Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0010 /moa/harp/harp0010/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Note on Digital Production 0010 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Issue 55 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 874 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0010 /moa/harp/harp0010/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Issue 55 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December 1854 0010 055
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Issue 55, miscellaneous front pages i-viii

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.. VOLUME X. DECEMBER, 1854, TO MAY, 1855. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARK. 1 855. A. ~ ADVERTISEMENT.YOLUME X. HARPERS MAGAZINE has now reached the close of its Tenth Volume. During the five years of its existence, its prosperity has been constant and uninterrupted. It has not been checked even by the disaster which fell upon the establishment of the Publishers, or by the period of general depression from which the country is now emerging. Its circulation has regularly increased with each successive Volume, and is now larger than at any previous time. The Publishers have spared neither labor nor expense. not only to maintain, but to improve the char- acter of the Magazine in all its departments. It has been their purpose to fur- nish a larger amount of the best literature of the day, presented in a more, at- tractive form, with more profuse embellishments and at a lower price, than has ever been attempted by any periodical publication. While they have not neg- lected the rich stores of foreign literature, they have gradually enlarged the list of their Editors and Contributors till it includes the names of a large portion of the most popular writers of the country, and nothing has been wanting to induce them to contribute their best productions to the Magazine. The Publishers have received abundant assurance that their efforts have been successful to rcndei the Magazine in some good degree worthy of the favor which has been accorded to it. Not a week passes in which they do not receive contributions, every way worthy of insertion, sufficient to occupy their pages for months. The task of se- lecting from this immense mass of matter that which is best and most attractive has been laboriously and faithfully performed; and the Publishers are confident that no article has found its way into the Magazine to which any just or reason- able exception can be taken. The Publishers would offer their sincere acknowledgments to the numerous writers of whose contributions they have been unable, from want of space, to avail themselves. To the members of the Press, also, they would renew their thanks for the generous and cordial approbation they have always accorded to the Magazine. They only, from their position, can be aware of the difficulty of preparing the successive Numbers of a popular periodical, and to their kindness Harpers Magazine has been largely indebted for its success. The Publishers again thank the Reading Public throughout the country for their unintermitted support, and add their assurances that the encouragement which they have re- ceived during the five years that are passed shall stimulate them to renewed ex- ertions for the future. CORNELL U N IVERSITV~ LlBRAR\ 2/ ,1 -V CONTENTS OF VOLUME X. ADAM BENNETTS HEIRS 104 ALLIGATORS 37 ANCIENT AND iXIODERN ARTILLERY 45~ ANDREW JACKSON 145 BABY BLOOM 503 CAPTAIN OBSTINATE 193 COINCIDENCESA PHYSICIANS STORY 377 COMICALITIES, ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. The First Cigar, 141. The Long Sermon, 142. Done to the Public, 717. Spring Fashions for Ladies and up, 142. TIse Village School, 285. Saint Valentines Gentlemen, 718. Young America in Town and Coun- Day, 429. A very Cold Morning, 430. Oh! 430. TIse try, 561. High Life and Low Life, 862. New York Police, 572. A Hard Case, 717. Great Boon DARIEN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. By J. T. HEADLEY 433, 600, 745 DEAD SEA, SODOM, AND GOMORRAH 187 DOG, DESCRIBED AND ILLUSTRATED 615 EDITORS DRAWER. Winter is on us; Courting and Polite Attentions, 129. The old Family Clock; The Double Pickpocket; Retort lJncourteous, 130. Any Thing you order; Chancy Macaulays Bet, 131. Stealing Peaches, 132. Baron von Huffmans Duel; The Mesmerizer done for; Bury. ing Alive; The Georgia Major, 133. Nobody will read it; Saving the Baby, 134. My Name is not Bentley; Heasing the Gong; A Legal Anecdote, 135. Stewart Holland; Lorenzo Dow and the Rich Man, 136. Blank Verse among the Prose Writers; Wesley and Whitfield, 274. Epitaph for Hume; Oriental Proverbs; Logic and Swimming; Something from the Koran; Romance of the Reviewer; Original Conundrums; 275. The Steamer Eclipse; Scraps, 276. German Characteristics; Epi- grams from the German; Franklins Vision, 277. Old Gilbert White; The Life of Hayden; Do Quincey; rope; Bloomfield; Kohls St. Petersburg, 278. The Death of the Colonel; Nominology; Blunders; The Little Spouse; Temper; I am a Maiden, 279. Words- worth and the Prelude; Wisdom from Morning and Evening Lands; Puns and Parsons; Proverbs, 280. Barnums Buffaloes; Sleigh-Riding, 417. A Trio of Cool Cases, 418. A Pair of the Same Sort; The Work- ingman; Adam and Eve; The King of the Sandwich Islands; The Captains Bathing-Tub, 419. Shanghai Fowls; Severe Runs; The Gentleman; The Tall Suit- ors Apology, 421. Loss of a Wife; Letter from Sir Boyle Roche; How to live; He came too late, 422. Snoningagain; Chances; a Gentleman when he pleases, 423. Spiritual Manifestations; Colonel Greathouse; Shaking Hands, 424. Tom Placide, 425. The Wild and Stormy March; Anecdotes of Dr. Chapman, 559. Of Dr. Mason; Aaron and Hur; The Age of Pericles; The Lunatic in Church, 560. A Trio of Retorts; Law- yer Martin and Farmer Brooks; Age of a Goose, 561. The Snow Shower; Quadrilingual Inscription; Commo- dore Barrons Prize; Death of the Beggar; Time and Eternity, 562. Colonel Benton; Opium Eating; Tak- ing the Scent out; Tight Times, 563. Taking after~ ones Father; Specimen of Mohawk; Patience; New EDITORS EASY CHAIR. The Loss of the Arctic; The Ancient Terrors of the Sea restored, 119. Heroism to the last; Ovation to the Commander, 185. Art in America; Leutzes Washing- ton at Monmouth; Fault-finding Criticism easy, 121. Franklin and the Northwest Passage, 122. The New Opera house; Reception of Grisi; No Jenny Lind Version of an old Story; Many Kinds of Business, 564. The home Grandmother; Treasures of the Bereaved; A Lunatics Cunning, 565. Laughter; Little Annoy- ances, 566. Domestic Picture; The Sheep and the Goats; Screwing her up; Preaching not so easy, 567. Ye Sexes give Ear; Sharp Practice; Printers Errors; Tweedle-dum and Tweedhe-dee, 568. Origin of All- Fools Day, 704. Anecdotes of Franklin; Rev. Dr. Cox, 705. Joness new Versions of hymns; Time and Thought; Baking and Banking, 706. The Lawyers Oven; A Son of Temperance; Deaths of an old Mans Wife; The Tenants Ruse; A Man of Spirit; Taking Home the Doctors Work; Tapping a Drunkard, 707. Puns by Hood; Kicking the Bucket; A bad Conun- drum; Accord and Concord; Epitaphs; Quaint Names for Persons and Books, 708. Cherry Ripe; Seeing the Monkey; Medicine for the Mind; A New England Grave-Yard, 709. Backward Readings; Near-Sight d- ness; Deaths of the Banjo-Player, 710. The old Pas- tors Valedictory; Polite to the Last; Death of a Shang- hal; The Ancient Book-Auctioneer, 711. Making Love to a Tea-Kettle; External Influence of the Sabbath; The Lunatic and his Keeper; Placide and the Chisel, 712. Whats Resisted; A Name in the Sand, 715. Reads New Pastoral; Hymn to May, 847. Mr. and Mrs. Lo- volts Quarrel, 848. Inn Signs; Clerical Puns; An April Joke; New Version of the Lords Prayer; Be- neficence, 849. Mr. Tyler and his Virginia Neighbor; Jenkinss Reasons for the Ministry; Bilingual Poetry; An Old Friend with a New Face, 850. Epigram from Hafiz; Mr. Borem, the Insurance Agent, 851. eorge P. Morris and Governor Smith; A Lesson for Office- Seekers; Sunday Travelers; Jerrold, Heraud, Thack- cray, and Reach, 852. An Auctioneers Trick; Colored Eloquence; At the White Mountains; The pugnacious Sailors, 853. Test of an American; I saw thee Wedded; Excuse the bad Writing, 854. A grandiloquent Beggar; The City of Repose; Horrors of Delirium Tremens; Small favors Solicited, 855. A Hundred Dollar list; Benedict Arnold; A Gentleman; Summerfield, 856. Furore, 125. The Singers going South; Letter from Abroad; American Faces there, 124. No Lodgings. Out-of-Door Sermons; A Mountain Storm, 125; The fat Lady in the Diligence; Items from Switzerland, 12g. A Glance at the Swiss Watering-Places, 127. Baden- Baden; the Prince and the Widow, 128. Rachel going iv CONTENTS. EnsTosss EASY CuAeacontissued. to America; George Sand; Varieties, 129. The Old Chair burnt; Friends.in Time of Trial; Our new Chair and the Building that holda it, 263. Disputea and Ex- paris Statementa; A good Reputation can afford to dis- regard anonymous Attacks, 264. Young Blank and his Publishera; Books, Publishers, and Authors, 265. Sympathy of the Chair; What Blank did about it; the Holiday Season; Miltons Christmas Hymn; Festivals and Poetry, 266. Westward Progress of Art; Land- seers Twins; How Painters view a Dog, 267. Ary Scheffers Temptation; Charities of the Season; Christ- mas Duties, 268. Catastrophes at Homb and Abroad; After-Dinner Criticism; Funeral of the Marshal; Mourning in England, 269. Letters from the Seat of War, 270. Fleurs Americaines, 271. Dinners and Lodgings in Paris, 272. The Hotel of Europe; Mon- sieur T. and his lost Bride, 273. The Student and Isis Aunt, 274. Indifference to Comfort no Sign of Heroism, 406. Democratic America in the Railway Car; Comfort of Traveling here and Abroad, 407. Democracy no Ess- cuse for Indecency; Baby Passengers; Borrors of a Railway Dinner; Tyranny of Democracy, 408. Dc- mocrac.y need not be dirty; Dickenss Notes; The Queen City of the West; The American in a Hotel, 409. What Mr. Bourcicault will say about us; An English Inn; The Easy Chair at Niagara, 410. When Sebas- topol is taken; What War is; The Black Sea Storm, 412. American Sympathies; The Cross and the Cres- sent; A Look at the French Fashions, 413. Improve- ments in Paris; Rachel in her new Character, 414. The Nobleman and the Actress; Frencls Nature; TIse Bank- er and his Wife, 415. Poor Perry in bad Hands, 416. The Peabody Dinner; Diplomatic Toadyism, 417. Vis- it from Goldansiths Citizen of the World; His Letter to the Reverend Fum; What he thought of Shanghai Coats, 549. Of Charity Concerts, and of Charity in general; Men the Sanse always, 550. On Books that are talked shout; Ruth Hall, the Chevaliers Courtship, and the Showmans Life, 551. What Autobiographies are Valuable; Tise Little Joker once too often; The Chevaliers Confessions, 552. Our Mayor and the new Broom; The Calico Party, 553. Paris at Christmas, 554. Turks at a Discount; The Emperor and the Em- press; Tise Rag-Pickers; The Industrial Exhibition, 555. Tlsiers and Miguel in the Academy; The Hat of the Clock-mender, 556. The Foundling hospital; A Glance at Windsor Castle; At the Allies before Sebas- topol, 558. Valentines Day; Valentines and their Mor- al, 693. Ideal of the American Adonis; American Ca- pacity for Enjoyment; Mr. Mumm, the Great Lecturer, 694. His Views upon Lectures and Lecturing, 695. Ilse Consedlaiss in the Cars, 697. The old Actresss Farewell Benefit; England in War Time, 698. A Model Chaplain, 699. A Tale of Crime, 700. Gerard Nerval, the Feullletonist, 701. An Imperial Reception, 703. Monsieur Vattemares International Library, 704. May- Day Changes, 836. New Houses and New Furniture; Grandmother Doldrnm; Aunt Doldrum Ruggs; Mr. J. Smythe, Jr., and his Whereabouts; Criticisms upon Society, 837. Don Bobtail Fandangos opinions thereupon; Nahant; Newport and its hotels, 838. Lady Dlessington; Walter Savage Landors Letter of Remi- niscences, 839. The National Academy of Design; The Crayon, 840. A Glance at the Exhibition, 841. The I)eath of the Emperor and the Bourse; The Times and Chronicle upon the Czar, 842. ludignation against tbe British Aristocracy, 843. Statesmen by Birth and States- men by Merit; Mr. Cobden on Small Freeholds; Ma- demoiselle Doudet, 844. M. Veron on the Flight of Louis Philippe, 845. The Emperors Expedition to the Crimea; FJte at the lidlel de Ville, 846. EDITORS TABLE. How have we been Educated 113 Are there more Worlds than One ~ 545 What awaits our Country? 259 TIse If-Made Man 689 Old England 402 On History 833 EMILY DUNCAN 764 EPISODE OF THE WAR sos FASHIONS FOR DECEMBER 143 FASHIONS FOR JANUARY 287 FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY 431 FASHIONS FOR MARCH 575 FASHIONS FOR APRIL 719 FASHIONS FOR MAY 863 FATE OF THE FIRST AERONAUT 826 FIRST CIGAR 141 GLANCES AT OUR MORAL AND SOCIAL STATISTICS 334 HIGH LIFE AND LOW LIFE 862 HIGHWAYMANS BRIDAL 678 HOW WE STAND AND HOW WE WALK 794 IMPORTANT TO HUSBANDS 76~) INCONSTANT DAGUERREOTYPE 820 ITALIAN LIFE AND MORALS 320 LADY BLESSINGTON AND COUNT DORSAY 640 LADYS REVENGE 239 LAWYERS STORY. By CHARLES DICKENS 385 LITERARY NOTICES. ORTOINAL NOTICES. The BIble Reading-Book; Leaves from the Tree Ig- drasyl, 281. Maxims of Washington; Nature in Dis Curtiss History of the Constitution; Bayard Taylors ease; The Lost Heiress; Mile-Stones in our Lifes Jour- Poems of the Orient; Graftons Camp and Marcls; Beau- ney; Wisdom and Wit of Ancient Philosophers; Web- mont and Fletcher, 137. Bryants Poems; Woodworths ster and Isis Masterpieces; Kirwans Parish Pencilings; World as it is; Storks Life of Lu~be~-; Christians Daily What Not; Abbotts Brune, 282. Romance of American Delight; Peters on Nervous Deran,ement; Lossings Landscape; Wide Awake Gift; Out-Doors at Idlewild: Pictorial History of the United States; The Youth of Chamberss Things in America; You Have Heard of Madame de Longueville, 138. Afraja; Waylands In- Them; Southward Ho; Way Down East; Haynes tellectual Philosophy; Mahans Intellectual Philosophy; Poems, 283. Lectures on the Evidences of Christianity, Miss Martineans Translation of Comte, 139. The 284. Abbotts Napoleon, 425. Putnams Elocution and Knickerbocker Gallery; Thackerays Rose and Ring; Oratory; harrys Vacations; Romance of Biography; CONTENTS. LITERARY NoTscascosstinued. Chapins Humanity in the City; 1k. Marvels Fudge Doings; Hagar the Martyr; Coltons Greek Reader; Lewiss Scriptural Cosmology, 426. Ewbanks World a Workshop; North and South; Journey through Kan- sas; Winters Poems; Literary Fables of Yriarte, 569. Inez, a Tale of the Alamo; Ups and Downs; Lowells Sermons; Youmauss Chemical Atlas; Abbotts Willie; Lilies and Violets; Kusixs Manual of Sacred History, 570. Haspers Gazetteer of the World; Questions of the Soul; The Country Neighborhood; Hannays Satire and Satirists; Story of the Peasant-Boy Philosopher, 714. Father Clark, the Pioneer Preacher; Maurys Physical Geography of the Sea; Lives of the Queens of Scotland; Ainslies Scottish Songs; Reads New Pas- toral, 715. Lady Blessinglons Life and Correspond- ence; Kate Aylesford, 857. Getting Along; Primes Travels in Europe and the East; Abbotts Frank; A Long Look Ahead, 858. Darbys Botany of the South- ern States; Hollisters History of Connecticut; Fosters First Principles of Chemistry; Loomiss Introduction to Practical Astronomy; Cosas do Espaila, 859. Tri-Col ored Sketches in Paris; Explanation by Lieutenant Strain, 860. FOREIGN NOTICE5 AND iNTELLIGENCE. New Memorials of Columbus; Kinglake, 140. Henri Heine, 284. Whites Silakapeares Scholar, 426. Broug- hams Works; Carlyle and Tennyson; Louis Blancs French Revolution; Statue to Wordsworth; Deatis of Lockhart, 427. Death of Professor Forbes, 428. The Edinburgh Review and tile Leader on the Newcomes; Miss Stricklands Mary Queen of Scots; Hucs China; Creasys Ottoman Empire; Books on Russia; The En- glish Press on Barnums Life, 571. Gerald Masseys War Waits; Life of Etty; Life and Writings of Mont- gomery; History and Poetry of Finger-Rings; Death of Julius Hare, 716. Sir G. Cornewall Lewis on Eariy Roman history; Partons Life of Greeley; Autobiog- raphy of Silk Buckiugham; Biography of Sydney Smith; Mr. Thackeray; Marryatta Mountains and Molehills; Manuscripts of Hans Sache, 860. LION AND HIS KIND 735 LOCUSTS IN THE EAST 538 LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN 82 LOST SON OF ICHABOD ARMSTRONG 640 LOVE AND CHARCOAL. By G. P. R. JAISRS 533 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STATES. State Elections, 109, 110, 542, 829, 830. Mr. Claytons Know-Nothing Speech, 109. Returns from Indiana, 109. From Pennsylvania, 110. From New York, 256. From New Hampshire, 829. From Connecticut, 829. From Rhode Island, 829. Loss of the Steamer Yankee Blade, 110. Forgery by City Comptroller of San Francisco, 110. Abstract of Presidents Message, 253. Of Report of the Secretary of the Treasury, 254. Of the Secretary of War, 255. Of the Postmaster-General, 255. Of the Secretary of the Navy, 256. Cost of Foreign Mail Service, 250. In- dian Distnrbances, 257. Relations with Japan, 257. Treaty for Annexation of Sandwich Islands, 257. Death of the King of the Sandwich Islands, 543. Negotiations discon- tinued, 687. Presidents Message on Internal Improve- ments, 397. The Secretary of War and General Wool, 398. Abstract of Message of the Governor of New York, 398. Of Massachusetts, 598. Of Michigan, 399. Of Mis- souri, 399. Of Delaware, 542. Large Nugget, 399. Smith- sonials Institute, 541. Pauper Emigration, 541. Mr. Cass on the Right of Instruction, 541. Kinneys Mosquito Ex- pedition, 542. Lieutenant Hunter, 542. Death of Bishop Capers, 543. Opening of the Panama Railroad, 543. Emigration to California, 543. Adjournment of Congress, 685. The Collins Steamers, 685. Veto of French Spoils- tion Bill, 685. Diplomatic Service Bill, 6S6. Board of Claims, 686. Army and Navy Bill, 686. Mississippi and Pacific Telegraph, 686. Postage Bill, 686. Debate on Bill for protecting United States Officers, 686. Lienten- ant-Generalcy for General Scott, 686. The Ostend Con- ference, 686. The April State Elections, 829. The Know- Nothing Feeling, 830. The Poole Tragedy, 830. Riot in Cincinnati, 830. New York Liquor Law, 830. Enlist- ments for the Crimea, 830. Financial Crash in Califor- nia, 830. California, 110, 256, 399. The Insurrection in Mexico 831. War in Honduras, 832. Excitement in Cuba, 832. Execution of Estrampes. 832. The Spanish Government and Slavery in Cuba, 832. United States Vessels ordered to the Gulf of Mexico, 832. GREAT BRITAIN. Sir William Molesworth and others on the War, 110. Fate of Sir John Franklin, 111. Losses in the Army, 257. Mr. Bright in Condemnation of the War, 257. Opening of Pariiament and the Queens Speech, 399. Speeches by Lord Ashburton, Earl Derby, Duke of Newcastle, Earl Grey, Lord Aberdeen, Sir John Pakinglon, Mr. Layard, and Mr. Disraeli, 400. Foreign Enlistment Bill, 400. Kossuth on the WlIl, 401. Resignation of Lord John Russell, 543. Public Feeling on the Conduct of the War Statement of Sir Be Lacy Evans, 543. llesignation of Admiral Dundas, 543. Letter from tile Queen, 544. De- bate on Lord John Russells Resignation, 687. Motion for a Committee of Inquiry, 687. Debates in Parilament, 688. New Ministry formed by Lord Palmerston, 688. Death of Mr. Home, 688. Speech of Admiral Napier, 688. Of Lord Elgin, 688. Withdiawal of Members of the Min- istry, 688. l)ebates on tile Withdrawal, 831. Lord Lynd- burst on the Conduct of Prussia, 831. Lord Clarendon on tile Polials and hungarian Question, 831. The Committee of Inquiry, 831. Lord Raglan and Lord Lucan, 831. FRANCE. The Emperors Speech to the Troops, 111. Release of Barbes, 111. Mr. Souhi, 111. Letter from the Emperor to tile Troops, 258. Speech to the Legislative Body, 401. New Loan demanded, 844. Reply of the Minister to Baron Mrnteuffel, 844. Negotiations wills Austria, 844. The Emperors proposed Expedition to the Seat of War, 832. Pamphist by a General Officer, 832. THE CONTINENT. Correspondence between Austria and Prussia, 111. Death of Marshal St. Arnaud, 112. Position of Prussia, 257, 544. War Grant in Sweden, 257. Election of Pres- ident of the Spanish Cortes, 257. Affairs in Spain, 688. Spanish Government and Slavery in Cllba, 831. Note from Baron Manteuffel, 544. Reply of the French Minister, 544. Manifesto of the Emperor of Russia, 544. Note from Nesselrode, 544. Russian Reinforcements, 688. Death of the Emperor Nicholas, 831. Accession and Policy of Alexander, 832. Sardinia joins the Allies, 832. The Vienna Conference, 832. TIlE EASTERN WAR. Landing at Eupatoria, Ill. Battle of the Alma, 111. March to Balaklava, 112. Commencement of the Siege, 112. Death of Marshal St. Arnaud, 112. Return of the Baltic Fleet, 112. Battle of Tchernaya, 258. Battle of Inkermaun, 258. Letter from the French Emperor to his Troops, 258. Sufferings of the Allied Troops, 431. Forces in the Field, 401, 544. Russian Sorties, 401, 688. Storm in the Black Sea, 401. State of the Siege, 544, 832. Mani- festo of tile Emperor of Russia, 544. Russian Advance, 832. Attack upon Eupatoria, 832. MARY RANKIN.A PHYSICIANS STORY 789 MY CONFESSION 766 MY SON, SIR 246 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. By J. S. C. ABBOTV 25, 173, 310 NEW YORK POLICE, AS THEY WERE 572 PERSONAL MEMOIRS OF THE BOURBONS IN SPAIN 484 V vi CONTENTS. PERSONAL MEMOIRS OF THE ROUSE OF ORLEANS 771 PERSONAL MEMOIRS OF THE ROUSE OF ROMANOFF 195 PARADISE OF BACHELORS AND TARTARUS OF MAIDS 670 PASSAGES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL. By S. I. PRIMF 528 RATTLESNAKE AND ITS CONGENERS 470 REDEEMED PROFLIGATE. By CHARLES DICKENS 371 RUSSIAN REMINISCENCE 78 SAINT VALENTINES DAY 429 SAN JUAN DE NICARAGUA 50 SECOND BABY 651 SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN 99 SIMPLE STORY OF TO-DAY 391 SINGERS DREAM 251 SOME ACCOUNT OF A CONSULATE 628 SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. By THOMAS EWIIANK 721 THE NEWCOMES. By W. M. THACKEHAY 61, 222, 353, 511, 653, 799 TRAGEDY IN MARRIED LIFE 215 THE LAMPLIGIITER.A MODEL STORY 816 VAMPYRES 681 VILLAGE SCHOOL 285 VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED 1, 289 VISITS TO THE DEAD IN THE CATACOMBS OF ROME. By GEO. W. GREENE. 577 WHAT DO YOUNG MEN MARRY? 102 WIDOWS STORY. By CHARLES DIcJ~ENs 393 WINTER SCENES 430 YOUNG AMERICA IN TOWN AN7D COUNTRY 861 ZONE OF PLANETS BETWEEN MARS AN7D JIJPITER. By ELIAS LOOMIS 343 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. The Listeners 2 2. Bullet-Making 4 3. Little Micc 5 4. OldTomandYoungTom 6 5. The Virginia Housekeeper 7 6. The Fortsmouth 9 7. Burners 9 8. The Caiiopy 10 9. The Bear it 10. Entrance to Weyers Cave 13 11. The Hall of Statuary 14 12. The Cataract 15 13. Solomons Temple 16 14. The Cathedral 17 15. Le Fantome Noir 17 16. Jacobs Ladder 18 17. The Gnome Kings Palace 19 18. The Enchanted Moors 20 1411. The Oyster Shell 21 20. The Bridal Chamber 21 21. Leonard Moler 22 22. The Magic Tower 23 23. Napoleons Adieu to France 26 24. The Emperors Gun 27 25. Map of St. Helena 27 26. St. Helena 28 27. The Briars 29 28. Napoleons Apartment at the Briars 30 29. Respect the Burden 34 30. The Two Captives 36 31. The Alligator at Home 38 32. Alligator and Trochitus 39 33. The Trochilus 40 34. Crocodile Toy from Egypt 40 35. View of Manfaloot 41 36. Alligator Shooting 44 37. Alligator and Crane 46 38. Alligators Jaws 46 39. Alligator emerging from the Shell 46 40. Alligator on the Watch 47 41. Alligator and Bear 49 42. San Juan de Nicaragua in 1849 52 43. San Juan de Nicaragua in 1853 54 44. Point Arenas, in 1853 55 45. King Street, San Juan, to South 56 46. King Street, San Juan, to North 57 47. Kirklands Island . 58 48. Hipps 59 49. El Castillo Viejo 60 50. The NewcomesJ. J. at Rome 62 51. Letter from England 65 52. The Colonel and Rammun Lal 66 53. Mr. Clive returns 68 54. The Rev. Mr. Honeyman 69 55. The NewcomesHead-Piece 72 56. Clive at the Ball 76 57. The First CigarThe Smoking 141 58. The First CigarThe Effects 141 59. The Long Sermon 142 60. Done Up 142 61. Fashions for December 143 62. Young Ladys Bonnet 144 63. Bonnet 144 64. Coiffure 144 65. Portrait of Andrew Jackson 145 66. The Hermitage 145 67. Jacksons Birth-Place 146 68. Jackson and the British Officer 148 69. The Widow and her Sons 149 70. Battle of Talladega 156 71. Jackson quelling a Mutiny 157 72. Weatherford in Jacksons Tent 158 73. Plan of the Battle of New Orleans 160 74. Medal presented to Jackson 161 75. Forest Residence 161 76. Jacksons Triumph at New Orleans 162 77. Full-length Portrait of Jackson 163 78. Lafayette at the Hermitage 165 79. Jackson receiving the Delegates 168 80. Attack on the President 169 81. The Tomb at the Hermitage 172 82. LongwoodThe Old House 173 ~3. Plan of Longwood 173 84. Napoleons Apartment at Longwood .... 174 85. Napoleon a Gardener 175 86. The Fish-Basin 176 87. Napoleon and the Portrait of his Son.... 177 88. LongwoodThe New I~Iouse 181 89. Napol6on dictating his last Letter 182 90. Napoleon receiving the Sacrament 184 91. The Dying Scene 185 92. The Grave of Napoleon 186 93. De Sauleys Map of the Dead Sea 188 94. The NeweomesHead-Piece 223 95. The Marquis of Farintosh 226 96. The NeweomesHead-Piece 228 97. F. B.s Puppet 233 98. F. B. and Mr. Sherrick 234 99. Mr. Charles Honeyman again 235 100. Leaving Church 236 101. The Village SchoolThe Smile 285 102. The Village SchoolThe Frown 286 103. Fashions for January 287 104. Fur Cape 288 105. Victorine 288 106. Muff and Cuffs 288 107. En Route 289 108. Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb 290 109. Reception at Stanton 291 110. The Literary Valet 292 111. Hospital forthelnsane 293 112. The Controversy 294 113. Reminiscences of Early Days 294 114. Reminiscence Number Two 295 115. The Chimneys 296 116. The Great Tower 297 117. Porte Crayon Sketching 298 118. Shooting aPheasant 299 119. The Wagoner 300 120. The Sign Post 301 121. Delightful Isnt it ? 301 122. The Bath Alum Springs 302 123. The Droves 303 124. The Warm Springs 304 125. The Hot Springs 305 126. Difficulties 306 127. The Snow Storm 307 128. The Hero of Morriss Hilt 308 129. The Invalides 311 130. The Barge on theSeine 315 131. The Funeral Car 316 132. Interior of the Invali(les 317 133. The Sanctuary 31.8 134. The Sarcophagus 319 135. An Italian Holiday 32-1 136. Italian Mendicants 323 137. Genteel Beggar 325 138. BrigandsArmed and Unarmed 327 139. Italian Wine-Shop 330 140. Italian Brigands 332 141. Map of our Territorial Acquisitions 335 142. Diagram of the Asteroids 351 143. The NeweomesHead-Piece 354 144. Clive in his Studio 354 145. Homage to the Coronet 357 146. The Must Noble Marquis 361 147. Emblematical Head-Piece 362 148. Ethel and Clive 363 149. The Footmen Speculate 364 150. The ValentineDelight 429 151. The ValentineVexation 429 152. Averycold Morning 430 153. Oh I 430 154. Fashions for February 431 155. Coiffure 432 156. Slipper and Overshoes 432 157. The Darien ExpeditionCamp Scene... 433 158. The Council on Shipboard 435 159. Mapof the Route 437 160. The Cafion 438 viii ILLUSTRATIoNs. 161. Huts on Fire 440 162. Fording the River 441 163. Cocoa Grove 443 164. First and Last Council 446 165. Fishing for the Boot 449 166. The River! The River 452 167. Building the Raft 453 168. The Raft stopped 454 169. Ancient Slinger 458 170. Ancient Bows 459 171. Greek Archer 459 172. Battering-Ram 459 173. Infernal Machine 460 174. Tormentum 460 175. Ballista 461 176. Catapulta 461 177. Cannon, Howitzer, and Mortar 462 178. Field-Piece brought into Action 463 179. Mortar Practice 464 180. Firing Rockets 465 181. Ancient Defensive Warfare 465 182. Modern Defensive Warfare 466 183. Cross-Bow 466 184. The French in Algeria 468 185. Wall-Piece, Harquebuse, Rifle 469 186. The Serpent in the Wilderness 470 187. FightBlack Snake and Rattlesnake.... 471 188. Rattlesnake and Wild Cat 472 189. Deer and Rattlesnake 473 190. Rattlesnake charming Rabbit 474 191. Wild Hogs hunting Rattlesnakcs 476 192. Rattlesnakes Skull 482 193. Poison Fangs, magnified 482 194. Barnes Newcomes Speech 512 195. Major Pendennis 515 196. The Song of the Sirens 519 197. Mr. Fred. Bayhem 520 198. Clive criticises his Paintings 521 199. Emblematic Head-Piece 523 200. Barnes Newcome and the Colonel 524 201. The Locust 538 202. The Police an(l the Butcher Carts 572 203. How to prevent a Riot 572 204. A Row in the Sixth Ward 573 205. The Police after the Row 573 206. The Policeman on Duty 574 207. The Policeman enjoying himself 574 208. The Old Policemans Report 574 209. The New Policemans Report 574 210. Fashions forMarch 575 211. Bonnet 576 212. Chemisette 576 213. Under-sleeves 576 214. Entrance to St. Priscilla 577 215. Cemetery of St. Priscilla 579 216. Entrance to St. Agnes 580 217. Interior of Corridor 581 218. Chapel in the Catacombs 582 219. Plan of Double Chapel 582 220. Section of Gallery and Chapels 583 221. Ground Plan of Catacombs 583 222. Pottery from the Catacombs 584 223. Copper Vases from Catacombs 584 224. Objects found in Catacombs 584 225. Font from Catacombs 585 226. Chapel in Catacombs 585 227. Section, with Lumnaria 586 228. Vaulted Chapel in Catacombs 587 229. Lamp from Catacombs 589 230. Decorated Chapel in Catacombs 590 231. Vaulted Cell in Catacombs 591 232. Painted Cell in Catacombs 591 233. Painted Vault in Catacombs 592 234. Sepulchral Decorations 592 235. The Three Children 594 236. Representations of Martyrdom 594 237. Noah in the Ark 595 238. The Good Shepherd 595 239. Head of the Saviour 596 240. Shepherd and Flock 596 241. The Artist in the Catacombs .. 599 242. Lombard arid Parks at Prayer 603 243. Burial of Holmes 604 244. Holmess Grave 605 245. Dignity and Impudence 615 246. The Jackal 615 247. The Wolf 616 248. The Bull-Dog 617 249. The Mastiff 618 250. The Terrier 619 251 The Scotch Terrier 619 252. The Greyhound 619 253. The Water Spaniel 620 254. The Pointer 620 255. The Fox Hound 620 256. The Beagle 621 257. The King Charles 621 258. The Blood-Hound 621 259. The Dog of St. Bernard 622 260. The Newfoundland Dog 623 261. The ShepherdDog 623 262. The Ladies Pet 624 263. Juno 624 264. The NeweomesHead-Piece 653 265. Emblematic Head.Piece 658 266. The Colonel compliments Barnes 664 267. Emblematic Head -Piece 666 268. Lady Clara and Lord Highgate 66~ 269. AHardCase 717 270. Great Boon to the Public 717 271. Sprin~ Fashions for Ladies 718 272. Spring Fashions for Gents 718 273. Fashions for April 719 274. Mantillas 720 275. Alms for the Holy Ghost 721 276. Church of Santa Rita 723 277. Auction at Santa Rita 724 278. Feast of the Holy Ghost 726 279. The Auctioneer 727 280. The General 727 281. Auctioneer on Stilts 727 282. Razor-Grinder 728 283. Wood-Sawyer 728 284. Tumbler and Chamber-Maid 729 285. A Dead Christ 731 286. The Cross-Bearer 732 287. The Coffin 733 288. The Angels 733 289. Votive Emblems 734 290. Bosjesman and Lion 735 291. The Domestic Cat, and Cats Tails 736 292. The Ocelot 737 293. The Caracal 737 294. The Lynx 737 295. The Chetah 738 296. The Ounce 738 297. The Leopard 738 298. The Jaguar 739 299. The Cougar 739 300. The Tiger 742 301. The Lion 744 302. Lieutenant Strain at Yavisa 751 303. Pine Mountain 753 304. Funeral of Parks 756 305. Strains Last Argument 760 306. The Rescue 761 307. BoundforPanama 763 308. The NeweomesHead-Piece 799 309. St. George and the Dragon 803 310. Colonel Newcome and Rosey 805 311. Emblematic Head-Piece 807 312. The Parsonage Gate 808 313. The Prince de Moncontour 810 314. The Letter 812 315. Young America in Town 861 316. Young America in Country 861 317. High Life 862 318. Low Life 862 319. Fashions for May 863 320. Silk Mantilla 864 321. Bonnet 864 322. Bonnet Shape 864

Virginia Illustrated 1-25

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. LY.DECEMBER, 18~4.VoL. X. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. ADVENTURES OF PORTE CRAYON AND HIS COUSINS. Who loucs to hue at home, yet looke abroad, And know both passen and unpassen road, The wonders of a faire and goodlie land, Of antres, rivers, rocks, and mountaines grande, Read this THOMAS MAcAMNEssE. MISS FANNY CRAYON had just finished reading the Blackwater Chronicle to a brace of attentive and delighted Cousins, when, throw- ing the book upon the table with a pouting air, she put forth the following reflections on men and things: It is really neither generous nor just that men should arrogate to themselves all the priv- ileges, while we poor girls are condemned to eternal needlework and housekeeping; or, what is still worse, a dull round of insipid amusements dancing, dressing, and thrumming the piano. What opportunities have we of seeing the world, or of making heroines of ourselves? Instead of planning pleasant jaunts and inviting us to grace their parties, no sooner does the summer weather set in, than away they go with their guns, and such quantities of provision that one might think they were going to Oregon. Then in two or three weeks they are back again with their clothes all torn and appetites that are a disgrace to civilization. To see them at table, you would suppose they had eaten nothing dur- ing their absence; and then such bragging all among themselves, they dont even give us a chance to talk; and if occasionally we manage to slip in a word edgeways, it receives no more consideration than the whistle of my canary bird. Indeed, Cousin Fanny, said Dora Dimple, I think with you entirely. It would be so ro- mantic and delightful for us to take such a trip. But then, with the rains and the wild animals, we should be so drenched and frightened. Well! I want to be drenched and frighten- ed ! replied Fanny, with spirit; I am tired of this humdrum life. Good graciouth! what is to prevent uth from going if we choothe ? lisped Miss Mign- ionette, or, a.s she was generally called for short, Minnie May. Lets make Porte Crayon take uth traveling or bear hunting with him. Pshaw ! replied Fanny, pettishly, Brother Porte used to be very kind and obliging, but of late he has become such a bear in his manners, and such a sloven, its shameful! You might really suppose, from his talk, that he thought women had no souls; and as to listening to any thing they saywhew! hes entirely too high for that. The fact is, he got to reading the Koran some few years ago, and I dont think he has been quite right since. Nonsense! its all affectation; he listens to me always, rejoined Minnie, with confidence; and Ill go now directly and make him prom- ise to take us somewhere. I can coax and flat- ter him into any thing. And without more ado, she started on her embassy, while her com- panions followed on tip-toe to hear the result. Forte Crayon sat with his legs comfortably stretched on a bench in the veranda which shades the front of the family mansion. Aroused from an apparently deep reverie by the rustling of a silk dress, he acknowledged Cousin Min- nies presence with a nod, and his hard face lit up with a smile. Cousin Porte, said she, abruptly, we want you to take us somewhere. Mr. Crayons only reply was a slight elevation of the eyebrows. Yes, continued she, resolutely, Fanny, Dora, and myself want you to take us traveling some- where with you in search of adventures. Mr. Crayons eyebrows disappeared under the visor of his cap, and his mouth puckered up as if about to whistle. Indeed, Cousin Porte, con- tinued Minnie, coaxingly, seating herself beside him, weve been reading the Blackwater Sketch- es, and were all crazy to see some wild life. I dont mean exactly that we wish to live in the woods like gipsies, or be starved or exposed to the rain or wild beasts, or Indeed, I dont know precisely what we want; but you are so clever you may plan us a pleasant trip yourself. Besides, it would be such a privilege for us girls to have you a~ an escortyou are such a genius, you know. Come, you cant refuse; it will be so delightfulwe wont give you a bit of trou- ble. Mr. Crayons countenance had by this time relaxed considerably. With any ordi- nary person we would not wish to go, pursued the embassadrice; but you know you are so talented, it would afford us such rare opportuni ties of improvement. At this point Crayon heard some giggling in- side of the hall door. Stop, Minnie, that will answerIm sufficiently buttered. Nowjust ask specifically tor what you want. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. VOL. X.No. 55.A 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. TIlE LISTENERS. Minnie clapped her hands exultingly. Come, girls, comeweve got himhe has promised its afl arranged Here the listeners made their appearance, and all three were so vociferous in their thanks that Crayon was fain to affect an air of sternness. Whats arranged? Ive promised nothing. Why, Cousin Porte, didnt you promise to take us a jaunt, and to plan it all yourself? Didnt he, Fanny ? I didnt hear precisely, said Fanny. Didnt he, Dora ? Indeed, replied Dora, it seemed to me he did; or, at least, he was just going to promise, and thats the same thing. To he sure, said Minnie; didnt you both hear him say, just ask specifically for any thing you want, and Ill do it? Certainly, cried hoth girls, eagerly, we he~rd him say specifically. We did, indeed. You did! Then my case is a bad one. It is proved hy three credihle witnesses, supposed by courtesy to he sane and in their right minds, that I said specifically; and heing duly con- victed of the same, it is in your judgments fairly deducihie from the premises that I prom- ised to take you some- where on a pleasure excursion. There, cried Minnie, didnt I tell you? Bless me, what a lawyer CousinPorte would have made if he had taken to the har instead of the fine arts. But come on, girls; let us go and get our traveling- dresses ready. Cou- sin Porte is the soul of honor; he never broke a promise, es- pecially one made to a lady. And with the sweetest and most gracious curtsies the young ladies took their leave. Begone, you ~ ests, and leave me reflect on the ab- surd scrape Ive got into. A voice from the hall replied with a couplet from Tom Bowling: Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare. Hum ! solilo- quized Porte, reseat- ing himself; what the deuce have I done ? Promised to take three women traveling. Ha! ha! they want to go to the Blackwater, do they? ho! ho! by all thats preposterous! Kid slippers lace collarssilk dresses! If the sun shines, theyre hroiling; if the wind blows, theyre freez- ing; never hungry except when every thing eat- able is out of their reach; always dying of thirst when theyre on top of a mountain; afraid of caterpillars, and lizards, and grasshoppers Let me seethe first of Octobersnakes are about going into winter quarters; well, thats one comfort at least. And then their baggage; each of them, to my knowledge, has a trunk as big as a powder car.Finnikin, frivolous, whim- sical creatures, where do they learn the art of coaxing ?They dont acquire it at all, it is a natural gift. If any man had approached me in that way I should have felt bound to pull his nose; but that little lisping miux makes me promise what she pleases. Tis an old maxim of the schools, That flatterys the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 3 No! no! it was not thatIm too old for that but it was a piece of the most barefaced wheedling and imposture, and now theyre doubt- less giggling over their success. Mr. Crayon shook for some minutes with silent laughter, and it was long before his countenance settled into its accustomed gravity. While he is thus sitting, let us sketch him. In person Mr. Crayon is about the middle height, of slender make, hut well knit and tough. His face is what would be usually termed a hard oneangular and sunburned, the lower features covered with a beard, bushy and Brode as though it were a spade. This heard he has worn from time immemorial. Old-fashioned ladies, who cant endure this sav- age taste, frequently tell Mr. Crayon he would he remarkably handsome if he would cut off that horrid beard. He laughs, however, sotto baffi, in such a manner as to encourage the de- lusion, and modestly disclaims any desire to be remarked for his personal beauty. Crayon is neither old nor young; But on his forehead middle age has slightly pressed its signet sage. His dress is usually so little a matter of concern to himselg that it is in consequence the oftener remarked by others. At present his wardrobe in active service consists of a double-frilled shirt, a sack of Weidenfeldts cut, stained cor- duroys, and a pair of stringless shoes, which cx- hibit to advantage his socks of gray yarn, darned with white and blue. This careless incongruity of dress is not altogether an eccentricity or in- dividualism of Mr. Crayon, but belongs to the State to which he owes birth and allegiance. Nothing is more rare than to find a Virginian solicitous about his dress; and although he may sometimes affect the sloven, he is never a dandy. An itinerant phrenologist, who had the faculty of discovering the springs of human action by feeling the bumps on peoples heads, ascertained, while traveling through the State, that this char- acteristic is the offspring of a noble aristocratic pride, a lofty disdain of trivialities; and the can- did expression of this opinion gave much indi- vidual as well as public satisfaction, and brought the skillful man of science many a dollar. In- deed, in one instance we were personally cog- nizant of the dollar. A remarkably dirty gen- tleman of the legal profession, who, it was con- fidently believed, hadnt a second shirt to his back, borrowed a dollar of us to pay the afore- said itinerant for saying the same of him and putting it in writing. But to be fully impressed with Crayons per- sonale, he should be seen as he sometimes ap- pears at a masquerade, in ruff and doublet, with a slouched hat and plume. One might then swear the great Captain John Smith had re-ap- peared to look after his government, and was ready, as of yore, to do battle with Turk or salvageto thrnst a falchion between the infidel ribs of Bonnymulgro, or kick his Royal High- ness, Opeckancanough, in face of his whole tribe, into the payment of the three hundred bushels of corn. We shrewdly suspect Crayon of nur- turing a vanity on this subject, and have several times heard him allude to the resemblance him- self. While this sketching has been going on, our sitter has been deeply philosophizing. Man, thought he, occupies a queer position in civil- ized society. By right of superior physical and intellectual endowment, by right of a direct ap- pointment from Holy Writ, by the advice and consent of St. Paul, he is lord of creation. But of what avail is his empty title? He is practi- cally no more than a nose of wax, to be modeled into any shape by women. What matters it, whether he is tied with a hempen cord or a pink satin ribbon ?hes tied. What difference whether he is bullied out of his free agency or wheedled out of it ?the tyranny is equally odious, equally subversive of social order and of self-respect. Man cant even wear the clothes he may happen to fancy (here Crayon glanced at his coat). Hunting-jackets have a rowdy lookso Miss Minnie thinkschick-a-dee. These Yankees are a wonderful people; full of energy and resourcesthey regulate the women up therethe men have the upper hand, as na.- ture designedat least I infer it, from the bob- bery and noise the women are making there about their rights. Egad! Ill travel in that country some day to learn how they manage. But, after all,~ continued Crayon, breaking into soliloquy, (he giova! siam nati a servir, we on the south side cant help ourselves, and we might as well put the best face on matters. It is not so unendurable, neither, this bondage of the heart, nor yet so very unbecoming to a gentle- man. In the days of chivalry it was the proudest boast of knighthood. What is it but the willing tribute from generosity to weakness? When a command comes disguised as a prayer, who would not obey? When a beseeching look compels, who can resist? 0, fair southern land, long may thy daughters continue to reign, im- perious in their loveliness, strong in their gen- tleness I here Porte Crayon leaped from his seat as if electrified, and clapping his left hand to his side, with his right he drew an imaginary glit- tering sword, and flourishing it about his head, went through the broadsword exercise in brill- iant style. Cousin Porte, cried a voice from the win- dow, what in the world are you doing ? Nothing in particular, replied Porte, look- ing rather sheepish. Then dont do it any more. It looks too ridiculous for one of your age to be prancing and capering in that unmeaning way. Look you, Miss Minnie, mind your sewing, and dont be troubling yourself about my capers or my age.Ill pay her for thisIll lead her into blackberry thickets, stick her fast in marshes, and put lizards in her reticule. Ill tease and frighten her into a proper appreciation of her- self. She need not then visit the capitals of 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Christendom to see by what small people the world is governed. During the week that followed Porte Crayon entered into the business of preparation for the proposed jaunt with alacrity and cheerfulness. He was in frequent consultation with the maps and Gazetteer of Virginia, and made copious notes therefrom, but was very silent and myste- rious withal. Where are you going to take us, Cousin Porte ? Minnie often inquired. Never mind, child; stitch away at your trav- eling dress; get yourself a pair of stout shoes, and dont ask me any more questions. Im afraid Cousin Porte doesnt enjoy the idea of making this trip with us, modestly ob- served Dora. Fiddlestick! said Minnie, in an under tone. Hes delighted. He has been in a fe- ver ever since I proposed it to him. Just listen to his lectures, and make believe you appreciate them, and pretend to let him have his own way in every thing, and hes one of the kindest and most manageable creatures in existence. Crayon, who, with characteristic contempt of rule and order, was moulding bullets in the breakfast room, looked up sharply. What was that I heard about lectures, and good, manageable creature ? Eh! good gracious! did you hear? I was just complimenting you to Dora; saying how kind you were. But, Cousin, let me help you to cut the necks off those bullets, I can do it so nicely. No; go along. Youll cut your fingers. 1 always am in a fever when I see a woman with a pen-knife in her hand. Only hear! the vanity of men ! and Min- nie quietly took the ladle out of Mr. Crayons hand, and proceeded in the most adroit and pretty manner to mould up the remainder of the lead. He looked on at first with amazement, which soon changed into unqualified admiration. Doesnt lose a particle of lead; half of them have no necks at all. They are better than mine. Cousin Minnie, youre a gem. The old carriage having been revarnished, and the roan and sorrel sleeked up to the utmost point of good looks that the nature of the case permitted, Mr. Crayon reported to the impatient trio that on his part every thing was in readiness for the expedition, with the exception of a dri- ver. This important office had not yet been filled. Old Tom, Young Tom, Peter, and a dozen other, had successively been catechised, cross-questioned, and rejected. And why wont they do ? asked Fanny; they are all skillful drivers. Tnt, Fanny, you know nothing about it. They would answer very well to drive you to church, but the selection of a driver for such a HU LLET-MAKINO. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 5 trip as I have in view requires the greatest tact and consideration. Leave the matter entirely to me As the only person in the world who has the requisite tact and consideration, suggested Fanny. Mr. Crayon gracefully bowed assent. One morning a huge negro made his appear- ance in the hail, accompanied hy all the negro household, and all in a broad grin. Sarvant, Master, said the giant, saluting, hat in hand, with the grace of a hippopotamns. Ise a driver, sir. Indeed ! said Porte, with some surprise; whats your name ? Ke! hi ! snickered the applicant for office, and looked toward Old Tom. I~ / LITTLE MIcE. Hes name Little Mice, said Tom, and there was a general laugh. That is a queer name at least, and not a very suitable one; has he no other ? Why, dye see, Mass Porte, said Tom, when dis nigga was a boy, his ole miss tuck him in de house to sarve in de dinin room. Well, every day she look arter her pies an cakes, an dey done gone. Dis is onaccountable, say ole miss. Come here, hoy. What goes wid dese pies? He says, I spec, missus, little mice eats em. Very well, says she, may he dey does. So one mornin arley she come in onex- pected like, an dar she see dis boy, pie in hes mouf. So, says she, I cotch dem little mke at last, have I? An from dat day, sir, dey call him nothin but Little Mice, an dat heen so long dey done forgot his oder name, if he ever had any. The giant, during this narration, roiled his eyes at Old Tom, and made menacing gestures in an underhand way; but being unable to stop the story, he joined in the laugh that followed, and then took up the discourse. Mass Porte, never mind dat ole possum. Any how I hen a-drivin hosses all my life, and I kin wait on a gemplum fuss rate. To he sure dat name sounds sort a foolish mong strangers; but you can call me Boy, or Ross, or Pomp, or any thing dat suitsI answers all de same. Having cxhihited his permit to hire himself, Mr. Crayon engaged him on the spot; moved thereto, we suspect, more by the fun and originality indicated in Mices humorous phiz, than by any particular tact or consideration. The newly-ap- pointed dignitary bowed himself out of the hall, sweeping the floor with his cap at each reverence; but no sooner was he clear of the respected precinct than his elephantine pedals spontaneously commenced a ~rotesque dance, making a clatter on the kitchen floor like a team of horses crossing a bridge. During this performance he shook his fists in size and color like old hams of ba- conalternately at Old and Young Tom. Ha, you ole Turkey Buzzard I take you in dar to recommend me, an you tell all dem lies. You want to drive yourselt heh? And you hlack calf, you sot up to drive gemplums car- riage, did you? Mass Porte too smart to have any sich bout him. Old Toms indignation at this indec- orous conduct knew no bounds. He pitched into Mice incontinently, and bestowed a shower of lusty cuffs and ~ kicks upon his carcass. Toms honest endeavors were so little appreciated, that they only served to increase the monsters merriment. Yah! yah! yah lame grasshop- per kick me, shouted he, escaping from the kitchen; and making a wry face at Tom through the window, he swung himself off toward the stable, to look arter his critters. A couple of pipes, with some tobacco, and a cast-off coat soothed the mortification of the Se- nior and Junior Toms to such an extent that they were both seen next morning actually assisting Mice in getting out the carriage. Something new under the sun ! exclaimed Porte Crayon on the morning of the 8th of Oc- tuber, 1853. A new era is ahout to commence in the history of women. The carriage has scarcely driven up to the door when all three are ready cap-a-pie to jump into it! I thought the last wonder was achieved when they got all their 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. baggage into one trunk and two carpet-bags; but this latest development surpasses every thing that has gone before. Now fire away with your kiss- ing and leave-taking, nnd let us be off. Considering the number of grandparents, fa- thers, mothers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, babies, & c., who had assembled to see the party off, and who had each and severally to give and receive from each and several of our travelers from one to half a dozen kisses, it will scarcely be credited that the carriage got fairly under way in something less than an hour from the time of its first appearance. But not so fast. Stop! stop ! screamed a dozen voices from the house. Something important has been forgotten surely. Of course, said Porte Crayon. Whose head is left behind? Feel in your bonnets, girls. A negro girl is seen running after them with a large bundle in her arms, and holdin,, up a great dumpling of a baby to the carriage window. Miss say you forgot to kiss little Mass Bobby. True! it was an oversight. Kiss him, girls; and hark ye, Molly, tell them at the house, if any one else has been omitted, to tele- graph us at Winches- ter, and well come back. Bad to turu back now, Mass Porte, spe- cially sence Aunt Pat- ty done flung her shoe arter us for good luck. Oh, if that cere- mony has been per- formed, we must go on at all hazards. As the roan and sorrel passed the Win- chester pike, making the stones ring again with their well-shod hoofs, plowman and wayfarer turned aside to see, housewife and maiden hastened to the windows to stare and admire. Mark them well, good peo- plc, for it will be many a long day crc you look upon their like again. Little Mice was so sleeked and buttoned up, that he did not appear more than half his usual size; but his hands, engased in a pair of buckskin glovcs,which at a moderate compu- tation would hold half a peck each, did not seem to have undergone a corresponding dim- inution. His head upon his ponderous shoul- ders looked no larger than a good-sized apple, and was surmounted by a tiny Dutch~ cap, the effect of which was to increase, in ap- pearance, the disproportion between the head and shoulders. His little bead-like eyes twin- Mcd with delight, while his broad lips were forci- bly puckered into an expression of respectful gravity, but upon the slightest inattention on the part of their owner, and even in spite of his en- deavors, occasionally they would relapse into their natural positionthat of a broad grin. Be- side this model of a driver and valet sat Porte Crayonquite a secondary ~crsonagc, by the wayin a substantial suit of gray cassimere, a black oil-cloth cap, hunting belt, leathern gai- ters, and a short German rifle, which usually hung upon the dash-board of the carriage. The three ladies occupied the interior. A spirited and accurate description of their dresses was promised the Editor of these papers by one of the ladies; hut that having failed to appear, he excuses himself from attempting any thing of the sort on his own responsibility. Men are gen OLD TOM AND YOUNG TOM. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 7 erally bunglers when they undertake to write upon subjects they know nothing about. That their costumes were appropriate and becoming we can vouch, as also for the fact that they made them all with their own pretty hands during the week preceding their departure. Porte Crayon has drawn Fanny in a black velvet jacket and a skirt of blue mousseline. Minnie he sketches in a dress of some lighter material, fashioned with a basque, and loose sleeves trimmed with ruffles. Dora wore a plain close-fitting gown with a row of buttons in front. All three had neat little straw bonnets, which they generally wore hang- ing on their shoulders, with the green vails at- tached to them streaming down their backs, thus giving the sun and wind a long- coveted - opportunity of kiss- ing their rosy cheeks when they pleased. Porte Crayon says this mode of wearing bon- nets reminds him of a story told by some missionaries, who, zealous in the cause of civilization, distrib- uted among certaiu savage tribes a quan- tity of axes, mattocks, hoes, and spades. On revisiting their friends the following year, they found them pro- menading in all pomp and dignity with these useful and not at all cumbersome imple- ments hung about their necks by thongs ~ I, of deer-skin. Having disposed of the dresses and millinery, let us go on to the equally puzzling but far more agreeable task of picturing the ladies themselves. Fanny Crayon has a remarkable face. A nose slightly aquiline, full chiseled lips, dark-blue eyes, dark brows, and fair hair. She is about the rnddle height, straight as an arrow, perfect- ly moulded, round and full, but active and grace- ful as a fawn. Her complexion is very fair, with cheeks of the richest rose. The characteristic expression of her face is earnest and serious, easily provoked to merriment, and not quite so easily provoked to wrath. In this we are aware she differs from most of her sex, and especially from all heroines of love stories. But she has, nevertheless, what the world calls a temper of her own. Those blue eyes of hers will some- times flash, and the rose in her cheek so pre- dominate, that the lily is entirely lost for a time. Well, well! her native spirit is so well regulated by good sense and good feeling, that it rarely shows itself amiss. Fanny, at the age of five- and-twenty, is considered the most accomplish- ed young woman of her neirhborhood. for be- a sides her skill in millinery and mautna-makiug. she is already a famous housekeeper. Every thing goes on like clock-work under her manage- ment, and she not unfrequently condescends to do up the more elegant branches of this depart- ment with her own hands. It happens sometimes during the mince-pie season thatFanny enters the kitchen with an apron white ~s mornings milk, and her sleeves tucked up, showing a pair of arms scarcely less fair. Old Tom rises at her entrance, respectfully knocks the fire out of his pipe, and lays it in its niche in the chimney. Aunt Dilly, chief-cook, and her daughter Jane, first scullion, stand on either side, attentive to the slightest sign. Tray, Jane, says the oh- sequious Dilly. Flour, Miss rollin pin, Miss butter mince-meat brandy. The pie approaches completion. Jane holds her breath in admiration. The chief-cook looks on in proud humilityproud of serving such a mis- tress, humble at seeing herself outdone by one of only half her age, and, sooth to say, x1ot more than one-third of her weight. The great howl of egg-nog that foams at Christmas is of Fannys brewage, and when she does condescend, as she occasionally does, by way of special favor to somebody, to try her hand on a mint-julep, it is said to be unrivaled. The walls of the paternal mansion were once ornamented with neatly-framed specimens of her skill in drawing and painting. There were kittens, and squirrels, and birds, and baskets of flowers, as an old aunt used to say, as natural as life, and all drawn out of her own head. When Porte came home from abroad he was thought- less enough to laugh at them, whereupon Fanny quietly took them down and hid them, nor have the united entreaties of the family, nor repeated apologies from Porte, nor uncle Nats express /- THE VIRCINIA HOUSEKEEPER.. S HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. commands ever been potent enongh to induce her to replace them. When Fanny dances (she never waltzed or polkad), or when she rides on horseback, the negroes all declare it is a sight to see her; and when one of them wishes to compliment his dark-browed inamo- rata for her performance in a husking reel or a kitchen hoe-down, he tells her she moves like Miss Fanny. But of all Fannys accomplish- inents none is so universally prized by her friends as her music, And of hire song, it is as loud and yerne As any swallow sitting on a berne. Then such a store of good old-fashioned songs, she could sing for a week without ever repeating a stanza. At one time Porte undertook to teach her some French and Italian airs, and found an apt and willing pupil; but uncle Nat positively tbrbade her singing the foreign trash, insisting that it would spoil her voice and vitiate her taste. Beside Fanny sat Minnie May, with a shower of rich golden curls, and cheeks as smooth and lelicately tinted as the lips of a sea-shell, with a slight but elastic figure, and hands so small that she never could reach an octave on the piano, and consequently never learned music. Whether she would have learned if she had been able to accomplish the octave is a problem that will never be solved, for she is nineteen years old, and her hands are not likely to grow any bigger. Indeed Minnie is not accomplished, as the world goes, for she cant sing except a little in con- (ert, and is equally unskillful in fitting x dress or compounding a pudding. If she reads much she seems little the wiser for it, and most prob- ably romances and poetry receive the principal lart of her attention. Her character is an odd compound of archness and naivete, of espi~g1erie and sweetness. If she cant sing, her voice in conversation is like the warble of a blue-bird, in addition to which she lisps most charmingly. Unpretending and childlike in her manners, she has a quick and one inal wit, and reads charac- ter by intuition. To this power probably, and to some pretty coaxing ways, she owes the un- l)ounded influence she exercises over every one about her. Even Portes proverbial obstinacy is not proof against it. He flounders and fumes like a humble-bee stuck fast in molasses, and is sometimes heard ungallantly to wish her to the deuce; for, says he, when she is about, I cant even choose what coat I may wear. Little Mice already begins to own her sway, when, in reply to some disparaging comments on the horses, he obsequiously takes off his rag of a cap and gently defends his cattle. Ab! youn, mistis, some bosses is naterelly lean dat waynow dat roan eats my two gloves full of oats every time, but hes ribs always shows; dis. sorrel, he put up different; cant count hes ribs indeed! Gin I has dese creeters in my hands a week, dcxii shine; mind dat, mistis. Dora Dimple was a sweet little body, with round innocent eyes, which were in truth the windows of her soul, and she blushed when any one looked therein. The roses in her cheeks were ever blooming, and, when freshened by exercise or sudden excitement, they had a ten- dency to turn purple. Dora was but seventeen, quiet, modest, and sweet-tempered, and it never seemed to have entered her head that she lived for any thing else than to please every body and do as she was bid, like the little girls in the Sunday-school books. As they trotted along chattering, giggling and singing to the accompaniment of the wheels, no wonder that Crayon frequently looked back at his wards, and thought to himself After all, this looks as well, as going out to the Black- water. I dare say well have a merry time No wonder that Mice, with a superb flourish of his whip, observed Mass Porte, dis is a very light runnin instrument seems as if it would run along of itself. The pleasant and hospitable town of Win- chester, with its polished society, its flower-gar- dens, and famous market, savored too much of ordinary civilization to detain a party in search of the romantic and wonderful longer than was necessary to obtain the requisite supply of food and sleep. It was here that Porte Crayon first exhibited a programme of the proposed trip, which was received with such manifestations of approval and delight that he felt himself highly flattered. But our narrative must not lag by the wayWhip up, Mice; up the Valley turn- pike as fast as the horses can trot on a bright frosty morning. At mid-day the light-running vehicle, with its light-hearted inmates, was ra- ~)idly approaching the Massanutten Mountains. These mountains rise to a majestic height in the midst of the valley between the forks of the Shenandoah river, and about twenty miles south of Winchester. They lie principally in the coun- ties of Page and Shenandoah, and the Eastern Massanutten forms the boundary between the two counties. They are parallel with the Blue Ridge, and run in a double range for some twenty-five or thirty miles, and then in a single range for about the same distance, terminating in Rockiugham County as abruptly as they rise. The double range includes a romantic and fer- tile valley twenty-five miles long, and about three in width; the level of which is several hundred feet above the Great Valley, and which is entered from the north at the Fortsmouth, one of the most famous passes in the Virginia mountains. A mid-day lunch under the shade of some maples, the fording of the crystal river, and the approach to this imposing pass, kept the ani- mal spirits and the expectant fancies of our ad- venturers keenly on the alert. Soon they were winding along the banks of a rushing stream, and there scarcely seemed room between its rugged borders and the impending cliffs for a narrow carriage-way. As they proceeded they perceived the mountain-barriers rising on either side, like perpendicular walls, to a stupendous heightthe road and the stream still crowding each other as they struggled along, and the gloom of the wild defile deepened by a tall VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 9 growth of shadowy hemlocks. As the difficul- Porte Crayon, in the advance, regardless of the ties increased, our friends were fain to leave probabilities of game, the rifle at his back, or the toiling carriage to its assiduous and careful nerves of his fair companions, rent the air with governor, and bravely take to the road a-foot. shouts that made the mountains answer again How wild it was! how fresh and beautiful! The and again. Perceiving at length that he was joyous stream seemed rushing to meet them getting a little hoarse, his enthusiasm ahated, with a free, noisy welcome, wimpling and dimp- and he left .oil. The stream crossed and re- ling, tumbling in tiny waterfalls, and anon form- crossed their path so often, that Minnie declared ing deep crystal pools which sparkled with foam it was some spiteful Undine who, in wanton mis- and bubbles. The girls, like wood-nymphs, ran chieg was striving to detain them. Not so, here and there gathering the rich and varied Cousin Minnie; but rather, the water-sprite has plants of the mountains, and such flowers as seen something genial in your eyes, and meets had survived the early frosts of autnmn; while you at every turn with the hope of beguiling BURNERS. THE FORTSMOUTH. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you to stay and be her playmate. But neither hinderance nor persuasion availed any thing here by a rustic bridge, there by an opportune drift-log, and where neither lent their aid, by resolutely skipping from rock to rock, they kept on their way, Porte leading the troop, encour- aging and giving directions, applauding each successful venture, and laughing loud when some unlucky foot dipped ankle-deep into the water. At the end of an hours walk, and about two miles from the mouth of the defile, they found themselves fairly in the Valley of Powells Fort; and herethe road becoming more prac- ticablethey again betook themselves to their carriage. Porte Crayon could not refrain from casting many regretful looks behind him. What pictures ! sighed he; what sketches! But we cant have every thing. Burners is yet full twelve miles distant, and we must reach there to-night by the programme. Vite! vite conducteur ! Vaas, sir, re- plied the obsequious coachman, looking some- what bewildered, but licking it into the horses all the while. As they went on winding their toilsome way around the spurs of the mountain, a gorgeous sunset began to work its magic changes upon the extended landscape. But the sunset faded into twilight, and the twilight deepened into darkness, before they reached their destination. Here a hospitable welcome, a blazing fire, and a keenly-appreciated supper were followed by a deep, nnbroken sleep of some ten hours duration. Burners Sulphur Springs, or, as they are sometimes more properly called, The Seven Fountains, are, apart from their beautiful sur- roundings, worthy objects of scientific curiosity. In a small bowl-like hollow, and within a circle whose radius is probably not more than a dozen paces, are these seven fountains, all differing in character. The central spring is a fine white sniphur; within a few feet are two other sul- phurs differing in temperature and chemical analysis. A few paces distant are Freestone, Slate, and Limestone springs, each decided and unmistakable of its kind. The seventh is called the Willow Spring; but we do not know what are its virtues and qualities. Our friends took to the open air, while the frost was yet sparkling on the ground, and, after ranging the hill-sides until the girls were tired,. Crayon determined to amuse himself, making a sketch of Mr. Burners premises. Having cho- sen his point of view on an open hill-side, he found himself much annoyed by a brilliant sun which took him directly in the face. The girls, seeing his difficulty, with prompt ingenuity spread their broad shawls over some leafless bushes, and thus contrived, in a few minutes, a perfect shade and a highly picturesque canopy. This unexpected and graceful service awakened in Crayon that grateful surprise which the Lion VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 11 must have felt when delivered from the toils of the hunter by the Mouse. He laid down his sketch-hook deliberately: Pon my soul, girls, this is enchanting! Im really beginning to think that women are not such useless creatures after all. How delicately he compliments ! said Min- nie; no coarse #lattery; not he. It requires a shrewd refinement to extract the honey from the flower. Isnt it worth while, girls, to make canopies, just to hear Cousin Porte speak so encouragingly of us In the afternoon the party, including Mice, went hunting; and although they found some game, Porte Crayon, either from distraction, or over-anxiety to exhibit his address with the rifle, missed every thing he shot at. Minnie at length began to grow quizzicalat every shot she insisted that the birds were hit; she saw the feathers fly; hinted that the powder might he had, or the sights accidentally knocked out of place. In all this she was earnestly seconded by Mice, who ran, like an over-anxious pointer, at every crack, to pick up the game. Finding nothing, he looked much perplexed and morti- fied, and finally su~gested that the gun was be- witched; he had seen an old black woman look- ing at it very hard that morning before the party were up. The girls got into a titter, and Crayon bit his lips but said nothing. A pheasant, a squirrel, and a couple of crows had already heard his bullets whistle by their ears, and had gone off in great alarm. Presently a fine rabbit sprung up, and after running about fifty yards, stood up to see who was coming. Porte took deliberate aim and fired; the rabbit disappeared, and every body but the rifleman ran to find him. On examining the spot they could see nothing; but Minnie having slyly gathered half a dozen wild turkey feathers, which she found in the thicket, showed them triumphantly, exclaiming, There! I was sure he was hit; look at the feathers. Crayon quietly reloaded his piece, and commenced looking about for a lizard. Al- though this search was unsuccessful, he did not wait long for his revenge. As they neared the edge of the wood, a large black animal suddenly stepped out of a thicket. Heavens ! cried he, whipping out his knife a bear ! A trio of shrieks echoed through the forest, and Porte sud- denly found himself hound neck and hands by three pair of desperate arms. 1)ont, dont choke me to death, he gurgled; Help, Mice Why, Mistisses, said Mice earnestly; dat aint no bar. Mass Porte jis foolin. Pshaw ! said Minnie, its only a great black rem. Oh, Porte, you ought to be ashamed of yourself Indeed, said Fanny, recovering herselg I do wish it had been a bear. Such an adventure Ke, he! I specs, Miss, if he was a sure- enough bar, den you wish he was a sheep agin. 12 HARPERS ~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. After this excitement, the ladies felt nervous and fatigued, and requested Porte to conduct them home by the nearest route. Like all wise men, he enjoyed his triumph moderately. He was uncommonly good-humored and polite dur- ing the rest of the evening, and was contented that no further allusion was ever made to the shooting of that day. In passing from Burners to Woodstocksix miles distanton the western descent of the Massanutten Mountain, our travelers were de- lighted with a magnificent view of the county of Shenandoah, which lay as it wcre a map spread out at their feet, checkered with field and woodland, dotted with villagcs and farm houses, and watered by the north fork of the Shenandoah river, which glistened, in its doub- lin~ s and windings like a silver serpent, inclos- ing many a fair and fertile meadow in its be- nelicent folds. As for the town of Woodstock, it doubtless has, like many other little towns in Virginia, the merits of a singed cat, that of being much hetter than it looks. At any rate, our travelers did not tarry long enough to appreciate it, but finding themselves once more upon the turn- l)ike they pushed on rapidly. At noon they stopped as usual to refresh. At Crayons re- quest to serve something cold and without de- lay, the landlord looked considerably perplexed. After some circumlocution, however, he frankly acknowledged that there was nothing in the houseneither bread, nor meat, nor vegetables. We had a fine ciMnner, sir, said Boniface apologetically; but the stage-passengers were so delighted with it they left nothing. It was a splendid dinner, sir, if your party had only got in before the stage. Crayon felt his curiosity piqued. What had you? A squirrel pie, said Boniface, rubbing his hands; a squirrel pie, and-er-ab a fine squir- rel pie. The fact is, stranger, my old woman is sick, or I wouldnt have been caught in this fix. You know youn~ women aint of no account anyhow. This coincidence of opinion soothed Mr. Crayono disappointment, and the party good- humoredly lunched on ham and sugar cakes, which they found in their carriage-box, and went on their way rejoicing. Followin~ the Valley Road they passed the night at~ New Market, and dined on the next day at Harrisonburg, the county town of Rock- ingham. One mile south of this place they left the turnpike, and drove twelve or thirteen miles, over a pleasant country road, to Port Republic, a forlorn village on the Shenandoah, whose only claim to notoriety is the fact that it is only three miles from Weyers Cave. There, girls! exclaimed Porte Crayon; pointin~ with animation to a hill which rose abruptly from the broad meadow lands skirting the river, there is Cave Hill This news caused quite a flutter among the inmates of the carriage, and furnished a subject of animated conversation, until they drove up to a neat-looking country house at the foot of the hill. The prompt landlord met them at the gate with a cheerful welcome, and the interior of Mr. Molers house proved as agreeable and well-ordered as the outside was neat and at- tractive. Will you visit the cave to-night, ladies ? inquired the host. To-night! exclaimed Fanny, taken by sur- prise. Oh, yes, lisped Minnie, by all means we have the full moon now, and it would be charming to visit it by moonlight. It shows to greater advantageturning to Mr. Moler doesnt it, sir ? Why, Minnie I cried Dora, her eyes re- sembling moons in miniature, the moon doesnt shine in there; does it, Cousin Porte 1 Good gracious! I forgot! The idea of go- ing in at all confuses me so; then the thought of a place where the moon dont shine, nor the sun; its horrible! It never struck me before The girls all became thoughtful, and it re- quired no persuasion to induce them to defer the proposed visit until the morrow. When they met again next morning around an early breakfast table they seemed still more dispirited. They had had wonderful dreams and the anticipated visit to the cave had begun to work terribly on their feminine fancies. Porte Crayons countenance was austere and his manner mysterious, as if something of vast importance was about to be transacted. The proprietor looked grave, and exchanged mean- ing glances with Mr. Crayon, and their conver- sation was carried on in broken sentences of hidden meanings, dark hints, suggestive of nameless dangers and terrihle things. The girls became uncontrollably nervous, and Cous- in Minnie, as usual, broke out first I declare, this is dreadful! I wont go into such a horrible Place! I wish to heaven I was at home Only to think, chimed Dora, there are ladders to go down And, said Fanny, entirely forgetting the ~eroine, dreadful bridges to cross, with awful pUs on each side And, pursued Minnie, all down, deep under ground, where the moon doesnt shine Nor the sun, suggested Dora. Oh! weve traveled a hundred miles to see the cave, antI now wed go two hundred to escape. Mr. Crayon here assumed a heroic tone and attitude. It is too late, young ladies, too late to look back now. What would they say of us at home? Our memories will be covered with everlasting shame, if any one of us fails to reach the uttermost limit of the cave. You, Fanny, that would be a heroine! You, Minnie, that wished to see a bear! You, Dora, that would go any where if Cousin Porte would only give you his arm! Im ashamed of you. Youre no better than a parcel of women Come on, girls, said Fanny stoutly; this VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 13 is all nonsense. Ill go in, Im determined, and known or written, for few words were spoken, Ill go first ; and Fanny looked; and doubtless and those only such as were necessary for the felt, very much like the Maid of Saragossa, preparation. Bonnets were discarded, and their when she was about to mount the fearful ram- places supplied by handkerchiefs; long skirts I)art. were tucked up, and light shawls selected from Ill go, too, said Minnie, until we come the contents of the knapsack which had been to the creeping place; but I vow I will never packed and brought up for the purpose. Mean- creep under ground like a mole. while the guide lit the candles, and gallantly And I, said Dora, will go until we come handed to each the tin shade which held the to the ladders; dear, dear, how my heart beats ! light. Porte Crayon stood in a corner of the Although Mr. Moler has some timh since room, his scoffing tongue was silent, and per- surrendered the office of guide to his son, a haps there may have been a shade of sadness on likely and intelligent lad, thirteen or fourteen his facebut no one saw it. Twenty years be- years of age, he on this occasion agreed to re- fore he had stood upon that same spot. How sume it, in special compliment to the party. the retrospect of years will fill the soul with His appearance, enveloped in a long shroud-like strange unmeaning regrets, undefined, but deep. gownoriginally white, but now stained to a Twenty years, twenty years! I was then a pale- brick-dust red, by frequent explorations of his faced, beardless boy, with a fancy fresh and un- subterranean domaina slouched hat, and a trammeled as theirs who stand now so serious, great key in his hand, seemed likely to dash irresolute, and tremulous upon the threshold of again the reviving courage of the ladies. But this world of wonderslooking, indeed, as if Crayon energetically interfered Hush, every they rend upon the stone archway the fearful one of you; youll talk each other into hyster- legend of the Infernal portals ics in five minutes. Forwardmarch ! Voi ch entrate lascsate ogni speranza. A brisk walk of half a mile, partly along the The guide moved on, and our friends followed picturesque banks of the Shenandoah, and part- in single file; Crayon bringing up the rear. ly ascending a steep zigzag path, brought them Passing through the dark throat of the cavern, to a small wooden building set against a rock a somewhat straitened passage, and down an in the side of the hill. easy descent for a short distance, they reached a level flooring and more roomy passway. As they progressed it grew still wider, and anon groups of white shadowy figures seemed starting from the palpable dark- ness. Fanny stopped short, while Minnie and Dora grasped Portes arms convulsively, trembling like aspens. What are they? The guide advanced, and turned his triple light upon the groups. This is the Hall of Statuary. How strange! How wild! how wonderful! It reminds me, said Crayon, of the galleries of the Vatican by torchlight. On a nearer approach, the stat- ues were seen to be but grotesque and shapeless stalagmites, more resembling petrified stumps than any thing else. Above them was a circular opening in the ceiling fifteen feet in diameter, fringed with sparkling stalactites. Through this opening was seen the interior of a dome, some thirty feet in height, draped and columned gorgeously. On one side was the similitude of an al- The key grated in the lock and the bolt tar, with curtains and candlesticks upon it, and sprung back with a hollow sound. With what on the other it required but a little liveliness of sensations of mysterious awe, with what sink- fancy to see a cathedral organ, with its rows of ings of heart, with what wild gushing fancies pipes and pendant cornices. The guide withdrew their young heads teemed as they crossed the the lights with which the dome had been illu- threshold of that dark doorway, can never be minated, and resumed his march forward through ~NTaA5cE TO WETERS CAVE, 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a narrow passage and down a rude flight of some eighteen or twenty steps into a room of con- siderable extent. Now stand here, throw your lights forward, and look up. The Cataract A stream seemed to leap from a great height, pouring its white waters in sheets of foam over a broken ledge of rock and tumbling down to the feet of the amazed spectators. They held their breath as if listening to catch the roar of the waterfall, but not a murmur broke the death- like silence. The cataract, that like a giant wroth Rushed down impetuously, as seized at once By sadden frost, with all his hoary locks Stood still. As they gazed, feelings of awe came creeping over them, taking the place of admiration. The whole scene was so unearthly. Now you have but to face about upon the ground where you stand to illuminate a scene of an entirely different character, and suggestive of a different class of fancies. Less imposing, less sublime, but excelling in beauty and splendor, a massive column of sparkling white, rich with complicated grooves and flutings, appeared rising from floor to roof. Around and half in shade were other columns of less striking form and color, supporting the ribbed and fretted ceiling. This glittered far and near with snow white and sparkling stalac- tites, now richly fringing the stone roof-ribs, now hanging in dense masses, covering, the spaces between. The richest arabesques of a Persian palace, or the regal halls of the far- famed Albambra are but poor and mean in comparison. Doubt and terror were all for- gotten. The girls were wild with wonder and delight. Tis the work of fairies ! exclaimed Fanny. Or the enchanted palace of some magician, said Minnie. Oh, dear ! said Dora, they look like beds of silver radishes, all growing through the earth with their roots hanging down. And there, said Fanny, is a round waiter of frosted silver, half filled with beautiful shells. And here, said the guide, is something we must not overlook. What does that look like ? he inquired, directing their attention to an angular nook. As I live, exclaimed Fanny promptly, THE hALL OF STATUARY. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 15 there is a great shoulder of n~utton hanging on the wall ! I perceive, said the guide pleasantly, that the young lady knows something of housekeep- ing. This fine room is called Solomons Temple, and this corner, for the sake of consistency, is Solomons Meat House. I should have thought, said Porte Cray- on, that the magnificent and all-accomplished Solomon would hardly have committed such a crime against good taste, as to hang his meat in such a temple as this. And yet, replied the guide, a greater than Solomon placed it there. True, true. It seems very queer, neverthe- less, that in the midst of her suhliinest passages~ Nature should sometimes step aside to play the farceur. THE CATARACT. 1~ HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ascending a stairway similar to that by which they entered and on the opposite side of the Temple, onr travelers pnrsued their marvelous journey, not in profonnd silence, as at first, for the sentiment that paralyzed their tongues had given place to pleasant confidence and eager uriosity. Again they call a halt while the guide nimbly leaps from point to point, ilinmin- ating as he goes the wor~ders of the Cathedral. In the centre of this room hangs a mass of spar, which bears a fancied resemblance to a chan- delier, while beyond it rises the pnlpit, an cle- ated circular desk covered with the most grace- ful folds of white drapery. On the opposite side is a baldequin, enriched with glittering pen- dant crystals, and the whole ceiling is hnng with stalactites dropping in long points and broad wavy sheets, some of a pure white, others of a clay-red, bordered with bands of white or with darker stripes of red and brown. These tone raperies are translucent and sonorous, emitting soft musical tones on being struck, a d ie heavier sheets which tapestry the side walls respond to the blows of the hand or foot with ;otes like deep-toned bells. With interest and confidence increasing at ever~ step our adventurers went on, not caring who w~ before or who behind, they climbed up iid down ladders, crept through narrow pas- age, d looked fearlessly do into the awful J)its t at yawned beside the way, passing through many apartments which, if found isolated, might have been accounted among the wonders of the world, but here, being secondary in interest and brilliancy, were hastily viewed and left behind. The largest of these is called the Ball Room, from the fact that its hard clay floor, a hundred feet by forty in extent, served indifferently for dancing, at times when the cave was illuminated and visited by large numbers of persons, as was formerly the custom in the months of August or September. These annual illumination have been discontinued? by the proprietor, be- cause the smoke from so large a number of candle sullied the purity of the sparry incrusta- tions, and visitors not unfrequently, taking ad- vantage of the license which prevailed, would break and carry off whatever of the curious and beautiful they found within their reach. Another room of smaller size, called the Senate Chamber, is remarkable for a - ron I gallery projecting midway between the ceiling and the floor, and corniced with stalactItes like the icicles that fringe the eaves on a winter morning. At length they came to a passage so ~traitened that it required some management and some~ creeping on all fours to get through. This accomplished, they went down a steep narrow stairway of fifteen or twenty feet de~ scent. This stairway is called Jacobs Ladder; a square rock, covered with an incrustation re- sembling a table-cloth, is called Jacobs Tea VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 17 Table; and an ugly looking pit near at band is Jacobs Ice House. By a peculiar twinkle of Porte Crayons eye, any one who knew him might perceive that he was about to indulge in some comments on this whimsical collection of property accredited to the Patriarch; but what he intended to say was lost forever to the world by a sudden signal from the guide. list! be silent for a moment. I hear an unusual noise behind us. There must be some one in the cave besides ourselves. Listen Yes, yes ! they all heard something, not like voices in conversatio; but half stifled grunts and groans. Now they approach nearer still, and accompanied by a sputtering and scratching like the noise of a cat in a cupboard. It is coming through the narrow passage; what can it be ? Possibly some animal that has taken refuge In the cave, and is following the lights. Oh, mercy ! twittered Dora; perhaps a hear ! At this awful suggestion the girls huddled to- gether like a covey of partridges. Stand off! said Porte Crayon, fiercely, feel- lug for his knife. Dont take hold of me. The knife had been left behind. What was to he done? All kept their eyes intently fixed on the mouth of the narrow passage. Presently a huge hand, holding a dim candle, protruded Von. X.No. 15.B TUE cATHEDaAL. from the aperture. A baud without an owncr has always been an object of terror since the times of Belshazzar. It was evidently not a hear, and the fears of the party, relieved on the score of a material enemy, began toiturn toward the immaterial. They stood speechless and aghast, staring at that awful, superhuman hand. Soon, however, the phiz of Little Mice appeared to claim the property; but all ashen with terror and red with mud. 15 FANTOME NOTE. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Parturiunt montes, rtascitur ridiculu8 inns, said Crayon, curtly. It will be a nasty ridiculous muss, said the guide, if h~ should stick fast. It was for some moments doubtful whether the body could follow the arm and head. But Mices eyes having marked the lights, and his ears having recognized the laughter which greet- ed his appearance, with ajoyous chuckle he gave a Titanic heave, as if he would lift the roof oil the cave, and broke through, sacrificing his coat and at the imminent risk of upsetting Jacobs Tea Table. Master and Mistis, are you da? ughugh! Oh, Lord! dis is a mizzible place I The narrow ladder scarcely afforded room for Mices enormous shoes, and in his haste to join. his protectors he was near tumbling over the parapet. A very narrow ladder, said he, half soliloquizing. By this time the group below was shaking with laughter. Oh! Mistis, said Mice, devoutly, now I believes dere is a torment, sence I seen dis place. What, in the name of torment, induced you to venture in here alone, you inconceivable block- head? JAcoBs LADDER. Why, Mass Porte, you see, I hearn you was all gone in, an I thinks any wha de young mis- susses can go I can go too. Den when I come in a piece it git so dark and lonesome, I begin to git feard like. Den I seen sich things stand- in about, and I hearn things like big hells. I think den, I gwine right straight down below. Ugh! it was mizzible. I am glad I found you, sure enough. And during the rest of the ex- ploration Mice stuck closer to his master than his sense of respect would have permitted any where on the earths surface. If the first chambers through which they pass- ed excelled in the rich profusion and brilliancy of their ornaments, they are thrown far in the background by the superior grandeur and sub- limity of those apartments which our adventurers are now entering, and which, like the scenes of a well-arranged drama, go on ixlcreasing in in- terest and magnificence to the end. Now they group themselves at the entrance of the Great Hall. Good Mr. Moler, permit us to drop your puerile and inappropriate nomenclature, and let fancy run riot. The complaisant gnide bows, and walks on with both hands full of lights. At every step strange and beautiful objects flash into being. Pillared wails, hung with long, sweeping folds of tapestry; banners flaunting from overhanging galleries; canopied niches filled with shadowy sculpture; the groined and vaulted ceiling dimly appearing at a majestic height, and long pendants dropping from Out of the thick darkness that the feeble torches can not penetrate. Then the white startling giant, which im- poses so completely on the senses that it is difficult to believe it was not sculptured by the hand of man, and pedestaled where it stands, precisely in the centre of the Hall. Then the weird towers that rise beyond on either side, so draped and fluted, and whose tops are lost in the upper gloom. This must be the Palace of the King of tbe Gnomes, and the gigantic fignre there is bis Seneschal. Girls, you are not afraid of him? Let us ad- vance and send our compliments to his swart majesty. Now this looks like hospitality; here is a clear drip- ping fountain, and, as I live, a glass tumbler to drink from. I wonder, said Minnie, if the Sen- eschal put the glass here ? It looks like Wheeling glass, said Fanny, and it is more probable Mr. Moler put it here, I dare say by the Senesehals or- ders. How strange! said Dora. On ex- amination it no longer resembles a statue, but a great shapeless sta- laginite, and it looks more terrible even than at first. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. II) TH~ GNOM~J KiNGS PALACE True, quoth Minnie; touch of this talisman to step down among i. Tis like some Bedlam statuarys dream, Here, Minnie, take this seal ring, and go ton h The eraaed creation of misguided whim. his hand 1 They pass on by the statue and the towers; Oh! Porte, put it up. I would not touch but, before leaving the Hall they turn to observe one of them for the world. Ive fancied until I some candles which had been left burning at the half believe what weve been. talking about. other extremity. The distance, appears im- At the extremity of this long aisle, where the mouse; by actual measurement it is two hun- ceiling is ninety feet in height, stands the largest dred and sixty feet. Still other rooms, whose detached mass of,concretion to be found in the ceilings reach the imposingheight of ninety or cave. It is shaped like a tower, an oval thirty a hundred feet, and this last is the grandest, of by thirty-six feet in diameter, and thirty or forty them all. It is the nave of stme vast Gothic feet in height. Its surface is covered with ir- thedral, which has been engulfed by an earth- regular horizontal ridges and wi h perpendicular quale, and lies buried half in ruin, plaits or ffutingsa style of enrichment which It recalls to me, said Minnie, a Moorish might be introduced advantageously in some legend, how that in the caverns of Granada ten kinds of architecture. On one side a sheet of thousand Moorish knights, armed cap-a-pie, were drapery falls from the top of the tower nearly shut up by enchantment, and stand like statues to its base, in folds that a sculptor might imi- of stone awaiting the hour of their deliverance. tate but could never excel. After wandering Look at them, Porte; do. they not resemble for half a mll~ through these subterranean halls, Moorish knights, all in linked mail, with their where Nature has poured out, long cloaks and pointed helmets ? With such a full and unwitlidrawing han!, Brave! Minnie; well fancied; and there in her mingled stores of the beautiful, the fantastic, ~he distance is the throne, where sits the unhappy the awful, the sublime, you seem here to have Boabdil, stern and solemn, awaiting but the reached the culminating point of grandeur. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Then turn an angle of the rock and advance a must a-took a monstus man to a-swallered it; few paces, when your lights flash upon the gap- hut I believes in any thing now, sence I seen dis ing oyster-shell, place. From the suhlime to the ridiculous there is Here they were informed they had reached but one step, said Porte Crayon. What an the end of the cave; and having refreshed them- absurd freak 1 selves with water dipped from an alahaster fount- Mice examined the premises with such mi- am, covered by a transparent pellicle of spar, they ~uteness~ that one might have supposed he was resumed their lights and commenced retrackig looking for the oyster. high ! said he; it their steps toward the realms of day. On their THE ENCHANTED MOORS. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 21 return they deviated from the course by which they had entered, and visited several side rooms, each exhibiting some new l)hase of beauty, grandeur, or surprise. The Bridal Chamber, on your first entrance, appears but a gloomy vault of nake(l limestone rock, until the light, like a magic talisman, reveals one of the most curious and beautiful objects in the cave. It resembles a sheet of white drapery thrown over a gigantic round buckler, and falling in classic folds nearly to the ground. Some ingenious person has fancied that it looked like a brides vail hanging over a monstrous Spanish comb; and hence the name of the room. Porte Cray- on and his companions were dissatisfied with the name, and desired the proprietor to change it. With pleasure, said lie. Sn~gest an ap- hmopriate one, and the room shall be re-baptized upon the spot. having puzzled their brains for some time to no purpose, the critics acknowledged themselves in a predicament. They gave it up. It was tletermined, however, that Crayon should take a drawing of it and give the world an opportu- nity of taking the matter under advisement. Near this is the Music Room, the interior of which is nearly filled with broad sheets of in- crustation falling from the ceiling to the floor, between which one may walk as through the mazes of a labyrinth. These sheets, like others which they had seen, were translucent and high- ly sonorous. When lights were placed behind them they glowed like candent metal, and at THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. THE OYsTEII-sHaaa. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. every blow gave out deep rolling notes, which tilled the cave like the peal of a church organ. On singing with this accompaniment, the effect was striking and pleasing, the voice being broken into tremulous quavers by the overpowering vi- brations. On their return, by the way of the Great Hall, it was proposed to put out the lights, and enjoy the poetry of darkness and silence for a while. The guide stationed himself at a distance, the girls formed a group around Mr. Crayon, and Mice seated himself near enough to touch Portes boot with his hand, which he assured himself of by actual experiment before the lights were doused. Now, girls, endeavor to hold your tongues, and be inspired with solemn awe. A nod of acquiescence was the answer. Out with the lights ! And in a moment all was dark. Porte felt his arms simultaneously pinched by three little bands, and at the same time a huge grasp took him by the boot leg. The silence was only broken by the suppressed breath- ing of the company, distinctly audible, and the not unmusical tinkling of water dropping far and near, mingling in the darkness like fairy bells. The attempt at silence soon became oppressive to the ladies, and Minnie, in a stage whisper, be- gan to express her disappointment in regard to the darkness. Dats a fac, said Mice. I spected to a-seed it good deal darker. I can see more now, said Dora, than I could when the candles were lighted. True enough, pillared aisle, swath, roof rib, and candent column floated before their vision distinct, but chan~ing as a dream. It is owing to some excited condition of the optic nerves, said Porte, which I will explain more thoroughly when we get out. Meanwhile, as the performance does not seem to give satis- faction, and we can neither bear silence nor see darkness, as we expected, let us light up and proceed. As they revisited the different points of inter- est on their return, there was a general disposi- tion shown to linger and look again, as if the curious appetite was unsatiated still, and the fac- ulty of wonder still untired. They slowly trav- eled on, however, and at length observed a soft greenish tint upon the floor and walls of the cave, which had the appearance of paint or delicate moss. This coloring gradually grew greener and brighter until they found themselves re-entering the wooden vestibule, through the openings of which the bright blasting light of mid-day stream- ed. So strong was the contrast, that it required some minutes of preparation before it was agree- able to venture out. On referriub to the watches, it was ascertained that their visit had lasted near- lx~ four hours, and yet no one had felt the slight- est symptom of fatib me, physical or mental. But the sibht of the familiar things of earth soon reminded them that it was dinner time, and they cheerily retrode the path to the hotel. After dinner Porte Crayon took his sketch- book and pencils, and with the proprietors son for his guide retured to the cave, and it is to his persevering labors during that and the three suc- ceeding days that we are indebted for the accu- rate illustrations, which give point and interest to what would otherwise be but a loose and un- finished description of Natures great master- piece. Indeed but for the sketches, the disheartening task of description would probably not have been undertaken; for how can mere words portray scenes which have no parallel among the things of upper earth? how can the same conven- tional forms of speech which have been used a thousand thousand times to describe mountains, rivers, waterfalls, buildings, thunder clouds, sun- set, and so on, to the end of the catalogue, be combined with sufficient skill and refinement to delineate subjects and sentiments so new and in- comparable? Lan~uage fails frequently in (on- veying correct impressions of the most common- J)lace objects, an(l in the hands of its most skill- ful masters is sometimes weak, uncertain, false. Combine it with the graphic art, and how the page brightens. Well have our fathers called it the art of Illumination. Most hooks without il- lustrations are but half written ; and with the in- creased and increasing facilities of art, the read- ing public will soon begin to demand it as their due, and pass by with disdain the incomplete narrative which is given only in wor(ls. This must and will become, par excelleace, the age of Illustrated Literature. The details of Porte Crayons experiences in LEONARD MOLERTHE (mUIDE. VIRGINIA ILLUSTRATED. 23 subterranean sketching are not without interest, blunted by that circumstance, as well as by the On going into the cave, generally after an early years of travel and adventure that have follow- breakfast, he took some one with him to assist ed. I was gratified to find I was mistaken. It in carrying ifl candles, and so on, and in ilium- seemed rather that time and cultivation had mel- mating the different apartments. This accom- lowed the sensibilities and increased the power pushed he sent his companion out, and had the of vision. Nor did familiarity with its detaih~ cavern to himselg with his thoughts for company. diminish my astonishment; on the contrary, at I had visited the place, said he, when a each visit wonder seemed to grow upon me. So mere boy, and supposed that the keenness of my different from what we are accustomed to see, so appreciation of its wonders would have been infinite in its variety, every flash of light devel T~IE MACIC TOwER. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. oping some new field wherein the imagination might revel, every change of position suggesting some new theme for the fancy to seize upon. Had there heen a concealed spectator near, when I was endeavoring to choose a point from which to make a sketch, he must have been highly amused .at my ludicrous indecision. I arranged my candles and rearranged them. I ran up and down. I could not choose, and was forced fre- quently to laugh aloud at my own absurdity. I lay flat on the soft clay floor, with my sketch-book hefore me. I perched myself on the round head of some giant stalagmite. I climbed up the walls, and squeezed myself into damp niches. More miserable than the ass, I had a hundred bundles of hay to choose from, and the regret at what I missed seemed to more than counterbal- ance the satisfaction I felt in the sketches actu- ally made. Not unfrequently I forgot my draw- ing entirely, and would sit looking with all the intensity of eyes and soul, as if endeavoring to comprehend more fully the wonderful creations by which I was surrounded. Canst thou read, o philosopher, what is written on these eternal tablets? The percolation of water through limestone strata for ten thousand yearsand nothing more? The last sketch I made, continued Mr. Crayon, is a most singular one. In arranging the lights to show the huge mass called the Magic Tower to the greatest advantage, I observed two gigantic figures standing in deep shade, but strongly relieved, against the illuminated wall. They stood so statue-like, and so complete was the illusion, that I felt some hesitation in repre- senting them, fearing that I might be suspected of condescending to an artistic trick. Although wonderful stories are often prefaced in the same manner, it rarely happens that any opportunity of telling them is neglected, notwithstanding the risk incurred to the reputation of the teller. So here go the statues, at all hazards. While I was at work upon them two boys entered with a pot of hot coffee, which had been sent to me by ar- rangement. No sooner had they looked about them, than both started with surprise, and re- marked on the giants, as they called them. By my pocket thermometer I ascertained the tem- perature of the cave to be about 53j degrees Fahrenheit, and although I sometimes remained in it from eight to ten hours at a time, I never felt the slightest discomfort from the dampness or any other cause. One morning, having risen before daylight, I went to work at a point not more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty feet from the entrance. Here I suffered greatly from the cald, as the external air was at that time in the morning very frosty, and I was near enough to the entrance of the cave to feel its influence. The length of the cave in a straight line is about sixteen hundred feet; but the aggregate ~of all its branches and windings is near three thousand. It is said to have been discovered in 1804 by one Bernard Weyer, a hunter, while in search of some lost traps. Crayon, however, tells us that he was crediblyinformed that Weyer was not the actual discoverer, but some one else whose name he unfortuately forgets. It makes no difference. Not all the historians nor indig- nant poets who have written, or will write, can ever restore to Columbus the lest honor of nam- ing the New World; and Weyers Cave will be called Weyers Cave till the end of time, in spite of any right or knowledge to the contrary. During the period of Mr. Crayons entomb- ment the ladies began to grow restless, and seemed likely to fall a prey to ennui. As often as he returned to the hotel, he promised them a speedy termination of his labors; and as often as he re-entered the cave, he forgot them and all the rest of the superficial world. One even- ing he was surprised and gratified to find them in a state of high good humor; and, in answer to his apologies for detaining them so much longer than he had promised, he was assured that they would cheerfully remain a day or two longer if he wished it; they could amuse them- selves very well, and were in no hurry to get to Staunton. And now, Cousin Porte, lisped Minnie. we want your judgment on a questica of taste. Porte Crayon, charmed by their complaisance. and flsittered by the appeal, siguifled his ieadi- ness to sit injudgment. While you were in the cave, continued Minnie, we were perishing with ennui and for something to do. We ordered the carriage sad drove to Port Republic, where we made some purchases, and we want you to decide which is prettiest ; and thereupon each of the young ladies drew from her work-basket a wax doll. and held it up for Portes inspection, producing at the same time sundry bits of gay-colored cal- ico and cotton lace. Mine, said Minnie, with great animation, is to be dressed in red, and Doras in green, and Fannys is to have a black velvet polka And so, said Porte Crayon, recovering his utterance, youve deliberately gone back to playing with doll-babies ? Why, Porte! How absurd! These are not for ourselves; they are intended as presents for the children at home. You certainly do not suppose that we could be amused with dolls Certainly not, replied Porte. I beg your pardon. I was frightened. Indeed I am glad it is explained; but you were so earnest and so gleeful. Well, and have you not often told us that the secret of happiness was in always having something to do, and in doing that something with zeal and cheerfulness ? Mr. Crayon was mollified at hearing himself quoted Every thing that I say is not thrown away, thought he; some of it sticks. Aad now, Porte, thats a good cousin ; sit down, and tell us something more about the cave while we carry on our sewing. Mr. Crayon drew up his chair complacently. This, young ladies, is a favorable occasion to explain to you my theory in regard to the opti NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 25 cal delusions in the cave when the lights were put out. The optic nerves I say, Fanny, hand me the scissors Are you listening ? said Crayon. Certainly; you said nerves. The reason why, upon the first extinguishment of the lights, the intensity of the darkness is not appreciated, is Now, Minnie, would you advise me to trim this skirt with white or black ? Are you listening to me ? inquired Crayon, with some heat of manner. To he sure we are, and very much interested; you said is. The reason, then, of this phenomenon is, that the optic nerves Oh! Dora, dont for the world cut that bias; youll waste all the green calico ! Now, seriously, young ladies, said Crayon reddening, I am endeavoring to give you some scientific h4ormation which may be highly useful, and will he at least ornament- al, if perchance in society this subject should he introduced How elegant! oh! oh ! ex- claimed Minnie; it will be charming. It will be too sweet in this red dress. Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle, sung she, dancing the doll over the work-table, in an ecstacy of de- light. May the deuce take them all! said Porte Crayon, rising indignantly and stalking out of the room. Such is the fate of all who, in the simplicity of their hearts, volunteer to benefit or instruct the world Presently he burst into a good-humored laugh. After all, didnt Chief Justice Marshall play marbles, after presiding in the Supreme Court; ny, and enjoy the game, too, as much as any of the boys? Crayon put his head in at the open door Girls, I ask pardon for my impatient exclam- ation just now! Amuse yourselves, while I seek a subject for another sketch. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. SAINT HELENA. ON the 9th of August, 1815, the Northuinber- land with the accompanying 5(luadrOn, set sail for St. Helena. The fleet consisted of ten vessels. As the ships were tacking, to get out of the Channel, the Emperor stood upon the deck of the Northumberland, and watched with an anx- ious eye to catch a last glimpse of his heloved France. At last a sudden lifting of the clouds presented the coast to view. France! France spontaneously burst from the lips of all the French on board. The Emperor gazed for a moment in silence upon the land over which he had so long and so gloriously reigued. He then, uncovering his head, bowed to the distant hills, and said, with (leel) emotion, Land oJ~ the brave, I salute thee! farewell! France flirewell! The effect upon all present was electric. The English officers, moved by this instinctive and sublime adieu, involuntarily uncovered their heads, profoundly respecting ~he grief of their illustrious captive. The English government, true to its unwavering policy, had given orders that the Emperors imperial title should not be recognized, but that he should be addressed and treated simply as General Bonaparte. This was an outrage to the rights of nations, and an insult to greatness crushed by misfortune. rhe Emperor, with extraordinary fortitude. resigued himself to his new situation. Though. in self-respect, he could not assent to the insult- ing declaration of the English ministers that he had been but an usurper, and the French nation rebels, he opposed the effect of these instructions with such silent dignity as to command general respect and homage. Such was the magical in- fluence of his genius, as displayed in all his words and actions, that each day he became the object of more exalted admiration and reverence. He breakfasted alone in his cabin, and passed the day until four oclock in reading or convers- ing with those of his companions whom he in- vited to his room. At four oclock he dressed for dinner, and came into the general cabin, where he frequently amused himself for half an hour with a game of chess. At five oclock the Ad- miral came and invited him to dinner. The Emperor, having no taste for convivial habits, had seldom during his extraordinarily laborious life allowed himself more than fifteen minutes at the dinner tahle. Here the courses alone occii- pie(l over an hour. Then an hour or two more were loitered away at the wine. Napoleon, out, of respect to the rest of the company, remained at the table until the close of the regular courses. his two valets stood behind his chair and served him. He ate very frugally, and of the most sim- ple dishes; never expressing either censure or approbation of the food which was provided. At the hour when ladies in England withdraw from the table he invariably retired. As the Emperor left the whole company rose, and continued standing until he had passed from the room. It was the instinctive homage of generous men to the greatest of mankind, resigning himself sub- limely to unparalleled misfortunes. Some one of his suite, in turn, each day accompanied hini upon deck. Here he walked for an hour or two, conversing cheerfully and cordially with his friends, and with any others whom he happened to encounter on board the ship. Without the slightest reserve he spoke of all the events of his past careerof his conflicts, his triumphs, and his disasters. In these utterances from the fullness of the heart, he never mani- fested the least emotion of bitterness or of irri- tability toward those who had opposed him. Such was the Emperors uniform course of life during the voyage of ten weeks. He had won, says Lamartine, the admira- tion of tile English crew, by the ascendency of his name, by the contrast between his power of yesterday and his present captivity, as well as by the calm freedom of his attitude. Jailers them- selves are accessible to the radiance of glory an(l grandeur that beams from the captive. A great name is an universal majesty. The vanquished reigned over his conquerors. There were several Italians on board the ship,

