly I strove-oh, heart be still! I prayed that God would grant submissio n to His win. Sweet peace stole o'er me-the heavenly Dove Had bathed my soul in everlasting love. page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 50 - THE &BTIST'S DRPAM. Eleanor wrote to Marion, and after earnest inquiries concerning her health, and mode of life in Italy, she mentioned her own bereavement. "But I have had everything to soften it," she said. "My mother is inex- pressibly tender and gentle, and all my friends extend to me those kindly feelings and sympathies which are planted deep in the soil of our humanity. I wish you could have seen my boy, Marion. He was a sweet, in- teresting child, and full of fun and frolic. He had Percy's large, dark eyes, and his every word .was sweet-. est music to -my ear. I madle an idol of him, and God saw fit to take him from me. I must not grieve, for he is in a brighter and a happier world; and a voice tells me that in after years I will be glad that he is gone. I: often feel that I have seen my happiest days.* But I am content to leave all in the hands of Hin who knows what is best for us. I believe 'there is a divinity which shapes men's ends, rough-hew them as they may.' "I have not written to any one for a lpng time, though I confess that nothing should have prevented my writing to you. This letter, such as it is, I send with my heart's greetings.- Marion, dear friend of my girl- hooe's days, God bless youl" THE ARTIST'S DREAM. . 31 CHAP'T'tPK XI LVA. Where even the motion of an angel's wing, Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. WORDSWORTH. T was a lovely evening in June, when Eleanor ,[bi arrived at her country-seat, on the birnks of the Hudson. The air was calm and still, and a quiet dreaminess seemed to pervade aU nature. One might have said: "It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration." The next day was Sunday-- And the Sabbath bell, That over wood, and wild, and mountain dell, Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts Inholy, With sounds most musical; most melancholy," met Eleanor's ear. She watched the villagers wending their way to the little church, looking so neat and orderly, and contrasted the scene with Goethe's des- cription of a Sunday in Germany. She was always glad to exchange the noise and bustle of the city, for the quiet pleasures of her country home. To her, page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] '862 TtLE ARTIST'S DREAM. "H igh mountains were a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture." She preferred the panorama of the Hudson, to the finest work of art, and the fragrance of the hay-fields to Pha- Ion's choicest extract. Her home was among the most beautiful in the High- lands, and she hoped to be happy there, with her books, her music, and her flowers. The house was- of dark stone, partially covered with ivy, from among whose glossy leaves, the beautiful blossoms of the wax plant were seen. The garden was in all its glory. Flowers rich in color and fragrance met the eye at every turn. The roses seemed to vie with one another in beauty. The moss burst blushingly from its green leaves, and the yellow tea wooed the beholder to its side. The white, musk-scented cluster rose, (said to be the celebrated rose of the Persian poets,) regaled all who saw it, with its delicious perfume. Carnations put forth their beautiful blossoms, and the little- Notylia albida exhibited its white flowers, resembling " fairy shells." Eleanor walked out one bright momning, while the dew still glistened on the grass and flowers. She herself looked as fresh '-" as morning roses newly washed with dew." A bird sat- on a beech-tree near her chamber window, with distended throat and quivering wings. It did not, like Browning's wise little English thrush, "Sing each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture 1" TTHE ABTIST'S DREAM. . But it revelled in the magnificence of nature, and war- bled its hymn of praise, which sounded to Eleanor like the song Bonnivard's bird did to him- "The sweetest song ear ever heard," A " song that said a thousand things, And seemed to say them all for me!" The bird had built its nest in the same tree for several successive summers, and Eleanor welcomed it cordially, to her heart and home. Birdling! nestling in the tree, Thou art very dear to me ; Thy plumage is so soft and bright, And thy eye so full of light. The wondrous gift of song Does to thee belong :- Dost thou know that thy sweet lay Has often cheered a weary, day? When our summer roses fade, And thy adieu to us is made- - When thou seek'st a milder clime, To spend the dreary winter time- When thou bask'st- 'neath sunny skies, Where glorious beauty never dies, Dost thou know, as thou dost roam, That we miss thee in our home,? Soon shall come the lovely spring, And with it warmth and sunshine bring; Then to us thou'lt swiftly fly, We shall see thee, by and bye. page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] e ilTHE ARTISTS D ARM. - Make thy nest withoulffa fear, For no barm is near thee here ; Sweetyv, gently, mayst thou rest, Thou art ever a welcome guest! Eleanor put some pretty white blossoms of the elder in her rich auburn hair, and sat down to rest in a rustic arbor. Myriads of insects, in gay attire, were in the hedges, in the grasses, and in the air. Some looked like beauitiful mosaics, some like regal gems. All were full of enjoyment, and celebrating, in their own way, the festival of life." "'There is the grasshopper, my summer friend,"' thought Eleanor. "' Where'er I gaze-- Ten thousand insects in the air abound, Flitting on glancing wings that yield a summer sound.'" Within the ground, was a miniature lake, in the centre of which was an island covered with Neapolitan violets, royal. with beauty. There was a pretty legend con- nected with this isle of violets; how a fairy held' her revels there, stepping lightly on the purple carpet, which was almost too delicate, even for her dainty little feet. And how, by moonlight, she sailed on the lake, seated in a water-lily, with a jewelled wand in her tiny hand. Chaucer says that the fairies departed from Britain before his time. "In olde dayes of the king Artour, Of which that Bretons speke gret honour, A- was this land ful filled of faerie; THE ArTST'S DIEAM. X The elf queene, with her joly compaigne, Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. This was the olde opinion as I rede; I speke of many years ago: ' But now can no man see now elves mo', For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitoures and other holy freeres, That serchen every land and every streme, As thicke as motes in the sonne beme; Blisaing halles, chambres, kitchenes, and boures, Citees and burghes, castles highe, and toures, Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, This maketh that ther ben no faeries; For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour himself." Fairy mythology is vastly interesting, and one might al- most wish that the queer little people, made so famous by some of the British .poets, could exist. That obin Goodfellow could play his wild tricks, and scamper-- "Through woods, through lakes-through-bogs through brakes," and visit the farm-house, "To earn his cream-bowl duly set." Indeed, we might even be willing that the household Dobbies should make their habitations- - "'In corners of old houses least frequented, Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies; Robin Goodfellow some-some call them fairieP; In solitarie rooms these uproares keep, And beate at doores to wake men from their slepe, page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] i:88t THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Seeming to force lockesr be they nere so strong, And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes, and kettles, They will make dance about the shelves and settles, As if about the kitchen tost and cast, Yet in the morning nothing found misplac't." Eleanor sometimes clambered up the lofty hills, and sometimes she gathered moss from the old gray rocks. Madge Wildfire should have been transplanted to these precipitous heights. Her redundant health and her activity would have enabled her to ascend without diffi- culty; and her wild, free nature would have revelled in such scenes. New prospects opened at every step. The wooded hills, the lovely vales, the lordly river, with its beauteous isles-all "perfect parts of a harmonious whole "-all so beautiful, so grand, that one would not wish "to change one line in all that picture marvellous." Who could look at it Without exclaiming, with Shelley, "Magnificent! How glorious art thou, earth! and if thou be The shadow of some spirit lovelier still, Though evil stain its work, and it should be, Like its creation, weak yet beautiful, I could fall down, and worship that and thee. Even now my heart adoreth. Wonderful!" Or with Byron, "I live not in myself but I become Portion of that around me. . . THE ARTIST'S-DREAM. 85 DAnd thus I am absorbed, and this is life!, I look upon the peopled desert past As on a place of agony and strife, Wherefore some sin, to'sorrow I was cast. To act and suffer, but remount at last, With a fresh pinion;--hile Ifeel to spring, ; Though young, yet wa-ing vigorous, as the blast, Which it would cope with, on delighted ving, Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. "And when, at length, the mind shall all be free, From what it hates in this degradedc form, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly and worm-- When elements to elements conform, And dust is what it should be, shall I not Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm? The bodiless thought, the spirit of each spot, Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot? "BAre not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart, With a pure passion?-shall I not contemn All objects, if compared with these?