J. S. C. Abbott Abbott, J. S. C. Napoleon Bonaparte 25-37

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 25 cal delusions in the cave when the lights were put out. The optic nerves I say, Fanny, hand me the scissors Are you listening ? said Crayon. Certainly; you said nerves. The reason why, upon the first extinguishment of the lights, the intensity of the darkness is not appreciated, is Now, Minnie, would you advise me to trim this skirt with white or black ? Are you listening to me ? inquired Crayon, with some heat of manner. To he sure we are, and very much interested; you said is. The reason, then, of this phenomenon is, that the optic nerves Oh! Dora, dont for the world cut that bias; youll waste all the green calico ! Now, seriously, young ladies, said Crayon reddening, I am endeavoring to give you some scientific h4ormation which may be highly useful, and will he at least ornament- al, if perchance in society this subject should he introduced How elegant! oh! oh ! ex- claimed Minnie; it will be charming. It will be too sweet in this red dress. Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle, sung she, dancing the doll over the work-table, in an ecstacy of de- light. May the deuce take them all! said Porte Crayon, rising indignantly and stalking out of the room. Such is the fate of all who, in the simplicity of their hearts, volunteer to benefit or instruct the world Presently he burst into a good-humored laugh. After all, didnt Chief Justice Marshall play marbles, after presiding in the Supreme Court; ny, and enjoy the game, too, as much as any of the boys? Crayon put his head in at the open door Girls, I ask pardon for my impatient exclam- ation just now! Amuse yourselves, while I seek a subject for another sketch. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. SAINT HELENA. ON the 9th of August, 1815, the Northuinber- land with the accompanying 5(luadrOn, set sail for St. Helena. The fleet consisted of ten vessels. As the ships were tacking, to get out of the Channel, the Emperor stood upon the deck of the Northumberland, and watched with an anx- ious eye to catch a last glimpse of his heloved France. At last a sudden lifting of the clouds presented the coast to view. France! France spontaneously burst from the lips of all the French on board. The Emperor gazed for a moment in silence upon the land over which he had so long and so gloriously reigued. He then, uncovering his head, bowed to the distant hills, and said, with (leel) emotion, Land oJ~ the brave, I salute thee! farewell! France flirewell! The effect upon all present was electric. The English officers, moved by this instinctive and sublime adieu, involuntarily uncovered their heads, profoundly respecting ~he grief of their illustrious captive. The English government, true to its unwavering policy, had given orders that the Emperors imperial title should not be recognized, but that he should be addressed and treated simply as General Bonaparte. This was an outrage to the rights of nations, and an insult to greatness crushed by misfortune. rhe Emperor, with extraordinary fortitude. resigued himself to his new situation. Though. in self-respect, he could not assent to the insult- ing declaration of the English ministers that he had been but an usurper, and the French nation rebels, he opposed the effect of these instructions with such silent dignity as to command general respect and homage. Such was the magical in- fluence of his genius, as displayed in all his words and actions, that each day he became the object of more exalted admiration and reverence. He breakfasted alone in his cabin, and passed the day until four oclock in reading or convers- ing with those of his companions whom he in- vited to his room. At four oclock he dressed for dinner, and came into the general cabin, where he frequently amused himself for half an hour with a game of chess. At five oclock the Ad- miral came and invited him to dinner. The Emperor, having no taste for convivial habits, had seldom during his extraordinarily laborious life allowed himself more than fifteen minutes at the dinner tahle. Here the courses alone occii- pie(l over an hour. Then an hour or two more were loitered away at the wine. Napoleon, out, of respect to the rest of the company, remained at the table until the close of the regular courses. his two valets stood behind his chair and served him. He ate very frugally, and of the most sim- ple dishes; never expressing either censure or approbation of the food which was provided. At the hour when ladies in England withdraw from the table he invariably retired. As the Emperor left the whole company rose, and continued standing until he had passed from the room. It was the instinctive homage of generous men to the greatest of mankind, resigning himself sub- limely to unparalleled misfortunes. Some one of his suite, in turn, each day accompanied hini upon deck. Here he walked for an hour or two, conversing cheerfully and cordially with his friends, and with any others whom he happened to encounter on board the ship. Without the slightest reserve he spoke of all the events of his past careerof his conflicts, his triumphs, and his disasters. In these utterances from the fullness of the heart, he never mani- fested the least emotion of bitterness or of irri- tability toward those who had opposed him. Such was the Emperors uniform course of life during the voyage of ten weeks. He had won, says Lamartine, the admira- tion of tile English crew, by the ascendency of his name, by the contrast between his power of yesterday and his present captivity, as well as by the calm freedom of his attitude. Jailers them- selves are accessible to the radiance of glory an(l grandeur that beams from the captive. A great name is an universal majesty. The vanquished reigned over his conquerors. There were several Italians on board the ship, HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and there were also some midshipmen and com- mon sailors who spoke French fluently. Napo- leon seemed pleased in calling these to him, and employing them as interpreters. One day he perceived the master of the vessel, who, as pilot, was responsible for her safe conduct, but who, not having the honor of an epaulet, was not ad- mitted to the society of Admiral Cockburn and his suite. The Emperor entered into a long con- versation with the man, was pleased isith his in- telligence, and, in conclusion, said, Come and dine with me to-morrow. The poor master, astonished and bewildered, stammered out, in reply, The Admiral and my captain will not like a master to sit at their ta- bleP Very well, answered the Emperor, if they do not, so much the worse for them; you shall dine with me in my cabin. When the Admiral rejoined the Emperor, and was informed of what had passed, he very gra- ciously remarked that any one invited by Gen- eral Bonaparte to the honor of sitting at his ta- ble was, by this circumstance alone, placed above all the ordinary rules of discipline and of eti- quette. He then sent for the master, and assured him that he would be welcome to dinner the next day. This unaffected act, so entirely in accordance with the whole life of the Emperor, but so as- tounding on board an English man-of-war, was with electric rapidity circulated through the ship. Every sailor felt that there was a bond of union between him and the Emperor. The soldiers of the 53d regiment, who were on their passage to St. Helena to guard his prison, and the crew of the ship, were all from that hour apparently as devoted to him as French soldiers and French sailors would have been. After walking for a time upon the deck, the Emperor usually took his seat upon a gun, which was ever after called the Emperors gun, when sometimes for hours he would converse with great animation and cheerfulness. An interested group ever gathered around him. Las Cases was in the habit of recording in his journal these con- versations. Napoleon ascertaining this fact, called for his journal, read a few pages, and then decided to be,,uile the weariness of the voyage by dictating the prominent events of his life. October 7. The fleet met a French ship. An officer of the Northumberland visited her, and told the astonished captain that they had the Emperor on hoard, and wen~ conveying him to St. Helena. The French captain sadly replied, You have robbed us of our treasure. You have taken away him who knew how to govern us ac- cording to our taste and manners. The Emperor continued to beguile the weary hours of each day in dictating the memoirs of his campaigns. When he commenced his daily dictations, says Las Cases, after considering for a few moments, he would rise, pace the floor, and then begin to dictate. He spoke as if by inspiration; places, dates, phrasesbe stopped at nothing. October 15. Just as the evening twilight was fading away, a man at the mast-bead shouted Land! In the dim distance could be faintly discerned a hazy cloud, which was suspended as the pall of death over the gloomy prison and the grave of the Emperor. About noon of the next day the Northumberland cast anchor in the harbor NAPOLEON 5 ADIEU TO FaANcE. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 27 of St. Helena. The Emperor, through his glass, gazed with an unchanged countenance upon the bleak and storm-drenched rock. Rugged peaks, black and verdureless, towered to the clouds. A straggling village adhered to the sides of a vast ravine. Every shelf in the rocks, every aper- ture, and the brow of every hill, were planted with cannon. It was now about a hundred days since the Emperor had left France, and seventy days since sailing from England. The command of the British ministers was peremptory that the Emperor should not he permitted to land until his prison on shore was made secure for him. Admiral Cockburn, however, proudly refused to he the executioner of such barbarity. With un- concealed satisfaction he informed the French gentlemen that he would take upon himself the responsibility of seeing them all landed the next day. St. Helena is a conglomeration of rocks, ap- MAP OF ST. HELENA. parently hove, by volcanic fires, from the bosom of the ocean. It is six thousand miles from Eu- rope, and twelve hundred miles from the near- est point of land on the coast of Africa. This gloomy rock, ten miles long and six broad, placed beneath the rays of a tropical sun, emerges like a castle from the waves, presenting to the sea, throughout its circuit, hut an immense perpen- dicular wall, from six hundred to twelve hundred feet high. There are but three narrow openings in these massive cliffs by which a ship can ap- proach the island. These ure all strongly forti- fied. The island at this time contained five hundred white inhabitants, about two hundred of whom were soldiers. There were also three hundred slaves. The climate is very unhealthy, liver complaint and dysentery raging fearfully. There is no instance, says Montholen, of a native or a slave having reached the age of fifty years. October 16. Late in the afternoon the Em- peror, with some of his companions, en- tered a boat, and was conveyed on shore. Before leavingthe shi1 be sent for the cal)- tam, kindly took leave of him, and requested him to convey his thanks to the officers and crew. The whole ships companywas as- sembled on the quar- ter-deck and on the gangways to witness his departure. The tears of sympathy glis- tened in many eyes quite unused to weep. TIlE EMPEaoa9 Qua. YCAIf orMitt.s 28 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It was a funereal scene, and the sacred silence of the burial reigned, as the Emperor passed from the ship and was conveyed by the strong arms of the rowers to his dreary prison and his tomb. The sun had sunk beneath the waves, and twilight had faded away, as the Emperor landed and walked through the craggy street of James- town. In this miserable village a small unfur- nished room had been obtained for Englands imperial captive. his friends put up his iron camp-bedstead, spread upon it a mattress, and placed in the room a few other articles of fur- niture which they bad brought from the ship. Sentinels, with their bayoneted muskets, guarded the windows and the door of the prisoner. All the inhabitants of Jamestown crowded around the house to catch a glimpse of the man whose name alone inspired all the combined despot- isms of Europe with terror. Gloomy night had now darkened over the dismal scene, and the damp ocean wind amoaned along the craggy streets. Napoleon was silent, calm, and sad. Lie soon dismissed his attendants, extin uished his light, and threw himself upon his mattress for such ~Cl)O5C as could then and there be found. Such was the first night of the Emperor Napo- leon at St. Helena. The mind lingers in the contemplation of its mournful sublimity. Upon this l)arren rock, about three miles from Jamestown, and fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, there was a ravine called Long- wood, situated in the midst of t~rags and leaks of rock which nearly encircled it. In this wild and desolate chasm, nhnost destitute of verdure, and where a few dwarfed and storm-twiste(l gum-trees added to the loneliness of the scene. there was a dilapidated hut. It had h)een ori~- inally a cow-house. Subsequently it had re- ceived some repairs, and had occasionally been used as a temporary retreat from the stifling heat of Jamesto~vn. This spot had been selected for the residence of the cal)tive. It was detached from tIme inhabited parts of the island, was most distant from those portions of the coast acces- sible by boats, which, says Admiral Cockburn. the Governor considers it of imnlortance to keep froma the view of General Bonaparte, and an extent of level ground presented itself suit- able for exercise. Octotcr 1 7. At six oclock this morning the Emperor rode on horseback, acconml)auied by Admiral Cockburn and General Bertrand, to view the dismal gorge which was to be his l)risemm and his tomb. When he gazed upon the awful doom prepared for him, his heart was smitten with disirmay. But in digumbed silence he strug- gled against the anguish of his spirit. The hut was so dilapidated and so small, that it would require a month or two at least devoted to in- pairs, before it could be rendered in any degree habitable for the Emperor and his companions. In the Admirals next communication to the British government he wrote: 1 aum sorry to add that General Bonaparte. since he has landed here, has appeared less re- sigmied to his fate, and has expressed himself mmsore dissatisfied with the lot decreed him thamm he did before. This, however, I merely attribute to the first effects (f he gemicral stemile appear- ance of this island aromimid where he now resides. and the little prospect it yields himself amid fol ~T. 5IELI~NA NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 29 Iwers of meeting with any of those amusements and enjoymcnts to which they have been accus- tomcd. At the same time the Admiral wrote that the tirce of men and ships which he had with him was not snfiicient to hold the captive in security. He asked for two more vessels of war. As Napoleon, in great dejection, w~ s return- ing from Longwood, extremely reluctant a gain to occupy his narrow room in Jamestown, sur- rounded by sentinels and the curious crowd, he observed a little secluded farm-house, at a place called The TJ,iars, and inquired if he could not take refuge there nutil Longwood should be pre- l)ared for his residence. A very worthy man, Mr. Balcombe, resided at this Ilace with his family. The house was of one story, and con- sisted of hut live rooms. Mr. Balcombe, how- erer, cordially offered a room to the Emperor. At the distance of a fe~v yards from the dwell- ing there was a small pavilion or summer-house, consisting of one room on the ground-floor and two small garrets above. Napoleon, not willing ti incommode the family, selected this for his abode. The Admiral consented to this arrange- ment, and here, therefore, the Emperor fixed hi~ residence. His camp-bed was put up in this lower room. here he ate, slept, read, and dic- tated. Las Cases and his son crept into one of the garrets. Marchand, Napoleons first valet- de-chainhte, occupied the other. Mr. Bal- cunties family coasisted of himself, wife, and four children, two sons and two daughters. One of these daughters, Elizaheth, afterward Mrs. Abed, has since recorded some very pleasing reminiscences of her childish interviews with the Emperor. The earliest idea, says Mrs. Abeel, I had of Napoleon, was that of a huge ogre or giant, with one large flaming red eye in the midst of his forehead, and long teeth jrotruding from his mouth, with ~vhichi he tore to pieces and devour- ed naughty little girls. 1 had rather grown out of this first opinion of Napoleon; hut, if less childish, my terror of hint was still hardly di- minished. The name of Bonaparte was still associated in my mind with every thing that was bad and horrible. I had heard the most atm- cions crimes imputed to him; and if I had learn- ed to consider him as a human being, I yet be- lieved him to be the worst that had ever existed. Nor was I singular in these feelings. They were participated by many mt~cl~ older and wiser than myself; 1 might say, Iterhals, by a majority of the English nation. Most of the newspapers of the day described him as a demon. All those of his own country who lived in England were. of course, his bitter enemies; and from these two sources we alone formed our opinion of him. how vividly I recollect my feelings of dread, mingled with admiration, as I now first looked upon him whom I had learned to fear so much! Napoleons position on horseback, by adding ruE aEIARS. 30 ITAliPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. height to his figure, supplied all that was want- ing to make me think him the most majestic person I had ever seen. He was deadly pale, and I thought his fentures, though cold and im- movable, and somewhat stern, were exceedingly 1)eautiful. He seated himself on one of our cot- tage chairs, and after scanning our little apart- irient with his eagle glance, he complimented niamma on the pretty situation of the Briars. When once he hegan to speak, his fascinating smile and kind manner removed every vestige of the fear with which I had hitherto regarded him. His manner was so unaffectedly kind and amiable, that in a few days I felt perfectly at ease in his society, and looked upon him more as a companion of my own age than as the mighty warrior at whose name the world grew pale. I never met with any one who bore childish liberties so well as Napoleon. lie seemed to enter into every sort of mirth or fun with the glee of a child, and though I have often tried his patience severely, I never knew him lose his temper, or fall back upon his rank or age to shield himself from the consequences of his own familiarity or of his indulgence to me. I looked upon him, indeed, when with him, almost as a brother or companion of my own ane, and all the cautions I received, and my own resolutions to treat him with more respect and formality, were put to flight the moment I came within the influence of his arch smile and laugh. The Emperor seemed to enjoy very much the society of these children. He showed them the souvenirs which he cherished. Among them was a miniature of his idolized son. The beau- tiful infant was kneeling in prayer, and under- neath were the words, iprey the good Godfor mnq father, my mother, and my country. As night approached the Emperor retired to his solitary and unfurnished room. It had two doors facing each other, one on each of two of its sides, and two windows, one on each of the other sides. The windows had neither shutters nor curtains. One or two chairs were brought into the room, and the Emperors iron bedstead was adjusted by his valets. Night, with undN- turhed silence and profound solitude, darkened the scene. The damp night wind moaned through the loose and rattling casement near the Emper- ors bed. Las Cases, after attempting to bar- ricade the window to protect Napoleon from the night air, climbed with his son to the garret, the dimensions of which were but seven feet square. The two valets wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and threw themselves upon theground before each of the doors. An English orderly officer slept in Mr. Balcombes house, and some soldiers were placed as sentinels around the pa- vilion, to prevent the Emperor from escaping. Such was the situation of Napoleon the first night at the Briars. October 18. The Emperor breakfasted, with- out table-cloth or plates, upon the remains of the preceding days dinner, lie immediately resumed the same mode of life which he had adopted on board the Northumberland. Every hour had its appointed duty. In reading, dic- tation, and conversation with his French com- panions, all of whom were permitted to see bun every day, even the captivity of St. Helena be- came for a time quite endurable. The Emperor had sufficient command over himself to appear cheerful, and bore all his privations and indig- nities in silence. October 20. The Emperor invited the son of Las Cases, about fourteen years of age, to break- fast with him. The lad displayed so much in- NAPOLEONS APARTMENT AT THE BRIARS. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 31 telligence in reply to questions which were pro- posed respecting his teachers and his studies, that Napoleon, turning to Las Cases, said, What a rising generation I leave behind me. This is all my work. The merits of the French youth will be a sufficient revenge to me. On beholding the work, all must render justice to the workmen; and the perverted judgment or bad faith of declaimers must fall before my deeds. If I had thought only of myself and continuing my own power, as has been continu- ally asserted, I should have endeavored to hide learning under a bushel; instead of which, I de- voted myself to the propagation of knowledge. And yet the youth of France have not enjoyed all the benefits which I intended that they should. My university, according to the plan I had con- ceived, was a masterpiece in its combinations, and would have been such in its national re- sults. October 24. All the friends of the Emperor were assembled around him, and were finding a melancholy solace in narrating to each other their privations and sufferings. Las Cases thus describes their situation: The Emperor Napoleon, who but lately possessed such boundless power,. and disposed of so many crowns, now occupies a wretched hovel a few feet square, perched upon a rock, unprovided with furniture, and without either shutters or curtains to the windows. This place must serve him for bedehamber, dressing-room, dining- room, study, and sitting-room; and he is obliged to go out when it is necessary to have this one apartment cleaned. His meals, consisting of a few wretched dishes, are brought to him from a distance, as if he, were a criminal in a dungeon. He is absolutely in want of the necessaries of life. The bread and wine are not such as we have been accustomed to, and are so bad that wc loathe to touch them. Water, coffee, butter, oil, and other articles, are either not to be pro- cured or are scarcely fit for use. A bath, which is so necessary to the Emperors health, is not to be had; and he is deprived of the exercise of riding on horseback. His friends and servants are two miles dis- tant from him, and are not suffered to approach his person without being accompanied by a sol- dier. They are compelled to pass the night at a guard-house if they return beyond a certain hour, or if any mistake occur in the pass-word, which happens almost daily. Thus, on the summit of this frightful rock, we are equally exposed to the severity of man and the rigor of nature. As each one told his tale of grievances, the Emperorwho thus far had borne his wrongs with an uncomplaining and a serene spiritwas roused. With warmth he exclaimed, For what infamous treatment are we re- served! This is the anguish of death! To in- justice and violence they now add insult and protracted torment. If I were so hateful to them, why did they not get rid of me? A few musket-balls in my heart or head would have done the business, and there would at least have been some energy in the crime. Were it not for you, and above all for your wives, I would receive from them nothing but the pay of a private soldier! How can the monarchs of Europe permit the sacred character of sover- eignty to be violated in my person? Do they not see that they are, with their own hands, working their own destruction at St. Helena? I entered their capitals victorious, and had I cherished such sentiments what would have be- come of them? They styled me their brother; and I had become so, by the choice of the peo- ple, the sanction of victory, the character of re- ligion, and the alliance of their policy and their blood. Do they imagine that the good sense of nations is blind to their conduct? And what do they expect from it? At all events make your complaints, gentlemen! Let indignant Europe hear them! Complaints from me would be beneath my dignity and character. I must command or be silent. The next morning the captain of one of the vessels of the squadron, who was about to re- turn to Europe, called upon the Emperor. In glowing and rapid utterance Napoleon reiterated his protest against the cruel treatment to which he was subjected, requesting the captain to com- municate his remonstrance to the British Min- isters. Las Cases immediately made a memo- randum of his remarks, as nearly as he could catch the words, and placed it in the hands of the officer, who promised punctually to fulfill his mission. The memorandum was as follows: The Emperor desires, by the return of the next vessel, to receive some account of his wife and son, and to be informed whether the latter is still living. He takes this opportunity of re- peating, and conveying to the British govern- ment, the protestations which he has already made against the extraordinary measures adopt- ed toward him. 1. The Government has declared him a prisoner of war. The Emperor is not a pris- oner of war. His letter to the Prince Regent, which he wrote and communicated to Captain Maitland before he went on board the Belie- rophon, sufficiently proves, to the whole world, the resolutions and the sentiments of confi- dence which induced him freely to place him- self under the English flag. The Emperor might, had he pleased, have agreed to quit France only on stipulated conditions with re- gard to himself. But he disdained to mingle personal considerations with the great interests with which his mind was constantly occupied. He might have placed himself at the disposal of the Emperor Alexander, who had been his friend; or of the Emperor Francis, who was his father-in-law. But confiding in the justice of the English nation, he desired no other protec- tion than its laws afforded; and renouncing pub- lic affairs, he sought no other country than that which was governed by fixed laws, independent of private will. 2. Had the Emperor really been a prisoner 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of war, the rights which civilized governments nel. When he is thirty or forty years old we possess over such a prisoner are limited by the shall be no more. This will but enhance the law of nations, and terminate with the war it- value of the gift. He will say, when he shows self. it, The Emperor Napoleon gave this to my 3. If the English government considered father at St. Helena! the Emperor, though arbitrarily, as a prisoner He then spoke of the sine lar developments of war, the rights of that governfi-ient were then he found upon his return from Elbaof the in- limited by public law, or elseas there existed gratitude of individuals who had formerly en- no cartel between the two nations during the joyed his favor. Many letters from these in- warit might have adopted toward him the dividuals to the friends of the Bourbons were l)rinciples of savages, who put their prisoners placed in his hands. to death. This proceedin~ would have been My first impulse, said Napoleon, was to more humane, and more conformable to justice, withdraw protection from these persons, and to than that of sending him to this horrible rock. order their letters to he printed. A second l)eath, inflicted on board the Belleroplion in the thought restrained me. We are so volatile, so Plymouth Roads, would have been a blessing inconstant, so easily led away, that, after all, I compared with the treatment to which he is could not be certain that those very people had now subjected. not really and spontaneously come back to my We have traveled over the most desolate service. In that case, I should have been pun- (ountries of Europe, but none is to be compared ishing them at the very time when they were to this barren rock. Deprived of every thing returning to their duty. I thought it better to that can render life supportable, it is calculated seem to know nothing of the matter, and I or- only to renew perpetually the anguish of death. dered all their letters to be burned. The first principles of Christian morality, and October 31. The Emperor had now been at that great duty imposed on man to pursue his Briar~ a fortnight. His friends had made his fate, whatever it may be, may withhold him situation a little more comfortable. A tent was from terminating, with his own hand, his wretch- spread, which l)rolon~ed his one apartment. ed existence. The Emperor regards it as his His cook took up his abode at Briars; so that glory to live in obedience to these principles, it was no longer necessary to tran sport his food, Hut if the British Ministers should persist in after it was cooked, a mile and a half. Table- their course of injustice and violence toward linen and a service of plate was taken from the him, he would consider it a happiness if they trunks. Still the hours dragged heavily. The would put him to death. Emperor spent most of his time within doors. Dreary days lingered away at the Briars with his books, his pen, and his companions. while multitudes of laborers were busy in re- He retired very late at night. Unless he did pairing and enlarging Longwood for the Em- so he awoke in the night, and then, to divert jeror and his companions. All the building his mind from sorrowful reflections, it was ne- materials had to be carried on the shoulders of cessary for him to rise and read. the workmen up the steep sides of the rock. Annoyances, however, were strangely multi- Nohvithstanding the utmost efforts of the Ad- plied. Almost every day some new rule of gun- iniral the work advanced very slowly. The cml surveillance was adopted. The English Emperor, by his resignation to his dreadful fate, authorities seemed to be tormented with an in- his cheerfulness, and his, at times, joyous com- sane dread of the Emperors escape from a rock l)anionsh~p with the children, had won the affec- more than a thousand miles distant frcn any tion of all the Balcombe family. land; while sentinels, by day and by night, At the end of the graperv, says Mrs. Abeel, l)aced around his frail tent, and ships of war ~was an arbor. To this spotwhich was so cruised along the shores. The grandeur of sheltered as to be cool in the most sultrv weather Napoleon was never more conspicuous than in Napoleon was much attached. lie would the vi0ilance with which he was guarded by his sometimes convey his papers there as early as foes. All the monarchies of Europe stood in four oclock in the morniu~, and employ him- dread of one single captive. They knew full self until breakfast-time in writing, and, when well that the hearts of the oppressed people in tired of his pen, in dictating to Las Cases. No all lands would beat with tumultuous joy at the one was ever permitted to intrude upon him sound of his voice. Every movement of the when there. From this prohibition I, however, Emperor was watched. A telegraph signal was was exempt at the Emperors own desire. Even established which reported in town every thing when he was in the act of dictating a sentence which occurred at the Briars. The French to Las Cases he would answer my call, Come gentlemen could not communicate with Nape- and unlock the garden door; and I was always leon in his room without being accompanied admitted and welcomed with a smile. by an English sergeant. This state of things One evening, after minutely examining a lit- led the Emperor to request Las Cases to direct the traveling cabinet he had with him, he pre- a note to Admiral Cockburn, remonstrating seated it to Las Cases, saying against measures so harassing and so useless. I have had it in my possession a long time. General Bertrand was commissioned to convey I made use of it on the morning of the battle the remonstrance to the Admiral. of Austerlitz. It must go to your son Eman- But General Bertrand, apprehensive that the NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 33 note would but cause irritation, and provoke more severe treatment, ventured not to fulfill his mission. At last the Emperor learned, to his surprise, that the note had not been deliv- ered. He was much displeased, and said to the Grand Marshal. Your not delivering the note, if you were dissatisfied with its tenor, or if you regarded it as dictated by an impulse of anger,,was a proof of your devotion to my interests. But this should only have been a delay of some hours. After this delay you ought to have spoken to me on the subject. You well know that I should have listened to you with attention, and should have agreed with your opinions, if you had proved to me that you were in the right. But to delay a fortnight without telling me that you had not executed the mission with which I charged you, is inexplicable. What have you to reply? The Grand Marshal only answered that he thought that he had done well in not delivering the note, which he disliked both as to its inten- tion and its expression. Perhaps you are right, Bertrand, said Na- poleon. And then, after a few moments of pro- found thought, he added, Yes, Bertrand, you are right. Let my friends here complain; but my dignity and my character require of me silence. General Bertrand then, in his own name, ad- dressed a letter to Admiral Cockburn, recapitu- lating their grievances. In conclusion, he said It is greatly to be desired that the authori- ties would so conduct themselves toward the Emperor, as to banish from his mind all recol- lection of the painful position in which he is placed. I do not hesitate to say that it is such as barbarians even would be touched by, and have consideration for. It can not be feared that any escape can be effected from this rock, almost every where inaccessible. Why can they not, if it be deemed necessary, increase the guard on the coast, and allow us to ramble over the island without restraint? It were also much to be wished that we might be lodged near the Emperor to bear him company. The Admiral condescended to degrade him- self by heaping insults upon misfortune and help- lessness. He returned an answer containing the following expressions: Northumberland, St. Helena Roads, Nov. 6, 1815. SIRI have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of yesterdays date, by which you oblige me officially to explain to you, that I have no cognizance of any Emperor being actu- ally upon this island, or of any person possessing such dignity having come hither with me in the Northumberland. I do myself also the honor of stating to you, in reply to a part of your note, that it is incompatible with my instructions to permit of your passing beyond the established line of sentries without your being accompanied by an English officer. It was surely insult enough for the English to refuse to address Napoleon by his imperial title, thus stigmatizing him as an usurper. But to in- VOL. X.No. 55.C sist that the Emperors personal friends and sub- jects, who for many years had recognized him as the most powerful sovereign in Christendom, should insult him in a similar way, and thus condemn themselves as the accomplices of an usurper, was a refinement of barbarity hardly to be expected from civilized men. It is impossi- ble to refute the arguments used by the Emperor in defense of the imperial title. He had been constituted Emperor of France by a solemn act of coronation, and with the enthusiastic approval of the French people. It was as puerile in the English Ministry to attempt to ignore this title as it would be to speak of General Augustus Ciesar, or Colonel Charlemagne. The world lia.s crushed the ignoble attempt in scorn. Who now thinks of calling the Emperor Napoleon General Bonaparte? And yet Sir George Cockburn car- ried this childish affectation so far as to pretend, in his official papers to the English Ministry, to doubt who could be meant by the Emperor at St. Helena. He wrote to Earl Bathurst: I beg permission to remark to your Lord- ship, upon this curious note, that although the tenor of it prevented my entering at all into the merits of M. de Bertrands statement, yet Gen- eral Bonaparte, ~f by the term Emperor he meant to designate that person, inhabits his present tem- porary residence wholly and solely in compliance with his own urgent and pointed request. I will only detain your Lordship, however, while I add, that since my arrival in this island I have not ceased in my endeavors to r~nder. these people as comfortable as their situations and: the existing circumstances would admit of. * Captain Poppleton was placed as a spy and a: guard in constant attendance upon the Emperor.. His instructions contained the following direc- tions: The officer charged with this duty is Tiot to absent himself from the premises where General Bonaparte maybe stayingmore than two hours at a time. He is to endeavor to prevent the slaves upon the island from approaching General Bona- parte, so as to render their being talked to by him likely. Whenever the General rides or walks beyond the boundaries where the sentries are placed, he is to be invariably attended by the of- * That Napoleon was contendiug for an important prin- ciple, and that he was uot influenced by puerile vanity in claiming the title of Eniperor, is proved beyond all con- troversy, by his readiness to assume an incognito, and take the name of General Duroc, or colonel ?deudon. But to this the English ministry would not consent. Even the editor of Sir hudson Lowes Narrative pronounces the course of the English Ministry upon this subject entirely unjustifiable. LIe says: It is, I think, difficult to refute the arguments used by Napoleon in favor of his right to be styled Emperor. We indeed, had not recognized that title. But he was not the less Emperor of France. But there would have been n& difficulty in calling him ex-Emperor, which would suffi- ciently have expressed the history of the past and the fact of the present. Or the English Ministry might have promptly acceded to his own expressed wish to assume an incognito, and take~ the name of Baron Duroc or Colonel Meudon, which he himself more than once proposed; but Lord Bathurst, as it will he seen, threw cold water on the suggestion, when it was communicated to him by Sir Hudson Lowe.Journot of .Sir Hudson Lowe, vol. i. p. 47.. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ficer. Should the General, during such rides or walks, approach the coast, the officer is requested to turn him in some other direction. He is like- wise to be particular in informing the Admiral whenever he observes any extraordinary move- ments among any of the Frenchmen; and is always to keep a drngoon in attendance, ready to send off at a moments warning. He is to take care that the General and all his attend- ants, after they are established at Longwood, are within the house at nine oclock. November 8. The Emperor was fatigued and indisposed. Las Cases suggested a ride on horseback. Napoleon replied, I can never reconcile myself to the idea of having an English officer constantly at my side. I decidedly renounce riding on such conditions. Every thing in life must he reduced to calcula- tion. If the vexation arising from the sight of my jailer he greater than the advantage I can derive from riding, it is, of course, advisable to renounce the recreation altogether. November 9. Las Cases, alarmed at the dejec- tion of the Emperor and his declining health, from want of exercise, inquired, with every ex- pression of respect and politeness, of the officer appointed as guard, if.it were necessary for him literally to obey his instructions should the Em- peror merely take a ride round the house, ad- verting to the repugnance the Emperor must feel in being every moment reminded that he was a prisoner. The sympathies of the officer were moved, and he generously replied, My instructions are to follow General Bonaparte. But I will take upon myself the responsibility of not riding beside him in the grounds around the house. Las Cases eagerly communicated the conver- sation to the Emperor. lie replied, It is not conformable with my sense of duty to enjoy an advantage which may he the means of compro- mising an officer. The Emperor judged with his accustomed wisdom as well as magnanimity. For soon the officer came hastening to Las Cases with the declaration that Admiral Cockburn had posi- tively prohibited him from granting the cap- tive such an indulgence. As this was men- tioned to the Emperor, he did not appear at all surprised, but quietly remarked that the horses might as well be returned, as they should have no use for them. Las Cases, exasperated by such cruelty on the part of the Admiral, said with warmth, I will go immediately and order them to be returned to the Admiral. No, said the Emperor calmly. You are now out of temper. It rarely happens that any thing is done well under such circumstances. It is always best to let the night pass over after the offense of the day. November 10. Tbe Emperor, with Las Cases, took quite a long walk. Returning he met Mrs. Balcombe, accompanied by Mrs. Stuart, a lady who was on her voyage to England from Bom- bay. While conversing with them some slaves, with heavy burdens on their shoulders, came toil- ing up the narrow path. Mrs. Balcombe, in rath- er an angry tone, ordered them to keep hack. But the Emperor, making room for the slaves, turned to Mrs. Balcombe, and said mildly, Respect the burden, madam. Mrs. Stuart, who had been taught to regard Napoleon as a monster, was inexpressibly amazed by this touching incident. In a low tone of voice she exclaimed to her friend, What a counte- nance, and what a character! How different from what I had been led to expect I November 13. The life at Briars was very reg- ular. Every day the Emperor dictated to Las Cases. Between three and four oclock he de RESPECT THE BURDEN, MADAM. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 35 scended to the garden, and, walking up and down, dictated again to one of the gentlemen who came from the town for that purpose, and who wrote in the little arhor which is seen on the left in the preceding view of the Briars. At half-past five he left the garden, and continued his walk in the path which passed through the lawn in front of Mr. Balcombes honse. In con- versation with friends he enjoyed this social prom- enade until dinner was announced. After dinner he returned to the garden, where he had his coffee brought to him. He occasion- ally made a friendly call npon Mr. Balcombes family, to whom he became much attached. He then continued his walk and conversation in the garden. When the evenings were serene, and illuminated by the moon, these conversations were continued until late in the night. The Emperor, says Las Cases, was never more talkative, nor seemed more perfectly to for- get his cares, than during these moonlight walks. In the familiarity of the conversations which I thus enjoyed with him, he took pleasnre in re- lating anecdotes of his hoyhood, in descrihing the sentiments and illusions which diffused a charm over the early years of his yonth, and in detail- ing the circumstances of his private life, since he ~)layed so distinguished a part on the great theatre of the world. I had intended, said the Emperor one even- iu~ in order to secure the suitable education of the King of Rome, the establishment of the Institute of Meudoe. There I proposed to as- semble the princes of the Imperial house, par- ticularly the sons of those branches of the fam- ily who had been raised to foreign thrones. In this Institution I intended that the princes should receive the attentions of private tuition, com- bined with the advantages of public education. These children, who were destined to occupy different thrones, and to govern different nations, would thus have acquired conformity of princi- ples, manners, and ideas. The better to facili- tate the amalgamation and uniformity of the federative parts of the empire, each prince was to bring with him, from his own country, ten or twelve youths of about his own age, the sons of the first families in the state. What an influ- ence would they not have exercised on their re- turn home! I doubted not but that the princes of other dynasties, unconnected with my family, would soon have solicited, as a great favor, per- mission to place their sons in the Institute of Meudon. What advantages would thence have arisen to the nations composing the European sociation! All these youn~ princes would have been brought together early enough to be united in the tender and powerful bonds of youth- ful friendship. And they would at the same time have been separated early enough to ob- viate the fatal effects of rising passions, the ardor of partiality, the ambition of success, the jeal- ousy of love. November 14. The coffee, writes Las Cases, that was served at our breakfast this morning was better than usual. It might even have been called good. The Emperor expressed himself pleased with it. Some moments after he ob- served, placing his hand on his stomach, that be felt the benefit of it. It would be difficult to express what were my feelings on hearing this simple remark. The Emperor by thus, con- trary to his custom, appreciating so trivial an enjoyment, unconsciously proved to me the effect of all the privations he had suffered, but of which he never complained. November 16. The Emperor conversed with much freedom respecting the ifidividuals con- nected with him in the great events of his ca- reer. This induced Las Cases to make the fol- lowing record: He invariably speaks with perfect coolness, without passion, without prejudice, and without resentment, of the events and the persons con- nected with his life. He speaks of his past his- tory as if it had occurred three centuries ago. In his recitals and his observations he speaks the language of past ages. He is like a spirit conversing in the Elysian fields. His conversa- tions are true dialogues of the dead. He speaks of himself as of a third person; noticing the Emperors actions, pointing out the faults with which history may reproach him, and analyzing the reasons and motives which might be alleged in his justification. In viewing the complicated circumstancer of his fall, he looks upon things so much in a mass, and from so high a point, that individuals escape his notice. He never evinces the least symptoms of virulence toword those of whom it might be supposed he has the greatest reason to complain. His strongest mark of reprobation and I have had frequent occasions to notice it is to preserve silence with respect to them when- ever they are mentioned in his presence. November 19. All the French party were in- vited to dine with the Emperor. lie appeared in cheerful spirits, and after dinner said, Gen- tlemen, will you have a comedy, an opera, or a tragedy ? They decided in favor of a comedy. The Emperor then took Molieres Avare, and read to them for some time. After the party had withdrawn, the Emperor retired to the gar- den for a solitary walk. November 25. The Emperor had been for sev- eral days quite unwell, and, worn down by the dreadful monotony of his imprisonment, appear- ed quite dejected. Las Cases found him this morning seated upon a sofa, surrounded by a pile of books which he had been listlessly reading. Contrary to the general opinion, says Las Cases, the Emperor is far from possessing a strong constitution. He is constantly laboring under the effects of cold. His body is subject to the influence of the slightest accidents. The smell of paint is sufficient to make him ill. Certain dishes, or the slightest damp immedi- ately takes a severe effect upon him. His body is far from being a body of iron. All his strength is in his mind. His prodigious exertions abroad, and his in- cessant labors at home are known to every one. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No sovereign ever underwent so much bodily fatigue. I have known the Emperor to be en- gaged in business, in the Council of State, for eight or nine hours successively, and afterward rise with his ideas as clear as when he sat down. I have seen him, at St. Helena, peruse books for ten or twelve hours in succession, on the most abstruse subjects, without appearing in the least fatigued. He has suffered, unmoved, the greatest shocks that ever man experienced. But these prodigious exertions are made only, as it were, in despite of his physical powers, which never appear less susceptible than when his mind is in full activity. The Emperor eats generally very little. He often says that a man may hurt himself by eat- ing too much, but never by eating too little. He ~vill remain four-and-twenty hours without eat- ing, only to get an appetite for the ensuing day. But if he eats little, he drinks still less. A single glass of wine is sufficient to restore his strength and to produce cheerfulness of spirits. lie sleeps very little and very irregularly, gen- erally rising at day-break to read or write, and afterward lying down to sleep again. The Emperor has no faith in medicine, and never takes any. He had adopted a peculiar mode of treatment for himself. Whenever he found himself unwell, his plan was to run into an extreme, the opposite of what happened to he his habit at the time. This he calls restor- ing the equilibrium of nature. If, for instance, he had been inactive for a length of time, he would suddenly ride about sixty miles, or hunt for a whole day. If, on the contrary, he had heen harassed by great fatigues, he would resign himself to a state of absolute rest for twenty-four hours. Nature, he said, had endowed him with two important advantages; the one was, the power of sleeping whenever he needed repose.. at any hour and in any place. The other was. that he was incapable of committing any injuri- ous excess either in eating or drinking. If, said he, I go the least beyond my mark my stomach instantly revolts. Conversing one day with Mr. Balcombe, the Emperor remarked: I have no faith in medicines. My remedies are fasting and the warm bath. At the same time, I have a higher opinion of the medical, or rather the surgical, profession than of any other. The practice of the law is too severe an ordeal. for poor human nature. The man who habitu- ates himself to the distortion of truth, and to exultation at the success of injustice, will at last hardly know right from wrong. So with poli- ties a man must have a conventional conscience. The ecclesiastics become hypocrites, since too much is expected of them. As to soldiers, they are cut-throats and robbers. But the mission of surgeons is to benefit mankind, not to de- stroy them or to inflame them against each other. November 28. Six weeks had now passed away, during which the Emperor had been about as closely imprisoned at the Briars as when on board the ship. The workmen were busy re- pairing Longwood. The English soldiers were encamped at the Briars. There was a poor ne- gro slave working in Mr. Balcombes garden, in whose history and welfare the Emperor became deeply interested. He was a Malay Indian, of prepossessing appearance. He had been stolen from his native land by the crew of an English vessel. The Emperors sympathies were deeply moved by the old mans story, which bore every mark of truth. Poor Toby became very much attached to the Emperor, who often called at his THE TWO CAPTIVES. THE ALLIGATOR. 37 little hut to talk with him. They were fellow- captives. Toby always called the Emperor the Good Gentleman. Poor Toby, said the Emperor one day, has been torn from his family, from his native land, and sold to slavery. Could any thing be more miserable to himself or more criminal in others? If this crime be the act of the English cal)tain alone, he is doubtless one of the vilest of men. But if it be that of the whole of the crew, it may have been committed by men per- haps not so base as might be imagined. Vice is always individual, scarcely ever collective. What, after all, is this poor human machine? Had Toby been a Brutus, he would have put himself to death; if an sop, he would now, perhaps, have been the Governors adviser; if an ardent and zealous Christian, he would have borne his chains in the sight of God, and blessed them. As for poor Toby, he endures his mis- fortunes very quietly. He stoops to his work, and spends his days in innocent tranquillity. For a moment the Emperor remained in si- lenc% calmly contemplating the bumble slave, and then said, as he turned and walked away, Certainly there is a wide step from poor Toby to a King Richard. And yet the crime is not the less atrocious. For this man, after all, had his family, his happiness, and his liberty. It was a horrible act of cruelty to bring him here to languish in the fetters of slavery. Then, turning to Las Cases, and looking mild- ly upon him, he said, But I read in your eyes that you think he is not the only example of the sort at St. Hel- ena. My dear Las Cases, there is not the least resemblance here. If the outrage is of a higher class, the victims also present very different re- sources. We have not been exposed to corpo- real sufferings; or, if that had been attempted, we have souls to disappoint our tyrants. Our situation may even have its charms. The eyes of the universe are fixed upon us. We are mar- tyrs in an immortal cause. Millions of human beings are weeping for us. Our country sighs, and glory mourns our fate. The prayers of na- tions are for us. Besides, if I considered only myselg perhaps I should have reason to rejoice. Misfortunes are not without their heroism and their glory. Adversity was wanting to my career. Had I died on the throne, enveloped in the dense at- mosphere of power, I should to many have re- mained a problem. Now misfortune will enable all to judge me without disguise. The Emperor subsequently made efforts to purchase the freedom of Toby, and to restore him to his native country. He commissioned l)r. OMeara to arrange the affair with Sir Hud- son Lowe, who was then in command. In reply to these overtures, Dr. OMeara records Sir Hudson to have said, You know not the importance of what you ask. General Bonaparte wishes to obtain the gratitude of the negroes in the island. He wishes to do the same as in St. Domingo. I would not do what you ask for any thing in the world. Napoleon was disappointed and surprised at this refusal; and the poor slave was necessarily left to die in bondage. THE ALLIGATOR. THE mysterious mementoes which mark the eras of the earths formation would have remained for ever unknown, had not the geolo- gist grubbed away among their burying-places, and exposed, as it were, the ghosts of departed ages to the gaze of the curious, as well as to the more solemn seekers after truth. By tl~e industry of these delvers into the true profound, a good idea is obtained of the earth before the completing creationof the time when it was just emerging from the without form and void. Then, our planet was composed of dis- solving soil, and profuse and almost inconceiv- able vegetation of reeds and grassesall was soft and sappy, for the ripening rays of the sun had not yet fully obtained their power. It was at this era that the gigantic saurian, so perfectly adapted to live on land or in the water, armed with huge jaws and claws, rooted and burrowed and turned up the conglomerating materials of incipient continents, and thus Wrought the sur- face of the world into consistency; and having completed the allotted task, died, leaving Her- culean remains that affright the imagination. The alligator, crawling among the swamps and lagoons, is all that living, is left to us eminently characteristic of these primeval times. The sight of the alligator, therefore, suggests reflections that imperceptibly carry the mind hack to antediluvian eras; his home is in the dark places; he lives and thrives only among miasmas of decaying tropical vegetation, where the foot of man finds no resting-place, and where no life is harmonious but the amphibic. There is the saurian of our day, encased in a coat-of-mail, awkward and incomprehensible; a snakish, fishy reptile, puzzling alike anatomist and philosopher. Familiar as we had always supposed ourselves to be with the habits and appearance of the al- ligator, it was not until years ago, when we sat down to give a minute description, that we were aware how absorbing may be the impression of a hideous object upon the mind, and yet how indistinct our knowledge of details. hardly a swamper in the Southwest but feels able to give a clear idea of the alligator; few gen- tlemen sportsmen, who, year after year, amuse themselves with shooting the reptile, but feel some confidence; yet we have the written expe- rience before us of one who has slain his thou- sands, who frankly acknowledges, when brought upon the stand, that he really knows very little about the critter, and has no positive idea even of the greatest length the old patriarchs obtain in their favorite homes among the tribu- taries of the Lower Mississippi. Shakspearewho seems to have known every thing by inspirationin his tragedy of Antony

Alligators 37-50

THE ALLIGATOR. 37 little hut to talk with him. They were fellow- captives. Toby always called the Emperor the Good Gentleman. Poor Toby, said the Emperor one day, has been torn from his family, from his native land, and sold to slavery. Could any thing be more miserable to himself or more criminal in others? If this crime be the act of the English cal)tain alone, he is doubtless one of the vilest of men. But if it be that of the whole of the crew, it may have been committed by men per- haps not so base as might be imagined. Vice is always individual, scarcely ever collective. What, after all, is this poor human machine? Had Toby been a Brutus, he would have put himself to death; if an sop, he would now, perhaps, have been the Governors adviser; if an ardent and zealous Christian, he would have borne his chains in the sight of God, and blessed them. As for poor Toby, he endures his mis- fortunes very quietly. He stoops to his work, and spends his days in innocent tranquillity. For a moment the Emperor remained in si- lenc% calmly contemplating the bumble slave, and then said, as he turned and walked away, Certainly there is a wide step from poor Toby to a King Richard. And yet the crime is not the less atrocious. For this man, after all, had his family, his happiness, and his liberty. It was a horrible act of cruelty to bring him here to languish in the fetters of slavery. Then, turning to Las Cases, and looking mild- ly upon him, he said, But I read in your eyes that you think he is not the only example of the sort at St. Hel- ena. My dear Las Cases, there is not the least resemblance here. If the outrage is of a higher class, the victims also present very different re- sources. We have not been exposed to corpo- real sufferings; or, if that had been attempted, we have souls to disappoint our tyrants. Our situation may even have its charms. The eyes of the universe are fixed upon us. We are mar- tyrs in an immortal cause. Millions of human beings are weeping for us. Our country sighs, and glory mourns our fate. The prayers of na- tions are for us. Besides, if I considered only myselg perhaps I should have reason to rejoice. Misfortunes are not without their heroism and their glory. Adversity was wanting to my career. Had I died on the throne, enveloped in the dense at- mosphere of power, I should to many have re- mained a problem. Now misfortune will enable all to judge me without disguise. The Emperor subsequently made efforts to purchase the freedom of Toby, and to restore him to his native country. He commissioned l)r. OMeara to arrange the affair with Sir Hud- son Lowe, who was then in command. In reply to these overtures, Dr. OMeara records Sir Hudson to have said, You know not the importance of what you ask. General Bonaparte wishes to obtain the gratitude of the negroes in the island. He wishes to do the same as in St. Domingo. I would not do what you ask for any thing in the world. Napoleon was disappointed and surprised at this refusal; and the poor slave was necessarily left to die in bondage. THE ALLIGATOR. THE mysterious mementoes which mark the eras of the earths formation would have remained for ever unknown, had not the geolo- gist grubbed away among their burying-places, and exposed, as it were, the ghosts of departed ages to the gaze of the curious, as well as to the more solemn seekers after truth. By tl~e industry of these delvers into the true profound, a good idea is obtained of the earth before the completing creationof the time when it was just emerging from the without form and void. Then, our planet was composed of dis- solving soil, and profuse and almost inconceiv- able vegetation of reeds and grassesall was soft and sappy, for the ripening rays of the sun had not yet fully obtained their power. It was at this era that the gigantic saurian, so perfectly adapted to live on land or in the water, armed with huge jaws and claws, rooted and burrowed and turned up the conglomerating materials of incipient continents, and thus Wrought the sur- face of the world into consistency; and having completed the allotted task, died, leaving Her- culean remains that affright the imagination. The alligator, crawling among the swamps and lagoons, is all that living, is left to us eminently characteristic of these primeval times. The sight of the alligator, therefore, suggests reflections that imperceptibly carry the mind hack to antediluvian eras; his home is in the dark places; he lives and thrives only among miasmas of decaying tropical vegetation, where the foot of man finds no resting-place, and where no life is harmonious but the amphibic. There is the saurian of our day, encased in a coat-of-mail, awkward and incomprehensible; a snakish, fishy reptile, puzzling alike anatomist and philosopher. Familiar as we had always supposed ourselves to be with the habits and appearance of the al- ligator, it was not until years ago, when we sat down to give a minute description, that we were aware how absorbing may be the impression of a hideous object upon the mind, and yet how indistinct our knowledge of details. hardly a swamper in the Southwest but feels able to give a clear idea of the alligator; few gen- tlemen sportsmen, who, year after year, amuse themselves with shooting the reptile, but feel some confidence; yet we have the written expe- rience before us of one who has slain his thou- sands, who frankly acknowledges, when brought upon the stand, that he really knows very little about the critter, and has no positive idea even of the greatest length the old patriarchs obtain in their favorite homes among the tribu- taries of the Lower Mississippi. Shakspearewho seems to have known every thing by inspirationin his tragedy of Antony 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and Cleopatra, represents a conversation he- tween Lepidus and Antony, which, for natural- ness, might have occurred between one of our citizens and Mr. Jones, just returned from a tour through Egypt. LEUmnus. What manner of thing is your crocodile ? ANTONY. It is shaped, sir, like itself; it is as broad as it hath hreadth; it is just so high as it is, and moves with its own organs; it lives hy that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it trausruigrates. LEPIDUS. What color is it of ? ARTONY. Of its own color too. LEPIDUS. It is a strange serpent. ANTONY. Tis so, and the tears of it are wet. This description of the crocodile is just as clear as the rile mud, of which Lepidus says they are bred; and yet we have heard similar dialogues a hundred times, not upon Pompevs galley lying near Micenum, hut npon our more sl)lendid craft ~d~in~ upon the Father of wa- ters. Says the traveler, accosting a resident of the Southern regions, Are you familiai ~ ith the alligator, sir ? NATIVE. I have lived among them all my life. TRAVELER. What kind of a looking thing is an alligator ? NATIVE. Why, something like an old log, sir. TRAVELER. How long do they grow ? NATIVE. Perhaps ten, fifteen, or thirty feet; I never examined them. TRAVELER. Oms what do they live ? ~ NATIVE. On most any thing they can get, sir; or on nothing, if it suits cal best. TRAVELER (musing). They are a very cu- rious reptile. NATIVE. They are, sir. Yet, with all this vagueness respecting the true history of the alligator, it forms one of the prominent ohjects of the four most remarkable rivers of the worldthe Gan~es, the Nile, the Amazon, and the Mississippiand hv its inti- mate association with the Egyptians, is one of the most early chosen of created things that be- came an ohject of veneration among mankind. The idea is very general that there is a rad- ical difference hetween the crocodile and alli- gator; hut such is not the case. The inhabit- ant of the East is the same as his ~)rototype of the Western world, if we except a seeming want THE ALLIGATOR. 39 of firmness in the scaly exterior, which gives an additional repnlsiveness. We have carefally examined some of the bodies of the sacred crocodiles that have been exhnmed from among the buryingplaces of the ancient Egyptians, which afforded us curious thonghts, when we recalled the time of their living, and their ele- vation by a strange peol)le into the place of pro- tecting deities; vet, while we looked, they faded into the very familiar carcasses we have so often seen, stiffened by the rifle of the unerring hiinl er, 111)011 the banks of Red River, or decaying in the solitary swamps in the vicinity of New Orleans.* Among a portion of the l)eol)le of Egypt of the earliest times, the crocodile undoubtedly reitresented their greatest divinity; many cities, or perhaps more l)roPerly speaking, collections of vast temi)les were built in its honor, and its Itliests, of all others, were most presumlttltoiis. Ezekiel the l)roplset poured forth, in bnrniiig 1 ngiiage, his denunciations upon the worship- ers of the great dragon that lieth in the midst of Pharaohs rivers, which bath said, My river is mine own, and I have made it for myself. And, lie continues, I will put hooks in thy jaws; I have given thee for meat to the beasts of the field md the fowls of the air : thus nain in the moment of his insi)iration, the ciocodde as the very personification of Egypt i elf Hem odotus the most agreeable of all histo * t~moa~ ttic ancients, Iterodoins wrote about the croc- o tile tad h ss as authoriiy for more ihaii two thonsand cars N apolcons expedilion to Egypt did much to make familiar its iiatural tiisiory. tn 18415, Dr. Benimel I)owler, one of the most indastrions and teamed natnralisisofttie day, residetit of Ness Orleans, published an essay on the alligator, with a microscopical addendum reiating to the alligators scales anit skin. This contribniion to natural history gives a perfect idea, and for Un lirsi unto, of the anatomy of the crocodile. rianswas the first profane writer who particti harhy noticed tIme crocodile: while journeying through the land of time Pharnolis, aitd pros pectimsg alomsg the banks of the Upper Nile, the reptile ainturahly attracte(l his attemutiota. To his descriptionswrittemi more tItan twenty cen tunes acois the world even miow imsdebtetl for all of its mimost hiohtuiluir traditiotis. Some things lie wrote of the crocodile were for cemituries deemed fabulous; bitt niodermi investigation has proved his truthfulness, lie was evidently nit acute observer, and attitigled his own observa- tions with ideas lie obtaimied froma those about him ; am ici adopted, as was (Itmite natural, many timittos as facts which were bitt time gossil) of tlse flustboatmema of that early day. Nothimtg musentiommeil liv llerodotus, however, has Iteemi tIme smibject cif atone discussion tItan his story of time trochilii.e emiterimug the crocodiles mouth as it sleehts mitt the samuilbamiks, and re lievimig it of the leeches iii its throat. Sir J. (larilner Wilkimison says that this story would lie remmmarkable, if it were true that any leeches existed its the Nile ; amid then acids, that tIme story niumy have originated iii the habits of a smimall ruitmaing bird, or dottrel, so cotatmuitit there which, by its shrill cry omi tIme ap~iroachi of man, wants tIme crocodile (ulumite smnimitemitiomially) of its (lounger; mmcl its proximity is easily exhilaitted by its seekimug tIme flies amid ouhier itteects that are attracted to the sleepitug hicast. Geoffroy SaintIlilairethte celelimatecl ammatomuuist, and one of time savaris who accommihiuimtied Napoleon into Ecvhitcomsfirmums thue story of the trochtilus amid it would seem that time Greek word trans- lated leeches signifies only sumekimag immsects, or gmats, whichi line tIme whole interior surface of tIme crocoihiles halite, amsd camuse the ordinary yellow to disappear tinder a coat of bimmelcishi- hmnown. The little hind tlvimtg from bamak to bank, and comatiminally employed ima seeking food, / I! THE TROcHiLUS ENTERING THE caoconmLEs MOUTH. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. goes prying about in the mouth of the crocodile, various meats were dressed purposely for it. delivering its tongue and palate of gnats, of The people ornamented its head with ear-rinds, which they are full. The mosquitoes, in the its feet with bracelets, and its neck with neck- swamps containiuc the alligator, are known to laces of precious metals and artificial stones. It would seem, also, that the E~vptians covered the thick scales with goldleaf, and thus adorned, the crocodile mnst have beeii the most strangely l)eautiful ol)ject that ever was numbered among the works of vertu of a rich mans household. Antony, when in his loving mood, Cleopatra says, addressed her as my serpent of 01(1 Nile and she recalls the term with pleasnre while re- gretting his absence. Is it l)ossil)le that the spoiled beauty felt flattered to be coml)ared to her household god, which, if adorned in accord ince to the rest of her state, must have been brilliant iiideed In Louisiana and Florida the alligator is (HE riiocni~u~ sometimes a pet, and has been, lo- very little surround its head in clouds aiid we hive beard attention, so far civilized and enlightened as to the negroes assert that the icptde opened its justify the ready belief of its being a harmless mouth until its interior w as fully lined, and imunate of Egyptian dwellings. The following suddenly closing it up, would sn allow the ac illustrative episode would seem to he rather a cumulated marauders, and then set its huge jaws free translation from an ancient Egyptian liicro as a trap for more. If our sn~unps, iu~tead of glx-~duical record, than the detail of a modern in heing crowded with a rich tiolucal ~ebetatmomi, ci(lCnt: which ren(ler them majestic aisles of dim twilight A Miss Nell Gary recently ivent before one even at mid-day, were more open to observation, of the Recorders of New Orleamus, and made oath it is probable that our alliaators would be found to have their little ~-~ - bird which performed the friendly office of a winged toothpick ; and which, after all, is no inure curious than to see the lordly bull bend Isis neck, that tIme farm-yard fowl may reach the gadfly fastened to Isis nostrils, or buzzin0 round Isis ears. that omie Em-nest Dalfin, a neighbor of hers, kept It would seem that the idolatrous worship of iii his yard an alligator of immense size and fe- tIme ~rocodihe, in the days of Herodotums, had rocit~ and that, as she wmms frequently obliged been somewhat iruodified, compared with tIme to go through tIme yard, she considered lieu-self time when Ezekiel poured forth Isis denuncia- in great bodily fear and damiger; whuerefome she ations upon the great dragon ; for time peo- prayed that her neighbor remumove tIme alhigmutor hule of Apohinopohis, Tentyris, Heracleopolis, and to sonic other quarters. On this charge Dalfin other places, held tIme crocodile in abhorrence, was arresteul. When requmired to plead, lie stateul mind lost no Opportuuuity of destroying it. The thumut he ke1ut the mulhigator to guard Isis puenuises lentyrutes, it us stated, were so expert, from from imutmuision, and that Isis ammuhuhuibioums guard- long habit, in catching amid even in overcoming inn was, except when iumiluosed 0mm, as quuietly this powerfuil reptile, that they were known to disposed a reptile as ever lived. As for tIme pro- Ibliow it into the Nile and bring it by force to scutor, he comitemuded that she was brazenly tIme shore. Pliny amid others mention tIme won inclined, and kept comustantly excit imug tIme nIh derfmml feats performed by them, not oily in their gators ire isy tickling him nader tIme short ribs own country but in the presence of the Roman with teui-foot holes, and castiuig brickbats at his people; and Strabo mentions that on tIme occa- coumuiteuuance, and on omme occasion even weuit so sion of some crocodiles being exhibited iii Rome, far as to siuige Isis back with a hot sussootlsing the Tentvnites, who were present, fuilly confim-nied is-on, since which time Isis alhiguitorshsip swiubs the truth of the report of their power over these his tail at her whieuiever hue sees lieu. On this usmousters ; for, having put them in a spacioums shuowimug, Eruiest n-mis discharged ; bust Elleui was tank of water, with a shelving bamuk artificiahhx- bomuuud over to keep the peace toward the pet constructed on one side, the men boldly entem-ed amid its excellent owner.* the water, and entangling them in a net, dragged With tIme Egyjutiauis, tIme crocodile was not them to the bank and back again into the water, only worshiped, lomuded with fuivors, and umade which was witnessed by numerous spectators. a comhianion of whsihe living, limit at its death About Thebes and Lake Moeris, this reptile , was carefully euusbalmed, amid then placed in was held in great veneration; and being rendered costly tousshus. This was especially tIme case within tuumne by kind treatment, it was fed and attendeul * Extract from time police reporus of the New Orleans with the most scrupulous care. Geese, fish, and Delta. CHiLDs rev FOUND IN AN EovPrmxN TOMB. THE ALLIGATOR. 41 the people in the Theban, Ombite, and Arso- from want of food; they are then used for bait- noite nomes. At a place now called Maabdeh, ing with the tiger and wild bull. In these corn- opposite the modern town of Manfaloot, are ex- bats, the alligator has been known to seize the tensive grottoes, cut far into the limestone mount- tigers head between his teeth and crush in the ains, where numerous crocodile mummies have skull; on the other hand, the infuriated bulls been found perfectly preserved, and evidently have without difficulty gored them to death. embalmed with the greatest care. Lieut. Herndon, United States Navy, describes The crocodile, though so essentially associated the river Amazon as abounding with the reptile. with Egypt, is distributed over the world, and Above Obidos, he writes, we began to fall is common to every coutinent except Europe. in with these elegant creatures in considerable Its~ppearance is so repulsive, and its strength numbers, especially when we were anchored at so apparent. that it leaves the idea on the mind night in the still bays. In the bright moon- that it possesses great destructiveness. Its lip- light we could see them floating about in every direction some- times quite mo / tionless on the stir face, and only dis- tinguishable from logs by careful in- spection. Not long before my arrival, a woman, bath- in~ after nightfall in company with her husband, was seized and carried off by one of these monsters. She was not even in the river, but sitting on the bank pour- less mouth, leaving its horrid teeth ever grinning ing water over hem head with a gourd, whemi in seeming anger, causes an alarm that is rarely the reptile crawled from behind a log, where it overcome by familiarity. It is, therefore, no had been lying, amid carried her oft in its wonder that the ferocity of this reptile has been mouth. The padre tIme next morning de- made a favorite subject with many writers. dared war upon the reptiles, and had the Of the crocodiles of the Ganges, Miss Emma Indians out with their lances and harpoons to Roberts says: The bank of the Ganges oppo- destroy tlmem. site to Monghyr has not the slightest pretensions The noise they make is a sort of grunt, such to beauty. Its low, flat, swampy shores, inter as a good-natured pig might make with Imis niouth sected with reedy islets, are the haunts of multi- shut, omily rather louder. By imitating it, we tudes of alligators, which, in the hot season, may drew them quite near us, and it is little they be seen sunning themselves by the side of the care for a musket-ball. We shot a young Imeed- lmnge ant-hills erected upon the sand-banks ap- less fellow, lmowever, one mornin~, as line was pearing above the water. Some of these ani- skulking under a dead trunk by the shore. mals attain a prodigious size. Ma)ny of these Whems we got into the Parana mires, and esre- monsters are fifteen feet long, and they swim ciallv when we visited the pirarucn lakes, with fearlessly past the boats, lifting up their terrific which the country is interspersed, we saw iacares* Imeads and raising their dark bodies from tlme lying about in them like great black stones or water as they glide along. Though not so fre- trunks of trees. It is amusing to observe what quently as in former times, when the echoes of a perfectly good understanding seems to smibsist the river were less disturbed by the report of between the jacares and the fislmermen, the are - J)atiently for their share, fire-arms, natives still victims of that species forumer w~mitin~ very of alligator which lies in wait for men and ani- which is the offal. Wlmen a large fislm is hooked, mnals venturin, incautiously too near their haunts. the fishermen leap into the water, in the very In many that have been killed, the silver orna- midst of the jacares, which meerly slicer out of muents worn by women and children have been the way until their tmmrn comes; and such a thing founda confirming proof of the fearful nature as a jacare attackummg a mamin is very rarely known. of their prey. That this, however, does occur now and It was always a favorite sport with the native then we saw fearful evidence. When we were Irinces of India, particularly those on the Jum- placed near a sitio, a little below the up~~er ma, to pit the crocodile against other destructive mouth of the Ranos, I learned that the Vie- ammimals. To gratify this passion, they have toria had been seen in a small lake near; and tanks built, similar to those of ancient Rome, in as I wished to trace the distribution of tlmis plant which the reptiles are confined with a wire round in the Valley of the Amnazon, I was anxious to their jaws until they become perfectly furious * Name on the Amazon for Alligator. vmaw OF MANFALOOr. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. verify the report, and likewise to procure speci- mens; but there was no montanaas canoes hollowed out of a single trunk of a tree are calledand I was told I might probably horrow one at a sitio a little higher up. I accordingly l)roceeded to this sitio, and found there an old man and ~iiis three sons, men of middle age, with their children. Two of the sons had just come in from a distant fishing expedition, the third had his arm in a sling; and on inquirin~ the cause, I learned that, seven weeks ago, he and his father had heen fishing in the very lake I wished to visit, and were embarked in a small montana which remains constantly in the lake, the outlet of which is dried up in snmmer. They had reached the middle of the lake, and were looking out for fish with their bows and arrows, when, unseen hy them, a large jacare came under the montana, gave it a jerk which sent them hoth into the water, and, seizing the son hy the shoulder of the right arm, dived with him at once to the hottom, the lake heing ahout four fathoms deep. In this position of fearful peril, he had sufficient presence of mind to thrust the fingers of his left hand into the muon- sters eves, and after rolling over three or four times, the jacare let go his hold, and the poor fellow rose to the surface, though mangled, l)leedin~, and helpless. his father immediately swam to his assistance, a ad l)rovidentially the two reached the shore without being again at- tacked. I was shown the wounds: every tooth had told; and some idea may he formed of this one terrible gripe, when I state that the wounds inflicted hy it extended from the elbow to the shoulder, and downward as far as the hip. All were now healed except one very had one in the armpit, where one sinew at least was com- pletely severed. Even this seemed to me in a fair way to heal soon; hut although such should he the case, the deep scars and the useless arm for it seems improbahle that he will ever again he able to move his elhow or his shoulderwill remain to tell the tale to his dying day. The sight of the wounded man was no encour- agement to me to prosecute my enterprise; hut I was very anxious to procure the fruit of the Victoria; and as three of the little fellows who were ru~~ning about offered to row me over, and their grandfather made no ol)jection, I did not hesitate to avail myself of their services. The mouth of the lake was on the opposite side of the Ranos, and a little helow the sitio. Having reached it, we entered a dense forest, following the dried hed of the igarape, in which my guides were not slow to detect the recent footsteps of a jacare. Five minutes hronght us to the lake, and we emharked in the frail montana, in which it was necessary before starting so to stow our- selves as to preserve an exact balance. We then coasted ahon~ toward the Victoria, which appeared at a distance of some one hundred and fifty yards. We had made hut a few strokes when we perceived, hy the muddy water ahead of us that ajacare had just dived. As we passed cautiously over the trouhled water, a lard e jacare came to the surface a few yards from the offside of our montana, and then swam along, parallel to our course, apparently watching our motions very closely. Although the little fellows were frightened at the proximity of the jacare, their piscatorial instincts were so strong, that at the sight of a passing shoal of fish, they threw down their paddles, and seized their mimic hows and arrowsthe latter heing merely strips of the leaf- stalk of a l)alm, with a few notches cut near the pointand one of them actually succeeded in piercing and securing an arnara, of ahout eighteen inches long. Our scaly friend still stuck to us, and took no notice of our shouting and splashing in the water. At length, the eld- est lad bethought him of a large harpoon which was laid in the hottom of the montana; he held this up and poised it in his hand, and the jacare seemed at once to comprehend its use, for he retreated to the middle, and there remained sta- tionary until we left the lake. Humhohdt records, in his personal narrative, that he learnedof the Indians of San Fernan- do that scarcely a year passed without several persons, particularly women who fetch water from the river, heing devoured hy these carniver- ous reptiles. They related the history of a young girl of Urituen, who, by singular intre- pidity and presence of mind, saved herself from the jaws of a crocodile. When she felt herself seized, she sought the eyes of the animal, and plunged her fingers into them with such violence that the pain forced the crocodile to let go his hold, hut not until after having bitten off the lower part of her left arm. The girl, notwith- standing the enormous quantity of hlood she had lost, swam ashore with the hand that still remained to her. In those desert countries, where man is ever wrestling with nature, dis- course daily turns on the best means that many line employed to escape from.~ a tiger, a boa, or a crocodile; every one prepares himself in some sort for the dangers that may await him. I knew, said the young girl of Urituen coohy, that the cayman lets go his hold if yoti ptinsli your fingers into its eyes. Long after my re- turn to Europe I learned that in the interior of Africa the negroes know and practice the same means of defense. Who does not recollect with lively interest Isaac, the guide of Mungo Park, who was seized twice by a crocodile, and twice escaped from the jaws of the monster, having succeeded in thrusting his fingers into the creat- are s eyes while under water? The African Isaac and the young Indian girl owed their safety to the same presence of mind, and the same combination of ideas. We can add to the illustrations of the universality of the same method employed to escape from tbe reptile, that the Jacksonville Uonrier, published in Flor- ida, gives the details of a fight between a young man named Morton and an alligator ten feet lon~, in which Morton had his arm broken, but by goeqing the animal, he finally succeeded in making his escape. In Africa the negroes steal upon the alligator, THE ALLIGATOR. 43 and dexterously manage to drive a spear through I arm seized and instantly crushed in the jaws of the tail into the gronnd; while the reptile is the half-grown reptile. Children playing npon thus transfixed they torment it to their hearts the edges of shallow streams sometimes fall vic- content, and then secure for food such parts as tims; but our experience is, that the American they deem great luxuries. The wonderful escape representative is, comparatively speaking, a made by the Rev. John A. Butler, an American harmless creature, as will be clearly illustrated missionary in South Africa, from a crocodile, is by numerous examples. very thrilling, and characteristic of such encount- Chateaubriand had no other than poetical ers. The gentleman was returning from the dis- feelings called forth by witnessing the alligator charge of his duties in a distant village, and was in the lagoon everglades of Florida. Writing obliged to cross a river. No natives being pres- of them, he hreaks forth in the following plc- ent to mana~e the boat, he ventured to cross on turesque description: horseback, though the water was deep and tur- Whatever, be says, may be the apparent bid. As he went over safely, when he returned deformity of the alligator, they possess many the next day be a~ain ventured into the river in traits of the Divine goodness. A crocodile or the same way. When about two-thirds of the a serpent is not less tender of its young than way across, his horse suddenly kicked and a nightingale or a dove. It is a miraculous plunged, as if to disengage himself from his and touching contrast to see an alligator make rider, and the next moment a crocodile seized her nest and lay her eggs, and after the little Mr. Butlers thigh with his horrible jaws. The monsters are hatched, to notice the solicitude river at this place is about one hundred and fifty which the dam displays for her family. The yards wide, if measured at right angles to the amazon keeps vigilant watch while the fires of current. The water at high tide, and when the the day glow upon them. As soon as they river is not swollen, is from four to eight or ten are hatched the mother takes them under her feet deep. On each side, the banks are skirted protection, leads them to the river, bathes them with high grass and reeds. in the runninb water, teaches them to swim, Mr. Butler, when he felt the sharp teeth of catches fish for their subsistence, and protects the crocodile, clung to the mane of his horse them from the males, who would devour them with a death-hold. Instantly he was dragged as food. from the saddle, and both he and the horse were The mother of Moses must have thought the floundering in the water, often dragged entirely crocodile harmless, when she intrusted herbaby- under, and rapidly going down the stream. At boy among die reeds of the Nile. Pharaohs first the crocodile drew them again to the middle daughter and her attendants bathed freely in the of the river; but at last the horse gained shal- stream where the monsters most did congregate. low water, and approached the shore. As soon In some parts of Louisiana women and children as he was within reach, several natives ran to will, while bathing, take no more notice of the his assistance, and beat off the crocodile with alligators than to splash the water with their spears and clubs, hands to drive them off. Even in the terrible Mr. Butler was pierced with five deep gash- Ganges, we learn from an English missionary, es, and had lost much blood. He left all his that while he was looking at a number of chil- garments, except his shirt and coat, on the op- dren sporting in the water, he saw a large croco- posite shore with a native who was to follow dile proceeding toward the creek; he, in great him; but when the struggle commenced, the na- alarm, screamed, and made signs to some China- tive returned, and durst not venture into the wa- men near to come to his assistance. The Ce- ter again. It was now dark; and, without gar- lestials only laughed, and presently the mis- meats, and weak from loss of blood, he had sionary saw the reptile playing among the chil- seven miles to ride. He borrowed a blanket of dren. a native, and after two hours succeeded in reach- Audubon, while living in the Louisiana ing the station, more dead than alive, swamps, and studying the habits of the feather- His horse also was terribly mangled; a foot ed race, became very familiar with the alligator, square of the flesh and skin being torn from his and they were numerous on Red River, at the flanks. The animal, it is supposed, first seized time he observed them, almost heyond concep- his horse, and, when shaken oW he cau~ht Mr. tion. He says he has seen hundreds at once, Butler, first below the knee and then in the the smaller riding on the backs of the larger, thigh. There were five or six wounds from two groaning and bellowing like so many mad hulls to four inches long, and from, one half to two about to meet in fight, and so careless of man, and a half inches wide. After enduring, in ad- that, unless shot at or disturbed, they remained dition to his other misfortunes, the pains of a motionless, or took no notice of boats and ca- severe fever, he gradually recovered from the noes passing within a few yards of them. Dr. frightfnl contest. Lindsey, a gentleman who paid much attention We have frequently heard of the rapacity of to the habits of the alligator, relates that, with the alligator in the rivers and bayous of Lonisi- two companions, he was pursuing a :ounded ann, but it is seldom that an authenticated case deer, ten miles from Baton Rouge, when the is to be met with. We once had a neighbor in party came upon a den of alligators, all of which Concordia parish who walked out upon a log to appeared not only indifferent of their apl)roach, dip up some water from the lake, and had his but also incapable of being fri~htened. The gen 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tiemen dismounted, secured their horses, and di- To give a specific idea of its habits and nature vided their ammunition, which, though abundant is impossible, because of its pacific manner un- in powdcr, was restricted in lead to 450 buck- der the most trying experiments. Dr. Dowler shot. It was, therefore, determined to use only permanently prized open its mouth, and it seem- three of the latter at a charge. Each man had, ed perfectly satisfied; he fastened it helplessly therefore, fifty rounds. The hunters standing upon a dry platform, and it made no resistance; very near the reptile ~, caused every shot to be he buried it with weights under water, and it ap- fatal. The woanded all died in from three to l)eared content; he crowded food down its mouth, four minutes after being shot; they jerked, tum- and it remained for days undigested; he de- bled, turned on one side, held up their quiver- prived it of all food for weeks, and it grew in ing hands, and died. When the last shot was fatness; and probably, if it had been full fed, it fired the survivors lay quietly, unterrified and un- would have gone into a decline! At one time concerned. As deer are only in fine condition the alligator dies because of an apparently harm- in the winter, we presume the reptiles mentioned less scratch; at another time, although terribly by the Doctor were suffering somewhat from the mutilated, it seems hnpossible to destroy its vi- effects of cold. talitv. One time it eats with the voracity of a The form of the alligator is quite familiar; its tiger; then, without any apparent reason, it will hideousness is admitted; yet its elongated, Chi- reject food for months. It has its humors of nese-lookin~ eyes are so really beautiful, that courage, and, as with all braves if we are to they called forth from Job one of the most strik- believe good authority, its seasons of coward- ing figures that can be found in Eastern im- ice. The closest stu(ly of the alligator gives no agery. Speaking of them, he says, they are clear or satisfactory idea of its desires, aI)petites, like the eyelids of the morning. Think of hay- or habits. Lug the sun just peeping out between the lines The head of the alligator, ill shaped and re- of the horizon, amidst some dewy cloud, suggested pulsive as it appears, exhibits in its construction by the eye of the alligator; and yet the severely the same wonderful wisdom that characterizes truthful naturalist, 1)owler, (leclares them as the most charming works of creation. The cx- worthy the attention of poets as are the eyes of treme length of its jawswonld rende~ them easily the famed gazelles, broken if they were of solid bone as is usually ALLIGATOR ShOOTING IN TUE SWAMPS. THE ALLIGATOR. 45 the case; but instead, they are composed of elon~,ated sections, bound to,ether as the numer- ous springs of the cross-bow. The teeth, so ex- ceedingly hideous, exhibit, upon examination, some of the most beautiful contrivances in na- ture. They consist of eighty sharp - pointed ivory-looking cones, nearly equally divided be- tween the upper and lower jaw. By the cun- ning arrangement of a long tooth and a short one alternating throughout the entire set, they have a fang-like expression, which is increased from the fact that those of the lower jaw come inside of the upper, and enter holes in the roof of the month; and having no lips to hide these dental horrors, they are forever glistening upon you in apparent anger, and threatening destruc- tion. These teeth are shed annually; in the spring they are small and sharp, in the fall large and round. If you get the skull, and knock out a tooth, it is always found to rest upon one al- ready protruding out of the socket. The hunt- ers, who have in many instances a taste for rude carving, make beautiful rifle powder charges of the largest; aiid these alligator teeth are often unconsciously met with in jewelers stores, hand- somely set in silver, as ornaments for infants necks, aiid agreeable substances on which the juveniles can try their still toothless but aching gums. Herodotus repeated the idea that the croco- dile was tongueless, which caused it to be wor- shiped as the emblem of mystery, the leading feature of the Egyptian religion. Upon exam- ination of its mouth, there is found in the inte- rior an unformed mass of flesh, scithout any de- celoprnent at its tip, but which enlarges until finally it becomes a valve sufficiently large to cover the throat, and is evidently essential to pre- serve the stomach from involuntary intrusion, while the animal is pursuing its prey under wa- ter. Modern science, no doubt with truth, pro- nounces this a tongue, but the ancients, judging from appearances alone, seemed to think there was no such organ whatever. The legs of the alligator are awkwardly set on, and appear wholly disproportionate to the size of the body; they are really feeble, and are easily held so that the reptile can not draw them from your grasp. Its fore le~ is from twelve to eighteen inches long, and is not as thick as a boys arm of ten years old. The hind legs are but little larger. There seems to be no credulity implied in the belief of the story, often repeated and lictured even in scientific works, in which a man is represented as mounting on t.he back of an alligator, and using the two fore legswhich he drew over the reptiles backas one does the reins of a bridle. The tail of the alligator is its most efficient weapon of defense and attack. If its assailant can keep out of its way, comparatively little harm may be expected. If any animal it seeks for prey is standing upon the edge of the water, the reptile will take its bearing and swim noise- lessly toward the shore, occasionally bringing an eye to the surface for reconnoissance, then suddenly rising within striking distance, will whirl round its tail with lightning rapidity and generally bring the victim into its jaws. We were fishing on one occasion upon the Bayou Sara, a wild, desolate stream, although flowing through a most populous region of country, and on the opposite bank we noticed a tall crane that for an hour had been standing perfectly still and half-leg deep in the water, either re- flecting upon the mutability of ornithological affairs, oc watching for minnows. Our attention was also arrested by the apparent phenomenon of a limb of a tree taking upon itself niotion, and cautiously moving down the bank of the bayou toward the crane. The alligatorfor such it wasby a strange sidelong motion grad- ually reached its prey, but seemed in no haste to seize it. For a long while it appeared to be sleeping on the bank, when suddenly it con- tracted itself in a half circle round the bird, opened its jaws, and drove the bird into them with a terrihle certainty, and then with a nim- ble spring disappeared beneath the muddy cur- rent. The principal food of the alligator is fish; it is his mission, in the order of Providence, to assist in the destruction of those millions of fishes that come up out of the sea, in the annual overflows of the rivers, which might otherwise die, and by their decay breed pestilence through- out the land. The tail is the great adjunct to their mouth in taking their food in the water. The manner has been described as follows: The alligator placed his long body at a suitable distance from the shore, and as soon as the fish came between him and the land the body was curved, the tail run ashore, and the mouth opeii- ed nuder waterthe ensnared having no chance for escape, except running the gauntlet of the terrible jaws. The power of this singular ap- pendage was displayed on one occasion by a re- cently shot, and supposed to be stone dead, alligator. A novice to their peculiarities of playing possum, wishing to test the extreme hardness of their coat-of-mail, very innocently attempted to drive his huntimig-knife into the fore shoulder of the body before him. If the steel had been a galvanic battery it could not have acted more efficiently on the paralyzed but not dead muscles, for round came the tail instinctively to protect the wounded part, cut- ting off in its sweep an interfering sapling showing too plainly that a slender pair of legs would not have been in the way at all. Fortu- nately our philosopher struck his blow on the side of the reptile opposite to which he stood, and thus preserved himself from being a cripple for life. It is difficult to ascertain the probable length of the largest-sized alligators. In speaking of them there is always a disposition to maguify their proportions. A gentleman, who was ha- bitually careful in his expressions, iiiformed us that he once saw the jaws of an alligator which must have opened in the living reptile at least five feet. A distinguished orator of the South- 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ~vest nsserted to the day of his death that he once killed an alligator in the waters of Pas- cagoula Bay, Gulf of Mexico, that was twenty- one feet long. A planter of scientific proclivi- ties, residing in the vicinity of Red River, where it empties into the Mississippi, has in vain for years offered a reward of one hundred dollars tbr an alligator, dead or alive, over twelve feet lone. With the introduction of steamboats and population upon the Lower Mississippi its an- cients have disappeared, for Auduhon mentions one that he destroyed in the vicinity where this reward has since heen offered which seemed cen- turies old, and was seventeen feet in length. We had a good-natured friend who was ever tellin~ about the remains of an alligator he met with in his rambles on the Mexican Gulf coast, which was longer than we will repeat. It is possible there may he soniething ahout salt-sea e:r that produces a race of gigantic saurians at least all large al- ligators are located in such regions. Our hero of the long skel- eton always conclud- he stood C(l his tale by saying lowerjaw, and, while ~ erect, placed the iii) icr one on his head. In making the nest the female, in the spring, selects a dry lItre in the swamp. one not liable to overflow, where she makes quite a hillock of dried leaves, pieces of sticks, and whatever soft substnrices may he ceuvenient that will answer the purpose, in the centre of which she lays from twenty to forty eggs. The process of in- cubation seems dependent upon the heat of the sun and the fermeiitation of the materials of the nest. The female, however, always remains iti the imniediate vicinity, and will fi~ht with ma- ternal valor for her charge. The egg is larger and longer than that of the lien, and has a clear white appearance: they vary in size, those in some nests being larger than those in others. On one occasion with a hunting party, we were encamped for the night under a huge tree, when we were disturbed by an immense alligator that would a~)proach within the circle of tIme light, and evidently with hostile intentions. The hunters, familiar with the ah)l)earance of the reptile, paid no attention to it until some one discharged a load of buckshot in its face. All night long tIme monster was heard in the vicinity blowing and tumblina about wa in the ter~ in the morning we discovered that we had actually sonetted (iowa beside a wellfilled TuE YOUNG ALLIGATeH COMING OUT OF THE iHELL. AN ALLiCATOR SEiZING A mANE. THE ALLIGATOR. 47 nest! In fact, two or three of the amphihitis failed him, and he sprang into the water in one were peeping out of their shells, and the re- direction, and the, alligator, evidently rejoiaed mainder had so far advanced heyoud the yolk, to get out of the way, disappeared in another. thatto use the expressive language of one of The power the alligator possesses to exist a our party thunder couldnt spile em ! The long time without food, is one of its most extraor- moment the young emerge from their prison dinary peculiarities, and almost exceeds belief. they immediately hide away, and seldom appear We have known one of good size to he kept six in puhlic unless under the immediate guardian- months in a dry yard, without food or water, ship of their maternal parent. They have in- and seemingly not to suffer from the fast. The numerahle enemies: while in the tenderness of reader will therefore not be surprised at the feb youth, large cranes and voracious fish think them lowing illustrative anecdotes: Some years ago, quite a delicacy; while the old hulls, if they while residing in the parish of Concordia, Lou- come across them, make no nice distinctions isiana, we received through the post a letter between them and frogs, hut chew them up of portentous appearance, and covered over with with infinite gusto. stamps, which indicated that it had run the gaunt- The fondness of the female for her young is let through half the powers and principalities so great that the responsihilities of parent seems of Europe. Upon opening the document, we for the time to increa.se her intelligence. She found a letter from a world-famed professor of will make any sacrifice in their defense, and he- Germany, who wasto use his own language comes, if disturbed, a foe. When the young are desirous of ohtaining a living specimen of the quite small, as a last resort, if danger threaten, Urocodibis IIIississippiensis, for the benefit of sci- they run down the mothers throat to get out of harms way, and are generally seen clustered upon her scaly hack, eying with juvenile curl- osityher successful efforts to procure them food. A Spaniard of Florida relates, that having carried off an al- ligators hrood, which he placed in a hasket, borne away by negroes, the mother followed uttering piteous cries. Two of the young ones were lint upon the ground, when she im- mediately began to push them hack toward her haunts with her long snout, keeping behind to protect them, and then walking before to show the way. The little reptiles paddled along grunting after their dam, the huge monster meanwhile displaying the most marked satis- faction. Upon being attacked the alligator squats with its head close to the ground, and ence, by the better understanding of its habits thus watches the intruder. Feeling themselves and anatomy. Provisions were made through disposed to show anger, they gradually rise on different consuls for its safe conveyance and all their feet, distend themselves, and hiss something expenses. We made a public appeal through like the expiring note of a hlacksmiths bellows. I the press in behalf of a specinien ; and were A peculiarity of the reptile is, that it will never not oiily accommodated by kind neighbors with turn out of its way, even to oblige a scoundrel, several of thin desirable age and condition, but as once did John Randolph. If the path he some one, with commendable pride in the growth narrow, you must kill the alligator or turn back of the staple, hind a monster of many extra yourself. A h)hanter friend of ours, who spent feet in lengtlt, in the dead hour of the night, fast- much of his time upon the romantic waters of cued at our door, whose hinge jaws, as exhibited Lake Solitudeso pleasantly described by Sir by daylight, opened wide enotigh to swallow any Charles Lyehlgot into his long canoe, and as philosopher who wotild (hare to iiiterfere with his he settled the oars into the row-locks he dis- habits or dental fixtures. Two alligators, how- covered a large alligator in the canoe, head to- ever, we shipped to Gottingen or its neighbor- ward him, on the point of making his escape. hood. They were simply secured in boxes uf- Both parties were mutually embarrassed; yet fording plenty of air, and in this condition start- tIme immutable law of the alligator, always to go I ed Oh their travels. By the aid of steamboats, ahead, left no choice but to get out of his way. ships, and rail-cars, they finally, after various Sprimiging with his feet upon the gunwale, otir adventures through the long period of nearly friend stood for a moment like the Colossus of five months, in good health reached the destined Rhodes, intending to let the peacefully-disposed owner, and had not, in all that time, lived on else intruder pass between his legs, but his courage than faith, sunshitie, and the dews of heaven. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Between the deer and bear hunters and the alligator there is a confirmed war. Seldom in- deed will they miss a chance of knocking over their enemy, even if it is at the expense of losing their more coveted game. In the chase, the difficult to raise and highly-prized pack of hounds most frequently takes to the water, and while thns exposed, the alligator, ever on the watch, the moment he hears the loud hay, sac- rifices them without mercy. An interesting and well-authenticated anecdote is told ,~ illustra- tive of the hound in avoiding its enemy. A gentleman, living in the Opelensas country, and remarkably fond of hunting, kept a choice pack of dogs, which, in going from the house to the woods, had to cross a stream celebrated for its innumerable alligators. They soon dis- covered where lay the danger, and when they desired to cross the stream, they would come together on the hanks, and utter the most un- earthly yells. The alligators in the vicinity wonld pop up their heads above the water in all directions, and then simultaneously rush to the place where the hounds appeared to be on the point of entering the stream. The hounds. having satisfied themselves that their enemies had come ~vell together, would then suddenly start up the bank, run a few hundred yards and cross, making their ferry before the fooled reptiles could reach them. Next to that of the dog, swines flesh seems to be a favorite delicacy with the alligator. Pigs stand but little chance, if once caught too near the edges of the bayous; while thus exposed, if an alligator is espied, a litter of young roast- ers soon disappear. We were very much amused on an occasion, to witness a rash and terrible fight between an alligator of good size and a miserable old hog, known as of the alli- gator breed. Perhaps there was a real affinity between them, for their heads were strangely alike. However, a pitch battle of some mo- ments ensued, when, to my suprise, the alligator suddenly quit his hold and seemed satisfied to make off with a whole hide. The extraordinary part was, that the victorious and venerable old porker never left the place, but, crowned with its victorious wreaths, quietly disposed of itself in the soft mud, and soon grunted itself into a sound sleep. The bear is also sometimes a victim to the alligators prowess: if Bruin be fairly seized and gotten nuder the water, he seldom escapes. We have heard of many such incidents. A graphic account of such a contest, evidently nTitteu by an eye-witness, appeared many years since. Every incident is brought vividly before the minds eye. The witness, while fishing on the banks of a beautiful stream in Western Louisiana, was startled by the roaring of some animal in the cane-break near by, apparently getting ready for action. These notes of preparation were succeeded by the sound of feet, trampling down the cane and scattering the shells on the ground. flushing to the trysting, instead of there being, as was supposed, two prairie bulls mixing im- petuously in battle, there was a large black bear raised upon his hind legs, his face be- smeared with white foam, sprinkled with blood, which, dropping from his mouth, rolled down his shaggy breast. Frantic from the smarting of his wounds he stood gnashing his teeth and growling at his enemy. On a hank of snow- white shells, in battle array, was Brains foea monster alligator. lie looked as if he had just been dipped in the Teche, and had emerged, like Achilles from the Styx, with an invulner- able coat of mail: he was standing on tiptoe, his back curved upward, and his tongueless mouth thrown open, displaying his wide jan s, two large tusks and rows of teeth. His tail. six feet long, raised from the ground, was con- stantly waving like a boxers arm to gather force; his big eyes, starting from his head, glared upon Brain, while sometimes uttering hissing cries, then roaring like a bull. Brain, though evidently baffled, had a firm look, which showed he had not lost confidence in himself. If the difficulty of the undertaking had once deceived him, he was preparing to go at it again. Accordingly, letting himself down upon all fours, he ran furiously at the alligator, which being ready for him, threw his head and body partly round to avoid the onset, and met Brain half way n ith a blow of the tail that rolled him on the shells. The bear was not to be put off by one hurt: three times in rapid succession he rushed at the alligator, and was as often re- pulsed in the same manner, being knocked back by each blow just far enough to give the alligator, before he returned, time to recover the swing of his tail. The tail of the alligator sounded like a flail against the coat of hair on Bruins head and shoulders, but he bore it with- out flinching, still pushing on to come to close hold with his scaly foe. Finally, he made his fourth charge with a degree of dexterity which those who have never seen this clumsy animal exercising would sup- pose him incapable ot This time he got so close to the alligator before the tail struck him. that the blow came with but half its usual ef- fect. The alligator was upset by the charge, and before he could recover his feet Bruin grasped him round the body, below the fore legs, and holding him down on his back, seized one of the reptiles legs in his mouth. The alligator was now in a desperate situation; be attempted in vain to bite, for his neck was so stiff that he could not turn his head around. Seized with desperation, the amphibious beast fetched a scream of despair; but being a war- nor by flood and field, he was not yet entirely overcome. Writhing his tail in agony, he hap- pened to strike it against a small tree that stood next the bayouaided by this purchase he made a convulsive flounder, which precipitated him- self and Bruin, locked together, into the river. The bank from which they fell was four feet high, and the water below seven feet deep. The tranquil stream received the combatants with a THE ALLIGATOR 49 loud splash, then closed over them in silence. I A volley of ascending bubbles announced their arrival at the bottom, where the battle ended. Presently Bruin rose again, scrambled up the hank, cast a glance hack at the river, and, all ~ripping, made off to the cane-brake. Some of the popular fables respecting the al- ligator should now give way to truth. The oft- repeated idea of their hypocrisy in shedding un- feeling tears has had a hold, through poetry, in the worlds imagination long enough. The spe- cies are honest in their indignation, and shed no tears at all; for their lachrymal fountains have been sought in vain by detestable tobacco- juice, and if they are angry, however imprudent it might be to show it, the alligator will honestly hiss you to your face. Herodotus, noticing that the crocodile invariably raised its head when opening its mouth, conceived the idea that it moved its upper jaw down on its lower one. This impression is most natural to every one who sees the monsters in their native haunts; but anatomy proves that the lower jaw, as in all animals, alone moves in a socket. We conclude our article on alligators by al luding to the strange bellowing uttered at times by the old bulls, as they are termed by the swampers. In the season of nest-making, this strange noise partakes of the lions roar, and can be heard for many miles, and while you atten- tively listen you can feel a perceptible vibration of the air. By this terrific noise you can form no idea of the distance the reptiles may be from you; for, at one moment, the primo basso comes rolling in with the distinctness of thun der, and then will die away in strange and mysterious cadences, most harmonious with the dark gloom of the forest wilds., Such is the love-song of the alligator, which fills the irrev- erent of even this age with strange and awe-in- spiring emotions, and suggests sublime thoughts of the mysteries of nature. If such be our ex- perience, what must have been the feelings of the ancient people of the Nile, when, in the quiet hours of an Oriental night, they heard their great god waking up from the waters of that still unex- plored river, and sendinghis gigantic voice vibra ting through the vaults of their temples, or whis- pering in soft murmurs among their groves of palm. FIGHi naTwasa THS ALLIGATOR ANI) BRAG. .50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Central America, Bogota, and Peru, that aborig- inal civilization reached its highest phase of de- velopment, and aboriginal population its greatest numerical strength. And it requires no pre- science to discover, in future times, in the conrsc of those great revolutions which no human will or systems of human laws or compacts can con- trol, but which flow inevitably from High Design, that here the great composite race, which in our own conntry has achieved snch marvels of pro- NfOT among the least of the gress, will attain to its highest development and I~results which have followed greatest power. upon the acqnisition of California, and the dis- Nor is this resnlt to be contemplated as spec- covery of its golden treasures, is the tropical ulative and remote: it is real and near. Is it direction which has incidentally been given to not significative that the English language now American enterprise. Regions before unknown, dominates in Panama, and that an American or but vaguely known through the wild tales town terminates that line of transit on the At- of the buccaneers, where a vertical sun shone lnntica town raised as by enchantment from down upon high volcanic mountains and forests the sea, in defiance of every natural obstacle? of rare woods, and where, in later years, a group Steam and the printing-press have acclimated of anarchical republics had sprung up on the themselves there, in practical and triumphant ruins of the semi-barbaric viceroyalties of jeal- disproval of those hoary hypotheses which in- ous and exclusive Spainthese strange regions vested the tropics with beauty, and forbade them have now become familiar alike to the dwellers to civilizationwhich made them an Eden, and on the arid shores of New England and on the placed Death as an inappeasable sentinel at its banks of the turbid Mississippi. Thousands and portal. hundreds of thousands of active and adventur- Further to the northward, the great modern ous men have traversed the seas where, for two magician, Enterprise, and his Cyclop, Work, hundred years, and almost within the memory have effected transformations scarcely less won- of this generation, piracy was the rule rather derful. The broad and beautiful lakes of Nicar- than the exception. They have crossed the con- agua are beaten into sparkling foam beneath the tinent in the footsteps of Pizarro and his follow- wheels of treasure-laden steamers, and the dense ers, and given new life and activity to those forests which line the banks of her rivers now quaint old towns in which Drake and Morgan, ring back the clangor of the engine and the and the rest of the rollicking old freebooters, so shrill scream of the steam-whistle, as faithfully often gorged themselves with the spoil of the as they once echoed the vesper song of the boat- Spaniard. And, practical as adventurous, their man and the dash of his steady oar. restless gray eyes have marked out new lines of Look down with me from this gentle emi- travel, and the sites of new cities, better adapt- nence. Seest thou, in yonder little bay, the grace- ed to the wants of commerce and the require- ful forms of many small vessels, whose taper meats of transit than those which for three masts and half-furled sails show that they be- hundred years had satisfied a humdrum world, long to that age which is passing away, when the With not less of romance than attached to the mariner courted the wind, and depended for figurative marriage of Venice to the Adriatic, prosperous voyages on the favoring breath of superadded to practical zeal and Herculean en- heaven? Beside them, in grim contrast, is the ergy, they have bound the Atlantic to the Pacific black hull and grimed rigging of a Pacific steam- with an iron band, and are seeking to break down er, within whose iron bosom throb the prisoned the barriers which divide them, and to mingle spirits of fire and waterchained allies of man their as yet estranged waters. in his warfare against the elements. Along the The undefined terrors of tropical climates, the crescent shore, relieved against an emerald back- dangers which were supposed to lurk beneath its ground of forest, which robes the amphitheatre inviting exteriordeadly fevers, venomous rep- of hills in eternal green, are white cottages and tiles, and ferocious beasts of preyhave been broad-roofed warehouses, homes of affection and found to be little better than idle fictions; and depositories of wealth. What of all this, askest experience has shown that, with rare excep- thou, oh reader? Only that he who speaks to tions, on low coasts, where daily rains, inter- theehis eye is yet undimmed and his brow rupted by fierce intervals of sunshine, have unwrinkledstood five years ago where thou forced vegetable nature into rank exuberance, standest, and looked down upon this little bay and created dense, dank jungles, the birth-place as thou lookest. The forest swept down to the and home of malariathat elsewhere, among edge of the water, the misanthropic sea-bird the open savannas, on the elevated plains and mused on the solitary shore, and the waves of terraces of the interior, and along the flanks of the Pacific rolled in silent majesty, unresisted by its mountain ranges, nature has lavished her keel of ship or wheel of steamer. And so it had richest gifts, the products of every zone, and a been forever! This is now the port of San Juan climate of unequaled salubrity. It was in the del Sur; and here the adventurer, bound to the high valleys and elevated table-lands of Mexico, golden gates of the Land of Promise, first em-

San Juan De Nicaragua 50-61

.50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Central America, Bogota, and Peru, that aborig- inal civilization reached its highest phase of de- velopment, and aboriginal population its greatest numerical strength. And it requires no pre- science to discover, in future times, in the conrsc of those great revolutions which no human will or systems of human laws or compacts can con- trol, but which flow inevitably from High Design, that here the great composite race, which in our own conntry has achieved snch marvels of pro- NfOT among the least of the gress, will attain to its highest development and I~results which have followed greatest power. upon the acqnisition of California, and the dis- Nor is this resnlt to be contemplated as spec- covery of its golden treasures, is the tropical ulative and remote: it is real and near. Is it direction which has incidentally been given to not significative that the English language now American enterprise. Regions before unknown, dominates in Panama, and that an American or but vaguely known through the wild tales town terminates that line of transit on the At- of the buccaneers, where a vertical sun shone lnntica town raised as by enchantment from down upon high volcanic mountains and forests the sea, in defiance of every natural obstacle? of rare woods, and where, in later years, a group Steam and the printing-press have acclimated of anarchical republics had sprung up on the themselves there, in practical and triumphant ruins of the semi-barbaric viceroyalties of jeal- disproval of those hoary hypotheses which in- ous and exclusive Spainthese strange regions vested the tropics with beauty, and forbade them have now become familiar alike to the dwellers to civilizationwhich made them an Eden, and on the arid shores of New England and on the placed Death as an inappeasable sentinel at its banks of the turbid Mississippi. Thousands and portal. hundreds of thousands of active and adventur- Further to the northward, the great modern ous men have traversed the seas where, for two magician, Enterprise, and his Cyclop, Work, hundred years, and almost within the memory have effected transformations scarcely less won- of this generation, piracy was the rule rather derful. The broad and beautiful lakes of Nicar- than the exception. They have crossed the con- agua are beaten into sparkling foam beneath the tinent in the footsteps of Pizarro and his follow- wheels of treasure-laden steamers, and the dense ers, and given new life and activity to those forests which line the banks of her rivers now quaint old towns in which Drake and Morgan, ring back the clangor of the engine and the and the rest of the rollicking old freebooters, so shrill scream of the steam-whistle, as faithfully often gorged themselves with the spoil of the as they once echoed the vesper song of the boat- Spaniard. And, practical as adventurous, their man and the dash of his steady oar. restless gray eyes have marked out new lines of Look down with me from this gentle emi- travel, and the sites of new cities, better adapt- nence. Seest thou, in yonder little bay, the grace- ed to the wants of commerce and the require- ful forms of many small vessels, whose taper meats of transit than those which for three masts and half-furled sails show that they be- hundred years had satisfied a humdrum world, long to that age which is passing away, when the With not less of romance than attached to the mariner courted the wind, and depended for figurative marriage of Venice to the Adriatic, prosperous voyages on the favoring breath of superadded to practical zeal and Herculean en- heaven? Beside them, in grim contrast, is the ergy, they have bound the Atlantic to the Pacific black hull and grimed rigging of a Pacific steam- with an iron band, and are seeking to break down er, within whose iron bosom throb the prisoned the barriers which divide them, and to mingle spirits of fire and waterchained allies of man their as yet estranged waters. in his warfare against the elements. Along the The undefined terrors of tropical climates, the crescent shore, relieved against an emerald back- dangers which were supposed to lurk beneath its ground of forest, which robes the amphitheatre inviting exteriordeadly fevers, venomous rep- of hills in eternal green, are white cottages and tiles, and ferocious beasts of preyhave been broad-roofed warehouses, homes of affection and found to be little better than idle fictions; and depositories of wealth. What of all this, askest experience has shown that, with rare excep- thou, oh reader? Only that he who speaks to tions, on low coasts, where daily rains, inter- theehis eye is yet undimmed and his brow rupted by fierce intervals of sunshine, have unwrinkledstood five years ago where thou forced vegetable nature into rank exuberance, standest, and looked down upon this little bay and created dense, dank jungles, the birth-place as thou lookest. The forest swept down to the and home of malariathat elsewhere, among edge of the water, the misanthropic sea-bird the open savannas, on the elevated plains and mused on the solitary shore, and the waves of terraces of the interior, and along the flanks of the Pacific rolled in silent majesty, unresisted by its mountain ranges, nature has lavished her keel of ship or wheel of steamer. And so it had richest gifts, the products of every zone, and a been forever! This is now the port of San Juan climate of unequaled salubrity. It was in the del Sur; and here the adventurer, bound to the high valleys and elevated table-lands of Mexico, golden gates of the Land of Promise, first em- SAN JUAN DE NICARAGUA. 51 barks on that placid sea, whose waters alone separate the regions of Cathay, of Ormus and the md, crowned with the hoar of centuries, from the irresistible offspring of modem time, the great practical Reality of To-day. This is San Juan of the South. Two hun- dred miles away to the eastward, past the lakes of Nicaragua and the wide expanse of forest which covers the Atlantic declivity of the con- tinent, tenanted only by wild beasts and birds of many hues, is another town, San Juan of the Northancient as this is young, a town of viscissitudes, important in spite of itself, and conspicuous beyond its ambitions. Romance has often portrayed the fate of rustic beauty so unfortunate as to attract the attentions of rank and power; and the yet warm ashes of San Juan bear witness that, with nations as among individuals, the weak are but the pawns which reckless Power plays against unscrupulous Strength. It is the hypothesis of some philosophers that every word and act of every human being, how- ever humble, leaves its permanent impression on nature, which thus becomes the great regis- trar of events, typified as the Recording Angel. It is certainly true that events are so indissolu- bly linked together, that no human ingenuity can accurately define their relations, or in what mode they react upon each other. For nearly three hundred years, from 1529, when the ad- venturous Diego de Machuca descended the river San Juan from Lake Nicaragua, and indicated the port at its mouth, until 1848, San Juan was almost utterly unknown to the world. Writers on the dreamy project of uniting the two oceans by means of a canal referred to it vaguely as the necessarily eastern terminus of that work, and a few traders sent vessels thither to bring away cargoes of dye-woods, and hides and indigo, which came there in quaint river boats, hol- lowed from the gigantic trunks of the ceiba tree, manned by tall, half-naked, swarthy men, from some undefined and distant interior. A few dozen huts of thatch, built in a narrow opening in the dense forest which burdened the low shore, comprised all that there was of a town. A small fort of logs, manned by a com- mandant who wore his shirt outside of his panta- loons, at the head of a dozen soldiers who wore no shirts at all, constituted whatever there was of local government and authority. The world and its movements had no interest to the dwell- ers in San Juan. An occasional vessel gave them occupation for a few days in loading and unloading, and brought them, what was of more consequence than all, a supply of rum and new strings for their guitars. The vessels ~vent away, and then they had music and enliven- ing drains, with much dancing, not over-modest, lazy swinging in hammocks, and no end of sleep. And thus the days ~vent on, and weeks, and months and years rolled by. The log fort gradually rotted away, and the guns buried themselves in the sand. But while the dwellers in San Juan danced, and drank, and slumbered, Taylor had fought the battles of Monterey and Buena Vista, Scott had planted his flag on the palaces of Mexico, and California had succumbed to American arms. Then came peace, and with it the ces- sion of a new empire on the Pacific, with its vast and unanticipated results, which have since affected the entire relations of the world. San Juan, in its tropical seclusion and miser- able insignificance, one might suppose, would have escaped complication with these great events. But her ample port and important geo- graphical position had long been known and ap- preciated by a power which is never blind to its material interests, nor scrnpulous in promoting them. Her statesmen saw that with the acqui- sition of California by the United States, the pro- ject of an inter-oceanic communication wouldbe- come invested with an immediate and practical importance. As soon, therefore, as the proba- bilities of this acquisition became decided, means were taken to grasp the keys to the natural high. way between the oceans. Eight days before the treaty of peace with Mexico was signed, two British vessels of war appeared in the harbor of San Juan, and took forcible possession of the place, under the shallow pretext that it per- tained to a mythical personage called the King of Mosquito, of whom Great Britain affected to be the protector. Nicaragua which, as a province of Spain, and subsequently as an independent Republic, had for more than three hundred years been in unquestioned possession of the port, not only protested against this act of violence, but en- deavored fruitlessly to expel the invaders. Her forces were routed, and she was compelled to enter into an engagement not to disturb the usurpers in their occupation of the sole Atlantic terminus of the then supposed only feasible route of communication between the seas. A British officer, under the denomination of Her Britannic Majestys Consul-General in Mosqui- to, now assumed the exercise of all legislative and executive power at San Juanthe name of which was changed to Greytown. He promulgated laws on slips of paper stuck on the cane walls of the hut which, in the absence of other accommodations, he was fain to occupy, and enforced them through the aid of an ef- fective body of armed police, consisting of two negroes from Jamaica! The natives of San Juan marveled greatly at these proceedings, and were outraged in being obliged to coop up their pigs and chickensin disregard of the prerogatives which those useful animals had enjoyed for time immemorial. But they soon got used to it, and hammocks, drains, and gui- tars resumed their ancient sway. 1849. It was scarcely a year after the seizure above recounted took place, when the writer of this sketch entered the port of San Juan for the first time. It was after a tedious voyage, in a small and uncomfortable vessel, from which 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. escape to any land, not absolutely a desert, would have been an indescribable relief. Hence it was, perhaps, that even San Juan looked beautiful, although a rigid analysis might have failed to discover wherein its beauties consist- ed. The shore was low and sandy, and upon it was ranged a line of houses, or rather huts, some built of boards, but most of reeds, and all thatched with palm leaves. Some came down to the water like boat-sheds, as they really were, covering pitpans and canoes. Larger contrivances for navigating the San Juan riv- er, called bouqos, were moored close inshore, and upon each might be seen a number of very long and very l)lack legs, every pair supporting a very short white shirt for, among the inno- vations of TI. B. Ms Consul-General was a requirement that respectable adult citizens should not dispense with both pantaloons and shirts at one and the same time. Behind the town rose the (lense tropical forest. There were no clearinys, no lines of road stretching back into the country; nothing but (lark soli- tudes, where the tapir andi the wild boar roam- ed unmolested; where the painted macaw and noisy parrot, flying from one giant tree to an- other, alone disturbed the silence, and where the many- lined serpents of the tr6pics coiled among vines loaded with flowers and fragrant with gums. The arrival of our little brig created a great. excitement in San Juan, and when we landed we found the entire population of the town col- lected on the shore to receive us. The dress of the urchins, from twelve or fourteen down ~vard, cotisisted yenerallv of a straw-hat and cigarthe latter sometimes unlighited and stuck behind the ear, but oftener lighted and stuck in the mouth; a costume airy, picturesque, and cheap withal The women had white or how ered skirts, fastened above the hips, and a sort of large vandvke, with holes for the arms, which hung down loosely over the breast. In sonic cases the latter garment was rather short, and left exposed a strip of skin at the waist, which the wanton wind often made much wider. They all had their hair braided in two long locks, which hung down behind, and gave them a school-girly appearanccqtiite out of keeping with the cool, deliberate manner in which they smoked their cigars. Their feet were innocent of stockings; btit a few suspiciotishv-fashsionahhe ladies wore slippers of white satin, evidently reserved for some important occasion, such as the arrival of a vessel. A number of them had gaudy-colored rebosos thrown over their heads; and altogether the entire joup, with an advance-guard of sullen-looking curs, was 1)0th novel and picturesque. We were too glad to get ashore, and too eager to enjoy our new liberty, to stand upon ceremony, and so pushed our way through the crowd of gazers, and started down the principal avenue, which had been called Kiuc, Street The doors of the huts were open, and in all of them might be seen hammocks swung so as to SAN JUAN DE NICARAGUA. 53 catch every passing current of air. In some of these, reclining in attitudes suggestive of in- tense laziness, were swarthy figures of men, whose apathy even the arrival of a vessel in the port could not disturb. We caught also occa- sional glimpses of the domestic economy of the inhabitants, and could not help admiring the perfect equality and general good understand- ing which existed between the pigs, babies, dogs, cats, and chickens. They lay down toget~er in millennial confidence, and the pigs gravely took pieces of tortillas away from the babies, and the babies as gravely took other pieces away from the pigs. It did not require much time to exhaust the sights of San Juan; and, after passing through its principal and only street, we struck off in a path to the right, followed by a troop of boys and grown-up vagabonds. A few paces brought us to the edge of a beautiful lagoon, fenced in by a bank of verdure, upon the edges of which were a number of women, naked to the waist who had not yet heard the news. They were engaged in washing clothes; that is to say, they dipped them in the water, squeezed over them the juice of limes, and then placing them on the bottom of an old canoe, beat them vehemently with clubs. Visions of buttonless shirts rose up incontinently before us, in long perspective, as we followed our path, which led along the shores of the la,oon, and invited us to the cool, deep shades of the forest. A flock of chattering par- roquets fluttered above us, and strange fruits and flowers appeared on every side. We had not gone far before we perceived a strange odor of musk, and directly we heard a heavy plunge in the water. We stopped short and listened; hut one of the urchins waved his hand con- temptuously, and ejaculated Lagartos I,, And sure enough, glancing among the bushes, we saw an enormous alligator leisurely propelling himself throu~h the water! The neighborhood of such gentry was scarcely to our liking, and the urchins, keen enough in observation, noticed our surprise. It only required a suggestion from one of thema naked little ebon rascal in advance, who looked suspiciously around at the same timethat there were many snakes about, to induce us to turn back, and defer our walk in the woods until another day. At the time of which I write, the town of San Juan consisted of some fifty or sixty dwellings of the rudest and most primitive construction, scarcely making an approach to what, in the United States, would be called respectable out- houses. They were, in fact, mere palm-thatched sheds, roughly boarded up, or made of a kind of wicker-work of canes, in some cases plaster- ed over with mud.~ The furniture, consisting of a hammock, a high table, a few chairs,and a hide bed, was in entire keeping with the dwell- ings. Yet, mean and uninviting as were these structures, they answered a tolerable purpose in a climate where any thing beyond a roof to keep off the rain and sun may almost be regarded as a superfluity. The heavy thatch of palm leaves or long grass is an effectual protection against these; and though it affords excelh~nt quarters for scorpions, serpents, rats, and other pleasant colonists yet under the tropics these soon cease to excite apprehension, and, with mice and cock- roaches, sink into commonplaces. The population of San Juan did not exceed three hundred. Besides what might be called the native inhabitantswho had the same char- acteristics in language, habits, and customs with the lower classes of the interior of Nicaragua there were a few foreigners and some creoles of pure stock, who resided there as agents or con- signees of mercantile houses. The population, therefore, exhibited every variety of race and complexionwhites, Indians, mestizos, negroes, and sambosblack, brown, yellow, foul, and fair all mingled together in utter disregard of the conventionalities founded on color. There was neither church nor school-house in San Juan, nor indeed in the whole Mosquito Kingdom; although the English Church had been formally proclaimed as the established re- ligion of the monarchy! Previously to the En- glish seizure, the place had been a curacy de- pendent on the diocess of Nicaragua; but after- ward the zopilote (turkey-buzzards), as the black-robed priests were irreverently called, were rarely seen. While making arrangements for ascending the river, we took up our quarters in a kind of store-house, used as a depository for the hides, indigo, and tobacco which came down~rom the interior. Here we swung hatnmocks, and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would admit. The first night on shore passed pleas- antly, interrupted only by various droppings from the roof which the active fancies of my com- panions converted into scorpions and other nox- ious insects. We dined regularly with H. B. M.s Con- sul-General, who, as I have intimated, was in- vested with full and all manner of power and authority to administer the government of the port. The Nicaraguens at the castillo on the river, it ~vas alleged, had cut off all supplies from that direction, with a view of starving out their enemies; and, as a consequence, provisions in San Juan were as limited in quantity as poor in quality. The people of the place, it is true, had divers pigs and chickens; but, animated by the same kind of hostility with their countrymen above, they flatly refused to sell to the new authorities, who were reduced to salt junk and ship biscuit, with a very scant supply of vegetables. In this emergency, H. B. M.s Consul-General hit upon a happy expedient. He promulgated an order declaring that public decency and comfort required that all the pigs and chickens of the place should no longer roam at large, but be securely cooped and penned, under penalty of being shot and confiscated by Her Majestys servants. But as the pigs and poultry had al- ways enjoyed unrestrained freedom, and, further- more, as there were neither coops nor pens, it 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. followed that this wholesome regulation could be but partially complied with. It became, therefore, the unpleasant duty of the police to enforce the lawwhich they did in a very discreet and proper manner, never shooting more vagrant pigs and chickens than were necessary for the days consumption at the Consulate. In this wise the laws were vindicated, and the larder of the Consul replenished. The town of San Juan is situated on the southern side of the harbor, which is separated from the sea by a low sandy strip of land, called Point Arenas. Here the Spaniards erected their defenses for the protection of the I)ort, the ruins of which can still be traced. We visited the Point, a day or two after our arrival, and found encamped there a few families of the Mosquito Indians, who had come down the coast to strike turtle, the shell of which constitutes about their only article of commerce. They were the most squalid wretches imaginable. Their huts con- sisted of a few poles set in a slanting direction, upon which was thrown a quantity of palm leaves. The sides were open, and altogether each structure must have cost fifteen minutes labor. Under these rude shelters were crowded a number of half-naked figures, begrimed with dirt, their faces void of expression, and alto- gether brutish. They were engaged in eating, a and only stared at us vacantly when we spoke to them. Their food was the flesh of the alli- gator and manitee, which had been chopped in large pieces, and then thrown into the fire until the outer portions were completely charred. These they devoured without salt, and with a wolfish greediness disgusting to behold. At a little distance, away from the filth and stench, the huts, with the groups beneath and around them, were really picturesque objects. Leaving these poor creatures, our boatmen paddled our canoe into the winding channels of the many-mouthed San Juan, studded with numerous low islands, on which, in cool, leafy arbors, we saw many thatched huts, surrounded by bare, hard ground, flecked with the sunlight, which danced in mazes as the wind waved the branches above. Around them were dark na- ked figures, and before them light canoes drawn close to the bank, filling out the foreground of pictures such as we had imagined in reading the quaint recitals of the early voyagers. Their ef- fects were heightened by the parrots and ma- caws which fluttered their bright wings on the roofs of the huts, and deafened the spectator with their shrill voices. Occasionally a tame monkey was seen swinging by his tail from the branches of the trees, and making grimaces at us ns we passed. The habits of the natives were unchanged in the space of three hundred years: the scenes we gazed upon were the counterparts of those which Columbus himself had witnessed when he coasted along these shores. Eternal summer reigned here; the wants of the people were few and simple, and Nature supplied them profusely with all the necessaries of existence. They little SAN JUAN DE NICARAGUA. thought, these dwellers in rude cahins, that the strangers gliding silently hefore them were there to prepare the way for the clanging steamer and the advent of daring, pcrhaps unscrupulous en- terprise, which should dissolve the spell that hnd rested upon these slumhering shores for un- counted centuries. They little dreamed that the great world was meditating the Titanic en- terprise of laying open their primeval solitudes, grading down their hills, and opening a canal from one great ocean to the other, over which the navies of the world might pass, laden with the treasures of two hemispheres! 1853. Such was San Juan in 1849. Four years later, on a sunny afternoon in February, the writer again approached the shores of Central America, and again entered the harhor of San Juan. This time, however, a crowded Califor- nia steamer had replaced the little brig, and we steered holdly into the hay which it had before taken a day of coquetry with the fickle winds to enter. The same low shore, with its monotonous forest, the same good-natured por- poises, and the same heavy pulsations of the Car- rihbean Sea; hut the Ilort itself; how changed! The British Mail-steamer was anchored in the middle of the harhor, surrounded hy a number of trading vessels; while close to the eastern shore lay a steamer from New Orleans, densely crowded with passengers, who hailed us with a a chccrs. They had heen here two days, swel- tering in the hot sun, awaiting our arrival, and the consequent dispatch of the river steamers of the Transit. Point Arenaswhere the squalid Mosquito Indians had built their rude huts four years heforewas now covered with huge sheds, the workshops of the Company holding the monopoly of transit, and the houses of its officers and workmen. They were rough, rick- ety structures, raised on the hare sand; for their huilders had foolishly cut away the hushes that had l)rotected the Point from the abrasion of the sea, which now encroached upon the penin~ula, and even hroke over it into the harbor, wben the wind was strong from the eastward. There were a few small, dingy steamers, roughly lint to- gether at the outset, and roughly treated after- ward, strongly resembling the lower order of pleheina steam-tugs in our harhors, innocent of paint, with chimneys variegated with rust, and awnings flapping in tatters like the cloak of an Italian beggar. Two of theseeach with a hig wheel at the stern, suggestive of overgrown wheel-harrows, were moored to the shore. An old hulk run aground to serve as a receptacle for coal, and the rough skeleton of a new heat de- sigued for the river, with a few workmen round- ing lazily at its ribs; a frame-huilding set up en posts, and leaning heavily to one side, within which we caught the gleaming of a great vari- ety of bottles; a q~iantity of lumber heaped con- fusedly on the sand, and a rude attempt at a forgethese only need he mentioned to com- plete an inventory of the improvements at HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Point Aren~ts. The water on this side of the harbor is deep, and we came to anchor close inshore, and directly in front of the hetero- geneous establishment which I have described. Shortly after a boat came alongside, bringing the agent of the Transit, who puffed up the sides, and with an exceedingly red face began an incoherent denunciation of the people and government of San Juan, who were character- ized in terms more forcible than elegant. From what we could gather, it seemed that a mortal feud had arisen between the Company anti the town, in consequence of the former refusing to land its passengers on the inhabited side of the harbor; thereby depriviub the people of the profits which might otherwise accrue to them, and diverting the same into the hands of the Companvs favorites and officers. The efforts of the people were consequently directed to procure a transfer of the establishment at Point Arenas to the town; and to this end they re- (Itlired of the Company a rigid comliliance with the terms of the concession which they had made to it, and which only contemplated the occupation of the Point as a coal ddp6t. The concession furthermore rigidly defined the area which could be used for this purpose. The terms of the concession, it was alleged, having been violated, a judgment ac?ainst the Company was obtained in the local court, and a process of ejeetment served upon its officers. In op- posing this suit the agent of the Company had indulged in the largest liberty of speech, anti had withal made sundry threats of a personal miture, in consequence of which he had been arrested and compelled to give bonds for his good behavior. This was the origin of the troubles which have since brought the of- fairs of San Juan so conspicuously before the public. While the passengers were listening to the angry complaints of the agent, a little boat came alongside, bringing a gentleman quite fantas- tically tricked out with gilt buttons and gold cord, who came up the side with a gravity ap- propriate to high official station. He was the Ilenlth Officer of the port, and seemed ade- quately impressed with the dignity and respon- sibility of his duties. We were a little sur- prised to find that lie was an American! The fetid I)etweeml the Company and the town had reached such a height that the pus- seugers were kept close prisoners on board the steamers, the officers practically interdicting all communication with the shore, by prohibiting boats from coming alongside. The passengers complained much of this piece of annoyance, especially as the boats which were to take them up the river had not yet come down; but there was no redress. My own party, ho~ever, were tto old travelers to submit to freaks of this kind, and, hailing a passing boat, in spite of in- terdict and impertinent subordinates, went on shore. I have spoken of the change which four years hati wrought at Pu mt Arenas ; but the trans- formation on the other side of the harbor was equally great. The thatched huts, which had constituted the old town of San Juan, had dis- aphleared, or were lost in the shadow of the new and more imposin~ structures which had ~:prung ul). The forest had receded on all sides, anti street~ reulurl out, superseded y laid had the narrow paths which we had threaded on our previous visit. There were no reco~nizable features left. Where ii. B. Ms hospitable KINtS STREET, SAN JUAN. LoWtI NO seUrImw~ an, 1833. SAN JUAN BE NICARAGUA. 57 Consul-General had entertained us on confis- was effected. The American interest, powerful cated pigs and chickens, stood a building of at the first, acquired entire predominance at the substantial aspect, above which waved the flag second election; and at the time of our visit of the British Consulate. Near by was a gaunt the government was wholly in American hands. edifice of pine hoards, framed in the United Its trade had taken the same direction, and in States, and brought out bodily, as it werea its entire aspect it hore the appearance of a new huge tinder-box of two stories, and labeled town in the West. There were, nevertheless,, ST. CnARLEs HOTEL. Within was a bar many indications of a premature decline, which and rows of bottles, and plenty of people in the people ascribed to the policy of the Transit check-shirts and straw-hats, with quick, intelli- Company, in cutting off the town from the direct gent eyes, ready of speech and swift in action. and incidental benefits of the California travel. To the northward, where previously the forest They were much exasperated against the Coin- had been densest, a broad avenue, called King pany, and loud in expressing their determina- Street, presented a perspective of houses of con- tion to require a rigid fulfillment of the terms siderable pretensions. Among them was a under which they had permitted the Company hotel of large size and good construction, with to occupy Point Arenas. Their action, how- colonnade and balconies, which would have re- ever, bad been kept within strictly legal limits, flected credit upon any country-town in the and there is no reason for believing that it United States. Here we established ourselves, would ever have exceeded them. in quarters which had all the conveniences and And here I may be allowed to observe that many of the elegancies of civilization, the charges of disord~r and irregularity which If the physical changes in San Juan surprised, have lately been made against the people of San the political and moral changes astonished us. Juan, in terms not fit to be repeated, are both The authority of II. B. M.s Consul-General re~kless and untrue. Whatever may be said ii~ had departed, and the place, pending the nego- support or condemnation of the recent occur- tiations concerning it between the United States rences which have called out these expressions, and Great Britain, had become a de fecto inde- nothing is to be gained to the cause of justice pendent and sovereign municipality. The open- by libels upon a body of men, who, surrounded ing of the Nicaraguan route of transit had by conditions the most anomalous and discour- directed thither a full tide of American enter- aging, organized an effective municipal govern- prise, and the American element soon began to meat, under which justice was regularly and predominate in all of its affairs. And when the faithfully administered, and order scrupulously public convenience and safety came to require maintained. With the first rush of transit, San a more stringent police and a better local ad- Juan became the resort of many desperate char- ministration, the people got together in their acters from all parts of the world, but the earliest ssvereign capacity and adopted a constitution, acts of the goverument were directed to their under which a complete political organization extirpation. One or two notorious robbers Klan sr~EEr, SAN JUAN, aUOKLNO NORIIIXUARD, 1bS3. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were apprehended and hung out of hand; the try around is low, and generally marshy, tray- gamblers and other harpies who had flocked ersed hy creeks, which here and there spread there to prey on unsuspecting Californians were out and form lagoons, which are the resorts of summarily ejected from the place, with emphatic myriads of water birds. assurances of being whipped and hranded if At the distance of five or six miles above San they attempted to return. From that time for- Juan the banks of the river become higher, and ward, San Juan was a model of quiet, and no- are covered with a dense growth of feathery where in the world were life and property more palms, which nod like plumes over the water. secure. Here our oarsmen, in accordance with imme The water in the river was low, and the little morial custom, hauled in to the bank to cook river steamers, crowded to suffocation, on which their evening meal, a very simple, but very pro- it was difficult to find even standing room, fre- tractei operation. There was no variation from quently got aground, involving not only deten- what I had witnessed before. Stakes are driven tion and discomfort, but hunger and dangerous into the ground to support a kettle in which a exposure to the night dews and the rains. In layer of meat is put, next a layer of peeled green conjunction with other circumstances, these plantains, another layer of beef, a calabash of considerations induced our party to ascend the rice, some salt, and over all sufficient water to San Juan in a boat of our own. The first time fill the kettle. The contents are then thorough- I went up, was in a native bongo from the ly boiled. While this is going on, the men interior; now we embarked in a trim launch, amuse themselves in roasting bits of meat on built in the United States, and regularly fur- the ends of pointed sticks. Nothing can be nished with awnings and other civilized appli- wilder or more picturesque than a group of na- ances for keeping off the sun and rain. Our ked swarthy figures crouched around the fire, boatmen, however, were little changed from my in the deep shadow of the forest, protecting their first visit, except that they were more serious, faces from the heat with their hands, and keep- never sang, and seldom said their prayers. ing up the while a most vociferous discussion on The subordination which the swarthy inferior some topic interesting only to themselves. races must always yield to the white man, had It was nearly sunset when the meal was fin- already become established. ished. The boat was pushed out in the stream, The morning of the first of March was fixed and we were once more on our way. Sweeping for our departure, but it was afternoon before now under the shadows of the trees on the shore, we had fairly embarked. Half an hour after- and anon over the broad glassy reaches where ward we had entered the river, which for some the light was reflected on the water, it was miles has low banks, covered with long grass, long after night when we came to anchor in the and studded with numerous islands barely rising middle of a broad bend in the river, as far as above the stream, and in the rainy season fre- possible away from the shore to avoid the mos- quently covered by the water. The whole coun- quitoes. Six passengers, with boxes, bags, trnnks, KIRKLANDS ISLAND. SAN JUAN DE NICARAGUA. instruments, and provisions, in addition to as many oarsmen and their stores, did not leave much room in onr boat for comfortable sleeping at night. It took an hour of experiment to ad- just bodies and limbs so as to afford to each one some faint chance of securing slumber; but, after all, the night passed restlessly. Every body com- plained of cramp from long confinement in con- strained positions; and none, I fear, properly appreciated the scenery, doubly beautiful in the early morning. We had reached the point of divergence of the Colorado mouth of the river, where the banks became still higher, and tall trees, draped all over with vines, began to ap- pear towering over the graceful palms. Birds of varied plumage glanced in and out of the for- est; cranes and other water-fowl paced soberly along the sand-bars, or flew lazily up the stream as we approached. Occasionally a pair of green macaws fluttered slowly over our heads, almost deafening us with their discordant notes. Mists lurked hcu and there in the bends of the river and in snadowy nooks; but as the sun arose they gradually dispersed. At eight oclock the boat was moored under the shadow of a gigantic tree; and soon the fire blazed on the shore, and we forgot, in the grateful odor of our steaming coffee, the discomforts of the night. The government of San Juan, in default of any other, had extended its jurisdiction far up the river, and its people had made establish- ments at various points on its banks. About noon we came to a large island, which an enter- prising settler had cleared of forest and stocked with plantains, yucas, and other necessities of life, lie had erected a neat house, and settled there permanently with his family. The trans- formation which four years had wrought at the l)ort did not impress me as forcibly as this out- post in the wilderness. Enterprise and indnstry must always command respect; but when we witness their development under such circum- stances, they exact the language of admiration. We could not resist the impulse to stop and con- gratulate our countryman on his success. We found him, ti-ue to the example of his native land, busily occupied with his crops. He felt an honest pride in showing us his improvements, and explaining his plans for the future; and we left him with a conviction that the seeds of civ- ilization sown by such hands must ultimately spring up to the advancement and the glory of humanity. The day following, after a night of rain, from which our awning failed wholly to protect us, damp and not in the best of tempers, we reached the point where the Nicaraguans had fortified themselves in their final encounter with the En- glish in 1848, at the junction of the river Ser- apiqui with the San Juan. Here, too, civiliza- tion had taken root. An enterprising German, naturalized in the United States, had made ex- tensive clearings on both banks of the river, and, like his neighbor (only twenty miles below), had started a flourishing plantation. It was yet in its infancy, but gave high promise for the future. HIPP S. here we received a cordial welcome, and stopped for dinner. Our friend Hipp, unfortu- nately, was a bachelor, and had to do his own cooking. But, what with our supplies and his own, we made a dinner that day which a lord might envy. Our dining-hall, it is true, was built of poles and covered with thatch, and the floor was made of the split stems of the paha. while our table consisted of two stray planks placed side by side; but we had what was better than all, cheerfulness and an appetite. I experienced a feeling almost of triumph in witnessing the enterprise which was thus re- claiming the wilderness. When I first passed up the river, I had contemplated the advent of the ax-bearing pioneer of civilization as an in- evitable event, but one which I could hardly hope to witness. A few years only had elapsed. and lo! the hero of Industry was here, and the rich earth, in generous recompense for his toil. gave back a thousand-fold the seed which he had sown in her genial bosom. Our friend Hipp, even in his isolation, wa~ not entirely exempt from troubles. Before plant- ing his household altars too firmly, he wished to be assured of the titles to his property, and he sought my advice on the subject. In the exist- ing anomalous condition of the country, he was at a loss to know if his lands fell within the jurisdiction of the King of Mosquito, of the town of San Juan, or the Republic of Nicara- gua. To be on the safe side, however, he had made distinct application to each for his titles, and lest, even with these precautions, he might as be expressed it slip up, he had made a 430 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. second clearing, arid lInt in crops, on the oppo- site shore of the river, over which Costa Rica of late years had set up a claim of sovereignty. A few months afterward, a couple ofFrenchmen at- rived at the mouth of the Serapiqul, and attempt- ed to occupy the clearing which Jlipp had made on that side of the river, tinder authority of an alleged giant from Costa Rica; whereii1)on our hiend denied the pretensions of Ilie latter state itid, constituting himself the supreme liw, smn manly ejected the Gauls, who were glad toes cape to San Juan with no greater daiaage than black eyes and bloody noses. When we left Ilipps landing in the afternoon, lie ran ill) the American flag, aid we gave him three heartx- cheers of enconra~eulent. ~ stime lie is still there, hut not alone, uttless the letter which he quietly slipped in nv l~antl at the moment of (leparture. for a darkct ed rlamri sel in Grenada. failed of its objecta Sill loii~ mn which I hionid lie srrv to entoil am. Our hlllgics~ from hi1 lie, itittil we reached the rapids of MacInc. was unrelieved by any thing worth recording. here we found an estab- lishment for cutting wood for the steamers. which gave promise of settling down into some- thing more permanent. Upon the Rapids were tile wrecks of several steamers, amolIg them that f the Ores, the first steamer I believe that en- tered the Chagres titer, a ad tvbich tvas lost in icr first attempt to ascend the S~n Juan. There it crc a couple other tvrecks. and tile hoat which laid left Sail Juan a few days before us ivas jammed immovaldy on tIle rocks. Here too we encountered anmerous native hoats. packed tvith passengers, tvlio tvere descending tIle river, with- iltit coverine and literally tvithlotit food, in con- sequence of an accident to another of the Transit steamers at tile rapids of the Castihlo. The river Sail Juan is utterly unfit for steamer navigation, nor can it ever lie illade to serve a mm~eful purpose in this req)ect, except at great labor and expense. The afternoon of the same day we readIed time rahlids of the Castillo, so called from the old flirt of San Jima, notv called El Castihlo Vie- in. This fort was taken hy the English in I 780, tinder the command of Captain, aftertyard Lord Nelson, tile naval hero of Great Britain. It was here that he distiagstishicd ilimuseif for mime first time. The fort is ituated on a consideraille huh, 1 8 5 4. tith abrupt slopes, precisely at the point where a hedge of rock extending across the river forais rahlid, or rather falls, which it is extremely hiflictilt for boats of any I en time carzoee of tiiC description to pass. native bomigos, if heavy, require to lie takemi 01St, and the boats thenlselves tracked tip by slicer force. Silortly before our arrival one of the steamers of the Company had ecu swept st cr by the eturrent, amId many pas- semigers drotynied. In 1849 a solitary htit existed at time Castillo, in whuich the government of Nicaragua main- tained a small grand for the purpose of assisting tIme boatmen in loading and unloading their Li. (AiIiLLo tibji. hoii~os. It tvas not a place of a coaple of humi- dreh imihahitants. A wharf had been hailt be- low the falls, from which a piece (If railway had been constructed for time trausportation of pus- seilgere last tIme portage; aild there were a dozemi ivehl-hitilt franie houses, besishes numerous struct- mires of lesser ilietensiomls. A garrison had beeti stationed in the old fort, nail altogether a trans- foralation effected uvhichm, considering the time it had taken, coald probably miot he paralleled out of that regioml of Aladdimi-hike changes California. The Castihlo was the lowest hlOimit on time river wilere Nicaragua exercised autilority. Below, the hleohlie of San Juan assumed a pro tempore jurisdiction, pemidiag time settlement of the so called Mosquito question. At this hloint, thiemi as I write only of San Juanmy narrative, for the hiresent at least, must con~e to a close. In the foreguimug pages, I hlave presented a hlictimre of San Juan in 1849, when it was an ob- scure ihlage, under the petty despotism of ami irresponsible foreign agent, holding his post by the simple title of force. I have described is again in 1853, tvhen it was a coniparativeh large atisl flourishing towim, nuder a mtmmmicipah organization springing from the only source of legitimllate power, the people themselves. This government arrogated nothing to itself excehe the preservation of order and the protectiomi of tile imutenests of its citizens. Upon the questiummi of ultimate sovereignty, amid the abstract ques- tion of territorial right, opinions dith~uned, al THE NEWCOMES. 61 though a large preponderence of the American population recognized the clear and indubitable fights of Nicaragua. In the settlement of these questions the residents of San Juan could have but little to say; their sole alternative was to abide the course of events, and conform to what they could not control. Meantime, the neces- sity of a government of some sort was compre- hended byall parties, and both England and the United States instructed their officers to recognize the de facto authorities. These in- structions were scrupulously observed up to 1854, when those authorities were violently re- sisted in their attempts to investigate a case of alleged homicide committed within their recog- nized provisional jurisdiction. The complications arising out of this event, led to the bombardment and entire destruction of San Juan, by the United States ship of war Cyaue, in the month of June of the present year. Whatever may be the political result of this measureif it shall lead to the restitution of San Juan to Nicaragua, its legitimate owner, or to the re-assertion and consolidation of British pretensions, remains for the future to disclose. Meanwhile San Juan is rising from its ashes, and the same enterprise which redeemed it from the listless apathy of three hundred years, will work out for it the destiny indicated by the im- portance of its geographical position, on one of the great highways of nations. THE NEWCOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. av w. M. THAcKERAv. CHAPTER XXXIX. AMONG THE PAINTERS. WHEN Clive Newcome comes to be old, no doubt he will remember his Roman days as among the happiest which fate ever awarded him. The simplicity of the students life there, the greatness and friendly splendor of the scenes surrounding him, the delightful nature of the occupation in which he is engaged, the pleasant company of comrades, inspired by a like pleas- ure over a similar calling, the labor, the medita- tion, the holiday and the kindly feast afterward, should make the Art-students the happiest of youth, did they but know their good fortune. Their work is for the most part delightfully easy. It does not exercise the brain too much, but gently occupies it, and with a subject most agree- able to the scholar. The mere poetic flame, or jet of invention, needs to be lighted up but very seldom, namely, when the young painter is de- vising his subject, or settling the composition thereof. The posing of figures and drapery; the dexterous copying of the line; the artful processes of cross-hatching, of stumping, of lay- ing on lights, and what not; the arrangement of color, and the pleasing operations of glazing and the like, are labors for the most part merely manual. These, with the smoking of a proper number of pipes, carry the student throu~,h his days work. If you pass his door you will very probably hear him singing at his easel. I should like to know what young lawyer, mathematician, or divinity scholar, can sing over his volumes, and at the same time advance with his labor? In every city where Art is practiced there are old gentlemen who never touched a pencil in their lives, but find the occupation and company of artists so agreeable that they are never out of the studios; follow one generation of painters after another; sit by with perfect contentment while Jack is drawing his pifferaro, or Tom de- signing his cartoon, and years afterward when Jack is established in Newman Street, and Tom a Royal Academician, shall still be found in their rooms, occupied now by fresh painters and pictures, telling the youngsters, their successors, what glorious fellows Jack and Tom were. A poet must retire to privy places and meditate his rhymes in secret; a painter can practice his. trade in the company of friends. Your splendid. ckefdCcole, a Rubens or a Horace Vernet, may sit with a secretary reading to him; a troop of admiring scholars watching the masters hand; or a company of court ladies and gentlemen (to whom he addresses a few kind words now and again), looking on admiringly; while the hum- blest painter, be he ever so poor, may have a friend watching at his easel, or a gentle wife sitting by with her work in her lap, and with fond smiles or talk or silence, cheering his labor. Among all ranks and degrees of painters as- sembled at Rome, Mr. Clive found companions and friends. The cleverest man was not the best artist very often: the ablest artist not the best critic nor the best companion. Many a man could give no account of the faculty within him, but achieved success because he could not help it; and did, in an hour and without effort, that which another could not effect with half a lifes labor. There were young sculptors who had never read a line of Homer, who took on themselves nevertheless to interpret and con- tinue the heroic Greek art. There were young painters with the strongest natural taste for low humor, comic singing, and Cider-Cellar jollifi- cations, who would imitate nothing under Mi- chael Angelo, and whose canvases teemed with tremendous allegori& s of fates, furies, genii of death and battle. There were long-haired lads who fancied the sublime lay in the Peruginesque manner, and depicted saintly personages with crisp draperies, crude colors, and haloes of gold- leaf. Our friend marked all these practitioners. of Art with their various oddities and tastes, and was welcomed in the ateliers of all of them, from the grave dons and seniors, the senators of the French and English Academy, down to the jovial students who railed at the elders over their cheap cups at the Lepre. What a gallant, starving, generous, kindly life, many of them. led! What fun in their grotesque airs, what friendship and gentleness in theirpoverty! How splendidly Carlo talked of the marquis his cons- in, and the duke his intimate friend! How great Federigo was on the subject of his wrongs, * Continued from the INovember iNumber. VOL. XNo. 55.E

W. M. Thackeray Thackeray, W. M. The Newcomes 61-78

THE NEWCOMES. 61 though a large preponderence of the American population recognized the clear and indubitable fights of Nicaragua. In the settlement of these questions the residents of San Juan could have but little to say; their sole alternative was to abide the course of events, and conform to what they could not control. Meantime, the neces- sity of a government of some sort was compre- hended byall parties, and both England and the United States instructed their officers to recognize the de facto authorities. These in- structions were scrupulously observed up to 1854, when those authorities were violently re- sisted in their attempts to investigate a case of alleged homicide committed within their recog- nized provisional jurisdiction. The complications arising out of this event, led to the bombardment and entire destruction of San Juan, by the United States ship of war Cyaue, in the month of June of the present year. Whatever may be the political result of this measureif it shall lead to the restitution of San Juan to Nicaragua, its legitimate owner, or to the re-assertion and consolidation of British pretensions, remains for the future to disclose. Meanwhile San Juan is rising from its ashes, and the same enterprise which redeemed it from the listless apathy of three hundred years, will work out for it the destiny indicated by the im- portance of its geographical position, on one of the great highways of nations. THE NEWCOMES.* MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY. av w. M. THAcKERAv. CHAPTER XXXIX. AMONG THE PAINTERS. WHEN Clive Newcome comes to be old, no doubt he will remember his Roman days as among the happiest which fate ever awarded him. The simplicity of the students life there, the greatness and friendly splendor of the scenes surrounding him, the delightful nature of the occupation in which he is engaged, the pleasant company of comrades, inspired by a like pleas- ure over a similar calling, the labor, the medita- tion, the holiday and the kindly feast afterward, should make the Art-students the happiest of youth, did they but know their good fortune. Their work is for the most part delightfully easy. It does not exercise the brain too much, but gently occupies it, and with a subject most agree- able to the scholar. The mere poetic flame, or jet of invention, needs to be lighted up but very seldom, namely, when the young painter is de- vising his subject, or settling the composition thereof. The posing of figures and drapery; the dexterous copying of the line; the artful processes of cross-hatching, of stumping, of lay- ing on lights, and what not; the arrangement of color, and the pleasing operations of glazing and the like, are labors for the most part merely manual. These, with the smoking of a proper number of pipes, carry the student throu~,h his days work. If you pass his door you will very probably hear him singing at his easel. I should like to know what young lawyer, mathematician, or divinity scholar, can sing over his volumes, and at the same time advance with his labor? In every city where Art is practiced there are old gentlemen who never touched a pencil in their lives, but find the occupation and company of artists so agreeable that they are never out of the studios; follow one generation of painters after another; sit by with perfect contentment while Jack is drawing his pifferaro, or Tom de- signing his cartoon, and years afterward when Jack is established in Newman Street, and Tom a Royal Academician, shall still be found in their rooms, occupied now by fresh painters and pictures, telling the youngsters, their successors, what glorious fellows Jack and Tom were. A poet must retire to privy places and meditate his rhymes in secret; a painter can practice his. trade in the company of friends. Your splendid. ckefdCcole, a Rubens or a Horace Vernet, may sit with a secretary reading to him; a troop of admiring scholars watching the masters hand; or a company of court ladies and gentlemen (to whom he addresses a few kind words now and again), looking on admiringly; while the hum- blest painter, be he ever so poor, may have a friend watching at his easel, or a gentle wife sitting by with her work in her lap, and with fond smiles or talk or silence, cheering his labor. Among all ranks and degrees of painters as- sembled at Rome, Mr. Clive found companions and friends. The cleverest man was not the best artist very often: the ablest artist not the best critic nor the best companion. Many a man could give no account of the faculty within him, but achieved success because he could not help it; and did, in an hour and without effort, that which another could not effect with half a lifes labor. There were young sculptors who had never read a line of Homer, who took on themselves nevertheless to interpret and con- tinue the heroic Greek art. There were young painters with the strongest natural taste for low humor, comic singing, and Cider-Cellar jollifi- cations, who would imitate nothing under Mi- chael Angelo, and whose canvases teemed with tremendous allegori& s of fates, furies, genii of death and battle. There were long-haired lads who fancied the sublime lay in the Peruginesque manner, and depicted saintly personages with crisp draperies, crude colors, and haloes of gold- leaf. Our friend marked all these practitioners. of Art with their various oddities and tastes, and was welcomed in the ateliers of all of them, from the grave dons and seniors, the senators of the French and English Academy, down to the jovial students who railed at the elders over their cheap cups at the Lepre. What a gallant, starving, generous, kindly life, many of them. led! What fun in their grotesque airs, what friendship and gentleness in theirpoverty! How splendidly Carlo talked of the marquis his cons- in, and the duke his intimate friend! How great Federigo was on the subject of his wrongs, * Continued from the INovember iNumber. VOL. XNo. 55.E 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from the Academy at home, a pack of tradesmen tale. Clive Newcome, when he heard of their who could not understand high art, and who distress, gave them somethingas much as he had never seen a good picture! With what could spare; hut J. J. gave more, and Clive haughtiness Augusto swaggered ahout at Sir was as eager in acknowledging and admiring Johns soir6es, though he was known to have his friends generosity as he was in speaking of borrowed Fernandos coat, and Luigis dress- his genius. His was a fortunate organization boots! If one or the other was ill, how nobly indeed. Study was his chief amusement. Self- and generously his companions flocked to com- denial came easily to him. Pleasure, or what fort him, took turns to nurse the sick man is generally called so, had little chaPm for him. through nights of fever, contributed out of their His ordinary companions were pure and sweet slender means to help him through his difficulty. thoughts; his out-door enjoyment the contem- Max, who loves fine dresses and the carnival plation of natural beauty; for recreation, the so, gave up a costume and a carriage so as to hundred pleasant dexterities and manipulations help Paul. Paul, when he sold his picture of his craft were ceaselessly interesting to him: (through the agency of Pietro, with whom he he would draw every knot in an oak panel, or had quarreled, and who recommended him to a every leaf in an orange-tree, smiling, and taking l)atron), gave a third of the money back to Max, a gay delight over the simple feats of skill: and took another third portion to Lazaro, with whenever you found him he seemed watchful his poor wife and children, who had not got a and serene, his modest virgin-lamp always light- single order all that winterand so the story ed and trim. No gusts of passion extinguished went on. I have heard Clive tell of two noble it; no hopeless wandering in the darkness after- young Americans who came to Europe to study ward led him astray. Wayfarers through the their art; of whom the one fell sick while the world, we meet now and again with such purity; other supported his penniless comrade, and out and salute it, and hush while it passes on. of sixpence a day absolutely kept hut a penny We have it under Clive Newcomes own sig- for himself; giving the rest to his sick compan- nature, that he intended to pass a couple of ion. I should like to have known that good years in Italy, devoting himself exclusively to Samaritan, Sir, our Colonel said, twirling his the study of his profession. Other besides mustaches, when we saw him again, and his professional reasons were working secretly in son told him that story. the young mans mind, causing him to think J. J., in his steady silent way, worked on that absence from England was the best cure every day, and for many hours every day. When for a malady under which he secretly labored. Clive entered their studio of a morning, he found But change of air may cure some sick people J. J. there, and there he left him. When the more speedily than the sufferers ever hoped; Life Academy was over, at night, and Clive went and also it is on record, that young men with out to his soir~es, J. J. lighted his lamp and the very best intentions respecting study, do not continued his happy labor. He did not care fulfill them, and are led away from their scheme for the brawling supper-parties of his comrades; by accident, or pleasure, or necessity, or some liked better to stay at home than to go into the good cause. Young Clive worked sedulously world, and was seldom abroad of a night except two or three months at his vocation at Rome, during the illness of Luigi before mentioned, secretly devouring, no doubt, the pangs of sen- when J. J. spent constant evenings at the oth- timental disappointment under which he In- ers bed-side. J. J. was fortunate as well as bored; and he drew from his models, and he skillful: people in the world took a liking to the sketched round about every thing that suited modest young man, and he had more than one his pencil on both sides of Tiber; and he labor- order for pictures. The Artists Club, at the ed at the Life Academy of nightsa model Lepre, set him down as close with his money; himself to other young students. The symp- but a year after he left Rome, Lazaro and his toms of his sentimental malady began to abate. wife, who still remained there, told a different He took an interest in the affairs of Jack, and THE NEWCOMES. 63 Tom, and I-larry round about him: Art exer- cised its great healing influence on his wounded spirit, which to be sure had never given in. The meeting of the painters at the Caf6 Greco, and at their private houses, was very jovial, pleasant, and lively. Clive smoked his pipe, drank his glass of Marsala, sang his song, and took part in the general chorus as gayly as the jolliest of the boys. He was the cock of the whole painting school, the favorite of all; and to be liked by the people, you may be pretty sure that we for our parts must like them. Then, besides the painters, he had, as he has informed us, the other society of Rome. Every winter there is a gay and pleasant English col- ony in that capital, of course more or less re- markable for rank, fashion, and agreeability with every varying year. In Clives year some very pleasant folks set up their winter quarters in the usual foreigners resort round about the Piazza di Spagna. I was amused to find, lately, on looking over the travels of the respectable M. de P~illnitz, that, a hundred and twenty years ago, the same quarter, the same streets and pal- aces, scarce changed from those days, were even then polite foreigners resort. Of one or two of the gentlemen, Clive had made the acquaint- ance in the hunting-field; others he had met during his brief appearance in the London world. Being a youth of great personal agility, fitted thereby to the graceful performance of polkas, etc.; having good manners, and good looks, and good credit with Prince Polonia, or some other banker, Mr. Keweome was thus made very wel- come to the Anglo-Roman society; and as kind- ly received in genteel houses, where they drank tea and danced the galop, as in those dusky tav- erns and retired lodgings where his bearded com- rades, the painters, held their meetings. Thrown together every day, and night after night; flocking to the same picture-galleries, statue-galleries, Pincian drives, and church func- tions, the English colonists at Rome perforce become intimate, and in many cases friendly. They have an English library where the various meets for the week are placarded: on such a day the Vatican galleries are open: the next is the feast of Saint so and so: on Wednesday there will be music and Vespers at the Sistine chapel: on Thursday, the Pope will bless the animalssheep, horses, and what-not: and flocks of English accordingly rush to witness the bene- diction of droves of donkeys. In a word, the ancient city of the Cresars, the august fanes of the Popes, with their splendor and ceremony, are all mapped out and, arranged for English diversion; and we run in a crowd to high-mass at St. Peters, or to the illumination on Easter- day, ns we run when the bell rings to the Bos- jesmen at Cremorne, or the fireworks at Vaux- hall. Running to see firei~orks alone, rushing off to examine Bosjesmen by ones self; is a dreary work: I should think very few men would have the courage to do it unattended, and personally would not prefer a pipe in their own rooms. Hence if Clive went to see all these sights, as he did, it is to be concluded that he went in company, and if he went in company and sought it, we may suppose that little affair which annoyed him at Baden no longer tend- ed to hurt his peace of mind very seriously. The truth is, our countrymen are pleasanter abroad than at home; most hospitable, kindly. and eager to be pleased and to please. You see a family half a dozen times in a week in the little Roman circle, whom you shall not meet twice in a season afterward in the enormous London round. When Easter is over and every body is going away at Rome you and your neighbor shake hands, sincerely sor:; to part: in London we are obliged to dilute our kindness so that there is hardly any smack of the original milk. As one by one the pleasant families dropped off with whom Clive had spent his happywiater; as Admiral Freemans carriage drove away, whose pretty girls he had caught at St. Peters kissing St. Peters toe; as Dick Den- bys family ark appeared with all Denbys sweet young children kissing farewells to him out of window; as those three charming Miss Baliols with whom he had that glorious day in the Catacombs; as friend after friend quitted the great city with kind greetings, warm pressures of the hand, and hopes of meeting in a yet greater city on the banks of the Thames, young Clive felt a depression of spirit. Rome was Rome, but it was pleasanter to see it in com- pany; our painters are smoking still at the Caf6 Greco, but a society all smoke and all painters did not suit him. If Mr. Clive is nor a Michael Angelo or a Beethoven, if his genius is not gloomy, solitary, gigantic, shining alone, like a lighthouse, a storm round about him, and breakers dashing at his feet, I can not help my- self; he is as heaven made him, brave, honest. gay, and friendly, and persons of a gloomy turn must not look to him as a hero. So Clive and his companion worked away with all their hearts from November until far into April when Easter came, and the glorious gala with which the Roman church celebrates that holy season. By this time Clives books were full of sketches. Ruins, imperial and medinval; peasants and bagpipemen; Passion- ists with shaven polls; Capuchins and the equal- ly hairy frequenters of the Cafe Greco; paint- ers of all nations who resort there; Cardinals and their queer equipages and attendants; the Holy Father himself (it was Gregory sixteenth of the name); the dandified English on the Pincio and the wonderfnl Roman members of the huntwere not all these designed by the young man and admired by his friends in after- days? J. J.s sketches were few, but he had painted two beautiful little pictures, and sold them for so good a price that Prince Polonias people were quite civil to him. He had orders for yet more pictures, and having worked very hard, thought himself authorized to accompany Mr. Clive upon a pleasure trip to Naples, which the latter deemed necessary after his own tre 64 HARPERtS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mendous labors. He for his part had painted no pictures, though he had commenced a dozen and turned them to the wall; but he had sketch- ed, and dined, and smoked, and danced, as we have seen. So the little britzska was put be- hind horses again, and our two friends set out on their tour, having quite a crowd of brother artists to cheer them, who had assembled and had a breakfast for the purpose at that comfort- able osteria, near the Lateran Gate. How the fellows flung their hats up, and shouted, Lebe wohl, and Adieu, and God bless you, old boy, in many languages! Clive was the young swell of the artists of that year, and adored by the whole of the jolly company. His sketches were pronounced on all hands to be admirable: it was agreed that if he chose he might do any thing. So with promises of a speedy return they left behind them the noble city, which all love who once have seen it, and of which we think after- ward ever with the kindness and the regard of home. They dashed across the Campagna and over the beautiful hills of Albano, and sped through the solemn Pontine Marshes, and stop- ped to roost at Terracina (which was not at all like Era iDiavolos Terracina at Covent Garden, as J. J. was distressed to remark), and so, gal- loping onward through a hundred ancient cities that crumbled on the shores of the beautiful Mediterranean, behold, on the second day as they ascended a hill about noon, Vesuvius came in view, its great shape shimmering blue in the distant haze, its banner of smoke in the cloud- less sky. And about five oclock in the evening (us every body will who starts from Terracina early and pays the post-boy well), the travelers came to an ancient city walled and fortified, with drawbridges over the shining moats. Here is CAPITA, says J. J., and Clive burst out laughing: thinking of his Capua which he had lefthow many monthsyears it seemed ago. iFrom Capua to Naples is a fine straight road, and our travelers were landed at the lat- ter place at supper-time; where, if they had quarters at the Vittoria Hotel, they were as comfortable as any gentlemen painters need wish to be in this world. The aspect of the place was so charming and delightful to Clive: the beautiful sea stretch- ed before his eyes when wakingCapri, a fairy island, in the distance, in the amethyst rocks of which Syrens might be playingthat fair line of cities skirting the shore glittering white along the purple waterover the whole brilliant scene Vesuvius rising with cloudlets playing round its summit, and the country bursting out into that glorious vegetation with which sumptuoi;ls na- ture decorates every springthis city and scene of Naples were so much to Clives liking that I have a letter from him dated a couple of days after the young mans arrival, in which he an- nounces his intention of staying there forever, and gives me an invitation to some fine lodg- ings in a certain palazzo, on which he has cast his eye. He is so enraptured with the place, that he says to die and be buried there even would be quite a treat, so charming is the cem- etery where the Neapolitan dead repose. The Fates did not, however, ordain that Clive Newcome should pass all his life at Naples. His Roman banker presently forwarded a few letters to his address; some which had arrived after his departure, others which had been lying at the Poste Restante, with his name written in perfectly legible characters, but which the au- thorities of the post, according to their custom, would not see when Clive sent for them. It was one of these letters which Clive clutch- ed the most eagerly. It had been lying since October, actually, at the Roman post, though Clive had asked for letters there a hundred times. It was that little letter from Ethel, in reply to his own, whereof we have made men- tion in a previous chapter. There was not much in the lii~tle letter. Nothing, of course, that Vir- tue or G.randmamma might not read over the young writers shoulder. It was affectionate, simple, rather melancholy; described in a few words Sir Brians seizure and present condition; spoke of Lord Kew, who was mending rapidly, as if Clive, of course, was aware of his accident; of the children; of Clives father; and ended with a hearty God bless you, to Clive, from his sincere Ethel. You boast of its being over. You see it is not over, says Clives monitor and companion. Else, why should you have dashed at that let- ter before sdl the others, Clive ? J. J. had been watching, not without interest, Clives blank face as he read the young ladys note. How do you know who wrote the letter ? asks Clive. I can read the signature in your face, says the other; and I could almost tell the contents of the note. Why have you such a tell-tale face, Clive ? It is over; but when a man has once, you know, gone through an affair like that, says Clive, looking very grave, hehes anxious to hear of Alice Gray, and how shes getting on, you see, my good friend. And he began to shout out as of old Her heart it is anothers, shenevercanhemine, and to laugh at the end of the song. Well, well, says he; it is a very kind note, a very proper little note; the expressions is elegant, J. J., the sentiments is most correct. All the little ts is most properly crossed, and all the little is have dots over their little heads. Its a sort of a prize note, dont you see; and one such as, in the old spelling-book story, the good boy received a plum-cake for writing. Perhaps you werent educated on the old spell- ing-book, J. J.? My good old father taught me to read out of hisI say, I think it was a shame to keep the old boy waiting while I have been giving an audience to this young lady. Dear old father 1 and he apostrophized the letter. I beg your pardon, Sir; Miss Neweome requested five minutes conversation, and I was obliged, from politeness, you know, to receive. THE NEWCOMES. 65 Theres nothing between us; nothing but whats most correct, upon my honor and conscience. And he kissed his fathers letter, and calling out again Dear old father ! proceeded to read as follows: Your letters, my dearest Clive, have been the greatest comfort to me. I seem to hear you as I read them. I cant but think that this, the modern and natural style, is a great pro- gress upon the old-fashioned manner of my day, when we used to begin to our fathers, Honor- ed Father, or even Honored Sir some pre- cisians use to write still from Mr. Lords Acad- emy, at Tooting, where I went before Gray Friarsthough I suspect parents were no more honored in those days than nowadays. I know one who had rather be trusted than honored; and you may call me what you please, so as you do that. It is not only to me your letters give pleas- ure. Last week I took yours from Baden Ba- den, No. 3, September 15, into Calcutta, and could not help showing it at Government House, where I dined. Your sketch of the old Russian Princess and her little boy, gambling, was capital. Colonel Buckmaster, Lord Bag- wigs private secretary, knew her, and says it is to a T. And I read out to some of my young fellows what you said about play, and how you had given it over. I very much fear some of the yonng rogues are at dice and brandy-paw- nec before tiffin. What you say of young Rid- ley, I take cnm grano. his sketches I thought very agreeable; but to compare them to a cer- tain gentlemans Never mind, I shall not try to make him think too well of himself. I kiss- ed dear Ethels hand in your letter. I write her a long letter by this mail. If Paul do Florac in any way resembles his mother, between you and him there ought to be a very warm regard. I knew her when I was a boy, long before you were born or thonght of; and in wandering forty years through the world since, I have seen no woman in my eyes so good or so beautiful. Your cousin Ethel reminded me of her; as handsome, but not so lovely. Yes; it was that pale lady you saw at Paris, with eyes full of care, and hair streaked with gray. So it will be the turn of you young folks, come eight more lustres, and your heads will be bald like I (36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mine, or gray like Madame de Floracs, and bend- my friends are longing to have a finger in it; ing over the gronnd where we are lying in quiet. but be sure of this, I shall do nothing rashly and I understand from you that young Paul is not without the very best adrice. iu very flourishing circumstances. If he still is in need, mind and be his banker, and I will be qours. Any child of hers must never want when I have a spare guinea. I do not mind telling you, Sir, that I cared for her more than millions of guineas once; and half broke my heart about her when I went to India, as a young chap. So, if nny such misfortunes happen to you, consider, my boy, you are not the only one. Binnie writes me word that he has been ailing. I hope you are a good correspondent with him. What made me turn to him just after speaking of unlucky love affairs? Could I he thinking about little Rosey Mackenzie? She is a sweet little lass, and James will leave her a pretty piece of money. Verburn sap. I should like you to marry; but God forbid you should marry for a million of gold mohurs. And gold mohurs bring me to another sub- ject. Do you know, I narrowly missed losing half a lakh of rupees which I had at an agents here? And who do you think warned me about him? Our friend Ruinmun Lal, who has lately been in England, and with whom I made the voyage from Southampton. He is a man of won- derful tact and observation. I used to think meanly of the honesty of natives, and treat them haughtily, as I recollect doing this very gentle- man at your uncle Newcomes, in Bryanstone Square. He heaped coals of fire on my head by saving my money for me; and I have placed it at interest in his house. If I would but listen to him, my capital might be trebled in a year, he says, and the interest immensely increased. He enjoys the greatest esteem among the mon- eyed men here; keeps a splendid establishment and house here, in Barrackpore; is princely in his benefactions. He talks to me about the estab- lishment of a bank, of which the profits are so enormous and the scheme so (seemingly) clear, that I dont know whether I mavnt be tempted to take a few shares. Nous verrons. Several of I have not been frightened yet by your drafts upon me. Draw as many of these as you please. You know I dont half like the other kind of drawing, except as a dflasseaieat: but if you chose to be a weaver, like my grandfather, I should not say you nay. Dont stint yourself of money or of honest pleasure. Of what good is money, nuless we can make those we love happy with it? There would be no need for me to save, if you were to save too. So, and as you know as well as I what our means are, in every honest way use them. I should like you not to pass the whole of next year in Italy, hut to come home and pay a visit to honest James Binnie. I wonder how the old barrack in Fitzroy Square looks without me? Try and go round by Paris on your way home, and pay your visit, and carry your fathers fond remembrances to Madame la Comte~se de Florac. I dont say remember me to my brother, as I write Brian by this mail. Adieu mon fils! je tembrasse! and am always my Clives affectionate father, T. N. Isnt he a noble old trump ? That point l~nd been settled by the young men any time these three years. And now Mr. J. J. remark- ed that when Clive had read his fathers let- ter once, then he read Ethels over again, and put it in his breast-pocket, and was very disturbed in mind that day, pishing and pshawing at the statue gal- lery which they went to see at the Museo. After all, says Clive, what rubbish these sec- ond-rate statues are! what a great hulking abortion is this brute of a Farnese Hercules! Theres only one bit in the whole gallery that is worth a twopenny piece. It was the beautiful fragment called Psyche. J. J. smiled as his com- rade spoke in admiration of this statuein the slim shape, in the delicate for- mation of the neck, in the haughty virginal ex- pression, the Psyche is not unlike the Diana of the Louvreand the Diana of the Louvre we have said was like a certain young lady. After all, continues Clive, looking up at at the great knotted legs of that clumsy carica- tured porter which Glykon the Athenian sculp- tured in bad times of art surely, she could not write otherwise than she diddont you see? Her letter is quite kind and affectionate. You see she says she shall always hear of me with pleasure: hopes ill come back soon, and bring some good pictures with me, since pictures I will do. She thinks small beer of painters, J. J. well, we dont think small beer of ourselves, my THE NEWCOMES. 67 noble friend. II suppose it must be over by tbis time, and I may write to ber as tbe Count- ess of Kew. The custode of the apartment bad seen admiration and wonder expressed by hun- dreds of visitors to his marble Giant; but he had never known Hercules occasion emotion before, as in the case of the young stranger, who, after staring a while at the statue, dashed his band across his forehead with a groan, and walked away from before the graven image of the huge Strougman, who had himself been made such a fool by women. My father wants me to go and see James and Madame de Florac, says Clive, as they stride down the street to the Toledo. J. J. puts his arm through his companions, which is deep in the pocket of his velvet paletot. You must not go home till you hear it is over, Clive, whispers J. J. Of course not, old boy, says the other, blow- iag tobacco out of his shaking head. Not very long after their arrival, we may he sure they went to Pompeii, of which place, as this is not an Italian tour, but a history of Clive Newcome, Esquire, and his most respectable fam- ily, we shall offer to give no description. The young man had read Sir Bulwer Lyttons delight- ful story, which has become the history of Pom- peii, before they came thither, and Plinys de- scription, apud the Guide Book. Admiring the wonderful ingenuity with which the English ~vriter had illustrated the place by his text, as if the houses were so many pictures to which he had appended a story, Clive, the wag, who was always indulging his vein for caricature, was proposing that they should take the same place, names, people, and make a burlesque story: What would be a better figure, says he, than Plinys mother, whom the historian describes as exceedingly corpulent, and walking away from the catastrophe with slaves holding cushions be- hind her, to shield her plump person from the cinders! Yes, old Mrs. Pliny shall be my hero- ine ! says Clive. A picture of her on a dark gray paper, and touched up with red at the ex- tremities, exists in Clives album to the present day. As they were laughing, rattling, wondering, mimicking, the cicerone attending them with his nasal twaddle, anon pausing and silent, yielding to the melancholy pity and wonder which the aspect of that strange sad smiling lonely place inspires; behold they come upon another party of English, two young men accompanying a lady. What, Clive I cries one. My dear, dear Lord Kew ! shouts the oth- er; and as each young man rushe~ up and grasps the two hands of the other, they both begin to blush Lord Kew and his family resided in a neigh- boring hotel on the Chiafa at Naples, and that very evening on returning from the Pompeian excursion, the two painters were invited to take tea by those friendly persons. J. J. excused him- self~ and sate at home drawing all night. Clive went, and passed a pleasant evening; in which all sorts of future tours and pleasure-parties were projected by the young men. They were to visit Pustum, Capri, Sicily; why not Malta and the East? asked Lord Kew. Lady Walbam was alarmed. Had not Kew been in the East already? Clive was sur- prised and agitated too. Could Kew think of going to the East, and making long journeys, when he hadhe had other engagements that would necessitate his return home? No, he must not go to the East; Lord Kews mother avowed, Kew had promised to stay with her duri1~ig the summer at Castellammare, and Mr. Newcome must come and paint their portraits thereall their portraits. She would like to have an entire picture-gallery of Kews, if her son would remain at home during the sittings. At an early hour Lady Walbam retired to rest, exacting Clives promise to come to Castellam- mare: and George Barnes disappeared to array himself in an evening costume, and to pay his round of visits as became a young diplomatist. This part of diplomatic duty does not commence until after the opera at Naples; and society be- gins when the rest of the world has gone to bed. hew and Clive sate till one oclock in the morning, when the latter returned to his hotel. Not one of those fine parties at Pa~stum, Sicily, etc., were carried out. Clive did not go to the East at all, and it was J. J. who painted Lord Kews portrait that summer, at Castellammare. The next day Clive went for his passport to the embassy; and a steamer departing direct for Marseilles on that very afternoon, behold Mr. Newcome was on board of her; Lord Kew and his brother and J. J. waving their hats to him as the vessel left the shore. Away went the ship, cleaving swiftly through the azure waters; but not swiftly enough for Clive. J. J. went back with a sigh to his sketch- book and easels. I suppose the other young dis- ciple of Art had heard something which caused him to forsake his sublime mistress, for one who was much more capricious and earthly. CHAPTER XL. RETURNS FROM ROME I~O PALL MALL. ONE morning in the month of July, when there was actually sunshine in Lamb Court, and the two gentlemen who occupied the third floor chambers there in partnership, were engaged, as their custom was, over their pipes, their man- uscripts, and their Times newspaper, behold a fresh sunshine burst into their room in the person of young Clive, with a bronzed face, and a yellow beard and mustaches, and those bright cheerful eyes, the sight of which was always so welcome to both of us. What, Clive! What, the young one! What, Benjamin ! shout Pen- dennis and Warrington. Clive had obtained a very high place indeed in the latters affections; so much so, that if I could have found it in my heart to be jealous of such a generous brave fel- low, I might have grndged him his share of 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Warringtous regard. He blushed up with pleas- ure to see us again. Pidgeon, our boy, intro- duced him with a jubilant countenance; and Flanagan, the laundress, came smirking out of the bed-room, eager to get a nod of recognition from him, and bestow a smile of welcome upon every bodys favorite, Clive. In two minutes an arm-chair full of maga- zines, slips of copy, and books for review, was emptied over the neighboring coal-scuttle, and Clive was in the seat, a cigar in his mouth, as comfortable as if he had never been away. When did he come? Last night. He was back in Charlotte Street, at his old lodgings: he had been to breakfast in Fitzroy Square that morning; James Binnie chirped for joy at see- ing him. His father had written to him desir- ing him to come back and see James Binnie; pretty Miss Rosey was very well thank you: and Mrs. Mack? Wasnt Mrs. Mackenzie delighted to behold him? Come, Sir, on your honor and conscience, didnt the widow give you a kiss on your return ? Clive sends an uncut number of the Pall Mall Gazette flying across the room at the head of the inquirer; but blushes so sweetly, that I have very little doubt some such pretty meeting had taken place. What a pity i~ is he had not been here a short while since for a marriage in high life, to give away his dear Barnes, and sign the book, along with the other dignitaries! We described that ceremony to him, and announced the pro- motion of his friend, Florac, now our friend also, iDirector of the Great Anglo-Gallic Railway, the Prince de Montcontour. Thea Clive told us of his deeds during the winter; of the good fun he had had at Rome, and the jolly fellows he had met there. Was he going to astonish the worid by some grand pictures? He was not. The more he worked, the more discontented he was with his performances somehow: but J. J. was coming out very strong, J. J. was going to be a stunner. We turned with pride and satisfaction to that very number of the Pall Mall Gazette, which the youth had flung at us, and showed him a fine article by F. Bay- ham, Esq., in which the picture sent home by, J. J. was enthusiastically lauded by the great critic. So he was back among us, and it seemed but yesterday he had quit- ted us. To Londoners every thing seems to have happened but yester- day; nobody has time to miss his neighbor who goes away. People go to the Cape, or on a campaign, or on a tour round the world, or to India, and return with a wife and two or three children, and we fancy it was only the other day they left us, so engaged is every man in his individual speculations, studies, struggles; so selfish does our life make usselfish but not ill-nutured. We are glad to see an old friend, though we do not weep when he leaves us. We humbly acknowledge, if fate call us away likewise, that we are no more missed than any other atom. After talking for a while, Mr. Clive must needs go into the city, whither I accompanied him. His interview with Messrs. Jolly and Baines, at the house in Fog Court, must have been very satisfactory; Clive came out of the parlor with a radiant countenance. Do you want any money, old boy ? says he; the dear old governor bus placed a jolly sum to my ac- count, and Mr. Bain es has told me how delight- ed Mrs. Baines and the girls will be to see me at dinner. He says my father has made a lucky escape out of one house in India, and a famous investment in another. Nothing could be more civil; how uncommonly kind and friend- ly every body is in London. Every body 1 Then bestowing ourselves in a Hansom cab, which had probably just deposited some other capitalist in the City, we made for the West End of the town, where Mr. Clive had some important business to transact with his tailors. He discharged his outstanding little adeount with easy liberality, blushing as he pulled out of his pocket a new check-book, page 1 of which he bestowed on the delighted artist. From Mr. B.s shop to Mr. Truefitts is but a step. Our young friend was induced to enter the hair-dressers, and leave behind him a great portion of the flowing locks and the yellow beard, which he had brought with him from Rome. With his mustaches he could not be induced to part; painters and cavalry officers having a right to those decorations. And why should not this young fellow wear smart clothes, and a smart mustache, and look handsome, and take his pleasure, and bask in his sun when it shone? Time enough for flannel and a fire when the .winter comes; and for gray hair and cork-soled boots in the natural decline of years. Then we went to pay a visit at a hotel in Jermyn Street to our friend Florac, who was now magnificently lodged there. A powdered giant lolling in the hall, his buttons emblazoned with prodigious coronets, took our cards up to the Prince. As the door of an apartment on the first floor opened, we heard a cry as of joy; THE NEWCOMES. 69 and that nobleman, in a magnificent Persian dressing-gown, rushing from the room, plunged down the stairs and began kissing Clive to the respectful astonishment of the Titan in livery. Come that I present you, my friends, our good little Frenchman exclaimed, to Madame lato my wife ! We entered the drawing- room; a demure little lady, of near sixty years of age, was seated there, and we were present- ed in form to Madnme la Princesse de Men- contour n~e Higg, of Manchester. She made us a stiff little courtesy, but looked not ill-na- tured; indeed, few women could look at Clive Newcomes gallant figure and brave smiling countenance and keep a frown on their own very long. I have eard of you from somebodys else besides the Prince, said the lady, with rather a blush. Your uncle has spoke to me hoften about you, Mr. Clive, and about your good father. Cest son Directeur, whispers Florac to me. I wondered which of the firm of New- come had taken that office upon him. Now you are come to England, the lady continued (whose Lancashire pronunciation be- ing once indicated, we shall henceforth, out of respect to the Princesss rank, generally pre- termit) now you are come to England, we hope to see you often. Not here in this noisy hotel, which I cant bear, but in the country. Our house is only three miles from Newcome not such a grand place as your uncles; but I hope we shall see you there a great deal, and your friend, Mr. Pendennis, if be is passing that way. The invitation to Mr. Pendennis, I am bound to say, was given in terms by no means so warm as those in which the Princesss hos- pitality to Clive were professed. Shall we meet you at your Huncle Odsons ? the lady continued, to Clive; his wife is a most charming, well-informed woman, has been most kind and civil, and we dine there to-day~ Barnes and his wife is gone to spend the honey- moon at Newcome. Lady Clara is a sweet dear thing, and her pa and ma most affable, I am sure. What a pity Sir Brian couldnt at. tend the marriage! There was every body there in London, amost. Sir Harvey Diggs says he is mending very slowly. In life we are in death, Mr. Newcome! Isnt it sad to think of him, in the midst of all his splendor and prosperity, and he so infirm and unable to enjoy them! But let us hope for the best, and that his health will soon come round 1 With these and similar remarks, in which poor Florac took but a very small share (for he seemed dumb and melancholy in the company of the Princess, his elderly spouse), the visit sped on. Mr. Pendennis, to whom very little was said, having leisure to make his silent ob- servations upon the person to whom he had been just presented. As there lay on the table two neat little pack- ages, addressed The Princess de Moncontour an envelope to the same address, with The Prescription, No. 9396 further inscribed on the paper, and a sheet of note-paper, bearing caba- listic characters, and the signature of that most fashionable physician, Sir Harvey Diggs, I was led to believe that the lady of Moncontour was~ or fancied herselg in a delicate state of health. By the side of the physic for the body was medicine for the soula number of pretty little hooks in middle age bindings, in antique type many of them, adorned with pictures of the German School, representing demure ecelesias- tics, with their heads on one side, children in long starched nightgowns, virgins bearing lilies, and so forth, from which it was to be concluded that the owner of the volumes was not so hos- tile to Rome as she had been at an earlier pe- riod of her religious life; and that she had mi- grated (in spirit) from Clapham to Knights- bridge, as so many wealthy mercantile families \J ~ 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. have likewise done in the body. A long strip he came to a certain rendezvous given to him of embroidery, of the Gothic pattern, further- by some bachelor friends for the evening. more betrayed her present inclinations; aud the James Binnies eyes lightened up with pleas- person observing these things, while nobody was ure ou beholding his young Clive; the youth, taking any notice of him, was amused when the obedient to his fathers injunction, had hastened accuracy of his conjectures was confirmed by to Fitzroy Square immediately after taking pos- the re-appearance of the gigantic footman, call- session of his old lodgingshis, during the time ing out Mr. Oneyman, in a loud voice, and of his absence. The old properties and carved preceding that divine into the room. cabinets, the picture of his father looking melan- Cest le IDirecteur. Venez fumer dans ma choly out of the canvas, greeted Clive strangely ehambre, Pen, growled Florac, as Honeyman on the afternoon of his arrival. No wonder he came slidin~ over the carpet, his elegant smile was glad to get away from a solitude peopled changing to a blush when he beheld Clive, his with a number of dismal recollections, to the nephew, seated by the Princesss side. This, near hospitality of Fitzroy Square and his guard- then, was the uncle who had spoken about Clive ian and friend there. and his father to Madame de Florac. Charles James had not improved in health during seemed in the best condition. He held out Clives ten months absence. He had never been two bran-new lavender-colored kid gloves to able to walk well, or take his accustomed cx- shake hands with his dear Chive; Florac and ercise, after his fall. He was no more used to Mr. Pendennis vanished out of the room as lie riding than the late Mr. Gibbon, whose person appeared, so that no precise account can be Jamess somewhat resembled, and of whose phi- given of this affecting interview. losophy our Scottish friend was an admiring When I quitted the hotel, a brown brougham, scholar. Tihe Colonel gone, James would have with a pair of beautiful horses, the harness and arguments with Mr. Honeyman over their claret, panels emblazoned with the neatest little ducal bring down the famous XVth and XVIth chap- coronets you ever saw, and a cipher under each ters of the Decline and Fall upon him, and crown as easy to read as the arrow-headed in- quite get the better of the clergyman. James, scriptions on one of Mr. Layards Assyrian like many other skeptics, was very obstinate, chariots, was in waiting, and I presumed that and for his part believed that almost all persons Madame la Princesse was about to take an hind as much belief as the Roman augurs in their airing, ceremonies. Certainly, poor Honeyman, in their Chive had passed the avuncular banking-house controversies, gave up one article after another, in the city, without caring to face his relatives flying from Jamess assault; but the battle over, there. Mr. Neweome was now in sole com- Charles Iloneynian would pick up these accon- mand, Mr. Barnes being absent at Neweome, trements whiich he hind flung, away in his re- the Baronet little likely ever to enter bank J)nr- treat, wipe them dry, and put them on again. br again. But his bounden duty was to wait Lamed by his fall, and obliged to remain on the ladies; and of course, only from dutys much within doors, where certain society did sake, he went the very first day and called in not always amuse him, James Binnie sought Park Lane. excitement in the pleasures of the table, par- The family was habsent ever since the mar- taking of them the more freely now that his riage siinminery last week, the footman, who health could afford them the less. Chive, the had accompanied the party to Baden, informed sly rogue, observed a great improvement in the Chive, when he opened the door and recognized commissariat since his good fathers time, ate that gentleman. Sir Brian pretty well, thank his dinner with thankfulness, and made no re- you, Sir. The family was at Brighting. That marks. Nor did he confide to us for awhile his is, Miss Neweome is in London staying with opinion that Mrs. Mack bored the good gentle- her graudmammar in Queen Street, May Fear, man most severely; that lie pined away under Sir. The varnished doors closed upon Jeames her kindnesses; sneaked off to his study-chair within; the brazen knockers grinned their fa- and his nap; was only too glad when some of mihiar grin at Chive; and he went down the the widows friends came, or she went out; seem- blank steps discomfited. Must it be owned that ing to breathe more freely when she was gone, he went to a Club, and looked in the Directory and drink his wine more cheerily when rid of for the number of Lady Kews house in Queen the intolerable weight of her presence. Street? Her ladyship had a furnished house I protest the great ills of life are nothing for the season. No such noble name was to the loss of your fortune is a mere flea-bite; the be found among the inhabitants of Queen loss of your wifehow many men have sup- street. ported it and married comfortably afterward? Mr. Hobson was from home; that is, Thomas It is not what you hose, but what you have had orders not to admit strangers on certain daily to bear that is hard. I can fancy nothing days, or before certain hours; so that Aunt more cruel, after a long easy life of bachehor- Hobson saw Chive without being seen by the hood, than to have to sit day after day with a young man. I can not say how much he re- dull handsome woman opposite; to have to an- gretted that mischance. His visits of propriety swer her speeches about the weather, house- were thus all paid; and he went off to dine keeping, and what not; to smile appropriately dutifully with James Binnie, after which meal. when she is disposed to be lively (that h~ughing THE NEWCOMES. 71 at the jokes is the hardest part), and to model your conversation so as to suit her intelligence, knowing that a word used out of its downright signification will not be understood by your fair breakfast-maker. Women go through this sim- pering and smiling life, and bear it quite easily. Theirs is a life of hypocrisy. What good wo- man does not laugh at her husbands or fathers jokes and stories time after time, and would not laugh at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if he told them? Flattery is their natureto coax, flatter, and- sweetly befool some one is every Iwomans business. She is none if she declines this office. But men are not provided with such powers of humbug or endurancethey perish and pine away miserably when boredor they shrink off to the club or public-house for com- fort. I want to say ns delicately as I cnn, and never liking to use rough terms regarding a handsome woman, that Mrs. Mackenzie, herself being in the highest spirits and the best humor, extinguished her half-brother, James Binnie, Esq.; that she was as a malaria to him, poison- ing his atmosphere, numbing his limbs, destroy- ing his sleepthat day after day as he sate down at breakfast, and she leveled common- places at her dearest James, her dearest James became more wretched under her. And ~io one could see what his complaint was. He called in the old physicians at the club. He dosed himself with poppy, and mandragora, and blue pilllower and lower went poor Jamess mer- cury. If he wanted to move to Brighton or Cheltenham, well and good. Whatever were her engagements, or whateyer pleasures darling Rosey might have in store, dear thing !at her age, my dear Mrs. Newcome, would not one do all to make a young creature happy ?under no circumstances could I think of leaving my poor brother. Mrs. Mackenzie thought herselfa most highly principled woman, Mrs. Newcome had also a great opinion of her. These two ladies had formed a considerable friendship in the past months, the captains widow having an unaf- fected reverence for the bankers lady, and think- ing her one of the best informed and most su- perior women in the world. When she had a high opinion of a person Mrs. Mack always ~vise- ly told it. Mrs. Newcome in her turn thought Mrs. Mackenzie a very clever, agreeable, lady- like womannot accomplished, but one could rtot have every thing. No, no, my dear, says simple Hobson, never would do to have every woman as clever as you are, Maria. Women would have it all their own way then. Maria, as her custom was, thanked God for being so virtuous and clever, and graciously ad- mitted Mrs. and Miss Mackenzie into the circle of adorers of that supreme virtue and talent. Mr. Newcome took little Hosey and her mother to some parties. When any took place in Bryan- stone Square, they were generally allowed to come to tea. When on the second day of his arrival the dutiful Clive went to diue with Mr. James, the ladies, in spite of their raptures at his return and delight at seeing him, were going in the evening to his aunt. Their talk was about the Princess all dinner time. The Prince and Prin- cess were to dine in Bryanstone Square. The Princess had ordered such and such things at the jewellersthe Princess would take rank over an English Earls daughterover Lady Ann Newcome for instance. 0 dear! I wish the Prince and Princess were smothered in the tower, growled James Binnie, since you have got acqnainted with em I have never heard of any thing else. Clive, like a wise man, kept his counsel about the Prince and Princess, with whom we have seen that lie had had the honor of an interview that very day. But after dinner Rosey came round and whispered to her mamma, and after Roseys whisper mamma flung her arms round iRoseys neck and kissed her, and called her a thoughtful darling. What do you think this creature says, Clive ? said Mrs. Mack, still hold- ing her darlings little hand, I wonder I had not thought of it myself. What is it, Mrs. Mackenzie I asks Clive, laughing. She says why should not you come to your aunts with us? We are sure Mrs. Keweome would be most happy to see you. Rosey, with a little hand put to mamma s mouth, said, Why did you tellyou naughty mamma! Isnt she a naughty mamma, Uncle James ? More kisses follow after this sally, of which Uncle James receives one with perfect complacency: mamma crying out as Rosey re- tires to dress, That darling child is always thinking of othersalways 1 Clive says, he will sit and smoke a cheroot with Mr. Binnie, if they please Jamess coun- tenance falls. We have left off that sort of thing here, my dear Clive, a long time, cries Mrs. Mackenzie, departing from the dining-room. But we have improved the claret, Clive, my b& y ! whispers Uncle James. Let us have an- other bottle, and we will drink to the dear Colo- nels good health and speedy returnGod bless him! I say, Clive, Tom seems to have had a most fortunate escape out of Winters house thanks to our friend Hummun Lal, and to have got into a capital good thing with this Bumdle- cund bank. They speak famously of it at Han- over Square, and I see the Hurkura quotes the shares at a premium already. Clive did not know any thing about the Bumdlecund hank, except a few words in a let- ter from his father, which he had found in the City this morning, And an uncommonly lib- eral remittance the governor has sent me home, Sir ; upon which they fill another bumper to the Colonels health. Mamma and Rosey come and show their pretty pink dresses before going to Mrs. Newcomes, and Clive lights a cigar in the halland isnt there a jubilation at the Haunt when the young fellows face appears above the smoke-clouds there? 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER XLI. AN OLD STORY. MM~ir of Olives Roman friends were by this time come to London, and the young man re- newed his acqnaintance with them, and had speedily a considerable circle of his own. He thought fit to allow himself a good horse or two, and appeared in the Park among other young dandies. He and Monsieur de Moncontour were sworn allies. Lord Fareham, who had purchased J. J.s picture, was Olives very good friend: Major Pendennis himself pronounced him to be a young fellow of agreeable manners and very favorably vu (as the Major happened to know) in some very good quarters. Ere many days Clive had been to Brighton to see Lady Ann and Sir Brian, and good Aunt Honeyman, in whose house the Baronet was lodged: and I suppose he found out, by some means or other, where Lady Kew lived in May Fair. But her Ladyship was not at home, nor was she at home on the second day, nor did there come any note from Ethel to her cousin. She did not ride in the Park as of old. Clive, bien vu as he was, did not belong to that great world as yet, in which he would he pretty sure to meet her every night at one of those parties where every body goes. He read her name in the paper morning after morning, as having been present at Lady Thiss entertainment and Lady Thats ministerial r!uniou. At first he was too shy to tell what the state of the case was, and took nobody into his confidence regarding his little tendre. There he was riding through Queen Street, May Fair, attired in splendid raiment; never missing the Park; actually going to places of worship in the neighborhood; and frequenting the operaa waste of time which one would never have expected in a youth of his nurture. At length a certain observer of human nature remarking his state, rightly conjectured that he must be in love, and taxed him with the soft impeachmenton which the young man, no doubt anxious to open his heart to some one, poured out all that story which has before been narrated; and told how he thought his passion cured, and how it was cured; but when he heard from Kew at Naples that the engagement was over between him and Miss New- come, Olive found his own flame kindle again with new ardor. He was wild to see her. He dashed off from Na- ples instantly on receiving the news that she was free. He had been ten days in London without getting a glimpse of her. That Mrs. Mackenzie bothers me so I hardly know where to turn, said poor Olive, and poor little Rosey is made to write me a note about some- thing twice a day. Shes a good dear little thinglittle Iloseyand I really had thought once ofofO never mind that! 0 Pen! Im up another tree now! and a poor miserable young beggar I am ! In fact Mr. Pendennis was installed as confident vice J. J.absent on leave. This is a part, which, especially for a few days, the present biographer has always liked well enough. For a while at least, I think almost every man or woman is interesting when in love. If you know of two or three such affairs going on in any soiree to which you may be invitedis not the party straightway amus- ing? Yonder goes Augustus Tomkins, working his way through the rooms to that far corner where demure Miss Hopkins is seated, to whom the stupid grinning Bumpkins thinks he is making himself agreeable. Yonder sits Miss Fanny distraite, and yet trying to smile as the captain is talking his folly, the parson his glib compliments. And see, her face lights up all of a sudden: her eyes beam with delight at the captains stories, and at that delightful young clergyman likewise. It is because Augustus has appeared; their eyes only meet for one semi-second, but that is enough for Miss Fanny. Go on, captain, with your twaddle !Proceed, my reverend friend, with your smirking com- mon-places! In the last two minutes the world has changed for Miss Fanny. That moment has come for which she has been fidgeting and longing and scheming all day! How different an interest, I say, has a meeting of people for a philosopher who knows of a few such little secrets, to that which your vulgar looker-on feels, who comes but to eat the ices, and stare at the ladies dresses and beauty! There are two frames of mind under which London society is bearable to a manto be an actor in one of those sentimental performances above hinted at: or to be a spectator and watch it. But as for the mere dessus de carteswould not an arm-chair and the dullest of books be better than that dull game? So, I not only became Olives confidant in this affair, but took a pleasure in extracting the THE NEWCOMES. 73 young fellows secrets from him, or rather in encouraging him to pour them forth. Thus was the great part of the previous tale revealed to me: thus Jack Belsizes misadventures, of the first part of which we had only heard in London (and whither he returned presently to be reconciled to his father, after his elder brothers death). Thus my Lord Kews secret history came into my possession; let us hope for the publics future delectation, and the chroniclers private advantage. And many a night until daylight did appear, has poor Clive stamped his chamber or my own, pouring his story out to me, his griefs and raptures; recall- ing, in his wild young way, recollections of Ethels sayings and doings; uttering descrip- tions of her beauty: and raging against the cruelty which she exhibited toward him. As soon as the new confidant heard the name of the young lovers charmer, to do Mr. Pen- dennis justice, he endeavored to fling as much cold water upon Clives flame, as a small private engine could be brought to pour on such a con- flagration. Miss Newcome! my dear Clive, says the confidant, do you know to what you are aspiring? For the last three months Miss Newcome has been the greatest lioness in Lon- don: the reigning beauty: the winning horse: the first favorite out of the whole Belgravian harem. No young woman of this year has come near her: those of past seasons she has distanced, and utterly put to shame. Miss Blackeap, Lady Blanch Blackcaps daughter was (as perhaps you are not aware) considered by her mamma the great beauty of last season; and it was considered rather shabby of the young Marquis of Farintosh, to Leave town without offering to change Miss Blackeaps name. Heaven bless you! this year Farintosh will not look at Miss Blackeap! He finds peo- ple at home when (ha! I see you wince, my suffering innocent !)when he calls in Queen Street; yes, and Lady Kew, who is one of the cleverest women in England, will listen for hours to Lord Fariatoshs conversation; than whom, the Rotten Row of Hyde Park can not show a greater booby. Miss Blackeap may re- tire, like Jephthahs daughter, for all Farintosh will relieve her. Then, my dear fellow, there were, as possibly you do not know, Lady Her- mengilde and Lady Yseult, Lady Rackstraws lovely twins, whose appearance created such a sensation at Lady Hautbois firstwas it her first or was it her second ?yes, it was her secondbreakfast. Whom werent they going to marry? Crnckthorpe was mad they said about both. Bustington, Sir John Fobsby, the young baronet with the immense Northern prop- ertythe Bishop of Windsor was actually said to be smitten with one of them, but did not like to offer, as her present M y, like Qun Elzbtb, of gracious memory, is said to ob- ject to bishops, as bishops, marrying. Where is Bustington? Where is Crackthorpe? Where is Fobsby, the young Baronet of the North? My dear fellow, when those two girls come into a room now, they make no more sensation than you or I. Miss Neweome has carried their admirers away from them: Fobsby has actually, it is said, proposed for her: and the real reason of that affair between Lord Bustington und Captain Crackthorpe of the Royal Horse Guards Green, was a speech of Bustingtons, hinting that Miss Newcome had not behaved well in throwing Lord Kew over. Dont you know what old Lady Kew will do with this girl, Clive? She will marry Miss Newcome to the best man. If a richer and better parti than Lord Farintosh presents himselfthen it will be Fariatoshs turn to find that Lady Kew is not at home. Is there any young man in the Peer- age unmarried and richer than Farintosh? I forget. Why does not some one publish a list of the young male nobility and baronetage, their names, weights, and probable fortunes? I dont mean for the matrons of May Fairthey have the list by heart and study it in secretbut for young men in the world; so that they may know what their chances are, and who naturally has the pull over them. Let me seethere is young Lord Gaunt, who will have a great fortune, and is desirable because you know his father is locked upbut he is only ten years oldno they can scarcely bring him forward as Farm- toshs rival. You look astonished, my poor boy? You think it is wicked in me to talk in this brutal way about bargain and sale; and say that your hearts darling is, at this minute, being paced up and down the May Fair market to be taken away by the best bidder. Can you count purses with Sultan Fariatosh? Can you compete even with Sir John Fobsby of the North? What I say is wicked and worldly, is it? So it is: but it is true, as true as Tattersallsas true as Circassia or Virginia. Dor~t you know that the Circassian girls. are proud of their bringing up, and take rank according to the prices which they fetch? And you go and buy yourself some new clothes, and a fifty pound horse, nud put a penny rose in your button hole, and ride past her window, and think to win this prize? 0, you idiot! A penny rosebud! Put money in your purse. A fifty pound hack when a butcher rides as good a one IPut money in your purse. A brave young heart, all courage and love and honor! Put money in thy pursetother coin dont pass in the marketat least where old Lady Kew has the stall. By these remonstrances, playful though seri- ous, Clives adviser sought to teach him wisdom about his love affair; and the advice was re- ceived as advice upon those occasions usually is. After calling thrice, and writing to Miss Newcome, there came a little note from that young lady, saying, Dear Clive. We were so sorry we were out when you called. We shall be at home to-morrow at lunch, when Lady Kew hopes you will come, and see, yours ever, E. N. Clive wentpoor Clive. He had the satis- faction of shaking Ethels hand, and a finger of I 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Lady Kew; of eating a muttoa chop ia Ethels preseace; of conversing about the state of art at Rome with Lady Kew, and describing the last works of Gibson and Macdonald. The visit lasted but for half an hour. Not for one min- ute was Clive allowed to see Ethel alone. At three oclock Lady Kews carriage was an- nounced and our young gentleman rose to take his leave, and had the pleasure of seeing the most noble Peer, Marquis of Farintosh and Earl of Rossmont, descend from his lordships broug- ham and enter at Lady Kews door, followed by a domestic bearing a small stack of flowers from Covent Garden. It befell that the good-natured Lady Fare- ham had a ball in these days; and meeting Clive in the Park, her lord invited him to the entertainment. Mr. Pendennis had also the honor of a card. Accordingly Clive took me up at Bayss, and we proceeded to the ball to- gether. The lady of the house, smiling upon all her guests, welcomed with particular kindness her young friend from Rome. Are you related to the Miss Newcome, Lady Ann Newcome s daughter? Her cousin? She will be here to- night. Very likely Lady Fareham did not see Clive wince and blush at this announcement, her ladyship having to occupy herself with a thousand other people. Clive found a dozen of his Roman friends in the room, ladies young and middle aged, plain and handsome, all glad to see his kind face. The house was splendid; the ladies magnificently dressed; the ball beau- tiful, though it appeared a little dull until that event took place whereof we treated two pages back (in the allegory of Mr. Tomkins and Miss Hopkins), and Lady Kew and her granddaugh- ter made their appearance. That old woman, who began to look more and more like the wicked fairy of the stories, who is not invited to the Princesss Christening Feast, had this advantage over her likeness, that she was invited every where; though how she, at her age, could fly about to so many par- ties, unless she was a fairy, no one could say. Behind the fairy, up the marble stairs, came the most noble Parintosh, with that vacuous leer which distinguishes his lordship. Ethel seemed to be carrying the stack of flowers which the marquis had sent to her. The noble Busting- ton (Viscount Bustington, I need scarcely tell the reader, is the heir of the house of Podbury), the Baronet of the North, the gallant Crack- thorpe, the first men in town, in a word, gath- ered round the young beauty forming her court; and little Dick Hitchin, who goes every where, you may be sure was near her with a compli- ment and a smile. Ere this arrival, the twins had been giving themselves great airs in the roomthe poor twins! when Ethel appeared they sank into shuddering insignificance, and had to put up with the conversation and atten- tions of second-rate men, belonging to second- rate clubs, in heavy dragoon regiments. One of them actually walked with a dancing harris- ter; but he was related to a duke, and it was expected the Lord Chancellor would give him something very good. Before he saw Ethel, Clive vowed he was aware of her. Indeed, had not Lady Fareharn told him Miss Neweome was coming? Ethel, on the contrary, not expecting him, or not hav- ing the prescience of love, exhibited signs of surprise when she beheld him, her eyebrows arching, her eyes darting looks of pleasure. When grandmamma happened to be in another room, she beckoned Clive to her, dismissing Crackthorpe and Fobsby, Farintosh and Bus- tington, the amorous youth who around her bowed, and summoning Mr. Clive up to an au- dience with the air of a young princess. And so she was a princess; and this the region of her special dominion. The wittiest and handsomest, she deserved to reign in such a place, by right of merit and by general elec- tion. Clive felt her superiority, and his own shortcomings; he came up to her as to a supe- rior person. Perhaps she was not sorry to let him see how she ordered away grandees and splendid Bustingtons, informing them, with a superb manner, that she wished to speak to her cousinthat handsome young man with the light mustache yonder. Do you know many people? This is your first appearance in society? Shall I introduce you to some nice girls to dance with? What very pretty buttons I Is that what you wanted to say ? asked Clive, rather bewildered. What does one say at a ball? One talks conversation suited to the place. If I were to say to Captain Crackthorpe, What pretty but- tons! he would be delighted. But youyou have a soul above buttons, I suppose. Being, as you say, a stranger in this sort of society, you see I am not accustomed toto the exceeding brilliancy of its conversation, said Clive. What! you want to go away, and we havent seen each other for near a year, cries Ethel, in quite a natural voice. Sir John Fobsby, Im very sorrybut do let me off this dance. I have just met my cousin, whom I have not seen for a whole year, and I want to talk to him. It was not my fault that you did not see me sooner. I wrote to you that I only got your letter a month ago. You never answered the second I wrote you from Rome. Your letter lay there at the post ever so long, and was for- warded to me at Naples. Where ? asked Ethel. I saw Lord Kew there. Ethel was smiling with all her might, and kissing her hand to the twins, who passed at this moment with their mamma. 0, indeed, you sawhow do you do ?Lord Kew. And, having seen him, I came over to En- gland, said Clive. Ethel looked at him, gravely. What am I to understand by that, Clive ?You came over because it was very hot at Naples, and because THE NEWCOMES. 75 you wanted to see your friends here, nest-ce pas? How glad mamma was to see you You know she loves you as if you were her own son. What, as much as that angel, Barnes ! cries Clive, bitterly; impossible. Ethel looked once more. Her present mood and desire was to treat Clive as a chit, as a young fellow without consequencea thirteenth younger brother. But in his looks and behav- ior there was that which seemed to say not too many liberties were to be taken with him. Why werent you here a month sooner, and you might have seen the marriage? It was a very pretty thing. Every body was there. Clara, and so did Barnes really, looked quite hand- some. It must have been beautiful, continued Olive; quite a touching sight, I am sure. Poor Charles Belsize could not he present be- cause his brother was dead; and And what else, pray, Mr. Newcome I cries Miss, in great wrath, her pink nostrils begin- ning to quiver. I did not think, really, that when we met after so many months, I was to beinsulted; yes, insulted, by the mentioa of that name. I most humbly ask pardon, said Clive, with a grave bow. Heaven forbid that I should wound your sensibility, Ethel! It is, as you say, my first appearance in society. I talk about things or persons that I should not men- tion. I should talk about buttons, should I? which you were good enough to tell me was the proper subject of conversation. Maynt I even speak of connections of the family? Mr. Bel- size, through this marriage, has the honor of being connected with you; and even I, in a re- mote degree, may boast of a sort of an ever-so- distant cousinship with him. What an honor for me Pray what is the meaning of all this ? cries Miss Ethel, surprised, and perhaps alarmed. Indeed, Clive scarcely knew. He had been chafing all the while he talked with her; smoth- e.ring anger as he saw the young men round about her; revolting against himself for the very humility of his obedience, and angry at the eagerness an4 delight with which he had come at her call. The meaning is, Ethelhe broke out, seizing the opportunity that when a man comes a thousand miles to see you, and shake your hand, you should give it him a little more cordially than you choose to do to me; that when a kinsman knocks at your door, time after time, you should try and admit him; and that when you meet him you should treat him like an old friend: not as you treated me when my Lady Kew vouchsafed to give me admittance: not as you treat these fools that are fribbling round about you, cries Mr. Clive, in a great rage, folding his arms, and glaring round on a number of the most innocent young swells; and he continued looking as if he would like to knock a dozen of their heads together. Am I keeping Miss Keweomes admirers from her ? That is not for me to say, she said, quite gently. He was; but to see him angry did not displease Miss Newcome. That young man who came for you just now, Clive went on that Sir John Are you angry with me because I sent hhn away? said Ethel, putting out a hand. Harki there is the music. Take me in and waltz with me. Dont you know it is not my door at which you knocked ? she said, looking up into his face as simply and kii~dly as of old. She whirled round the dancing room with him in triumph, the other beauties dwindling before her; she looked more and more beautiful with each rapid move of the waltz, her color height- ening and her eyes seeming to brighten. Not till the music stopped did she sink down on a seat, panting, and smiling radiantas many, many hundred years ago I remember to have seen Taglioni, after a conquering pas seal. She nodded a thank you to Olive. It seemed that there was a perfect reconciliation. Lady Kew came in just at the end of the dance, scowling when she beheld Ethels partner; but in reply to her remonstrances Ethel shrugged her fair shoulders; with a look which seemed to say je le v , gave an arm to her grandmother, and walked off, saucily protecting her. Olives friend had been looking on observ- ingly and cuAously as the scene between them had taken place, and at the dance with which the reconciliation had been celebrated. I must tell you that this arch young creature had formed the object of my observation for some months past, and that I watched her as I have watched a beautiful panther at the Zoological Gardens, so bright of eye, so sleek of coat, so slim in form, so swift and agile in her spring. A more brilliant young coquette than Miss Neweome, in her second season, these eyes never looked upon, that is the truth. In her first year, being engaged to Lord Kew, she was perhaps a little more reserved and quiet. Be- sides, her mother went out with her that first season, to whom Miss Neweome, except for a little occasional flightiness, was invariably obe- dient and ready to come to call. But when Lady Kew appeared as her Duenna, the girls delight seemed to be to plague the old lady, and she would dance with the very youngest sons merely to put grandmamma in a passion. In this way poor young Cubley (who has two hundred a year of allowance, besides eighty, and an annual rise of five in the Treasury) act- ually thought that Ethel was in love with him, and consulted with the young men in his room in Downing Street, whether two hundred and eighty a year, with five pound more next year, would be enough for them to keep house on? Young Tandy of the Temple, Lord Skibbereens younger son, who sate in the House for some time on the Irish Catholic side, was also deeply smitten, and many a night in our walks borne from the parties at the other end of the town, would entertain me with his admiration and passion for her. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. If you have such a passion for her, why not propose ? it was asked of Mr. Tandy. Propose! propose to a Russian Archduch- ess, cries young Tandy. Shes beautiful, shes delightful, shes witty. I have never seen any thing like her eyes; they send me wild wild, says Tandy(slapping his waistcoat un- der Temple Bar)but a more audacious little flirt never existed since the days of Cleopatra. With this opinion likewise in my mind, I had been looking on during Clives proceedings with Miss Ethelnot I say without admiration of the young lady who was leading him such a dance. The waltz over, I congratulated him on his own performance. His continental practice had greatly improved him. And as for your partner, it is delightful to see her, I went on. I always like to be by when Miss Newcome dances. I had sooner see her than any body since Taglioni. Look at her now, with her neck up, and her little foot out, just as she is preparing to start! Happy Lord Bustington ! You are angry with her because she cut you, growls Clive. You know you said she cut you, or forgot you; and your vanitys wound- ed; that is why you are so satirical. How can Miss Newcome remember all the men who are presented to her ? says the other. Last year she talked to me because she wanted to know about you. This year she doesnt talk; because I suppose she doesnt want to know about you any more. Hang it. Doont, Pen, cries Clive, as a schoolboy cries out to another not to hit him. She does not pretend to observe; and is in~ full conversation with the amiable Bustington. Delicious interchange of noble thoughts! But she is observing us talking, and knows that we are talking about her. If ever you marry her, Clive, which is absurd, I shall lose you for a friend. You will infallibly tell her what I think of her; and she will order you to give me up. Clive had gone off in a brown study, as his interlocu- tor continued. Yes, she is a flirt. She cant help her nature. She tries to vanquish every one who comes near her. She is a little out of breath from waltzing, and so she pretends to be listening to poor Bustington, who is out of breath __ 1it ~, \~\\ \ \ \ ~ N THE NEWCOMES. 7,7 too, bat puffs out his best in order to make him- self agreeable. With what a pretty air she ap- pears to listen! Her eyes actually seem to brighten. W~4at ? says Clive, with a start. I could not comprehend the meaning of the start; nor did I care much to know, supposing that the young man was waking up from some lovers reverie; and the evening sped away, Clive not quitting the ball until Miss Neweome and the Countess of Kew had departed. No further communication appeared to take place between the cousins that evening. I think it was Captain Crackthorpe who gave the young lady an arm into her carriage; Sir John Fobsby having the happiness to conduct the old Count- ~s, and carrying the pink bag for the shawls, wrappers, etc., on which her Ladyships coronet and initials were emblazoned. Clive may have made a movement as if to step forward, but a single finger from Miss Newcome warned him hack. Clive and his two friends in Lamb Court had made an engagement for the next saturday to dine at Greenwich; but on the morning of that day there came a note from him to say that he thought of going down to see his aunt, Miss Honeyman, and begged to recall his promise to us. Saturday is a holiday with gentlemen of our profession. We had invited F. Bayham, Esquire, and promised ourselves a merry even- ing, and were unwilling to balk ourselves of the pleasure on account of the absence of our young Roman. So we three went to London Bridge Station at an early hour, proposing to breathe the fresh air of Greenwich Park before dinner. And at London Bridge, by the most singular coincidence, Lady Kews carriage drove up to the Brighton entrance, and Miss Ethel and her maid stepped out of the brougham. When Miss Neweome and her maid entered the Brighton station, did Mr. Clive, by another singular coincidence, happen also to be there? What more natural and dutiful than that he should go and see his aunt, Miss Honeyman? What more proper than that Miss Ethel should pass the Saturday and Sunday with her sick fa- ther; and take a couple of wholespme nights rest after those five weary past evenings, for each of which we may reckon a couple of soirees and a ball? And that relations should travel togeth- er, the young lady being protected by herfemme- de-cliarnbre; that surely, as every one must al- low, was perfectly right and proper. That a biographer should profess to know every thing which passes, even in a confidential talk in a first-class carriage between two lovers, seems perfcctly absurd; not that grave histori- ans do not pretend to the same wonderful degree of knowledgereporting meetings the most oc- cult of conspirators; private interviews between monarchs and their ministers, even the secret thoughts and motives of those personages, which possibly the persons themselves did not know all for which the present writer will pledge his VOL. X.No. 55.F known character for veracity is, that on a certain day certain parties had a conversation of which the upshot was so and so. He guesses, of course, at a great deal of what took place; knowing the characters, and being inTormed at some time of their meeting. You do not suppose that I bribed the femme-de-chamine, or that those two city gents, who sate in the same carriage with our young friends, and could not hear a word they said, reported their talk to me? If Clive and Ethel had had a coupe to themselves, I would yet boldly tell what took place, but the coup~ was taken by other three young city gents, who smoked the whole way. Well, then, the bonnet begins close up to the hat, ~tell me, Sir, is it true that you were so very much e~pris of the Miss Freemans at Rome; and that afterward you were so wonderfully at- tentive to the third Miss Baliol? Did you draw her portrait? You know you drew her portrait? You painters always pretend to admire giris with auburn hair, because Titian and Raphael paint- ed it. Has the Foruarina red hair? Why we are at Croydon, I declare ! The Fornarinathe hat replies to the bon- net, if that picture at the Borghese palace be an original, or a likeness of heris not a hand- some woman, with vulgar eyes and mouth, and altogether a most mahogany-colored person. She is so plain, in fact, I think that very likely it is the real woman; for it is with their own fancies that men fall in loveor rather every woman is handsome to the lover. You know how old Helen must have been. I dont know any such thing, or any thing about her. Who was Helen ? asks the bon- net; and indeed she did not know. Its a long story, and such an old scandal now, that there is no use in repeating it, says Clive. You only talk about Helen because you wish to turn away the conversation from Miss Freeman, cries the young lady from Miss Baliol, I mean. We will talk about whichever you please. Which shall we begin to pull to pieces ? says Clive. You see, to be in this carriageto be actually with kerto be looking into those won- derful lucid eyesto see her sweet mouth dim- pling, and hear her sweet voice ringing with its delicious laughterto have that hour and a half his own, in spite of all the world-dragoas, grandmothers, convenances, the futuremade the young fellow so happy, filled his whole frame and , spirit with a delight so keen, that no wonder he was gay, and brisk, and lively. And so you knew of my goings on ? he asked. 0 me! they were at Reigate by this time; there was Gatton Park flying before them on the wings of the wind. I know of a number of things, says the bonnet, nodding with ambrosial curls. And you would not answer the second let- ter I wrote to you? We were in great perplexity. One can not be always answering young gentlemens letters. 78 HARPERS NEW MOI~THLY MAGAZINE. I had considerable doubt about answering a note I got from Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, says the ladys chapeau. No, Clive, we must not write to one another, she continued more gravely, or only very, very seldom. Nay, my meeting you here to-day is by the merest chance I am sure; for when I mentioned at Lady Fare- hams the other evening that I was going to see papa at Brighton to-day, I never for one moment thought of seeing you in the train. But as you are here, it cant be helped; and I may as well tell you that there are obstacles. What, other obstacles ? Clive gasped out. Nonsenseyou silly boy! No other ob- stacles but those which always have existed, and must. When we partedthat is, when you left us at Baden, you knew it was for the best. You had your profession to follow, and ~xuld not go on idling aboutabout a family of sick people and children. Every man has his profession, and you yours, as you would have it. We are so nearly allied that we may we may like each other like brother and sis- ter almost. I dont know what Barnes would say if he heard me? Wherever you and your father are, how can I ever think of you but but you know how? I always shall, always. There are certain feelings we have which I hope never can change; though, if you please, about them I intend never to speak any more. Neither you nor I can alter our conditions, but must make the best of them. You shall be a fine clever painter; and Iwho knows what will happen to me? I know what is going to happen to-day; I am going to see papa and mamma, and be as happy as I can till Monday morning. I kndw what I wish would happen now, said Clivethey were going screaming through a tunnel. What? said the bonnet in the darkness; and the engine was roaring so loudly, that he was obliged to put his head quite close to say I wish the tunnel would fnll in and close upon us, or that we might travel on forever and ever. Here there was a great jar of the carriage, and the ladys maid, and I think Miss Ethel, gave a shriek. The lamp above was so dim that the carriage was almost totally dark. No wonder the ladys maid was frightened! but the daylight came streaming in, and all poor Clives wishes of rolling and rolling on forever were put an end to by the implacable sun in a minute. Ah, why was it the qulck train? Suppose it had been the parliamentary train ?even that too would have come to an end. They came and said, Tickets, please, and Clive held out the three of their partyhis, and Ethels, and her maids. I think for such a ride as that he was right to give up Greenwich. Mr. Kuhn was in waiting with a carriage for Miss Ethel. She shook hands with Clive, returning his pressure. I may come and see you ? he said. You may come and see mammayes. And where are you sta~ring ? Bless my soulthey were staying at Miss Honeymans I Clive burst into a laugh. Why he was going there too! Of course Aunt Hon.. cyman had no room for him, her house being quite full with the other Neweomes. It was a most curious coincidence their meet,- ing; but altogether Lady Ann thought it was best to say nothing about the circumstance to graudmamma. I myself am puzzled to say which would have been the better course to pursue under the circumstances; there were so many courses open. As they bad gone so far, should they go on farther together? Suppose they were going to the same house at Brighton, oughtnt they to have gone in the same carringe, with Kuhn and the maid of course? Suppose they met by chance at the station, ought they to have traveled in separate carriages? I ask any gentleman and father of a family, when he was immensely smitten with his present wife, Mrs. Brown, if he had met her traveling with her maid, in the mail, when there was a vacant place, wh~at would he himself have done? A RUSSIAN REMINISCENCE. UPON one of the coldest days of Febreary, 1853, I left Paris by the Orleans Railway. The weather was extremely severe, the frozen snow lay thick in the streets, the asphalt of the boulevards was slippery as glass, sledges scoured the Champs Elys$es and Bois de Boulogne. An icy wind whistled round the train as we quitted the shelter of the station, and I regretted, as I buttoned myself to the chin, and shrank into my corner, that the carringe was not full, instead of having but one occupant besides myself. Opposite to me sat a hale man of about sixty- five, with a qulek bright eye, an intelligent1 good-humored countenancesomewhat weath- er-beatenand the red rosette of the Legion of Honor in his button-hole. During the first half hour he pored over a letter, whose con- tents, judging from the animated expression of his physiognomy, interested him strongly. He seemed scarcely aware of my presence. At last he put up the letter, and then for the first timu looked me in the face. I had been but a few days out of a sick bed, and was sensitive to thu cold, and doubtless my appearance was chilly and woebegone enough, for I detected a slight approach to a smile at the corners of the stran- gers mouth. To one or two commonplace re- marks he replied courteously but laconically, like a man who is neither unsociable nor averse to conversation, but who prefers his own thoughts to that bald talk with which travelers sometimes weary each other rather than sit silent. So our dialogue soon dropped. The cold increased, my feet were benumbed, and I stamped them on the floor of the carriage to revive the circu- lation. My companion observed my proceed- ings with a comical look, as if he thought me a very tender traveler. This carriage must be badly closed, I re- marked. It is bitter cold to the feet. For that discomfort I. have little pity, re