-and stem A tide of suffering, rather than forego Such feelings, for the hard and wordly-phlegm Of those whose eyes are only turned below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow?" Oh, the glory of the created world! What a blessed privilege it must be to wander over its landscape, to have the eye sweep over the broad horizon, taking in land and sea; to have the ear receive every note of its won- drous music; to feel all its beauty in one's very Soull I page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 58 D - THE ARTIST'S DREAM. am aware that sorrow comes to all in a greater or lesrs degree-that " every heart knoweth its own bitterness "- (would indeed that it were not so.) But I should think that the lesser trials of life would be lost in its mighty pleasures. , The weather had become very sultry, and, one -day, after feeding some pet pigeons, Eleanor lay down on one of the parlor divans. She looked intently (as she had often done before) at a large painting on the oppo- site wall. Independent ofits merit as a work of art, the subject was one of' unusual interest. It represented the early home of the gallant and accomplished Sir Philip Sidney; and the tree, -which is said to have been planted on his birth-day, occupied a prominent position in the landscape. The beholder could walk in fancy, through the magnificent groves of Penshurst, and live in the olden days of chivalry. The brilliant cavalcade could be seen, with neighing steed, moving to the sound of gay- est music.- Tilts, tournaments, and sports of the ring, where the gallant and successful knight considered the smile of beaiiuty sufficient recompense for every danger. Alas! the glory of those days is gone forever. Eleanor rose, and passed her fingers over the glitter- ing strings of her harp. Strains rose, rich and harmoni- ous, murmuring like the liver breeze, and dying away softly as wave falls on, wave. Again and again they rose, while a solitary female voice melted and mingled with the melody. Several persons were rowing on the water, and watching the sparkling diamond drops, fall- THE BARTIST'S DREAM. Q5S ing in showers at every movement of the oars. As the delicious sounds floated toward them, they neared the shore, and rested their oars. They felt they were listen- ing to no ordinary performer. Who has not felt his heart touched with profound emotion by music? The spirit seems for awhile to cast off its shackles, and soar upward on the wings of sound, to be enraptured and lost in a dreamy ecstasy. Eleanor thought the river looked even more beautiful when seen by the soft moonlight, than by the dazzling rays of the sun. When looking at it, she sometimes thought of the lines: "To my feet the river glideth Through the shadow, sullen dark! On the stream the white moon rideth, Like a barque. Gentle buds are blooming near me, Shedding sweetest breath around,-' Countless voices rise to cheer me, From the ground;-- Till I think some things there be, In this dreary world that love me, Even me. Now the moon hath floated to me, On the stream I see it sway, Swinging boat-like, as 'twould woo me, Far away. - And the stars bend from the azure' I could reach them where I lie, And they whisper all the pleasure, Of the sky. page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 860 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. There they hang and smile above me, Till I thin some things there be, In the very heavens that love me, Even me!" Sunmmer waxed into autumn. Everything within the grounds was pencilled by the frost. The forest trees were in all the pomp of scarlet and orange. The stately 4 beech by Eleanor's window receives '( The sun upon its crowded leaves, Each colored like a topaz gem; And the tall maple wears with them The coronal which Autumn gives. The brief, bright sign of rnu- near, The hectic of a dying year!" The garden was bereft of its most brilliant flowers, (sweet children of the summer sun,) but the asters, the chrysanthemums, and a host of sturdy ones supplied their place. Ahe pretty brown butterflies displayed their velvet wings, and the white transparent veil of the Indian Summer was thrown over hill and dale. As out- door enjoyments lessened, those within doors increased. It was pleasant to draw the curtains in the evening, to wheel the table before the grate, all a-glow with coals, to read from some favorite author, or engage in some kind of handiwork. But the time had come for Eleanor to return to her winter home. It cost her much pain to say farewell to a place where she had spent so many peaceful hours; to THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 3.1 the glorious river, with its waves rippling in the autumn breeze; to quiet nooks, and lovely shades; to spots con- secrated by poetic musings and moonlight fancies. She saluted them, one and all, with a long-drawn sigh. , i. . . page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 862 T E ARTISTS- DREAM. CHAPTEt. XTITX. Shake not your glossy curls with a " no," As you sit in the warm and rosy glow, * Twixt your hearth and pictured wall ;- Ah, my lady, you do not know -How folks feel