Russian Reminiscence 78-82

78 HARPERS NEW MOI~THLY MAGAZINE. I had considerable doubt about answering a note I got from Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, says the ladys chapeau. No, Clive, we must not write to one another, she continued more gravely, or only very, very seldom. Nay, my meeting you here to-day is by the merest chance I am sure; for when I mentioned at Lady Fare- hams the other evening that I was going to see papa at Brighton to-day, I never for one moment thought of seeing you in the train. But as you are here, it cant be helped; and I may as well tell you that there are obstacles. What, other obstacles ? Clive gasped out. Nonsenseyou silly boy! No other ob- stacles but those which always have existed, and must. When we partedthat is, when you left us at Baden, you knew it was for the best. You had your profession to follow, and ~xuld not go on idling aboutabout a family of sick people and children. Every man has his profession, and you yours, as you would have it. We are so nearly allied that we may we may like each other like brother and sis- ter almost. I dont know what Barnes would say if he heard me? Wherever you and your father are, how can I ever think of you but but you know how? I always shall, always. There are certain feelings we have which I hope never can change; though, if you please, about them I intend never to speak any more. Neither you nor I can alter our conditions, but must make the best of them. You shall be a fine clever painter; and Iwho knows what will happen to me? I know what is going to happen to-day; I am going to see papa and mamma, and be as happy as I can till Monday morning. I kndw what I wish would happen now, said Clivethey were going screaming through a tunnel. What? said the bonnet in the darkness; and the engine was roaring so loudly, that he was obliged to put his head quite close to say I wish the tunnel would fnll in and close upon us, or that we might travel on forever and ever. Here there was a great jar of the carriage, and the ladys maid, and I think Miss Ethel, gave a shriek. The lamp above was so dim that the carriage was almost totally dark. No wonder the ladys maid was frightened! but the daylight came streaming in, and all poor Clives wishes of rolling and rolling on forever were put an end to by the implacable sun in a minute. Ah, why was it the qulck train? Suppose it had been the parliamentary train ?even that too would have come to an end. They came and said, Tickets, please, and Clive held out the three of their partyhis, and Ethels, and her maids. I think for such a ride as that he was right to give up Greenwich. Mr. Kuhn was in waiting with a carriage for Miss Ethel. She shook hands with Clive, returning his pressure. I may come and see you ? he said. You may come and see mammayes. And where are you sta~ring ? Bless my soulthey were staying at Miss Honeymans I Clive burst into a laugh. Why he was going there too! Of course Aunt Hon.. cyman had no room for him, her house being quite full with the other Neweomes. It was a most curious coincidence their meet,- ing; but altogether Lady Ann thought it was best to say nothing about the circumstance to graudmamma. I myself am puzzled to say which would have been the better course to pursue under the circumstances; there were so many courses open. As they bad gone so far, should they go on farther together? Suppose they were going to the same house at Brighton, oughtnt they to have gone in the same carringe, with Kuhn and the maid of course? Suppose they met by chance at the station, ought they to have traveled in separate carriages? I ask any gentleman and father of a family, when he was immensely smitten with his present wife, Mrs. Brown, if he had met her traveling with her maid, in the mail, when there was a vacant place, wh~at would he himself have done? A RUSSIAN REMINISCENCE. UPON one of the coldest days of Febreary, 1853, I left Paris by the Orleans Railway. The weather was extremely severe, the frozen snow lay thick in the streets, the asphalt of the boulevards was slippery as glass, sledges scoured the Champs Elys$es and Bois de Boulogne. An icy wind whistled round the train as we quitted the shelter of the station, and I regretted, as I buttoned myself to the chin, and shrank into my corner, that the carringe was not full, instead of having but one occupant besides myself. Opposite to me sat a hale man of about sixty- five, with a qulek bright eye, an intelligent1 good-humored countenancesomewhat weath- er-beatenand the red rosette of the Legion of Honor in his button-hole. During the first half hour he pored over a letter, whose con- tents, judging from the animated expression of his physiognomy, interested him strongly. He seemed scarcely aware of my presence. At last he put up the letter, and then for the first timu looked me in the face. I had been but a few days out of a sick bed, and was sensitive to thu cold, and doubtless my appearance was chilly and woebegone enough, for I detected a slight approach to a smile at the corners of the stran- gers mouth. To one or two commonplace re- marks he replied courteously but laconically, like a man who is neither unsociable nor averse to conversation, but who prefers his own thoughts to that bald talk with which travelers sometimes weary each other rather than sit silent. So our dialogue soon dropped. The cold increased, my feet were benumbed, and I stamped them on the floor of the carriage to revive the circu- lation. My companion observed my proceed- ings with a comical look, as if he thought me a very tender traveler. This carriage must be badly closed, I re- marked. It is bitter cold to the feet. For that discomfort I. have little pity, re A RUSSIAN REMINISCENCE. 79 plied the Frenchman. A ride on the railway is soon over, and a good fire or a brisk walk is a quick and easy remedy. Mine is a different case. For forty years I have never known warm feet. For forty years? I repeated, thinking I had misunderstood him. Yes, Sir, forty years; since the winter of t812the winter of the Russian campaign. You were in that terrible campaign ? I in- quired, in a tone of interest and cnriosity. My companion, previously taciturn, suddenly be- came communicative. All through it, Sir, he replied; from the Niemen to the Kremlin, and back again. It was my first campaign, and was near being my last. I was in others afterward; in Germany in 1813, when the combined Germans and Rus- sinus drove us before them, for want of the brave fellows we had left in Muscovys snows; in France in 1814, when the Emperor made his gallant struggle against overwhelming forces; and at the closing scene in Flanders: but not all those three campaigns put together, nor, as I believe, all that this century has witnessed, can match the horrors of that dreadful winter in Russia. He paused, and, leaning back in his corner, seemed to revolve in his mind events of power- ful interest long gone by. I waited a while, in hopes he would resume the subject. As he did not do so, I asked him to what arm he belonged when in Russia. I was assistant-surgeon in a regiment of hussars, he answered, and in my medical capacity I had abundant opportunity to make acquaintance with the horrors of war. On the 7th of September, for instance, at the Moskwa Heavens! what a shambles that was! Ab, it was fine to see such valor on both sidesfor the Russians fought wellgallantly1 Sir, or where would have been the glory of beating them? But Ney! Ney! Oh! he was splendid that day! His whole countenance gleamed, as he again and again led the bloody charge, exposing himself as freely as any corporal in the ranks. And Eugene, the Viceroy, with what vigor he hurled his masses against that terrible redoubt! When at last it was his, what a sight was there! The ground was not strewn with dead; it was heaped, piled with them. They had been shot down by whole ranks, and there they lay, pros- trate, in line as they had stood. The surgeon paused. I thought of Byrons beautiful lines, beginning, Even as they fell, in files they lay; but I said nothing, for I saw that my companion was now fairly started, and needed no spurring. Afonsi r, he presently resumed, all those things have been brought strongly to my mind by the letter you saw me just now reading. It is from an old friend, a captain in 1812, a gen- eral now, who went through the campaign, and whom I was so fortunate as to save from a grave in those infernal plains where most of our poor comrades perished. I will tell you how it hap- pened. We were talking of the battle of Boro- dino. Seventy thousand men, it is said, were killed and wounded in that murderous fight. We surgeons, as you may well think, had our hands full, and still could not suffice for a tithe of the sufferers. It was a rough breaking-in for a young hand, as I then was. Such frightful wounds as were there, of every kind and descriptionfrom shot, shell, and bullet, pike and sabre. Well, Sir, all the misery and suffering I then saw, all that vast amount of human agony and bloodshed, whose steam, ascending to Heaven, might well have brought down Gods malediction on His creatures, who could thus destroy and deface each other, was nothing compared with the hor- rible misery we witnessed on onr retreat. I have read every thing that has appeared in France concerning thatcampaigeS~gnr, Lebaame, and other writers. Their narratives are shocking enough, but nothing to the reality. They would have sickened their readers had they told all they saw. If any body who went through the campaign could remember and set down all he witnessed, he would make the most heart-rend- ing book that evt~r yet was printed, and would be accused of gross exaggeration. Exaggeration, indeed! there was no need to heighten the hor- rors of the winter of 1812. All that frost and famine, lead and steel, could inflict, was then endured; all the crimes that reckless despair and ruthless cruelty could prompt were then perpe- trated. And how, I asked, did you escape, when so many, doubtless as strong and courageous, and more enured to hardship, miserably per- ished ? Under Providence I owed my preservation to the trustiest and most faithful servant ever master had. Paul had been several years in the hussarswas an old soldier, in fact, although still a young man; and at a time when all dis- cipline and subordination were at anend, when soldiers heeded not their officers, officers avoid- ed their generals, and servants and masters were all alike and upon a level, Paul proved true as steel. As if cold and the Cossacks were not enough, hunger was added to our sufferings: there was no longer a commissariat or distribu- tion of rationsrntions, forsooth !dead horse was a luxury I have seen men fight for till death, lean meat though it was, for the poor brutes were as starved as their riders. What little there was to eat in the villages we passed through fell to the share of the first comers. Empty larders often smoking ruinswere nil that remained for those who came behind. Well, Sir, when things were at the worst, and provender at the scarcest, Paul always had something for me in his haver- sack. One day it would be a bit of bread, on the morrow a handful of grain or some edible roots, now and then a slice of horse-beefand how delicious that seemed, grilled over our smoky scanty fires! There was never enough to satisfy my hunger, but there was always a sometking enough to keep body and soul together. Paul, as I afterward discovered, husbanded his stores, 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. for he well knew that if he gave me all at once I should leave nothing, and then I mnst have fasted for days, and perhaps have fallen from my horse for weakness. But think of the conrage and affection of the poor fellow, himself half- starved, to carry food about him day after day, and refrain from devouring the share secretly set aside for me! There were not many men in the army, even of generals rank, capable of such devotion to the dearest friend they had, for extreme misery had induced a ferocious selfish- ness, which made us more like hyenas than Christians. I should think the cold must have been even worse to endure than hunger, said I, screwing up my chilly extremities, which the interest of the doctors conversation had almost made me forget. It was, Sir, harder and more fatalat least a greater number died of it; although, to say the truth, frost and famine there worked hand in hand, and with such unity of action, that it was often hard to say which was the cause of death. But it was a shocking sight, of a morn- ing, to see the poor fellows lying dead round the bivouac fires. Unable to resist fatigue and the drowsy influence of the cold, they yielded to slumber, and passed from sleep unto death. For, there, sleep was death. But how then, I asked, did any ever es- cape from Russia, for all must have slept at times ? I do not believe that any who escaped did sleep, at least not of a night, at the bivouac. We used to rouse each other continually, to pre- vent our giving way, and then get up and walk as briskly as we could, to quicken the sluggish circulation. We slept upon the march, in our saddles, and, strange as it may seem to you, even those on foot slept when marching. They marched in groups or clusters, and those in the centre slept, propped and supported by their com- panions, and moving their legs mechanically. I do not say that it was a sound, deep sleep, but rather a sort of feverish dozing. Such as it was, however, it was better than nothing, and assu- redly saved some who would otherwise have sunk. Others, who would have given way to weariness upon the long monotonous march, were kept from utter despair and self-abandon- ment only by the repeated harrassing attacks of the Cossacks. The excitement of the skirmish warmed their blood, and gave them, as it seem- ed, fresh hold upon life. In one of those skir- mishes, or rather in a sharp combat, a dear friend of mine, a captain in the same regiment, had his left arm carried off by a cannon-shot. After the affair was over I came suddenly upon him, where he lay moaning by the roadside, his face ashy pale, his arm still hanging by the sin- ews. His horse had either galloped away, or been taken by the fugitives. A/i, moo arni! he cried, when he saw me, allis overI can go no further. I shall never see France again! I saw that, like the majority of those who received severe wounds in that retreat, his moral courage was subdued, and had given way to de- spair. I was terribly shocked, for I felt how slight was his chance of escape. I need hardly tell you there was very little dressing of wounds during that latter part of the retreat; most of the surgeons were dead, the hospital-wagons with medicine and instruments had been left on the road; transport for the sick was out of the ques- tion. I assumed as cheerful a countenance as I could. Why, Prdville, I cried, this will not do; we must get you along somehow. Come! cour- age, my friend! You shall see France again, in spite of all. Ah! doctor, replied he, in piteous tones, it is no use. Here I shall die. All you can do for me is to blow my brains out, and save me from the Cossack lances. By this time I had dismounted, and was by his side. The intense cold had stopped the bleeding of his wound. I saw that there was no lack of vitality in him, and that, but for this mishap, few would have got out of the campaign in better plight. Even now, his despondency was perhaps his greatest danger. I reminded him of his wife and child (he had been married little more than a year, and news of the birth of a daughter had reached him on our forward march), of his happy home, his old motherof all the ties, in short, that bound him to life.. While speaking, I severed the sinews that still retained his shattered arm, and bound it up as best I might. He still despaired and moaned, but suffered me to do as I would. He was like an infant in my handsthat man who, in the hour of battle, was a very lion for courage. But long suffering and the sudden shockoccurring, too, when we seemed on the verge of safety had overcome his fortitude. With Pauls help I got him upon my horse. The poor brute was in no case to carry double, so I walked and led it, although at that time I could hardly hobble. It is all useless, my dear doctor, Prdville said; this is my last day; I feel that. Far better shoot me, or leave me by the roadside, than risk your life for my sake. I took no heed, but tried to cheer him. Those unclean beasts, the Cossacks, were boy- ering around us as usual, and at times the bullets fell pretty thick. Not a quarter of an hour had elapsed since I set Prdville on my horse, when a shot struck his right eyenot entering the head, but glancing across the globe, and com- pletely destroying the sight. Well, Sir, then there occurred a physiological phenomenon which I have never been able satisfactorily to account for. This man, whom the loss of an arm had reduced to despair, seemed to derive fresh courage from the loss of an eye. At any rate, from that moment he complained no more of his fate, resumed his usual manly tone, and bore up like a hero. Paul was lucky enougb to catch a riderless horse, which I mounted. The worst was over, and we soon got a respite. Without troubling you with details, and incred. A RUSSIAN REMINISCENCE. 81 ible though it may seem to you, my poor friend escaped with life, although with a limb and an eye the less. There must have been many extraordinary escapes from that campaign, I remarked. Innumerable. There was a sergeant of dragoons, a former comrade of my servants, who, for many days, marched beside me and Paul. He received a severe wound. There were some vehicles still with us at that time, and we got him a place in one of them, and made him as comfortable as we could. The following night we stopped at a town. In the morning, as we wero about to march, the Cos- sacks came down. There was great confusion; several baggage-carts were captured in the street, and some of the wounded were abandoned in the houses where they had passed the night. Among these was Sergeant Fritz. Not many houses in the town were still in good condition most of them had been burned and knocked to pieces by the soldiers. The house in which Fritz lay had still, its doors and windows, and was one of the most comfortable in the place, on which account it had been converted into a temporary hospital. Well, the Russians came in, brought their wounded, and turned out our poor fellows to make room for them. Some, who could not move quickly enough, were bru- tally pitched through a low window into a gar- den behind the house, there to perish miser- ably. Fritz was one of these. Only just able to crawl, he made his way round the garden, seeking egress. He reached a gate communi- cating with another garden. It was locked, and pain and weakness forbade his climbing over. He sat clos& to the gate, propped against it, and looking wistfully through the bars at the windows of a house, and at the cheerful glow of a fire, when he was perceived by a young girl. She came out and opened the gate, and helped him into the house. Her father was a German clockmaker, long settled in Russia, and Fritz, a Swiss, spoke German well. The kind people put him to bed, hid his uniform, and tended him like a son. When, in the follow- ing spring, his health was restored, and he would have left them, the German proposed to him to remain and assist him in his trade. He ac- cepted the offer, married the Germans daugh- ter, and remained in Russia until his father-in- laws death, when he was taken with a longing to revisit his native mountains, and returned to Switzerland with his wife and family. I met him since at Paris, and he told me his story. But although his escape was narrow, and ro- mantic enough, there must have been others much more remarkable. Most of the prisoners made by the Russians, and who survived severe cold and harsh treatment, were sent to Moscow, so labor at rebuilding the city. When the fine season came, some of them managed to escape, and to make their way, in various disguises, and through countless adventures, back to their own country. I have set down but the most striking por tions of our conversationor rather, of the doc- tor~s narrative, since I did little but listen; and occasionally, by a question or remark, direct his communicativeness into the channel I wish- ed it to take. We were now near Orleans. The letter I was reading when we started, said my companion, and which has brought back to my memory all that I have told you at risk, perhaps, of wearying you, he added with a slight bow and smile, and a host of other circumstances, to me of thrilling and ever- lasting interest, is from General Pr~vffie, who lives in the south of France, but has come un- expectedly to Orleans to pass a month with me. That is his way. He lives happily with a mar- ried daughter; but now and then the desire to see an old comrade, and to fight old battles over again, comes so strongly upon him, that he has his valise packed at an hou?s notice, and takes me by surprise. He knows well that The Generals Room and an affectionate reception always await him. I received his letterfull of references to old timesyesterday evening, and am now hurrying back to Orleans to see him. He may very likely be waiting for me at the station; and you will see that, for a man who gave himself up for dead forty years ago in the snows of Russia, and begged, as a favor, a bullet through his brain, he looks tolerably hearty and satisfied to live. There is one thing, Monsieur is Docteur, I said, which you have not yet explained to me, and which I do not understand. Did you meun literally what you said, that since the Russian campaign you have never had your feet warm ? Literally and truly, Sir. When we got to Orcha, where Jomini was in command, and where the heroic Ney, who had been separated from the army, rejoined us with the skeleton of his corpshaving cut his way, by sheer valor and soldiership, through clouds of Platoffs Cos- sackswe took a days rest. It was the 20th of November, the last day of any thing ap- proaching to comfort which v~e were to enjoy before crossing the Russian fr6ntier. True, we made one more halt, at Molodetschino, whence Napoleon dated his bulletin of our terrible dis- asters, but then only a portion of us could find lodging; we were sick, half frozen, and num- bers died in the streets. At Orcha we found shelter and tranquillity; the governor had pro- vided provisions against our passage, the enemy left us quiet, and we enjoyed a day of complete repose. My baggage had long since been lost, and my only pair of boots were torn to shreds. I had been riding with fragments of a soldiers jacket tied round my feet, which I usually kept out of the stirrups, the contact of the iron in- creasing the cold. At Orcha, the invaluable Paul brought me a Jew (the Jews were our chief purveyors on that retreat) with boots for sale. I selected a pair and threw away my old ones, which for many days I had not taken off. My feet were already in a bad state, sore and livid. I bathed them, put on fresh stockings and my new boots, and contrived with a pair 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of old trowsers, a sort of leggings or overalls, closed at the bottom, and to be worn over the boots. From that day till we got beyond the Niemen, a distance of one hundred and ten league; which we took three weeks to perform, I never took off any part of my dress. During that time I suffered greatly from my feet; they swelled till my boots were too tight for me, and at times I was in agony. When we at last were comparatively in safety, and I found myself, for the first time since I left Orcha, in a warm room, with a bed to lie upon and water to wash, I called Paul to pull off my boots. Sir, with them came off my stockings, and the entire skin of both feet. A flayers knife could hardly have done the thing more completely. For a moment I gave myself up as lost. I had seen enough of this kind of thing to know that my feet were on the verge of mortification. There was scarcely time to amputate, had any been at hand to do it, and had I been willing to preserve life at such a price. Only one thing could save me, and I resolved to try it. I ordered PanE to bring a bottle of brandy; I put a piece of silver between my teeth, and bade him pour the spirits over my feet. I can give you no idea of the excru- ciating torture I then endured. While it last- ed, assuredly no martyrs sufferings ever ex- ceeded mine. It was agonybut it was safety. I bit the form nearly in two, and broke this tooth. (Here the Doctor drew up his lip and exhibited a defective tooth, in company with some very white and powerful grinders.) The martyrdom saved me; I recovered, but the new integument; which in time covered my scarred feet, seem chilled by the recollection of their predecessors sufferings, and from that day to this I have never had my feet otherwise than cold. But here we are at Orleans, Sir, and yonder, as I expected, stands my old Pr$ville. The train stopped as he concluded, and a fine-looking veteran, with white hair, an empty sleeve, and a silken patch over one eye, peered inquisitively into fhe carriages. I have a partic- ular aversion to the Continental fashion of men kissing and hugging each other, but I confess I beheld with interest and sympathy the cordial embrace of these two old comrade; who then quickiy separated, and, with hands grasped, looked joyously and affectionately into each others faces, while a thousand recollections of old kindness and long comradeship were evi- dently swelling at their hearts. LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. I. possibly, does not know that EVERYBODY, e is a place on the sea-shore, nine miles from Boston, called Lynn. It has been duly chartered by Act of Legislature as a city. I am an Anglo-Saxon, and am not supposed to lack the chronic reverence for parchment pecu- liar to that race. But when I think of Lynn as a city, I ean not forbear a smile at the as- sumption. I have the utmost possible regard for the Legislature of my State; the act of in- corporation was read three times, and passed to be engrossed by a sufficient vote of both Houses; every thing was done that could be done, I have no doubt; but human nature, even in the Anglo-Saxon bosom, is not to be legis- lated down always. When Babylon and Nine- veh stand imperial in your imaginationwhen New York and Boston stretch vast, noisy, and dirty to a degree, in your memorywhat is the use of looking at quiet, beautiful, rustic Lynn, and persuading yourself that it is a city, even if a large majority has agreed that way? This is one of the points on which I agree with Sydney Smith, that it is better to be ruled by a minority for another century. At the expiration of that period, I have no doubt Lynn will be in a fit condition to claim the title I should like mean- while to deny her. A city is, properly, an idea. In connection with a great number of edifices and paved streets, you must have a profound impression of confusion, noise, dirt, wickedness, and sadness, to form that idea. You do not get it at Lynn! There are gardens on the skirts of the streets from which the summer sunshine draws an invisible vapor of perfume, and scents the air for miles away; there are white houses in the gardens which are luminous in the trans- parent fire of the sunlight; there are long reaches of green waving pines stretching in a semicircle around the deep west, and shak- ing their balsamic odors upon the western wind as it runs over the purple sea. Do you have such things in New York or Boston? Deacon Titcomb remarked to me the other day, with a face like the chief mourners at a funeral, that Lynn was clean gin over to Satan, and was a-gittin wickeder every day. I do not deny it, although the Deacons opinion was formed while brooding over the larceny of a Shanghai rooster from his hencoop, by some unknown vagabond, and was therefore not entirely free from the suspicion of prejudice. But if he was right, and the progress continues, what I con- sider to be false as history, is only true as pro- phecy. Prophetically, Lynn may be a city. Certainly the chartered fact before you needs to be looked at through Jacob Bi5hmens (or some other mystics) glasses to favor such a construction. I think the Legislature made a mistakeit is not at nil uncommon in that body, and the Venerable Codfish who presides over their orations knows it !I think they made a mistake when they agreed that Lynn was bad enough to make a city of. It is not, yet; but, Deacon Titcomb being witness, it is getting up to the proper civilization mark, and may soon be even equal to the total depravity of a daily newspaper! Meanwhile the citizens make great quantities of boots and shoes there. The odor of their in- dustry is in the streets. I mentioned just now that the air was rich with perfume from the flower gardens. So it is, but there is at cer- tain seasons a more penetrant perfume. Walk down Common Street, or Summer Street, in

Loss And Gain: A Tale Of Lynn 82-99

82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of old trowsers, a sort of leggings or overalls, closed at the bottom, and to be worn over the boots. From that day till we got beyond the Niemen, a distance of one hundred and ten league; which we took three weeks to perform, I never took off any part of my dress. During that time I suffered greatly from my feet; they swelled till my boots were too tight for me, and at times I was in agony. When we at last were comparatively in safety, and I found myself, for the first time since I left Orcha, in a warm room, with a bed to lie upon and water to wash, I called Paul to pull off my boots. Sir, with them came off my stockings, and the entire skin of both feet. A flayers knife could hardly have done the thing more completely. For a moment I gave myself up as lost. I had seen enough of this kind of thing to know that my feet were on the verge of mortification. There was scarcely time to amputate, had any been at hand to do it, and had I been willing to preserve life at such a price. Only one thing could save me, and I resolved to try it. I ordered PanE to bring a bottle of brandy; I put a piece of silver between my teeth, and bade him pour the spirits over my feet. I can give you no idea of the excru- ciating torture I then endured. While it last- ed, assuredly no martyrs sufferings ever ex- ceeded mine. It was agonybut it was safety. I bit the form nearly in two, and broke this tooth. (Here the Doctor drew up his lip and exhibited a defective tooth, in company with some very white and powerful grinders.) The martyrdom saved me; I recovered, but the new integument; which in time covered my scarred feet, seem chilled by the recollection of their predecessors sufferings, and from that day to this I have never had my feet otherwise than cold. But here we are at Orleans, Sir, and yonder, as I expected, stands my old Pr$ville. The train stopped as he concluded, and a fine-looking veteran, with white hair, an empty sleeve, and a silken patch over one eye, peered inquisitively into fhe carriages. I have a partic- ular aversion to the Continental fashion of men kissing and hugging each other, but I confess I beheld with interest and sympathy the cordial embrace of these two old comrade; who then quickiy separated, and, with hands grasped, looked joyously and affectionately into each others faces, while a thousand recollections of old kindness and long comradeship were evi- dently swelling at their hearts. LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. I. possibly, does not know that EVERYBODY, e is a place on the sea-shore, nine miles from Boston, called Lynn. It has been duly chartered by Act of Legislature as a city. I am an Anglo-Saxon, and am not supposed to lack the chronic reverence for parchment pecu- liar to that race. But when I think of Lynn as a city, I ean not forbear a smile at the as- sumption. I have the utmost possible regard for the Legislature of my State; the act of in- corporation was read three times, and passed to be engrossed by a sufficient vote of both Houses; every thing was done that could be done, I have no doubt; but human nature, even in the Anglo-Saxon bosom, is not to be legis- lated down always. When Babylon and Nine- veh stand imperial in your imaginationwhen New York and Boston stretch vast, noisy, and dirty to a degree, in your memorywhat is the use of looking at quiet, beautiful, rustic Lynn, and persuading yourself that it is a city, even if a large majority has agreed that way? This is one of the points on which I agree with Sydney Smith, that it is better to be ruled by a minority for another century. At the expiration of that period, I have no doubt Lynn will be in a fit condition to claim the title I should like mean- while to deny her. A city is, properly, an idea. In connection with a great number of edifices and paved streets, you must have a profound impression of confusion, noise, dirt, wickedness, and sadness, to form that idea. You do not get it at Lynn! There are gardens on the skirts of the streets from which the summer sunshine draws an invisible vapor of perfume, and scents the air for miles away; there are white houses in the gardens which are luminous in the trans- parent fire of the sunlight; there are long reaches of green waving pines stretching in a semicircle around the deep west, and shak- ing their balsamic odors upon the western wind as it runs over the purple sea. Do you have such things in New York or Boston? Deacon Titcomb remarked to me the other day, with a face like the chief mourners at a funeral, that Lynn was clean gin over to Satan, and was a-gittin wickeder every day. I do not deny it, although the Deacons opinion was formed while brooding over the larceny of a Shanghai rooster from his hencoop, by some unknown vagabond, and was therefore not entirely free from the suspicion of prejudice. But if he was right, and the progress continues, what I con- sider to be false as history, is only true as pro- phecy. Prophetically, Lynn may be a city. Certainly the chartered fact before you needs to be looked at through Jacob Bi5hmens (or some other mystics) glasses to favor such a construction. I think the Legislature made a mistakeit is not at nil uncommon in that body, and the Venerable Codfish who presides over their orations knows it !I think they made a mistake when they agreed that Lynn was bad enough to make a city of. It is not, yet; but, Deacon Titcomb being witness, it is getting up to the proper civilization mark, and may soon be even equal to the total depravity of a daily newspaper! Meanwhile the citizens make great quantities of boots and shoes there. The odor of their in- dustry is in the streets. I mentioned just now that the air was rich with perfume from the flower gardens. So it is, but there is at cer- tain seasons a more penetrant perfume. Walk down Common Street, or Summer Street, in LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 83 the month of June, and the scent of leather floats out of the open doors and windows of the shops, and traverses the golden air in all direc- tions. I like it. It is fragrant with New En- gland enterprise. Down by the railroad you smell the tanneries. It was some time before I could open my conviction to the fact that there were a few shops that were not shoe manufac- tories. But the shoe-trade is the special occu- pation and interest of the majority of the citi- zens, and all things rotate around it. A friend of mine declares stoutly that the city author- ities are leagued with the manufacturers with a view to the special maintenance of that busi- ness. He bases his opinion on the fact that the unpaved sidewalks of the place are cover- ed with a layer of knobby gravel, which no per- sonal economy in the matter of boots can sur- vive. We had debated why the streets were not paved. A day or two after he brought in his new boots with the soles worn through. Be- hold ! said he, I smell a rat 1 It was tinc- tured with the town odor of leather! More- over, the city authorities themselves are in the shoe-business, and if they do not cobble old boots, they sell new ones. My friend has a story, which he uses, I believe, as a safety valve to prevent the explosion which might other- wise ensue, when he thinks of the mayor and aldermen in this connection. He says (but I doubt the rogue) that he was expressing his amazement to a townsman at the number of persons engaged in the business: Why, said he, theres a manufactory even next to the meeting-house yonder I Yes, replied the ingenuous townsman, thats Mr. Bs, the Methodist ministers shop. The Methodist in-in-i-st-ers s-h-o-p ! trailed out of the open mouth of my astonished friend. For the Lords sake, Capn, dont any body do any thing here but make shoes ? 0 yes, an- swered the other, theres Mr.F ,the Or- thodox minister jest below; HE makes BOOTS I My friend commonly concludes this anecdote with an extra flourish about having swooned away at that stage of the dialogue, and not coming to for twenty-four hours, which I do not advise any one to believe. I do not purpose taking upon myself the of- fice of town historian just now; else I might enrich these pages with much like the forego- ing. Indeed, my previous remarks bear but a cousin-german relation to the narrative I am about to put down lightly here. The return of the rich June weather, which blooms and glows around me as I write, is the magic that calls up some ghostlike memories. For it was in the month of June in a year gone by, that, escaped from my clerkly duties in my fathers counting- room, I found myself there in Lynn, in the house of an old friend of hisCaptain John Martin by namecommonly called Capn Mar- tin by the townsfolk. I consider the fact of my being at his house there and then the nucleus of my story, and now I gather every thing around it. We were all at dinner. That is to say, we had dined, and were yet lingering at the table. I was in that mood of pensive cheerfulness which usually succeeds a good repast. A light wind waved the curtains of the windows, and stirred the leaves of the geraniums on the sill. One million-moted ray of sunshine stretched its oblique line of light from the upper cor- ner of a window, and gilded a small fly that had been resting for some time, undisturbed, on the snub end of Capn Phineas D. Bugbees nose. Capn Bughees rough face was upturned to the ceiling, and both eyes were fixed thereon in a stolid stare. Next to him was little Turly Martin (short for Thurlow), gravely endeavor- ing to fish a fly from a tumbler of water with a fork, and sweet-faced May Martin watching him with a soft shadow of reverie in her dear blue eyes. Aunt Huldab looked benignantly from the frill of her mob-cap (the only mob- cap in Lynn!) upon nothing in particular, and patted her withered hands together in uncon- scious approval of every thing. Mrs. Martin, as usual, sedate and patientit was not un- usual for her to be silent. My quiet, roving eye took in the whole group, and rested upon Captain Martin. I always liked to look at him the broad-shouldered, stalwart man. His was a fine, rude countenance, and grandly hon- est. The sun of many a latitude had given his rugged features their tint of iron brown. Weath- er of all kinds had beaten him, but he was none the worse for it. Time had marked crows-feet around his frank blue eyesseamed his sinewy cheeks with rifts and linesmade his knobby forehead irnobbier, and touched his crisp dark hair with a little gray. Here was one whom the buffeting world had attacked sorely, found unconquerable, and left in peace, a strong, sim- ple, tender-hearted man. There was his friend, Captain Phineas ID. Bugbee, opposite him. The sun of many latitudes, time, and the buffeting world had worked on him too: made him brown, and bluff, and doggedly genial, but had taken the child all out of him. Nothing had taken the childlike nature out of Captain Martin. You saw it in his mild blue eyes and frank face. Look at Capn Bugbee, and his burly figure suggested Cape Cod, and a whole fleet of sea- boats, from a fishing dory up to a merehant- man. Hear him gruffly mumble out his hoarse speech, and you heard a whole beach of tum- bling surges. His big mouth reminded you of the gills of a codfish. I think he was born in ~canvas ducks and a pea-jacket. You could not rid yourself of the notion for your life, if you saw him once. Summer and winter he wore a pea-jacket and canvas trowsersI think he slept in them. Somebody told me once that in Swe- denborgs Heaven people keep the manners and costumes, as well as the professions, of earth only spiritualized a little. Perhaps Sweden- borgs view was misrepresented to me. But I always favored it on account of Capn Bugbee. It was impossible to imagine him, even in his celestial state, out of canvas ducks and a mon 134 HARPERS ~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. key-jacket. I am sure that when he gets to heavenand if genuine good-heartedness can recommend a man for future bliss, I am sure that he will get therehis earthly garb will be unchanged. As for the common idea of wings, in his case it is impossiblethough I am not so sure about fins. The silence into which we had all lapsed was broken by little Turly springing up from the table, throwing himself into a dramatic attitude, and rattling oil in a shrill voice, Alialide nix cum rowse, de boilliotchet, de criune, de spruce and de colokena, a-chased de mouse all round de house Thurlow Martin I exclaimed his astonished mother; you little Simon Magus I laughed in spite of myself to hear this sud- den volley of gibberish from the lips of the child. Captain Martin laughed too, and the stolid Bug- bee tumbled out of his musings, with a dab at the fly on his nose, and gave a snort of mirth, quenched in a kind of a groan. Every body looked at Turly, and Turly, looking at every body, said, plaintively Now, what have I bin a-doing ? 0 Thurlow Martin ! ejaculated Aunt Hul- dah, with a mild horror in her benevolent face, how kin you be a-repeatin the talk of them wicked critters at the suckushow kin you! Its a drect flyin in the face of Providence And Newport, mumbled the mirthful Bug- bee, with another snort. Ill put a stop to his going to the circus, said Mrs. Martin, severely. Turly began to whimper~ and said he hadnt done nawthinonly made a little funthats all! I wunt have such fun, declared his mother. Now, dont be hard on him,-Mary, said the good-natured Captain Martin; dont you do it agin, Turly; thats all. It aint proper. Nevertheless Turly was taken in hand, and went through a regular course of admonition on the spot. The large Bugbee rolled out of the room, hoarsely chuckling, in the midst of it, and I thought it a good opportunity to slip away too. I stopped in the entry, and beckoned to May. She came. I shaded my face with my Panama hat for a minute, and then, looking in her smiling eyes, said, I am going over there, May-blossom. Any message ? How her fair face saddened! She turned away for a moment No, Charley, nothing. Yeswait a min- ute. I waited. She came back presently with a white rose-bud. Give him this, Charley. Good-by. She flitted away. I put the bud in my but- ton-hole, and tried to whistle an air from Er- nani, as I softly opened the street-door; but it died on my lips.Now, by the tomb of the Capulets! here is a lovely kettle of fish! The very first object on which my eyes rested was the broad figure of Captain Martin leaning on the garden gate with his back toward me! It was evidenthe h~ad left the dining-room by the back door, gone round the garden, and there he was. What was to be done? I had no in- tention of letting him know where I was going nor that I was going any where. But I smiled a summery smile under the shadow of my Pa- nama, and went down the steps to him. Where are you going, Captain ? I asked. I knewdown to the shop, of coursehe said so. Where are you going, Charley ? he asked. I replied, diplomatically, th4 I was disposed for a stroll this way, and my hand indicated a western prospect ranging from Lovers Leap to Saugus. Well, said the Captain, changing his mind sposia we do. And he stepped off so suddenly in my direc-. tion that I had nothing to do but follow him. I was out-generaled! A cloud sailed over the summer of my smile beneath the Panama. I thought of Sinbad with the Old Man of the Sea on his despairing back. It was the symbol of my condition! However, I submitted with a semi-civilized grace to what I really felt was a dispensation, for I wanted to be off on my own private excursion. I submitted; I mean by that phrase, that, as we walked up the rustic street with its pleasant houses and gardensthe Cap- tain meanwhile chatting in his cheery, affec- tionate wayI, with some qualms of conscience very much to my credit, was plotting ways and means for a retrieval of my discomfited attempt at a solitary exit. In this manner we reached the Salem road, and saw, northeasterly, old High Rock far up and away in the hazy air, with the little pagoda set like a wisdom-cap on the top of his bald head. It was the dawn of a new inspiration. Ill land the Captain at his own shop-door, and then for Swampscot ! was my idea. So down a side street I turued him. Now then, Charley, what tack is this ere you re on ? curiously surmised the Captain; for if we originally intended to reach the shoe- manufactory, we certainly lied been going out of our way. Captain, I answered, with a very grave face, didnt you tell me you were going down to the shop ?and isnt this the nearest way ? Bless my soul ! ejaculated the Captain, and so I did. I did tell yo so, but I didnt calclate workin sech a Tom Coxs traverse on yo, Charley, my boy, though it looks mighty like it. I own I was a leadin yo wrong; but I didnt guess yo meant to steer for the shop, when yo pinted thereaway yonder; an I forgot to think yo might easy miss the course, seem that its three months sence yo were here, and its not likely yo would have an eye for out-of- town bearings. All right; were straight now2 This was rich! Here was the Captain labor- ing under the delusion that I did not know the way to his shop. Dont I, Captain? Ill show you where brogans are made, my fine man, and youll supervise the making! Once there, youre anchored, and Ill slip my own moorings for an.. LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 85 other bight of the stream. No eye for out-of- town bearings ?Havent I though? Well see. We reached the main street, with its long green common reaching down, between a double fringe of white houses, gardens, and {resh trees, to Lynn Centre. The ocean seen by glimpses from the eastern streets was level sapphire, fleck- ed with dancing and dazzling gleams. That ere sea looks bright and blue to-day, Charley, remarked the Captain, with a sad gravity in his mellow voice, but its got a hun- gry maw. Whats the chance a ship and crew d find down this ere coast in the November gales? Ask Captain Bugbee! He knows. Thats the water kin bile right smart in cold weather, and cook your duff for yo. Cape Horn aint a suck- umstance. Twont compare for stresS of foul weather. rye weathered the Horn many s the time, and know. Captain Bugbee d tell yo theres no danger there worth mention, if yo dont manage ship like a cooks mate; but here youve got to look sharp for your soul. Ah! theyre dreadful gales, and thats a fact. And the Captain sighed, and lapsed into a kind of anxious reverie. I had an intuition that he was thinking of his sonFrank Martin, a fine lad who had gone to sea some three years before, and was now, if rumor said rightly, on his homeward way. It seemed to me, as I watched the pensive sadness that brooded upon his brown visage, that the great, tender heart was yearning for the boy. So I remarked quietly, When do you expect him home, Captain ? Well, weve ben a looking for him this He stopped shortjerked up the rim of his straw hat from his forehead, and fixed his clue eyes upon me with a solemn stare. Howd yo guess I was mindful of Frank, Charley? Answer up, yo witch ! CaptainI saw it in your eye, I believe was my explanation. Um-mwell, its not onlikely. Youre cute, Chariey: in my eye it was, maybemind like- wise. Well, Frank ought to be homeard bound about now. Charies, I feel drefful oneasy bout ~iim, timesI do. He will come home safely, Captain, I sug- gested; never fear that. Ab, well; yes. The middle seas safe as the harbor, for the Lords over all. But my mind frbodes somethin, and I feel onrestful like, times. Now I know some folks say its all stuff and nonsense, though the Bibles full of it, butdye ever trust dreams, Charley ?thats the question. No, I dont, Captain: why ? Dont ?Sho! Now, Ill tell yo the reason why. Tother night I dreamed I saw Frank aboard ship. Ship bowlin along in a runnin sea. Right afore my eyes the youngster scuds up the rattlins, and perches hself clean out on the tip end of the main-yard. There he sot. Well, Captain, said I, what does that signify ? Peril! Hark yo, Charles, and dont call me an owl. And the Captain laid the big fore- finger of his right hand in the big palm of his left, in a demonstrative sort of a way, and lower- ed his voice to a hushed bass When I was in the focastle of the Nancyoff MadagascarI dreamed that of a shipmeta great lubberly Manxman. Next day that chap was a man overboard, and afore we could pick him up, the sharks had him. Fact! they did. Hark yo agin. When I was first mate of the John Dar- vil, merchantmn, in the Bay of Biscay, I dream- ed that dream. I saw a man perched up there, but I couldnt makem outthough I knew he was one of our crew. Next day a white squall struck us, and blew that mnsail clean out of the bolt-ropes, and down come the yard, and hit a New York fellow, named Jervis, on the head, and knocked the life out of him! I never had that dreambutsomethinhappenednever! Last time but one, I was Capn of the Ann Arbor brig with produce and lumber from Bangor. That time it was nz self that sot up there on the mnyard. Sure enough Hold on, Captain, I interrupted, did you say it was yourself you dreamed sat up there on the yard? How is that? You are not dead, you knowat least you look as if you were alive. Ab, well, replied the Captain, smiling grimly, I was comm to that. Off the Isle of Shoals, the Ann Arbor went ashore in a treinenjous gale, and stove to finders on the rocks of White Island. We all made out to git clear with our souls in our buddies that time; but, I tell you, twas a close chance. Besides, the eventooni consekences of that wrack to me, might be counted in. Captain, I said, not noticing his last sen- tence, you got clear in spite of the dream; so will Frank. Dont be anxious; dont borrow trouble. Ah, well, replied the Captain, musing aloud with a sad face, hes in the hands of the Lord, and thats my anchor. Eighteen years, come next Octoberand its little short of your own age, Charles. In the hands of the Lord thats a best bower. But anxietys human and nateraL What could I say? I was touched with his solicitude for Frank, and tried to mould a speech that would show him my sympathy. While I meditated to this effect, my good inten- tions were suddenly ended by a question Now, Charley, what yo goin to do with yourself this afternoon ? How my heart jumped! Shall I tell him? Feeling carried the day. I threw disguise to the winds. Captain, I am going over to Swampscot. His face paled a little beneath its swarthy brown. I am going to visit Gervayse Phillips. Captain, dont you want me to go ? A flush came to the brown visage, and his eye sparkied. He answered quickly, Of course I do. Hes your friend, Charley, 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and its nateral youd want to see him. Do yo Fifteen year ago, I was skipper of the brig Ann know old man Phillips ? Arbor. Thats the vessl I told yo was wracked Not much; I have met him several times. off the Isles of Shoalsdyo remember? Its all right, Charles. Ive no dislike to Yes, Captain; the lumberman you spoke young Vayse; hes a fine fellow, but his father of. oh! his fathers a~villaina cold, hard, proud, The same. Brig with produce and timber mean villain! There, God forgive me. I from Bangor to Boston. The owner of that didnt mean to say it; its not talk fit for a craft and cargo was Squire Phillips. Yes, sir; Christian man, but I cant help it. Squire Phillips was the ownerthat was one Oh, Captain Martin, dont speak so. Dont of his ventures, and I was Capn of the brig. let your antipathy for the father prejudice the Mark yo, Charles, Squire Phillips was a rich son in your eyes. Now hear merchant even then; he was wuth full twenty Entipathy Ive nunleastways for Vayse, thousand dollarshes taxed for seventy thou- he broke in with nervous energy; but look sand now. I was nothin but a poor seaman, here, CharlesI see through yo, and I dont servin his interest, and keepin my family above dislike yo fort. Its nateral for yo to be water with my pay. Frank and May were two spokesman for your friend. But hark yo, no and five year old babies. Young Turly wasnt son of that family shall ever be husband to my born. One afore that time, and one sence, of darter, and if my words law, May Martin shall our children, we laid down sorrowful in Lynn be took to her grave afore she treads up the churchyard. Hard times were they, and murn,- church-aisle with Gervayse Phillips. Its said ful with us, but theyre gone. Squire Phillips and done. Charles, hes your friendtell him did all he could to make em harder. that. I dont dislike him, and my sperits sorely Ill tell yo how. That vessl, in as mad a grieved for May; but its fixed, and theres the gale as ever blew, lost her fomast and tiller, and end ont. was thrown up on the rocks of White Island, His face glowed, and his firm lip trembled, where she lay with her hull beatin the stones, but there was grief in his passion. I coul& not and the awful surge breakin over us. There account for this strong aversion to the elder was ~i light-house, yo know, on that island, and Phillips. I had been long aware of it, and I fearful it was in the howlin gale and the black knew it lay at the base of his opposition to the night to lie right under the dim light of the intimacy between May and Gervayse, but I had beaconjest bright enough to show us our per- never been able to discover its motive. I was ilous stateand the brig goin to pieces, and we determined to discover it now, grappled to the riggin. But that saved us, en- Captain, said I, will you tell me why nyhow. A mighty sea lifted us a rod from you entertain so bad an opinion of Mr. Phillips? there, and sendin the craft inland, down she Did he ever injure youor what is his fault ? came smash, with her hull jammed into the He hesitated. He had grown very pale, and rocks. That wave had sent her on to the edge a great struggle worked beneath his fine, rude of a kind of cove, and druv her up a leetle un- fentures. His lip quivered as he spoke. der the lee of a cliff, so that she didnt feel the Charles, why do yo ask me? I didnt swell so much, though the surge poured over the mean ever to speak of this. Your father rocks onto her in torrents every minute. Now knows all about it. Did he never tell yo? right under the pint, about twenty yard from He didnt; well, I will. Heres the shop us, was a narrow ledge runnin out from the come in. landin. The beacon showed it, all mad with We had reached the manufactory, and now foam and spray. It was our only chance, but entered the neat counting-room, which was par- we never could hey reached it; for if we trusted titioned off from the ample space in which the ourselves overboard in that crazy sea, we should workmen plied their trade. There was no one hey ben dashed to death on the rocks, or swep in the counting-room but ourselves, and we sat off by the undertow. Thats what we thought. down. I was now in no hurry to be off; I But one of us did try it. He was a nigger wanted to hear the Captains relation. Besides, fellow, and did the cookina mighty pow it was only a few minutes past one oclock, and erful-built man, and brave. Lord! how the the long summer afternoon was before me. My feller jumped down deep into my heart! He heart fluttered under my gay vest like a bird in actilly went overboard on the resk, and though the hand, as the Captain sat wiping away a he was gashed some, he did reach that ledge. light perspiration from his forehead, and smooth- He wedged hself into a split of the rock to keep ing his iron-gray hair in silence. A great elm from hem swep awayfor the water broke over tree stood near the open window, and all its there from the pint under our lee to windard, pendent leaves were trembling in the still sum- at times clean coverin himand we made out mer air, and listening. The confused tapping to get him a rope at last. We saw him try to and clicking of the workmens tools in the outer make his end of the line fast to the crags, but room, seemed faint and far away. I fanned he couldnt do it; and at last that fellow wound myself with my Panama until I began to grow it round and round his buddy, and braced him.. warm, and then desisted. self. He was a brave nigger, and we owed him Its a long story, Charley, he began at last, our lives. He sung out to haul taut on the rope, but Ill make it a short one. Listen, boy. and lash ourselves to it one by one. That we LOSS ALN]) GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 87 did, and us aboard keepin the line as taut as possibleso that the fellow slung to it shouldnt he split to nothin on the rocksthe nigger haul- ed us in, we payin out the line gradual, and keepin her taut. Jest as soon as a man gained the ledge, he unslung himself from the rope, and watchia his chance, when the undertow swep the reef hare, he struggled in upon the beach. In that way the whole crew, seven in number, were got ashore, bruised bad, but none lost. I was the last to leave the brig; and havin no one to keep the line taut, I was hauled in loose, and got bruised considerable on the rocks. But we were all saved, and got shelter- ed in the light-house, and doctored up by the keeper. Next day the wind hed hauled off to the southard, and the storm bed broke. We went some of us, down on the beach. A strong off- shore breeze had flattened the ocean pretty smooth. But no sign of that brig, or a bit of her cargo, could we see. She had gone to pieces in the night, and we never found enny thing be- longin to her but the anchor, which was lyin among the breakers, atween rocks. Nothin was saved but the hrigs papers: I hed brought em ashore in my bosom. She was about half insured. Well, we got up to Boston at last, and the first thing I did was to call on Squire Phillips. He was very kind; didnt seem much grieved for the loss. He knew I hed done my duty like a seaman and a man, and he said so. He men- tioned that he was so trustful of me, that an- other vessl would be placed under my charge in two or three weeksa coaster. I made up my mind to take the skippers berth offered me, and told him. I was mighty stiff and sore with my bruises on White Island rocks. I come down here to Lynn, and Mrs. Martin was rejiced greatly at my safety. She was stayin with her mother then and the two babes. And there and then she persuaded me to quit seafarin for rea- son of the danger, and to begin in this business. It wasnt hard pleadin, for I felt sick of the sea jest then, and promised easy. Besides, I knew somethin about shoe-makin, and more about shoe-dealin, and thought I should make out. Well, it needed some capital for a start, and I made my calculations on what was owin me from Mr. Phillips. Id ben Capn for him sev- eral years, and bed let my account run up pretty much with himonly drawin jest what my wife wanted for her useand there was quite a bal- ance in my favor. I calculated on that. So I looked up a shop; I got a months credit for my stock, kit of tools, and so on, and made ready ginerally. Then I went up to Boston, and saw Squire Phillips. It was one moruing, and he was alone in the countiw-room. I told him Id concluded to give up seafarin, and mentioned my intentions in regard to the shoe-trade. He seemed a lee- tie disappinted at first, and said he was sorry my interests were to deprive him of a good Capn, who had been always so prompt and sure for him. But he wished me all manner of sue- cess in my new occupation, and said hed be be glad to do enny thing for me if I wanted it. Well, at last I spoke about a settlement, and he jumped up, and said he was ready, and at my service. his books told how the account stood in a few minutes. There was a clear balance in my favor of twelve hundred dollars. Squire Phillips looked a-kinder thoughtful as I made out my bill for that amount, and resated it. Captain Martin, says he, I owe you a larger sum than I expected. Now Im a leetle pressed for money just at present, and if yo can without inconvenience let this stand for a couple of weeks, youll oblige me. But if you want the money now, Ill give yo a check at once. Only say the word. Id hey done enny thing to oblige him; hed always treated me well, and I told him so, and let the debt stand. Amen! God forgive him ! The Captain paused, andwiped his damp fore.. head. There was that in his voice and in his face that made my heart throb thick and fast. I felt timid under the mild and sad look of his eyes, and looked away to the street. The pend- ant leaves of the elm still seemed to listen, and then, as a light wind swept through the tree, they were a mass of agitations, and tremblings, and low sighs, and murmuring voices, over the divination of a secret and a shame. Charles, that man has prospered in this world. Hes got wealth and worldly goods; but theres a sin at his heart, and he wunt be a thrivin man when he comes afore his God. Listen, boy: I was a poor man then, toilin for my wife and babes, and that money was hard to lose. But it isnt ikat I consider nowits the baseness and fraud. Its the mean act that moves me. I felt it then like madness; but thats gone, and Ive tried sence to forget and forgive, like a Christian man; but I cant forget it! I came hack to Lynn with a trustful sperit, and commenced business. At the very outset I was prosprous; I got a good connection for my trade, and all promised fair. I told yo that I bed my stock, kit of tools, and so forth, on a months credit. I couldnt git more at first, for I wasnt known, and I trusted sure on my wages to meet that bill. Three week went by, and in another my creditorhes a man of this town, and a close man, but honorablehed be after his lawful due. Well, I went up to Boston town, and saw Squire Phillips. He was very smooth and kind) and asked after my business; and I told him jest how matters stood, and mentioned that I hed come, agreeable to request, after my money. I didnt know what made him look so puzzled, and I thought hed not understood me; so I told him over. The blood in my buddy chilled cold in me when he said, Hey you another demand against me, Captain Martin? I thought he was jokin at first, but he looked so proud and cold that I knew better in a minute. Mr. Phillips, I said, I never bed but one, and that aint can- celed. Yo dont mean to say youre not owin me twelve hundred dollars? He looked at me 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with his proud, stern face for a long minute, and then he said slowly, Captain Martin, I want you to understand that I never pay the same bill twice. What do yo mean, Sir? I said, in a fury, for I saw the villainy. What do you mean? thunders he: do you mean to deny your own resate, man? And he jumped up to the desk, and took out a paper, and held it be- fore my eyes. I saw it all! Id put my bead in the noose. I told yo, Charles, that the first day I called on him, three weeks before, Id made out my bill, and signed it in full for all demands to date, thinkin that I was to get the money then. And that resate Id left on his desk, and forgotten! Never remembered aught about it till then! There it was, in his hands. Not a witnessnot a grain of evidenceto help me to my right! Says he, If this resate is not enough, I can prove that I sent a check to the bank with your name on it for this amount, on the very day you were here, and drew the money. Do yo recollect the circumstance? says he to a clerk. The young man said yes. No doubt hed carried the check, and got it cashed, but the sum had went into Mr. Phillipss pocket. The check is in the bank, says he, and kin be produced if necessary: heres my voucher that the money was paid you, holdin up the resate. I was a ruined man! Charles, the feelin that my claim was under that mans footthe thou,,ht that wife, and chil- Iren, and business were beggared and bankrupt, if he chosemade me meek. I humbled myself to that proud swindler. I told him of my state. I told him that my businessthe bread for my familydepended on that money. I begged it of him! He heard me for a time. Ill credit him for not makin me doubtful that somethin of the feelin that makes every human manthe wust and the bestown up to the hand of the Lord that made himwas in him; for by the twitchin of his face, and his changin color, I saw that his conscience was grapplin with his lie and fraud. Then, at last, it ended; and he told me to leave the office! The cuss that was in my heart never came to my lips, and I went i~xid left him. Fifteen year have passed sence then. Often have I met him, and I see him times now. And when I pass him, silent, I see shame and trouble in the proud face where I saw aforetime upright- ness and honor; and I know theres a sin at his heart, and a worm thatll never die! And now his sona fine, brave boy, with a face that makes me murn in secret for the likeness to his fa- thers afore he wronged me, and murnful for the worlds sin that may change ithe comes a-courtin my May; and he dont knowfor his father 11 keep his own counsel on that matter from his boyhe dont know why I tell him he cant have my consent to his marryin my gal. Ive seen him lookin troubled when he saw by my face my heart was kindly to him, and I knew he was tryin to think out the riddle, and couldnt. And May, tooshes pale; and my gals happiness is dear to me. Dont I know hed make her a good husband, manly and true, with great store of the worlds goods for house and homedont I know it? And Mays not poor; for her fathers independent, spite of all; and her mother goes in favor of the match, in her love for the child, and her forgiveness for whats past; but I cant forget the injury done against me by that man, and Ill never bring a cuss upon my child by consentin that the unre- repented sin of that father, visited on his son, shall be shared by her and the babes unborn wholl call her mother. Im sot against it. Its my dooty. The wust wrong Squire Phillips could do me he did, and I never harmed him; and he knew twould be my mortal hurt and ruin. I cant look with favor on his son for the memory. Charles, yo cant blame me. No, no, I said, with my heart swelling, and dimness blotting out the sight from my eyes, I can not blame you. It was baseit was unmanly. He was a rich man, and he spoiled the feeble fortunes of the poor. The father of my friend! 0 Captain, I never thought Mr. Phillips capable of an act like this! No honor no reparation. It was base. No, no; I un- derstand your feeling, and I must respect it. I am sorry for Vayse and for May, but I can not blame you.~~ My voice failed me, and I choked down a sob that rose from my heart. How still the room washow dim the sound of the workmens tools withouthow the green leaves trembled on the tree. Look up, boy, and dont yo grieve. Youre a true friend, and Gervayse Phillips ought to he proud of ~you. Glad would I be to sink the reef on which these young hearts are wrackin, for I mind the time when I was young. I cant! Its a wide, sharp, solid ledge of wrong. Ive seen sorrow and trouble; but this is wild, and wust of all, and I shall bear it heavy on my spent till I go down to the low moorings in Lynn church- yard, and anchor close by my dead babes. I cant but think of that mans wrong, and its ruin to the love of his own boy A long silence followed. I could not but feel that in his opposition to the union of his daugh- ter with my friend, if there was not a particle of logic, there was all the reason in the world. I felt too that their love was without hope or promise-the fruitless blossom was to wither on the tree. Captain, I said at length, anxious to divert my mind from the thought, you told me that when Phillips defrauded you, your property in trade was at the mercy of your creditor. Did you lose it? Of course you did, I suppose. A sudden flush blazed out on his sun-browned face; a glisten in his blue eyes. His lip trem- bled once, and then was firm again under the dilating nostril, aiid still, in the strange stir of his features. And when he spoke, a blind, agonized feeling in my bosom rose up, and groped toward his meaning at the gathering thrill that quivered in his hoarse and earnest voice. LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 89 Charles, shall I mention what befell? List- en. I waited patiently for the day of my ruin. I could in no fashion make up that sum. I waited, and on the day afore that bill came due, when I must go and say I couldnt meet itI found a friend. In the street I met him, and I hadnt seen him for long, though wed ben boys together. And he met me so cordial, that my heart warmed in my despair. So when he asked me why I looked so down-hearted, a feein came that made me tell him all, though I never counted on his bein able or willin to help me. I never told that story out of my family to aught but him and you; and I told Aim then. And that good man saved me! Prompt was he; and he said it mnsnt be so, and that hed lend me the money,, and, if need be, twice the money; and he sot me up straight. He did; and Ive never forgot it 1 A cloud had darkened my braina sudden light burst through it. I divined the spirit in his eyesthe emotion on his facethe mean- ing that kindled in his words, and shot through the electric currents of my frame with an in- spiration, and a triumph, and a pride. I rose to my feet. It was I stopped. He had risen with me, and his hands were on my-head. A great change work- ed in his large features, and the glisten in his eyes went out in brimming tears. God bless yo, boy. Theres truth and honor in your bright eyes and your honest forehead. hs his blood thats warm in your face, and his souls in you. Ay, Charles, it was him that res- cued me. It was your own father. Over that revelation long minutes passed away. The tears dried from my eyes. I was filled with a calm sense of satisfaction, but my heart was too full to speak. I sat and watched the waving of the tree, which now swayed mu- sically in the west wind of the afternoon. I re- member that a spotted butterfly fluttered down upon a twig near the window, and poised atilt upon its balancing, slowly moving its gorgeous wings, like the brilliant spirit of the summer. And then, when it flitted away into the sunshine, a bright blue-bird swooped suddenly from the air, and, resting in the green agitation of the branches, warbled out a clear brief trill that was hope and happiness to hear, and flew away. Captain, I will go, I said. We have talk- ed long enough, and I want to think of what you have told me, and settle my mind. Yes, Charley, said the Captain cheerily, its nigh on to two oclock; I feel yo had bet- ter leave me, for Im thoughtful in spent with these recollections. But, nownot a word to your friend about whats hen saidnot a word to Vayse ! Not a word, Captain, I replied; I will not speak of it. Good-by, Captain. Farewell, Charley; come home to tea. On the steps I saw, rolling along toward the shop, the great Bughee. Straw hat pushed back, neckerchief untied, monkey-jacket all fly- ing. Bughee was in a tropical heat. There was a red mark from the hard rim of his hat on his swarthy forehead; his face was wet with perspiration; he was holy-stoning it with his rough sleeve. Hullo I he said, with a hoarse, subdued roar, Taint hot Aint it, though? im briled. Backs hots a roast hog, and the hides cracklin. Im doneeat me ! Capn Bughee, I ventured, why in the world dont you put on a thin coat ? He careened, and rolled off with a growb Thin coat! Hoo! Thin coat be ____ Nt matter what he said about the thin coat. II. Off I went. Gervayse Phillipss house was out behind the town of Swampscot, which, as every body knows, lies northeast of Lynn. I went that way, musing on all I had heard, and was just going by old High Rock, lost in a trance of reverie, when two firm hands were laid upon my shoulders, and, from a proud and noble face, with a flush of pleasure lighting up the golden brown of its healthy tan, two large hazel eyes, with real star-fire in their liquid shadows, looked straight into mine. My heart leaped up to greet him. 0 Vayse! I was just going over to your house, I shouted, with his strong grasp in my ardent hand. And I was going after you, said Gervayse Phillips. Father saw you in the cars frota Boston yesterday afternoon (though you did not see him), and as you did not come over to me this forenoon, I made up my mind that you were, as usual, at Captain Martins, and came over to you. A special Fate directed my route, for here you ale.~~ And right glad I am to see you, was my impulsive retort. You are as strong as ever, Ifee4 for his grasp had hurt my hand. Now then, whose horse and carriage is that? Yours, I think. And what cloud did you drop out of? My dear Charley, there is not a cloud in the sky, therefore it is fair to presume I drove soberly on the road. It is strange you did not see me; but I noticed that you were blind with meditation. Come, what were you thinking of? You, of course. Love is always blind, I said, with a gay laugh. Really! he replied with his grave smile; And, is love deaf too? for you might have heard the carriage wheels, at all events. If love had been blind on both sides, you might be marching over to Swampscot on a vain look-out, and I driving over to West Lynn Without this, I interrupted, handing him Mays white rosebud from my button-hole. Ah! for me? he said slowly, his face changing to a dusky pallor, from which the beautiful eyes glinted their starry lustre; dizin you know the language of flowers? This, for instance, meansHopeless Love. He held the rose to his fine, thin nostrils; but I am sure, if I had not looked at him, he would have pressed it to his lips. 90 HARPERS 1~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Yes, said I, hopeless love. The illuminating flush had died away. He was very pale. I hardly noticed then that, dur- ing the three months which had elapsed since I had last seen him, a quiet sadness had stolen into his face, and a more pensive tone into the clear, grave music of his voice. I only noticed the same inexpressible delicacy and nobility of face and figure which had so often charmed me. The proud and graceful demeanor of the head, with its chivalrous fall of dark waving hairthe dark brilliant eyes, under the calm arch of their black brows, giving light and soul to the sun- tinted, august featuresthe broad, full chest the. piled muscle of arm and thigh, and the whole lithe, elegant outline of the elastic frame, unconcealed by its close-fitting garments, made up an image from the days of the cavaliers. It seemed to me then the perfect ideal of manly beauty. It was the dream of gallant Richard Lovelace, with the graver grace of Philip Sid- ney, realized in the New England sunlight, be- neath the Puritan shadow of old High Rock. So fabled the imagination. Yet, as the memory of what the Captain had told me a little while before glided into my mind, and the silent sor- row of the face slowly revealed itself to me, I hooded the eyes of vision, and remembered that this was Gervayse Phillips, with the white rose- bud in his fingers, and the truth of which it was the symbol, cold and silent in his heart. And I, with my counsel, was to aid Time, and med- icine that hopeless love to its curerenuncia- tion and forgetfulness. So we entered the carriage and drove over to his fathers house, behind Swampscot. Behind Swampscot meant a mile back from that town. His fathers house meant, on the outside, a fine square wooden mansion, gabled and ornament- ed, standing near a carriage-road that ran pest thick green pine-woods, with an everlasting mur- mur and a song in their Gothic branches. It meant stables and barns, with horses and cows, and fowls of all descriptions, from the arrogant turkey-gobbler to the stilted Shanghai hen; and an ample range of farm, and orchard, and mead- ow-land, girdling its precincts. On the inside, it meant all that is elegant and tasteful in the way of rich furniture, pictures, and delicate per- fume pervading its cloistered air. Perhaps it included the gentle, quiet lady that came for- ward to welcome me, whom I saluted as Mrs. Phillips; and the fair young girl, the daughter, Claraso beautiful and saintlywho gave me her small white hand, with a thrill in it that stole quietly to my heart, and smiled a greeting from the mystical deeps of her brown eyes. Now, I am not going to be minute. I should like to present you a finished and carefully tinted picture, instead of this uncolored sketch, whose scenes and figures are only traced in out- line, and no more. These outlines you must fill up for yourselves. When I say that I passed a very pleasant afternoon, let it suffice. Part of the time I sat with Gervayse in a little summer- house in the garden, advising him earnestly to renounce his passion for May Martin. He an- swered with his usual eloquence; but every thing he said was an evasion of my counsel, and an effort to lead me into some disclosure of the reason for Captain Martins opposition to his suit. He knew well that I could tell him, but I was on my guard, and he learned nothing. I felt that it was better for him to remain in igno- rance. But I told him there was earnest truth in Mays rosebud, and that Captain Martin was as inflexible as granite; urging him to be wise, and let the love of hope pass silently into the love of memory. It pained me deeply to say this, but I said it. His last answer was a mystic smile that stole slowly over his face, and passed away in a som- bre cloud of dark reverie, which overcast his calm white forehead, and dimmed the brilliance of his shadowy eyes. My own reflections took a deeper color, as I saw the tall figure of Mr. Phillips, black and silentthe head bent upon the chestwalk slowly up the sun-lit avenue with his hands behind him, and his long shadow going before. He entered the house without seeing us. Strange, I mused, that that man can know of his sons love for the child of one whom he has so deeply wronged, and yet never discountenance it! Or is it cold wisdom on his part, and does he know that the matter will cure itself without his interference? A few minutes after we went into the mansion. Mr. Phillips was reclining on an ottoman. I had made up my mind that I could not now meet him without aversion. But he rose, and gave me his hand with so much of the irresisti- ble magnetism of the gentleman in his demeanor so mild a smile upon his proud, sallow coun- tenancethat I could not, for my soul, help respecting him. Though I loathed the sin, I could not despise the sinner. He excused him- self for the position in my presencehe was weary and unwell, he saidand again lay down upon the couch. There was a secret pain in his thin, worn visagefor the welcoming smile had faded. I thought of Captain Martins words Theres a sin at his heart, and a worm thatll never die ! It was true. I pitied him. We had conversed but a few minutes, when Gervayse left us, remarking that he would re- turn soon. We were alone. I felt uneasy in the hush of the perfumed air. The white and crimson draperies of the windows drifted to and fro in the light wind. I saw his wife and daugh- ter walking in the garden under the sun-flecked shadow of the trees. The pale and saintly face of Clara was turned toward the window. I knew that she could not see me, but it seemed as if she looked at me like a warning spirit. I turned my head away, and met the sad and brooding gaze of his dark eyes. He dropped them when I looked at him, and spoke in his calm, distinct voice: Mr. Seymour, said he, you are stopping at Captain Martins house, I believe? I rejoiced that he did not look at me when he said this, for a burning flush shot up on my LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 91 forehead; but I answered, Yes. A long panse ensued. Gervayse tells me, he resumed, that his suit does not advance with Captain Martins daughter. You look startled. Gervayse con- fides his troubles to me always. This matter is no secret. Mr. Phillips, I said, you surprise me. I know that Gervayse has told you of his feelings toward Miss Martin. Do you conntenance this affair ? Why not? he replied, fixing his melancholy eyes on my face why not? You do not an- swer. I love my son. I think him best com- petent to choose his own wife. I will never interpose my parental authority between the loves of these young people. Well, Sir, I said, I suppose you think that the matter does not require yonr interference. This was a rash speech, and for a moment I regretted it. Mr. Phillips was silent. A per- verse audacity was the birth of that silence in my brain. You do not intend that Gervayse shall enter into mercantile pursuits, Sir? I remarked. With my consentno 1 he answered. You may think my tone in relation to what is held to be an honorable profession, somewhat fanat- ical. Well, you are a young man, Mr. Seymour, and Iam no longer young. God makes hu- man nature noble, but the foul fiend of Trade leads it into mean paths, thickly sown with pit- falls of temptation, and destroys it. No: Ger- vayse will probably be a physicianhe mnst never be a merchant. Surely, Sir, said I, you do not think that a merchant must of necessity be dishonest ? He fixed his eyes on my face with a look that searched my souL I schooled my features into an expression of stolid simplicity. Mr. Seymour, he remarked, I did not mean, of course, to imply that. But if com- merce does not always break the mirror, its breath always stains it. The principles of the counting-house are cold and mean, at best. I have found them so, and I have no wish to train my son by them. I speak of things as I see them. Study the character of our New England ancestry! Then look at the life and character of our people to-day! We are now little better than a tribe of peddlers. What has wrought the change? The love of gain! It has absorbed every noble passion, and every generous instinct. We are energetic at nothing but making money. The blo6d of the Puritans has been soppcd up from our veins with bank- notes. The heart of the nation has been crush- ed out with dollars. You think I am morbid? No: I am sound. Professions at last become institutions in the life of every people. Art LiteratureMechanicsdo they not foster cer- tain tendencies common to every mind, until they become ruling passions, and vital forces in the man? The merchants profession too, has become an institution. It nurtures greed avarice! Do you know how many natures upright, honorable, proud natureshave found- ered on those rocks of Trade ? His face was calm when he said this, though the expression of remorseful pain had deepened on it like a shadow; but a strange, subdued pas- sion seemed to writhe and groan in the cold, still tones of his voice. Mr. PhillipsI spoke now with a religious fervor mantling in my veins like liquid fire you are undoubtedly correct; but then, I have been taught to believe that no profession in life is without its temptations, and that the best of us are liable to fall. But I also feel that no nature indeed upright and honorable will b~ content with mere regret or remorse for its past sin, when it can practice the redeeming virtue which includes reparationRErENTA~cx ! He rose from his recumbent posture and looked at me. His face was livid, but not with anger. The melancholy pain was woven with a frightful smile. I felt then that this was an erring, not a bad man. Mr. Seymour, said he at last, they used to say of the sermons of an old English preacher, that there was a congregation at the end of every line. You too, I see, shape your sermons to the comprehension of your auditory. Well, Sir, at least you are frank and honest. At this moment Gervayse entered the room, followed by Mrs. Phillips and Clara. Mr. Phil- lips resumed his former position on the otto- man. We all began to converse with vivacity, and he bore his part in the conversation with apparent ease. At last the slanting shafts of the sunlight warned me to depart. I rose to go. Mr. Phillips came forward and gave me his hand. There was nothing but kindness in the firm clasp. He said he should always be happy to see me at his house. They were going to Newport next week for the summer months; if my inclinations led me thither, he would be glad to see me there. So said Mrs. Phillips so said the gentle Clara. Gervayse insisted on driving me to Lynn. Jim Blake the natty groom came up to the gate in a few minutes with the horse and carriage. While I lingered at the hall-door, speaking with Mrs. Phillips, and dy- ing my death under the sweet, brown eyes of Clara, Jim Blake aforesaid went through a course of dramatic posturing at the horses head. We relieved him at last, and drove away. Lit- tie was said on either side until we came to Lynn Centre. There I insisted on getting out and walking the rest of the way. Gervayse stopped the horse, and we both descended from the vehicle, and stood with clasped hands on the narrow path by the Common. Charles, said he, with his fine eyes stead- fastly fixed on mine, what were you and fa- ther talking about this afternoon when I came in? You were pale, and he was dead-white. Gervayse Phillips, I answered, with an en- ergy that made him lift his calm eyebrows in wonder, if you love me never urge that ques- tion! I can not answer it! My heart is full of grief for you. I am going back to Boston. 92 HARPERS ~W MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Resign all hope for May; she loves you, but it worlds flippant gibe. IL think it is the flesh is all in vain. and the devils too. At any rate, I never had His beautiful face colored to a fiery crimson, any patience or sympathy with it. Apart from and his earnest eyes tried to search my mys- the poetic reverence which I love to throw around tery. But no! Then he said that it was strange, the sacred image of virginal Ageapart from and he took a little note from his breast-pocket, the Ideal, there is the homage due to the Fact. and asked me to give it to her. I took it. We They are, as a class, the hest women in this clasped firm hands and parted. When I had wicked world. Aunt Hnldah was the gathered gone a hundred paces, I turned with a swelling excellence of the species. heart to look after him. He was standing in Good evening, Aunt Huldah7 said Ishe the same place. The elegant figurethe grace- was not my aunt, hut I always called her so ful head, with its locks drooping from under one it is a heautiful evening. of the most cavalierish of brown Panamasall Beautiful evenin, Charley, replied Aunt, in all, it was a form worthy of a place with the with a benignant smile lighting her wrinkled fairest of our dream-pictures of the gallant rnf- face to the crimped border of her white mob~ flers of old days. He lifted his hat in token of cap, smells sweet as pennyryal out here. adieu, and I saw him no more. Round the garden I went with Aunt Huldah, Captain Martins yellow house, and garden, and learned the names of the flowers and herbs. and full-foliaged trees were radiant in the glori- May flitted off into the honse to read her note. ous sunset when I stopped before the door. A Down by the hen-coop the fowls recognized the great hull of dark cloud lay anchored on the mob-cap, and a yellow clucking hen, evidently edge of the horizon. The upper sky was full schooled liberally on the subject of Hens Rights, of crimson vapors like floating pennons. A vast acted as chief spokesman, and petitioned for purple cloud, fringed with brilliant gold, rested corn. Aunt Huldab, like a wise legislator, took between the streamers and the lowest mass, like it by handfuls from her ample pocket, amidst a sail; and the sun descending, as I gazed, be- general satisfaction, and threw it in. The yel- hind it, rained down his rays, like golden cords, low hen croaked out luck, luck, as plainly as into the moveless bulk below, and completed a hen could, when we went away. Slowly the the splendid phantasma of the Ship of Sunset! last gold of sunset melted from the sky. Oat As I looked, Captain Martin put his large hand of the east arose, large and yellow, and round- on my shoulder from behind. ing up in pearl and purple vapor, the early Ah, Captain! isnt that beautiful ? said I. moon. Young Turly Martin came rnnning out Lovely, Chancy. The suns settin up his with the thin summons of his childish treble, shrouds and backstays. Thats what we called and fifed us in to tea. it at sea. The evening passed agreeably. . May joined I admired the Captains phrase very much, her pleasant voice to the music she touched It described the appearance admirably. By- from the piano, and Mrs. Martins tenor, and and-by, I we4it around the house into the gar- young Turlys treble, flowed together in one den. Near a dwarf lilac-treeone of many that harmony that made the songs, plaintive or gay, freshly scented the airwith some of its flow- soften the heart like the dear hymns of child- ens in her hand, stood May. With her slight, hood. Not out of place either was the monoto- graceful figureher fair tresses lightly hound, nous undertone of Capn Bugbees bass. It and touched with pale gold from the sunset growled in finely. But Capn Bughees mind she looked like the spirit of the Lilac. Her was always throwing up old grievances, and he white forehead was bent over the flowers in her stopped the concert with one of his hoarse hand, and she did not see me. chucklings of inner mirth, and said It allers Come here, 0 Fair One with the Golden riled him to think ont. Whats now, Bug- Locks, said I; come here and be lectured. bee ? questioned Captain Martin, smiling at She came lightly, with an innocent smile in the rough Cape Codder, who was surging about her violet eyes. on the sofa in a tumult of oceanic merriment. Now, Mr. Charley, what are you calling me Its that peep of a mate, Sprague, roared names for ? Bugbee, choking with laughter, and it riles For fun, May-blossom. That was a nice er- me awful. There, right off Nantucketlast rand you sent by me to-day. 0, if I had known winterboo! whatn ugly sea, an night a- your flower-language, never a thorn of your comm on pitch black, and the Borax pitchin white rosebud would I have planted in Ger- about till yed think judgments comm.~~ vayses bosom! But here is the answer ; and I interrnpted him for a~minute by laughing I gave her the note. vehemently at the idea of his bursting in upon The lightest tint of scarlet suffused her fair us with a story akout something that happened face as she put it in her bosomthe lightest to him last wiut / His stories, however, never shade of sadness succeeded. dated any nearer. Come, now; thats good, I declare. Youre Board o the schooner, yo know, wed shin- not going to read that billet aloud to me then ? gles, an a pile o notions, an a load o pigs; an Hush, Charley; heres Aunt Huldah. Cap- somo of the pigs were mine, and tothers warnt. tam Martins sister came from the back door Schooner pitched bout till ary thin got knocked into the garden. An old maid! It is the round noways, an the pigs got loose, and mixed LOSS ALNI) GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. bout yelpin and gruntin. So I seed things was in a brile, an next thing I shouldnt know my pigs from next mans. So I sings out to Sprague to fetch the paint-pot from blow decks, SOS I could mark my pigs; then let em mix, I thought, and Ill know em n mornin enny way. Long time comm with the pot, I thought, and the pigs gittin wus an wus, an more of it. So I shuffles down arter Sprague, an the fust thing I hears him a-tellin on to Jim Brown in his cussed squeak of a vicesays he, Blessd if I ever heerd the like o Capn Bughee. Heres the schooner likely to go to the Old Scratch ary minit, an Capn Bugbees so cussed greedy he wants the paint-pot to mark his pigs 505 hell know em in Eternity! Dar~ied if it didnt upsot me! The ugly mink! An I ony wantin to score the pigs so Id know em in the mornin 1 Capn Bughees uncouth mirth struck the key-note for a general burst of merriment. The story lasted him all the evening. He had exhausted himself, and could not tell another. But Captain Martin told us some, with a genial humor that made them mellow as light. Aunt Huldah, too, gave us some experience of her feelings during a voyage from Marthas Vine. yard in a sloop with a very Sinbad of a skipper, who falsified all the. known rules of navigation, and had hurricanes that blew the anchors into the cross-trees, storming through all his narra- tions of the perils of the coast, until her nerves and credulity gave way together. Ten oclock came, and we all retired. All but me. I sat alone at the eastern window of my chamber, thinking vaguely of all the day had revealed to me. At last I became restless I wanted to be out in the dewy silence and moonlight for a night ramble. To get out with- out going down stairs was not possible without disturbing the sleepers. But directly under my window was the sloping roof of the wood- shed. I took my hat, gained the roof silently, and, dropping lightly into the garden, in a min- ute I was in the street. I lit a cigar, and walked away from the house. The night was very beautiful. The moon that rose so large and yellow, had lessened into an orb of silver lustre and soared slowly up the blue zenith. Its quiet glory lay softly on the sleeping town like a vail of charms and slumber, and rested dimly in languor and beauty on the Saugus hills. Far out upon the melancholy sea the red brilliance of the Light-house glowed like the Great Car. buncle of the legend. In a faint murmur the surge breaking on the distant beach, and around the rocky bases of Nahant, sang lullaby to the dreaming air. Heavy balm drifted up from the gardens. The night.dew steeped out the rich spice of rose-carnationsthe perfume of helio- tropes and roses, and the fragrance of pine and cedar trees. Light and noiseless winds flitted about in the trance of the sum.rner moonlight, laden with their odors. I wandered about like the sole phantom of an enchanted landlost in the vaguest musings. VOL. X.No. 55.G So, at last I found myself returned to the houselanguid with a delicious weariness. I stood in the shadow of the lilac trees in the front garden, leaning on the fence. I looked at my watch; it was just ten minutes of twelve. As I turned to enter the gate I saw a figure emerge from the bend of a dark street at some distance, into the moonlight, and approach the house. Quicker than thought I was in the garden behind the leafy screen of the lilacs and rose-bushes, peering out at the coming stranger. Something in the proud, erect demeanor of his form made me start when I first saw him, with. out precisely knowing why. Could it be? In a couple of minutes he came up to the outside of the open fence behind whose foliage I was lurking, and stood in the shadow within two feet of me. It was Gervayse Phillips! I was petrified. What brought him here from his distant home at such an hour? He stood very quietly. I got a glimpse of his face through the leaves, and saw his dilated eyes, slightly luminous under the shadow of a broad felt hat, fixed intently on the door. Instinct- ively I turned my head toward it. The moon. light rested on the fluted pillars of the porch, which cast a shadow on the upper portion of the dark panels. As I gazed, I saw the shadow creep slowly down, and then pause. The door was opening! I sank down like a dew drop into the wet grass. The next instant the white and sylph-like figure of May glided out into the moonlight, and passed noiselessly through the gate, under the shadow of the lilacs. The note! I saw it all. Couched in the dewy grass, and peering through the leaves of the bushes within a yard of them, I saw her go quickly into his arms. No word was spoken. Then she suddenly dis- engaged herself with a low sob. I saw her face, white and sad in the shade. A thin ray of moonlight, floating softly through the leaves, touched her tresses with a golden glory, and rested on the graceful outline of her white drap- ery. Then her sweet voice, low and calm, filled.. the silence: Gervayse, I must go in. It is wrong to be here. I came because you urged me, but only to see you once more, and for the last time. Now you must go, and try to forget me~ I shall never forget you, May, said Ger- vayse, nevernever Be good and happy, Gervayse, for my sake, said the sad, sweet voice, and promise me that you will never see me again. Promise! I must not disobey my father. My heart is breaking to leave youbut you must never see me again~ Promise me, Gervayse Oh! May, May ! said Gervaysehis calm voice passionate and broken I will not prom- iseI can not! You will kill me! Tell me. why your father opposes our lovetell me, I implore you. Charles Seymour knows, and he will not tell his friend. And your father knows~ and will not tell meand you will not. Every one knows but me. Tell me, Maytell me ~j4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. My heart was swelling to agony in my hiding- place. I longed to be awaybut I dared not move. Gervavse, I can not tell you. Forgive me, Gervayseforget me! And now go. Prom- ise never to see me again, till I meet you in heaven. I shall wait for you there. Now I must go in. He took her to his arms with a passionate clasp. The light figure was stillthe fair head rested on his bosom. I cowered in my conceal- ment, with my straining eyes spell-bound to the pair, and my wild heart beating. She lifted up her patient face to his. The gleam of moon- light stole across it, and showed it white and wet with streaming tears. Farewell, lost May, said Gervayse. Life has lost every thing but memory in losing you. The answer was low and sweet, though it rose from the agony of a broken spirit I shall love you forever 1 Their lips met in one long, silent kiss, and the whole night was still. The moon passed behind a cloudthe magic light fadcd from the garden. A low wind passed through the shadow of the air with a weird sigh, and darkness filled the chambers of my brain. Thena faint rus- tlethe spot where they had stood was vacant, and I saw her glide into the house, like a noise- less ghost through the door of a tomb. The minutes passed away. I rose from the ground. Weak, and crushed with emotion, I gained my chamber as I had left it. Once there, I threw myself on the bed and wept freely. Sleep, mournful and dreamless, came and soothed that sorrow. IlL The afternoon sunshine of the following day found me in my fathers counting-room in Bos- tondeeply absorbed in (if Mr. Phillipss views of commerce were correct) the Black Art of Double Entry. The summer waned drearily away. That day and night at Lynn had cast a shadow over it. I received one or two letters from Gervayse, dated at Newportbrief, blank, calm letters, that were painful to read. He found no pleasure in the ghostly fopperies of that watering-place, he said, and longed to be at home again. He purposed going to Europe, to continue his studies as a physician. I saw him for a day in Boston in the early autumn. He was sorrowful and careworn. The lustre of his eyes was fed from a consuming fire in his heart. He said nothing of the love which had dissolved into an eternal memory, and a dream of the dream which had passed. The beauty of his youth was withering. In the month of Novemberduring a storm which held out nearly a week, and strewed the Atlantic seaboard with wrecksI went to Salem on business, expecting to be absent from the counting-house for two or three days. When I reached tha~ city, the gale was at its height. Houses were blown downtrees torn up by the rootsthe wharves and cellars flooded, and ev- ery few hours brought intelligence of vessels foundered or driven ashore along the coast by the fury of the tempest. The streets were dan- gerous to pedestrians, with falling slates, and signs, and toppling chimneys. It was a time of panic and peril. An unforeseen circumstance enabled me to complete my affair at Salem much sooner than I had anticipated. I set out for Boston the following morning in the cars. As they rattled over the tram-road, my thoughts were busy in reveries of May and Gervayse, mingled with the rushing of the rain and the wailing of the wind. When the wheezy engine stood, panting and snorting as if from the speed of its course, at West Lynn, I yielded to my im- pulse and got out. The rain came down stead- ily from the brown clouds, but the wind seemed to have lulled somewhat, although a whirling blast now and then swept the drenched fallen leaves from their shelter, and blew the rain in my face. I walked through the wet and dreary streets, now disenchanted of their summer beau- ty, to Captain Martins shop, and was welcomed heartily. The Captain vowed that I should not go on to Boston until the next day on any con- sideration; and, at last, I abandoned my inten- tion of only staying a few hours, and acceded to his wishes. Going home with him at, dinner-time, I as- tonished Mrs. Martin and Aunt Huldah very much. Aunt said she would as soon have ex- pected a seraphim as me in the month of No- vember. May greeted me with a hectic bloom on her pale faceit faded soon, and I saw there was deep and patient suffering there. She was dressed in black, which made her pallor almost spiritual by contrast, and relieved the pale gold of the curls that rested on her sable drapery. But she spoke very cheerfully, and almost charm- ed me out of my anxiety for her. And now, these reminiscences are nearly ended. What happened afterward came very suddenly upon us all. Whenever I think of it, I am reminded of the stories they relate of the East Indian jugglers. They put, it is said, two or three seeds in the dark, sad gromidcover the spot for an instant, and then, uncovering it, up shoots a little tree, which in a moment bears leaves and blossoms, and in another you eat frnit therefrom., So Destiny, out of our dark- ness and sadness, juggled up a spdden tree of Life and Love, and gave us the golden apples of the Hesperides! In this way: We had tea very early that evening. If Capn Boghee had been on the premises, I might have staid in and studied him. But he was gone to Nantucket. So, about six oclock in the stormy gloaming, I took it into my head to go out. Out I went, and up street. The rain had ceased. The gale was rushing and howling about the streets like an invisible maniac, and the low, sullen sky was full of shadows that fled in pallor and darkness to the horizon, like an army of chased ghosts. The air was chill, but not cold. In the fitful pauses of the wind I could hear the dull, continuous roar of the breakers on the beach. They were LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. loud that night. All muffled up, I walked down the main street by the Common. There were lights in the houses and the storessome, dim and dismal, in the windows of the shoe-shops; but I hardly saw a single person in the streets. As loub as there was no rain, I had no care for any thing else in the ordinary way of tempest. I was going along very placidly when I heard a carriage hehind me. As it came abreast, the horse, trotting quite rapidly, and guided by a slack bridle, suddenly slipped on the miry road and tumbled headlong on his knees. I sprang into the street, and caught his head as he stag- gered up again under the firm check of the rein. I am much obliged to you, Sir, said the occupant of the carriage, descending; I was driving very carelessly. I turned round with a great start, and caught him in my arms. I knew that grave, distinct voice immediately. Vayse! by all thats wonderful 1 I cried. Charley! And in Lynn! This is worth any thing on the right side of a broken neck ! We embraced like two girls, for the manner of the thing; for the ardor, like two bears! He broke the crystal of my watch in my vest pocket with the strength and closeness of his clasp; and, if I had been on the right side, I would have broke the crystal of his with the energy of mine. Locomotivenot a bad name for a horse who went down on the road !was not hurt; his forelegs were well daubed with mud that was all. We entered the carriage and (Irove on. Gervayse had driven from East Bos- ion, and was on his way home. I told him how I happened to be in Lynn, and we agreed that it was a fortunate meeting. Taking the sequel into account, I think it was. Talking very rapidly, we turned the curve of the long street near Lynn Centre, when the full sweep of the blast came down from High Rock into our faces, with a force that shook the carriage beneath us in its motion. At the same moment we became sensible of some new move- ment in the street. First some men passed us, all running in one direction; then others came out of the shops, and stood looking after them, or followed in full chase. We drove up under the lee of the Exchange Building, and reined in. Gervayse leaned from the carriage, and accosted a man who stood in the doorway of a basement store: What is the matter, Mr. Brown? Ab, Mr. Phillips! Its a vessel going ashore on the coast. How the answer thrilled us! We drove at full speed down to the Railroad House, and put the horse up. Then we ran down Ocean Street to the beach, with the heavy thunder of the surge sounding in our ears, and the mad wind shrieking and rushing past us. In the distance we saw the wild glare of fires kindled on the Nahant read, lighting up the low, dark ridge of dwarf pines along the coast, between them and the roaring sea. It was not until we passed the last houses on our left, and ran down the slope of the street to the dead level of the low land, that the full fury of the wind pounced upon us. For a moment we paused, and turned our backs to it. Then we rushed on blindly, with the frantic gale yelling and staggering down from the northeast, and rushing about us in a wild vortex of confusion, and the tre- mendous uproar of the breakers hoarsely tear- ing through it, and growing louder as we neared them. Dark figures passed to and fro, or stood grouped about the fires, with their long shadows waving and flickering on the lurid flats, and dancing on the flashing sheets of wild light shaken out upon the barrier of stunted trees, from the writhing and leaping flames. The very ground shook beneath our feet with the tremendous concussion of the surges, as we gained the sea-wall, and paused breathless among the excited crowd by the fires. In a few minutes I recovered my self-possession suf- ficiently to observe the scene around me in its details. Two drenched sailors, who had got ashore, crouched near the flames. Presently a small body of men came rushing from the opening in the trees, dripping wet, and bearing two more. They were thoroughly exhausted with their desperate struggle in the breakers, and sank down feebly on the wet sand. Some one had brandy for them; others threw tar-bar- rels and driftwood on the hissing fire, which shot up anew around the inflammable fuel in volumes of black smoke and blood-red flame. What with the bristling heatthe wild splendors sway- ing about from the fiery pilesthe yelling of the windthe crashing din of the watersthe quakings of the earth under the solid blows of the surfthe pallid faces of the cowering mar- inersand the multitude hurrying and crowd- ing around themevery one shrieking (for every one was talking, and, to be heard, you had to scream at the top of your voice)it was a spectacle that reminded one of the hideous Hells of the Dantean Inferno! Presently Gervayse, who stood by me, caught me by the arm, and shouted in my ear, Come and see the ship ! We ran along the barrier till we reached the opening, and plunged through into full sight of the vast and heaving mass of turbulence swinging in thunder on the shore, within twenty feet of us. For a moment I saw nothing, for the spray and small pebbles and sand were dashed in my face, and blinded me. I was wet through in an instant, and cowered down, half expecting to be submerged under a black and weltering wall that rose in the air crested with white foam, and stood gathering and swaying above me. The next moment it toppled down with a blind and heavy crash that shook the beach, and rushed out seaward in seething spray. It was not until we reached a group of men who stood up the strand toward Nahant, that the awful sublimity of tIme scene burst upon me. The vast shadows, black and livid, fled in torn masses across the wild sky. Through the raking scud of spray and flying sand I saw the oceanan avalanche of dark and thundering water, that 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. came drifting and rushing to the shore, with a sweep and a roar of gathering foam, and fell down upon the strand, shattered into a frantic mass of tumbling surges, that leaped and pour- ed over each other, and spoomed up in white madness to the sky, until they were swept off by the hoiling undertow. The howling of the wind, whose ponderous currents swayed ahove us, filled up the pauses of the tremendous din. I could not see the vessel at first, and was about to scream out a question ahout her, when some men around me made a rush to the water, and pnlled out a man who was floundering in the shallow breakers. He was carried off at once to the fires which shot out their lurid gleams through the dark screen of dwarf pines hehind us. Just then I saw the vessel, careened on the summit of a gigantic surge. It was a brig: her masts were stumps; and as she rose I saw a hamper of spar and canvas lifting against the dark hull. The next moment she plunged headlong to the shore, ~staggering wildly in the swell. Then it combed from under her, and I heard the heavy thump of her hull as she struck, and saw the waves pour over her in torrents. She lay very near the shore; with her bows jammed into the sands, and her steru lifting heavily. Another fire had now been lit on our side of the sea-wall. By its light we saw her deck, and a few figures clinging to the bulwarks, at times completely covered by the surges that broke over them. Two or three men set off for ropes to aid them in venturing near the breakersit was perilous work without them. Before they got back, there was a catastrophe! By the strong glare of the fire, we saw a fig- tu~e drop from the side into the rising troughof a coming wave, and plunged forward for the land. We lost sight of him an instant after. I felt a wild excitement as I saw him emerge, struggling or swimming gallantly. The mount- ing wave swept over him, and rushed, on the shore. When it broke he was floundering in the foam. Two men sprang forward and caught him. As they turned to regain the beach, a second wave combed over the three, and then a third. A long minute passed. Out of the mad tumble I saw two men stagger blindly and reach the sands. The sailor was not with them! He was swept out to sea! An awful pity filled my heart. Gervayse stood by me, white in the darkness, with his long hair wet with spray and streaming in the gale under his slouched hat. Suddenly he caught my arm with a grasp that hurt me, and pointed to the ocean. I lookedthere was the sailor again! He was swimming convulsively. No one stirred to save him. The men were intimidated by the danger they had escaped so narrowly in their hist effort. They shrank away from the coming surge, shaking their heads. I felt at once that he must perish. By the light of the flames, I saw his livid face in the black sea, and the en- ergetic struggles he made for life. The waves rushed over him. He emerged again. Again the waters covered bun, and then in the wild tumble upon the shore I saw him battleand yield! That instant, Gervayse Phillips, stripped to the waist, rushed past me with the spring of a tiger into the breakers, and clutched him in his arms. My heart stood still. It was only one masterly exertion, and with the body heaved to his left shoulder, and his vigorous arm clasped around it, he plunged forward with the water to his knees, when suddenly he slipped, and fell with his burden in the seething undertow. The wave combed over him with a stunning roar swept backhe was gone! I stood palsied and aghast. I looked around methere wus horror on every face. The mad fright that rose up in me suddenly changed into a flood of excitement that poured through every vein like molten fire. Right out of the black and awful sheen of a wel- tering mass of foamless surge rushing inland, I saw him rise, with his naked breast sheer above water, and saw a single powerful sweep of his right arm. There was but one impulse in the groupwe all sprang forward to save him. The surge crashed downthere was a struggle in its roaring rollaplungeaudhe tore through, with an overlenpingwave behind him, into the shallow bfeakersthe body in his arms. A dozen hands clutched himhe broke away from all in the desperate impetus of his passage, and never paused till he bore his burden twenty feet up the beach, and sank fainting beside it. We took them up and carried them hurriedly behind the sea-wall to the fires. On the way we met a crowd, cheering lustily, with a double file of men in their midst running along with something on their shoulders. It was the Swamp- scot fishermen bearing the life-boat. We joined in the cheer as they passed us, but we did not pause until we reached the fire. Gervayse re- vived in a few minutes under the usual restora- tives, and began very leisurely to put on his wet clothes, which some one had brought him. He was thoroughly exhausted with his effort. I had often seen his feats in Boston, when he was the foremost athlete of the gymnasium, and matched the best of the German Turners at their play, but I never saw him make such an exertion of skill and strength as this in all my life. When he rushed by me from the water, and I ran along with him, his very stature seemed dilated with his energy, and the muscles and veins of his frtime were swollen and starting like balls and cords. He had at that moment the steel thews of a Titan. His first lift of the body looked like the slight effort of one catching up a child. Brave, gallant Vayse II was too glad to speak to him. The sailor lay insensible on the ground in the arms of those who were laboring to restore him. For a long time their assiduities were fruitless. Gervayse knelt down with them, and lent his aid to chafe the cold limbs till their pulses began to beat again in the flow of the life-current. He recovered slowly, and looked about him in fear, for his last thought of des- perate terror in the surf was the first memory of retaruing life. He was a young maa, seem- LOSS AND GAIN: A TALE OF LYNN. 97 ingly about twenty years of age; of a slight but muscular mould. His face was well-featured, and swarthy even in its pallor, like that of one who had cruised in warm latitudes. He recog- nized Vayse with a bewildered smile; then fainted again. One fellow near me, with a face which reminded me of a pig and a hatchet, piped out in a shrieking voice, Guess he aint got much stiddy grit in him; aint rugged, and good to bear. Ynh damned blubber I roared up a guttural voice from the brown and hairy chest of a weath- er-battered seaman, with an intense disgust in his rough featnres ef it aint enough to make a man green-sick to harken to ye! Had yuh ben bowsed about in that swash like young Frank here, yud feel your grit scuttlin too, yuh blue lanshark Frank ! I said quicklythe fact was, the young sailors face had been haunting me. I yelled into the old tars red conch-shell of an ear Whats your shipmates name ? Frankey Martin ! he roared back into mine. I nearly fainted myself. In the pale, swart face of the young man, just looking out of its swoon, I recognized the Captains son, as I saw him three years before! I remembered the dreamthe man perched out on the main-yard! Then I made one stride, caught hold of Ger- vayse, pulled him through the group with a force that nearly upset him, and screamed out the discovery. He stared at me, with his hands clasped in mine, and his firm lips set. But the scarlet shot up into his pale face, as I shouted, wild with hope and joy Mays brother; do you hear ?her brother! 0 Vayse, youve saved his lifeyouve risked your own! Its coming righthurra ! I ran oW with a shout, ten steps; then I walked back calm, and told him that we must bring Frank homeand told him to have him carried as far as the first houses on the road, where I would fetch the carriage. Off I dashed at full speedreached the hotel, and drove the vehicle from thence to the place appointed, where I met Gervayse, and two or three men, with Frank in their arms, just coming up the slope in the streaming wind. We lifted him into the back seat(it was a four-wheeled, double-seated, covered carry-all)Vayse got in beside him, and I, taking the front, seized the reins and turned the horses head for West Lynn. It was a great relief to get away from the full stress of the gule, and the thundering din of the waves. We could talk now without screaming, as we went along at a tolerably rapid pace over the road. Frank told us how it chanced that he was cast ashore so strangely in a coast- ing brig on the beach of his native town. I may as well tell that story here, as it is a short one. He had sailed from Boston in the merchant- ship Salome, bound for Liverpool, and from thence to Calcutta. She was an old vessel, and a bad sailer. In addition to the two ports above- mentioned, she had been heard from at Fayal in the Azores, and at the Cape of Good Hope. From the Cape she was expected homeward. She was obliged to put in at St. Helena for re- pairs. It appears she sailed from thence to New Orleans, her last destination before she reached Boston. Homeward bound at last, she sprang a leak in the Gulf Stream, and was forced to put in at Norfolk, Virginia. There she was condemned as unseaworthy, and the crew dis- charged. Frank found a berth in the coasting brig Judith, bound from Norfolk to Boston. The Judith had lain beating about in the gale, and was finally driven in upon Lynn beach, a total wreck. It appeared subsequently that all the crew got ashorethe Swampscot fishermen man their life-boat well! I saw the hull of the brig afterward, lying high and dry on the sands in the summer sunshine, and the sea playing with the pebbles on the shore, like a gray sloth that could not be roused. We were all silent as we reached the house. As we drove slowly at a walk up to the garden- gate, Frank again fainted from weakness and agitation. Gervayse took him in his strong arms like a child, and descended from the carriage, telling me to push open the gate, and open the hail door. I accordingly swung the gate back, and running quickly up the short walk, mounted the steps with a bound, and pushed the door ajar. He was coming slowly up the path with his burden. There was a light shining from the parlor-windows on the left side of the house. The windows were on a range with the steps, and the curtains were undrawn. I leaned over from the porch, holding to the fluted pillar near me, and looked in. I saw Captain Martin standing in the centre of the roomhis arms foldedthe lamplight shining full on his face the face sadly fixed toward me. I should have wondered at the attitude and expression, if I had not seen instantly a dark figure seated near the window, with its back to methe head bent low upon the bosom. Great Heaven! It was Mr. Phillips! A frozen sweat started on my forehead. What had happened! I turned just as Gervayse entered the house with Frank in his arms. I sprang after himthrew open the parlor door, and entering the room before him, crossed be- hind the Captain. The pause could not have been more than a second, but there was a pause. Then Gervayse, erect and pale, passed the threshold with his load, and crossing the cham- ber, laid it on the sofa. Captain Martin, do not be alarmed; it is your son. He turned. Mr. Phillips had risen with the deathliest face I ever saw. Front to front with himtheir gaze bound to each otherstood Gervayse in his drenched garments, his wet hair hanging by his pallid countenance, and a shadowy light moveless in his dark, dilated eyes. Captain Martin stared at them aghast. Behind him, I watched them all. Not a word was spoken in that rigid trance of wonder. I opened the door near me, and stood in the ad- joining room. Mrs. Martin was on her knees 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. weeping. May stood by her, pale as death. I whispered to them that Frank was there! They vanished past me into the parlor with a cry; then all was lost in a confusion of words inarticulate to me, and sobs and tumult. I stood silently with my beating heart in the chamber they had left. In the dimly lighted gloom a rigid form sat bolt upright, surmounted by a white mob-cap. Her face too was ashen in the crimped border that encircled it. Not a wrinkle on it moved. Aunt Huldab, said I, Frank has come home. Lor! Charley, she sighed, putting her trembling hands to her bosom, and looking at the dim ceiling, you dont say! 0 what a fluster Im in. I shall die sure.~ Aunt, what is Mr. Phillips here for? What has happened ? Dont ask me, she said, getting excited, its done! John Martin kin read his title clear to mansions in the skies! Charles, he lies forgiven himhe lies. Sech a time. He lies forgiven him. Hallelujah! By Jemime It was the first time I ever heard Aunt Hul- dah swear. In her excitement she mixed up a drop of profanity in her well-spring of piety. I rather liked the flavor. Aunt, Frank has been shipwrecked on the coast. Vayse Phillips saved him, and brought him home. Frank is in a swoon. You must doctor him. Up she started. Pennyryal, sage, catnip tea, peppermint, aniseed, ginger, a little compo- sition, hot bricks for his feet, hot blankets, carry him to bed this minute! These were the lead- ing items of the prescription she poured out with a torrent-rush of excited garrulity in the next room, whither I had followed her. Frank had revived; his parents bent over him. Ger- vayse had sunk into a seat, silent and bewil- dered. Mr. Phillips stood mute, with his color- less face fixed upon the group. The slight figure of May in its black dress drooped over her brother. It was she who discovered that his clothes were dripping with sea-water. Aunt Huldahs last command was instantly obeyed he was borne off to bed. But before he went his tremulous hands were stretched to Gervayse, who came to his side, and took them in his own. I owe him my life, said the husky and broken voice; fathermotherhe saved me. Thank himthank him. The failing voice wandered into a hoarse murmur. Captain Martin, with his lips com- pressed, and the tears streaming on his brown face, grasped the hand of GervayseI saw how they both trembled. Mr. Phillips came over, and said they had better go: he would call on Captain Martin again when it would not be intrusion. But the Captain asked him to stay a few minutes, and he sat down. Frank was led off to rest and medical treatment. Aunt Huldah vowed that Vayse and myself would perish in our wet clothes, and but for our assurances to the contrary we would have been carried away, filled to the lips with cordials, and smothered in hot blankets, for aught I know. They all came back, except Mrs. Martin, who would not leave her sonand Mr. Phillips was the first to ask for an explanation of all this. And I told them the whole story of the wreck as I have told it hereonly with a ten-fold vigor and enthusiasm, and with a pictorial effect of expression and gesture which illustrated my words, and made all their meaning plain. Mr. Phillips listened in apparent calmness, but I knew by the still lustre burning in his sad eyes that he was proud of his son. Captain Martin could not speak, but he clasped the hand of my friend with a fervor of gratitude which was more than speech. Mr. Phillips stood up. His face was mourn- ful and humbled, but I could see no shadow of the secret pain that once brooded there. Captain Martin, said he, there is no one present who is not familiar with the mean wrong I once did you, except my own son. I have yet to tell him of tha.t shamenot all a shame, now that it is repented of. The four-fold reparation I have offered, and you refusedforgiving me freely, you will not declineyou must notyou shall not. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but you have given it in your charity, and I take it as such. Sir, I have told you that it was my one sin; it has been the bosom-sin of of my life. I have told you the temptations that led me to it. I have carried it in my heart for fifteen years. Pride kept it there. Pride steeled me against my conscience. Pride de- layed repentance. It is over now. Pity me from your soul, and, if you can, forgive me. He paused. How the words thrilled me from the lips of that cold, proud man! Was it alone the remorse of fifteen years that had been at work, building up a new nature in the silence of his beingthis nature, nobler than that which had fallen into ruins by the blasting magic of a single sin! Silently it had grown behind the obdurate, concealing barrier of pride. Yes; but in a night, a hand from the unearthly had thrown down the outward shell; a spirit, not of earth, had crowned the structure with the granite of repentance. The man stood en- nobled and redeemed; but he confessed the hand of the shadowy Master who perfects mor- tal life! The touch, never felt on earth but once, was cold at his heart. The still, small voice, so awful to us all, and never heard on earth but once, had spoken to him! His son sat with his pale cheek resting on his handan unearthly brilliance in his shadowy eyes. I felt as if some tranquil and awful Pres- ence stood unseen in the silence of the air and blessed us. Mr. Phillips, said the Captain, I have forgiven all. Its never to be remembered against yo. God alone knows the stress of our temptations, and their power to drive us. I forgive yomay He be merciful to us all! SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN. You have canceled my murnful remembrance; your brave boy has given me back my son from the hungry maw of the sea. Let fifteen year agone be forgotten. Clasped hands. A prond head snnk upon a heaving breast. A bronzed face bright with heavenly compassion. Deep and hushed, and swfuller than all, that sense of a tranquil Pres- ence shadowing the quite ~iir. Come here, May. Your face is pale, my girl; its grieved me long. Stand by me, Ger- vayse; Ive mourned for the fever in your eye, and the whiteness of your cheek, but the sor- rows passing. Mr. Phillips, I know your spents will; yo can bless this night for your boy and my daughter. Their hearts hey ben married for long. Silently the pale man took his sons hand, and laid it in the little palm that rested on the Captains brown fingers. The other hand lay upon his sons head, and his trembling lips were moving in prayer. The old seamans eyes were glistening. But May and Gervayse! The erect and gallant figure bore a head whose eyes were filled with flashing star-fire, and the carmine of youth had leaped up radiantly to his cheeks from the rich, red blood of heart and vein! The fair face of May had a faint stain of spiritual crimson in its halo of golden hair, which the loveliest tint of the light-red rose never had, and, in the brilliant light of the room, her grace- ful figure in its sable robe, stood like the spirit of mild Love! Soft, rich, mellow words of old Jean Paulyou came like music to my memory then! Two pure heavens had opened in two pure hearts, and there was nothing in them but love, peace, and joy, and the little tear-drop of earth that hangs upon all our flowers. 0, its awful.! ejaculated Aunt Huldah, with her apron over her mob-capped head; its par- fietly consumin. I shall die, as I hope to live and be saved. Hosanna No one heard this singular ebullition of joy but I, who stood near the old lady, and chuck- led in secret. Faith, Captain, I remarked, if you had any more Mays to give away, Id be urging my claim! As it is, I must resign myself to the doom of a bachelor. Ah! Mr. Charley, said Gervayse, you look like it! Whose eyes charmed your flutter- ing fancy one day last summer at Swampscot? Who was it you asked after so often in Boston a couple of months since ? This was a retort with a vengeance. I was completely unmasked, and blushed like a fool. Mr. Seymour, said Mr. Phillips, will be well received at Swampscot, if he will come. I shall be grateful to him if he always speaks his mind as freely to Gervayse as he did to me last summer. I succumbed, and went off to bring Mrs. Mar- tin down. She came. Always a quiet woman, she was speechless under strong emotion. She only held her daughter to her heart, and wept. We were all very happy. A moment, and I am done. Mr. Phillips had risen to go, and Gervayse with him. One carriage still stood at the doorthere was an- other at the hotel. Captain Martin gave him his hand. He grasped it firmly, with a sad and mild smile on his wan face. Good-night, Captain. I feel light at heart. A strange feeling, Sir. I have not felt it since boyhood. I have sinned. God be merciful to me a sinner Amen ! said the Captain, solemnly; to us all! They were gone. An invisible shape seemed to have passed with them, and taken away sonic light from the slowly saddening room. Five months after there was a gay bridal at Captain Martins house. I stood groomsman to Gervayse. Clara was Mays bridesmaid. Her mystical brown eyes smiled so luring the cere- mony, that I grew dizzy, and shortly afterward, at Swampscot, lost the bacheloric equipoise. There was another bridal a year afterward but not there. Not there! The invisible Presence had dark- ened the house with its shadow, and it lay there long. Cold and strange would have been the festal glory on walls where the solemn and be- nignant Phantom, who comes but once to all. had left its icy breath. A proud spirit, humbled and broken, and purged, as I trust, from all the sins and stains of earth, had gone home to God. The wedding throng that met there in joy, and gallant raiment, came again a month after in sorrow and in funeral robes. The April rains were heavy upon land and sea when we stood by his tomb. And when the mourners were all gone, I still lingered in the place of sepulture, and saw, with a solemn heart, among the brown weather-stains upon the granite portal of the vault, one which my sombre fancy fashioned to the semblance of a worm. Yet, as I mused upon the mournful symbol of our littleness and mortality, I saw, with a feeling gliding over my spirit like a soft rebuke, rising, in the same brown tracery, from the body of the creature, the faint and shadowy outline of two wings Farewell. SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN. OCCASIONAL ililustrations of the supersti- tion of the middle ages have led writers to remark on the great. prevalence of insanity, caused in the good old times by the mixture of horrible thoughts and lumps of diseased fancy with the ideas common among the people. Of the wretched position of unhappy lunatics, per- secuted, maimed, tortured, and burnt by neigh- bors and magistrates, who accepted as facts all their delusions, and convicted them by the testi- mony of their own wild words, illustrations are common. But the region of superstition that remains yet to be sketched is very rich in prod- uce of this kind. I do not mean to pass into that region now, because it was not by supersti- tion only, or only by that and the oppressive forms of a debased church system, that the minds