with their feet in the snow, 'And no bright fire at all. From house to house I have gone all day- Nothing for beggars," is all they say, Though a banquet waiting stands ;- Ah, you never have known the way Poor folk feel when their heads are gray, And palsy shaking their hands. For sake of charity say not "no.' I am almost famished-I cannot go- I must steal or starve-and why? Because, my lady, you do not know, How folk feel with their feet in the snow, Turned out from your fires to die. ALICE CAREY. WOTtil-rf, why do angels dress in black? I thought they were always so happy, and had no need to go in mourning. "They do not wear mourning, my child. What put such an idea into your head?" "The angel that comes here so often, always has on a black dress, with a black bonnet, and a long black veil. 'What large, juicy grapes she brought me this morning, mother! You never gave me any like them." THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 3863 "Those were black Hamburg grapes, Toby, and your mother could never afford to give you such. The lady who brought them is very kind and generous-not an angel, as you suppose, but a mortal like ourselves. It was Mrs. Seymour." "A But mother, when she speaks to me, her voice sounds as if it had come from the skies, so soft and sweet. And she looks just like that angel yonder, (pointing, as he spoke, to a little painting in water-colors, near his bed,) only she hasn't got wings." The picture represented an angel, showering blessings, in the shape/of flowers, on a sick child. It had been given to Toby by Eleanor, in the hope that it might help to cheer some of his lonely hours. She also brought several very pretty prints, which she hung on the bare walls. She thought the room looked less desolate with them, and remembered that Toby once told her, that-he was so tired looking at nothing. It is certainly very trying for a sick person, especially for a sick child, to look day after day on whitewashed walls. Even if they are papered, one grows weary of counting the figures. It-is'something like repeating the alphabet, or the multi-- plication. table backwards, in order to get to sleep. Eleanor thought that having a house without- pictures, was next thing to having no house at all, and she selected those, which she thought would interest and improve Toby at the same time. She was was generous, as Toby's mother had said. She pitied the poor, from him who earned his livelihood by honest means, down to the i l page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 864 THE ARTST'S DREAM. street beggar, who pleaded piteously for "sixpence" at her door. 'But she did not bestow her charities indis- criminately. She used her wealth as one wh6 was to give an account of it hereafter. Toby's mother was- a very worthy person, and had once been a favorite ser- vant in the Marshall family. Unfortunately, she married a man who was unable to support her. He was a good mech anic, but was prevented by ill health from attending to his business. The result could easily be foreseen. They were soon reduced to penury, though he did not live long to be a burden on her hands. It was not surpris- ing that their child should be puny and delicate-the offspring, like thousands of others, of hereditary disease. There can be no sadder sight than a suffering child. Child- hood is naturally connected, in our minds, with health and happiness. Alas! that the reality should not prove the same. With all her industry, Toby's mother could not surround him with necessary comforts, and her courage almost failed her, when she heard him moan hour after hour with pain. "Mother," he said, one day, "why can't I get up, and be like other children? Tom Jones told me that he could run a mile, and it never hurt him." "You have always been a very sickly child, Toby. That is the reason you cannot go about. But I hope you will be well some day, and then you can run equal to Tom Jones." "But I want to go now," said Toby, fretfilly. ;'I'm so tired of staying still, and I can't see-but just a little THE ARTIST S DREAM, 365 bit of the sky from this window; and my head aches with the noise of the carts and omnibuses. Mother, when summer comes, and the weather is very hot, can't we go away from this big town?" "No, my child," answered the mother, sadly; and visions of a fire in August, of the wash-tub, and ironing- table, came before her. Eleanor entered the room at that moment, and asked what made Toby look so solemn. With all the inno- cence of childhood, Toby referred his request to her. She told him that she would take him to her country place the following summer, and that he should breathe pure mountain air, and see beautiful trees and flowers, and more than a bit of God's blue' sky. Toby was glad, and promised to be a good boy, and not complain to his mother any more. He looked at Eleanor with admiring love, and thought her even more beautiful than the angel in the picture. Eleanor did indeed look very lovely. Her black dress seemed rather' to add to, than to detract from