Sick Body, Sick Brain 99-102

SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN. You have canceled my murnful remembrance; your brave boy has given me back my son from the hungry maw of the sea. Let fifteen year agone be forgotten. Clasped hands. A prond head snnk upon a heaving breast. A bronzed face bright with heavenly compassion. Deep and hushed, and swfuller than all, that sense of a tranquil Pres- ence shadowing the quite ~iir. Come here, May. Your face is pale, my girl; its grieved me long. Stand by me, Ger- vayse; Ive mourned for the fever in your eye, and the whiteness of your cheek, but the sor- rows passing. Mr. Phillips, I know your spents will; yo can bless this night for your boy and my daughter. Their hearts hey ben married for long. Silently the pale man took his sons hand, and laid it in the little palm that rested on the Captains brown fingers. The other hand lay upon his sons head, and his trembling lips were moving in prayer. The old seamans eyes were glistening. But May and Gervayse! The erect and gallant figure bore a head whose eyes were filled with flashing star-fire, and the carmine of youth had leaped up radiantly to his cheeks from the rich, red blood of heart and vein! The fair face of May had a faint stain of spiritual crimson in its halo of golden hair, which the loveliest tint of the light-red rose never had, and, in the brilliant light of the room, her grace- ful figure in its sable robe, stood like the spirit of mild Love! Soft, rich, mellow words of old Jean Paulyou came like music to my memory then! Two pure heavens had opened in two pure hearts, and there was nothing in them but love, peace, and joy, and the little tear-drop of earth that hangs upon all our flowers. 0, its awful.! ejaculated Aunt Huldah, with her apron over her mob-capped head; its par- fietly consumin. I shall die, as I hope to live and be saved. Hosanna No one heard this singular ebullition of joy but I, who stood near the old lady, and chuck- led in secret. Faith, Captain, I remarked, if you had any more Mays to give away, Id be urging my claim! As it is, I must resign myself to the doom of a bachelor. Ah! Mr. Charley, said Gervayse, you look like it! Whose eyes charmed your flutter- ing fancy one day last summer at Swampscot? Who was it you asked after so often in Boston a couple of months since ? This was a retort with a vengeance. I was completely unmasked, and blushed like a fool. Mr. Seymour, said Mr. Phillips, will be well received at Swampscot, if he will come. I shall be grateful to him if he always speaks his mind as freely to Gervayse as he did to me last summer. I succumbed, and went off to bring Mrs. Mar- tin down. She came. Always a quiet woman, she was speechless under strong emotion. She only held her daughter to her heart, and wept. We were all very happy. A moment, and I am done. Mr. Phillips had risen to go, and Gervayse with him. One carriage still stood at the doorthere was an- other at the hotel. Captain Martin gave him his hand. He grasped it firmly, with a sad and mild smile on his wan face. Good-night, Captain. I feel light at heart. A strange feeling, Sir. I have not felt it since boyhood. I have sinned. God be merciful to me a sinner Amen ! said the Captain, solemnly; to us all! They were gone. An invisible shape seemed to have passed with them, and taken away sonic light from the slowly saddening room. Five months after there was a gay bridal at Captain Martins house. I stood groomsman to Gervayse. Clara was Mays bridesmaid. Her mystical brown eyes smiled so luring the cere- mony, that I grew dizzy, and shortly afterward, at Swampscot, lost the bacheloric equipoise. There was another bridal a year afterward but not there. Not there! The invisible Presence had dark- ened the house with its shadow, and it lay there long. Cold and strange would have been the festal glory on walls where the solemn and be- nignant Phantom, who comes but once to all. had left its icy breath. A proud spirit, humbled and broken, and purged, as I trust, from all the sins and stains of earth, had gone home to God. The wedding throng that met there in joy, and gallant raiment, came again a month after in sorrow and in funeral robes. The April rains were heavy upon land and sea when we stood by his tomb. And when the mourners were all gone, I still lingered in the place of sepulture, and saw, with a solemn heart, among the brown weather-stains upon the granite portal of the vault, one which my sombre fancy fashioned to the semblance of a worm. Yet, as I mused upon the mournful symbol of our littleness and mortality, I saw, with a feeling gliding over my spirit like a soft rebuke, rising, in the same brown tracery, from the body of the creature, the faint and shadowy outline of two wings Farewell. SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN. OCCASIONAL ililustrations of the supersti- tion of the middle ages have led writers to remark on the great. prevalence of insanity, caused in the good old times by the mixture of horrible thoughts and lumps of diseased fancy with the ideas common among the people. Of the wretched position of unhappy lunatics, per- secuted, maimed, tortured, and burnt by neigh- bors and magistrates, who accepted as facts all their delusions, and convicted them by the testi- mony of their own wild words, illustrations are common. But the region of superstition that remains yet to be sketched is very rich in prod- uce of this kind. I do not mean to pass into that region now, because it was not by supersti- tion only, or only by that and the oppressive forms of a debased church system, that the minds 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of men were broken down, powerful agencies as they both were. These moral pestilences acted npon brains that had been first weakened by the physical plagues to which bodies were snbject. We are not free from snch afflictions yet. We are at this hour shrinking from the breath of cholera. It comes home to the poor. It comes home to the minister of state. He may sacri- fice sanitary legislation to the first comer who attempts to sneer it down, and journey home to find the grateful plague sitting in his own hall, ready with the only thanks that it can offer. At this we sincerely grieve, arid perhaps tremble; bnt we know nothing of the terror of a plague as it was terrible in the old times of famine among the poor, wrong living and bad housing among the rich, of townships altogether drain- less, of filth, ignorance, and horrible neglect. The ravages made formerly in Europe by the small-pox or measles, the dreadful spread of leprosy, the devastation on the path of the black death and the sweating sickness, have no par- allel in our day. Extreme as are the sufferings of our poor in the hungry winter season, we understand hut faintly the intensity and extent of the distress which the old poet had often seen who wrote Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace: Ali, who shall hide us from the ace9 Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. From winter, plagne and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us! I particularly wish to show how in the good old times mens bodies were wasted, and how there was produced out of such wasting a weak- ening and wasting of their minds. We can not study rightly sickness of the mind without bring- ing sickness of the body into question. It is necessary to begin with that. There was one disease called the black death, the black plague, or the great mortality. The most dreadful visitation of it was one that be- gan in China, spread over Asia,- and in the year thirteen hundred and forty-eight entered Europe. Europe was then, however, not un- used to plagues. Six others had made them- selves famous during the preceding eight-and- forty years. The black plague spread from the south of Europe to the north, occupying about three years in its passage. In two years it had reached Sweden; in three years it had conquered Russia. The fatal influence came among men ripe to receive it. Europe was full of petty war; citizens were immured in cities, in unwholesome houses overlooking filthy streets, as in beleaguered fortresses; for robbers, if not armies, occupied the roads beyond their gates; husbaudmen were starving feudal slaves; re- ligion was mainly superstition; iguorance was dense, and morals were debased; little control was set upon the passions. To such men came the pestilence, which was said to have slain thirteen millions of Chinese, to have depopu- lated India, to have destroyed in Cairo fifteen thousand lives a day. Those were exaggerated statements, but they were credited, and terrified the people. Certainly vessels with dead crews drifted about in the Mediterranean, and brought corruption and infection to the shores on which they stranded. Inwhat spirit did the people, superstitions as they were in those old times, meet the calamity? Many committed suicide in frenzy; merchants and rich men, seeking to divert the wrath of Heaven from themselves, carried their treasure to the churches and the monasteries; where, if the monks, fearing to receive infection with it, shut their gates against any such offering, it was desperately thrown to them over their walls. Even sound men, corroded by anxiety, wandered about livid as the dead. Houses quitted by their inhabitants tumbled to ruin. By plague and by the flight of terrified inhabitants many thousand villages were left absolutely empty, silent as the woods and fields. The Pope, in Avignon, was forced, because all the churchyards were full, to consecrate as a burial-place the river Rhone, and assure to the faithful an interment, if not in holy ground, at leas~ in holy water, How the dead were carted out of towns for burial in pits, and how the terror of the people coined the fancy that through indecent haste many were hurried out and thrown into those pits while living, every one knows; it was the incident of plague at all times. Italy was reported to have lost half its inhabitants. The Venetians fled to the islands and forsook their city, losing three men in four; and in Padna, when the plague ceased, two thirds of the inhabitants were missing. This is the black death, which began toward the close of the year thirteen hundred and forty-eight to ravage England; and of which Antony Wood says extravagantly, that, at the close of it, scarcely a tenth part of the people of that country remained living. Churches were shunned as places of infection, but enriched with mad donations and bequests; what little instruction had before been imparted ceased; covetousness increased, and when health returned men were amazed to observe how large- ly the proportion of lawyers to the rest of the community had been augmented. So many sud- den deaths had begotten endless disputes about inheritance. Brothers deserted brothers; even parents fled from their children, leaving them to die untended. The sick were nursed, when they were nursed at all, by greedy hirelings at enormous charge. TIse wealthy lady, noble of birth, trained in the best refinement of her time, as pure and modest perhaps as she was beauti- ful, could sometimes hire no better nurse than a street ruffian to minister to her in her mortal sickness. It appears most probable that this pest- ilence, which historians often dismiss in a para- graph, destroyed a fourth part of the inhabitants of Europe. The curious fact follows, which ac- cords with one of the most mysterious of all the certain laws of nature, that the numbers of th~ people were in some degree replenished by a. very marked increase in the fruitfulness of mar~ riage. We know how the poor, lodged in placci. dangerous to life, surround themselves with lit~ SICK BODY, SICK BRAIN. 101 tle families, and how births multiply as deaths increase among them. To this natural law the attention of men was strongly forced, even at the time of the black plague. But lesser local pestilences arose incessantly, and the bodies of multitudes who were not slain were weakened by the influences that destroyed so many, while, at the same time, few minds es- caped the influence of superstitious dread, aris- ing out of such calamities. The best physicians ascribed the black plague to the grand conjunc- tion of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars in the sign of Aquarius, which took place about Lady-day, in the year thirteen hundred and forty-five. Such conjunctions always foreboded horrors to men, and every plague was in this way connected with the stars. Many a deed that proved the dignity and beauty of mans nature was done quietly during those days of trial; bands of Sisters of Charity at Paris perished in the work of mercy to the sick, and were supplied with unfailing troops of new recruits; but bigotry and folly had the loudest voices, and took possession of the public ear. Then arose in Hungary, and afterward in Germany, the Brotherhood of the Flagellants men and even women and children of all ranks entering the order, marched about towns in pro- cession, each flagellant with a red cross on the breast, back, and cap, and carrying a triple scourge, and all recommended to attention by the pomp of tapers and superb banners of velvet and cloth of gold. They multiplied so fast, and claimed rights so independentfor they even absolved each otherthat they came to be re- garded by the Church as dangerous. They were put down at last by persecution, the enthusiasm of the populace in their behalf being converted into a relentless rage against them. The rage of the populace was felt most se- verely by the Jews. Pestilence was ascribed usually in those days to poisoned wells, nnd the wells, it was said commonly, were poisoned by the Jews. So it was at the time of the black plague. The persecution of the Jews began in those days at Chillon, and spread from Switzer- land through Europe. Tortured and maddened, many poor Jews confessed all that men would have had confessed by them, and told horrible tales of powdered basilisk, and of the bags of poison sent among the faithful of Israel from the great Rabbi at Toledo. All the Jews in Basle were shut up in a wooden building, and therein smothered and burnt alive. The same fate happened to the Jews at Freyburg. In ac- quiescence with the popular idea, wells had been bricked over and buckets removed. If, therefore, in any town, a man rose to plead for the unhappy children of Israel, the populace asked why it was, if they were not guilty, that the authorities had covered np the wells. But there was riot want- ing other evidence: poison-bags, which Chris- tians had thrown there, were found in springs. At Spires, the Jews withdrew into their houses, and, setting fire to them, burnt themselves and all they had, with their own hands. At Stras burg, two thousand Jews were burnt alive in their own burial groundthose who, in frantic terror, broke their bonds and fled, being pursued and murdered in the street. Only in Lithuania this afflicted people found a place of safety. There they were protected by King Casimir the Great, who loved a Jewish Esther, and the Lithuanian Jews still form a large body of men who have lived in much seclusion, and retained many of the manners of the middle ages. It was among people weakened physically and mentally by desperate afflictions and emotions, that there arose certain dancing manias, which formed a fresh disease, affecting both the body and the mind. The same generation that had seen the terrors of the black death, saw, some twenty years afterward, men and women dancing in a ring; shrieking, and calling wildly on St. John the Baptist; and at last, as if seized with an epileptic fit, tumbling on the ground, where they desired to be trodden upon and kicked, [and were most cheerfully and freely trodden upon and kicked by the by-standers. Their wild ways infected others with diseased bodies and minds, and the disease called St. Johns Dance, which was supposed to be a form of de- moniacal possession, spread over the Nether- lands. The St. Johns dancers were exorcised and made wonderful confessions. If they had not put themselves under the patronage of St. John (to whose festival pagan rites and dances had been transferred by the Germans) they would have been racked and burnt. Their number increased so fast that men were afraid of them; they communicated to each other morbid fancies; such as a furious hatred of the red color, with the bulls desire to tear every red cloth to rags, and a detestation of pointed shoes, against which, and other matters of fash- ion, the priests had declaimed often from their pulpits. The St. Johns dancers became so numerous and so violent that, in Liege, the au- thorities wefe intimidated; and, in deference to the prejudices of the dancers, an ordinance was issued to the effect that no one should wear any but square-toed shoes. This madness ap- peared also at 1\Ietz, and Cologue, and extended through the cities of the Rhine. A similar lunacy broke out some time after- ward at Strasburg, where the dancers were cared for by the town council, and conducted to the chapel of St. Vitus, a youthful saint, martyred in the time of Diocletian. For this saint, be cause little was known of him, a legend could be made suited to the emergency, in evidence that he, and he alone, was able to cure the dancing plague. The plague, however, spread; and, as the physicians regarded it as a purely spiritual question, it was left to the care of the Church, and even a century later, on St. Vituss day, women went to the chapel of St. Vitus to dance off the fever that had accumulated in them during the past twelvemoath. But at that time the lunacy was near its end, for I need not say that it had little in common with the disease known as St. Vituss Dance by the phy 102 HARPERS NEW MQNTHLY MAGAZINE. sicians of the present day. In its first years it attacked violently people of all ranks, especially those leadingsedentary lives, and impelled them to dance even to death sometimes, to dash their brains out against walls, or to plunge into rivers. Every one has heard of a madness of this kind that arose in Apulia, among people who had been, or fancied that they had been bitten by a ground spider, called the tarantula. Those who were bitten were said to have become melancholy, very open to the influence of music, given to wild joyous fits of dancing, or to miser- able fits of weeping, morbid longings, and fatal paroxysms either of laughter or of sobs. At the close of the fifteenth century the fear of this malady had spread beyond Apulia. The poison of the tarantula, it was believed, could only be worked off by those in whom it begot a violent energy of dancingit passed out then with the perspiration; but if any lingered in the blood, the disorder became chronic or inter- mittent; and the afflicted person would be liable to suffering and melancholy, which, whenever it reached a certain height, would be relieved by dancing. The tarantati, or persons bitten by the tarantula, had various whims, and they also had violent preferences for and antipathies to colors. Most of them were wild in love of red, many were excited by green objects, and so forth. They could only dance to music, and to the music of certain tunes which were called tarantellas, and one mans tarantella would not always suit another. Some needed a qulck tune, others a melancholy measure, others a suggestion of green fields in the music as well as in the words that always went with it. Nearly all tarantati required some reference to water, were mad in longing for the sea, and would be ecstatic at the sight of water in a pan. Some even would dance with a cup of water in their hands, or plunge their heads after dancing in a tub of water, set for them, and trimmed with rushes. In the beginning of the seventeenth century, the cure of the tarantati was attempted on a grand scale. Bands of musicians went among the villages, playing tarantellas; and the women were so especially interested in this way of bringing relief to the afflicted, that the period of tarantella-playing was called the womens little carnival. The good creatures saved up their spare money to pay for the dances, and deserted their household duties to assist at them. One rich lady, Mita Lupa, spent her whole fortune on these works of charity. A direction was often given by this little car- nival to the thoughts of hysterical women. They sickened as it approached, danced, and were for a season whole; but the tarantati included quite as many men as women. Even the skeptic could not shake off the influence of general credulity. Gianbatista Quinzato, Bishop of Foligno, suffer- ed himself; in bravado, to be bitten by a taran- tula; but, to the shame of his episcopal gravity, he could obtain a cure only by dancing. When bodies are ill-housed or ill-nourished, or by late sickness or other cause depressed, as most mens bodies were in the middle ages, minds are apt to receive morbid impressions. The examples just given show how rapidly across such tinder the fire of a lunatic fancy spreads. People abounded who were even glad to per- suade themselves that they were changed into wolves every night, that they were witches, or that they were possessed by demons. About fifty years ago, a young woman of strong frame visited a friend in one of the Ber- lin hospitals. On entering a ward she fell down in strong convulsion. Six female patients who saw her became at once convulsed in the same way; and, by degrees, eight others passed into the same condition for four months; during which time two of the nurses followed their example. They were all between sixteen and twenty-five years old. Other madnesses of this kind will occur to the minds of many readers. They are contem- porary illustrations, each on a small scale, of a kind of mental disorder which was one of the most universal of the sorrows of the middle ages. Men were liable in masses to delusions so ab- surd, and so sincere, that it is impossible to ex- clude from a fair study of the social life of our forefathers a constant reference to such unsound conditions of their minds. WHAT DO YOUNG MEN MARRY? AVERY important question this, and well deserving of profound attention and a seri- ous answer. Truly, marriage is itself so serious a matter, that it is a pity any one should for a moment attempt to view it as ought else. And, indeed, none but the most confirmed kind of bachelors who know not what marriage means can ever do so. Joke about rheumatism if you will; jest on toothaches as you list; make merry upon the subject of Chancery proceedings; be facetious about your income-tax; but eschew levity when writing, speaking, thinking about matrimony. Of all serious subjects place this at the head. But if to marry be so seriens a business, the question, What do young men marry? can not be an unimportant one. Now, methinks, some of my readersif I may be allowed to credit myself with readershave already a~nswered the inquiry in their own minds, or at least have concluded it to be one mightily easily answer- ed. Not so fast, fair Sir or Madam. No, not wives, certainly; for while a man rna~, not marry his grandmother, paternal or maternal, nor yet some others of his relatives, he can not marry his wife, for being his wife, they are al- ready wedded, neither can he legally marry his neighbors wife. And have but a little patience, kind reader, and you may find that you are just as completely at a nonplus to answer the ques- tion, in some cases, as we are ourselves; and, we assure you, cases have come within the range of our observation, in which we were fairly puzzled to say, or to see, what a young man marriedor what for.

What Do Young Men Marry? 102-104

102 HARPERS NEW MQNTHLY MAGAZINE. sicians of the present day. In its first years it attacked violently people of all ranks, especially those leadingsedentary lives, and impelled them to dance even to death sometimes, to dash their brains out against walls, or to plunge into rivers. Every one has heard of a madness of this kind that arose in Apulia, among people who had been, or fancied that they had been bitten by a ground spider, called the tarantula. Those who were bitten were said to have become melancholy, very open to the influence of music, given to wild joyous fits of dancing, or to miser- able fits of weeping, morbid longings, and fatal paroxysms either of laughter or of sobs. At the close of the fifteenth century the fear of this malady had spread beyond Apulia. The poison of the tarantula, it was believed, could only be worked off by those in whom it begot a violent energy of dancingit passed out then with the perspiration; but if any lingered in the blood, the disorder became chronic or inter- mittent; and the afflicted person would be liable to suffering and melancholy, which, whenever it reached a certain height, would be relieved by dancing. The tarantati, or persons bitten by the tarantula, had various whims, and they also had violent preferences for and antipathies to colors. Most of them were wild in love of red, many were excited by green objects, and so forth. They could only dance to music, and to the music of certain tunes which were called tarantellas, and one mans tarantella would not always suit another. Some needed a qulck tune, others a melancholy measure, others a suggestion of green fields in the music as well as in the words that always went with it. Nearly all tarantati required some reference to water, were mad in longing for the sea, and would be ecstatic at the sight of water in a pan. Some even would dance with a cup of water in their hands, or plunge their heads after dancing in a tub of water, set for them, and trimmed with rushes. In the beginning of the seventeenth century, the cure of the tarantati was attempted on a grand scale. Bands of musicians went among the villages, playing tarantellas; and the women were so especially interested in this way of bringing relief to the afflicted, that the period of tarantella-playing was called the womens little carnival. The good creatures saved up their spare money to pay for the dances, and deserted their household duties to assist at them. One rich lady, Mita Lupa, spent her whole fortune on these works of charity. A direction was often given by this little car- nival to the thoughts of hysterical women. They sickened as it approached, danced, and were for a season whole; but the tarantati included quite as many men as women. Even the skeptic could not shake off the influence of general credulity. Gianbatista Quinzato, Bishop of Foligno, suffer- ed himself; in bravado, to be bitten by a taran- tula; but, to the shame of his episcopal gravity, he could obtain a cure only by dancing. When bodies are ill-housed or ill-nourished, or by late sickness or other cause depressed, as most mens bodies were in the middle ages, minds are apt to receive morbid impressions. The examples just given show how rapidly across such tinder the fire of a lunatic fancy spreads. People abounded who were even glad to per- suade themselves that they were changed into wolves every night, that they were witches, or that they were possessed by demons. About fifty years ago, a young woman of strong frame visited a friend in one of the Ber- lin hospitals. On entering a ward she fell down in strong convulsion. Six female patients who saw her became at once convulsed in the same way; and, by degrees, eight others passed into the same condition for four months; during which time two of the nurses followed their example. They were all between sixteen and twenty-five years old. Other madnesses of this kind will occur to the minds of many readers. They are contem- porary illustrations, each on a small scale, of a kind of mental disorder which was one of the most universal of the sorrows of the middle ages. Men were liable in masses to delusions so ab- surd, and so sincere, that it is impossible to ex- clude from a fair study of the social life of our forefathers a constant reference to such unsound conditions of their minds. WHAT DO YOUNG MEN MARRY? AVERY important question this, and well deserving of profound attention and a seri- ous answer. Truly, marriage is itself so serious a matter, that it is a pity any one should for a moment attempt to view it as ought else. And, indeed, none but the most confirmed kind of bachelors who know not what marriage means can ever do so. Joke about rheumatism if you will; jest on toothaches as you list; make merry upon the subject of Chancery proceedings; be facetious about your income-tax; but eschew levity when writing, speaking, thinking about matrimony. Of all serious subjects place this at the head. But if to marry be so seriens a business, the question, What do young men marry? can not be an unimportant one. Now, methinks, some of my readersif I may be allowed to credit myself with readershave already a~nswered the inquiry in their own minds, or at least have concluded it to be one mightily easily answer- ed. Not so fast, fair Sir or Madam. No, not wives, certainly; for while a man rna~, not marry his grandmother, paternal or maternal, nor yet some others of his relatives, he can not marry his wife, for being his wife, they are al- ready wedded, neither can he legally marry his neighbors wife. And have but a little patience, kind reader, and you may find that you are just as completely at a nonplus to answer the ques- tion, in some cases, as we are ourselves; and, we assure you, cases have come within the range of our observation, in which we were fairly puzzled to say, or to see, what a young man marriedor what for. 103 WHAT DO YOUNG MEN MARRY? Take notice, we confine the question to young men. We might indeed include elderly men; but we purposely exclude what are known as middle-aged men. We give them credit for usually forming judicious matrimonial connec- tions, and for being able and ready to give a reason for their selection of a life partner. Once more. What do young men marry? We replyany thing, every thing, the most ex- traordinary things conceivable: e.g. my cousin, Fred Courtenay, a young man of small fortune, practicing a good profession, a rising young man, went to a gipsying partyand married a gipsy? Oh no, madam; pray, hear me outa pic-nic, just a few friends, you know, that sort of thing. There he met Fanny Harley, who was on a visit to her aunt. Fanny wore curls, which, on this occasion, combs and bandoline were in- effective to confine. Especially one ringlet, in spite of her thousand coquettish attempts to se- cure the stray lock, would wave in the light breeze, and dance with each zephyr that fanned her cheek. T~vas charming; so graceful, so, so Fred glanced at this curl again and again, admired it, thought of it, after he bad parted with her for the night, dreamt of it, called in the morning to see it, courted it. But it was not to be too easily carried off. Fred found to his deep concern that he had a rival When he went to pay his wonted visit, there he was, seated, chat- ting away gayly. And his co-competitor for this prize was one of those careless, easy, good-na- tured fellows, who are the most disagreeable and intolerable of all rivals, inasmuch as they are never disconcerted at the appearance of an- other candidate in the field, and never risk their position in the ladys esteem, or affection, as the case may be, by becoming melancholy and moody at the presence of a rival. Nay, Freds tormen- tor actually made friendly overtures to him, and insisted on making him his confidant. Fred did his best to retain his equanimity under the in- fliction, but, like all true lovers must have done, he succeeded but ill. He endured all his ri- vals cold-blooded commendation of Fanny with praiseworthy, and, under the circumstances, extraordinary patience, until one day the lo- quacious youth, after expatiating on the beauty of his mistresss eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, and other features, which Fred listened to with an indifferent affectation of ease, unfortunately in- troduced the particular curl which was the ob- ject of Freds semi-adoration. This was too much. He could have borne any thing short of this. This maddened him. He felt the bit- ter pangs of jealousy. He retired from the field. He armed himself with heroic pride. He forti- fied himself with noble resolutions. What I said he, shall I succumb to a daughter of Eve to a smiling faceto ato a glossy curl? Shall I yield even to a curl? He walked forth in his newly-regained freedomelate, triumph- ant. But, somehow or other, these unworthy trammels, as he called them, were not to be so easily broken from. He had over-estimated his pow~r. In vain did he determine to banish the recollection of the past. Go where he would, the curl accompanied him. It waved in every tendril; it visited him in his dreams by night, and in his thick-coming fancies by day; it was ever present; it haunted him in solitude, and he could not forget it in company. His resolu- tion failed him; he returned to the pursuit with redoubled ardor; the fair onemoved by such evident badnessrelented; again he was re- ceived into favor; again he courted his curl; fairly made love to it. Shame fall on me, to be so reluctant to write the truth, the whole truth, and what is nothing but the truthhe married it! Fortunately for him, it was attached to a nice, sensible, affectionate girl; and thi~igs did not turn out so badly as might have been ex- pected from such a beginning. But the fact re- mainshe married a curl. To all intents and purposes did Mr. F. Courtenay wed a ringlet. He was enamored of it; and I verily believe would have worn his hair long, gone about with his hands in his pockets, sighed, hummed sen- timental tunes, refused his due sustenance, and, in short, have manifested the customary symp- toms of unrequited affection, bad this curl pass- ed into the possession of some happier bride- groom, just as regularly and orderly as though he had lost some fervently-loved, worthy young woman. Singular case! say you. Nay, that is just the point at issue. I say it was the common- est, every-dayest thing imaginable. Take an- other instance. You remember Tom. Nooh, yes, you must remember Tom. Well, lie married an ankle. A fact, upon my word. A foot and anklethe latter principally. He saw it, followed it about danced with it; and, in fine, was so pleased with it, that nothing would serve but he must make it his own. He could see nothing else; he wanted nothing else; he cared for nothing else; he thought not ef aught else. It served him for head and heart, for waist and shoulders, for eyes, and nose, and month, for soul and body. He wrote a proper allowable lovers sonnet, which would pass muster in any collection of amatory eflusionsoa it and to it, commencing Oh ankle. He cautiously approached it, made himself agreeable to it, wooed it, won it, and bore it off in triumph to his homeif home it could be called, for poor Tom was woefully dis- appointed. He had concluded that every thing must be comprised in, or, at least, conjoined with such an ankle. Alas! he was deceived! There was nothing but ankleno warm heart, no sympathy, no intelligence. He has no wjfe. He has what he married, and that was an ankle. He has a grate, and a good fire in it; a fender, poker, tongs, shovel, a hearth-rug, and a loung- ing-chair; but he has no fireside. He has no real, no complete home. He has no helpmate. And yet he is not a widower: he has a house of his own, and an ankle and family. In like manner we have known a young man marry an eye. Charles Wilson was smitten by a hand; and the lady to whom it belonged 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. kindly and liberally gave it to him. It was all she had to give him, for heart she had none. One young friend of ours married a nose, an- other a lip, and a third allied himself to an eye- brow. The nose made a very good wife, but this was purely accidental. What George Bateson married, we may, per- haps, be excused for not being able to make out, since George does not seem to know hffiaself ex- actly Questioned very closely on the subject, George will say Rh! Well, you know, there was a something about Jane thateb! you see we cant very well tell what it wasa sort of indescribable kind of; eh Iyou know what I mean ? Curiously enough, whatever this was which George wedded, it made him, on the whole, a fair enough sort of wife. Some young men marry dimples, some ears; one I know married a beauty-spot made of court-plaster, while a second cousin of my wifes married an expressionI believe an amiable expression. It is difficult, in the absence of any aecurate statistics on the subject, to say, decidedly, which feature is most frequently sought in marriage. The contest, however, certainly lies between the eyes and the hair. The mouth too, is occasion- ally married; the chin not so often. Poor partners these, you will own; but what will you say to Will Carson, who actually mar- ried a blue ribbonneither more nor less? It was employed to bind up some bonny brown hair. Will liked it, and, scorning all those an- tiquated saws which tell us that Like blood, like good, and like ages, make the happiest marriages, and the counsel of a friend who advised him to seek a more suitable match, he clung honorably and firmly to the humble object of ~is affection, and married his bunch of blue ribbons. Only the other day, a very sensible young fel- low of my acquaintance fell over head and ears in love with a braidbraid I believe, young ladies style that mass of hair that, descending from the forehead, forms a sort of mouses nest over the ear. He was so far gone in his infatu- ation, that he became engaged to this braid, but the EuAnie mode of hair-dressing coming in just then, the charm was dissolved, and the match was happily broken oft; and there is no present appearance of its being renewed. What do young men marry? Why, they mar- ry all these and many other bits and scraps of a wjfe, instead of the true thing. Some, more sagacious than the ordinary run, are not con- tent with an eye or a lip, but marry a set of teeth, a head of hair, and a neat foot and ankle, all at once. Some marry a fortune, and as Pro- vidence sends a female with it, they wed her too. Some marry a silk dress, and others a pretty bonnet, and yet others a pair of gloves. One youth was so fond of cards, that meeting with a girl whose mother was a good hand at whist, he married the lass, and so may be said to have married his mother-in-law. So young men marry, and so they settle; and such as the marriage is, such is the after-life; and then, after wedding such features, or pos- sessions, or attributes, or what not of females, they are surprised to find that, though married, they have no wives. He that would have a wjfe must marry a woman. If he can meet with one of equal sociai position, like education, similar disposition, kindred sympathies, and habits con- genial to his own, let him marry, But let him beware of wedding an instep, of marrying a bust, however fair, or a neck, however swanlike, or a voice, however melodious. Young ladies do also make some queer matches, and unite themselves to whiskers and imperials, to waistcoats and breastpins; but it is unnecessary to enter into details; and, be- sides, much may be said in extenuation of their folly, and this much at least, that, commonly, they do not, as young men do, go forth, court- ing and to court, but rather wait to be sought for; cml having, generally, so mnch narrower a circle to choose from than the sterner sex, they may be the more readily excused when perhaps their best choice does not nearly equal their best imaginings. But fare they well. And fare thee well, courteous reader! ADAM BRNNETTS HEIRS. PEACEFUL and beautiful beyond description -L was the face of Adam Bennett, as he lay dead in his old house. There was none of the agony of death left on the countenance; there was, indeed, none of the agony of life there, for his life had much of pain, sorrow, and anguish, and it would not have been strange, now that all his years were added up, and the sum of them lay there in the coffin, had there been more ap- pearance of the sorrow of the past than of the joy into which they hoped he had entered. But it was not so, for the light, as if of the better country of glorious lights, was on his forehead, and the outline of his marked and strikingly beautiful features shone, gleamed, fairly radi- ated that splendor which we have sometimes read of as indicating the complete blessedness of the righteous dead. Adam Bennett had been a good man. It were perhaps as well to add that he had been a great man. For greatness is relative, and, measured by ordinary standards, it is possible that he might have been esteemed an ordinary person or even less; but measured by a soul measure, the meas- ure of the stature of a noble man, living for his fellow-men, loving and laboring for them, hen,. ored and beloved by them, Adam Bennett stood head and shoulders above every one in the country around. His house was an old straggling farm-house, built at different periods, and in different styles, overgrown with a dark mass of trees, under- neath which the grass grew long, and rank, and slender, where you could see the grass, for the ground was mostly covered with a tangled mass of roses and vines of various sorts, which grew much to wood in the shade, but which blossom- ed luxuriantly in the spring.

Adam Bennett's Heirs 104-109

104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. kindly and liberally gave it to him. It was all she had to give him, for heart she had none. One young friend of ours married a nose, an- other a lip, and a third allied himself to an eye- brow. The nose made a very good wife, but this was purely accidental. What George Bateson married, we may, per- haps, be excused for not being able to make out, since George does not seem to know hffiaself ex- actly Questioned very closely on the subject, George will say Rh! Well, you know, there was a something about Jane thateb! you see we cant very well tell what it wasa sort of indescribable kind of; eh Iyou know what I mean ? Curiously enough, whatever this was which George wedded, it made him, on the whole, a fair enough sort of wife. Some young men marry dimples, some ears; one I know married a beauty-spot made of court-plaster, while a second cousin of my wifes married an expressionI believe an amiable expression. It is difficult, in the absence of any aecurate statistics on the subject, to say, decidedly, which feature is most frequently sought in marriage. The contest, however, certainly lies between the eyes and the hair. The mouth too, is occasion- ally married; the chin not so often. Poor partners these, you will own; but what will you say to Will Carson, who actually mar- ried a blue ribbonneither more nor less? It was employed to bind up some bonny brown hair. Will liked it, and, scorning all those an- tiquated saws which tell us that Like blood, like good, and like ages, make the happiest marriages, and the counsel of a friend who advised him to seek a more suitable match, he clung honorably and firmly to the humble object of ~is affection, and married his bunch of blue ribbons. Only the other day, a very sensible young fel- low of my acquaintance fell over head and ears in love with a braidbraid I believe, young ladies style that mass of hair that, descending from the forehead, forms a sort of mouses nest over the ear. He was so far gone in his infatu- ation, that he became engaged to this braid, but the EuAnie mode of hair-dressing coming in just then, the charm was dissolved, and the match was happily broken oft; and there is no present appearance of its being renewed. What do young men marry? Why, they mar- ry all these and many other bits and scraps of a wjfe, instead of the true thing. Some, more sagacious than the ordinary run, are not con- tent with an eye or a lip, but marry a set of teeth, a head of hair, and a neat foot and ankle, all at once. Some marry a fortune, and as Pro- vidence sends a female with it, they wed her too. Some marry a silk dress, and others a pretty bonnet, and yet others a pair of gloves. One youth was so fond of cards, that meeting with a girl whose mother was a good hand at whist, he married the lass, and so may be said to have married his mother-in-law. So young men marry, and so they settle; and such as the marriage is, such is the after-life; and then, after wedding such features, or pos- sessions, or attributes, or what not of females, they are surprised to find that, though married, they have no wives. He that would have a wjfe must marry a woman. If he can meet with one of equal sociai position, like education, similar disposition, kindred sympathies, and habits con- genial to his own, let him marry, But let him beware of wedding an instep, of marrying a bust, however fair, or a neck, however swanlike, or a voice, however melodious. Young ladies do also make some queer matches, and unite themselves to whiskers and imperials, to waistcoats and breastpins; but it is unnecessary to enter into details; and, be- sides, much may be said in extenuation of their folly, and this much at least, that, commonly, they do not, as young men do, go forth, court- ing and to court, but rather wait to be sought for; cml having, generally, so mnch narrower a circle to choose from than the sterner sex, they may be the more readily excused when perhaps their best choice does not nearly equal their best imaginings. But fare they well. And fare thee well, courteous reader! ADAM BRNNETTS HEIRS. PEACEFUL and beautiful beyond description -L was the face of Adam Bennett, as he lay dead in his old house. There was none of the agony of death left on the countenance; there was, indeed, none of the agony of life there, for his life had much of pain, sorrow, and anguish, and it would not have been strange, now that all his years were added up, and the sum of them lay there in the coffin, had there been more ap- pearance of the sorrow of the past than of the joy into which they hoped he had entered. But it was not so, for the light, as if of the better country of glorious lights, was on his forehead, and the outline of his marked and strikingly beautiful features shone, gleamed, fairly radi- ated that splendor which we have sometimes read of as indicating the complete blessedness of the righteous dead. Adam Bennett had been a good man. It were perhaps as well to add that he had been a great man. For greatness is relative, and, measured by ordinary standards, it is possible that he might have been esteemed an ordinary person or even less; but measured by a soul measure, the meas- ure of the stature of a noble man, living for his fellow-men, loving and laboring for them, hen,. ored and beloved by them, Adam Bennett stood head and shoulders above every one in the country around. His house was an old straggling farm-house, built at different periods, and in different styles, overgrown with a dark mass of trees, under- neath which the grass grew long, and rank, and slender, where you could see the grass, for the ground was mostly covered with a tangled mass of roses and vines of various sorts, which grew much to wood in the shade, but which blossom- ed luxuriantly in the spring. ADAM BENNETTS HEIRS. 105 It was late spring when the old man died. All the farmers in the neighborhood were just finishing their spring work, and the brief space of comparative leisure which precedes harvest was approaching, and to the old farmer came a period of leisure that was not altogether welcome at the first, but which, when he knew that it was the rest he was required to take, preparatory to the great journey, seemed to him a space of calm and blessedness such as he had never be- fore known, such as he had not dreamed that this world could offer. It would have been a time of perfect and triumphant joy to the good man, sur- veying the life in which he had struggled much, suffered much, and accomplished much, and look- ing into the life where he was confidenthis reward was awaiting him, but for one consideration which saddened and disturbed him. It was this: In his youth he had loved and married, and lost and buried a young, gentle, and lovely wife, whose memory never failed to bless the twilight of every day from her burial, until the last twi- light, the dimness of the eyes, and the fading of the earth-light which preceded his death. She left him one child, a son; like his mother in his childhood, more like her in his boyhood, and dearer than words can express to the heart of the strong man on whose breast he lay for many years. It has been said that the children of good men turn out oftenest to be themselves unwor- thy. It is not so; but the few instances of this kind are so striking, and cause so much observ- ation and pity, and remark, that men have got- ten to speaking of them as illustrations of the mie instead of the exceptions. As he grew older, the boy George grew to be disobedient~ thoughtless, and reckless. Even in the early years of school life he was the leader of the worst boys in the village; and not unfre- quently his fathers heart was wrung with pain at reports of his juvenile iniquities. But when he was twenty years old he disappeared from home, nor could all the exertions of his father and of the entire community prevail to ascertain his whereabouts; and the old man, prematurely old though in the prime of life, mourned for his lost boy in unutterable grief. Years passed, and the wanderer came not. The old farm-house grew older; the trees grew over it; the roses ran riot, and grew into wild masses of uncultivated beauty; the moss gather- ed on the rocks about the spring; the robins, that had built for years in the old apple-tree, ceased to return, having doubtless died in another land; and the old man went about his labor, hither and thither over his farm, with slow, feeble steps, wondering whether his boy were living or dead, homeless or happy, outcast or clothed and loved; and so the time approachedsteadily, calmly, peacefullywhen he must depart, and leave a worlda broad, boundless worldwith the wan- derer still in it, without a father, without a moth- er; he trembled when he added, without a God. He had boen ill a weeknearly two weeks and an evening of unusual quiet and lustrous beauty of moon and stars was coming down on the country side. He lay in his own large room, with the doors and windows open, and as he lay he could look out and down toward the church and church-yard, where lay the wife of his bo- som, who had now slept for more than thirty years in the village burial-ground. And as he looked, the thought of meeting her again took possession of his whole soul; and he grew not only calm, but happy and exultant, and broke out into a song of rejoicing, the words of which had been favorite words with her, the dead wife. And while he sang, there came down the road two persons, a man leading by the hand a child; the man walking feebly and with pain, the child occasionally lifting her eyes to his face, and ap- parently encouraging him. The old man did not cease to sing, and as the strangers approached the house, his voice, clear and distinct, floated on the night air, and seemed, broken though it wns, to be musical, and soft as the moonlight. The two, who were drawing near, suddenly paused as they heard that voice, and the words fell on their ears with surprising distinctness: Through sorrows night, and dangers path, Amid the thickening gloom, We soldiers of an injured King Are marching to the tomb. The child felt the hand which held her own suddenly tighten. She looked up, and saw that the face of her companion was paleashyin the moonshine, and she stopped suddenly, and said, You are ill, father I Whose voice was that ? asked the sick old man in his room. For the childs voice had penetrated the thicket which surrounded the house. No one could reply, for no one had seen the approach of the strangers. The man did not notice the childs voice or question, but stand- ing for a moment silent, gazed into the mass of trees and flowers which skirted the roadside and shut in the view of the old house, and then stag- gering a few steps further on, grasped feebly at the bars of the gate, and failing to take hold of them, fell heavily on the ground. A childs shrill cry of distress startled the in- habitants of the old house, and rushing out into the road they found a men lying in the dust, and a child of ten or twelve years with her arms around him, weeping bitterly, and exerting all her strength to lift him, while she alternately sobbed and called him father, and begged him to rise. They brought him in and laid him on the porch, in the doorway, and he breathed for a little time heavily, and moaned once; while the child constantly wept, and begged him to wake to speak to her. The old man grew violently excited as the sounds of the childs voice came in to his room, and at length bade them lift him to the door. He stood there, with his white locks stream- ing about his face, on which the moonlight trem- bled and glanced through the trees; and the white sheet wrapped around his form gave him 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a wierd, unearthly aspect. He looked down at the figure of the man, and the upturned face of the child, who was awed into silence hy this strange apparition, and at this moment the stranger opened his eyes. There was a visible shudder passing through his hody, and his gaze for one instant clung wildly to the eyes of the old manthat thrilling, piercing, agonizing gazeand then he said, in a broken voice, full of anguish, penitenee, and woe, Fatherfathermy childAnniefor- givemy father ! and he straightened his tall form suddenly, and compressed his limbs rigidly, and his arms fell, one on each side, and his hands were clinched and then relaxed, and a swift tremor passed through his frame, and re- mained about his lips after all else was hushed, and the son lay dead in the old doorway, with his face turned up to the stars that had shone on him in the long gone years, a child playing hefore his father on the same old door-stone. And now Adam Bennett was ready to be gone. The instant that he saw his dead son, and knew that the world no longer contained him a ivan- derer over its inhospitahie surface, he was ready to depart, and anxious to he away. This was the first impulsive thought; hut before the dead son was huried hy his mother, the old man, ly- ing on his hed, had learned to love Annie Ben- nett, his grandchild, and to grow anxious for life that he might devote it to her. During the few weeks that he lived after that night of sorrow, his whole heart grew to the child; and although he was now content to depart, and his desire was toward the other and hetter country, he still had much fear and much anxiety ahout the child, and he sought advice from his pastor and friend, the old clergyman, and made every preparation that was possible for her benefit, thus to he left alone in the world. The old farmer was wealthy for a fanner, and his hroad lands were located where a few years promised to make them of double or treble value, from the steady approach of the growing city. He had made a will, giving his property to a hrother, with whom he had not heen on good terms in early years, or rather, it should he said, who had not heen on good terms with him; for Adam was too gentle to retain a thought of an- ger, and had even desired thus in dying to leave his still estranged hrother the evidence of his love. But now he changed his will, and gave his entire property to Annie, his grandchild, and made the clergyman her guardian, who, with the old judge, his neighhor, were to be executors of his will. And when all was arranged, his will was executed, and in the presence of the same witnesses he destroyed the old will. And having arranged all this, the old man went quietly to his rest. There was no one with him hut Annie and the old servants when he died. He called her up in the night-time from her light slumber, which she always took in his room; and when she crept up to his hed, and saw the pallor of his countenancereminding her of that which preceded her fathers death she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek close to his; and with that tight clasp close around him, the old man slept, dreaming of the clasping arms of his beloved wife, and woke in her embrace. Seven years passed swiftly over Annie Ben- nett in the parsonage, and she had grown into rare and perfect beauty. The good pastor was well worthy the charge he had undertaken, and he had well performed his duty. She was as gentle as beautiful, and the whole country was full of her praises. Wealth and beauty united are seldom likely to fail in winning admiration; but the throng of suitors who surrounded her, after the pastor permitted her to receive guests in his house, met poor encouragement from her universal kindness and gentleness. No one could feel himself in any way distinguished above his fellows, and none dared say he had more of her smiles than another. Judge Morton, the other executor of the will of Adam Bennett,had a son, who was sent to college at just about the period of the old mans death, and although he was at home occasion- ally during his four years at Princeton, he never saw Annie Bennett. Immediately after grad- uating he was sent to travel in Europe, and be- coming enamored of life in one of the German universities, he had remained there for several winters; and great were the wonders expressed in the village at his quiet and comical letters de- scribing the raw beef-steaks, and as raw brandy, which, if he were serious, formed the main sup- port of life in heidelberg. The brother of Adam Bennett also had a son, whom he bad educated with the utmost care and expense, and who was now a student at law in the neighboring city, and one of the most de- voted suitors for Annies favor. For some rea- son which she would not explain, perhaps could not, she had a great dislike, amounting even to aversion, for her cousin John. It was not his personal appearance, for he was remarkably elegant and manly in form and feature. But there was doubtless an intuitive knowledge of his real character, an involuntary dislike to the bad heart which he concealed under a smiling and affable manner. A pleasant party was gotten up one sum- mer morning for a pic-nic on the mountain, and the day passed off with the accustomed. amount of merriment and gayety. Toward evening a muttering of distant thunder warned them homeward, and there was a swift gather- ing to the carriages and horses, and the entire party hastened away as rapidly as they could procure seats in the conveyances. Annie Ben- nett was on horseback, and, accepting a prof- fered hand, she sprang into the saddle and hastened down the road at a long gallop, not waiting for the gentlemen to mount, who were her guardians for the time, but leaving them to follow as they might. She reached a place where the road for a mile or more ran along the creek, flowing swift ADAM BENNETTS HEIRS. 107 and deep nuder high banks, and was still con- siderably in advance of John Bennett, who led the young men that were following her on their horses, when a sudden, blinding flash of light- ning startled her horse into fury, and at a sec- ond flash, no less vivid, he sprang over the bank into the rushing stream. A cry of horror broke from the crowd of pur- suers who came up on the instant; but no one of them ventured into the flood to save the girl, whose horse was seen breasting the current while she was nowhere visible. While the stupefied men were gazing at one another and into the stream, they suddenly per- ceived a man urging a splendid horse at a fu- rious pace down the road which ran along the opposite bank of the creek. When he reached a point nearly opposite to them he rode down the bank, and plunged into the water. All this had passed in a moment, and the next instant they saw the stranger quit his horse, and strike out boldly for a point in the stream where a mass of clothing indicated that he would find the ob- ject of his search; and in a few minutes he stood on the bank, bearing the senseless form of the most beautiful girl his eyes had ever seen. Resigning her to the care of her acquaintances, and without uttering an audible word, he caught his horsewhich had crossed the river with him sprang on him, and was out of sight in a few moments, riding furiously down the road. Those who saw him, soaked, muddy, and hatlesshis long hair ovcr his eyes and matted on his face would hardly recognize him again if they met him in decent dress. Great was the astonishment of the family of Judge Morton when William, who had arrived at home only the day previous, returned from his afternoon ride in such condition, and greater still when he imposed strict secrecy on all con- cerning his adventure. It was not difficult to ascertain who was the lady he had rescued, for the whole village and country rang with the story of the unknown rescuer, and nothing com- plimentary to John Bennett or his companions was added to the account. On the contrary, it was frankly stated, much to their discredit, that Annie Bennett would have drowned but for the boldness of the stranger, who was described as a common-looking, gaunt, ill-visaged fellow, whose sudden appearance and departure were not to his credit. It is not possible within the limits of this story to describe the growth of love between William Morton and Annie Bennett. He was such a man as she had never before seenfnr above the herd by whom she was surrounded accomplished, learned, dignified, while he was at the same time the soul of kindness and (rentleness. The instant that this love became apparent to strangers, John Bennett, convinced that his own prospects of success with his cousin were gone, began to consider the possibility of laying siege to her fortune in some other way. Who was her mother ? bad been a question very often put to Annie Bennett by others, still more frequently by herself, but hitherto unan- swered. She had, it is true, dim recollections, indistinct memories of a distant country, of strange scenes, of a childhood which had for its companion and guide a beautiful and beloved nurse, whom in her uncertain visions of the past she called mother. She had dreams that were more clear and vivid. But dreams, visions, and memories, alike failed to locate the place where her childhood was passed, or to name or describe her mother. John Bennett made a discovery. It was his forte. He was of no value as a law clerk or student, but he was given to finding flaws in titles which he could make pecuniarily valuable by buying up claims of which owners did not know the value. He found a flaw in the execution of Adam Bennetts will. Slight indeed as it appeared at first, but fatal to the probate and to the will as it proved to be on examination. In fact the will was worthless under our statutes, which are clear and remarkably stern on the s3xbject of last wills, and the property must descend to the heir-at-law of the old man, as if no will existed. This heir was, clearly enough, Annie, but where was the evidence of her paternity? It consisted wholly in the scene at the time of her fathers death, and there was no legal evi- dence there on which to hang a claim as grand- child and heir-at-law. hence there was little hope of resisting the claim now set up by the brother of Adam Ben- nett, and when at this period I was introduced to the parties, I found it impossible to afford them any encouragement, deeply as I became interested in Miss Bennett and her cause. My suggestion of a settlement was met by Judge Morton and his son with a decided refusal, they asserting that the proofs of her birth were of ten-fold more importance to them than her property. The prospect was as dark for a defense as is often known in a lawyers office, and when, after exhausting our ingenuity for delays, we were at length driven to trial and defeat, we had a bill of exceptions long enough to occupy appellate courts for a short life-time, while we did not slacken our exertions t6 trace the footsteps of the wandering son of Adam Bennett. In this search no labor nor expense was spared, and ultimate success rewarded us fully. It was no easy matter to follow the steps of the truant boy, especially after the lapse of so many years. But we found him at the very start shipped on a vessel which traded regularly with Germany for a long period, and we found that, after the lapse of several years, he left the ship on the other side of the water. The ship-owner in whose employ he sailed was in many respects a singular man, and one of his peculiarities consisted in a devotion to statistics, which led him to keep a record of every passenger, deck or cabin, that had ever crossed the ocean in one of his vessels. It was 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by means of this record that we learned that the was changed and magnified from lip to lip, so boy, now grown to a young man, had recrossed that it was at length made to include her mother, the sea, hut in the cahia instead of before the and some half dozen relatives on the maternal mast, and at a period some years later than his side, all of whom were summed up in the weak sailor life. Still no trace of his marriage could and weary old man who accompanied me to the be found. But a sharp clerk in our employ had village to see a granddaughter, whom he fully ohserved that in the same vessel which had expected to clasp in his arms and take on his brought him to America, there came as cabin knee, as he did the day her mother died. The passengers, a German gentleman and his two old man was not prepared for the vision of daughters. This clerk revolved in his own mind beauty which broke on his sight when we the prohable results of a long passage on ship- reached the old parsonage. It was to him a board with young ladies in company; and, with resurrection from the grave. It was Meta, the our permission, though we laughed at the feeble child of his love, the image of one that lay on foundation of his notions, he pursued the plan his breast lovingly, confidingly, in the long gone of search he had laid. years in Fatherland. He paused and tremhled Arguing that a German clergyman would be before he dared address her, and she stood wait- most likely to be applied to, under the circum- ing his approach, and not understanding his de- stances, to marry them, be obtained without dif- lay. At length he uttered some words in a ficulty a list of the German clergy, Protestant broken voice and a foreign tongue, and reached and Roman Catholic, at that time in the city, out his arms to her. She sprang into them, and and then hunted them down, man by man. As replied in the same language, and the old man each failed to aid him, and his list grew smaller, held her on his heart. The astonishment of instead of being discouraged he was only the the hy-standers may he imagined at hearing her more sanguine of his near approach to the dis- converse in a language which no one had heard covery; and at length he had but one man to her use before, and which she herself was to- look for, and he was confident that this man tally unaware of her ability to speak. But the could solve the mystery. memories of her childhood now returned with Two years passed before he obtained intel- vividness and clearness, and, with the aid of the ligence of this person, who was a poor Lutheran gentle old mans suggestions, she recalled every clergyman, and who, it at length appeared, had thing, even to the death of her mother, her part- returned to Germany and died about ten years lug kiss, her farewell words. previously. This story is told. A new trial, on the ground Morton, the younger, had become much in- of new testimony, and a different verdict from terested in young Stephensons search, and bad the former, were now almost a matter of course. imbibed faith in its success. We ridiculed the The old man found himself transformed into the idea of wasting money on its prosecution ; but grandfather and protector of a wealthy heiress, he determined so to do, and authorized Stephen- and no longer the poor German teacher, wander- son to go to Germany, and hunt up the dead ing from door to door. pastors note-books and memoranda. Morton and our client were married within a I pass over the particulars of his examina- few weeks after the discovery of the grandfather. tion. To our astonishment he was peifeetly An occurrence which took place a few weeks successful. He not only ascertained the date after the marriage, enhanced the bitterness of and place of the marriage, and the names of the controversy between the two branches of the the witnesses present, but he ascertained the family. Morton had on that morning communi- name of the bride, and the place of her residence cated to his wife, for the first time, the fact that in Germany, and he forthwith set out to seek he was her unknown rescuer, and with many a her family. None remained but an uncle, who laugh at the descriptions of his uncouth appear- told him their whole history. His brother was ance, which had been circulated at the time of a learned man, but not rich, and had emigrated, the occurrence, they rode out together to view hoping for better success in America. On ship- the spot where the rescue had taken place. board his elder daughter Meta had met an John Bennetts evil genius led him along the American, whom she loved, and, on reaching same road, at the moment that Morton and his New York, married. The entire family went to wife had dismounted and were looking at the the West, and here, after a lapse of five years, dark flow of the stream. Bennett was essen- Meta died, leaving her child to her husband and tially a blackguard, and it appeared perfectly na- sister. Another year passed, and the two sis- tural for him to paase, and invent insulting lan- ters were lying side by side in the dust of a guage and insinuations, to provoke the anger of strange land. From that time the uncle could his opponents. Unfortunately for him, it was tell nothing of Metas husband. His brother, equally natural for Morton to resent an insult the old man, was living, very poor, earning a on the spot; and John Bennett was never able precarious livelihood by teaching in the city to to explain by what process he was transferred which he had returned. from the back of his horse to the bed of the river. Great was the astonishment, great the mere- The next instant Morton was obliged to plunge dulity of the good people of , when it was in and rescue the poor wretch, who could not announced that the grandfather of Annie Ben- swim a stroke, and who would have inevitably nett was coming to see and claim her. The story been insured against the gallows he merited, MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 109 if his enemy had not been generous to save him. Hence ensued a complaint for- assault and battery, which was tried at the following Court of Sessions. Never was greater crowd in a court- room. All anticipated fun, and they had it to their hearts content. John Bennett was the sole witness for the prosecution, and he actually lied so much, that all hesitation as to our course in the defense vanished at once, and we went into it con amore. Our theory to the jury was that John Ben- nett had often threatened vengeance on Mor- ton as his successful rival; and this we proved by a dozen witnesses. Then that he had fallen into the stream, and would have been drowned but for Morton, who nobly rescued him; and this we proved by a fortunate passer-by, a farmer, who had seen Morton plunge in to the rescue, but who was utterly blinded to all pre- vious occurrences by a bend in the road. Then we demolished John Bennetts character piece- meal by piece-meal, till we did not leave him a rag to cover his hideous moral deformity. Wit- nesses fairly crowded fonvard volunteering to aid us in this part of our defense; and when we had whitewashed Morton as quiet, calm, gentle, unoffendingin point of fact a rather soft and milk-and-water sort of characterwe let the jury consider the case, which they did without leaving their seats. John Bennett has never been seen in the village since that day. The old German teacher has grown marvelously old, and may be seen anypleasant daywalking around the old farm-house, which still stands; and, fol- lowing him, you will generally seetwo or three glorious-eyed children, who are likelyto be Adam Bennetts heirs. And in still and calm nights, whenthe moon lies on the western horizon, leaving the world in that dark gloom which is more solemn than is the night when the stars are alonein such nights the country people fancy there are ghosts around the old house. They say a man, pale, ghastly, and sad, unutterably sad, peers through the bars of the old gate, and looks longingly for admission to the vine-clad porch, where sits, in calm and quiet dignity, an old and weary but stately man, who sees not the wanderer at the gate, but whose steadfast gaze is beyond the stars, and who sometimes gives utterance to the words and notes of a brave old psalm. The inhabitants within the old house heed nothing of these idle tales, but sleep all the long nights; and Annie Morton, the matron, some- times dreams of an angel mother, and oftener of a noble old man, the father of her father, who bends over her as she sleeps. Thnnt!ihi 3L{~cnv~~ uf (fiwrtnt ~J.~ktgnt~. THE UNITED STATES. THE State Elections have engrossed attention during the past month. In New York, Illi- nois, and Michigan they occurred on the 7th of November, and at the moment of closing this Rec- ord nothing more is known of the issue than gen- eral results, so that accurate statistics must be re- served for the next Number. It may be stated generally, however, in reference to all of them, that partisan divisions have been less rigid than usual, that old party lines have been broken downin some States by a union of elements hostile to the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, and in others by the advent of a new party, having a secret or- ganization, and having its operations based upon the native American element. In Delaware, where a State Election is still to be held, the W4migs have disbanded, and have merged themselves in this new American organization, the objects of which, so far as they are general, have been more distinctly stated in a speech made in Delaware City by Hon. John M. Clayton, on the 1st of November, than in any other paper that has come to our notice. Mr. Clayton insisted that those provisions of several of our State Constitutions which permit aliens to vote before they have become citizens of the United States, are contrary to just principles and sound policy, and ought to be removed. He urged also that, while he would proscribe no man on account of his birth-place, preference should be given, in lilling the offices of the country, to native-born Americans, and that the influence of the foreign element upon our politics should be diminished. He expressed his hostility to the repeal of the Missouri VOL. X.No. 65.H Compromise embodied in the Nebraska bill, but declared that he would not vote for the repeal of the repealing clause. That measure he believed would bring about a more serious and menacing - collision between the North and the South than any we have witnessed hitherto; and he thought it~ therefore, highly desirable that we should have a party strong enough to overbear these sectional animosities, atid sustain the Government i-n the preservation of the public peace. Such a party he believed would be found in this new organi~- zation, and he had no doubt that the appeal it would make to the American sentiment of the people would meet with a decisive and hearty re- sponse. The election in Indiana for State officers and Members of Congress, which took place on the 1st. of October, resulted in the election of State officers by the Republican or Anti-Nebraska partymade up of Whigs and Democratic opponents of the Ne- braska bill, and in the return- of nine Republican and two Democratic members of Congress. The following are the official returns of the vote on the State ticket: RepubZican. Demeeratie. Majorily. See. of State... Collins... 98,259 hayden. 85,636 12,685 Aud. of State .Talbott.. 95,842 Dunn... 86,208 9,634 Tv. of State.. .Nofsinger 98,658 Newland 85,592 13,066 Judge S. ...... Gookings 98,622 Hovey.. 85,357 13,263 Sup. of P. In. .~s.... 99,857 Larrabee 85,835 14,022 From Pennsylvania, in which the election was held on the same day, we have returns which show the election of eighteen Whig and seven Democratic members of Congress, and give the following ag- gregates of the vote for State officers:

Monthly Record of Current Events Monthly Record of Current Events 109-113

MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 109 if his enemy had not been generous to save him. Hence ensued a complaint for- assault and battery, which was tried at the following Court of Sessions. Never was greater crowd in a court- room. All anticipated fun, and they had it to their hearts content. John Bennett was the sole witness for the prosecution, and he actually lied so much, that all hesitation as to our course in the defense vanished at once, and we went into it con amore. Our theory to the jury was that John Ben- nett had often threatened vengeance on Mor- ton as his successful rival; and this we proved by a dozen witnesses. Then that he had fallen into the stream, and would have been drowned but for Morton, who nobly rescued him; and this we proved by a fortunate passer-by, a farmer, who had seen Morton plunge in to the rescue, but who was utterly blinded to all pre- vious occurrences by a bend in the road. Then we demolished John Bennetts character piece- meal by piece-meal, till we did not leave him a rag to cover his hideous moral deformity. Wit- nesses fairly crowded fonvard volunteering to aid us in this part of our defense; and when we had whitewashed Morton as quiet, calm, gentle, unoffendingin point of fact a rather soft and milk-and-water sort of characterwe let the jury consider the case, which they did without leaving their seats. John Bennett has never been seen in the village since that day. The old German teacher has grown marvelously old, and may be seen anypleasant daywalking around the old farm-house, which still stands; and, fol- lowing him, you will generally seetwo or three glorious-eyed children, who are likelyto be Adam Bennetts heirs. And in still and calm nights, whenthe moon lies on the western horizon, leaving the world in that dark gloom which is more solemn than is the night when the stars are alonein such nights the country people fancy there are ghosts around the old house. They say a man, pale, ghastly, and sad, unutterably sad, peers through the bars of the old gate, and looks longingly for admission to the vine-clad porch, where sits, in calm and quiet dignity, an old and weary but stately man, who sees not the wanderer at the gate, but whose steadfast gaze is beyond the stars, and who sometimes gives utterance to the words and notes of a brave old psalm. The inhabitants within the old house heed nothing of these idle tales, but sleep all the long nights; and Annie Morton, the matron, some- times dreams of an angel mother, and oftener of a noble old man, the father of her father, who bends over her as she sleeps. Thnnt!ihi 3L{~cnv~~ uf (fiwrtnt ~J.~ktgnt~. THE UNITED STATES. THE State Elections have engrossed attention during the past month. In New York, Illi- nois, and Michigan they occurred on the 7th of November, and at the moment of closing this Rec- ord nothing more is known of the issue than gen- eral results, so that accurate statistics must be re- served for the next Number. It may be stated generally, however, in reference to all of them, that partisan divisions have been less rigid than usual, that old party lines have been broken downin some States by a union of elements hostile to the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, and in others by the advent of a new party, having a secret or- ganization, and having its operations based upon the native American element. In Delaware, where a State Election is still to be held, the W4migs have disbanded, and have merged themselves in this new American organization, the objects of which, so far as they are general, have been more distinctly stated in a speech made in Delaware City by Hon. John M. Clayton, on the 1st of November, than in any other paper that has come to our notice. Mr. Clayton insisted that those provisions of several of our State Constitutions which permit aliens to vote before they have become citizens of the United States, are contrary to just principles and sound policy, and ought to be removed. He urged also that, while he would proscribe no man on account of his birth-place, preference should be given, in lilling the offices of the country, to native-born Americans, and that the influence of the foreign element upon our politics should be diminished. He expressed his hostility to the repeal of the Missouri VOL. X.No. 65.H Compromise embodied in the Nebraska bill, but declared that he would not vote for the repeal of the repealing clause. That measure he believed would bring about a more serious and menacing - collision between the North and the South than any we have witnessed hitherto; and he thought it~ therefore, highly desirable that we should have a party strong enough to overbear these sectional animosities, atid sustain the Government i-n the preservation of the public peace. Such a party he believed would be found in this new organi~- zation, and he had no doubt that the appeal it would make to the American sentiment of the people would meet with a decisive and hearty re- sponse. The election in Indiana for State officers and Members of Congress, which took place on the 1st. of October, resulted in the election of State officers by the Republican or Anti-Nebraska partymade up of Whigs and Democratic opponents of the Ne- braska bill, and in the return- of nine Republican and two Democratic members of Congress. The following are the official returns of the vote on the State ticket: RepubZican. Demeeratie. Majorily. See. of State... Collins... 98,259 hayden. 85,636 12,685 Aud. of State .Talbott.. 95,842 Dunn... 86,208 9,634 Tv. of State.. .Nofsinger 98,658 Newland 85,592 13,066 Judge S. ...... Gookings 98,622 Hovey.. 85,357 13,263 Sup. of P. In. .~s.... 99,857 Larrabee 85,835 14,022 From Pennsylvania, in which the election was held on the same day, we have returns which show the election of eighteen Whig and seven Democratic members of Congress, and give the following ag- gregates of the vote for State officers: 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZLNE. GOVERNOR. James Pollock, Whig and American 204,088 William Bigler, Democrat 167,001 B. Rush Bradford 1,503 Pollocks majority over Bigler 37,087 CANAL OOMMI55IONE5. Henry S. Mott, Democrat and American 274,074 George Darsie, Whig 85,831 B. M. Spicer, American 1,244 MoWs majority over Darsie 190,748 JUDGE OF 5U?RENJI COURT. Jeremiah S. Black, Democrat 167,010 Thomas H. Baird., American 83,881 Daniel Smyser, WhIg 78,751 Blacks majority over Baird 48,414 PROHIBITORY LIQUOR LAW. Against a Prohibitory Law 163,510 For a Prohibitory Law 158,842 Majority against a Prohibitory Law 5,168 From Cal~foraia we have intelligence to the 15th of October. The steam-ship Yankee Blade, which left San Francisco on the 30th of September for Panama, on the next day struck a reef of rocks off Point Arguilla, while running in a fog, and within half an hour sunk below her promenade deck. The captain, Randall, took about thirty passengers ashore in one of the boats, but did not return to the wreck. The first officer also went ashore in a boat, which was, however, stranded in landing, and a large number of those on board were drowned. During the night nothing further could be done for the rescue of the passengers, as the fog Was very thick. Great confusion prevailed on board. The next morning the steamer GolieA came alongside and took off over six hundred passengers, and land- ad them at San Diego. About thirty lives were lost, mainly women and children..----Great excite- ment prevailed in San Francisco inconsequence of the discovery that Henry Meigs had forged the new City Comptrollers warrants to the amount of over a million of dollars, and had left the country, in company with his brother, on board a yacht they had previously fitted up, and in which they had sailed, as is supposed, for Australia. GREAT BRITAIN. Public attention in England h8s been almost wholly absorbed by the news from the seat of war. The exultation at the victories of the Alma, and especially at. the gallant conduct of the British troops, is profound and universal. Men of all par- ties vie with each other in the warmth of their eu- logies and congratulations, and the position of the Ministry has been immensely strengthened by the fortunate issue of their plans. Leading statesmen have seized the opportunity which events have of- fered of declaring their sentiments upon the sub- ject. Sir William Molesworth, on the 30th of Sep- tember, received the compliment of the freedom of the City of Edinburgh, and spoke at some length, in acknowledging the honor, of the government of which he is a member. In the conduct of the war, he said France and England had three objects to accomplish: first, to prevent the armies of Russia from dismembering Turkey and marching on Con- stantinople; second, to prevent the fleets of Russia from injuring their trade and commerce; and third, to strike such a blow at Russia as would compel the Czar to desist from his designs on the Ottoman dominious. The first two objects had been already attained; the last was to be accomplished by the seizure of Sebastopol. He cautioned them against being impatient for instant victories, and said that, even if nothing further should be accomplished, two results had already been achieved of immense importance to the civilized worldone of which was the frank, firm, and cordial union of the peo- ple, the goveruroents, the armies and navies of France and England in the same cause; and the other was the mitigation of the evils of war by the establishment of the maritime rights of neutrals on the firm and solid basis of reason .and justicea step in civilization the importance of which could scarcely be overestimated.In Aberdeen, Mr. Hume was made the recipient of similar honors, andrepliedin a long speech upon political topics,. the salient points of which related. to the war and the government. No man could detest war more cor- dially than he did; but he hed.supported the Min- istry in declaring it, from a conviction that the lib- erties of Europe were in danger from the ambition of Russia, and that this danger could be arrested in no other way. He spoke very warmly of Lord Aberdeen, the only man, in his opinion, who could have kept the Cabinet together under existing cir- cumstances, and who, he thought, had been most unjustly assailedMr. Murray Dunlop, a Mem- ber of Parliament for Greenock, addre~d his con- stituents on the second of October, censuring the Ministry for having done so little for reform and other important interests of the country, but prais- ing them for the prudence and energy with which they had carried on the war. The real question at issue, he said, was whether Europe should be ruled by dynastic despotism, or by Constitutional liberty. That was the only ground on which the war with Russia could be justified, and yet it was. not the ground on which it had been put by the govern- mentand it was the absence of any such declara- tion which had made him distrustful of the alliance with Austria. He had no objection to that alli- ance; but would, indeed, rather desire it, if she could be enlisted on the side of the Constitutional monarchies of Europe. But it was of no import- ance if she was to remain on the side of the dynastic despotisms. She might resist Russia in her endeavor to get more territory; hut when it should become a question whether Constitutional freedom or despotic government should rule over Europe, the two wduld be joined hand in hand. He would say, therefore, to Austria, that if she would give a Constitution to Hungary, and liberal institutions to her own people, and set free the Ital- ians, Great Britain would strengthen her against the Czar; but if she persisted in joining the Czar in the oppression of the people, she should be left to struggle with the difficulties of her position alone. Lord Aberdeen himself made an extended po- litical address at Aberdeen on the 9th of October, in which he reviewed the history and achievements of the war, without, however, saying any thing new upon the subject, or throwing any new light on the futureEarl Granville made a speech in Staf- fordshire on the 6th, in which he insisted on the necessity of taking and either holding or destroy- ing Sebastopol, if they hoped to deprive Russia of the means of menacing and dismembering Turkey. Mr. Disraeli, in a recent speech, has insisted on the necessity of a more vigorous resistance to Roman Cathollc encroachments than is shown by the present Ministry. This sentiment, and tke manner in which it has been received in various quarters, is regarded as indicating a purpose to make Protestantism the rallying cry of tile Oppo- sition. Mr. Disraeli has also intimated a willing- ness to undertake the championship of the Licensed MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 111 Victualers, who complain of the operation of the new act putting more stringent regulations on the sale of intoxicating liquorsThe fate of Sir John Franklin and his companions has been ascertained. Dr. Rae, who has been for several years prosecut- ing the search of the Arctic zone, has arrived in England with the intelligence, that while on the western coast of Boothia he learned, from a party of Esquimaux, that, in the spring of 1850, they saw a party of white men pushing for the northern coast of America. Somewhat later in the season they found the bodies of over thirty, who had evidently perished from starvation. Dr. Rae obtained from the Indians a great variety of articles which they had taken from the bodies; sonie of which con- tained Sir Johns name, and all bore unmistakable evidence of having belonged to the party. The bodies were found near the confluence of Back river with the sea. FRANCE. The Emperor left the camp of the Army of the North, and returned to Paris on the 1st of October. In his parting speech to the troops, he said that the camp had been created to bring French soldiers near the coast, so that when needed they might the more readily join their English allies; to show to Europe that a hundred thousand men could be as- sembled on the frontiers without leaving the centre of France exposed to any danger, and toaccustom the troops to the labors, hardships, and habits of military lifeAn extract of a private letter from the Republican Barbes, who has been in prison ever since The coup dEitat, was communicated to the Emperor, in which he said he craved victory for the Frenchhe longed to have the glory of the nation enhanced by conquest; and declared that he pitied the Republican party if there were any among them who thought differently. On receiving this letter,, Napoleon inclosed it to the Minister of the Interior, with orders for the immediate release of Barbes, saying that a prisoner who preserves, in spite of long sufferings, such patriotic sentiments, could not in his reign remain in prison. On receiving tl~e order for his release, Barbes refused to accept any favor at the hands of a usurper, and declared he would not leave the prison. He was forcibly re- moved, and formally demanded to be restored, threatening to quit France if his request was not acceded to within twenty-four hours. No notice be- ing taken of it, he went to England.M. Sonic, the United States Minister in Spain, on attempting to return to that country from England, was for- bidden to enter France. The incident excited a strong sensation among the Americans in Europe. THE GERMAN STATES. Some further diplomatic correspondence has ta- ken place between Austria and Prussia, the only importance of which grows out of the indication af- forded that while Austria inclines more and more to- ward an alliance with the Western Powers, Prussia remains fixed in her purpose of maintaining a neu- trality favorable to Russia. On the 21st of Sep- tember Baron Manteuffel replied to the Austrian circular of the 14th, in which he expresses satis- faction at the explanations afforded, but indicates a wish for further assurances as to the means taken to prevent the German States from being involved in the war. The fact of the evacuation of the Principalities by Russia is regarded as setting aside the danger of a conflict with Austria; but it is suggested that the interests of Germany would be forwarded if those Principalities could be excluded from the territories accessible to military operations. Seeing in the evacuation a proof of. the compulsive force of the treaty of April 20, the Prnssian government desires to give validity to that policy by having the treaty confirmed and rendered binding by the Diet, so that Russia, as long as Austria does not attack her, shall not make an inroad of war against Austria for occupying the Principalities without finding her sustained by all the German States. In such an event as that sup- posed, the importance of German local interests to be protected on the lower Danube 1y the entry of Austrian troops into the Principalities, would have to be weighed against general German interests as involved in a participation in the war. The admission of foreign armies into the Principalities is complained of, and assurances on these points axe asked. The Austrian government in reply, in- sists that German interests are manaced so long as Russia does not give guarantees for the restoration of a sure, and lasting peace, and very plainly in- timates that if Prussia maintains much longer her position of indecision, Austria will be prepared te act independently, and may perhaps bring forward only such propositions as are calculated to bring the situation of the German Bund into accord with her own.Another indication that Austria is more and more disposed to join the Western Powers, is found in the fact that Baron Hubner, her minister in Paris, presented to the Emperor the official con- gratulations of his government upon the victory of the allied Powers over the Russians on the Alma.The Russian Czar, meantime, not in- different to these demonstrations, is advancing the Imperial Guards from St. Petersburg to Warsaw, and is raising new levies in Russia, which are re- garded as symptoms of meditated attack upon the Gallician frontier of Austria. THE EASTERN WAR. The military operations in the Crimea have made a decided and important advance since our last record. The landing of the allied armies was effected at the Bay of Eupatoria on the 14th Sep tember, the French being the first to go on shore. No enemy was in sight, nor was any opposition whatever offered to their landing. The French troops disembarked numbered 23,600, and the En- glish 27,000. Marshal St. Arnaud issued a gen- eral order, congratulating the Fren~h army under bis command upon their arrival in the Crimea and exhorting them to contend with their English allies for superiority in efficiency and good con- duct. Lord Raglan, the English general, in an order of the day, exhorted the troops under his command to protect the inhabitants of the country in their persons and their property. On the 19th the allied armies broke up their encampment, and bivouacked for the night on the left bank of the Bulgavac, having decided to attack the Russians, who were strongly intrenched on the heights of the Alma river. After about an hours march the Russians opened a fire of artillery upon the En- glish cavalry in advance, which was returned and the Russian squadron withdrew. The days march had been fatiguing, and the troops bivouacked for the night. The next morning both armies moved toward the Russians, who were very strongly in- trenched behind the steep and rugged banks or the Alma, their front extending over two miles, artil- lery having been planted upon the sharpest heights, and the slopes of the hills covered with dense masses of infantry. A trench had been dug between the 112 HARPERS 1~EW MONTHLY MAGAZ~E. strongest point and the river, and every possible preparation had been made for an obstinate de- fense. Ahout mid-day the Allies drew up with- in sight, hut not in range; the French heing on the right, and leaning on the sea. It had been arranged that the Russian position should be turn- ed on both flanks; the French taking the left and the British the right. The battle began about half-past twelve, and was fought from right to left. The French, under General Bosquet, crossed the Alma, climbed the heights, and in the face of a very heavy fire established themselves, to the extent of several thousand men, on the left flank of the Russians. They were soon reinforced by two other brigades under General Canrobert and Prince Napoleon, and the battle rolled toward the centre. The French brigades rushed forward with impetuosity, being covered by their artillery, which had been brought to bear, and being soon supported by their second line, won the battle on the Russian left by two oclock. Meantime the British divi- sions, halted behind the village of Burlink, were awaiting the moment for an attack on the Russian centre, replying with artillery to the heavy fire kept up by the Russians. About one oclock the latter set the village on fire, and by its smoke and blaze retarded the operations of the enemy. At length Lord Raglan gave the signal for advance, and the light division under Sir George Brown crossed the river, the troops wading across, climb- ing over the trees that had been felled to oppose their progress, and under, a withering fire. The Russian batteries were brought to bear with great precision upon them before they could form; round after round of shot swept through them; their officers began to go to the ground; and as they rushed np the steeps, the ranks were broken by grape, canister, and musketry. But nothing could arrest them. Steadily and sternly each regiment formed as it best could; and, led by Brigadier Codrington and Sir George Brown, conspicuous on a gray charger, rushed right against the battery. On their right fought the left brigade of the second division, who were hotly engaged against the Rus- si& n centre. Sweeping up the hills, they were met by a terrible fire; apd as their shattered lines neared the battery of thirty-two pounders in their front, a sheet of lead swept through them like a sword. Brigadier Pennefather, their brave com- mander, drew them back to form them anew; and the Russian infantry, emboldened by this appear- ance of success, leaped out of the battery and be- gan to charge down-hill. The three regiments turned upon their foes, and hunted them up the hill at the point of the bayonet, followed them with a storm of bullets, and sent them flying over the hill beyond. It was at this stage that the crisis of the battle had arrived. The advanced brigade of the light division had crowned the slope, and had seized the battery, when, mistaking for French a dark column of infantry marching toward them, the three regiments ceased firing. Immediately a volley of musketry undeceived them, and forced them to retire with awful loss. But now the First Division, the Highland Brigade under Sir Cohn Campbell, and the Guards under General Bentinck, were approaching, with all the regularity and calmness of a review. Their lines were dressed as they came grandly on. The men of the Light Dtvision complained that the Guards were losing time in dressing-up! But the dressing-up did not interfere with their advance. They met and covered the retiring regiments of the Light Divi- sion: but they were exposed to a tremendous fire and the men fell fast. A large square of Russians was advancing toward the battery, but appeared to hesitate. At this moment, Lord Raglan, who with his staff had crossed the river, and who stood in the heat of the fire, ordered up two guns to bear upon the advancing Russians. The guns were speedily in their place; speedily they got the range over the heads of the Guards and HigW landers who still swept on; long lanes of dead were rapidly bored through the Russian ranks; the enemy wavered and fled. On went the Guards and Highlanders. The Di~ke of Cambridge en- couraged his men by voice and example. High- landers ! cried Sir Cohn Campbell, before they came to the charge, dont pull a trigger till youre within a yard of the Russians ! They charged, and well they obeyed their chieftains wish: Sir Cohns horse was shot under him, but his men took the battery at a bound. The Russians rushed out leaving multitudes of dead behind them. The Sec- ond and Light Divisions crowned the heights. The French turned the guns on the hill against the flying masses, which the cavalry in vain tried to cover. A few faint struggles from the scattered infantry, a few rounds of cannon and musketry, and the en- emy fled to the southeast, leaving three generals, three guns, 700 prisoners, and 4000 wounded behind them. The battle of the Alma was won. The loss of the Allies in this engagement was 606 killed and 2699 wounded. The Russian wounded were cared for by the victors as well as possible, though the surgeons and attendants provided by the British army were entirely inadequate to their own neces, sities. The Russian army was commanded by Prince Mensehikoff in person, but after the battle it suffered a total rout; it was divided, the left wing marching on Bakchi Saral, and the right on Belbek, toward Sebastopol. Marshal de St. Ar- naud, whose health had been very feeble-for some weeks, kept his horse twelve hours on the day of battle, though suffering the most acute pain, so that at last he was obliged to be supported by two soldiers. Two days after, though suffering intense- ly, he still attended to the duties of his post, hut on the 26th he could hold out no longer, and issued a general order; announcing his serious illness, and handing over his command to General Canrobert. He died at sea on the 29th. His body was depoa- ited with great pomp in the Invalides, at Paris. The allied armies remained on the scene of the battle, burying t~e dead and succoring the wound- ed, until the 23d, when the British troops were again in motion. On the 25th they seized and oc- cupied Balaklava, encountering slight resistance. The next day they were joined by.the French. On the 27th two divisions of each army made a recon- noisscace in the direction of Sebastopol. On the 28th the British fleet began disembarking its siegs artillery, and on the 9th of October the siege of Sebastopol commenced. Up to our latest dates from that place (the 21st), no serious impression had been made on the fortress, which was held by a large force. The Russians were again con- centrating their troops on the Upper Belbek, and were threatening the besieging force. They had sunk eight vessels of their fleet in the harbor, thus rendering t~he fleet of the Allies useless in the siege.. In the~Baltic, the English and French fleet has been ordered into winter quarters, and most of the ships will return home. HOW HAVE WE BEEN EDUCATED? Our history has disappointed certain classes of thinkers. Men of imaginative art, devoted to the beautiful culture of Poetry and the rapt enjoyment of Romance, have mourned over it as though they had been defrauded of a portion of their inheritance. If their favorite circumstances could have surround- ~d us; if there had been a twilight age in our ex- istence; there can be no doubt that this continent would have supplied a most appropriate scene for mystic figures and heroic impersonations. Every thing here on such a grand scale; magnitude ex- citing the senses, and magnificence overpowering the intellect; caves forming subterranean worlds, and lakes swelling into oceans; rivers, whose wa- ters chill at the Pole and warm at the Equator; and vast mountains, stretching a girdle from Terra del Fuego to Arctic regions; what a panorama would all these have afforded, if a classic antiquity could have shed its gr,~ce over them! But it has been denied us. Higher laws than the conditions of poetry have been executed. Directed by an un- seen hand, circumstances interposed a sovereign sway, and shut out the Western Hemisphere from the realms of imagination. No seductive mythol- ogy was allowed to spread its idolatries over the awaiting home of Christian freemen. No gorgeous fables were to he embodied here in captivating rituals. Not even chivalry and feudalism were permitted to have their knights and troubadors~ representatives of valor and of son~, in tbese hidden wilds. A new form of culture was to be assi,, ed to man; a new volume of Providence was to be opened; a new series of wonders was to arise on the visions of our race; and hence, the continent was reserved for the maturing stage of humanity. There is no philosophy in wishing that things had been otherwise. Reviewing the annals of the past, we see how admirably the Old World was fit- ted to be the nursery of the human family. What- ever could awaken thought and inspire sentiment; whatever could organize social instincts and develop massive power; whatever could fasten in mens minds the great sentiment of an overruling Provi- dence, and engage their attention to the supreme interests of virtue and religion, was bestowed upon its successive generations. And yet it was chiefly the experience of types and shadows through which it passed. The religious culture of the Jew, while it occupied its own select ground and held a sullen reserve to all the rest of mankind, was indicative ef the intellectual and political systems of antiquity. As the former appealed to the senses, and stimu- lated the imagination, so the latter trained the mind to think rather than to enjoy, to anticipate but not to realize. The childhood of our race must under- ,~o just such a moral and social treatment. Not only in its spiritual but in its earthly connections, must it walk amidst mysteries, and commune with prefiguring symbols. Unconscious prophecies of the future were always around the Greek and the Romanprophecies in statuary, in architecture, in splendid highways, in conquering eaglespictur- esque anticipations of what man should be in the high attainment of his renovating glory. Thegreat- ness of the Greek in the presence of material na- ture; the grandeur of the Roman in the presence of men; and last, but more significant than they4 the elect Jew, called to the priesthood of truth and the service of love, were the foreshadowings of a culture that should combine all their distinctive beauty, and of a condition that should unite their separate contributions in one calm and completed whole. Its advent past, Christianity assimilated whatever was worthy in these various agencies, and entered on the conquest of the world. The ancient institutions of civilized life crumbled away, and as the barbarian gathered about its cross, the true faith and a goodness above the earth were made known. Centuries of conflict followed. The spirit of the Greek, the Roman, the Jew still struggled for the mastery. Men loved carnal worship, and sought its gratifications. But the age of imaginative dis- cipline waxed old and perished. Side by side, a Christian polity for the State and a Christian creed for the Church, a Christian spirit in art and a Chris- tian truth in literature, arose and transformed the nations. It was then that the world had a west- ward direction given to its pilgrimage. Its imag- inative zeal had expired in seeking the East with its hallowed soil and sepulchre; and now, its con- science aroused by the stern realities of trnth and its genuine heart enlisted in nobler duties it was ready to follow the hand that traced its pathway toward the setting sun. It was still unconsc~us of its destiny. The part it was micting was con- cealed from its eye. Amidst all the wonders of that movement, nothing is so wonderful as the uncon- sciousness of its most memorable actions. It tiled to retain the past; labored to perpetuate old preju- dices and passions; celebrated ancient and honored festivals; and strove to keep its hereditary memories fresh and fragrant. Exiled in person but not in feeling, the founders of a new empire sought to stretch their cords across the sea, and bind them- selves with their posterity to the land that had given them birth and strength. The future was to be the past purified. But their plans were de- feated. A dim conjecture that they were engaged in a strange drama, impelled by unseen forces, and sustained by a mighty arm; a conjecture that took no shape from logic, and yet far removed from shapelessness, was fulfilled, while all their delib- erate purposes were doomed to disappointment. Que cycle had closed forever; another was now to begin. Despite of themselves, our fathers were torn from all former associations, and set apart for a special task. They were anointed as men had never beenthey were anointed for the future. If at Plymouth Rock or at Jamestown they could but have seen, what a vision would have opened! What a finished series of providences! what a com- pleted scroll of historic deeds! what results from slight causes as majestic as miracles! And yet, all end in liberating and ennobling Mind. A sin- gle power, Imagination, had always been the her- ald of acoming regeneration; but centuries of sor- row had to waste the hearts of men, and centuries of effort had to train their returning life, ere the image could be changed into a thought, the aspi- ration into a sentiment, the beautiful promise into a glad possession. In Politics, idealizing in Pla- to; in Song, beginning with the blind man of Greece and closing with the blind man of En- gland; in Heroism, wandering as a weeper from

Editor's Table Editor's Table 113-119

HOW HAVE WE BEEN EDUCATED? Our history has disappointed certain classes of thinkers. Men of imaginative art, devoted to the beautiful culture of Poetry and the rapt enjoyment of Romance, have mourned over it as though they had been defrauded of a portion of their inheritance. If their favorite circumstances could have surround- ~d us; if there had been a twilight age in our ex- istence; there can be no doubt that this continent would have supplied a most appropriate scene for mystic figures and heroic impersonations. Every thing here on such a grand scale; magnitude ex- citing the senses, and magnificence overpowering the intellect; caves forming subterranean worlds, and lakes swelling into oceans; rivers, whose wa- ters chill at the Pole and warm at the Equator; and vast mountains, stretching a girdle from Terra del Fuego to Arctic regions; what a panorama would all these have afforded, if a classic antiquity could have shed its gr,~ce over them! But it has been denied us. Higher laws than the conditions of poetry have been executed. Directed by an un- seen hand, circumstances interposed a sovereign sway, and shut out the Western Hemisphere from the realms of imagination. No seductive mythol- ogy was allowed to spread its idolatries over the awaiting home of Christian freemen. No gorgeous fables were to he embodied here in captivating rituals. Not even chivalry and feudalism were permitted to have their knights and troubadors~ representatives of valor and of son~, in tbese hidden wilds. A new form of culture was to be assi,, ed to man; a new volume of Providence was to be opened; a new series of wonders was to arise on the visions of our race; and hence, the continent was reserved for the maturing stage of humanity. There is no philosophy in wishing that things had been otherwise. Reviewing the annals of the past, we see how admirably the Old World was fit- ted to be the nursery of the human family. What- ever could awaken thought and inspire sentiment; whatever could organize social instincts and develop massive power; whatever could fasten in mens minds the great sentiment of an overruling Provi- dence, and engage their attention to the supreme interests of virtue and religion, was bestowed upon its successive generations. And yet it was chiefly the experience of types and shadows through which it passed. The religious culture of the Jew, while it occupied its own select ground and held a sullen reserve to all the rest of mankind, was indicative ef the intellectual and political systems of antiquity. As the former appealed to the senses, and stimu- lated the imagination, so the latter trained the mind to think rather than to enjoy, to anticipate but not to realize. The childhood of our race must under- ,~o just such a moral and social treatment. Not only in its spiritual but in its earthly connections, must it walk amidst mysteries, and commune with prefiguring symbols. Unconscious prophecies of the future were always around the Greek and the Romanprophecies in statuary, in architecture, in splendid highways, in conquering eaglespictur- esque anticipations of what man should be in the high attainment of his renovating glory. Thegreat- ness of the Greek in the presence of material na- ture; the grandeur of the Roman in the presence of men; and last, but more significant than they4 the elect Jew, called to the priesthood of truth and the service of love, were the foreshadowings of a culture that should combine all their distinctive beauty, and of a condition that should unite their separate contributions in one calm and completed whole. Its advent past, Christianity assimilated whatever was worthy in these various agencies, and entered on the conquest of the world. The ancient institutions of civilized life crumbled away, and as the barbarian gathered about its cross, the true faith and a goodness above the earth were made known. Centuries of conflict followed. The spirit of the Greek, the Roman, the Jew still struggled for the mastery. Men loved carnal worship, and sought its gratifications. But the age of imaginative dis- cipline waxed old and perished. Side by side, a Christian polity for the State and a Christian creed for the Church, a Christian spirit in art and a Chris- tian truth in literature, arose and transformed the nations. It was then that the world had a west- ward direction given to its pilgrimage. Its imag- inative zeal had expired in seeking the East with its hallowed soil and sepulchre; and now, its con- science aroused by the stern realities of trnth and its genuine heart enlisted in nobler duties it was ready to follow the hand that traced its pathway toward the setting sun. It was still unconsc~us of its destiny. The part it was micting was con- cealed from its eye. Amidst all the wonders of that movement, nothing is so wonderful as the uncon- sciousness of its most memorable actions. It tiled to retain the past; labored to perpetuate old preju- dices and passions; celebrated ancient and honored festivals; and strove to keep its hereditary memories fresh and fragrant. Exiled in person but not in feeling, the founders of a new empire sought to stretch their cords across the sea, and bind them- selves with their posterity to the land that had given them birth and strength. The future was to be the past purified. But their plans were de- feated. A dim conjecture that they were engaged in a strange drama, impelled by unseen forces, and sustained by a mighty arm; a conjecture that took no shape from logic, and yet far removed from shapelessness, was fulfilled, while all their delib- erate purposes were doomed to disappointment. Que cycle had closed forever; another was now to begin. Despite of themselves, our fathers were torn from all former associations, and set apart for a special task. They were anointed as men had never beenthey were anointed for the future. If at Plymouth Rock or at Jamestown they could but have seen, what a vision would have opened! What a finished series of providences! what a com- pleted scroll of historic deeds! what results from slight causes as majestic as miracles! And yet, all end in liberating and ennobling Mind. A sin- gle power, Imagination, had always been the her- ald of acoming regeneration; but centuries of sor- row had to waste the hearts of men, and centuries of effort had to train their returning life, ere the image could be changed into a thought, the aspi- ration into a sentiment, the beautiful promise into a glad possession. In Politics, idealizing in Pla- to; in Song, beginning with the blind man of Greece and closing with the blind man of En- gland; in Heroism, wandering as a weeper from 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Thermopyin, but reappearing in joy at Runny- mede and Marston Moor; in Devotion, uttering its strains in early prophets, and afterward, the sum- mons lost, recovering its magic words in the fiery Luther; Imagination beholds the training of our race complete, and resigns its long-cherished charge to another guardianship. If we were to specify the fact which, above all others, has been most favorable to the growth of our national mind, we should select its separation from those circumstances which hitherto had ex- cited the imagination. Viewed in its social rela- tions, this great faculty has been ordained to per- form a preparatory work in the pro,,ress of man- kind. It is the symbol, not the substance; and hence, while its office is essential to qualify and fit men to enter upon a high state of civilization, the laws of its action, considered in a social as- pect, forbid its permanent coatinuance. Nothing, therefore, in our history has been more fortunate than this withdrawment from scenes, habits, and associations which nourished the sentiments and impulses of the imagination. It put us in a posi- tion to be a solid and substantial race; to feel the moral sublimity of our duty; to choose materials of strength instead of beauty for the superstructure of society. Had we been devoted to imaginative pursuit, fond of its pleasures, and eager to seek its gilded shows, where would have been the enter- prise, the hardihood, the mighty endurance, which have been so conspicuous in the building up of an American empire! A love of sculpture, painting, music, and other fine arts, would have incapaci- tated us for a civilization that was destined to rise on the fresh sods of a wilderness, and to secure its triumphs by the severe exactions of skjll, patience, and industry. Nor must we ~etl6ok the truth, that the experience which wt~ acquired in the serv- ice of material nature, was a main element in our education for freedom. It Was virtually a return to the normal state of humanity. Labor and life were restored to their original conditions. There was not a single institution between man and the earth. The soil Was his property, and the hand of toil was unfettered. Necessity conspired with principle, the physical and the moral law united, to teach him the sacredness of labor. B~ this means he learned to rely upon himself, and to trust in the wisdom of that divine economy which ruled over him. If his circumstances brought him so near to the universe, the instrument of feeding, clothing, and sustaining him, they also drew him close to the bosom of Providence; and thus indus- try was in fellowship with reverence to inspire confidence and exalt agency. Our fathers owed almost every thing to this rigorous discipline. In- herited wisdom and borrowed science would never have made men of them. They were, indeed, in- debted to the past; but they had nobler teachers than Hampden, and Milton, and Sidney. Cold and heat, sterile lands and scanty crops, swollen rivers and impassable mountains, poverty and suf- fering, barbarism hanging upon their borders and often descending upon their exposed habitations, tyranny in the mother country, the absence of sympathy and the loneliness of solitude, trained them to feel that they were competent to govern themselves. Never before was there such an il- lustration of the fact, that the purpose of Provi- dence is to instruct man in the art of self-govern- ment, by directing him to subdue and regulate the outer world; and never before was witnessed the spectacle of Agriculture, Commerce, Art, Repub- licanism, and Christianity starting, side by side, in a career of harmony and splendor. The circumstances of our position, as wa have indicated, strongly tended to individualize our character, and urge us forward in a new pathway. Columbus was not more of a discoverer in the physical geography of the globe, than our fathers were in the practical science of administrative life. Transfer the genius of that extraordinary man from the ship to the soil, from mutinous sailors to dis- contented citizens, from the perils of the ocean to the dangers of the land; turn his eye from the faithful compass to the great sentiment of human rights, and in place of rising and setting stars, give him those vicissitudes which move through the cir- cle of mortal experience, and nothing is wanted to complete the picture of a representative type of American statesmanship. A host of Columbus-like heroes, these sturdy pioneers stood reads in their sphere to do the bidding of a heavenly word, or surrender their lives in its service. Fit successors to his manly faith and serene courage, Jorn of the same spirit and baptized in the same suffering, they were worthy to consummate his wondrous work by finding another world within the one which he had rescued to civilization from the concealing wa- ters of the 4eep. At the root of all their virtues lay the princIple of 6bedience, and it gave a con- scientious uniformity to their actions. Pliant in nothing else, they thought and labored as the creatures of Infinite Wisdom. The law of recon- ciliation was their law. Better still, it was their love and joy. And hence, they were prepared to appreciate the conditions of restraint under which the hope of their hearts was to realize its slow ful- fillment. It was not an enterprise of cheerful prom- ise and prompt reward that they had in hand. It was not an inviting field for the speculations of mammon or the ambition of fame. Every cir- cumstance wa~ calculated to repress the impulsive feelings of our nature. Dangers abounded. Dif- ficulties were numerous and formidable. The cli- mate was a foethe savage was an enemythe spirit of the age was hostile to their success. And yet, it is to this law of restraint that we are most signally indebted for the best lessons of American freedom. If it prevented an excess of emigration from abroad, it was still more fortunate in its ef- fects at home. It led to a compact state of society. It colonized the Atlantic shores, and settled the white man in those sections of the continent where the aborigines were least likely to be permanently disturbed. It educated them to the sea, and early pointed out one of the chief sources of wealth and power. Above all else, it originated and matured at once a thorough system of colonization, and put them on the true line of social progress. The agen- cy of Providence in reserving the contisi~nt for an age that could send a Fend of suitable men to oc- cupy it, is apparent. But that was only a precau- tionary measure. Look at the watchful guardian- ship that rested not by day or slumbered by night, and that sustained so many means in operation to develop the country in perfect subordination to the just philosophy of moral and political growth. lInd prosperity been rapid, it must have been ficti- tious and fugitive. If the length and breadth of the land had been open to adventure, the delights of novelty, and the excitements of feverish change would have introduced the destructive elements of instability into every movement. Do Sotos and EDITORS TABLE. 115 De Leons, followed by deluded thousands, would have scattered themselves far and wide. Imagin- ation would have repeated the mockeries of the crusades, and every true interest of social life would have perished in gay revelry or licentious turbulence. Happy for them and us the severe restraints of physical circumstances had so much of Omnipotence infused into them. Idle supersti- tious could not burst through these iron barriers. Illusory dreams could not mislead them. The fabled waters of Colophon could not tempt them to search the wilderness, nor the visions of alche- mists haunt their humble toil. Firm and faith- ful, they kept to their work as thongh it were a sacramentintent on the present, and yet mind- ful of the futurelike Abraham, reading their posterity in the stars of heaven, and content for the sure mercies of time to vindicate their tranquil trust. If the reader will now recall our argument, he will see that, in respect to the elementary discipline of American mind, we have attached a special im- portance to the absence of imaginative sentiments from the experience of our forefathers, their separ- ation from long-established institutions and seclu- sive position on a new continent, their dependence on personal agency in harmony with the laws of nature and the restraints of providental circum- stances. Placed in the attitude they were, it was the demand of necessity that they should be pru- dent in foresight, sagacious in plans, resolute in peril, united in council, and untiring in exertions. The pressure of urgent motives was irresistible. If this had been all, if no higher destiny had been unfolded before them, their heroism would soon have been exhausted; character would have been dwarfed; the glory of the morning would not have ascended to the zenith and spread its merid- ian fullness around the firmament. Another era in their history was soon introduced. It was the era of independent thought and original action. A certain drgree of adjustment to their physical con- dition having been attaineda groundwork of training laidthey were now ready for one more gigantic step in the process of civilization. They had acquired the arts of trade, the endearments of home, the institutions of learning and religion. They had learned to wait, and by waiting to tri- umph. They had been taught to suffer, and by suffering to be strong. The inspiration of the new hemisphere came upon them. It was the gift of tongues, for they spake a new language. It was the gift of social regeneration, for they entered on a new existence. It was the Pentecost of freedom. How suddenly the former types and shadows van- ished awayhow clear and cool was the light that bathed their browshow quick the descent of a re- newing spirit! Plymouth Rock and Jamestown revealed their hidden meaning. Carver and Ma- therRoger Williams and William PeanCalvert and Smithwhat tragic personages were they in that strange radianc~ which poured back upon their forms and feathres! And as the stream of splendor pierced the gloom of ages past, the mys- steries of history were explainedmysteries of Star Chambers and Inquisitionsthe secrets of Bunyans prison and Rogerss martyrdom. The facts of our Revolution show that the issue was one of pure principle. None of the grievances complained of by the Colonies were intolerable. Worse evils have been patiently endured. The struggle was for political rights, and not a retalia tion for personal and social wrongs. Nothing could have been more fortunate than that the controversy assumed this peculiar shape. Had it been a re- sistance to the grosser forms of tyranny, the most vindictive passions must have been aroused. Goad- ed to desperation, men would have forgotten their allegiance to truth and virtue. It would have necessarily been a licentious warfare. If success- ful, what a penalty would have been paid! The moral effect must have proved disastrous to the mind of our country; the fearful extent to which it must have interfered with the subsequent establish- ment of a wise government can scarcely be imag- med. As it was, our fathers came out of itMEN. The whole contest was an- exceptiona marked exceptionto the usual course of war. It did not debauch them; and hence, when the time came to organize institutions for the protection of per- sonal and relative rights, they were left with calm judgments and subdued feelings for the great work. In brieg the war of the Revolution continued the same high and heroic discipline that had previous- ly developed the strength and excellence of their character. All through, from the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers to the surrender at Yorktown from the settlement on James River to the treaty of peaceit was the same struggle; inspired by one motive, directed by one sentiment, supported by one hope, consecrated to one end. Standing then at this point, let us review the ground that has been traversed. The most unlike things are brought together by some strange affinity, and har- monized into a perfect system. Instruments are selected from all departments of nature, and com- bined into a mighty machinery. The infinite re- sources of Providence contribute their chosen agencies, and crc men are aware, they are encir- cled in a miniature Universe, where every element of force and every orb of movement gravitates to- ward a common centre. The rigors of climate harden their muscles, and the toil of the fields braces their nerves. Summer night-dews and winter frosts impress the lesson of care and pru- dence, while forest and flood invite to danger and reward courage. Newfoitndland fisheries and mountain clearings, the heights of Qnebec and the wilds of the Alleghanies, conflicts with Frenchmen and surprises from Indians, train eye and hand for future need. Different social castes cavaliers, criminals, redemptionists: unlike tastes, such as separated gay courtiers from sober Puritans; pre- cise Quakers and loose- worldlings; polished Hu- guenots and sturdy Germans; Englishmen of the spirit of Charles, and Englishmen of the spirit of Cromwell; men who. venerited Lord Baltimore, and men who followed Anne Hutcheson; natives of hostile countries; antagonists in taste and tem- per, as well as antipodes in religion; are all fused into a common mass, and qualified for the enjoy- ment of a common citizenship. And, as in chaos, each discordant element was set free from the con- vulsive strife, and gathered to its domainas the light leaped to the sky and sphered itself in perpet- ual beautyas the waters, chafed no more, laid themselves to rest in the hollows of the continents, and the winds, listening to the strain of the morn- ing sters, soothed themselves into the gentle mel- odythe earth all fair, and the firmament all fade- lessso here, in humbler measure, but beneath the same disposing arm, another world arose from the deep of ages, and entered on the circuit of its shining. 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There is now an American Society, an Asnerican Government, an American Life. Institutions to protect person, property, and pursuit, acknowl- edging the supreme authority of God and the in- herent civil sovereignty of man, have been estab- lished. The oath of ratification, the first act of an enfranchised people, has been formally, deliberate- ly, solemnly sworn, and henceforth a nation becomes a partner with Providence in the advancement of trntb, justice, and benevolence among men. And yet, in this very moment, when the nation assumed the highest of all earthly responsibilities, it is evi- dent that the system is better than the subjects. A forward movement, in reference to Europe, we often call it, but let us not forget that it was also a forward movement with respect to ourselves. In a general point of view, it was adapted to our char- acter and condition. But nevertheless it was a heavy draft upon the future. Allowing for its stringent checks f.or the. wise parsimony with which it dealt out powerfor the balance of one interest against another in the well-poised scalesof justicefor simple duties and defined objectsal- lowing for all these provisions of ripe intelligence and mature experience, it was still an experiment, not on what man was, but on what he might be- come. Poetry can not monopolize all the ideals of the world. Science, as well as poetry, has its hours of communion with the Infinite Beauty. So has Truth, whenever it discloses its perfect majesty and challenges the reverence of the heart. Such ideals as these came to Newton in the solitary orchardb Columbus in the night-watches of the oceanto Luther in the monastery of Erfurthto Socrates in his meditative musings on immortality. And among them, though rigidly deduced from con- sciousness and historical facts, we place the Amer- ican system. It was not the Republic of Plato nor the Utopia of More, and yet it was a prophetic an- ticipation of the brighter days of humanity. In- stincts, sentiments, hopesideas of equality and brotherhoodmillennial adumbrations in partial outlinewere embodied therein for the first time in the career of the world. The great problem was (an men lire up to such a stenderd? This ques- tion could be answered with an hprieri affirmative, if one condition could be determine~l, and that is, whether the institutions themselves in connection with the tendencies of public opinion and the cir- cumstances of the people, had a sufficient degree of disciplinary power to raise the nation to their own level. But it is obvious that, reasoa as we may, the only sure test in such a matter is ex- perience. There was less contrariety between the theory and the practice of our government than any one would have imagined. Inconsistencies did arise and threaten serious dangers. Some of our great- est men were suspicious of popular rights. One party leaned toward England, another toward France. The trnstworthiness of the people con- tinued in debate for years, and on both sides the logical argument was exhausted. Anti-republican and extra-republican measures were advocated. Mind met mind in earnest collision. All this was inevitable. For the remnants of the past still ex- isted among us. Private prejudices and personal predilections had not departed, nor had the mighty bias of early education been altogether set aside. No wonder, then, that this conflict between oppo- sing elements was so warmlymaintained. Viewed in a philosophic light, it was essential to the ad- justment of our national mind to its institutions, and without it there could have been no real pro- gress in strength and greatness. It was that sort of diversity in sentiment which never fails to pro- duce final unity in action, and consequently a prac- tical policy was developed that brought the heart of the people into a living relation to the American system. Our early timidity, springing from a pro- found sense of responsibilities, was a natural pro- duct of the occasion; and though, in some instances, it generated too much hesitancy, and yielded more of hope than was manly to a morbid apprehen- sion, yet it must be confessed that it performed a most salutary part in cultivating our national sensibilities. Time put all things right. If, at first, our national ideas lacked completeness and force; if, indeed, our independence was but par- tially realized; the lapse of a quarter of a century from the birth of the Constitution furnished us with an opportunity to test our strength. The second war with England was far more than a conflict be- tween the interests of one hemisphere and the am- bition of the other. It was a warfare at home. Men who reasoned from the logic of history, and men who consulted their native impulses, were then in fierce debate. One class of thinkers looked at our youth, weakness, and physical.inferiority; the other relied on impulse and prowess. One wanted heroes ready-made for the emergency; the other trusted to the emergency to create heroes. Divested of its circumstantial incidents, it wat a struggle between the spirit of the past and the spirit of the future, flow that struggle went on, how true-hearted patriots differed, how eloquence pleaded and courage fought, how dangers weze braved and disasters endured, how the country came out victorious, are well-known facts. A new era commenced. Party zeal subsided. The best feelings of the nation were awnkened, and the hands of brotherhood were more firmly riveted. It was the great trial of confidence. The strength of the government, the strength of public opinion, the strength of the people, were all subjected to no ordinary test, and the result did more to organize ajust national sentiment, to correct errors, to con- quer prejudices, and to inspire hope in the perpetuity of our institutions, than any thing which we have experienced. And especially is it to he noticed, that commerce and colonizationthe formergather- ing its smuiense revenue from the sea, and the latter from the ocean-like prairies of the Westwere then set free from all artificial restraints, and allowed to act their part as the most important auxiliaries to national prosperity. Let us now take the last thirty-five years of our existence, and see how we have been educated. Our progress in developing the material resources which the hand of the Creator has put within our reach, has been unexampled. But this fact, takea as a simple illustration of successful industry, would lose much of its moral significance. The main thing for us to study is the effect of this accumu- lating wealth on our social relations, and its bear- ings on other sections of the world. And here, every observant man must he struck with the phenomenon of the day, viz., the perfect harmony between the materialism (so called) of our civiliza- tion and the political system which governs us. The masses of the people have been the great recipients of these advantages. Sovereigns in the eye of our republican philosophy, what else have they proved themselves to be in demanding the EDITORS TABLE. 117 tribute of universal nature! Had they been con- tent with the sceptre of political authority, they might have played a part in a pantomime, and added one more pageant to the delusive shows of the senses. But see! That sceptre has waved over the dreary sand-beds of our coastover bald, bleak hillsover beds of mineral ore and vast forests of timber; and it has demonstrated a prac- tical sovereignty in every realm of matter that it has claimed. The means of enterprise have multi- plied; the sources of wealth have been augmented, as well as the ratio of its distribution; and whole classes of society, which most needed the aid of material comfort and luxury to elevate their posi- tion and strengthen their influence, have been most abundantly favored by the physical growth of the country. Popular power, moving along its line of constitutional government and popular wealth, enriching the hands of honest toil and soothing the age of active enterprise, have been, in an extraor- dinary degree, coincident. Few circumstances in our history have been more conducive to the stabil- ity of free institutions. Poverty is always an evil. It drags man down to the dust, crushes the glow- ing aspirations of his heart, and ordains him to the companionship of sorrow and suffering. But pov- erty in a country like ours, where the condition of the people must express itself, where bitterness, ignorance, and discontent would find to many chaunels to flow through, and spread themselves out far and wide over the surface of political life, would be vastly more pernicious to society than we commonly suppose. If our w~alth pampered an idle, exclusive class, it would be a terrible curse. If one portion of society grew rich at the expense of another, that would prove the cause of weakness, disorder, misery. But whenever industry reaps its own rewards, it is entitled to enjoy them; and we may be sure that in all such cases wealth will show itself to be a providential instrument for the im- provement of mankind. For what, among earthly things, is a stronger argument to make a freeman think, vote, act like an intelligent being, than the consciousness that he has a happy home, a substan- tial income, a cheerful future, to be affected by the legislative policy of his country? Idealists may laugh at such motives, and certain refinements of morality may deride them, but God governs the world by availing himself of the operations of mens senses and appetites, as well as their conscience and reason. And hence we rejoice that the laborer, the artisan, the mechanic, the farmer, have shared so largely in the progressive wealth of the land. The brightest picture in our history is the advance- ment of the workingman into the front rank of dis- tinction and influence. Look into our monetary institutions benevolent movementschurches; look into chambers of commerce and halls of legislation; and there you see the wisdom, the practical sagacity, the conservative prudence to which we are so signally indebted. And on this account, so far, at least, as our native population is concerned, the same classes of the community that elsewhere are most dreaded as fomenters of strife and unbridled revolutionists, are among the best safeguards for our protection. By what other means have we been educated? First in order are the sectional peculiarities of our industry. It was a master stroke of statesmanship to combine thirteen states into one system. The truth of our principle of union has been verified in the addition of eighteen more; and experience has satisfactorily proven, that if the integrity of our government can be maintained, there is nothing to fear on the score of territory. We find a beau- tiful analogy to this fact in the diversity of our productive labor. Breadth of space, variety of climate, and multiplicity of interests, are our nat- ural bonds of union. As supplements to our po- litical ties, as instruments to mature and perfect our brotherhood, they can not be too highly esti- mated. If it were not for our local politics, for the township, the city, the state, and the education that they afford us in managing the immediate concerfis of civil life, it is easy to perceive that our national citizenship would be deprived of its most salutary and effective culture. The same truth applies to the relations of our industry. The different arts which we cultivate not only train our hands to individual skill, but they insure com- pleteness to the social fabric by drawing us closely together. It is all a divine lesson of fraternal peace. It is the moral of Israels chosen tribes, dividing the land of the sdive and the vine, and dwelling each in its own possession, beneath the same smiling sky. Speculate as dreamers may, the law of essential and permanent diversity is the reliance of all solid civilization, and the security for all substantial government. But for the ne- cessity for internal commerce and social inter- change that it devolves on us, our country could have no title to grandeur. Imagine a United States North or South, Eastor West. Divide our terri- tory to lines of separation, and insulate each por- tion by itself, what sort of a picture would this be! What type could represent it! What symbol could the universe give to be stamped upon their shields, and emblazoned on their banners! If one flesh one bloodone spiritone lifecan not unite us together, it is madness to think that we can exist independently of one another. The wild beast has his solitary lair; the lion, his desert; the tiger, his jungle; but to us, endowed with a heavenly image, and anointed to live in the offices of true and trust- ful love, God has appointed the bounds of our habitation. The decree of His providence has ~gone forth, and it can not be evaded. If we dis- obey its precepts and defy its warnings, can we find another Protector and Defense? Can we sub- stitute commercial treaties and international agree- meats in the place of His law and order? Can we form a new Providence out of statesmanship, and put our science on the throne of the world? Sav- ages have their idolatries, and France, smitten with woes, rushed to the shrine of Hariotry.. But to us, no such refuge would remain. The slaugh- tering Demon, that mocks its eternal thirst in the blood of its victims, would seize us as outcasts from virtue and hope. The laws of industry and trade are usually as- signed to a distinct branch of political economy. But the progress of society tends to introduce them into a higher department of science. The moralist, the Christian philosopher, see that their workings evolve interests beyond themselves, and finally pen- etrate the very heart of national existence. To such meditations the history of our civilization summons us. Year after year, and generation af- ter generation, a disposing hand has been arranging the physical materials of our hemisphere into a compact system, and compelling them to subserve a general end. First of all, invention has come to its aid. A student of the best and quickest means, following nature wherever she indicates a new 118 HARPERs N~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. method, learning secrets from dynamic, chemical, kindliness hasthe sunshine quickened their growth, and magnetic forces, investigating the motions of and how tenderly has the encircling atmosphere winds and waves, toiling away from the haunts of hathed their foliage! But this is not all. Debt- men to open the spheres of art, and to repeat on an ors are we to Europe, hut debtors, in a still greater humble scale the instructi ye and dazzling wonders of sense, to our own hemisphere. Derived power has the universe, it has succeeded in improving almost created original power. The ministry of Nature every form of human power, anct strengthening the and Providence, of Government and Society, of relations of mind to matter. Invention has given Education and Religion, has here shaped itself to the cotton-gin to the South, the steamboat to the the sublime work. Our own agencies have been sea, the railroad to the remote West, the telegraph the most successful iii forming our character. None to the whole land. It has given his most effective of them have been giganticso much the better. implements to the fanner, the miner, and the man- None of theni have been glittering to the eye or ufacturer. A new anatomy of flesh and blood, it resplendent to the fancyso much the hetter. has created muscles to lift the rock from deep quar- They look like atoms, and yet they are worlds. ries, to transfer the forest to the ship-yard, to en- How small in compass, and insensible in opera- dew the steam-press with intelligence, and make tion, yet, on these same accounts, so much the its fingers move with the exactness of calculating more potent and divine! Bad we had Phidiases consciousness. And yet more wondrous in its skill, in Sculpture, Raphaels in Painting, Shakspeares it has imitated the nerves of animal life, spread a in Poetry, Handels hi Music, Bonapartes in Ac- fine net-work of wires over the country, and taught tion, our imagination might have grown intenser; it to move with every thought of the busy brain or our devotion to taste and beauty might have glow- quiver with the passions of the heart. Not with ed more warmly; and our piety, catching the im- the pride of Mammon do we contemplate these ages of curling vines, crested waves, and curving things. No; they utter another meaning. The skies, might have raised a magnificent architecture trne moral of one and all is, the beautiful parallel to the Infinite; but sure are we, that all these that they have instituted between our political and splendors would have deluded us from the homely social circumstances, and the mighty agency which toil to which we were appointed, and cheated us they have in perfecting the bonds of union estab- of our high and holy destiny. Not Art nor Lit- lished by Republicanism and Christianity. And let erature, not grand conceptions nor startling deeds, it be observed in the next place, that this system of have been our work; not these, our clear-spoken industry covers the entire ground of civilization, calling; but to other and fresher fields, where the Either directly or indirectly it meets all human ne- watchful angels of duty wear not their faces vailed cessities. If it yielded only food and clothing, and shadows mimic substance no longer, have our comfort and luxury, it might be resi~ned to an footsteps been directed. humble sphere in the economy of life. But who How, THEN, HAVE WE HEEN EDUCATaD? can limit it within such hounds? The wisdom that By the Land, groaning under the curse of early labor develops can not be confined to material pur- sin, yet groaning to be delivered. By the Ax, that suit, nor can the virtue which it inspires be ox- has felled forest, and then fashioned thom into hausted in its service. The glad hours of leisure; homes. By the Rifle, that has driven out the wild the charms of literature and social intercourse; the beasts, and made the wilderness habitable. By sanctity of the Sabbath and the purity of divine the Plow, piercing the soil, and laying bare the sod worship; home with its blessings, and heaven with to the sunshine long unknown. By the Machinery, its beatitudes; will all spread theit welcoming in- that has converted the flax and cotton of the plant- vitations before the intellect that has thus been ation into serviceable fabrics for mankind. By the trained by the presence of truth and goodness Quarry and the Mine; by the chemistry of the ia the works of nature and the institutions of seasons; by the grain harvest of the Summer and society, the ice harvest of the Winter. By the Banks of How, then, ikave we been educated? The wealth Newfoundland; by the Gulf Stream, that wander- of Europe did not give its capital, the mind of ing tropic of the sea; by the waters of the Pacific, Europe did not send forth its genius, the pride of where the hardy niariner takes the whale. By Europe did not contribute its gallant knighthood, Commerce on every ocean; by Trade with every to found an empire on these shores. And yet, its people. By the Common School and the College, richest treasures were gathered here. The stern dispensing knowledge and virtue to millions of monk, who recovered the Ark and its hallowed recipieiits. By tIme Press, that daily tongue, which deposit; the earnest Keplers and Gahileos, who speaks all languages, reports all transactions, and toiled among the stars, and opened thd paths of carries its swift eloquence into every corner of the science to their radiance; the Napiers, who put land. By tIme Pulpit, where the gospel of revels- figures to new uses, and the Bacons, who restored tion proclaims the message of Peace ass earth; facts to the service of philosophy; Milton with his good-will to man. And yet more. Call over the song, and Hampdea with his sword; Baxter with men who have caught the glimpses of the future, his prolific pen, and Bunyan with his gorgeous and told them in burning words. Call over the dream; all gave utterance to thoughts that were, splendid roll of those who have been wise in coun- destined to find a high and illustrious vocation sel, fearless in trust, rich in hope, bold in command, here. Crowniess princes they, and martyred, too, intrepid in deedmartyr-spirits, with or without to their own wisdom, but reappearing in a race the seal of fire. Thesea hallowed grouphave that should realize their fondest aspirations. The taught us. But not alone. Hidden from the pub- seed-thoughts that they scattered...what a genial lic eye, and sheltered within calm retreats, the mm- soil was ready here! And how many clouds, ni- istry of another priesthood has blessed us with the lug from distant seas, and floating on from remotest wisdom of love and purity. Gentle he the tone, skieshow many dews, that the night of adversity even as an audible breathing of the heart, and fer- has shaken from its chill airshave dropped their vent the gratitude that utters itTHE PRiESTHOOD moisture on the tender shoots! And with what OF WOMAN. EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 119 I N the national wail which has not yet died away, the thoughtful ear seems to hear a Rachel mourn- ing for her children. There are certain great and striking crises when men feel their direct brother- hood most strongly, and emancipate themselves from the conventional separation necessitated by society. Such crises are not only the terrible trag- edy, like that of the Arctic, but the universal shock of terror and sympathy among those who may be in no way related to any of the victims. How well we remember when the news of the safety of the Atlantic, three or four years since, arrived in the city. It was at evening, and the Extras, in a mo- ment, sowed the exciting news broadcast over the town. Men stopped each other in the streets, and told the glad tidings as of some great victory which had secgred peace and prosperity to the land. Crowds gathered under the lanterns, while some loud voice read out the happy news. People looked in at shops and up at windows, saying, The Atlantic is safe ! In the theatres the managers rushed upon the stage in the midst of the erformaiice, and an- nounced to the audience ~m~t every one was re- joiced to hear. For that evening men stood upon the ground of a common manhood, sure of individ- ual sympathy, in the universal joy. It was different the other day. The fate of the Arctic will be one of the dark spots in all our mem- ories. It is not alone terrible for the awful suffer- ing and sudden fate of all those human beings so full of life and hoPe in the moment of their ending; nor for the desolating reach of the blow into thou- sands of families, whose grief shall never be known nor suspected; not for the inevitable agonies of such a tragedy alone, is it terrible; hut for that deeper and more solemn mystery which it casts upon the ocean voyage. So common has it now become, so regularly thronged a highway is the sea, that its old terrors, the colossal fear which girded it like a horizon, warning the bravest mariners eway, had gradually been vailed, orhad receded into a remote conviction that science and skill had fully mastered its dangers. But at high noon a stout, swift steamer, one of the largest and strongest of vessels, is struck with so little shock, that the jar is scarcely perceived in the cabin, and long before sunset a few drifting spars, tossine upon the waves, are all the relics of that stately ship. Who can wonder that the pub- lie heart stood still? Who can doubt that secret founts of unsuspected pity gushed in hearts that were surprised by their own tenderness? Who does not know how at morning and in the night the thought of so terrible a thing stole into his mind, and touched his life with humility? Who can not well believe that, as a survivor reported, when the insatiate sea closed forever over the ruins of that bark of precious lives, a hollow sigh, a groan (from the steam and heat, perhaps, in the boilers) rose over the wreck, and mingled with the dying cry of human despair? One such event restores all the ancient terror to the sea, and compels every man who steps upon a ship to reflect upon the solemnity of his undertaking. It is not that accidents are not as common upon land, nor that the chances of life are at all para- lyzed by the water. But there is a sense of solitude, of separation, of necessity, upon the sea, which is never felt upon the land. Beyond the limits of your vessel there is little safety, and that vessel is but a chip in a maelstrom, when danger threatens. It is not strange that when a storm is rising men gather in the cabin, and, as the ship begins to heave and pitch in the billows, tell wild and start- ling stories of shipwreck. Afearful sympathy holds them to the theme. Like children telling ghost stories in a haunted house, every sound and move- ment gives only too fearful a reality to their words. But here was no storm, no long suspense, no fluctuating hope. Without doubt, it was only at the last moment that the passengers really sup- posed that the last moment had arrived. Sudden- ly, in the very flush of life, they were confronted with death; and let us believe that they met it calmly, nobly, trustfully, like men. For at suds times every man is apt to be a hero. If there is any latent nobility in his character, it is developed and takes the mastery. When some weak and effeminate Louis XVI. mounts the scaffold, his behavior is so beautiful that he will have the sympathy of the world forever. A Charles I. hears so serenely the noisy building ofhis scaffold, and stands upon it so gravely and patiently, that history is almost ready to wish the revolution un- fought. If such illustrious instances 6f the port of men not really great are so refreshing, even when they had every reason and occasion to seem heroic, whether they really were so or not, think of that solitary and lost multitude, that hecatomb of brave victims, sinking in the sea, without a cause to sup- port, without a party to applaud, with no muse to catch their names, with no future of renown and expiatory praise; yetfor who can doubt it who has seen similar and sudden crises ?calni, an(l sweet, and gentle, and lying down, with true hero- ism, in the remorseless and unylelaing sea. We can look at this great misfortune quietly from this distance of time. The daily papers have not failed to suggest scores of means of escape which did not occur to the victimswhich were, perhaps, not possible in the actual circumstances of the case. The captain, who was so providen- tially saved, was received by exulting crowds like a monarch returning triunisphant. Ill-judging en- thusiasm proposed a hundred things which a sail- ors good sense declined. At most he had done his duty. A thoughtful man is saddened to see that heroism and devotion to duty are considered worthy an especial ovation. A general who falls victori- ous at the head of his advancing army is held in long and sweet remembrance in his countrys heart. But his conduct is not considered to be a subject of compliment. Suppose he had fled? What a peal of disgust would have rung through the world! Every great accident at sea not only reminds us how grave and awful are the chances of the ocean but it puts those who are absent further away. So easy and pleasant had the Atlantic passage become, that Switzerland seemed qnite near enough for a summer ramble, and Rome for a winter visit. But now Switzerland and Italy are thrust into a deeper and more inaccessible distance, and all the friends who are traveling there seem much further aWay. In view of these colossal calamities one can well understand the timid mariners creeping along the shores of the Mediterranean, and dreading the open sea. That cloudy waste of waterthat race-course of the windsthat arena of tempestswhy should we tempt it, we who love the solid, green earth, and the limitations of the landscape? But since it must besince Death and sad dis- aster haunt the shore alsoit is foolish to indulge