her general appearance of refinement. Her com- plexion was delicate as ever; her eye as lustrous; her form as graceful- "And overall a softened halo cast, Woven from tearful memories of the past." Eleanor did not fold her hands, and nurse her grief. A life of active usefulness opened before her, and she accepted it. Many a home was made more comfortable, and many a heart lighter, by her cheerful words and generous bounty. Work! work I work! It is the best . . page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] -068 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. remedy for a sorrow-stricken spirit; andiEleanor experi. ended feelings approaching nearer to happiness than she had deemed possible, since the death of her husband and child. She had tested happiness-that strange thing, of which we are ever in search, and she now l realized how transient is the feeling. What is happiness? Is it a real, substantial thing, Or an airy nothing, Which sprites to mortals bring? Be it what it may, Its home is not on earth-- Its stay with us is short, for 'tis of heavenly birth. Is the king always happy, In his regal seat- Clothed in robes of purple, With subjects kneeling at his feet? Ah, no! A jewelled sceptre does not always find A quiet, calm, contented mind. Is the statesman always happy, When he obeys ambition's call-- When from his lips Words of burning eloquence fall? Ah, no! When the world his praises sing, He finds that famenis but an empty thing. Is the soldier always happy, When he has fought in his country's cause-- When the victory has been won, THE ARTIST'S DREEAM. 86-t: , And he is greeted with applause? Ah, no! His eyes are often dimmed by tears, 'And the orphan's wail rings in his ears. Is the sailor always happy, When, on a cloudless day, He is fanned by tie ocean's breeze, And sprinkled with the shining spray? Ah,-no! He fears the brightness will not last, That the sky with clouds will soon be overcast. Is the youthful beauty always happy, In her brightness and bloom-- Is her gaiety all real, Hiding no gloom? Ah, nol - A smiling face too often conceals, What the restless heart hourly feels. Mr. Howitt, when speaking o& the great change that . has taken place in England since the Reformation, more -:; especially in regard to the decline of popular festivals" in that country, says it is "no longer a nation of feudal combatants, of piping shepherds, and thoughtless peas- .i ,antry-but of busy, scheming, money-collecting, family- creating men." And after the results of her last war, if he asked if after such a baptism, they could still like the French, "a dancing, dissipating-loving people. After all," he continues, " happiness does not consist in booths, ' and garlands, drums and horns, or in capering round a M1ay-pole. Happiness is a fire-side thing. It is a thin g *A"; * , '" a 1 ' page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 868 TE ARTIST'S DREAM. of grave and earnest tone;" and he sums it all up in the exquisite words of Wilson: - "The highest mood allowed To sinful creatures, for all happiness Worthy that holy name, seems steeped in tears, Like flowers in dew; or tinged with misty hues, Like stars in halo." THE AH'ir'S DEAM. 869 CHAPT' E. L. My soul, there is a country Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry All sillful in the wars-- There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles, And One born in a manger, Commands the beauteous files. If thou canst get but thither, There grows th9 flower of peace, The rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress and thy ease. VAUCHAU . XNARION graduallybecame weaker. Theexpres- s ion of her counteranbe showed that she suf- fered deeply; but no murmur escaped her lips. Arthur left his studies, and took his station by her side. She thanked him for all his devotion, and told him that his love had been the joy of her life. She noticed the anguish depicted on his face, and said: "Do not grieve for me, Arthur. Does not the captive rejoice at his release?" She was so faint for several days, that she spoke but 'little. Once, while Mary .was bending over her, she caught the words, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff comfort me." 16 page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 870 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. It was Sunday; and so lovely, thatit seemed to- have been made for the " bridal of earths and sky." The sun was slowly sinking behind the western hills, shedding a flood of beauty over the classic land of Italy. The gales, cool and bland, fanned Marion's warm cheek; and gen- tly kissed her broad, white forehead. Quiet and still she lay, until strains of melody floated on the evening air. "I know those voices," she said; "sinmg me to rest, dear brother and sister, sing again. But hark I I hear other music, sweeter far, than any earthly sounds. 