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 119-129

EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 119 I N the national wail which has not yet died away, the thoughtful ear seems to hear a Rachel mourn- ing for her children. There are certain great and striking crises when men feel their direct brother- hood most strongly, and emancipate themselves from the conventional separation necessitated by society. Such crises are not only the terrible trag- edy, like that of the Arctic, but the universal shock of terror and sympathy among those who may be in no way related to any of the victims. How well we remember when the news of the safety of the Atlantic, three or four years since, arrived in the city. It was at evening, and the Extras, in a mo- ment, sowed the exciting news broadcast over the town. Men stopped each other in the streets, and told the glad tidings as of some great victory which had secgred peace and prosperity to the land. Crowds gathered under the lanterns, while some loud voice read out the happy news. People looked in at shops and up at windows, saying, The Atlantic is safe ! In the theatres the managers rushed upon the stage in the midst of the erformaiice, and an- nounced to the audience ~m~t every one was re- joiced to hear. For that evening men stood upon the ground of a common manhood, sure of individ- ual sympathy, in the universal joy. It was different the other day. The fate of the Arctic will be one of the dark spots in all our mem- ories. It is not alone terrible for the awful suffer- ing and sudden fate of all those human beings so full of life and hoPe in the moment of their ending; nor for the desolating reach of the blow into thou- sands of families, whose grief shall never be known nor suspected; not for the inevitable agonies of such a tragedy alone, is it terrible; hut for that deeper and more solemn mystery which it casts upon the ocean voyage. So common has it now become, so regularly thronged a highway is the sea, that its old terrors, the colossal fear which girded it like a horizon, warning the bravest mariners eway, had gradually been vailed, orhad receded into a remote conviction that science and skill had fully mastered its dangers. But at high noon a stout, swift steamer, one of the largest and strongest of vessels, is struck with so little shock, that the jar is scarcely perceived in the cabin, and long before sunset a few drifting spars, tossine upon the waves, are all the relics of that stately ship. Who can wonder that the pub- lie heart stood still? Who can doubt that secret founts of unsuspected pity gushed in hearts that were surprised by their own tenderness? Who does not know how at morning and in the night the thought of so terrible a thing stole into his mind, and touched his life with humility? Who can not well believe that, as a survivor reported, when the insatiate sea closed forever over the ruins of that bark of precious lives, a hollow sigh, a groan (from the steam and heat, perhaps, in the boilers) rose over the wreck, and mingled with the dying cry of human despair? One such event restores all the ancient terror to the sea, and compels every man who steps upon a ship to reflect upon the solemnity of his undertaking. It is not that accidents are not as common upon land, nor that the chances of life are at all para- lyzed by the water. But there is a sense of solitude, of separation, of necessity, upon the sea, which is never felt upon the land. Beyond the limits of your vessel there is little safety, and that vessel is but a chip in a maelstrom, when danger threatens. It is not strange that when a storm is rising men gather in the cabin, and, as the ship begins to heave and pitch in the billows, tell wild and start- ling stories of shipwreck. Afearful sympathy holds them to the theme. Like children telling ghost stories in a haunted house, every sound and move- ment gives only too fearful a reality to their words. But here was no storm, no long suspense, no fluctuating hope. Without doubt, it was only at the last moment that the passengers really sup- posed that the last moment had arrived. Sudden- ly, in the very flush of life, they were confronted with death; and let us believe that they met it calmly, nobly, trustfully, like men. For at suds times every man is apt to be a hero. If there is any latent nobility in his character, it is developed and takes the mastery. When some weak and effeminate Louis XVI. mounts the scaffold, his behavior is so beautiful that he will have the sympathy of the world forever. A Charles I. hears so serenely the noisy building ofhis scaffold, and stands upon it so gravely and patiently, that history is almost ready to wish the revolution un- fought. If such illustrious instances 6f the port of men not really great are so refreshing, even when they had every reason and occasion to seem heroic, whether they really were so or not, think of that solitary and lost multitude, that hecatomb of brave victims, sinking in the sea, without a cause to sup- port, without a party to applaud, with no muse to catch their names, with no future of renown and expiatory praise; yetfor who can doubt it who has seen similar and sudden crises ?calni, an(l sweet, and gentle, and lying down, with true hero- ism, in the remorseless and unylelaing sea. We can look at this great misfortune quietly from this distance of time. The daily papers have not failed to suggest scores of means of escape which did not occur to the victimswhich were, perhaps, not possible in the actual circumstances of the case. The captain, who was so providen- tially saved, was received by exulting crowds like a monarch returning triunisphant. Ill-judging en- thusiasm proposed a hundred things which a sail- ors good sense declined. At most he had done his duty. A thoughtful man is saddened to see that heroism and devotion to duty are considered worthy an especial ovation. A general who falls victori- ous at the head of his advancing army is held in long and sweet remembrance in his countrys heart. But his conduct is not considered to be a subject of compliment. Suppose he had fled? What a peal of disgust would have rung through the world! Every great accident at sea not only reminds us how grave and awful are the chances of the ocean but it puts those who are absent further away. So easy and pleasant had the Atlantic passage become, that Switzerland seemed qnite near enough for a summer ramble, and Rome for a winter visit. But now Switzerland and Italy are thrust into a deeper and more inaccessible distance, and all the friends who are traveling there seem much further aWay. In view of these colossal calamities one can well understand the timid mariners creeping along the shores of the Mediterranean, and dreading the open sea. That cloudy waste of waterthat race-course of the windsthat arena of tempestswhy should we tempt it, we who love the solid, green earth, and the limitations of the landscape? But since it must besince Death and sad dis- aster haunt the shore alsoit is foolish to indulge 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. any extravagant apprehension, or to suppose the sea less safe because the Arctic is lost. It is wiser to consider that speed is not safetythat it is bet- ter to arrive in New York a day later than not to arrive at all, but to perish hopelessly at the very portals of home. It is wiser to remember that there may be guilt where no crime is intended that there are things too precious to be bought by any kind of outward successthat it is better to keep three hundred passengers three months upon the ocean, rather than that the family of one should suffer unavailingly over his unnecessary loss. There are wiser things to do, when great catastrophes oc- cur, than returning thanks to officials, and excul- pating men in authority. Let us bethink ourselves that human life is costly and dear in many senses, and that each man in society is, to a certain degree, responsible for every other. The moral of every event seems to be charity. For those who have escaped the terrible tragedy of the Arctic, there is sympathy and consideration. For those who have perished, the most tender and regretful remem- brance of the many, and the life-long sorrow of the few. But how deeply we shall all be guilty if such events occur again! This was not an un- avoidable accident. Two ships, upon a part of the ocean where ships are thickest, are sailing at a rapid rate in a fog so dense that they can not be per- ceived until they strike. The echo of that col- lision is the wild wail of broken hearts, much more than the death-cry of the sufferers. Shall it have no other echo, no other influence? Shall it be that our wives, and children, and friends are to be ex- posed to a recklessness which is not excusable be- cause it is the custom? Or are we all so little in- terested in the true well-being of society, that we will submit to these fearful possibilities without an effort? We are glad that from our Easy Chair we can prolon~ the thoughtfulness into which this event has plunged the public mind. And you, good friend, whose eye falls here, what can ~sou do to help or to avert such things? Do not wait until the bitter moment of doubt, struggle, and despair, when you ask yourself the question, Why did I not feel that it was my business ? Whatever tends to cheapen human life, is the serious business of every man. SINCE the sudden demise of the Art Union there has been less attention called to pictures and paint- ers. In truth Art finds America an ungenial soil. There are plenty of earnest and devoted men en- gaged in painting; but the studios are not neces- sary places of resort as in Europe. When stran- gersas in the autumnthrong the city, they do not inquire for the pictures hanging upon the walls of the painters as they do for the theatre and the opera. The Earl of Ellesmere did diflisrently. He did, as all cultivated gentlemen in Europe do, he remembered that the intellectual and ~sthetic con- dition of a civilization is to be seen and studied in its art, and he naturally sought the studios. We have formerly mentioned that he commissioned several pictures here, from Kensett, Church, and otherssome of which have arrived, and adorn the Bridgewater Gallery in London. But although the private studios are not much frequented, there are not wanting public opportu- nities of seeing and enjoying fine works of art; and, indeed, the course of the empire of Art seems to be tending slowly westward. We have had the most illustrious of contemporary singers, and instru- mental virtuosos-Paul Delaroches Napoleon has found his way here; Landseer is desirous that America should see his dogs and deer; and the finest picture of the chief school of Germany, Leutzes Washington at Monmouth, is a perma- nent possession here. We can not but consider the presence of such works public advantages. The enjoyment of the great things of Art is a itiat-. ter of cultivation; and it is pleasant to go to school to such masters as the best contemporary English- men, Germans, and Frenchmen. Washington at Moamoutk is in many respects the most important and interesting picture we have ever seen in this country. It is a work of univer- sal interest, because we can not escape the com- manding charm of every thing that represents great events in the life of our great hero. That Mr. Leutze should have selected this especial subject, shows not only a fine perception of the historical picturesque, but a bold confidence in his ability to present, and in the public patience to tolerate, a moment in the career of Washington entirely dif- ferent from any other, and totally at variance with the general estimate of his character. The placid, wigged, and knee-breeched gentle- man, with a sword at his side and books and papers upon a neighboring table, whom we are accustomed to recognize as the Father of his countryor in- deed the grave and beneficent historical image of the hero, the Roman fortitude, the incorruptible in- tegrity, the severe simplicity, the punctilious po- litenessall the points and principles which com- bine to make up an idea of the model man of the century and of history, are not in every respect corroborated by personal tradition. It seems to be well authenticated that he was a man of very hasty temper, although he held it firmly under control. But not so much so, it appears, that it did not sometimes break out and master him. Lately we have heard an anecdote illustrative of this fact. When Stuart was painting Washing- tons portrait, he was rallied ene day by the Gen- eral for his slow work. The painter protested that the ~dcture could not advance until the canvas was dry, and that there must be yet. some delay. Upon arriving the next morning, Stuart turned his can- vas and discovered, to his great horror, that the picture was spoiled. General, said he, somebody has held this picture to the fire. Washington summoned his negro valet, Sam, and demanded of him, in great indiguation, who had dared to touch the portrait. The trembling Sam replied, that, chancing to overhear Washing- tons expression of impatience at the slowness of the work, and the response of the artist that it must be dry before he could go on, he had ven- tured to put the canvas before the fire. Washing- ton, with great anger, dismissed him, and told him not to show his face again. But the next day, after Stuart had arrived and was preparing to work, Washington rang the bell, and sent for Sam. He came in abashed and trem- bling. The President drew a new silver watch from his pocket, and said: Come here, Sam~ Take this watch, and when- ever you look at it, remember that your master, in a moment of passion, said to you what he now re- grets, and that he was not ashamed to confess that he had done so. Many similar anecdotes live in tradition. But EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 121 the one great instancewhich may be called the historical instanceof his expression of vielent passion, was that of the battle of Monmouth,,when General Lee, leading his troops in full retreat, was met by Washington, who, totally unable to control himself called Lee fiercely to account, even swore at him, and then repelled, by the energy of his ewn example, appealing to the shame of the army, the hasty and disorderly retreat. The artist has shown great discrimination in seleeting a subject where Wasriington, being in full action, was, at the same moment, strictly within universal human sympathy. We can all under- stand the hearty indignation of a hero at cowardice, and the irrepressible contempt of a brave leader for a subordinate who retires without reason. The picture is so fine, and so well worth seeing by those of our friends who come to the city from a dis- tance, that we will try to give them some idea of it. Every picture should tell its own storyan axiom which implies certain conditions. A pic- ture of the Crucifixion tells its story only to those who know the Christian history. To any other observer it is only a man in agony. So with a historical picture, the men and the circumstances must be known, or the picture has no meaning. Thus in Horace Vernets great picture at Versailles, the spectator who recognizes the French soldiers, perceives instantly that it is a modern French bat- tle in Algiers; and if he is familiar with the his- tory, he will easily determine what battle it is. In like manner a student of American history, which we all are, confronted with this picture of Leutzes, and knowing it to be what it is, an incident in the life of Washin~ton, responds~ at a glance, Washing- ton at Monracaith. This is its first great success. ft is unmistakable. It tells its story. The battle of Monmouth was fought upon a burning midsummer day. It was supposed that as many died from heat as from the chance of battle. Washington had sent forward nn advance-guard with General Lee, his second in command. The oommand had at first been given to Lafayette, for Lee was so much opposed to the battle that he did not care to take part in it. ,Bnt finding Washing- ton resolved, he claimed his position. He had gone on to meet the enemy and commence the en- gagement, while Washin,,ton came up with the main army. The attack was made near Monmouth court-house. There was confusion but great brav- ery upon the American side, until, perplexed and uncertain, General Lee ordered a retreat at the wrong moment. The militia immediately com- menced crossing a morass which lay between them and the main body, which was advancing under Washington. Suddenly he perceived the tumult- uous approach of the militia, swarming in wild con- fusion across the swamp. Perceiving in a mo- ment the moral influence upon the main body of such a reckless retreat of the advance-guardfore- seeing the panic and flight, and the consequent in- calculable detriment to the Continental cause, he buried his spurs in his horses flanks, and. dashed on the full run across the morass straight toward the hurrying and disorderly mass. The heat was unspeakable; the sand rolled in cloudsthe m~ilitia were fainting and falling overpowered at every step. General Lee was riding in front of the col- umn, and Washington rode directly at him. He called him to account in the severest manner flung at him an oath of contempt; biet perceiving that the immediate evil to be obviated was the re- treat itself, he swept on into the midst of the mi- litia, and with the impetuous energy of rage, and the conviction of an imminent danger to the great cause impending, he succeeded in stemming the re- treat. The wilted soldiers revived at the sight of their General, and recoiled before his scornful re- buke. He inspired them with his own conscious- ness of a disgrace hanging over them, and a vital misfortune threatening the cause. They rallied, took heart, and advanced again. The day was won; Washington was justified, and Lee forever disgraced. Here are all the elements of a fine historical pic- ture, and the artist who so clearly saw, has known equally wall how to use them. The picture is about as large as the Washissgtoa crossing the Delaware. It is crowded with figures and full of action, but there is not the slightest confusion. The eye is at once master of the scene. The centre of the foreground is a pool in the marsh, fringed with long grass and reeds. A dog is plung- ing in and lapping the water. In the left fore- ground come in the hurrying militia. One youth, death-stricken, and with glazed eyes, reaches feebly forward toward the pool. lie clings to a rough backwoodsman, who supports his dying son, and looks absorbingly at Washington. Behind them is the multitude thronging through the swamp, and streaming across the picture from the left corner of the foreground to the upper. right corner of the background. One of the finest figures in the left is a youth, evidently a gentleman, who, abashed by the eagle eye of the chief, and reproved by his own shame, stands leaniag back up9n the crowd, with both arms outstretched to restrain their flight, and half glancing from under his brows at the indig- nant face he dare not fully front. Behind him the great mass pushes on. Washington occupies the centre of the picture. His horse springs at full gallop over the edge of the pool toward the left foreground. His riders left hand curbs him, and his right is stretched straight up in the air brandishing his sword, in the furious conflict of his feelings, to wave backward the retreat. This action gives a breadth to his movement. It makes his intention more manifest. It multiplies and enlar~es his presence. It is simple, instinctive, natural, and not in the least melodramatic. The face of Washington is that of a man violently excited by anger. It is hardly recognizable as the Washington of the usual por- traits. But there is a fine scorn in the mouth, and an eagerness of defiance against the retreat, which fill the face with expression. The figure, for some reason, perhaps faulty drawing, and perhaps the long lappels of the waistcoat would necessarily produce such an effect, seems too solid and short for Washington. His action is not directed to an individual, but to the whole retreating mass. This has been noticed as a fault. It was contended that the proper historic moment was the rebuke to Lee, who caused the retreat. And that therefore the movement of Washington should have been di- rected to Lee. But clearly the great point is the retreat itself, not its leader; and Washingtons great act is stemming the retreat, not cursing the chief who allowed it. Perfect justice is done to this claim. The scornful wrath at the inconstant General yet lingers upon the lips which curi with a larger and 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. impersonal indignation at the flying army. Gen- eral Lee sits upon a white horse in the middle distance, just before Washington. His head sinks sullenly. his eyes have the dull sulkiness of a snake. His whole mien indicates a man utterly abashed and ashamed, with a consciousness of guilt. He is withdrawn into the middle distance by design, for he is only in the middle distance of interest. Washington transfixes him with con- tempt, and instantly waving him aside, sweeps around to his task. Lafayette and Hamilton press on immediately be- hind Washington. The bland, courteous, hut formal and far from forcible face of Lafayette, is strained toward the retreating columns and General Lee. Hamiltons small, concentrated, and intense face, (irawn in so as to throw the brow forward, is as full of thought as Lafayettes of curiosity. These two heads are finely contrasted. In the right fore- ground is another carefully-considered group. A drummer boy recoils from the heels of Wash- ingtons horse. A farmer youth, with his musket resting upon his shoulder, waves his hat enthusi- astically, greeting his chief. Another youth, just wounded, falls back in mortal agony, supported by a grave older man, while a comrade stoops over the pool and dips water for his dying friend. The central background of the picture is a knoll or little hill, upon the top of which a company of tl~ing artillery is just wheeling into play. The brisk action of the horses and soldiers in this group carry on completely the movement of the picture, and impress the spectator with the conviction that the battle is still going on. On the extreme rinht background stand the main body of the Continen- tal troops. In the extreme left the English regu- lars or Hessians are showing themselves upon the edge of a wood. The faults that strike us in this work, and we are by no means sure that longer study would not remove them, are an appearance of flatness in the figures of the middle distance, a want of round flesh-and-blood outline; and too cold an atmos- phere. The distance has a bluish, thin look, more autumnal than the fervor of midsummer. But, for the rest, it is a stirring, spirited work, without any thing too fine or over-wrought, no- thing finical, or symbolical in a small way. The scene was simple, the emotions were stron~, and simple and strong the painter has made them. If it be asked what great moral or intellectual sig- nificance has such a picture, we must remember be- fore we reply, that every work representing a strictly historical event, a mere circumstance, is great by the magnitude of the results that depend upon the single action represented. The pictures of martyrdoms, as for instance that of Iluss, can not represent any result; they can only deal with the circumstance of a moment. The grandeur which invests in imagination liubenss Descent frons Ike Cross, and the same picture of Daniele do Vol- terra, lies in the solemn remembrance of the mind which regards it of the sublime significance of the words It is finished. The picture shows a corpse taken from a cross, hy careful hands, while weeping friends are near. But great pictures are paiisted for my minds eye, Horatio. In the same way this picture represents the mo- ment in which the battle of Monmouth was won. It is Monmouth victory in its last analysis. For when the retreat was stopped, the triumph was made pos- sible. The artist has seized the most pregnant mo ment of the occasion: there was scarcely one more so in the whole war. We are glad that we can so heartily admire this work, and we have the more pleasure in expressing our admiration, because we know how prone we sitters in Easy Chairs are to find fault, and show our smartness in following small scents. Peccevi- mus! What sitter in an Easy Chair does not plead guilty to the charge? There is a sad dispropor- tion in our fault-finding. Why can we not main- tain some kind of relation between ourselves and our judgments? To see that a thing might bedif- ferent, is not necessarily to see that it might he bet- ter. And in matters where the canons are still so undetermined as those of Art, why so furious to in- sist upon your taste and your convictions as the final criterion? For ourselves, we are convinced that when men pass the grand climacteric, and sit down in Easy Chairs to survey life and the world, they can not find so soft a cushion a~ charity. It is pleasanter to love than to hate pleasanter to praise than to condemn. And if we come to criticism, are there not enough who assert that one leg of the Apollo is longer than the other that the children of the Laocoon are little old menthat the Venus de Medici is a plump nymph that the Transflgnration is two picturesthat the Last Judgment is unchristianthat IJomenichino is a dauber, and Claude a botcher, and Perugino wooden? Yet who shall conceive the delicate min- istry to human happiness of all the lovely pictures and the noble statues? There are imperfect roses whose scent breathes all the summer back, nor would they do more were every petal fresh. He is much to be pitied whose regret at the imperfect leaf prevents his enjoyment of the perfect odor. AT last Lady Franklins long watchings are over. The secret so long locked up in frozen seas escapes. The dream of an upper ocean, calm and open, sup- plied with food and flowing around the pole, dis- solves. The adventurers among the icy ribs of the earth return; only a few ships remain among the icy wastes. But stranded forever and ever upon a desert more dreadful than that of the tropics, the hones of brave men bleach In the cold gloom of eternal winter. The Northwest Passage is discovered and Sir John Franklin is dead. We have all read those early hooks. We have all hung enchanted upon Captain Franklins story and Captain Parrys. To our young imagination they were hardly less myth- ical than Ajax and Achilles. Who of s~s supposed that, after the fervor of youthful fancy had declined, he should read in the cold columns of newspapers that the heroic voyager had died at what we may well call his post? It seems a life wasted; a hitter sacrifice to a use- less curiosity. At best, what could have come of it? Now that it is known who is the better for it? The problem is solved. Men and money, brave men, in a world where heroes are rare, have been sacrificed in the solution. But there is another view to which we have once alluded. Human he- roism grappled with a problem, the solution of which increased the store of human knowledge. Is it not fine that it did not let go? Is it not noble that ~an could not be finally conquered by cold, nor ice, nor desolation; but wrested from the lonely pole its secret, and scorned the danger of the effort? In this moment, while none but clmrls can harshly speak of Franklin, we can point to this as the result EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 123 of all Arctic adventure, that it is another proof of the untiring persistance of human heroism. It was not merely Quixotic. Nobody supposed we should get tea and sugar sooner. But here was something in geography that we did not knowand every thing is worth discovering. Every body is more a man for Franklin, and MClure, and Kane. For the same reason that mans inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn, does each brave aim of every man touch every other man with pride and pleasure. Arctic exploration is now, undoubtedly, forever over; but it is not enough, nor does it tell the whole story, to call it foolhardy. Respectable men, in warm coats and comfortable offices, draw their div- idends, put on their India-rubbers, and go safely home to bed. They take the evening paper with their tea or their wine, and read of Franklins fate. In eight of such men out of ten the chief feeling is a kind of contemptuous pity that any man should go on such a fools errand. And yetfor here is the moralthe spectacle of heroism displayed in one such career as that of Franklin, is worth more to mankind at largenot to his family, who want the dividendsthan the life of our friend in the warm coat multiplied by a hundred. Our American explorer, Dr. Kane, is the only one who now remains aniong the primeval ice. He is followed by the hopes of two nations, and by the respect of the world. We owe to him, in his Grin- nell Expedit , the clearest account of the grim realities of the Pole. May he return to us sue~ess- ful and well. He will not, indeed, bring news of Sir John Franklin, as he hoped; but let him bring himself; fresh from his manly endeavor, and we shall all be gainers by the return we hail. WE have had our Chair wheeled up to the new Opera-House, and although all our friends who happen in of a morning have seen it, there will be many with whom we converse, who have not seen it, and who will be glad to hear of it. It is very large, very heavy, perhaps clumsy, very brilliant, and, in general effect, despite the quarrel with details, very festal and handsome. Compared with any foreign opera-house, it is ex- tremely gay. The sagacious complain that the heavy columns intercept too much view of the stage; and there is some truth in the complaint, for from the boxes at the hack of the second tier, the eye falls down a precipice of seats, and dodging about the massive columns, catches glimpses of the singers. The shape of the house is unpardonable. Nothing can excnse an architect for building a house, designed as an auditorium for certain spec- tacles upon a stage, in such a manner that,, from many parts of the house the stage is not visible. It is the same. kind of mistake as if he were to build a dwelling-house, and have the ceilings of the rooms so low that he could not stand in them. It is mere stupidity. The house is very high, and the steep pitch of every tier toward the front displays the audience to the most brilliant advantage. It is much super- ior to all foreign theatres in this respect. The boxes of the Italian opera- houses are literally boxes. They are entirely separated from the ad- joining boxes, so that each is a room by itself. This is a charming social arrangement, because a party can talk and laugh without disturbing others. But it destroys the effect of what is called the house. On the other hand, it offers a gallery of single pictures, for a beautiful woman, beautifully dressed, and sitting in the front of such a box, re- lieved by the dark background, tells more to the eye than a mass of fine toilets. These things are to be considered in the case of every opera-house, for the opera is a social institu- tion as well as a matter Qf Airt. One great defect in our new house, and it will undoubtedly prove a bar to its perfect success, is the difficulty of access to the various parts of the house. The seats are so closely packed, and the passages so few, that where you sit you must remain, or put afi your neighbors to the greatest inconvenience. Originally there was no passage down the centre of the parquette. There was an unbroken line of fifty seats, and if you chanced to have taken the middle seat, you were compelled to disturb twenty-four persons be- fore you could reach it. Such parsimonious and mean mistakes as thisthis desperate American effort to blend elegance and economy, incline the spectator to a harsh judgment of the whole. In a house of the scope, and splendor, and intention which this has, there should have been the utmost facility offered for moving about, and in every way the social convenience should have been considered. We will only distantly allude to the seats that fly at a mans coat skirts like Cerberus. With all these complaints, and with~ill allow- ance for the satire upon gingerbread, and pa- pier-mache, and gilt, it can not be denied that the whole effect of the new house is spacious, fes- tive, and elegant. And when, as in Semiramide, there are carefully-considered costumes, and well.- painted scenery, and a stage covered with a crowd of priests, soldiers, and people, the spectacle is more superb than any thing we have ever seen in the country. We take the first night of Semirameulc to have been the most brilliant opera evening in America. For some reason the audience is not enthusiastic. Grisi is received coldly, and many of her grandest points fall unacknowledged, if not unrecognized. I expected to find them cold, she is reported to have said but I find them icy. Perhaps it is the splendor of the place which restrains the ap- plause, or is it that there is some disappointment with the singers? It should have been remembered that we had heard the best of the time. Jenny Lind, Alboni, and Sontag, had all sung to us; and the moderate success of the latter should have taught the friends of Grisi that her triumph was not entirely secure. There are comparisons drawn doubtless between her voice and Jenny Linds and Albonis. It is remembered that Alboni sang quietly at the Broad- way and at Niblos, without any flourish, and with no imitation of a former excitement. It is not forgotten that we heard the delicious vocalization of Sonta,, at Niblos for a long season. To surpass these, and to fill with enthusiasm an immense house at an immense price, demanded something more than Grisi, fine as she yet is, and Mario, although now in his prime. The result shows that this is so. There was a Jenny Lind party, a Son- tag party, an Alborli party; but where is the Grisi party? She has created no enthusiasm, she has not crowded her houses, she has not borne us away with ferore; and yet she lies sung as only Grisi can now sing. She has been the N a that only Grisi can be. She has been Seieiram , with Assy- rice grandeur; and Lecrezie, with Venetian splen- dor. In her and Mario, and Susini, we have had 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. an opera troupe with which no other ever among us is to be named, and there has been really less demonstration of pleasure than in the days of Benedetti and Truffi. They have sung to us in a house remarkable for its exquisite power of trans- mitting the airiest sounda house which for size and effect is among the best in the world, and our hearts have pined for Astor Place and the departed delights of song. We can not but feel that if these singers go to die South they will find their laurels blooming again, and learn that even on this side of the sea there can be the warmest appreciation of what is lest in its kind. The ardor of sympathy which they sought here in vain will there enclose them like a warm atmosphere, and secure them the con- fidence which conquers success. Even here, as the cold winter settles gloomily around our Chair, we can hear in fancy the warm shouts and prolonged murmur with which our more susceptible and im- lietuous Southern neighbors express their delight. The theatre is thronged hy the lovely, languid Creole beauties. A Spanish splendor lightens the boxes. There are flowers, lights, perfumes; a gay and graceful company, to whom the opera is dear, who love music asapart of life. The curtain rises, and as the house hushes and the warm scented air breathes 4n upon the Druidess, she moves to the front with a more majestic step; she culls the herbs with a more melancholy grace, and as she raises her voice to caste Dive, there is a trembling ten- derness in its sweetnessfor in thought she is across the ocean, in thought she renews her early and unquestioned triumphs; twenty years melt from her mind, from her eye, from her voice, and, touched by the warm magic of the South, the priestess dreams she is in Paris, and forgets forever the boreal climate of Irving Place. OUR FOREIGN GOSSIP. WE seize our gossip as we can; sometimes sift- ing the journals, and coaxing from them enough of dainty paragraphs to furbish into record; and again, availing ourselves of some kindly oh- server, who tells us, letterwise, what has ruled the European tongue and thought. To such an observer, who has spent the season past in Conti- nental rambles, we are indebted now; and we give up our pages to his careless but good-natured pen, which thus epitomizes the European summer and autumn: Mv DEAR H., You thought that, in these war times, I should have a dull summer in Europe; that people would wear gloomy faces and keep themselves within doors; that the hotels would be empty, and the roads untraveled. You never were more mistaken ia your life. First of all, our own countrymen have been swarming, not only in the cities, but at the springs, and by Lake Geneva, and in the Py- renees; and even in my way, by crazy diligence from Florence to Mantun, there were two lean men, in black dress-coats, from some court township of Illinois, who chewed tobacco, and wore satin waist- coats! I wish I had come to Europe in those old days when the voyage made a mans reputation at home, and he was looked up to always after as a kind of Nester, who knew all about pictures and archi- tecture, and delivered opinions, ex cathedra, which were quoted, and regarded as authority. I re- member meeting with a prim single lady of this stamp when I was a lad, who was the wonder of a large neighborhood, and who at every evening party told a story of having been robbed by brig- ands, and of going up to the Montanvert under circumstances of danger from precipices and ava- lancheswhich made her a heroine. How I envied that woman! There is no hope now of any thing of the sort; or if there were, ten chances to one your next door neighbor, who is a clergyman, and has traveled for the bronchitis, can correct your statements, and draw oft half the wonder upon himself. Even the milliner women are beginning to come over to buy their ribbons, and to get a fall style of hats. Paris is not so much as New York or Philadelphia used to be in the old days; and the tailors in the metropolitan city of the French will give you his prices in dollars-American currency. In fact the man who can not talk about Baden, and Aix-la-Chapelle, and Hombourg, nowadays, currently, can make no pretensions to mode what- ever. I can remember the time (you know the years dont fail me) when a man was pointed out of by-standers, at evening gatherings and other- wheres, as one who had traveled abroad. Who thinks of such szieiserie now? Who can win repu- tatio~i by a European tourleast of all, if lie for- gets himself so far as to plume himself upon it; or (still worse) to print the story of it? Mrs. Stowes was, indeed, an exceptional mat- ter; and people had to learn how the maker of the Uncle Tom story was f~ted, and how the eyes which had seen such fearful things across the Ohio river, at Cincinnati, would look at the Duke of Sutherlands castaway tenantry. And this reminds meof what you have pos- sibly seenthat some good British democrat stout- ly denies all which the authoress says of the good management of the Sutherland estates, and appeals to personal observation as proof against the good report which Mrs. Stowe received from the town- factor of the Duke. At all events, it would have been more satis- factory if the good woman in the courls had in- dulged in a little inquisitive chat with the Scottish cottagers themselves, instead of receiviag all her information under the rose-colored lights of the Sutherland Palace in London. There is enough of evil with us to be sure; but., God knows, its not all the evil in the world. For the novelty of the thing, I have myself broken barley bread with stout Lancashire reap- ers, who told me a deal of hardnesses received, and labors unrequited. And as for the English miner0 their woes are crying over the world. But I began to talk of travel, and the war. One thought that money would be sparingly spent, and, that the tokens of luxury and of extravagance would grow rarer; but the signs are quite other- wise; and railway carriages and Continental inns were never so thronged as during the season whose last leaves are now whistling in the November winds. What think you of a night passed in the diligence, for want of quarters, even in so well- conducted a town as that of Geneva? Yet so it wasnot a chamber was to he found far or near; and for a fee, the Swiss conductor left me snuggled in the corner of the coup6 which brought me from Berne. At Vevay it was nearly as had; and the great inn by the lake was turned almost into an American barrack. And let me tell you that the quarters one falls into thereabout have very much EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 125 to do with the enjoyment of the scenery. You will scarce believe it when I tell you, that only one hotel in the whole town of Vevay has a good look upon the water and the mountains; and that, failing of lodgings here, you are condemned to some dingy quarter, whence you look on courts begrimined with mud, with only women in sabots to entertain your eye, and the chase of myriad fleas to entertain your thought. Such was my bitter experience on as bright a Sunday as ever broke upon the lake of Lemanor rather would have been, if I had not resolutely shaken the dust of the town from my shoes, and coquetted with the morning in the pleasant orch- ards which lie between Vevay and Montreux. You have seen the spire of Montreux, in any chance view you may have had under your eye of Chillon and the upper end of the Geneva lake. It seems to sentinel the road which borders the water; but in reality it stands two hundred feet or more above it, upon a ledge of the west mountains, all fringed with green walnut trees, and here and there an aspiring poplar. From its inclosing yard you look down on sloping vineyards and gardens, edged by the white ribbon of road which skirts the lake, and winds on by Chillon, and Villeneuve, and Aix, throu,h the sombre upper valley of the Rhine. There are sermons out of doors in Switzerland; as, indeed, I think there are every where e~e where mountains are high, and water glancing in their shadows. Mont Blanc was my preacher that morn- ing; his pulpit was the other side of the lake; his head was white as snow, and stood out boldly against the blue of the church ceiling, which was arched over in the form of a dome, and a few clouds of incense were floating below. A company of church elders, in the shape of Savoyard mountains, very much battered with years, and with faces seamed over, and shaggy eyebrows sprinkled with white, supported the preacher, and filled up the east end of the church. There was a baptismal font between them and myself, which caught a rich blue reflection from the ceiling of the church, and mirrored the hoary head of the preacher. The people of twenty towns thereabout, lyin~ along the sides of the hills above Vevay, attended church with me; anda few steeple bells ringing together made a solemn chorus for the service. It lasted until the incense-bearers closed the doors on the Savoyard elders, and on the stately preacher. But a bright gleam of sunshine in the west announced that the service would be repeated the next day. Indeed, a worshipful man may find perpetual serv- ice among those valleys which divide the Alps. That very night which curtained the Sabbath cere- mony I just now told you of, gave me the hearing of a great psalm-gust, the like of which belongs to no cathedral choir, and no organ loft but Natures. I was upon the heights of the Dent de Jaman, which, like a jagged tooth, is rooted in the mount- ains that hang over the northwest skirt of Leman. It is not so high but that the turf grows green to within a hundred feet of its summit; then a bold cliff rises, with le& es for trailin,, wild flowers, that fling out odors only to the birds who live in the tops of the fir-trees. I had gone up the path which winds thither late in the day; and the villagers who have their hamlets nearest told me it was too late to cross the mountain, and that darkness would overtake me in the wild pastura~e slopes. So I found a home for the night in a little chalet, which was one of VOL. X.No. 55.I perhaps half a score that stood perched on a pla- teau of green upon a shoulder of the mountain, two thousand feet above the lake, in whose edge the great chateau of Chillon hung floating like a paint- ed toy. The good woman of the chalet stewed me a slice from the haunch of smoked mutton that hung to the rafters of her house, while I sat under the walnut trees, listening to the tinkle of the bells upon the necks of browsihg goats, and looking across upon the gaunt Savoyard mountains, half hidden by cloud patches, and blotched here and there with reflections of the red sunset. They told me as evening darkened, and I had finished my supper of mutton, that a storm was coming, though from what quarter I could not tell. Those mountain people see signs in straws; and they promised me a wet foot-way on the morrow, though it seemed to me that the clouds grouped lazily over the heights as if no frolic was in them. A burst of thunder woke me at ten; but I dropped asleep again, and may have remained in my doze for two hours, when there was a rattling of my chamber-door, and my hostess came, in a loose undress, and screaming to me to get up a1~ once, as the chalet was in terrible danger, rushed out of the room as hastily as she had entered. There was no light for me but the fearful gleam of the lightning, which lit up the narrow slopes of the hills, and shone by streams oa the distant snow- mountains of Savoy. Blaze and thunder came to- gether in dazzling crashes; and the clouds seemed breaking on the very tree-tops. I hurried on my clothes, and went out upon a little balcony of the chalet, which was partially pro- tected by the broad-eaved roof. Below, and not ten yards from the house, was a fierce torrent raging every moment nearer and nearer, and bringing down rocks, and broken trees, and d6bris of har- vests from the highlands above. The evening before there had been not even a brook where ~ river was now foaming over the bed 6f the mount- ain pathway. As the blazes of lightning flamed in the sky, I could see the wretched villagers grouped upon the knolls, on either side of the fierce torrent, watching its progress, or making suck fee-- ble barricades as they could to divert it from their homes. Upon the nearer side there were only my host- ess and two brown-faced herdsmen. The poor wo- man stood wringing her hands, and crying out to the neighbors to save her home. But the bravest of those who were looking on would not have dared to cross the torrent; or could they have come over, little could have been done for the protectionof the chalet. A green knoll, which was fast washing away by the force of the water, still diverted the current from the foundatkm walls of the chalet. The barrier might hold out an hour longer.; if it went wholly, there was no hope for the chalet in which I had taken up my night quarters. To add to the poor womans distress, her hus- band was with his flock upon a higher slope of the mountains, where the storm seemed even fiercer.. The neighbors had seen the bodies of sheep and goats go floating down in the wreck of the torrent. The poor herdsman himself might be in danger. From time to time, moreover, there was heard the crash of trees and of timbers from below, telling dreadful stories of wrecked chalets further down. I shall never forget the grouping of the peasants, men, women, and children, upon the other side of 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this storm-torrent, shouting and running here and there, as the gleams of lightning played over the frightened crowd. Beyond, too, and beyond the trees which glittered in the blaze and the wet, I could see the heights of the snow-mountains upon the other side of the Lake of Geneva, shining for a moment, as they shine by day, and then buried in the rain and the night. The lake itself, too, caught pale gleams of lightning, and showed a surface foaming with the storm. With myMackintosh thrown overmy shoulders, and my felt hat dripping streams, I passed an hour looking on anxiously as the rest. After this the storm happily abated its force. The torrent grew less angry in its flow; the chalet of my hostess was out of danger. I left the mountain people grap- pling with the timbers which still came down with the current; and, to the lullaby of thunder echoing still among the mountains, and dying away in hoarse murmurs on the lake below, I fell asleep once more. And this was the mountain-psalm I told you of. When morning came, the sun was as soft as a valley summer; but the wreck of the fields and the crops was terrific. Whole acres of what was smil- ing greensward the night before, were ~ow swept away. Uprooted trees lay across the paths; and often the paths themselves were gone; and I was compelled to grope my way through the muddied bottom of a ravine, which the storm of a single night had furrowed in the hills. It was what they call a cloud-break in the mountains; and as offering something different from the everyday journalings of a foot-traveler in Switzerland, I have thought it worth my while to jot it down for you. Afterthis, shall I saynny thingof the pealafrom the great organ of Friburg, which I listened to, two days after, and which are reckoned the loudest that come from any church instrument of Central Europe? The storm (as the organist played it) would have been grand, had It not come so near the greater one of my night in the chalet. I fear I hardly did justice to die organist of Friburg; I know I paid him his fee as if he had not earned his money. The diligence which goes from Vevay to Berne, stops a half hour at Friburg, and the passengers dine there. Like all stage-coach meals this is a very hurried one; and had I not booked myself in advance, and dined at my leisure, I am sure I should have added to my dyspepsia by the diligence dinner at Friburg. As it was, I amused myself with the hurry of the coach people, when the con- ductor gave the word to set oW leaving a fat French lady and a cool couple of English travelers in the heat of dessert. As you go out of Friburg, on the way to Berne, there is a swinging hridge of iron cables to be passed over, which hangs some two hundred feet above a ravine, and shakes with the weight of a diligence in a way to scare nervous peo- ple exceedingly. Now we had but half got over this tremulous roadway, when the cool English couple came shout- ing after, followed by the fat French lady, who had seized upon a half-emptied bottle of wine, gesticu- lating and puffing in a way that put all the diligence company in a roar. The coachman cracked his whip; the English- man and wife screamed in terrible French phrase; the fat lady brandished her bottle threateningly; the bridge undulated more and more under the quickened step of the horses; nor did the comedy end until the conductor ordered the coachman to draw up upon the other side of the ravine. And here again there was an unexpected trou- ble; the English woman was booked for a place beside her husband in the beaquette upon the top of the diligence; there was no ladder by which she could mount; she tried the wheel and a boost of the conductor; but it was in vain. The husband mounted before her and tried the effect of a lift; but she was too heavy. But, my dear, you must get up, said the hus- band. But, my dear, I ceat, said the woman in de.- spair. But, my dear, make an effort. But, my dear, I lzeve (crescendo). In short, the matter could only be arranged by an amicable compromise with some of the parties inside, by which the unfortunate English lady was separated from her husband until the next stage. By virtue of the change, I found myself brought into near neighborhood of the fat lady, who had made good her short dinner by bearing off the bot- tle of wine. She was eloquent in her denunciations of the thieving propensities of hotel-keepers; it was all an arrangement, she was satisfied, with the con- ductor, by which people, after paying, should be despoiled of their dinner. For her own part, she was not to be abused in that way; she always made amends for a hurried dinner (as one might have judged from her rotund figure). If she preferred chicken, she took chicken; if wine, she took wine: and here drawing gracefully a little patent-leathei~ cup from her reticule, she poured out a glass, and drank it off as composedly as she could have doa~ at the table of our host. I like these little diligence meetings of travel; they open a world of character to the eye; they put an edge on ones habit of & bservation; they make droll memories for after-dinner laughs at a home table. But it is all passing away, you know. Even in Switzerland they have a project of tap- ping the Alps with a railway tunnel. The engin- eers are out. Their crimson bunting is flying on the heights. The subscription-books are open at Basle. They talk of a ten-mile tunnel not far away fromthePassofSt.Bernard;andtheroadisto wind along the Upper Rhone, between the sombre, death-like cliffs, and among the wretched cretins and goitres of Sion, and afterward to burrow under the hospice, and to bring its convoy to day again in sight of Aosta and the beautiful and decrepit Italy. But, thank Heaven, years must slip hefore this work is done; and you will have time to heat your mule by moonlight, on the zigzag path that cun- ducts to the hospitable door of the monks before the monks and the dogs are driven away from their mountain employ. Among the oa dits of the Swiss summer, is the rumor of the imprisonment of an American travel- er, who was arrested and ccmfined on suspicion of being no less a personage than the ubiquitous Maz- zm:. It would appear that the subject of the mis- take was not so far flattered by the error as to rest contented with the dungeon durance; and in addi- tion to our other diplomatic negotiations, we have now afoot the claims for false imprisonment upon the lielvetic Republic. It would be odd indeed itt, some fine day, the Cyane, or some such vessel, should EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 127 be dispatched up the Rhine, for the blockade of Basle and the Alps! When I was at Chamouni, people were talking of the new ascent of Mont Blanc by an English lady, the third who ever accomplished this task; and who did it (the guides said) without flurry or fatigue. Albert Smith has, I see, alluded to the matter ia a complimentary way, in his closing lec- ture-room ascent for the season, and interested his auditors by announcing the fact that the intrepid woman had honored him that evening with her presence. Of course all eyes were turned to the box of honor (formed by a Swiss window in the chalet that fronts the scene), when the blushing lady re- ceived the applause of the evening. The romantic danger that of old belonged to the ascent seems now wholly to have gone by; people speak of it only (atChamouni) as an expensive and doubtful gratification: expensive, because a dozen guides must be well tempted with fees; and doubt- ful, because a clear evening in these high neighbor- hoods may be followed by mist and darkness. The lady in question reported a charming view; and so did a young English traveler who repeated the journey a fortnight after. And if one may judge from what meets the eye in looking from the lesser height of the Breven, the view must be grand in- deed. I suspect that, by dint of cordage and lad- ders deposited here and there in safe nooks of the rocks, they will arrive in time at an easy way of carrying people of tender nerves to the top of the monarch; and when that day comes, and supplies of the white Neuchatel or of Molit are frequent, I may be myself tempted to hazard the visit. There are springs, you kno~v,in Switzerland; and they have had, the summer past, their usual flow ofsalts and of people. But they are gener- ally of the cast of St. Ronans Wellgone-by Places, whose lamentable history is writ, not by Scott, but by stories of gray moss and lichen, on crumbling roofs. Yet they are curious enough places to visit, to see what kind of invalid race still clings to the traditionary virtue of the mouutain waters. First of all there is St. Gervais, which you reach by go- ing to the right a little way off from the traveled track which leads people from Geneva to Chamouni. It is a wild cleft in the mountains, with a long- sided house dismally shaded by the reeking cliffs, and faint, pale garden grounds lingering around it, under the short play of a mid-day sun. Decrepit old men and women go there to drink in health and strength; gay young Swiss bourgeois people too, in the mirth of new matrimony, wander to St. Ger- vais for honeymoon quietude, and for undisturbed strolls in the mountain paths which lead high up on the hills that shadow the springs. Riotous young fellows with knapsacks, singing German songs over their after-breakfast Alten- heimer, clink their glasses at the table of mine host of the St. Gervais, and plot hair-brained scrambles to the glaciers that gleam, cold and grim, atop the St. Gervais mountains. It is a place withal, to visit once, but not to linger at, unless you would replace dyspepsia with rheumatic twinges and the blue devils. On the Simplon road again (or a little way off from it to the left), is the queer spring place of Leuk. Every body has heard of it, and a great many have passed through the town, on their way across the wild pass of the Gemini, which rises straight up the rocks within a league of the water- courses which give renown to Leuk. The notice- able thing (medicinally) about the springs is their warmth; and they gush as warm from the earth as an egg-boiling pot, and go steaming and vaporing through the little village on either side the road in a way quite curious to behold. When I first saw the phenomenon, I thought all the town world had just emptied their kettles; bat presently I saw a group of stout-armed women at a village troughall steamingwashing their foul linen in the kettle-water of natures furnishing. One would think washing might be cheap; but my bill of the Leuk-Bedea saysno. The bath-houses are matters worth seeing: people go to them, not to bathe but to sock. The physicians prescribe variously, as ages or constitu- tions vary, three and four, and even five hours. And people make a frolic of the healing, and wear coquettish water-gowns, and have floating tables round them, and sit in conclave, buried to their chins, and chatting, and doing needle-work, and reading newspapers, and drinking cherry-rum punches. A queer place, very, is Leak. Then there is a Swiss Baden not far away from Zurich, a very pretty place indeed, with a sweet valley and fresh streams of water in it, and high ~green hills towering about it, from whence, looking off in fine weather, you can see that glorious array of white mountain heights which are before your eyes at Zurich. It is a charming place to linger at, with unobtrusive people in the great spring house, who allow you to gang your own gate, and meet you in the hill paths with a kindly look of recogni- tion. By a charming bit of railwaythe only hit Switzerland yet boasts ofyou can go from this village to the laughing shores of Zurich, and eat such a dinner at the Hotel Baur as would delight a hungry man in the best city in the world. If youcome, be sure and take lodgings in the house that sits in a garden on the very edge of the lake. Such a place for saunter as it isthat gar- denwith the mountains all stretching in crystal chain before you, and the flowers flaming and scat- tering perfume at your elbow, is not found other- wheres in Europe! One more spring place of Switzerland I must not forget. You go there by the way of Constance, and the memory of the Constance martyrs. It lies near to Ragatz, in a German-talking country, far up a hrook course, which they call the Tamina, and the baths are the Baths of Pfeffers. You seem going out of the world when you go there, and wholly out when you arrive there. A little, nar- row chcr-~t-banc road leads along the banks of the stream, th:ough a ~iim ravine, all shaded by firs and dank foliage. Nor is there lack of danger to sublime this one-horse drive, for your wheel frets here and there the edge of a precipice, beneath which, a hundred feet, the Tamina goes raging un- easily among the fallen rocks; and the hill-side, too, threatens every moment to dislodge black frag- ments of trap to crush you, or hurry you into the bottom of the defile. Jets of waterfalls race down in clefts, a ad spatter you with spray, and dive un- der deep culverts and fall with a crash into the basin below. With such accompaniments, making very dreary music, you reach at last a moss-covered old build- ing, seated under the very shoulder of the rock; and at the extreme end of the defile. The sun only reaches it two hours of the longest days of summer, and it is damp winter there even in later August. 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A few hopeful and hobbling invalids move a~bout the sunken floors of the hobgoblin house, like relics. They bathe thrice a day in wooden tubs, and the walls all reek with the drip of the cliffis nud the year long shadiness. If you would see the springs, you must take a lantern and a Mackintosh, and follow a wheezing guide into the heart of the mountain. A wild cleft makes the portal by which you enter. A crazy wooden staging makes your uncertain pathway. The Tarnina, raging and foaming, you see forty feet below you; and only a glimpse of sky through the cleft, a thousand feet above you. The sides are bare wall of dripping rock, and the path you walk on is only hung against the side by oaken brackets that quiver with your weight. As you go on, lantern in hand, the cleft narrows, so as scarce to leave room for the crazy bridge. Still the Tamina is roaring forty feet below you; and the skylight is utterly shut off by the foliage on the top of the mountain. On you go, feeling your way on the slippery and shaking planks; the air full of the noise of rushing waters, and the darkness growing deeper and deeper. Presently you feel a puff of hot steam on your face that half blinds you. The guide takes your hand, steadies your footing, tells you to be bold, and fumbling at a padlock, unlocks a wooden door in the side of the cleft, and shows you the boiling source which supplies the bath tubs of the Pfeffers Hotel. He screams in your ear to tell you of its warmth; the steam blinds you; the bats flap around the lanterns; the Tamina roars fearfully, as you grope back to a sight of sky again, with a hearty feeling of gratitude. I took a bath at Pfeffers ~nd a lunch; then I climbed the side of the gorge by a rude foot-path; and by the hour of sunset, was where I could see a mountain horizon thirty miles away. I would not advise hypochondriacato go to the baths of Pfeffers. What a gay, lightsome change from all this, to the charming walks of Baden-Baden! And what a contrast with the hobgoblin people of Pfeffers, did the ladies make who sat at the table dh6te of the pleasant Hotel de Russie! Of all the mid-Europe places to loiter in, through a season of sunny idleness~ give me Baden- Baden. People imagined (as I said) that the summers war would take off the edge of its merri- ment, and the fullness from the houses; but the place was never merrier, and never fuller than through the season which closes with the great victory of Alma, and the fall of the Russian power in the Black Sea. There have been concerts (Alboni lending her great voice), and torchlight processions through the woods that clothe the hills, in honor of some princely fbte; and there have been brilliant crowds at the tables of roulette and of tremste et an (among them figuring the pale head and fine features of the unworthy son of the greatest Englishman of his time); beside all, there has been the usual qsaetuas of piquant gossip. Among the rest, they tell us of a chance marriage, which closed the season in true romantic fashion. The bride a widow; the groom a prince and millionaire (for a German). The last owned a pretty villa outside the town; a few miles of country road, often driven over, led to it. The widow, in company with cousins and other kin, chanced to pass it one day, early after her arrival. She did not know its occupant, nor did she know the envious stories of the princes selfishness and of his misanthropy. Her companions were as ignorant as she. They chatted, as they passed under the shadow of a pretty pavilion which crowned the garden gateway, of the taste which ruled the place, and of the enviable lot of whomso-. ever might possess it. The widow (who was pretty) was loudest in her praises, and grew warm in her jealous zeal to know who might be the happy owner of such a suburban paradise. She ventured the suggestion that all of its parterres were wasted upon some lonely-living bachelor, who had no right thus to cut off the fairest part of humanity from a share in the beauties his wealth and taste had created. The friends rallied herthe proprietor, con- cealed behind the curtain of his pavilion, overheard her. He watched her fine figure as the group moved on. He grew curious in his turn. The voice was a charming voice; the motion was graceful; the dress was tasteful; he followed and traced the party unperceived to their lodgings. Through the ready ralets de place he pressed his inquiries; he sought acquaintance; he showed the pretty widow the interior as well as exterior of his charming lodge without the town; and in a month, the quidnuac world of Baden was startled by the announcement that the Prince was presently to marry the blooming Madame and the bachelor establishment without the town to receive a mistress. I give you the matter as it was told to me. I know only that the villa . is a pretty one; and that blooming widows at the tables of Baden are neither rare nor coy. You know, perhaps, that our matter of ex- cursion trains has found its way into European habit; and there are companies in Paris which ad- vertise (or did the summer past) to carry travelers to the Rhine,, to allow them a week of driving about, upon certain given routes, and then to take them safely back to Paris, either by Brussels or Strasbourg, for a very moderate sum. Thousands have availed themselves of this the season past, and half the French travelers you met with in the railway carriages were under the charge of this guardian company. If the party was crushed, of course nothing was to pay. A still wider excursion was projected, and, I believe, carried out, in virtue of which parties to the traveling compact were conducted, under the advices of an accomplished courier, to the Great Exhibition of Munich, were furnished with seats at the Opera two nights in the week, were carried over the Tyrol to Praguegiven a sight of Dres- den and the Elbefurnished with meals and lodg- ings at tIme best hotelsoffered free use of the bathm~ at Hombourg and Wiesbaden, and landed again at their doors in Paris for a certain fixed sum, sur- prisingly small. Will not some enterprising firm in your city take the matter up, and organize, next year, a Eu- ropean excursion, to take nervous people through- out England and Franceclear tbeir luggagepay their billstalk their Frencb~provide their guides see to their passports asid purchasesfor a sum known and measurable at the outset? Could not bachelors be put down, for the belle season, at a thousand dollars apiece, exclusive of wines? And ladies at two thousand who were limited to five trunks and four bandboxes? EDITORS DRAWER. 129 You know before this, of course, that Rachel, the great tragedienne, is certainly going to Amer- ica; and wisat, pray, do you think of her probable success? Will people make her the fashion? If not, I fear there is little hope for her. She is great to be sure, and always will be, ulsile her vigor lasts; but it seems essential that auditors should have some reasonable knowledge of what a tragedian is saying. Will those whose cars are apt to catch French be enough to supply her with houses? or will the furor be so great as to draw in those who know nothing of it? I saw, the other evening, a stout, sensible man (American), with a stout and (I dare say) sensible wife, leave their seats at the Tliegtre Fran~eis, in the middle of one of her choicest performances, with a vacant air on their facesas if their twenty francs had much better have gone for one of Lucy Hocquets hats. I fear there will be a good many jobbers at New York who will stare vacantly on the plays their daughters may decoy them to. It is the fashion here, specially among the English, to decry Rachels performance of modern tragedyas if the cold classicism of Racines rhyme were all she should ever utter. I hope this sort of affectation will not belong to the newspaper writers with you; and that she will be appreciated most warmly where appreciation is most naturalin those plays which express passion in honest prose, and in the hearty language which French people use to-day. A spicy writer of the Paris !eeilietoas deplores and condemns the action of Rachel, in going, for ever so short a time, among that dollar-people, who made fools of themselves over Elssler and Jenny Lind, and who do not speak French. Can the paragraphist be aimiun a blow at our diplomatic brotherhood? Another matter of mention you may have re- marked in the journals; it is the publication, day by day, of the life of George Sand, written by herself. The world was expecting in it a deal of scandal, and has been sharply on the look out for months past; but thus far she does not promise to gratify them. She writes, like all French people, in evident good humor with herself, and applies her subtle analytic power to the fathoming of her own passions and actions. Aside from this, and Lamartines new History of Turkey, there is nothing to put an ink- line about, in the whole range of Paris letters. 4~The returning world (from the summer resorts) is now fairly back in its old place. Here and there signs of mourning for the dead in the Crimea are visible; but oftenest these signs are confined to humble life and far-away homes in the provinces. The beeu-mossde of Paris does not furnish bat- tie-heroes; and the only army-man of that class who is talked of now, is a young lieutenant, who has just startled all staid mammas by marrying a pretty actress of the Vari~itis. The theatres, all of them, are full in these coming wet nights of later autumn. Even the talk of Chantilly, where the English horses were worst- od, is dying away in the mention of balls and of in- trigues. Flaming equipages have multiplied, and jockeys in blue and silver delight the maids and their masters. Country houses of England are full of gay company, riotous with pheasant shooting and din- tiers that last till midnight. London is deserted, ave of strangers; and there is little promise of returning gayety for a year to comeso heavily hangs the war-list of slain and wounded upon the hearts and the homes of thousands. But you, across the water, with your fevers, and cholera, and shipwrecks, and storms, and money crashes, have had your sorrows too; and the Euro- pean summer, take it all in all, has worn more con- stant gayety than the home one which has broken on me in lettersAdieu. itnf~ lUrutnrr. DEcEMnERay, ay: WINTER is upon us. Let not the milk of human kindness be frozen in our bosoms in this inclement season. As we sit by our cheerful fires, surrounded by all the comforts, if not the luxuries, of a great and rich city, let us not for- get those who are suffering for the bare necessities of life. Let us give of our abundang& to the poor and needy, when even the Elements have made a league with Sickness and Poverty, to try them still further in the furnace of affliction! But, in the mean time, let us not forget also the blessings, the delights of Winter; for we would not be gloomy, with the holidays so near at hand, and so many happy hearts awaiting them. Then there is sliding down hill, and sleigh-rides in the open country, with laughing girls and joyous boys keeping time to the sweet jargoning of the prancing, foaming steeds: Hark the cutters with their bells: Silver hells! chiming bells! What a tale of merriment Their melody foretells, As they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the frosty air of night, Till the stars, that overspriakle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a nebulous delight. Keeping timetimetime, In a klnd of runic rhyme, To the tintinabulation That so musically swells From the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. Yet, when the dim-blue hills rise afar in the cold, clear winter air; when He who sendeth snow like wool, and scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes, reminds us how Life has faded into Death, and wc see Nature herself in her winding-sheet; in all our thoughts, let us RicisEasnEot TIlE Pooa HERE is a bit of advice to young ladies, set- ting forth how they may know whether a young gallant is really courting them, or only paying them polite attentions. The confounding the one with the other has been the source of much trouble, both before and since t.he era of Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell: A young man admires a pretty girl, and must manifest it. He cant help doing so, for the life of him. The young lady has a tender heart, reaching out like vine-tendrlls for something to cling to. She sees the admiration; is flat- tered; begins soon to hovi; expects some tender avowal; and perhaps gets so far as to decide that she will choose a wisite satin under thin gauze, etc., at the very moment the gallant that she half loves ispopping the question to another damsel ten miles off! Now the difficulty lies in not precisely understanding the difference between polite attentions and the tender manifestations of love. Admiring a beautiful girl, and wishing to make a wife of her, are not always the same thing; and therefore it Is necessary that the damsel should be upon the alert to discover to which class the attentions paid her by handsome and fashionable young gentlemen belong.

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 129-137

EDITORS DRAWER. 129 You know before this, of course, that Rachel, the great tragedienne, is certainly going to Amer- ica; and wisat, pray, do you think of her probable success? Will people make her the fashion? If not, I fear there is little hope for her. She is great to be sure, and always will be, ulsile her vigor lasts; but it seems essential that auditors should have some reasonable knowledge of what a tragedian is saying. Will those whose cars are apt to catch French be enough to supply her with houses? or will the furor be so great as to draw in those who know nothing of it? I saw, the other evening, a stout, sensible man (American), with a stout and (I dare say) sensible wife, leave their seats at the Tliegtre Fran~eis, in the middle of one of her choicest performances, with a vacant air on their facesas if their twenty francs had much better have gone for one of Lucy Hocquets hats. I fear there will be a good many jobbers at New York who will stare vacantly on the plays their daughters may decoy them to. It is the fashion here, specially among the English, to decry Rachels performance of modern tragedyas if the cold classicism of Racines rhyme were all she should ever utter. I hope this sort of affectation will not belong to the newspaper writers with you; and that she will be appreciated most warmly where appreciation is most naturalin those plays which express passion in honest prose, and in the hearty language which French people use to-day. A spicy writer of the Paris !eeilietoas deplores and condemns the action of Rachel, in going, for ever so short a time, among that dollar-people, who made fools of themselves over Elssler and Jenny Lind, and who do not speak French. Can the paragraphist be aimiun a blow at our diplomatic brotherhood? Another matter of mention you may have re- marked in the journals; it is the publication, day by day, of the life of George Sand, written by herself. The world was expecting in it a deal of scandal, and has been sharply on the look out for months past; but thus far she does not promise to gratify them. She writes, like all French people, in evident good humor with herself, and applies her subtle analytic power to the fathoming of her own passions and actions. Aside from this, and Lamartines new History of Turkey, there is nothing to put an ink- line about, in the whole range of Paris letters. 4~The returning world (from the summer resorts) is now fairly back in its old place. Here and there signs of mourning for the dead in the Crimea are visible; but oftenest these signs are confined to humble life and far-away homes in the provinces. The beeu-mossde of Paris does not furnish bat- tie-heroes; and the only army-man of that class who is talked of now, is a young lieutenant, who has just startled all staid mammas by marrying a pretty actress of the Vari~itis. The theatres, all of them, are full in these coming wet nights of later autumn. Even the talk of Chantilly, where the English horses were worst- od, is dying away in the mention of balls and of in- trigues. Flaming equipages have multiplied, and jockeys in blue and silver delight the maids and their masters. Country houses of England are full of gay company, riotous with pheasant shooting and din- tiers that last till midnight. London is deserted, ave of strangers; and there is little promise of returning gayety for a year to comeso heavily hangs the war-list of slain and wounded upon the hearts and the homes of thousands. But you, across the water, with your fevers, and cholera, and shipwrecks, and storms, and money crashes, have had your sorrows too; and the Euro- pean summer, take it all in all, has worn more con- stant gayety than the home one which has broken on me in lettersAdieu. itnf~ lUrutnrr. DEcEMnERay, ay: WINTER is upon us. Let not the milk of human kindness be frozen in our bosoms in this inclement season. As we sit by our cheerful fires, surrounded by all the comforts, if not the luxuries, of a great and rich city, let us not for- get those who are suffering for the bare necessities of life. Let us give of our abundang& to the poor and needy, when even the Elements have made a league with Sickness and Poverty, to try them still further in the furnace of affliction! But, in the mean time, let us not forget also the blessings, the delights of Winter; for we would not be gloomy, with the holidays so near at hand, and so many happy hearts awaiting them. Then there is sliding down hill, and sleigh-rides in the open country, with laughing girls and joyous boys keeping time to the sweet jargoning of the prancing, foaming steeds: Hark the cutters with their bells: Silver hells! chiming bells! What a tale of merriment Their melody foretells, As they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the frosty air of night, Till the stars, that overspriakle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a nebulous delight. Keeping timetimetime, In a klnd of runic rhyme, To the tintinabulation That so musically swells From the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. Yet, when the dim-blue hills rise afar in the cold, clear winter air; when He who sendeth snow like wool, and scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes, reminds us how Life has faded into Death, and wc see Nature herself in her winding-sheet; in all our thoughts, let us RicisEasnEot TIlE Pooa HERE is a bit of advice to young ladies, set- ting forth how they may know whether a young gallant is really courting them, or only paying them polite attentions. The confounding the one with the other has been the source of much trouble, both before and since t.he era of Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell: A young man admires a pretty girl, and must manifest it. He cant help doing so, for the life of him. The young lady has a tender heart, reaching out like vine-tendrlls for something to cling to. She sees the admiration; is flat- tered; begins soon to hovi; expects some tender avowal; and perhaps gets so far as to decide that she will choose a wisite satin under thin gauze, etc., at the very moment the gallant that she half loves ispopping the question to another damsel ten miles off! Now the difficulty lies in not precisely understanding the difference between polite attentions and the tender manifestations of love. Admiring a beautiful girl, and wishing to make a wife of her, are not always the same thing; and therefore it Is necessary that the damsel should be upon the alert to discover to which class the attentions paid her by handsome and fashionable young gentlemen belong. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. First, then, if a young man greets you in a loud, free, A gentleman suddenly missed his gold watch, sad hearty tone; If he knows precisely where to put his which was worth to him more than it could be to any hat or his hands; if he stares you straight in the eye, with bod ciation, it having been a family his own wide open; if he turns his hack to you to speak to y else, from asso anothei~ if he tells you who made his coat; if he squeezes relic. He marveled much at its absence, for he knew your hand; if he eats heartily in your presence; if he fails he had only been in and out of the office and reading- to talk very kindly to your mother; ii; in short, he sneezes room of the hotel since he noted the hour by it. when you are singing, criticises your curls, or fails to be In the hope of recovering it, he offered a reward foolish in fifty ways every hour, then dont fail in love with of fifty dollars for it in the daily newspapers of the him for the world! He only admires you, let him do or city. The same day ho received a note, saying that say what he wilL On the other hand, if he he merry with every hody he could have his watch by calling at a certain else, hut quiet with you; if he he anxious to see that your obscuro house in the city. After some little hesita- tea is sufficiently sweetened, and your dear person well tion, he resolved to go. The watch was too valu- wrapped up when you go out into the cold; if he talks very able to him to be given up without at least this low, and never looks you steadily in the eye; if his cheeks attempt to recover it. So he went. are red, and his nose only hiushes, it is enough. If he His call at the door was promptly answered by romps with your sister, sighs like a pair of old bellows, a gentlemanly.looking person, who, in reply to his looks solemn when you are addressed hy another gentle- man, sad in fact is the most still, awkward, stupid, yet inquiries, said that he had in his possession the ad- saxious of all your male friends, you may go ahead, and vertised watch, and that on payment of the olfered make the poor fallow too happy for his skin to hold him! reward he would deliver it up. The loser promised Young ladies! keep your hearts in a ease of good to pay the fifty dollars provided he was convinced leather, or some other tough substance, until the right the watch was his. It was exhibited, and the gen- one is found, beyond douht; after which you can go on, tleman recognized it at once, paid the reward, and sad love, and court, and he married, and happy, without gladly placed the recovered treasure in its place in the least hit of trouble. his vest pocket. As he was turning to go away, he We consider this advice so sensible, that although remarked, it is somewhat open to the charge of bluntness, we I am glad, as you may suppose, to get my have no hesitation in pressing it upon the attention watch back again, but I should really be pleased to of our lady-readers. know how you took it from nie. That Iwill inform you, readily~replied the pick-. pocket. Do you remember holding an animated conversation with two other gentlemen in the read- ing-room of the Astor House on the morning you lost your watch ? I do, replied the loser. Well, do you also remember that a gentleman who stood close by, left his newspaper, drew near, and finally engaged In the discussion ? - Very distinctly, replied the other; and also that he engaged in it with much warmth. Precisely, continued the narrator; and do you not remesisber that he at one time, in his earn- estness, tapped you two or three times on the left breast, thus ? (suiting the action to the word.) Yes, replied the gentleman. Thea I took your watch, said the other; and turning, shut the 4oor and disappeared., The gentleman returned to the Astor, musing on this strange occurrence; and while relating it to some of his wondering friends, was astonished to find that his watch was again missing! When the adroit knight of the nimble fingers de- scribed how he had ce filched from him his watch, he took it again! So the gentleman finally lost his watch, after having paid the thief the reward for its recovery. THERE will be few readers of The Drawer but will go back in memory, as they peruse the beauti- ful lines which ensue, to the old clock that ticked against the wall in the home of their boyhood. There are grace, simplicity, and pathos in the po- etry. We know not the author: Oh! the old, old clock, of the household stock Was the brightest thing, and neatest; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chime rang still the sweetest; Twas a monitor too, thbtigh its words were few, Yet they lived, though nations altered; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, When the voice of friendship faltared: Tick! tick! it said quick, quick to bed, For ten Ive given warning; Up! up! and go, or else you know, Youll never rise so in the morning! A friendly voice was that old, old clock, As it stood iii the corner smiling, And blessed the tinhe with a merry chime, The wintry hours beguiling; But a cross old voice was that tiresome dock, As it called at day-break boldly; When the dawn looked gray oer the misty way, And the early air blew coldly: Tick! tick! It said quick out of bed, For five Ive given warning; Youil never have health, youll never have wealth, Unless youre up soon in the morning! Still hourly the sound goes round and round, With a tone that ceases never; While tears are shed for bright days fled, And the old friends lost forever! Its heart beats onthough hearts are gone, Its hands still movethough hands we love Are clasped on earth no longer! Tick! tick! it said to the church-yard bed, The Grave bath given warning: Up! up! and rise, and look at the skies, And prepare for a heavenly morning! Tux following singular circumstance happened twelve years a0o at the Astor House, in this city. It transpired at the time, and was published; but it seems to us well worthy of preservation among the annals of adroit crime: HERE follows a retort, although it can hardly be called a retort courteous : A mathematician being asked by a stout fellow, If two pigs weigh twenty pounds, how much will a large hog weigh? Jump into the scales, was the reply., and Ill tell you in a minute The mathematician had him there ! ILL lay you a sniall wager, said one Ameri- can gentlemnn to another, as they were about en- tering a London eating-house together, that what- ever we may ask for, no matter what it may be, the waiter will say that he has got it So they entered; and taking a box in one cor- ner, one of the Americans called out; 131 EDITORS DRAWER. Waiter And the waiter came. Waiter, have you any Meet-me-in-the- Willow- Glen? Willow-Glen ?yes, Sir, and off he goes. Presently he returns with: That dish is hout, Sir, at present: hany think else youll aye, Sir ? We mention this to show, that when the English satirize the Irish as below, it would not be amiss for them to look at ome Nothing goes so much against the grain of an Irish waiter, as to confess ignorance upon any point under the sun. 1 dont know, is a phrase he can by no means digest. You have a table-dh4te in this hotel, have you not ? said a gentleman at an Irish hotel to a wait- er, who presented himself bowing, napkin in hand, in answer to the summoning bell. Why, y-e-s, Sirthat isyes, we have, Sir, added the man boldly, determined to put a good face on the matter, but evidently making a desper- ate plunge in the dark. Is there one now Oh, I dare say, SirIll inquire. Im sure an-ny thing you want you can have, Siralways well supplied here, Sir. But the teble-dhJte, I suppose, is only in the summer Cant exactly say whats the seasonbut we often have itvery often, Sir. Ill speak to the landlord, or to the cook: perhaps its to-day you wish The guest started a little at the idea of the power attributed to him of forming a table-dh4te by his sole will and pleasure. What I wish to know, he said, is whether there is one now in the hotel, and at what hour, in case any of our party should like to join it. This was too much for the poor waiter. He shuffled and evaded, but in vain. There seemed nothing for him to do but to admit the humiliating fact, that the word table-dIeige was Greek to him. After very many hard twistings of the napkin in his hand, and sundry hemmings and coughings, lie said, with much reluctance: Why, Sir, I really beg pardon. III of course know what you mean; but I dont exactly (with an extraordinary emphasis on the exactly), I dont quite exactlythat is to sayunderstand. I The gentleman extricated the poor waiter from embarrassment in a moment by explaining; but he couldnt get over his mortification at having been forced to confess his ignorance of any thing; and departed from the room with considerable less im- portance than that with which he had flourished into it a few minutes before. If any one doubts that this is an entirely authen- tic anecdote, let him ask the next Irish servant who is in a position to feel his importance as connected with a restaurant or hotel, the reputation of which he supposes to rest upon his shoulders, and test its credibility. BETTING, it has always seemed to us, is but a poor business at the best, if it is not somewhat too closely allied to gambling to be altogether a moral or defensible transaction.. So that when we find a biter bitten at this sort of game, we confess that we look upon the victim as not a subject for much commiseration. Here is a very laughable case in point; called, if you please, Chancy Macauleys Bet. It is an East India story, and old enough to be new to ninety-nine out of every hundred of our readers: At seven oclock the dinner was served up, and a better one was never given in Calcutta; but as every pleasure must come to an end, so this excellent dinner was at last finished. The dessert was served up, and the hookahs began to emit their guttural notes. Many were the subjects broached and got rid of; many the toasts which enlivened the fashionable feast. At length, by the most skillful manceuvring, and with infinite tact, Macauley brought the beauty of the new tables on the tapis. Every one admired them, and felt grateful to them for having so lately supported the rich dinner of their host. They are of the finest mahogany I ever saw, said Major Briscoe. They are perfect, said another. I never saw any so well proportioned in my life. I must ham some made like them. They are too high, chimed in Charley Mac- auley, with affected indifferencejust a little too high. Dont you think so, Gordon? On the contrary, replied the host, if any thing, I consider them a shade too low. You are mistaken, my dear fellow; I have an excellent eye, and I am sure I am right. No table should exceed two-feet-six, and these are at least one inch higher. You are in error; they are not more than two feet and a half. Dont bet, James, dont bet; for I am sure of the fact. I tell you I can not be deceived; my eye is always correct. Not bet! If the tables were not my own, and consequently I should bet on a certainty, Id lay you a lac of rupees that they are not more than thirty inches in height. Oh, if you are willing, I will make the bet; but remember, gentlemen, I tell you beforehand that I am certein of the fact. I say these tables are at least thirty-one inches from the ground. Done! for a lac of rupees! crie.d Gordon. Done! re-echoed Charley. The wager was duly registered. A servant was ordered to bring in a yard-measure, when Mac- auley turned round with an air of triumph, and said: You may save yourselves the trouble of meas- uring !ha! ha! and he chuckled with delight. I warned you fairly that I bet on a certainty, so the bet must be binding, James. I stand to my bet, said Gordon. Well, then pay me the money! I measured the tables this very morning while you were shav- ing, and here is their memorandum of height- thirty-one inches exactly! And the Colonel burst into a roar of laughter, as he produced his pocket-book with the memoran- dum in it. I know you did, said James; I saw you do so, in my looking-glass. The Colonel started. Yes, I saw you do it; and as soon as you had gone away, knowing well your object, I had an inch sewed off every leg; so, for once, my very knowing friend, the tables are turned! The roar that shook the table would have drowned Niagara. Charley Macauley left Calcutta the next day ten thousand pounds sterling poorer 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. than he was tlie day he arrived; and, what was still worse, the very youngest ensigns in the army quiz- zed him ahout it forever afterward. Perhaps he was richer in the end, however, for it was his last bet. THE sketch of stealing peaches, in a late Draw- er, has induced a correspondent to send us for preservation in the same capacious receptacle, a somewhat kindred storyof Steeling Water-melons, which he cut from a newspaper many years ago. It was of a man who took great pleasure in having a neat garden. He had all kinds of vegetables and fruits earlier than his neighbors. But thieving hoys in the neighborhood annoyed him; damaged his trees, trampled down his flowers, and hooked his choicest fruit. He tried various ways to pro- tect his grounds; but his watch-dogs were poisoned, and his set-traps caught nothing hut his fattest fowls or his most favorite cat. One afternoon, however, just at nightfall, he overhears a couple of mischievous boys talking to- gether, when one of them says: What do you say, Joe Pshall we come the grab over them melons to-night? Old Swipes will be snoring like ten men hefore twelve oclock. The other objected, as there was a high wall to get over. Oh, pshaw I was the reply; I know a place where you can get over just as easyknow it like a book. Come, Joe, lets go it The owner of the melon-patch didiit like the idea of being an eaves-dropper; but the conversa- tion so intimately concerned his melons, w hichhe had tnken so much pains to raise, that he kept quiet, nnd listened to the whole plan of the young scape,,races, so that he mi~ht make it somewhat bothersome for them. Ned proposed to get over the wall on the south side, by the great pear-tree, and cut directly across to the summer-house, just north of which were the melons. Joe was a clever fellow, who loved good fruit exceedingly, and was as obstinate as an ass. Get him once started to do a thing, and he would stick to it, like a mud-turtle to a negros toe. The other didnt care so much for the melons as for the fun of getting them. Now hear the owners story: I made all needful preparations for the vitit: put in binds pretty thick in the scantling along the wall where they intended to get over; uncovered a large water-vat that had been filled for some time, from which, in dry weather, I was accus- tomed to water my garden; dug a trench a foot deep or so, and placed slender hoards over it which were slightly covered with dirt, and just beyond them some little cords, fastened tightly, some eight inches from the ground. I picked all the melons I cared to preserve, leaving pumpkins and squashes, about the size and shape of melons, in their places. The boys were quite right in supposing it would be dark, but they missed it a little in inferring that old Swipes, as they called him, would he in bed. The old man liked a little fun as well as they; and when the time came, from his hiding-place he listened: Whist, Joe! dont you hecr something ? I think that, very probably, they did; for hardly were the words uttered than there came a sound as of forcibly-tearing fustian. Get off my coat-tail ! whispered Joe. There goes one flap, as sure as a gun! Why, get off, Ned And Ned was off, and one leg of his hreeches be- side; and then he was ah-ing and oh-ing, and telling Joe that he believed there were nails in the side of the wall, for something had scratched him tremendously, and torn his breeches all to pieces Joe sympathized with him, for he said half his coat was hanging up there somewhere They now started on, hand-in-hand, for Ned be- lieved that he knew the way. They had ar- rived a little beyond the trees when something went awash! awash ! into the water-vat. A sneeze ensues; then the exclamation: Thunder! that water smells rather old! Ned wanted to go home at once, hut Joe was too much excited to listen for a moment to such a pro- position. Never heard any thing about that cistern be- fore: the old fellow must have fixed it on purpose to drown people in. Curious, though, that we should both fall in it! They now pushed on again for the melons. Presently they were caught by the cords, and hcndlong they went into a heap of briers and this- tles, and the like, which had been placed there for their express accommodation. Such a-gittin up-stairs ! muttered one. Nettles and thistles! how they prick ! ex- claimed the other. They now determined to go on more cautiously. At length they arrived at the patch. How thick they are, Joe! Come here! Theres more than a dozen fat ones right here And down they sat in the midst of them, and seemed to conclude that they were amply reward- ed for all their mishaps. here, Jo, said Ned, take this musk-melon; isnt it a rouser? Slash into it ! It cuts tremendous hard, Jim Jim, its a squash 1 No, It isnt, I tell you; its a new kind. Old Swipes sent to Rhode Island for the seed last spring. Well, then, all Ive got to say is, that the old fellow got sucked inthats all Im going to gouge into this water-melon: hallo! there goes a half a dollar! Ive broke my knife! If I didnt know it was a water-melon, I should say it was a pumpkin. Fact is, I believe it is a pumpkin What the boys did besides, while the owner went to his stable and unmuzzled the doe, and led him into the garden, he couldnt say : that they took long steps, the onion and flower-beds fully re- vealed in the morning. They had paid pretty dearly for the whistle. They had not tasted of x single melon; they had got scratched, had torn their clothes, were as wet as drowned rats, and half-scared out of their wits at the ravenous dog, and the apprehension of being discovered. The next night the owner of the melon-patch invited all the boys of the village, including Ned and Joe, to a feast of melons, on the principle of returning good for evil. This circumstance changed the hays opinion of old Swipes, and his melons were never disturbed again. THERE are many persons now living among us, who will remember the celebrated, or rather no EDITORS DRAWER. 133 torious impostor, Baron Von Huflman, who was a barber in his own country, but who had the ad- (iress to impose himself upon the community of New York as a nobleman of distinction, and who, to the no small mortification of many of our first families afterward, was courted and f& ted accord- ingly. This sham nobleman once challenged one of our then citizens to mortal combat on the field of honor ; and the story of the transaction is well worth relating, for it carries with it, we think, an important moral. The Baron had lost his trunk in the North River, with all his letters of introduction; and con- sequently, until more came, his standing was not well ascertained. Some persons received him, while others denounced him; but this latter class the Baron, if he could get at them, was always ready to fight. He knew very well that the logic of kings was also the best logic for impostors; and if any body thou0ht his credentials were short weight, he was ready to throw his pistols into the scale. In the case in question, Mr. J. R, whom the Baron met iu a certain set where he had ac- cess, was famous for his good dinners, from which the Baron was always invariably left out. Weary of this, he called one day on Mr. R, and spread his credentials, such as they were, before him, by way of removing suspicions which he said lie had heard expressed, and a,ainst which he made a labored argument. He left his papers, and de- sired that they might be returned, with a note ex- pressive of the impression which they bad pro- duced. Mr. R returned the papers in a blank en- velope. The Baron thereupon sent a challenge, which was left at the door, as if it had been an in- vitation to dinner. Mrs. K opened the note, and immediately replied to it as follows: SiaYour note is received. My husband will not have any thing to do with you, under any circumstances; but whenever you produce official proof that you have been aid-do-camp to Marshal Blucher, I wilt fight a duel with you myself! MAnY 11. The Barons business was very soon finished after this. It was not long before it transpired that he was the merest pretender, having picked up the show and varnish of a gentleman in the so- ciety of those whom he served in the capacity of a menial! WE have heretofore given in The Drawer one or two amusing experiments of the Spiritual Rap- pers, but nothing quite so laughable as the follow- ing experiment in Animal Magnetism, once on a time, in the Old Dominion. Listen to the dia- logue between the operator and his audience: Mesmerizer. You have seen, gentlemen, that this here boy was taken promiscuously from the crowd. His arm is there against that wall, and he cant take it down, or get it down, except I still it to come down. Crowd. Take your arm down, boy. Boy. I cant do it, no way. Croscd. Down with it, and Ill give you a ninepence. Mesnses-izer. He cant take it down, gentlemen, no more than lie could lift a millstone. You may throw as much money as you please on the floor, and all that he lifts up I ~vill pay for. Here several of the crowd laid down quarters and half-dollars to the amount of some five or six dollars. Now, my boy, said they, that is all gours; take it; and be off! The boys arm dropped instanter! His hand (the most wonderful thing of all!) fell directly on the pile, which his nimble fingers clutched, and with his unmesmerized heels he made his joyful and final exit for the evening, leaving the learned and profound professor standin,, amazed at the aim- profoundness of his own art; the villainy of man- kind; the want of faith and truth among par- ties and, amidst the dreadful roar of the house, came demands for the restitution of time money which bad been mesmerized by the, boy! Tim annexed account of Barging Alice is un- deniably authentic. It was first published in 1838, in a volume printed at Boston, entitled Records of Travel. The subject was a lady of Lyons, in France, who, under the influence of a violent nerv- ous disorder, fell into a state of seeming death, from which she fortunately aroused herseli; just as she was about to be nailed up in her coffin! Her sensations, as related by her to the author, arc thus described: It seemed to me that I was really dead, yet I was per- fectly conscious of all that happened around me in this dreadful state. I distinctly heard my friendt speaking, and lamenting my death at the side of my coffin! I felt them pull on my dead-clothes, and lay me in it. This feeling produced a mental anxiety, a horror that is inde- scribable. I tried to cry aloud, but my soul was without power, and could not act upon my body. I had the con- tradictory feeling, as if ~ were in my own body, and yet not in it, at one and the same time. It was equally impossible for me to stretch out my arm, or to open my eyes, as to cry, although I continually endeavored to do so. TIme internal anguish of my umind, however, was at its height, its utmost height, when the funeral-hymn began to be sung, and when the lid of the coffin was about to be nailed on! The thought that I was to he buried alive, was the first one which gave activity to my soul, and caused it to operate on my corporeal frame Most readers will doubtless remember the case of the Rev. Mr. Tennent, of New Jersey, which oc- curred so many long years ago, who lay in a trance for three days, and all the while was supposed to be dead, and was only saved from being buried alive by the pertinacity of a relative, who insisted that there was animal warmth in portions of his body, and that he should not be committed to the earth. Mr. Tennent recovered, and lived for many years afterward, in entire health. SOME years ago, in a Southern journal, appeared the following sketch, under the title of The Geor- gia Major in the Field. We have forgotten pre- cisely who the Georgia Major was, but we be- lieve he was an intimnateacquaintance of the quaint, humorous, and accomplished Judge Longstreet, of that region of country: His honor the Mayor was in the discharge of his official functions on last Saturday eveningthe business before him consisting of two several charges of assault and bat- tery; to both of which the ubiquitous Georgia Major was the respondent. Do you plead guilty to the charge of assaulting the Rev. Mr. Williams ? asked the Mayor of the defendant. I do: that is to say Then I fine you ten dollars, said Isis Honor. That is to say, continued the Major, I plead guilty, but if there is any way to get off from the fine, I should like very much to do it. Doubtiess, dilly observed the Mayor. 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I will make a statementor, as you may say, adefense urna-a few remarks. The Court nodded permission. You see, Williams came up to me, and spoke some- thing to me; and said I, You beggarly rascal, pull off your hat when you speak to me I said the Major, throw- ing himself into a military attitude. Thats enough, said tha Mayor; ten dollars and costs. The Major bowed gracefully. Proceeding now to the second charge, his Honor asked the defendant if he would plead guilty again. Not I! exclaimed the Major; I will make a state- ment, though, in relation, or in respect to, or regarding, the manner of the second fight. I was in the persons store who fought me, searching for one of the silver eyes whiels had dropped out of my walking-cane in the previous fight, when that person or- dered me out. Sir, said I, you must talk softly, vzuv softly, when you address me, Sir. Upon this, that person struck me with a skillet, Sirau iron skillet, Sirin the face Here the Major pointed to his face, the nasal feature of which bore some purple streaks, that beautifully varied its usual rich ruby. And then, Sir, contInued the Major, I fellstag- gered and fellas I returued the blow with my cane; im- mediately a crowd jumped upon me, and beat me until theywere pulled oft They didnt whip me, though; that e-a--n-t be done I Here the Major paused, and looked round triumphantly. A witness being called and examined, corroborated the Majors statement except as to the crowds having jumped upon him. No one interfered with the combat- ants. The witness stated, in addition, that the Major had conhived to hide his head under a hogshead, so as to pro. tect it very effectually. The Major cross-examined: You say nobody touched me but that man I pointing to his antagonist. Nobody. Wasnt the crowd all against me ? The crowd thought you deserved a whIpping for strik- ing an Inoffensive mana Minister of the Gospel, replied the witness, very quietly. Didnt they all tell that man to whip me well, or words to that effect I Yes. And didnt hethat is Didnt he do it, you mean to ask; yes, he did, nice- ly The Major now pulled up: he had been deceived: his imagination had led him into error; had transformed an individual of not over one hundred and fifty pounds weight into a large crowd. Well, well, said the Mayor, as I have already fined you ten dollars, and as it seems in this case you received a pretty good whipping, I have concluded to discharge you as to this. Whippi ! ejaculated the Major, becomlngpositively tragic in his air, wsssrssxe Iis that a part of your sen. tence Ithat I got wasrazis! Sir, Id rather be fined five hundred dollars than have that entered on the record, It wasnt done, Sir. I, Sir, have never been whipped I And the Major ~ loomed majestically about the room. If it aint been done, it kin be done I said somebody in the crowd; whereupon the Major collapsed into his original dimensions, in the folding of a peacocks tall; and wiping the perspiration from his brow, quietly retired. IT was the last hair, says the proverb, that broke the camels back. Something like the last hair must have been felt by the principal in the annexed anecdote of Colonel Samuel L. Knapp, related many years ago: A dapper little man, for want of something bet- ter to do, had started a magazine, which he was puffing at a great rate, and in the most high fal- uting style possible, in all the journals in the country. To this periodical Colonel Knapp was invited to contribute. He consequently seat in an article, which overran, by a half page or more, a form of eight pages. Unwilling to extend the number of pages, because of the cost, the proprietor changed a comma into a period at the end of the closing line of the page, leaving the gist of the arti- cle, the very deleouement of the story, undeveloped! The author, as may readily be supposed, was a little riled. Print the article as it was written, Sir, or leave it out altogether My deer Sir, responded the dapperlittlepro- prietor, whats tlse use? It stops~ very hand- somely as it is: ,just let it go in! It makes an- other half form if it runs over, and that I cant af- ford Reasonable as this request was considered, the author of the article peremptorily declined. The discomfited proprietor now took another tack, in- terposing what he thought would prove a clinch- er, and remove all objections;. Let it stand, Colonel Knapp~-let it stand. It is very good as it is: I like it just as well as if that last part was tacked onto it; andif it aint quite so nice, it dont make no differencenobody will read it !so whats the use ? If this is not tise last hair that broke the camels back, we have mistaken the meaning of the proverb. SEVERAL years ago, in a Western city, on the occasion of a fire at a large hotel, at the momeist when the destruction of the building seemed inevit able, the inmates became alarmed, and sought to escape, regardless of saving any thing but their lives. The interior of the house was filled with dense smoke, which rendered objects scarcely dis cernible. Amidst the confusion and alarm several firemen rushed into the burning building, to render assistaisce to the bewildered inmates. A member of a popular company, being in the second story, burst open the door of one of the sleeping apart- ments, and groping about, stumbled upon a cradle, in which lay a little one, totally unconscious of the danger which threatened it. Qulck as thought, the eagbr young member seized the cradle, the clothes, the baby and all, and rushed through the passage, down stairs into the street, his imagination fired by the idea of having saved a human being, and restoring to the arms of an agonized mother her darling infant. As he leaped tisrough the dames into the open air, he called lustily for the parents of the child. The admiring crowd, who cheered lustily as he passed, gathered around to congratulate him upon his gal- lant and successful effort. - Torches were now produced; the clothes were removed; when lo I out tumbled the biggest kind of arag baby! The young fireman agreed to treat the crowd to an oyster-supper, if they would say notbing about the circumstance; but it leaked out, as you see. To our conception, the act was every way as meritorious as if there had been a live infant in the cradle. He thought there was, and his exertions were to save it; and such as it was he did, and if it had been otherwise, the result would have been the same. WE find a good anecdote in the Drawer of a mast named Bentley, a most confirmed drinker, who yet EDITOR?S DRAWER. 135 would never drink with a friend or in public, and always denied, when he was a little too steep, that he ever tasted liquor! One day, some hard witnesses had concealed themselves in his room, and while he was in the very act of pouring the liquor down his throat, they seized him with his arm crooked and his mouth open, and holding him fast, asked him with an air of triumph: Ah, ha! Bentley! weve caught yoU at last, have we? You never drink, eh ? Now one would have supposed that Bentley would have owned up ; but not he! With the most grave and inexpressible face, he calmly and in a dignified manner, said: Gentlemen, you are mistaken: my name is not Bentley Sheridan, whenfound boozy, and giving his name as Wilberforce, was not more vinously cool and collected. WE once heard a young man from the country afterward and now a successful and most esteemed merchant of our citydescribe the effect which the ringing of the first gong he ever heard (it was at the Astor House, then recently opened) had upon his ears and upon his mind. It was a most amusing story, if we could recall it, in all its graphic detail; but in the mean time, we shall permit the following to do duty in its place. The scene is Richmond in the Old Dominion,, and the hero, a resident of one of the tobacco-growing counties of Virginia, has come up to the state capital on his first visit, to sell off his crop, see the sights, and rub off some of the rust which his back-woods fetching-up has thrown about his manners. He reached Richmond (for so runs the story) about the middle of the afternoon, and was fortu- nate in selling his crop at an advantageous rate, and almost immediately. Meeting with an old school-fellowone who had lived in the city long enough to know its wayshe was advised to take up his lodgings at the crack house of the place, and thither he at once went, bag and baggage. Just before dinner, his friend called upon him, and found him comfortably situated in a room just at the head of the first flight of stairs. It was close upon dinner time. Supposing we take something to start an appe- tite ? said the bibulous man, who had just come down. Agreed, rejoined his city friend; a glass of wine and bitters for me. Let us go down to the bar and get it; dinners most ready, continued the tobacco-grower. We might as well have it up here, said the ether. Good lick; but how are we to call for it ? Ring that bell there. What bell ? Why, pull that cord that you see hanging there. The young fellow laid hold of the rope and gave it a jerkand just at that moment the gong sounded for dinner. Never had he heard such a sound be- fore; and the rattling, rumbling, swelling roar and crash came upon his ear with a report that stunned him! He staggered back from the rope, raised both hands in horror, and exclaimed Je-rew-salem! what a smash! Ive broke every piece of crockery in the house! There aint a whole dish left! You must stick by me, old fel low, he added to his friend; dont leave me in this scrape, for my whole crop wont pay half the breakage. What did you tell me to touch that blasted rope for ? But before his friend, who was bursting with laughter, could answer, a servant entered the room, with Did you ring that bell, Sir ? ~Bell? no; I never touched a bell in my life; what bell? I never sew your bell. Somebody rang the bell of this roomthats certain, continued the servant. No they didnt. Theres nobody here that ever sew a bell, and then turning to his friend, he added aside: Lets lie him out of it; I shant have a cent left to get home if I pay the entire damage! What do they set such rascally traps for, to take in folks from the country ? After a violent fit of laughter, the friend was enabled to explain that it was only the gong sounding for dinner; a simple summons to walk down to soup, got up on the Chinese plan. They made their way to the dining-room; but it was some time before the young tobacco-grower could get over the stunning and awful effects of that dreadful gong. It is a god-send, said he, that it didnt turn my hair gray on the spot SOME years ago, a young lawyer, whom we shall call Sharp, opened an office in a little hole about as large as a dry goods box, in the vicinity of Wall and Nassau Streets. He had a very small table, a smaller library, and no business whatever. He got his sign painted on tiek, and his floor sanded by the grace of an old negro who worked about the building and cleaned out the other rooms. Sharp had sat in his office for ten whole days, watching for a client, with that peculiar avidity that marks the actions of a black spider waiting for a fly. He had agreed to pay his rent semi-monthly, and in five days more he calculated he would be weighed in the landlords balance and found wanting. In this mood of perplexity, a gentleman presented himself before Sharp, and stated that he had a bill he wanted collected, and asked the e~ninent young practitioner if he could do it. Sharp replied in the immortal language of Miller at Sandusky, Ill try, Sir ! and added, that as he had a reputation to gain, no labor would be spared on his part to make the culpable defendent fork over. In due course of law, Mr. Trader was sued; judgment was obtained against him by Sharp for the twelve hun- dred and fifty dollars due; the case was carried up to the then existing Chancery Court, and, as might have been expected, the plaintiff got no money, and paid the costs. It is no more than justice to Sharp to say that he had been indefatigable. There appeared upon his slate, day after day, the significant paragraph, out on business, and he never gave the unfortu- nate Mr. Trader a moments peace until the final ending of the important suit. After thejudgment was rendered, much to Sharps astonishment, Trader came up to him and said, My dear fellow, you are a trump! so persevering were you, that I thought several times you would get that money out of me, although I havent a cent in the world. If I ever have any law business, you shall attend to itand the two gentlemen, arm in arm, in high spirits, sauntered down the street. Suddenly Sharp stopped in front of a vacant lot,~ 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. where a number of Irishmen were digging out a cellar preparatory to the erection of a large build- ing. Look there, said Sharp, musing, and point- ing into the hole below look there, Mr. Trader. Some evening a gentleman will come along, and fall down that cellar, Sir, and he will cry out for the watchman, and be taken to the City Hospital, recover from his bruises, and receive a handsome sum of money for damages at the same time. Do you think so ? said Sharp, brightening up, and eying with no very great dread the soft sand below. Damages, ha !why this lot, he con- tinued, belongs to the very man who has just put me through Chancery. A few evenings afterward, deep and piteous groans were heard issuing from that cellar. The watchmen got lights, and upon examination found Mr. Trader, with his arm broken, his shoulder dis- located, and his under jaw displaced, and in this miserable plight he was, sure enough, conveyed to the City Hospital. Sharp heard of the thing with intense delight; he rubbed his hands, and would have danced round his office floor, but it was too small to admit of any such luxury. In the course of a week he called on Trader, and found him enveloped in bandages of lint, like a mummy, an ornament and honor to the bad-fracture department of the hospital. After some preliminary conversation, Trader informed Sharp that, most unfortunately, the Irishmen had without his knowledge continued their operations, and made a sub-cellar; and instead of falling on the soft sand, as he expected, he struck upon solid tim- bers, and bounced off into the chasm below, to land on a pile of blasted rocks. It will be all right in a few daysthe damages will be immense ; and Sharp left, *~nd at once in- stituted a suit against his former and first client. Weeks wore on, and Trader was finally able, with the assistance of crutches, friendly arms, and a good hack, to reach Sharps office. He was in a terrible condition. His face still exhibited a scientific dis- play of the prismatic colors. His shoulder was awry, and his broken arm ended off in swollen and stitisned fingers, that seemed as if they would never regain their cunning. I have suffered immense- ly, said TTader, heaving a sigh. I have lain weeks beside the victims of all the broken limbs and heads of this great city. Night after night I have been awakened by the screams and groans of the patients, and all day listened to the sawing of bones in the amputation of limbs. Besides, I have had soup to eatOh! Heaven! how rapidly these Irish dig in the earth! That sub-cellarno amount of damages could give me reparation Sharp listened patiently to all that Trader had to say; and then announced, in an oracular man- ner, that the owner of the cellar had offered to com- promise by paying fifteen hundred dollars, and thus avoid a suit. Trader thought it was a small sum, but pains passed are soon forgotten, and, on the whole, he concluded to take the money, remarking, that fifteen hundred would pay pretty well, after all, for six weeks labor, if it were performed in a hospital. A week following this conversation Trader was discharged from the hospital, and at the same time received the joyful intelligence from Sharp that the fifteen hundred had been paid oW and no grumbling. With joyful heart Trader left his abode of misery, and, all things considered, got into a hack with some alacrity. Fifteen hundred, he soliloquized, will go a great way this summer in frolicking. I need a little respitewonder which is best for knit- ting bones, Nahant or Saratoga? The Catskill Mountain House would prove too bracing. And thus giving vent to his imagination, he reached Sharps office, shook his lawyer by the hand, moved the heretofore stiffened fingers, and, in his joy, tried to bring his left arm up to his head, but couldnt. Now, said Trader, after some general remarks, fork over the moneyIve earned it, God knows. Sharps eye assumed a glazed look; he repeated the words, fork over the money, with a hollow echo; and then, as if recollecting something, said, The moneyab, yesI understand. You see, my dear fellow, in settling for the damages I took the judgment of twelve hundred and fifty against you, as cask, and the two hundred and fifty Ill keep for my feethough really you should pay me some- thing more besides. A pallor came over Trader as the truth flashed upon him; the broken bone of his left arm lost its setting, and he was carried back to the hospital in a relapse. It is hardly necessary to say that he finally came out a wiser if not a better man. STEWART HOLLAND, of the ill-fated Arctic, sent a thrill of admiration through the civilized world, because, unawed by the disasters about him, he continued to fire the signal-gun of distress until engulfed in the unsatisfied grave of the sea. Who still remembers the noble Richard Mann, who, upon the burning steamer Cr~JJith, was asked if he would remain at the wheel, and his stern answer was heard above the increasing tumult I will. And no- bly did he redeem his promise; amidst sheeted fire he directed the burning boat to the shore, and as she struck, and thus announced to hundreds of shrieking women and children and appalled men that they were saved, the form of Richard Mann was seen for the last time as he sank into the fiery vortex below himhe perished nobly at his post! Yet Holland and Mann, as hundreds of kindred spirits, come up out of the class known as intelli- gent hard-working men. Noble spirits, who, with- out the advantages which should result from refine- ment and wealth, are still natures noblest works. They are the kind of men who, in all ages, have performed the valorous, self-sacrificing deeds of history, but yet are rarely remembered. LonaNzo Dow is still remembered by some of the old fogies as one of the most eccentric men that ever lived. On one occasion he took the lib- erty, while preaching, to denounce a rich man in the community, recently deceased. The result was an arrest, a trial for slander, and an imprisonment in the county jail. After Lorenzo got out of limbo he announced that, in spite of his (in his opinion) unjust punishment, he should preach, at a given time, a sermon about another rich man. The populace was greatly excited, and a crowded house greeted his appearance. With great solemnity he opened the Bible, and read, And there was a rich man who died and went to ; then stopping short, and seeming to be suddenly impressed, he con- tinued: Brethren, I shall not mention the place this rich man went to, for fear he has some relatives in this congregation who will sue me for defamation of character. The effect on the assembled multi- tude was irresistible, and he made the impression permanent by taking another text, and never al- luding to the subject again. ff~story of the Origin, Formaeion, and Adoption of the Constitution of the United States, by GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) In these carefully prepared volumes we find a new and gratifying proof of the sagacity which, within a few years past, has led some of our most accomplished scholars to select the subject of their literary labors from the treasures of American history. The period which furnishes Mr. Curtis with a pregnant and copious themeextending from the commencement of the Revolution to the close of the Convention of 1787, and the beginning of Washingtons administrationalthough one of the most important in the annals of the United States, has not been adequately treated by any pre- vious writer. The circumstances in which the Fed- eral Constitution had its origin are familiar, in their broad outlines, to every intelligent citizen; but the more minute and intimate details, in regard to its formation and adoption, are far less generally known to the American people than the political antecedents and military history of the Revolution. This want the author of the present work has un- dertaken to supply. It has been his purpose to analyze and exhibit the causes which at once ren- dered the Constitution inevitable, and directed its course and decisions, together with the mode in which it became the organic law of the Union, and with sketches of the eminent statesmen who shared in the deliberations concerning its establishment. The importance and value of such a work, if exe- cuted with the rare ability demanded by the sub- ject, are evident at a glance. It must fill an unoc- cupied place in the history of the United States, and form an indispensable stndy for the enlightened politician. The manner in which Mr. Curtis has performed his task challenges severe critical exam- ination, which we have no doubt it will prove fully competent to sustain. Some exceptions may cer- tainly be taken to his style as a model of historical composition. While it will he deemed by many too uniformly stately in its movement, it is not without instances of harshness and inelegance, which im- pede the easy and agreeable flow of the narrative. At the same time it is recommended by its chaste- ness, precision, and vigor, and its general freedom from ambitious flights of rhetoric. In regard to the more substantial qualities of the work, it canjustly claim the merit of accurate and thorough research, a comprehensive insight into the philosophy of the Constitution, and a genuine historical tact in trac- ing the causes which rendered its adoption a neces- sity. The collateral views which it presents of the progress of the Revolution, and the development of national character, are judicious and informing. As an accompaniment to the detail of the military operations which secured the independence of our country, its value can scarcely be over-estimated. It forms an essential complement to the excellent works which treat of the military achievements of our Revolutionary ancestors. A portion of the first volume is devoted to a series of sketches of the founders of the Constitution. These are drawn with consummate address; they are of pregnant brevity; of sagacious discrimination; and singularly felici- tous in expression. The authors powers of compo- sition are here displayed in a brilliant light; and although he often rises to an impressive eloquence, he never transcends the grave simplicity appropri- ate to the character of his theme. His exposition of the debates in the Convention is a master-piece of clearness and condensation. Following the clew presented in Mr. Madisons Papers, he has arranged the topics and results of the complicated discussions in that most significantassembly ofAmerican states- men, in a lucid order and in symmetrical propor- tions, which enable the reader to comprehend them in all their far-reaching relations. Poems of the Orient, by BAvALID TAYLOR. (Pub- lished by Ticknor and Field.) The author of this volume is favorably known to the public as a trav- eler, a public Speaker, and a poet. In each of these departments he has won golden opinions and warm sympathies. The present volmue will enhance his pure and genuine fame as a successful writer of poetry. He has garnered in it the most precious portion of the harvest afforded by his Eastern trav- elsthe memories of new life and new hopes in- spired by the glories of the Orientthe influence of gorgeous natural scenes, and romantic displays of characterand the glow and exhilaration de- rived from the free, spontaneous impulses of a wan- derer in the desert. The subjects of these poems, for the most part, are suggested by Oriental expe- rience. Their tone of thought and feeling, as well as their imagery, bears the stamp of Arabia Felix and the Nile. With a temperament singularly sus- ceptible tcs external impressions, the poet has sur- rendered himself to the illusions of an Eastern clime, and vividly reproduced them in his luxurious verse. His descriptions are radiant with the purple light of dawn, while a vein of delicate and refined senti- ment pervades his most sensuous representations. The best poems in the volume are those which be- tray the least artifice in elaboration. The Poet in the East, An Oriental Idyl, Bedouin Song, The Arab to the Palm, are instinct with the ruddy life of the Orient, and show a more genial origin than the ambitious efforts like Kiliman- djero and The Desert Hymn to the Sun. Has- sans Temptation contains several passages of ex- quisite description, and presents some of the most pleasing specimens of the warmth and richness of the authors imagination. The volume closes with a collection of miscellaneous poems, most of which are of a highly reflective character, and, as expres- sions of personal feeling, present a striking contrast to the bold and jubilant strains of the Orient. The tenderness of emotion from which they proceed is embodied in stanzas of great sweetness of versifica tion. A more truly pathetic piece than The Phantom can scarcely be found in recent poetry. A Treatise on the Camp and March, by HENRY D. GRAFTON, presents, in a popular manual, the general principles at the foundation of the duties of the camp and the conduct of a march. It contains much useful military information, and will be found a valuable aid in the organization and discipline of volunteer companies. (Published by Fetridge and Co.) The Works of Beaumont ond Fletcl r are issued by Phillips, Sampson, and Co., in two elegant quartos, after the excellent complete edition of 1~Ir. DYCE. The text has been formed by a minute col- lation of all the early copies, and is accompanied with a variety of select and ,appropriate notes. A

Literary Notices Literary Notices 137-141

ff~story of the Origin, Formaeion, and Adoption of the Constitution of the United States, by GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS. (Published by Harper and Brothers.) In these carefully prepared volumes we find a new and gratifying proof of the sagacity which, within a few years past, has led some of our most accomplished scholars to select the subject of their literary labors from the treasures of American history. The period which furnishes Mr. Curtis with a pregnant and copious themeextending from the commencement of the Revolution to the close of the Convention of 1787, and the beginning of Washingtons administrationalthough one of the most important in the annals of the United States, has not been adequately treated by any pre- vious writer. The circumstances in which the Fed- eral Constitution had its origin are familiar, in their broad outlines, to every intelligent citizen; but the more minute and intimate details, in regard to its formation and adoption, are far less generally known to the American people than the political antecedents and military history of the Revolution. This want the author of the present work has un- dertaken to supply. It has been his purpose to analyze and exhibit the causes which at once ren- dered the Constitution inevitable, and directed its course and decisions, together with the mode in which it became the organic law of the Union, and with sketches of the eminent statesmen who shared in the deliberations concerning its establishment. The importance and value of such a work, if exe- cuted with the rare ability demanded by the sub- ject, are evident at a glance. It must fill an unoc- cupied place in the history of the United States, and form an indispensable stndy for the enlightened politician. The manner in which Mr. Curtis has performed his task challenges severe critical exam- ination, which we have no doubt it will prove fully competent to sustain. Some exceptions may cer- tainly be taken to his style as a model of historical composition. While it will he deemed by many too uniformly stately in its movement, it is not without instances of harshness and inelegance, which im- pede the easy and agreeable flow of the narrative. At the same time it is recommended by its chaste- ness, precision, and vigor, and its general freedom from ambitious flights of rhetoric. In regard to the more substantial qualities of the work, it canjustly claim the merit of accurate and thorough research, a comprehensive insight into the philosophy of the Constitution, and a genuine historical tact in trac- ing the causes which rendered its adoption a neces- sity. The collateral views which it presents of the progress of the Revolution, and the development of national character, are judicious and informing. As an accompaniment to the detail of the military operations which secured the independence of our country, its value can scarcely be over-estimated. It forms an essential complement to the excellent works which treat of the military achievements of our Revolutionary ancestors. A portion of the first volume is devoted to a series of sketches of the founders of the Constitution. These are drawn with consummate address; they are of pregnant brevity; of sagacious discrimination; and singularly felici- tous in expression. The authors powers of compo- sition are here displayed in a brilliant light; and although he often rises to an impressive eloquence, he never transcends the grave simplicity appropri- ate to the character of his theme. His exposition of the debates in the Convention is a master-piece of clearness and condensation. Following the clew presented in Mr. Madisons Papers, he has arranged the topics and results of the complicated discussions in that most significantassembly ofAmerican states- men, in a lucid order and in symmetrical propor- tions, which enable the reader to comprehend them in all their far-reaching relations. Poems of the Orient, by BAvALID TAYLOR. (Pub- lished by Ticknor and Field.) The author of this volume is favorably known to the public as a trav- eler, a public Speaker, and a poet. In each of these departments he has won golden opinions and warm sympathies. The present volmue will enhance his pure and genuine fame as a successful writer of poetry. He has garnered in it the most precious portion of the harvest afforded by his Eastern trav- elsthe memories of new life and new hopes in- spired by the glories of the Orientthe influence of gorgeous natural scenes, and romantic displays of characterand the glow and exhilaration de- rived from the free, spontaneous impulses of a wan- derer in the desert. The subjects of these poems, for the most part, are suggested by Oriental expe- rience. Their tone of thought and feeling, as well as their imagery, bears the stamp of Arabia Felix and the Nile. With a temperament singularly sus- ceptible tcs external impressions, the poet has sur- rendered himself to the illusions of an Eastern clime, and vividly reproduced them in his luxurious verse. His descriptions are radiant with the purple light of dawn, while a vein of delicate and refined senti- ment pervades his most sensuous representations. The best poems in the volume are those which be- tray the least artifice in elaboration. The Poet in the East, An Oriental Idyl, Bedouin Song, The Arab to the Palm, are instinct with the ruddy life of the Orient, and show a more genial origin than the ambitious efforts like Kiliman- djero and The Desert Hymn to the Sun. Has- sans Temptation contains several passages of ex- quisite description, and presents some of the most pleasing specimens of the warmth and richness of the authors imagination. The volume closes with a collection of miscellaneous poems, most of which are of a highly reflective character, and, as expres- sions of personal feeling, present a striking contrast to the bold and jubilant strains of the Orient. The tenderness of emotion from which they proceed is embodied in stanzas of great sweetness of versifica tion. A more truly pathetic piece than The Phantom can scarcely be found in recent poetry. A Treatise on the Camp and March, by HENRY D. GRAFTON, presents, in a popular manual, the general principles at the foundation of the duties of the camp and the conduct of a march. It contains much useful military information, and will be found a valuable aid in the organization and discipline of volunteer companies. (Published by Fetridge and Co.) The Works of Beaumont ond Fletcl r are issued by Phillips, Sampson, and Co., in two elegant quartos, after the excellent complete edition of 1~Ir. DYCE. The text has been formed by a minute col- lation of all the early copies, and is accompanied with a variety of select and ,appropriate notes. A 138 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. copious memoir of Beaumont and Iletcher is pre- fixed to the work. In point of typographical ex- ecution, the edition is every thing that could he desired for the choicest libraries. Poems, by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, collected and arranged by the author. The lovers of genu- ine poetry will give a heart-warm welcome to this substantial and convenient edition of the illustrious American bard. It is issued in two plain duodeci- mos, without embellishment, and in a style of neat, unostentatious typography, in excellent keeping with the character of the work. Beside the familiar poems, on which the fame of Bryant is founded, the editiou contains several pieces of a later date which it is high praise to say are worthy of the conipan- ionsbip in which they are found. A new genera- tion has come upon the stage since the original issue of most of these poems, but no iecent compet- itor has eclipsed their brilliant popularity; and in the love and admiration with which they are cher- ished by the whole American public, the author may enjoy a foretaste of posthumous honors. (Pub- lished by D. Appleton and Co.) The World as It Is, by FRANCIs C. WOODWORTIT, is the title of a series of small volumes, giving a miniature sketch of the most important sections of the globe, each section forming the subject of a sep- arate volume. The well-known happy talent of the author as a purveyor for youthful instruction, is displayed in the volume already issued, devoted to the British Islands, and gives encouraging promise of the success of the series. (Published by Lippin- cott, Grambo, and Co.) The LQ~ of Martin Luther, with an Introduction by the Rev. THROPRILUS STORK, D. D. (published by Lindsay and Blakiston), is the reproduction of a popular German work, presenting the biog- raphy of the great German Reformer in pictorial illustrations and historical sketches. In the execu- tion of the volume, the life of Luther is combined with the progress of the Reformation, giving a historical and moral unity between the man and his work. The edition is brought out in an at- tractive style, and can not fail to awaken a fresh interest in the great-hearted founder of Protest- autism. The Christians Daily Delight (published by Lind- say and Blakiston), is a collection of religious po- etry from eminent English and American writers, including a variety of the choicest gems, and ar- ranged in a tasteful and pleasing form as a Christ- mas gift-book. It is illustrated by several well- executed mezzotints by Sartain, from the designs of different eminent artists. William Radde has published A Trea~ise an Nervous Derangements, by JOHN C. PETRR5, M.D., comprising a great variety of details in regard to every form of mental disorders, with a statement of the most approved treatment, according to the Homeopathic system. The volume is less devoted to the support of any medical theories than to the exhibition of facts, and may be consulted to ad- vantage by practitioners of every school, as a copious repository of interesting cases. A Pictorial History of the United States, by BEN- SON J. LOSSINO. (Published by F. J. Huntington and Mason Brothers.) This volume, by a distin- guished writer on American history, is constructed on a novel plan, and has some peculiar features which recommend it as a valuable manual for schools and families. The contents are divided into six chapters, each presenting the record of an important period. The first gives a general view of the aborigines who occupied the continent at the time of the arrival of the Europeans. The second describes the discoveries and preparations for set- tlement made by individuals and governments. The third records the progress of the settlements before the formation of the Colonial governments. The fourth narrates the history of the Colonies, showing the development of democratic ideas, which resulted in the establishment of a political confederation. The fifth is devoted to the War for Independence; and the sixth gives a brief his- tory of the Republic, from its commencement to the present time. In executing this comprehen- sive plan, Mr. Lossing has not been content with a dry and meagre chronicle of facts. He has aim- ed to trace events to their causes, giving a philo- sophical view of the progress of the history. A system of constant and easy reference to prior events, in relation to any given topic, is kept up throughout the volume, and affords an invaluable aid to the thorough comprehension of the suiject. The volume is filled with a profusion of illustrative engravings, which are introduced less for the sake of ornament than of practical utility. We are not acquainted with any work in which the outlines of American history are more succinctly rendered, or more graphically illustrated. A greater degree of simplicity might sometimes be an improvement to the style; but, on the whole, both the plan and the execution of the volume may be spoken of in terms of high commendation. The Youth of Madame de Longeerille, from the French of VICTOR CousIN, by F. W. RICORD. (Published by D. Appleton and Co.) In the preparation of this work, M. Cousin has gratified a cherished wish of many years, by presenting a full-length portraiture of one of the most remark- able women that illustrated the brilliant society of France during the seventeenth century. This was an epoch of singular interest in French his- tory. Philosophy, poetry, and the fine arts had attained a high degree of development. The na- tion was equally penetrated by the spirit of religion and of military glory. The influence of Descartes had given an impulse to reflection, and the pro- foundest studies were pursued in the gayest sa- loons. Conspicuous in the most imposing circles was the subject of this memoir. She was the daughter of Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Condh, during whose imprisonment in the castle of Yin- cennes she was born, in the year 1619. M. Cousin divides her biography into three principal epochs the first extending from her marriage, in 1642, to her liason with the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, in 1648; the second, comprising her life of romance and gayety, to 1654; and the third, her retirement among the Carmelites to her death, in 1679. Thus as M. Cousin, in truly French fashion, observes first a spotless reputation, then faults, then expi- ation, divide the career of Madastie de Longueville. The former of these periods alone is treated of in the present volume. The subject presents M. Cou- sin in a new light. We here find him discussing the characteristics of female beauty with as much unction as once animated his subtle analysis of the beau-idial. He leaves the transition from the sub- jective to the objective, from psychology to ontol- ogy, for the delineation of the blue-stockings at the Hotel de Ramboulilet, and for learned disquisitions on the poetry and gallantry of the age of the great Louis. The work forms a curious commentary on LITERARY NOTICES. 139 French society, as well as on the versatile tastes of the author. A,f~eja is the title of a new romance translated from the German of THEODORE MUGGE, by ED- WARD Joy MoRRIs. The author of this work is regarded in Germany as one of the most distin- guished writers of fiction of which the prolific lit- erature of that country can boast. In this domes- tic novel he introduces the reader to an almost un- trodden field: the scene being laid in Norway, and amidst those desert, icy steppes, where the Lap- lander pursues his perilous vocation in the remote neighborhood of the North Pole. The peculiar manners and customs of Norwegian society are portrayed with life-like fidelity; while the charac- ters of the plot, in their animated development, present a forcible illustration of the identity of hu- man nature under the most opposite circumstances. The progress of the reader in the narrative is some- what impeded by the unpronounceable names of the jaw-cracking Scandinavian; but he is amply compensated for the discouragement by the vivid delineations of passion, and the admirable pic- turesque descriptions with which the volume is crowded. (Published by Lindsay and Blakiston.) The Elemeats of Intellectual Philosophy, by FRAN- Cs WAYLAND. (Published by Phillips, Sampson, and Co.) Although this volume was primarily in- tended as a text-book for college instruction, it has by no means the character of a compilation, but contains the fruits of profound and original thought. Without attempting to present an exhaustive sys- tem of mental science, it gives a lucid analysis of the main topics of discussion, including the percep- tive faculties, the intuitions of the intellect, mem- ory, reasoning, and imagination. Dr. Wayland does not affect to be a discoverer in this department of inquiry; nor, on the other hand, is he the blind devotee of any metaphysical school. His reading on the subject, we should judge, has not been ex- tensive, although he betrays a familiar acquaint- ance with the usual standard authorities in our own language. He is more indebted to reflection than to erudition for the materials of his volume. His method is that of a common-sense eclecticism not the scientific eclecticism of M. Cousinbut the judicious adoption of those views which com- mend themselves to his intelligence, without refer- ence to their historical origin. He is, evidently, no theoristwe presume he has little confidence in any theory transcending the limits of imme- diate observation. Hence he usually aims at no- thing beyond a lucid description of the mental faculties, with popular and practical illustrations of their characteristics and mode of operation. But on such topics his remarks are always fertile in instruction. He never fails to suggest valuable ideas, and often throws new light on the subject of discussion by presenting it in a new aspect. His counsels with regard to the cultivation of the dif- ferent faculties are always of moment, often re- minding us of the sagacity and insight of Locke in his Conduct of the Understanding. The style of President Wayland, in this volume, is an ad- mirable specimen of didactic composition. It is transparent as amber. He seldom uses a super- fluous or an inappropriate word. Nor does he quit his grasp of a thought until he has made it as clear to th~ reader as it lies in his own mind. He makes no parade whatever of learned or technical terms. He never loses himself in a maze of abstractions. His diction is markedalike by precision and brev ity. At the same time it has nothing of the dry, hard character, which often stiffens the style when logic is made of more account than rhetoric. He is preserved from this vice by the beauty and apt- ness of his illustrations. They are always in point, and sometimes extremely felicitous. His work, accordingly, claims the rank of a valuable manual, founded on the basis of cultivated good sense, and, without adding any positive accessions to mental philosophy, accomplishing whatever it undertakes with masterly success. A System of Intellectual Philosophy, by Rev. AsA MAHAN. (Published by A. S. Barnes and Co.) The fundamental idcas of intellectual science are more fully discussed in this treatise by the Presi- dent of Cleveland University, than in the work of Dr. Wayland noticed above. The author avows his predilection for the teachings of Kant, Cousin, an~Coler~dge, and has freely availed himself of the investigations of the two first-named eminent authorities, in his treatment of several important questions. No other text-book in our language, as far as we know, so fully embodies the most val- uable results of the Critical and the Eclectic sys- tems as the present volume. They are, however, presented with little judgment, or power of mental assimilation. The method of the author is loose, desultory, and inconsequent; his style is disfigured by frequent inaccuracies; and his illustrations are often puerile, and sometimes coarse. He has brought out a variety of admirable scientific ideas, for which he is indebted to his masters; but the negligent and slovenly manner in which he has performed his task shows a taste and degree of culture inadequate to the occasion. The Posi~ice Philosophy of Auguste Comte, freely translated and condensed by HARiURTMARTiNEAU. (Published by Calvin Blanchard.) The term Pos- itive Philosophy has an imposing sound, and has been proclaimed, with a sonorous flourish of trum- pets, by those who recognize in its author the Ba- con of the nineteenth centur~~. The system has excited some attention among thinking men in this country; it has called forth several elaborate cri- tiques; in certain quarters, it has been regarded with a feeling almost like panic; but few have an- nounced their adhesion to its principles; ~nd none, that we are aware, have discovered in it the grand panacea for the evils of the world. We can not regard Comte as entitled to the high place which is claimed for him by Miss Martineau and a little knot of his admirers in England. Professing to be an earnest stickler for facts, he is the most au- dacious theorizer of the age. He attempts to ex- plain the history of opinions by an assumption which has no historical support. Affirming that the natural progress of thought is in a threefold order, advancing from theology to metaphysics, and thence to positive science, he applies the stand- ard thus obtained, to measuring the achievements of the intellect in the field of scientific investiga- tion. He maintains that the race are destined to outgrow all theological and metaphysical concep- tions, until enlightened and emancipated humanity shall plant its foot on the platform of facts ad- dressed to the senses. But this is little more than a reproduction, under another aspect, of the lifeless materialism of the last century. Comte has, in- deed, embroidered the sombre velvet pall which concealed the ghastliness of death with a favorite historical hypothesis; but, in spite of the important part which this hypothesis plays in his system, it 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. disappears upon an accurate scrutiny of its preten- by the Rev. E. J. WILBERFORCE; and Lord CAR- sions, and leaves us nothing but the old, effete ma- LISLES Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters. Among terialism, which numbers few intelligent advocates works just ready, or to be published shortly, at the present day. We do not deny that Comte are the much anticipated Literary Lffe and Corre- exhibits a familar knowledge of the position of spondence of Lady Blessington (which is to be repub- physical science. He has made a careful study of lishefi by Harper and Brothers); the equally de- its development; noted its conquests and its short- sired Thirty Years of Foreign Policy; or, a History comings; detected its errors of method; held it of the 8ecretaryships of the Earl of Aberdeen and down to a rigid induction of facts; submitted its V count Palmerston, by Mr. Disraelis truculent accomplishments to an excruciating analysis; and biographer, whoever he is; a book on the Military suffered none of its pretended discoveries to pass Forces and Institutions of Great Britain, by Mr. H. muster without a grim challenge. This is all very B. TssoMsoN,Barrister~at..Law; a Manual of Mer- well. He has thus done a good service to the cause cantile Law, by Mr. LEONE LEVI; and Four Years of physical research. No one who has the courage at the Court of Henry VIII., in the form of selections and persistence to wade through his labyrinthine from the dispatches of Sebastian Guistinian, Vene- details on this subject, can fail to bring away many tian Embassador at that monarchs court, translated fruitful and salutary suggestions. But his repu- by Mr. RAWDON BROWN. Another to be pub.. diation of all truth, except that which is founded lished shortly, is A new Christmas Book, by Mr. on the observation of the senses, shows the narrow THACKERAY, who, by-the-by, it is said~ meditates and exclusive character of his intellect. His at- a second lecturing-tour in America as soon as his tacks on the whole domain of spiritual conceptions, Newcomes is finished. only betray his ignorance of the noblest principles In the somewhat vague category of nearly of human nature. His mind is essentially mathe- ready, we observe, The Fibrous Plants of India, matical in its tendencies. It is neither intuitive fitted for Cordage, Clothing, and Paper, by Dr. nor creative. His reasonings on mathematical evi- FORBES ROYLE; the Literary Remains of Henry deuce are admirable. They present many instruct- Fynes Clinton; the Geography of Herodotus illus- ive and satisfactory considerations. No intelligent trated by Modern Researches, by Mr. J. TALBOYS reader can help being struck with their appositeness WHEELER; the Traditions and Superstitions of the and force. He applies the methods of mathematics New Zealanders, by Mr. EDWARD SHORTLAND; a to the estimate of physical discoveries with eminent novel called Ethel, or the Double Error, by MARIAN success. He knows better than most men how to JAMES. Still farther in the distance, apparently, count, and weigh, and measure. But when he but announced as preparing for publication, or comes into the sphere of rational intuitions, and under some such head, are, Sir DAVID BREW- discusses the higher philosophy of thought, his mea- STERS new L~fr, Writings, and Discoveries of Sir greness and superficiality become apparent. On Isaac Newton; a collection of the Letters of John this account we do not think that he will compel Calvin, edited by Dr. JULEs BONNET; a new work either theology or metaphysics to shut up shop by the erratic, semi-mythical Mr. GEORGE BoR- quite yet. They will enjoy a breathing-time at ROW, entitled Romany Rye (something, we sup- least, until some more formidable opponent defies pose, in the romantic Gipsy vein); two volumes them to mortal combat. Comtes assaults only re- of translations by the same anomalous personage mind one of Mrs. Partingtons enterprise of sweep- one celled the Songs of Europe, and consisting ing out the Atlanticocean with a broom, of translations from all European languages, the other Kampe V er, and consisting of legends from A work of considerable interest to students of the Danish; a work on Polynesian Mythology, by American history has just been published at Rome. Sir GEORGE GREY; a Note-book of Adventure in It is a life of Columbus, written by the last de- the Wilds of Australia, by Mr. W. Howrr.r; a vol- scendant of the Great Admiral, now a Catholic nine entitledDomestic Life during the Civil War, by priest. With him, therefore, the line of Columbus Mr. HEPWORTR DIXON; a work with the similar comes to an end. The Italian title of the book is title of Town Life of the Restoration, by Mr. BELL; as follows: Patria e Biografia del Grande Am- a Hand-book for Young Painters, by Mr. LESLIE; miraglio D. Cristofero (olombo de C ti e Signori Mrs. JAMESONS (omnion-place Book; the conclud- di Cuccaro. It throws much light upon the dis- ing volume of Colonel SABINES translation of puted question of the birth-place of the discoverer Hu~uaOLDTS Cosmos; a hook called Habits and of America, and contains a new portrait, which is Men, by Dr. DORAN; and one entitled Philoso- affirmed to be authentic, differing very materially phy at the Foot of the Cross, by Mr. J. A. ST. from any heretofore known. We understand that JOHN. the volume is to be translated by a gentleman of The public, anticipating advertisements, is ex- this city. pecting Mr. MACAULAYS new volumes of his His- tory of England, the concluding volume of Mr. Mr. KINGLAKE, the author of Zothen, rode on the GROTES great History of Greece, and the third vol- staff of Lord Raglan at Alma, and shared all the ume of Lord JOHN RUSSELLS most slovenly issue perils and honors of that glorious field. Shall we of the Memorials and Correspondence of Charles have a history of the campaign in the Crimea from James Fox; and Mr. KAYR, fresh from the L~/e of that pen, so chary of its success? Fothen was a Lord Metca~/e, takes up a great subject in the Goc- literary event at home: the history of the war by ernors-General of India. such n hand would be monumental. It would be Finally, new tales are understood to be in the the Iliad of two continents, loom from Mr. CIIARLES LEVEE, Miss JEWSBURY, Mrs. MARSH, Mrs. HUnBACK, and Mrs. MOODIE; Among the new English works advertised as forth- new biographies to be in preparation by Mr. JOHN coming, the following are announced: An Inquiry FOESTER and Mr. DENNISTOUN; and new poems, into the Principles of Church Authority; or Reasons by Mr. ALEXANDER SMITH and Mr. SvDie~r for recalling my Subscription to the Royal Supremacy, YENDYS. H w H 0 0 H 0 p H U) H 0 0 H 0 H U) VOL. X.Ko. 55.~~I*

Comicalities, Original And Selected "Comicalities, Original And Selected" 141

H w H 0 0 H 0 p H U) H 0 0 H 0 H U) VOL. X.Ko. 55.~~I*

First Cigar 141-143

H w H 0 0 H 0 p H U) H 0 0 H 0 H U) VOL. X.Ko. 55.~~I* 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. H 1~!J1Ufl!?i fur ~hiTrnhi~r. 1 IGLEES 1 AND 2.EVENING AND PROMENADE COSTUMES. Furnished by Mr. G. BRoDIE, ~51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by Yoi~~ front actual articles of Costume.