'Tis the angel-choir, whispering ' Come!"' She sank to bleep. A smile of peace rested on the pale lips. She had breathed her last farewell. "( The dear departed gone before, To the unknown and silent shore, Sure we shall meet as heretofore, Some sunmmer morning." Arthur and Mary gazed with tearful eyes upon the lifeless form -of her whom they had so long cherished; upon the sunken cheeks, and attenuated features ;-all -that remained of the once beautiful and brilliant Marion Lee. They cut the dark hair from the clustering brow, and removed the plain gold ring that encircled the slen- der finger. How fondly and how faithfully they clung to every remembrance of her? How they enshrined her last words and tones, in memory's choicest spot I Her prospects in early life had been bright indeed, and her end must speak to the most ordinary mind, of the un- THE ARTIST'S DREAM. 71 certainty of earthly things. Little Marion was awed by the silence that pervaded the house, and asked, in plain- tive tones, for Aunt Marion. When she was taken to see her, she said: "Auntie sleeps a-long time. I wish she would wake up, and talk to her little pet." Mary took her hi her arms, and told her that Aunt Marion could not return to them; but that they could go to her. When Arthur came in, soon afterwards, the child ran to him, saying: "Papa, a beautiful angel has come to take Aunt Ma- rion home; but we will go and live with her some day." Arthur went to the window, where his wife stood looking at the sunset. "How gloriously beautiful, it is!" he said. "Beautiful!" she replied. -"One might say with Baron Bunsen, ' The love of -God is in everything.' God is life, love-love that wills ;-will that loves. There is no death in God.' Oh, Arthur, what must it be to look on life from his elevation; and to be able to say with him, 'Upward! upward! It becomes not darker, but always brighter, brighter. I am now in the kingdom of God.'"' "Yes, his was a glorious death. How beautifully he expressed himself, with regard to his wife; saying, ' that he loved in her that which was eternal.'" Arthur put his arms around his wife, and kissed her fondly. He then held her off, and looked searchingly into her face. The soft violet eyes were not yet dry; page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 872 THE ARTISTS DR M. and there were lines of care on her brow, which he had not before noticed. But she was more beautiful to him, than she had been in her brightest days. He knew, that like Pascal, she had endeavored " to do little things like great ones, on account of the majesty of Jesus Christ who does them in us,-who lives our life; and-great things like things little and easy, on account of His omnipotence." \ * ^ ' - TE A RTIST S DIENM R-3 - CHAPTER LI. Active doer, noble liver, Strong to labor, sure to conquer. BROWNING. ALL things were in readiness for the journey to America. The precious dead was to be placed beside her sainted mother, and there was no ne- cessity for Arthur remaining longer in Italy. His repu- tation was celebrated, and he stood before the world a self-made artist. Years had- witnessed the assiduity of his toil, and he once thought that only joy would diffuse his soul, when he found his name enrolled in the lists of fame. But like all the restless wishes of the human, heart, it brought sorrow as well as joy. While the world of art resounded with his praises, he was mourn- ing for her, who- would have exulted in his success, and he earnestly prayed that he might be enabled to achieve a far greater triumph-the victory over sin and death. The Artist's dream was realized. So may we make to ourselves a monument from the immortal minid. As nothing can be gained without labor, let us endeavor to accomplish that which may withstand the rudest touch page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 THE ARTIST'S DREAM. of time. Fame is only a bubble, that vanishes; and riches may flee before the morrow's dawn. But a good reputation is a joy to the possessor while on earth, and will rise a lasting monument to his memory, when he v himself shall be no more. THE END. A Catalogue of issu 'BY . 18. Go We CARLE TON & CO*., Publisherst Nj . .n& NEW YORKO " . A 18 8N page: 376-377 (Advertisement) [View Page 376-377 (Advertisement) ] Tiere is a kind ofphysiognomy in the titles of books no less than in the faces of men, by which a skilful observer will know as well what to ex- pect from the one as the other."-BUTLER. And New Editions Recently Published by G. W. CARLETON & CO., NEW YORK. GEORGE W. CARLETON. !IFNRY 8. ALLEN, N B.--THE PUBLISHERS, upon receipt of the .price In advance, will send any of the following Books by mail, POSTAGE FREE, to any part of the United States. This convenient and very safe mode may be adopted when the neighboring Book- sellers are not supplied with the desired work. State name and address in full. Victor Hugo. "ES MSfRABLES,-The celebrated novel. One large 8vo vol- ume, paper covers, $2.00; . . cloth bound, $2.50 "ES MSiRABLES.--In the Spanish language. Fine 8vo. edition, two vols., paper covers, $4.00o; . cloth bound, $5.00 JARGAL.-A new novel. 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