Fashions For December 143-144

1~!J1Ufl!?i fur ~hiTrnhi~r. 1 IGLEES 1 AND 2.EVENING AND PROMENADE COSTUMES. Furnished by Mr. G. BRoDIE, ~51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by Yoi~~ front actual articles of Costume. 114 hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. T lIE approaching season of winter festivities de- mands especial attention on our part to the illustration of costumes for evening assemblies. We have selected a dress for soirdes which is ex- tremely elegant, premising, however, t hat great latitude exists, as to the modes adopted, in the fashionable world. FIGURE 1.The dress which we l)resent is of tlamask silk, with an elaborate design wrought upon a white around. The corsage is closed. It is trimmed with as /se of the material, which heads a fall of point lace. Smaller rs~ches, increasing in frequency and width, border the flounces. The dress is ornaneented with groups of camelias and other flowers. The sleeves are formed in lappets, each of which terminates with a drop buttomi. The undersleeves are of lace, en sssite with that upon the corsage they are very full. The flounces, like the sleeves, are looped up with ribbon. FIGULIE 2.This is a promenade costume, the (lress composed of taffeta of a dark chocolate color, with a black velvet stripe wovems in the flounces. The sleeves have narrow bossi//osss running longi- tudinally half the depth, the lower portion simlsly confined at thcs wrist. The corsage is half closed to the neck. The cloak is of black cloth, having a very deep cape. The whole garment is very am- ple. It is trimmed with a novel style of silk l)luslI, which bears a very close resemblance to chinchilla fur. Varieties of this plush are in high csteem for trimminas of garments of this description. The Illustrations of BONNETS require little verbal explanation. Both recommend themselves by tiseir great simplicity and eleganceFigure .3, iutcnded for a young lady, is of white silk or satin, trimmed with a marabout feather borderheg the brim. The crown is ornamented with drop buttons. Time top is flat. Soft crowns are less frequently met with than heretoforeFigure 4, which is intended for a hjlv of more mature years, has a broad lace turned over the front. The inside trimmings are of ivy leaves. It has also a mnarabout feather upon each side. The crown, which is checkered, is bordered by a quilling. The COIFFURE, intended for a sois/e, is composed of a Grecian braid passing over the top of the head, Against this lies a basket plait, wInch is crossed by a Circassian braid, that likewise confines the ends of the Grecian braid below it. Frizzled puffs are worn in front, with droopina sprays of jasmine. The yellow jasmine is especially adudred for this rurPese. S FIGURE 3.YOUNG LADYS BONNRT. FIGURE flCOIFFURE.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 10, Issue 56 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January 1855 0010 056
Andrew Jackson 145-173

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. LYLJAMJA1{Y, 1855.VOL. X. ANDREW JACKSON. flURING the heat of the conflict for Inde- JJpendence, the popular mind of America, always plastic, hecame like melted wax heneath the recorders seal. It was made susceptible to the most delicate and the deepest impressions. Every nol)le word, and patriotic maxim, and cnrse and blessingevery bngle note, and trnm- pet blast, and clash of stecievery musket rat-. tle, and savage yell, and dying groanev~r plea for mercy, and fierce denial, and shout of victory, made deep and ineffaceahle marks upon that yielding surface; nnd these were made deeper and more ineffaceable by the weight of years. The hearts and memories of the young became broad phylacteries, filled with sentences from the sacred Scriptures of purest patriotism. These were the lares and penates of their daily life; and when the privileges of manhoods prime allowed them to take position in the sen- ANDRE~V JAcKsON. ate and the camp, by the side of the bending Entered, according to Act of Congress. in the year 1854, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the District Court for the 8outhern District of New York. VOL. X.No. 66.K lulL -K 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. forms of those who had fought for freedom, Valley of Virginia, but more penetrated the they had no new creed to learn, nor rituals to bosom of the Carolinas, and built their cabins study. They became heroes and sages as nat- along the picturesque and fertile borders of the urally as the child speaks the language of its Catawba and Yadkin rivers. They brought with mother; and those children of the heroic a~e them clear heads, warm hearts, and willing hands. of our Republic are the honored dead of this Thoroughly imbued with republican principles, generation. The mould is yet fresh upon their they found in the free air and forest life of the graves, and the flowers planted there are not wilderness genial promoters of lofty independ- yet faded. Even the music of their requiem is ence of thought and action. Accustomed from vet echoing from bill to bill, and the tear yet infancy to hate oppression and love freedom, glistens in the eye of the nation. they were among the earliest of the polyglot Among those whose cradle was rocked by the population of the American colonies to perceive tempest of the Revolution, and whose bier was the red hand of oppression beneath the fair glove borne to the grave by the young men of to-day, of British protection. And when that hand was was ANDREW JACKsON. made bare, and held a sceptre of iron, they were A republican and thoroughly independent amon~, the earliest and most determined oppos- spirit, born of persecution, and tempered like ers of its rule. a Damascene blade, by oppression, was the in- Andrew Jackson, the father of the warrior heritance of ANDREW JACKSON. When that and statesman whose brilliant career we pur- royal libertine, the Eighth Henry of England, pose now briefly to consider, was one of a num- assnmed to be the head of the Protestant Church ber of Scotch-Irish families who emigrated to in his realm, only because a Roman PontiW the Carolinas, in 1765. He was a descendant more just than he, refused to sanction the sac- of one of the original emigrants from Scotland. rifice of one of his queens to his lust, he sought With three others, he purchased lands and set- to coerce the Irish people into the use of the tled in the vicinity of the Waxhaw Creek, near Liturgy of the Reformed Church. His daugh- the dividing-line of North and South Carolina, ter, Elizabeth, continued the unwise efforts of where others of his countrymen, who had first her father, and reaped an abundant harvest of located in Pennsylvania and Vir~inia, bad form- trouble. James the First increased the rigor ed a settlement and built a meeting-house. of Protestant domination, and the hardy people The rudely-constructed but comfortable dwell- of the north of Ireland, burning with zeal for ing of Jackson was within half a mile of the their ancient faith, openly re- belled. Imperial troops soon crushed their efforts; and six counties, comprising half a mill- ion of acres, became the proper- ty of the King, by confiscation. Hopin~, to reform Ireland by the more peaceful method of Protest- ant infusion, James sent colonies of English and Scotch husband- men to occupy those counties. The Scotch greatly predominated, and soon made the permanent impress of their nationality there. They retained their national char- acteristics, and for more than a century battled manfully against the Church of Encrland which sought to control their religious organization, and the persecutions of their Roman Catholic neigh- bors. They persisted in calling themselves Scotch, even when, in the course of Creek, in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, three or four generations, their blood mingled on lands now owned by W. J. Cureton, Esq. freely with that of the Irish. To distinguish There, on the 15th of March, 1767, his son them from natives of Scotland, they were called Andrew was born; and, five days afterward, the Scovcu-Iamss. They were always republicans infant and two brothers were made half-orphans in religious matters; and, like their brethren, by the death of their father. A month later, the Coveaanters, they maintained their independ- the widow, with her little family, crossed into ence through many a fiery trial. South Carolina, and made their home at an- About the middle of the last century, many other point on the Waxhaw, twenty miles north of those Scotch-Irish families, tired of the petty of the present Lancaster Court-house. There annoyances inflicted by power and bigotry, sold the future hero passed the years of his infancy their lands and emigrated to America. Some and early youth; and there his mind and heart of them settled in Pennsylvania and the Great received those stern lessons of life, whose im JAcKsoNs luaTil-PLAcE. ANDREW JACKSON. 147 pressions were seen in every phase of his event- ful career. The widow was left with slender means and a helpless family. As soon as the hands of her two older sons were able to labor, they were employed; while their education was derived from the occasional teachings of a district school- master, and of their mother. Yearning to see one of her children a minister of the Gospel she loved so much, Andrew was devoted to that pur- pose. He was placed in the Waxhaw Acad- emy, and was successfully pursuing the essen- tial preparatory studies for ministerial labors, when the storm of the Revolution began to lower. He heard the low murmurings of the distant thunder at Lexington, and Bunker Hill, and. Dorchester, with lively interest; and when louder peals shook the pine forests of the South- ern seaboard and awakened the echoes of the inland hills, his young heart was stirred with an intense desire to go forth and mingle in the conflicts of the tempest. When royal troops, tired of unsuccessful warfare with the patriots of the populous North, came to crush the val- iant rebels of the thinly-inhabited South, and his eldest brother joined the ranks of Captain Davie* and marched for Charleston, Andrew, although only twelve years of age, was as restive as a hound in the leash, with a desire to follow. And when the intelligence came that his brother had fallen under the heat of a burning sun at Stono (June, 1779), and he saw his mothers head bowed in grief, his little heart grew hig with resolutions of vengeance, and his hoyish tongue made valiant promises of trenchant ret- ribution. At length the dark clouds of war came roll- ing up from the seaboard, and threatened the beautifal hill-conutry with desolation. Georgia was subdued; Charleston lay helpless at the feet of British power; and the Southern army of patriots were prisoners or exiles. Marion had not yet formed his invincible 6r~qade; Sum- ter was yet an invalid exile far up on the Ca- tawba, and Pickens had not yet called forth his brave followers from the region of the Savan- nali and Saluda rivers. The victorious Britons at Charleston proceeded in three divisions to place South Carolina under martial rule. One division went up the Savannah to Augusta; an- other marched along the Congaree and Saluda to Ninety-Six: and the third, under Corawallis and the fiery Tarleton, swept over the country, between the Santee and Pedee, toward Camden. There were a few American detachments vet abroad; but they were compelled to flee from post to post as the flood of British power ad- vanced, and leave the State to utter subjugation. Among these were about four hundred men under Colonel Buford, who were marching for Charleston when intelligence of its fall reached them at Camden. Buford halted, and soon scouts hurried to his camp and reported the triumphant~ and rapid approach of Coruwallis. Buford immediately changed front, and hasten- ed toward North Carolina, hut was overtaken in the Waxhaw settlement by Tarleton, who fell upon and massacred a large proportion of his command, even while they cried for quar- ter. It was ruthless and cold-blooded murder; and a British historian,* who was in the war, said, On this occasion the virtue of humanity was totally forgot. Tarletons quarter became a synonym for cruelty. The wounded and dying were left in the angel-hands of the women of the Waxhaw set- tlement. They were conveyed to the log meet- ing-house; and there the mother of Andrew Jackson was among the most active, with words and deeds, in ministrations of consolation and relief for the sufferers. Under that consecrated roofconsecrated to the service of the Prince of Peaceyoung Jackson first saw the hideous image of ~vnr, and realized the accursed char- acter of that tyranny he had been so early taught to hate. Then and there was planted in his bosom that detestation of wrong and op- pressionthat reverence for truth, justice, and freedomand that deep patriotic devotion to his country, which formed the ruling elements of his character, and fitted him for leadership among a free people. Almost at the same moment, those brave partisan leaders, Marion, Sumter, and Pickens, appeared at different points in South Carolina, and raised the standard of liberty. The crushed republicans lifted their heads in hope, and many equally brave but less eminent leaders collected the Whigs into bands, and prepared to check the advance of British power toward the mount- ains and the North State. All over the lower Catawba region the black footprints of the in- vader were seen upon every plantation. The strong men were in the camp and field; and fee- ble women, and more feeble old men, and tender youths were compelled to be defenders of the sanctities of home. Every where the fires of civil war burned fiercely; for under the banners of Whig and Jbry, neighbors were arrayed against neighbors, and even kinsmen against kinsmen, in cruel and unrelenting conflict. At length Sumter crossed the Catawba, and, with Davie, proceeded to attack a British post at Hanging Rock. Among Davies volunteers were Robert and Andrew Jackson. Like the Spartan mother, their widowed parent had placed the shield upon their arms with a heartfelt hope that they might bring them back unharmed, or be brought back upon them. In the decisive battle that ensued (August 6, 1780), the corps of i)avie was greatly distinguished. The sons of the widow were unharmed, and returned to receive her blessing. This was Andrew Jacksons first l)attle. He was then only five months more tha;,m thirteen years of age. For several months afterward, the whole re- gion between the Great Pedee and Saluda riv- ers was the theatre of cruel warfare. The Wax- haw settlers, eminent for their unyielding repub- Stednian. * Afterward General Davie, and Governor of ~erth Caromim in 1798. 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. licanism, became the special objects of British hatred. A party, under Major Coffin, a Loyalist from the North, was sent to capture or destroy them. The settlers resisted, but were dispersed, and at the house of a relative, Robert and An- drew Jackson were made prisoners. Coffin dis- ~)layed neither the magnanimity of a true sol- dier, nor the feelin~s of a bentleman. He al- lowed his brutal followers to insult the females, destroy the furniture, and plunder the drawers of the family where his young prisoners were taken; and he insulted and abused the lads without measure. lie swore he would crush their rebel spirits by making them supple serv- ants of his will, and began the degrading dis- cipline by ordering Andrew to clean his muddy boots. The young hero, not yet fourteen years of age, proudly refused, and demanded treat- ment proper for prisoners of war. The cuwardlv ruffian could not appreciate the manly spirit of the boy, but in fierce anger he drew his sword, and aimed a murderous blow at the lads head. It was parried by Andrews left arm, but he re- received a wound in the hand, whose scar he bore to his coffin sixty-four years afterward. Robert was then ordered to perform the menial service. He as promptly refused, when Coffin gave him a severe sword-cut upon his head, from the effect of which he never recovered. With twenty other prisoners, Andrew and his brother were placed on captured horses, and compelled to travel to Lord Rawdons camp at Camden, forty miles distant, without food or drink. Their brutal guard would not allow them even a dogs privilege of lapping water from the brooks by the way. At Camden they were con- fined in a redoubt, with about two hundred and fifty others, where they were compelled to sleep on the ground, to eat bad bread without meat~ to be taunted with the name of rebel and to suffer robbery of their clothing by the ruffianly Tories who filled the royal camp. To add to their sufferings, they were separated; and when, soon afterward, the small-pox broke out among the prisoners, they were tortured with apprehen- sions of each others fate, without hope of relief hy information. Without physicians, nurses, or friends, the prisoners suffered dreadfully, and perished by dozens; and when, in April, 1781, the army of General Greene appeared upon the summit of Hobkirks lull, a mile distant, and invited Lord Rawdon forth to battle, less thaii fifty patriots remained iu their loathsome prison at Camden. The prisoners heard of the presence of Greene and Andrew Jackson, by persevering labor with an old razor, made a hole in the board side of the in- closure, and saw with gladness the glittering arms of his countrymen. But his joy gave place to trembling when he beard the heavy tread of the British troops, marching stealthily from Camden to fall upon Greene. while it was evident that the latter had no suspi- cions of the movement. Oh, how eagerly he watched the Americans carelessly cleaning their arms, washing their clothing, or reclining at ease, while he knew the foe, secret and fierce as a tiger, would soon spring upon them! Then he saw the conflict of the pickets on the eastern slope, the hurried preparation for action, and the confusion of the patriot troops. With flut- tering heart and broken accents he reported every movement to the eager-listening prison- ers; and when, at length, he shouted, folonel Washinqton has swept thefield, and Ilawdon is re- treating ! his half-famished companions cried, Victory and deliverance ! Alas! victory did not remain with the Americans, and deliverance was deferred for a season. Greene was defeated, and the unhappy prisoners saw no star of hope amidst the clouds of the future. But an angel of deliverance soon appeared. The mother of the Jacksons, impelled by a pa- rents love, hastened to Camden to plead for the release of her sons. By an exchange of prison- YOUNG JAcKSON ~xn TUE BRITISH OFFIcER. ANDREW JACKSON. 149 ers they were delivered to her; hut they were pervade their systems. Robert lived only two mere shadows of those hlooming hoys who had days; and for almost a fortnight Andrew was left her embrace a few weeks hefore. The wound delirious with a ragin~ fever. The mother ex- on Roberts head, untouched hy nurse or surgeon, pected to he childless. But God decreed other- was a fearful si~ht for a mothers eye; and hoth wise; and the germ of the future hero and states- of them were emaciated hy privntions and the man was mercifully preserved in that hour of ravages of disease. \\Tith five released neigh- peril. hors, the widow and her sons started for their Before Andrew had fully recovered, a voice (listant home. There were hut two horses for of wail came up to the Waxhaw settlers from the whole company. Mrs. Jackson rode one, their kFndred and friends, who were suffering a without saddle orhridle, and the sick and wound- thousand horrors in the prison-ships at Charles- ed Rohert was placed on the other. Too weak ton. Food, clothing, medicineall were denied to sit upright, he was held hy his stronger com- them; and day by day scores were cast into the panions; while Andrew, with the small-pox coy- waters, or were buried in shallow graves on the ering his skin, barefooted and half-naked, walked sandy shore. The sympathies of Mrs. Jackson were aroused; and, I with four or five oth- er women, she hast- ened, on horseback, to Charleston, with such comforts as ii couldbe convenient- ly carried. Unawed hy the conquerors of the city, they made their way to the harbor, and deep down in the loath- some kennels of the ships, where disease was rioting and death held high court, these minis teringan~els breath- ed words of comfort for the sufferers, and relieved the press- in needs of their friends. Then they departed, sorrow- ing, for their homes. The deadly fever of the ships seized Mrs. Jackson, and just beyond the lines of defense which the Americans had piled across Charleston Neck, she returned to the bosom of her mother earth, a glo- rious martyr in the cause of freedom and humanity. 11cr burial-place is un- known. But she has a monument in the fame of her son niore enduring than brass or marble; and TuE winow AND nan SONS. while the memory the whole distaiicea journey of forty miles, of his deeds remain unfading, the name of ELIz- through pine forests and a desolate country. AnaTil, the mother of Jackson, like that of MARY, Two hours before they reached home, they were the mother of Washington, will be remembered drenched by a heavy rain, which caused the dis- and revered. ease to disappear from the skin of the boy~ and Andrew Jackson was now an orphan; and at 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the close of the Revolution, every member of his Jackson crossed the mountains in the spring family who came from Ireland had perished in of 1788, in company with John MNairy, who the storm. He stood alone, like a stricken but had been appointed Judge of the district.. Jones- not blasted sapling, over which the tempest had borough was then the principal seat of justice in swept only to give more tenacity to its roots, that region, and there Jackson remained until vigor to its branches, and beauty to its foliage, autumn, when he and Judge MNairy crossed the The lightning of British oppression had smitten vast wilderness to the site of the present Nash- his young heart fiercely; but it served to awaken ville, then only one of those Stations* on the therein those latent energies of character which Cumberland river, into which the settlers gath- ueeded only an electric touch to make them leap ered for mutual defense against the bloody forth full-armed, living principles, to achieve Shawnees of the north, and the fiery Choctaws great things on the battle-field of life, and Cherokees of the south. Between these Mrs. Jackson had left Andrew in the family two principal settlements, separated by a dark of Major Thomas Crawford, when she departed wilderness of two hundred miles, Jackson made for Charleston, and there he remained Yor sev- twenty-two journeys in the performance of his eral months after her death. His position was public duties. 8ometimes he was entirely alone; one of great danger in respect to his future ca- at others, two or three companions accompanied reer, and he came very near heing shipwrecked him, and on all occasions he was hourly exposed at the commencement of the voyage of active to the arrow and hatchet of the skulking Indian. life. Left master of his own actions, and in the His portmanteau was at once his wardrohe and absolute control of some property, at an age when his larder on his journey, and his pillow among Virtue and Vice, standing at the open door of the forest leaves at night. lie was not only his Manhood, utter their most persuasive strains in own defender, but he was often found with oth- willing ears, he had no mentor to direct him, ers, in the character of an escort for parties of and for twcnty months or more he spent his emigrants making their fearful way through the time in idle dissipation with the gay young men wilderness, lie was also engaged in several ex- of the Carolinas, until his patrimony was nearly peditions against the Indians, previous to 1794, all gone except a beautiful mare. Meeting some and his skill and bravery so excited the awe and friends one night at a tavern, he engaged with admiration of the savages, that they gave him them in a game with dice called Rattle aad Snap. the significant names of Sharp Kn~fr and Point- He staked his mare against a considerable sum of ed Arrow. The pages of romance, tainted in money, and won. At that moment his guardian highest colors, have few pictures of more thrill- angel inspired him with a sudden resolution to ing interest than tIme forest life of Jackson pre- change his course of life. He instantly paid his seated during the first years of his residence in bill, put the winnings in his pocket, went to the Tennessee. They were years of severest dis- Waxhaw settlement, disposed of the small re- cipline for those achievements in after-life, when, mainder of his fathers estate, and departed for at the head of his countrys soldiers, l~e met ~vl~ole Salisbury, in North Carolina, to study law un- hands of these wily foes in their own rocky fast- der Spruce MKay, Esq., then one of the most nesses or tangled morasses. eminent practitioners in that section of the coun- Early in 1790 Jackson made Nashville his try. The change in his habits was as complete residence; and in the family of Mrs. Donelson, as it was sudden; and during that winter of widow of Colonel Donelson, an emigrant from 1784, when he was between seventeen and Virginia, he found an agreeable home. He also eighteen years of age, the foundation of his fu- found immediate and ample employment in his ture eminence was laid, profession. Nashville was then the chief trad Jackson completed his law studies under Col- ing station in the territory, and in that vicinity onel Stokes, who lost a hand in the cruel mas- a great number of young adventurers, having sacre of Bufords command on the Waxhaw, and nothing to lose and every thing to gain, had con- in 1780 received a license to practice law. His gregated. Relieved from the restraints of law energy, talent, and sterling honor and integrity, and moral teachings, they lived prodigally, be- were fully developed during this brief period, came heavily involved in debt to the merchants, and, without solicitation on his part, and on the and having secured the exclusive services of the voluntary recommendation of several of the most only lawyer in that region before Jacksons ar- eminent men of North Carolina, Governor John- rival, they laughed at the futile efforts of their ston appointed him Solicitor of the Western dis- creditors to enforce payment. A sudden reverse trict of that State, then embracing the present awaited them. The merchants placed their territory of Tennessee. It was the dark and claims in the hands of Jackson for prosecution, bloody ground beyond the mountains, whither and on the morning after his arrival in Naslm- civilization was cautiously creeping into the wild ville he issued seventy writs against time delin- domains of the savage. Amidst its excitements quents. Alarmed and irritated, they resolved and perils the future hero, then only twenty-one to drive him from the country, either by violence years of age, found ample stimulus for his cour- or the force of personal annoyances, by embroil- age and daring. Population was sparse, rude, and independent, and war-parties of Indians yet The settlers dared not reside in isolated dwellings, but hung ominously around the stations of the re- gathered into mittle emusters of several houses, which they fortified by pickets. These were called Stations, and forma mote settlers. ed the nucmeus of sevemi thriving cities and villages. 151 ANDREW JACKSON. ing him with strong bullies, who were ever eager for fight. They misjudged the character of the man. He did not waver a line in the path of moral and professional duty; and his fidelity to truth and justice were rewarded hy a lucrative practice, and the 6ffice of Attorney General of the district. While Jackson seemed proof against the ar- rows of savages, and faltered not in the presence of desperate men, love and beauty made him a victim and a captive. Mrs. Donelsons lovely daughter, then in the bloom of young woman- hood, and the wife of a man utterly unworthy of the affection and esteem of a true woman, was sheltered from the cruel treatment of her husband under her mothers roof when Jackson becanXe an inmate in the family. Her beauty and accomplishments excited the admiration of all. Aware of his own inferiority, and conse- quently made jealous and irritable by the hom- age paid to his wife, the husband embittered her daily life by those petty persecutions which only a small mind, controlled by jealousy, can conceive, and she left him. Dreading his threat- ened presence at Nashville, she left there in the spring of 1791, and, with the family of a friend, went down the river to be a dweller at Natchez, on the Mississippi, many leagues deeper in the wilderness. Jackson was invited to aceompany them as a protector against the Indians, and he gladly complied. On his return he was inform- ed that the jealous husband had successfully ap- plied to the Virginia Legislature for a divorce. Regarding the lady as legally free to form a new matrimonial connection, he allowed the buds of involuntary admiration, heretofore repressed by honorable prudence, to expand into the full blossom of affection. About midsummer he went to Natchez with the jubilee message to the widowed wife, declared his own love for her, and became an accepted suitor. they were married in autumn, and throughout the Cumberland re- gion their union was joyfully greeted as that of Worth and Virtue. But a cloud overshadowed the clear sky of their connubial happiness. The intelligence re- specting a divorce was only partially true. Sep- arated by a dark wilderness filled with hostile bands, communication between Virginia and the settlements beyond the mountains were infre- quent. There were no newspapers to proclaim the acts of public bodies; and, except officially, much of the information brought from the east was vague and unreliable. The husband had only applied to the Virginia Legislature for leave to prosecute a suit for divorce in a court in Ken- tucky, his place of residence when his wife left him. The sequel was propitiousthe divorce was obtained. Jackson procured another li- cense, and in 1Th4, they were~ again married. Becanse of this transaction, calumny attempted to sully his honor with its slime, but signally failed. Truth, uttered by the lips even of his enemies, pronounced its verdict in favor of his integrity and virtue. Pity and gallantry had first opened the way for love to the young hero s heart, and mutual affection, purity of purpose, and legal consent, sanctioned the marriage. Jacksons legal warfare upon the prodigal debtors of the Nashville region, and his fearless exposure of enormous land-frauds, perpetrated upon the settlers by influential men in North Carolina, c~eated a host of bitter enemies; and he was fret1 ~ently compelled, while in attend- ance at courts, to defend himself against the per- sonal attacks of desperate men. In these aifrays he was always victorious. He was strong in muscle, and expert in limb; and it is said that his eye, when lie was excited, possessed a fas- cination seldom known. Before its glance the stoutest bullies would quail and flee. These physical qualities endeared him to the rough backwoodsmen of Tennessee, and his fearless per- formance of duty as Attorney General won for him the unbounded confidence and esteem of all but the vicious few. And when, in 1795, the people of the Territory called a Convention to frame a constitution, preparatory to the admis- sion of Tennessee into the Union, as a State, Jackson was spontaneously elected to a seat therein: The instrument then formed bears the impress of his vigorous democratic princi- ples, which always laid at the root of his sturdy patriotism; and the people expressed their ver- dict of satisfaction the following year, when, without offering himself as a candidate, he was elected the first representative of the new State, in the Federal Congress. He took his seat in the National Council on the 5th of December, 1796; and within eight weeks afterward, the Legislature of Tennessee elected him its repre- sentative in the United States Senate. He had just passed the age of thirty years, when, in November, 1797, he took his seat in that august body, then presided over by Thomas Jefferson. Jackson appears to have been unambitious of political distinction. He was eminently a man of action, and not merely of words. He uttered no speeches in the Senate, but was always act- ive in public duties. Thoroughly imbued with a reverence for popular sovereignty, he bent his energies, at home and in the Senate, to the ac- complishment of that political revolution in favor of the people which Jefferson commenced dur- ing Washingtons administration. He resigned his senatorial seat at the close of the first session after his election, and went back to Tennessee an acknowledged democratic leader. There new honors awaited him at the hands of the Legis- lature. Though young in years, he was regard- ed as a patriarch in the infant State; and he was elevated to the bench of the Supreme Court. His opinions were law for a great majority of the people, for they recognized him as a sound and prudent leader in public affairs. Under his guidance the State of Tennessee gave its first presidential vote for Jefferson, in 1796, and em- phatically repeated it in 1800, when the demo- cratic party triumphed. Many instances of his personal courage and daring are related. We will mention only two events, as illustrations, which occurred while he 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was Judge. At Jonesborough, a desperate man of giant frame had been indicted for the crime of cutting off the ear of his infant, while in a state of drunkenness. The sheriff informed Judge Jackson that the brute was in the court- house yard, armed with a dirk and two pistols, and that he refused to be arrcsted. He must be taken, said the Judge; summ n the people to your aid. The sheriff cunningly waited until the Court adjourned for dinner, when he summoned the judges as a part of the posse cornitatus. ~ I will attend, promptly respond- ed Jackson, and see that you do your duty. Then taking a loaded pistol, he said to the sheriW Advance and secure the miscreant. The criminals eyes flashed with anger and desperate resolution. Seeing the sheriff hesi- tate, Judge Jackson advanced, and fixing his keen gaze upon the felon, he bade him surren- (icr instantly. The lip of the strong man quiv- ered: the weapons fell from his hand, and he stammered out, I will surrender to.you, Sir, hut to no one else. The people were aston- ished at the triumph; and from that time no one pretended to dispute the authority bf Judge Jackson. On another occasion, his personal courage almost instantly dispersed a mob collected for the purpose of abusing him. By more ex- posures of stupendous laud-frauds he had exas- perated many people in the vicinity of Jones- borough, and a regiment, under a militia colonel, collected there on the morning of the first day of Court, to punish the Judge. Jackson had been so sick on his journey that he was cern- pelled to retire to his bed, on his arriva~. A few moments aftenvard, a gentleman came in great haste to inform him that a mob was in front of the house, prepared to tar and feather him. He begged Jackson to bar his door hn- mediately and avoid the indignity. The Judge immediately arose, threw his door wide open, and said, Give my compliments to Colonel II., and tell him my door is open to receive him and his reuimenr whenever they choose to call upon me; and that I hope the Colonel will have the chivalry to lead his men, not tofollow them. Abashed at this bold message, and filled with admiration of the manly courage of an unarmed invalid, the mob instantly dispersed, and the leader, making an humble apology, remained the unwavering friend of Jackson ever after- ward. These, and similar events, made a deep impression on the people of the whole country ~vest of the mountains; and Andrew Jnckson became the most popular man in the Missis- sippi Valley. In 1802 Jackson was commissioned a Major- General of the Tennessee militia, and the follow- ing year the Federal government called him to exercise the functions of his office. Louisiana, lately a province of Spain, ceded to France, had been purchased of the latter by the United States. There was a general apprehension that the Spanish inhabitants of the territory would not quietly submit to the authority of the new government, and it was thought prudent to con- centrate troops on the southwesteru territory, prepared to march against New Orleans, if necessary. General Jackson was required to furnish boats, for the purpose of transporting the troops and supplies by water; and so thoroughly and promptly was his commission executed, that it called forth the applause of government. His military genius, as an execu- tive officer, then developed, was not forgotten when events of more gravity demanded his services. The threatening cloud passed away, and the people of Louisiana quietly passed from under the dominion of old 8pain and France to that of the United States. Never was party spirit more rancorous nnd vengeful, than during the first administration of President Jefferson. It produced discord and promoted hatred in neighl~orhoods and families; and in the newly-settled States of the West, where society was then in its transition condition from rudeness to refinement, it led to personal combats as the climax of arguments. Public men were frequently embroiled in scenes of violence and bloodshed, without losing (but rather enhancing) their dignity in the estima- tion of popular opinion. General Jackson wa,s not exempted from the penalties of this social condition; and in the summer of 1803, he was engaged in an afihir that would be shocking now to the more refined people of Tennessee. His manly expression of opinion on nil occa- sions, and his fearless exposition and punish- ment of fraud in high places, gave him many po- litical and personal enemies. His early friend, Judge i~1Nairy, became alienated; and Jackson quarreled with Governor Sevier, in the presence of a multitude. Goaded by the governors insults and defiant taunts of cowardice, Jackson challenged ~im to single combat. After some delays they met near Knoxville. 8evier was accompanied by several gentlemen; Jackson by a single friend. All were mounted. The bel- ligerents had each a brace of pistols. Sevier curried a sword; Jackson a heavy hickory cane. As they slowly al)l)roached each other on the road, Jackson suddenly poised his cane as a knight of the tournament would his lance, and rising in his stirrups, he spurred his horse, rushed furiously forward, and charged his an- tagon ist. Sevier, astounded at the movement, leaped from his horse to avoid the shock, trod upon his own sword-scabbard, and fell to the ground. The gentlemen present prevented fur- ther mischief, and the matter afterward assumed the form of a paper war between the friends of the parties. The fact that Jacksons popularity was greatly increased by this event, fully illus- trates the character of public feeling in the West at that time. Increasing ill-health, and a weariness of the turmoils and exposures of his public life, in- duced Judge Jackson to resign his office, in the summer of 1804. He purchased a plantation in the vicinity of the Cumberland, near Nash- ville, and not far from where the famous I-Icr- ANDREW JACKSON. 153 mitage of his old age now stands, and there, with an affectionate wife and a competent for- tnne, he songht long-coveted repose. His mili- tary dnties reqnired but little service, and his time was spent in the varied cares and pleasnres of his farm, or in the company of kindred spirits who came from all parts of the great valley to enjoy his society and his hospitality. Breed- ing fine horses was his special delight, and to exhibit their qualities lie often appeared hoth as a competitor and hetter upon the race-courses of Tennessee and Kentucky. Oat of these sports grew an affair, the remembrance of which al- ways gave him sorrow. A dispute arose be- tween him and Charles Dickenson, a slave- trader and horse-jockey, concerning a het. Blows ensued, and Dickenson puhlished Jackson as a coward. The latter, governed by that false notion of honor which, happily, is now almost obsolete, challenged Dickenson to single com- bat. They met, and at the moment when Dickensons ball shattered two of Jacksons ribs, the latter, not in the least unnerved, fired a deadly bullet, and his antagonist fell, a dying man. When the strength of his nerves was alluded to afterward, Jackson said, I should have killed him, had he shot me through the brain. Dickenson lived but a few hours, and Jackson rode twenty miles toward home before his attendants perceived, by the saturation of his clothes with blood, that he was wounded. This is one of the dark clouds which gather over the memory of the hero, fringed though it be with the sunlight of conventional law which imposed the seeming uecessity of thus vindica- ting assaulted honor. From the stand-point of observation in the light of to-day, the cloud ap- pears black, without a gleam of palliation. On a beautiful morning in June, 1805, Gen- eral Jackson mounted one of his finest geld- ings, and, accompanied by a servant leading a milk-white mare, rode to Nashville. The little town was all agog. Flags were flying, drums beating, cannon thundering, and the people of all classes crowded to the port. Presently, a small man, pleasant in features, with sharp, intelligent black eyes, remarkable for the neat- ness of his apparel, and fluent in speech, was received by the populace with loud huzzas. Then he harangued the people, and was an- swered with shouts. A sumptuous dinner was spread in his honor; and toward evening he mounted the milk-white mare which Jacksons servant had led, and the two distinguished men rode quietly to the plain mansion of a planter, a few miles from the scene of public homage. The stranger was the accomplished AARON Buan, then engaged in the initial preparations for the execution of a magnificent scheme of conquest. Jackson received him cordially into the bosom of his family and of his own con- fidence; and Burr wrote in his journal, con- cerning his host: Once a lawyer, afterward a judge, now a planter; a man of intelligence; and one of those prompt, frank, ardent souls, whom I love to meet. The generous Miranda was then hearing the standard of revolt and liberation in South America, and possessed the sympathies of the people and government of the United States. Spain had not cheerfully ac- quiesced in the transfer of Louisiana, and the Spanish population of that territory were averse to the rule of the American government. War with Spain appeared inevitable, and Burr made the crisis an opportunity for executing a long cherished schemethe invasion of Mexico, its disenthrallment from the Spanish yoke, and the establishment of an independent republic in that beautiful region of the New World. Wilkinson, then commander-in-chief of the Western divi~, sion of the army of the United States, and many distinguished men in the West, were associated with Burr in the scheme; and now, as with eloquent and persuasive tongue, that wily poli- tician described the benevolence of his design its importance to the growth of republicanism, and to the stability of the United Statesthe honest, patriot heart of Jackson beat with quicker pulsations, and he proffered the services of his influence and sword to Colonel Burr. In the autumn of 1806 Burr was again in Kentucky and Tennessee; and still regarding his scheme as feasible and proper, Jackson re- newed his promises of co-operation. But the whole gorgeous vision vanished as suddenly as frost-work in the sunbeam. Political animosity sent whispers of suspicion over the mountains. Burr was accused of a design to detach the Western States, and form a separate republic, with himself as President. Wilkinson, who had sold his honor to the Spaniards, partially de- serted his compeer, and other associates were frightened by the bughear. The mind of Jackson was filled with suspicions, and he laid the whole matter before Governor Claiborne, at New Orleans. He also wrote to Burr, informed him of current rumors, and frankly assured him that if his intentions were in the least degree hostile to the United States, he wished no fur- ther correspondence with him. lIe as frankly assured him that if the conquest of Mexico was still the great object of his plans, he was as ready as ever to accompany him with his mili- tary division. A few weeks rolled away, and Burr was arrested on a charge of treason. He was tried and acquitted, but the whole fabric of his ambitious scheme was scattered to the winds. His murder of hamilton, in a duel, and the name of traitor, which adhered to him notwithstanding his acquittal, pressed upon him with crushing weight during the remainder of his life. Yet he always loved and admired Jackson, even with the knowledge that the Gen- eral was active in procuring his arrest, for he knew him to be honest and patriotic. When, in 1812, war was declared against Great Britain, Burr spoke of Jackson as the greatest military man in America, and best fitted to be the com- mander-in-chief of the armies of the Republic; and as early as 1815, he recommended his nomination for the Presidency. For five years after Burrs trial Jackson en- 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. joyed the pleasures of private life. Yet they were not years of idleness, nor void of excite- ment. His personal courage was often tested; and on one occasion his perfect manhood was remarkably developed. On his way to Natchez, to hring some negroes to his plantation, he found some emigrants detained hy the Indian agent for the Choctaw trihe, under the plea that a pass- port must he had before they could proceed. One of their number had been sent hack to pro- cure it, and the others were working for the agent at low wages, and buying corn of him at extravagant prices. Jackson indignantly re- buked the extortioner, who, in turn, demanded a passport from the General. I am a free-born American citizen, he said, and that is pass- port sufficient on any highway where my busi- ness calls me. He then told the emigrants to follow him, and if any man molested them, to shoot him down as a highway rohber. They departed without hinderance. The enraged agent resolved to stop Jackson on his return, and for that purpose had collected about one hundred and fifty white men and Indians, when the General with his troop of slaves approached the station. Jackson had armed himself with three pistols and a rifle, and his negroes with clubs and axes; and they were instructed to cut down any man who should molest them. When the agent stepped forward to demand his pass- J~ort, Jackson grasped his rifle, and fixing his keen eyes on him, said, Whoever attempts to prevent my passing shall lay low. The abash- ed agent withdrew, and the Indians, many of whom knew and admired the General, would sooner have scalped the avaricious official than touched a hair of the head of The Sharp Kap~s. The agent was soon afterward dismissed from office. The period had now arrived when the mili- tary genius of Jackson was to be fully developed, and his country to become greatly indebted to his skill and valor for its own honor and glory. For several years France and England had been playing a desperate game of chess with the worlds commerce, while dealing falehion-blows upon each others political power, unmindful of the rights and interests of other nations. Their le- galized pirates were upon every sea; and with sublime impudence the British government as- sumed the rightand its servants practiced the felonyof boarding American vessels, under pretense of seizing its own deserters, but to im- press our seamen into the English naval service. Such indignities were endured under protests, menaces, and embargoes, until more than seven thousand American citizens had become victims to British might and injustice. And it was not until British emissaries had excited the Indian tribes to hostilities against the settlers on our northwestern frontiers, and British newspapers had declared that the Americans could not be kicked into a war, that the pride and martial spirit of the nation became fairly aroused, and trampled peace maxims in the dust. In Jane, 1812, the American Congress de dared war against Great Britain. When the Presidents manifesto announced the fact in the Mississippi Valley, it touched a chord responsive to the call in every heart. The greatest enthu- siasm every where prevailed; and when General Jackson sent forth an appeal, twenty-five hun- dred men of his division volunteered to follow him to whatever field of duty their country nught call them. The Secretary of War asked for only fifteen hundred infantry and riflemen. After organizing a body of cavalry under Colonel Coffee, Jackson ordered that number to assem- ble at Nashville, early in December. An excess of more than five hundred appeared. Unwilling to restrain the ardor of any, Jackson accepted the whole; and on the 4th of January, 1813, he wrote to the Secretary of War, I have the pleasure to inform you that I am now at the head of two thousand and seventy volunteers, the choicest of our citizens, who go at the call of their country to execute the will of the govern- ment, who have no constitutional scruples, and, if the government orders, will rejoice at the op- portunity of placing the American eagle on the ramparts of Mobile, Pensacola, and Fort August- ine, effectually banishing from the southern coast all British influence. Jackson was then forty- five years of agetwo years older than Wash- ington when he took command of the Continental Army. Jacksons manhood and patriotism now en- dured a severe trial. Through storms and tern- pests, in mid-winter, his little army went down the Cumberland, Ohio, and Mississippi rivers, to Natcheza perilous voyage of a thousand miles to join General Wilkinson at New Orleans. That weak officer, jealous of Jacksons popular- ity, ordered the latter to halt at Natchez. In that vicinity he formed a camp, but was soon impatient of inaction. Early in February a courier arrived with a dispatch from the Secre- tary of War. The General received it with joy, for he believed it to be an order to march to. Canada, to wipe out the stain of Hulls surren- der, or to some other field of usefulness. He read The causes for embodying and march- ing to New Orleans the corps under your com- mand having ceased to exist, you will, on the receipt of this letter, consider it as dismissed from the public service, and take measures to have delivered over to Major-General Wilkinson all articles of public property which may have been put into its possession. You will accept, for yourself and your corps, the thanks of the President of the United States. This was the whole of itthe beginning and the end of Arm- strongs cold, unfeeling dispatch. It fell upon the hopes of Jackson and his ardent corps like ice upon the opening bud. The shock was mo- mentary. His indignation was fiercely kindled, and it warmed all the energies of his generous nature into full action. Around him stood two thousand noble sons of Tennesseethe flower of its populationeager to be useful. Many of them were tender youths, committed to his care by lovingpareats. He had publicly pledged him- ANDREW JACKSON. 155 self to be a father to them all, and the word of Andrew Jackson was always equivalent to his written bond. Could he disband them five hun- dred miles from their homes, to be exposed to fearful moral and physical perils? Could he listen for a moment to the selfish suggestions of Wilkinson, to ~recruit them into the regular service, and thus ruin them for life? No! gov- erned by a higher law than the martial, he in- stantl* resolved to disobey orders, and, instead of disbanding his troops, to march them back to Tennessee. Before the evening of the day of his disappointment he commenced his prepara- tion, and then wrote a denunciatory letter to the Secretary of War, and another to the President, complaining of the inhumanity of Armstrongs order. Jacksons quarter-master refused to furnish other supplies for the return march than such as might be allowed to discharged soldiers. The benevolent General was not to be foiled. He borrowed five thousand dollars, on his own re- sponsibility, from a merchant at Natchez; and when, on the 25th of March, he commenced his journey toward the Tennessee river, and found his conveyances for his sick inadequate, he placed an invalid soldier on his own horse, and traveled almost four hundrfid miles of the journey on foot. His staff and many of his mounted men followed his example, and one hundred and fifty suffering soldiers were made comparatively com- fortable on the way. Not one lacked the sym- pathy nor wanted the care of the General. Not one was left behindnot even a young man whom the surgeonreported to be dying. Not a man shall be left who has life in him, said Jackson, when it was proposed to leave him. The insensible youth was lifted into a wagon, and the General watched him with a fathers solicitude. At length the young man opened his eyes, and said, Where am I ? On your way home, my dear fellow, cheerfully answered his commander. The words quickened the current of life, he rapidly improved, and Jackson bad the pleasure of returning him to the arms of his mother. Before the close of May all the volun- teers were at their homes, and their Generals course was fully sustained by public sentiment. The Secretary of War made a weak attempt at explanation, and the government promptly sanc- tioned the conduct of Jackson, and assumed the pecuniary responsibilities which he had incurred in the public service. He achieved a victory greater thnn any where blood flows. We need not stop to record the general events of the war then begun; they are familiar to our countrymen. Nor will space allow us to detail the brilliant military career of him whose life we are now considering. We can only glance at the salient points with almost the brevity of a chron- ological record. General Jackson watched with palpitating heart the ill success of his countrys troops on the Canada frontier, and yearned for an oppor- tunity to lead his brave Tennesseeans to the field. It was not long delayed, and the arena of action was near his own door. Early in 1812, Te- cumseh, the fierce Shawnee, who had confeder- ated the northwestern tribes the year before, went among the Creeks in Alabama, and planted there the fruitful seeds of hostility to the white people. It germinated in the course of a few months, and bore fruit toward the close of the summer of 1813. A party of Creeks, seven hundred strong, well supplied with arms and ammunition by the British at Pensacola, attacked Fort Mimms, on the Alabama river, on the 31st of August. Al- most the entire garrison were massacred, and the fort was burnt. The women and children of twenty families perished in the flames; and of three hundred white people, only seventeen escaped. This blow, unexpected, though pre- dicted, spread terror through all the Gulf re- gion; and the entire population of the settle- ments on the Alabama river abandoned their homes and fled to Mobile. The militia of the neighboring States and Territories were called out, and in addition to fifteen hundred men al- ready required by the Federal government, the Legislature of Tennessee authorized the raising of three thousand five hundred troops. As with one voice, the people and the authorities called General Jackson to the chief command. He immediately accepted the proffered honor, not- withstanding his left arm, shattered by a pistol ball, received in an affray with Colonel Benton, at Nashville, was yet in a very bad condition. Jackson was in the field early in October, and in chief command of about five thousand troops, including half a thousand cavalry, under the or- ders of Colonel Coffee. Battalions were already marching from Georgia and Mississippi toward the Creek country, and soon the main body of the nation, not more than four thousand strong, were hemmed in upon the waters of the Coosa, by a cordon of Americans, who were determined to crush out their hostility or their nationality. They accomplished both, yet not without first en- during great sufferings themselves. Without a weeks provision on hand, Jackson led his own division of two thousand men into the heart of the enemys country. His detach- ments spread death and desolation in their track. Villages were destroyed, cattle were seized, and the Indian families were scattered like frighten- ed deer. At length the bloody battle of Tallus- chatchee was fought, and there the tenderest emotions of Jacksons heart were brought into full play. Among the slain was an Indian moth- er, and upon her bosom lay her infant boy, vainly endeavoring to draw sustenance froni the cold breast. The orphan was carried into camp, and fed by the General with sugar and water until a nurse could be procured. Jackson was a child- less man, and he adopted the forest orphan as his son. Mrs. Jackson watched over him with a mothers care, and he grew to be a beautiful youth, full of promise. But consumption laid him in the grave among the shades at the Her- mitage, before he reached his manhood, and his foster-parents mourned over him with a grief as sincere as that of consanguinity. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Talladega and its little garrison was now inca- iced by the Creeks. At the moment when they were about to fall upon the weak post, Jacksons army appeared. The savages were driven from their bnsh-retreats, and scattered in great con- fusion. Yet the victory was not very fruitfnl, for it could not be followed up. Famine, a foe more insatiate than the Indian, was in the camp. When Jacksons troops marched through the forests from Talladega, they had only a days lirotision in their knapsacks. Officers and com- mon soldiers suffered alike, and this suffering drew forth another exhibition of Jacksons nobil- ity of character. A private soldier saw his Gen- eral taking a repast under an oak tree, and im- mediately advanced and demanded food. I never tnrn away the hungry, said ,Jackson, in a cheerfnl tone I will divide with you such food as I have, and drew from his pocket a handful of acorns. The soldier turned tearfully away, reported the circumstance to his compan- ions, and all resolved to suffer patiently with their General. But hunger contended with their patriotism, and prevailed. Promised reinforce- ments and supplies were withheld, and mutiny appeared. The militia turned to go back, but the yet faithful volunteers stood in their path. Then the volunteers attempted to leave the camp and go home, but the militia in turn stood across their path. These checks, however, were only temporary, and Jackson perceived that the tenure by which his soldiers were bound to duty \, (7 BATTLE OF TALLAI)EOA. ANDREW JACKSON. 157 was as attenuated as that of the spiders thread. At length almost his entire army, despairing of relieg determined to ahandon the expedition, and go home; and some were actually on their retrograde march. He found his whole hri~ade of volunteers ready to follow. There was no sufficient force to restrain them, so the General relied upon himself alone. With one arm in a sling, he seized a musket, rested it upon his horscs neck, rode to the front of the column, and dcclared that he would shoot the first man who should take a step in advance. Amazed at his holdn ss, they gazed at him in silence. At that moment Coffee and two companies of faith- fiil men came up, and the mutineers, after con- sultation, agreed to return to duty. Discontent was not allayed, however, and Jackson finally allowed all volunteers so disposed to return to their homes, and he organized a force out of (tcr matcrials. Had he received sufficient sup- plies after the hattle of Talladega, and heen met with concert of action hy the East Tennessee commanders, he could have ended the war within ten days: it was J)rotracted five months. Jackson, with his new levies, marched on vic- toriously to the hickory Groundthe sacred domain of the Creeks, and the heart of their tei- ritory. Before reaching it, several hloody hat- tles were fought. The death-hlow to the Creek nation was given at Tahopeka, at the great Horse-shoe Bend of the Tallapoosa river, where a thousand warriors, with their women and chil- dren, had congregated in a fortified camp, to give final and decisive hattle to the ins-aders. Jackson attacked them toward the close of March, 1814. Almost six hundred warriors were JACKSON QUELLING A MUTINY. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. slain, for they disdained to surrender. They saw no future for their nation in the event of defeat, and they fought with desperation. It was their last effort; their power and spirit were crushed; and upon the Hickory Ground, at the fork of the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers, their remaining chiefs howed in suhmission to the conqueror. Among these was Weatherford, tbeir greatest leader, and principal actor in the butchery at Fort Mimms. Jacksou had ordered his followers to secure Weatherford, and bring him hound to his camp. While sitting alone iu his tent, just at sunset, a noble-looking Indian entered, and drawing him- self up to his full height, and folding his arms, said, I am Weatherford, the chief who com- manded at Fort Mimms. I have come to ask peace for myself and my people. Jackson ex- pressed astonishment that one so guilty should dare to appear in his presence and ask for peace and protection. I am in your power, haught- ily replied the chief. Do with me as you please. I am a soldier. I have done the white people all the harm I could. I have fought them, and fought them hravely; if I had an army, I would yet fight and contend to the last; but I have none. My peol)le are all gone. I can now do no more than weep over the misfortunes of my nation. Here was a man after Jack- sons own heart. lIe loved his people, had fought to protect his father-land from the in- vader, and now fearlessly expressed his patriot- ism. Jackson immediately informed him that submission and the acceptance of a home be- WEATIIERFO1u, IN JAcKsoNs TENT. ANDREW JACKSON. 159 yond the Mississippi for his nation, was the only wise policy for him to pursue; and then remark- ed, If, however, you desire to continue the war, and feel prepared to meet the consequences, you may depart in peace, and unite yourself with the war-party if you choose. Weatherford proudly answered, I may well he addressed in such language now. There was a time when I had a choice, and could have answered you; I have none noweven hope is ended. Once I could animate my warriors to battle; hut I can not animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their hones are at Tal- ladega, Talluschatchee, Emuckfaw, and Tahop- eka. I have not surrendered myself thought- lessly. While there was a chance for success, I never left my post nor supplicated peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation and for myself. On the miseries and misfortunes hrought upon my country I look hack with deepest sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left to con- tend with the Georgia army, I would have raised my corn on one hank of the river and fought them on the other. But your people have de- stroyed my nation. You are a brave man; I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people hut such as they should agree to. Whatever they may he, it would now he madness and folly to oppose. If they are opposed, you will find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out can he influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge; and to this they must not, and shall not, sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk, and they ought to listen to it. They shall listen to it. Thus spoke the noble Weatherford for his nation. Words of honor responded to words of honor; and Weatherford was allowed to go free- ly to the forest and search for his scattered fol- lowers and counsel peace. He did so; the war ended; and a treaty of peace was concluded with the remnant of the Creek chiefs on the 10th of July, 1814. Jackson had received the commission of Ma- jor-General in the regular army in May, and the military of the whole South regarded him as their leader. His vigilance was as sleepless as the war authorities at Washington were stu- pid. While a handful of British soldiers were hurning the Federal Capitol, he was planning a scheme for ending the war at the South by a single effective blow. Florida was then a Span- ish province, and, with usual Spanish duplicity, the Governor was allowing British fleets to oc- cupy the harbor of Pensacola, and British of- ficers to distribute arms and ammunition among the Indians on the Florida frontiers, to be used against the United States, while professing friendship for that government. When Jack- son was informed of it, he accused Manrequez of had faith. A spicy correspondence ensued; and Jackson ended it by saying, In future, I begyou to withholdyourinsulting charges against. my government, for one more inclined to listen to slander than I am; nor consider me any more a diplomatic character unless so proclaimed to you from the mouth of my cannon. The hero was anxious to execute the threat couched in the last clause of his letter; but his government gave him no encouragement. There was no time to lose in parleying, for the safety of the whole South was in jeopardy. Already the de- cree had gone forth for the invasion of Loui- siana by way of New Orleans, although yet un- known to the authorities at Washington. Jack- sons sagacity suspected the movement, and he resolved to take the responsibility of march- ing to Pensacola. He made his head-quarters at Mobile, sent his adjutant-general into Ten- nessee to invite volunteers to his standard, and two thousand cheerfully responded to his call. Before their arrival the Spanish governor had committed another grievous offense. He had permitted the British to fit out an expedition against Fort Bowyer, near Mobile, and on their being repulsed by the Americans, he had given them shelter in the harbor of Pensacola. This act strengthened Jacksons resolution; and, on the 2d of November, he took up his march for Florida at the head of three thousand men, some of them friendly Indians. He appeared before Pensacola on the 6th, and demanded an instant surrender of the town and forts. It was refused; and the next day the Americans fought their way into the town, frightened the Spaniards into submission, drove the British fleet from the har- bor, and were preparing to take possession of Fort Barancas, when that fortification blew up with a tremendous explosion. A Britons hand applied the torch. Two days afterward Jackson abandoned Pensacola, and wrote to the Govern- or, The enemy has retreated; the hostile Creeks have fled to the forest; and I now retire from your town, leaving you to occupy your forts and protect the rights of your citizens. When Jackson returned to Mobile, he found urgent messages awaiting him, with invitations to a new and more glorious field of action. When, in the spring of 1814, the great allied armies of Europe approached Paris in triumph, the Emperors of Russia and Prussia entered that city, and Napoleon retired to Elba, the peace of the Continent seemed secure, a~d many British troops were withdrawn. Almost twelve thou- sand of them, chiefly veterans who had served under Wellington in the Peninsula, were borne by a British fleet to the Gulf of Mexico; and toward the close of the year approached the wa- ters near New Orleans. They were commanded by the experienced Sir Edward Pakenham, who felt certain of an easy conquest of that city and of the entire southwest portion of our Republic. It was this imminent danger that caused mes- sengers to speed to Mobile and urge Jackson to hasten to the defense of the apparently doomed city. It was a theatre of duty precisely suited to his desires and his genius, and he promptly obeyed the summons of Governor Claiborne and others. He found the people in a state of great 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. alarm, without an adequate military force to avert the blow. His presence inspired courage, yet the co-operation of the civil authorities was too weak for the emergency. Without hesita- tion, he took all power into his own hands, de- clared the city and vicinity under martial law, and then heat all his energies to the task of gathering an army and the preparation of de- fenses. Before the close of December, he had completed a line of intrenchments a mile in length, from the bank of the Mississippi, four miles below the city, to a dense cypress swamp, and had organized an army of full five thousand men. He had over two thousand Kentuckians, twenty-five hundred Tenuesseeans, Louisiana militia, Mississippi dragoons, and a brigade of mounted men under General Coffee. The British fleet entered Lake Borgne, and captured a flotilla of American gun-boats; and on the 22d of December twenty-live hundred British troops landed and took post en the Mis- sissippi, mime miles below New Orleans. On the following evening a strong party of Americans, led by Jackson in person, attacked the invaderm, and killed and wounded about four hundred of them, but were repulsed with a loss of more than one hundred of their own number. Jackson then fell back to his intrenchments, which, on two occasions nfterward, suffered severe cannon- ading by the enemy. ~ El El El ~ El K ~ El El ii El El ANDREW JACKSON. 161 (in the morning of the memorable 8th of Jan- nary, 1813, General Pakenham advanced to- ~vard the American lines, at the head of nine thonsand men, leaving a reserve of three thou- sand at his camp. Jackson had now about six thousand expert marksmen behind his intrench- meats, or stationed at the several batteries on his extended line; but not more than three thou- ~and of them were well supplied with ai-ms. All was silence along those breastworks until the British had approached within heavy gunshot of the batteries, when a signal was given, and a terrible cannonade was opened upon them. Un- daunted by the havoc made, the veterans stead- ilv advanced until within range of the American rides, when volley after volley poured a deadly ~torm of lead upon the invaders. The British line soon began to waver. Then Pakenham fell, mortally wounded, and the entire army fled in dismay. They left seven hundred dead, and more than a thousand wounded, upon the field; while the Americans had only seven killed and six wounded! The enemy retreated to their camp, and then ~o their ship- jing, and escaped. Had prom- ised supplies of arms reached Jackson in time, the whole British force might have been captured. The victory at New Orleans was thorough and complete. It was the crowning act of the see- nd war for Independence; for dready Commissioners of the two governments had signed a treaty of peace. The Key City of the southwest was saved in its hour of perilPakenhams significant watchword, Booty cad Beauty, became the point for ridiculeand when, twelve days afterward, Jackson enter- ed the town with his victorious army, he was hailed as a Lw- VOL. X.No. 56.L ERATOR. A day was appointed for public thanks- giving; and, as the hero walked to the Cathe- dral, children in white robes strewed his way with flowers, and sweet voices chanted an ode. Within the sacred fane the Te Deem laudannis was sung, and Bishop Dubonrg placed a chaplet of laurel upon the victors brow. It was an ova- tion and a crowning equal in significance and dignity to that of a Titus or a Trajan. As soon as horses hoofs could carry the news, the victory became known throughout the Union, and the name of Jackson was every where mingled with the hosannas of the people. He was the idol of deepest enthusiasm, and public sentiment was ready to apotheosise him. State Legislatures thanked him; and the Federal Congress signi- fied its approval by presenting him with a gold medal. Yet at that very time, when the voice of a powerful nation was lauiing his greatness, his homethe dwelling of a wife greatly beloved was a log-house in the bosont of the forest. FOREST RESIDENCE. GOLI) MEDAL PRESENTED TO JACKSON BY CONGRESS. 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It stood there in its rude loneliness, an eloquent proclaimer of Andrew Jacksons greatness as a moral hero. His generons hand had aided a young relative of his wife in a mercantile ad- venture, which proved disastrons. To meet the obligations of the insolvent, Jackson sold the improved part of his estate, with the best build- ings in the country upon it, and took up his abode in a rude cabin in the woods, there to be- gin a new farm, and plant a new home. It was from that humble retreat that he was called to the field, and to it, like Cincinnatus, he return- ed, when the enemies of his country were driven away. There were a few in official station who could not appreciate the sturdy patriotism and pure motives of General Jackson. A member of the Louisiana Legislature, whose official dignity had been wounded by the proclamation and main- tenance of martial law, attempted to injure him by a newspaper publication. Jackson ordered his arrest, when another tender official, occupy- ing the seat of justice, granted a writ of liebeas corpas. Jackson not only refused obedience to its mandates, but arrested the Judge and sent him out of the city. Three days afterward, official intelligence of peace arrived, and the civil authorities resumed their suspended func- tions. Jackson was immediately arrested for contempt of court. He was defended by able counsel; but as his conviction had been de- termined on before the trial, their efforts were vain, and the hero was cited to appear for sen- tence. He entered the crowded court-room in citizens dress, and was not recognized until he had almost reached the bar, when he was greet- ed with huzzas from a thousand tongnes. The Judge was alarmed, and would not proceed. 1 ~ JACKSOWS TRIUMPH AT azw oaLE~s. ANDREW JACKSON. 163 Jackson stepped upon a bench, procured silence, and turning to the tremblingJudge, said, There is no danger herethere shall be none. The same hand that protected this city from outrage against the invaders of the country, will shield and protect this conrt, or perish in the effort. Proceed with your sentence. With quivering lips the Judge prononnced him guilty of con- tempt, and fined him a thousand dollars. These words were scarcely uttered when the court- room resounded with huzzas and hisses. The people bore Jackson upon their shoulders to the street, and the immense crowd without sent up a shout such as went over the land thirteen years later Hurrah for Jackson ! Just then a car- riage was passing in which a lady was riding. She was politely taken from it, and, in spite of his remonstrances, the General was put in her place, the horses were removed, and the people dragged the vehicle to the Coffee-House, into which the hero was borne. In the mean while a thousand dollars had been collect- ed by voluntary subscriptions, and placed to his credit in a bank, with which to pay the fine. Jackson delicately refused it, begged the friends who had raised it to apply it to the aid of those whose relatives had fallen in the battle, and then drew his own check for the amount. In all these transactions we see the manifestations of a comprehensive mind and noble nature, and perceive a solution of the problem of his great popularity. Jackson was appointed com- mander-in-chief of the Southern division of the United States, in April, 1815. Very little active mil- itary service was required of him until 1818, when he was called to suppress Indian hostilities, a nost upon the same theatre of opera ions which he occupied four years be ore. The yet powerful Seminoles of Flor- ida, joined by Creeks discontent- ed with the treaty at the Hickory uround, and a large number of run- away negroes, commenced depre- dations on the frontiers of Georgia and Alabama, toward the close of 1817. General Gaines was sent to suppress these outrages, and to re- move every Indian from the terri- tory which the Creeks had ceded to the United States. his presence aroused the fiercest ire of the sav- ages, who, it was ascertained, were incited to hostilities by British sub- jects, protected by the Spanish an- thor~ties of Florida. Gaines was placed in a perilous position, and early in December Jackson hasten- ed to his relief, with a thou- sand mounted Tennessee volunteers. He again as- sumed the responsibility of invading Spanish territory to punish Spanish officials for harbor- ing the enemies of his country. He entered Florida early the following March. In April he took possession of St. Marks, and sent the Spanish officials to Pensacola. lie also secured there the persons of Alexander Arbuthuot (a Scotch trader) and Robert C. Ambrister (a young Englishman, and lieutenant of marines), who, on being tried by a court-martial, were found guilty of being the chief emissaries among the Southern Indians, exciting their hostility to the United States. Jackson hung them both, march- ed forward and captured Pensacola and Fort Barancas, and sent the Spanish authorities and troops to Havana. These energetic proceed- ings, and the prestige of Jacksons name, ter- minated the war, and much bloodshed was pre- vented. He was greatly censured, however, by some for this unauthorized invasion of the ter- ritory of a friendly power, and his summary pro- 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ceedings there. But public opinion nobly sus- ford together, but not a majority over all three, tamed him; and, after a searching investigation consequently the choice of President devolved l)y a Committee, in 1819, the Federal Congress on the House of Representatives. Adams was justified his conduct. He was at Washington chosen, and Jacksons elevation to the chief during that investigation; and when it had ter- magistracy was deferred. minated, he visited Baltimore, Philadelphia, Jackson again sought the pleasures of private New York, and other portions of the Middle life in 1825, and during the exciting canvass and Eastern States, and was every where re- which resulted in his election to the highest ceived with the greatest enthusiasm. iDeputa- office in the gift of his countrymen he remained tions from public bodies waited upon him; and, in retirement at the hermitage. There he re- among other marks of respect offered by the ceived, as a guest, the venerable Lafayette, who authorities of New York, was the employment visited the United States in 1824, and during of the late John Vanderlyn to paint a full-length portions of that and the following year made portrait of him, to adorn the Governors Room an extensive tour through the various States of ia the then new City Hall. There the picture the Union. Levasseur, Lafayettes secretary, still hangs, a faithful representation of the hero has left a pleasant record of the visit at the at the age of fifty-two years. Hermitage. and thus relates a touching mci- Florida was ceded to the United States in dent which occurred in the mansion after the 1821, and Jackson was appointed the first gov- whole party had visited the garden and other ernor of the territory which he had twice con- grounds: On returning to the house, some quered, and was vested with almost dictatorial friends of General Jackson, who probably had 1)owers. He then resigned his military commis- not seen him for some time, begged him to show sion, and his martial life ended. A brilliant them the arms l)resented to him in honor of his I)olitical career now opened before him, and he achievements during the last war with Great entered upon it with zeal. Decision and en- Britain. He acceded to their request with great ergy marked every step in this new field. When politeness, and l)laced on a table, a sword, a the Spanish governor of Florida refnsed to sur- sabre, and a pair of pistols. The sword was render certain important public documents, Jack- presented to him by Congress; the sabre, I be- son ordered his arrest and imprisonment; and lieve, by the army which fought under his com- in all thin~s he as promptly obeyed the dictates mand at New Orleans. These two weapons, of his conscience and judgment. But that of American manufacture, were remarkable for field of duty did not please him. He resigned their finish, and still more so for the honorable the office in the course of a few months, and inscriptions with which they were covered. But retired to his then beautiful home in Tennessee. it was to the pistols that General Jackson wish- Fortune had smiled upon his domestic affairs, ed more particularly to draw our attention. He and the rude forest cabin had been exchanged handed them to General Lafayette, and asked for the delightful mansion, in the midst of fertile him if he recognized them. The latter, after acres, which he called the hermitage. His ten- examining them attentively for a few moments, der attachment to his wife was intensified as replied that he fully recollected them as a pair years rolled on, and he coveted domestic retire- he had presented, in 1778, to his paternal friend, meat with all the deep feelings of his impulsive Washington, and that lie experienced a real sat- nature. Yet when his country called him to isfaction in finding them in the hands of one so I)nhlic dnty he could not refuse; and when, in worthy of possessing them. At these words the t823, the Tennessee Legislature elected him to face of the General was covered with a modest a seat in the Senate of the United States, lie blush, and his eve sparkled as in a day of vie- accepted the office, and entered upon its duties tory. Yes, I believe myself worthy of them, with alacrity. The same Legislature had already he exclaimed, in pressing the pistols and La- nominated him for the office of President of the fayettes hands to his breast; if not from what United States; and President Monroe had un- I have done, at least for what I have wished to succes~fnlly solicited him to become a resident do, for my country. All the by-standers al)- minister of the United States, in the new re- phauded this noble confidence in the patriot I)ubhic of Mexico. hero, and were convinced that the weapons of The Tennessee nomination was heartily re- Washington could not be in better hands than sponded to throughout the Union. When the those of Jackson. time for electing a President arrived, in the In the autumn of 1828 General Jackson was autumn of 1824, there were three other eandi- chosen President of the United States. Never, dates in the field besides General Jackson. since the election of Mr. JefThrson, had party- John Quincey Adams represented the Eastern spirit assumed a form so malignant as during section of the Union, William H. Crawford the that memorable cam~)aign. Nothing that false- Southern, and Jackson and Clay the Western. hood could invent was left unsaid, and even the All professed democratic tendencies. The old virtues of the two candidates were ridiculed as Federal party was buried with the past, and the foibles, or sneered at as hypocrisy. And when election in question presented a singular pohit- calumny had coiled all its loathsome folds around ical aspect. It was a test of personal popular- the hero, to crush out his manhood and destroy ity, and that of Jackson greatly preponderated. his political life, it spread its vile slime over the He received more votes than Clay and Craw- purity of his exemplary companion, who, as a ANDREW JACKSON. 165 Christian and a wife, was as chaste and nasal- sada very sad man. The bereavement chas- lied as falling snow. Yet the patriot stood erect toned the purest feelings of his nature. The in the midst of all assaults; and his conscious memory of his wife became a hallowed senti- rectitude felt nobly sustained and strengthened, meat; and during the stormy ~~eriod of his eight when the voices of an overwhelming majority years administration, the spirit of her he so ten- of his countrymen proclaimed him the man of deny loved was daily, and almost hourly, before their choice to fill the sent of Washington. the vision of his mind, lie wore her miniature At the moment of the Patriots triumph, and next to his heart, day and night, until the hour while cannon were thundering, bonfires were of his death; and, like the image of a saint in blazing, orators were declaiming, and multitudes the closet of a recluse, that l)i(tllre was always were shouting all over the land in his honor, before him in the secret moments of his com- a crushiug calamity was poised over his head. munion with his God. And these were night- It fell within a week after he was certified of ly; for Andrew Jackson was a prayerful Chris- his election. Death came to the ilermUage and tian long before his lips uttered the confession snatched his wife from his bosom. No greater before men. One of his Irivate secretaries blow could have smitten that noble nature, for while President, relates that, on one occasion, his affection for his wife partook of the holiness while Jackson was recreating at Old Point Coin- of devotion. It crushed his spirit at the moment fort, he went to his bedroom, after the veteran when its reatest energies were needed, and he had retired, to inquire about some letters that ascended to the seat of highest national honor, were to be sent off early in the morning. The amidst the joyous aeclamations of the people, a President was undressed, but not in bed. Upon In K t LAFAyETTE AT TILE lIEnMITACE. 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a small table was the miniatur~ of his wife, or. In private life he was eminently just, and propped against some books, and before it laid he would never silently submit to wrong. His her open Prayer Book, from which the stern public career was but an amplified manifestation man, with the meekness of a little child, had of his character as a colossus of moral strength been drawing consolation, like water from a among men. He made the impress of his genius pure well. Through such a medium, at the upon every thing which came within the sphere silent hour of night, her dear spirit beckoned of his influence, and he soon fashioned the that man of iron onward toward herself and political ideas of the nation after the model heaven, of his own. He founded, says an apprecia Every thing that belonged to his wife was ting writer, a party more perfect in its organiza- daar to Jackson. The same secretary heard him tion, more lasting ia its duration, than any be- say to his black coachman one day: Charles, fore established, giving its own line of statesmen, you know why I value that carriage. This is and its own course of policy, to the country; th~ second time it has happened, and if ever it a party from which was to rise a stronger occurs again, I will send you back to Tennes- influence upon the world, and the indefinite in- see. The coachman had carelessly allowed crease of the wealth, territory, and population the horses to run away and break the Presi- of the republic, than any yet exerted. He con- dents old carriage. It had been bronght all the solidated the strength and energies of the gov- way from Tennessee for his use, and he would eminent, made it formidable to, and feared and ride in no other. Why he valued it was, be- respected by foreign powers, insomuch that he cause it had belonged to his wife! And it was addressed the head of the second power of Eu- while he was at the head of the government rope with the imperious tone of a rich creditor perhaps when issuing proclamations against pursuing a bilking bankrupt, and forced him to French dishonesty, or Nullification folly; or the settlement of a claim upon an open threat making vigorous war upon the United States of chastisement. He found a confederacy, and Bank, and sturdily refusing to yield a jot to left an empire. merchant princes, or a tittle to threatening We have space only to note, historically, the politicians, if yielding would compromise his most prominent footprints of Jacksons career duty; while he seemed to be a roaring lion, as a statesman. Ills first care was to survey the or a very nrses major in official state, he penned whole field of subordinate stations under his that beautiful epitaph inscribed upon the tomb control, and ascertain where the sickle and the of his beloved, at the Hermitaqe: pruning-knife was needed. With the questions, Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jack- Is he honest? is he capable ? ever upon his son, wife of President Jackson, who died on the lips, and his eye single to the public good, he 23d of December, 1828, aged sixty-one years. commenced the herculean task of clearing the Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her tem- Augean stable left by his predecessors. Incom- per amiable, and her heart kind. She delight- petent and dishonest men, whatever might be ed in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, their party professions, and those whose party and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most bias would make them seek to frustrate his ef- kiheral and unpretending methods. To the poor forts in the direction of reform, to which him- she was a benefactress; to the rich she was an self and his political friends were pledged by example; to the wretched a comforter; to the solemn promise, were removed from office, and prosperous an ornament. Her piety went hand their places were filled by those whom he be- in hand with her benevolence; and she thanked lieved to be worthy of the trust. The cry of her Creator for being permitted to do good. A 1~roscrijptioo! JJrOScr/otiofl ! was immediately being so gentle, and yet so virtuous, slander raised, and yet, of several thiousand persons might wound, hut could not dishonor. Even hiolding office, only six hundred and ninety were deathi, when it tore her from the arms of her removed during his long administration, and husband, could but transplant her to the bosom these for all causes. of her God. Jackson was a firm supporter of the doctrine When we look hack to the administration of of State Rights, in its legitimate operations, but President Jackson, and view dispassionately the when it assumed an attitude not sanctioned by public events of those eight years, we can not the Federal Constitution, and destructive to the fail to accord to him patriotism of the loftiest best interests of thie Union, he stood up man- stamp, and genius of the highest order. lie sat fully against its assumption, unmindful of his upon the throne of popular sovereignty with the personal popularity among a large portion of his dignity and power of the Czar of the flussias, political friends at the South. The tariff law of yet there was not the fibre of a tyrant in him. 1828 produced great discontent among the pea- He controlled vast masses of his countermen as plc of the cotton-growing States; and when, in with a magicians wand, or an autocrats wilh, thie spring of 1832, Congress imposed additionah yet the pow-er of his fascination was never cx- duties upon foreign manufactured cotton goods, erted in intentional wrong-doing. Self-reliance these discontents assumed the form of positive was the great lesson of his youth, and it became rebellion, in South Carolina. A State Conven- a chief characteristic of his nature. With him, tion was held at Charleston in the autumn, and cpnviction w-as the signal and warrant for ac- it declared the tariff law-s unconstitutional, and tion, and his ow-n judgment was his chief direct- therefore null and void. It also resolved that ANDREW JACKSON. 167 duties should not be paid; and proclaimed that any attempt to enforce the collection of duties in the port of Charleston by the General Govern- ment, would be resisted by arms, and would pro- duce the withdrawal of South Carolina from the Union. To support this determination military preparations were made, and civil war appeared inevitable. All eves were now turned toward the President, who had just been re-elected to the chief magistracy of the nation by an in- creased majority. Upon him depended the issue of peace or ~var. He did not hesitate for a moment, and within twelve days after the close of that nullification Convention, he issued a proclamation which denied the right of a State to nullify any act of the Federal Government, and warned those who were engaged in foment- ing rebellion, that the laws of the United States would be strictly enforced by military power, if necessary. This proclamation met the hearty response of every friend of the Union, of what- ever party, and the nullifiers, though led by such men as Calhoun and Hayne, were obliged to yield for the moment. Then Henry Clay, the eminent peace-maker, came forward with his compromise measure, and the cloud of trouble soon disappeared. The United States Bank, first chartered in 1791, an~ rechartered in 1816, for twenty years was the custodian of the public funds of the United States, and the centre of the constantly expanding circulation of paper currency, which Jackson always regarded as an unsound stimu- Ins to trade, promoter of speculation and extrav- agant habits, and dangerous to the well-being of society. He regarded the Bank as a huge money- ed monopoly, capable of producing a vast amount of mischief and the depository of a latent power for corruption of tremendous force, which, if awakened, might endanger the State. True to his convictions, like a faithful sentinel he raised the cry of warning in his first annual message to Congress, and the stock of the Bank depreci- ated six per cent. He took strong ground against the renewal of its charter, which would expire in 1836, and contended that the creation of such an institution by Congress was uncon- stitutional. Notwithstanding there was a ma- jority of his political friends in both houses of Congress, the views of the President were not sustained; and when, at the close of 1831, the proper officers of the Bank applied for a renewal of the charter, Con~ress, after long debates, granted the prayer of the petitioners. The bill was handed to Jacksou for his signature in July following, when he immediately vetoed it. It fail- ed to receive the constitutional support in the na- tional le,,islature, and the Bank charter expired, by limitation, in 1836. The commercial com- munity, regarding a national bank as essential to their prosperity, were alarmed; and prophe- cies of panics and business revolutions, every where uttered, helped to accomplish their own speedy fulfillment. The President struck another and severe blow at the United States Bank the following year. He had been informed that it was using large sums of money for political purposes, and con- ceiving the public funds unsafe in its keeping, Jackson recommended their removal, or rather he recommended the cessation of deposits of Government funds in that institution. Con- gress, by a decided vote, refused to authorize the measure. Jackson, believing himself to be right, was determined not to be foiled, and with the courage of an honest, self-reliant man, he resolved to take the whole responsibility of the measure upon his own shoulders, if necessary. He called a Cabinet Council on the 10th of Sep- tember, 1833. Only a fraction were heartily concurrent in his views. He resolved to act alone, and ordered Mr. Duane, his Secretary of the Treasury, to remove the public funds from the Bank, and deposit them in certain State Banks. The Secretary refused either to obey or resign his office. The President immediately removed him, and appointed Mr. Taney (now Chief Justice of the United States), a friend of the measure, to fill his place. The work of re- moval was accomplished within a month after- ward. An intense panic ensued, and the result was sudden and wide-spread commercial dis- tress. The business of the country was plunged from the height of prosperity to the depths of adversity, because its intimate connection with the National Bank rendered any paralysis of the operations of that institution fatal to com- mercial activity. This fact confirmed the Pres- ident in his opinion of the danger to be appre- hended from such an enormous moneyed institu- tion; and the sixty millions of dollars then on loan by the monster, were so many arguments in the Presidents mind in favor of his position. Intense excitement prevailed throughout the land. The President was held responsible by the opposition for all the business derange- ments, and was unsparingly denounced as a ty- rant and usurper. Strong in the integrity of his purpose, and supported by the House of Repre- sentatives, he stood unmoved amidst the fierce tempest. Deputations of merchants, mechanics, traders, and others, from the principal cities, wait- ed upon him with petitions, and implored hini to restore the Government funds to the great Bank, or suggest some other mode of relief. The patriot was inflexible, lie received all courteously; but instead of yielding, he recom- mended prudence, industry, economy, and cash transactions in business. He charged their troubles upon banks, and told them plainly, that those who trade on borrowed capital ought to break. The State deposit banks soon loaned freely, confidence was gradually restored, and apparent prosperity returned. Twenty years have since elapsed; and to-day very few persons will honestly deny the great wisdom and forecast of President Jackson. evinced by the measure we have just consider- ed, or assert the necessity of such an institu- tion in the sound business operations of the country. It was during the business depression of the 168 HARPERS NEW NONTHLY MAGAZINE. winter of 1834 that an attempt was made to as- sassinate President Jackson, by a young house- painter, who was out of employment, and had others dependent upon his earnings for snpport. his mind, morbidly inclined to melancholy, was influenced by the belief that Jackson was the sole cause of all the trouble, and that he alone stood in the way of general prosperity. The young man furnished himself with two well- loaded pistols, and as the President and others came out upon the eastern portico of the Capi- tol, in a funeral procession, he leveled one of them at the breast of Jackson. The percussion- cap exploded, but did not ignite the powder. The assassin dropped the unfaithful weapon, and instantly presented the other, with the same result. Unawed by the danger, the lUres- ident rushed upon the culprit with his uplifted cane, and he was soon secured. The failure of the pistols was remarked as a special interposi- tion of a kind Providence. They were fired without difficulty at the next trial, and each sent its bullet through an inch board at the dis- tance of thirty feet. A few months before this occurrence, tho President was tittacked by a cowardly ruffian, while he was on his way to Fredericksburg to lay the corner-stone of a monument to be erect- ed in memory of the mother of Washington. While the boat, which bore tl~e President and a large company of distinguished persons down the Potomac, was lying at the wharf at Alex- RECEPTION OF nELECATEs. ANDREW JACKSON. 169 andria, the President retired to the cabin and hero, Sir, if von will lartlon rue, in case I am ~at behind the table, next to the berths, quietly tried and convicted, I will kill Randolph for ~inokiug and reading, while many friends were this insult to von, in fifteen mhiutes ; the Pres standing around in conversation. A lieutenant, ident instalitly replied, No, Sir I can not do recenti~ disniissed from the navy for improper that. I want no iiiau to stand between me and conduct, approached the President, as if to give my assailant, nor none to take revenge on my him a friendly salutation, but instantly struck account. had I been prepared for this cow- the venerable man in the face. Before lie could ardly villains approach, I can assure you all, repeat the blow, he was seized by the calitam that he would never have the temerity to nil- of the boat, and severely punched in the ribs, dertake such a thing again. with an mubrella, by a clerk in one of the Dc While energy and good statesmanship in the partmeuts. The President was so confined hy management of the domestic affairs of the an- the table, that he could not rise at first, nor nse tion marked the entire adniluistration of Pres his omnipresent cane; and so anxious were all blent Jackson, and ninny serious dilhiculties, present to ascertain whether Jackson was in such as the rehielhious movement in South Car ured, that the friends of the ruffian were al ohina, and the hostilities of discontented Indian owed to carry him ashore and effect his escape. tribes, were settled by the exercise of rare judg- Had I been apprised, said the President, ment and discretion, that administration of eight that Randolph stood before me, I should have years is more remarkable for the honorable sue been prepared for him, and I could have de- cesses of its foreign di~doinacy. The Presidents fended myself. No villain has ever escaped me cardinal inaxha in dealing with other govern- before; and he would not, had it not been for ments, was, Ask nothing but what is right my confined situation. A few minutes after submit to nothing wrong. This noble PrinciPle ward, when a citizen of Alexandria said to the of action was the key to his success. lie made AT[TACK ON TuE 1aE5iOE~NT. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. many valuable treaties, and obtained full indem- United States bad been first unfurled in the aification for commercial outrages committed harbor of Constantinople, by Commodore IBain- during the lapse of a quarter of a century; and bridge; and but twenty years since the Barbary so thorough was the respect (and perhaps fear) powers on the Mediterranean had been made to of foreign nations for the power of the United feel the puissance of the growing Empire of the States, under its energetic executive, that dur- West. ing his continuance in office, not a single out- The memorable administration of President rage was committed upon our commerce. Jackson ended on the 3d of March, 1837. Among During the first year of Jacksons adminis- the important acts of the Congress then in ses- tration, a direct trade with ike British West In- sian, was one of justice to the venerable patriot, dia Islands was obtained. This was enjoyed about to leave the arena of public life forever. by the American colonies before the Revoin- For almost two years the following resolution tion, but was lost by the revolt. Unsuccessful (offered by Mr. Clay during the excitement im- efforts for its recovery bad been made by every mediately succeeding the removal of the public preceding administration; and Quincey Adams, funds from the United States Bank), had re- toward the close of his presidency, had been mained on the journal of the Senate: Be- compelled to proclaim officially that all direct solved, That the President, in the late executive commerce between the United States and the proceedings in relation to the public revenue, British West India Islands had ceased. Jack- has assumed upon himself authority and powei son sent a special minister to England to nego- not conferred by the Constitution and laws, but tiate for this trade, and, acting upon the maxim in derogation of both. On motion of Mr. Ben- above named, it was obtained. ton, this record of censure against the Presi- Next, and more important to our national dent was blotted out on the 16th of March, 1837, character, was the French Indemnity Treaty. Un- by a vote of a majority of the Senate. The der tbe operations of the decrees of Napoleon, Secretary brought out the original manuscript from 1806 to 1811, the commerce of the United journal, opened to the page containing the reso- States had siffered greatly. Redress from the lution of censure, and proceeded, in open ses- French gcxernment had been diligently but sion, to draw a square of broad black lines vainly sought by every administration; and around the sentence, and to write across its other governments, liable for similar spoila- face in strong letters, these words: Expunged tions, took shelter behind the refusal of France. by order of the Senate, this 16th day of March, Jackson called attention to this subject in his 1837. This was a just tribute to the virtues first annual message to Congress; and the of an honest man. United States Minister in Paris was specially Jackson left the Federal City two days after instructed to act in the premises. The French the inauguration of his successor, Martin Van government, with its new monarch (Louis Phi- Buren. He appeared at that august ceremonial lippe) at its head, agreed to pay the sum de- as a private citizen, and as he sat uncovered in manded, in six annual installments. The first that genial March sun, he was the chief object payment was not promptly met, when the ener- of regard of the vast multitude assembled there. getic creditor demanded an immediate fulfill- For once, says Colonel Benton, who was pres- meat of the promises of the dilatory debtor, eat, the rising was eclipsed by the setting sun. The French government hesitated, and even Though disrobed of power, and retiring to the allowed friendly relations wlth the United States shade of private life, it was evident that the ex- to terminate, the respective ministers to be with- President was the absorbing object of intense drawn, and war to be contemplated. The Pres- regard. At the moment he began to descend ident was inflexible, and promptly accepted war, the broad stel)s of the portico, to take his seat if that must be the alternative. Louis Philippe in the open carriage which was to bear him and the Chamber of Deputies yielded, on cam- away, the deep, repressed feeling of the dense pulsion, and all demands were paid. Denmark, mass broke forth; neclamations and cheers burst- Naples, Spain, and Portugal, were also called ing from the heart, and filling the air, such as upon to pay up, and they did so; for they power never commanded, nor man in power re- saw proud Franceyield, and concluded that no ceived. It was the affection, gratitude, and ad- trifler was at the head of the government of the miration of the living age, saluting, for the last United States. Besides these, an important time, a great man. It was the acclaim of pos- commercial treaty was made with Russia, amid terity, breaking from the bosoms of contempora- another of amity and commerce with the Sal- ries. It was the anticipation of futurityun- tan of Turkey, and the sovereigns of Muscat purchasable homage to the hero-patriot, who, and Siam, in the East Indies. A treaty was all his life, and in all circumstaiices of his life also renewed with the Emperor of Morocco, on in peace and in war, and glorious in each. the northern coast of Africa. These several had been the friend of his country, and devoted treaties placed our commerce upon an equal to her, regardless of self. footing with that of the most favored European Crowds followed the carriage of the patriot nation, and the political strength of the United to the railway station; and when the conduct- States became far more extensively known than ors bell had sounded, and the venerable mati it ever had been before. Only about thirty years lifted his hat from his white locks, and with his had elapsed since the flag of the almost unknown hand waved an adieu, as the cars moved away, ANDREW JACKSON. 171 the vast multitude were too full of regrets to. speak, but gazed on him in silence. And long after the train had disappeared, they still looked in the direction of its exit, with indefinable emotions, as if a bright star had gone ont from the skyas if a glorious prophet had been trans- lated, and left not his mantle behind him. He returned to the home from which he had been absent for eight long years; but, alas! the light of the dwelling was not there. Affectionate friends, and neighbors, and domestics, gathered around him with joyous welcomes; but his heart was with his buried treasure in the grave, and he could not rest until he had wept at the tomb of his best beloved. Then he received his friends kindlythen the Hero, Patriot, and Sage, sat down among the pleasant shades of the Her- mitage, to enjoy eight years more of life, to hold converse with his forests, to cultivate his farm, to gather around him hospitably his friends ! Who was like HDL ? asked Ban- croft, in his beautiful eulogy. He was still the load-star of the American people. His fer- vid thoughts, frankly uttered, still spread the flame of patriotism through the American breast; his counsels were still listened to with rever- ence; and, almost alone among statesmen, he, in his retirement, was in harmony with every onward movement of his time. His prevailing influence assisted to sway a neighboring nation to desire to share our institutions; his ear heard the footsteps of the coming millions that are to gladden our Western shores; and his eye dis- cerned, in the dim distance, the whitening sails that are to enliven the waters of the Pacific with the social sounds of our successful commerce. It would be a pleasant task to delineate, in all their beauty of outline and richness of color- ing, the scenes at the Hermitage during the final retirement of its master; and pleasant, too, would it be to pen a record of those numerous small eventsalmost too small for the grave histo- rians penwhich make up the sum of charac- ter by which he is to be judged as a man. Limit forbids; yet a few more touches of the pencil before we leave this .hasty portraiture of one of Americas noblest sons. That man of iron will and inflexible determ- ination, when the occasion demanded their ex- ercise, was as gentle as a child, when surrounded by gentle influences. I arrived at his house, says Colonel Benton, one wet, chilly evening in February [1814], and came upon him in the twilight, sitting alone before the fire, a lamb and a child between his knees. He started a little, called a servant to remove the two inno- cents to another room, and explained to me how it was. The child had cried because the lamb was out in the cold, and begged him to bring in, which he had done, to please the child, his adopted son, then not two years old. A son of the famous Daniel Boone was in Nashville, to be detained on business for some weeks. He had taken lodgings at a small tavern, as he could not afford to pay for the best accom- modations. Jackson heard of it, went to Nash- ville, found him, and taking him to his house as a guest, as long as his business should keep him in that section, said, Your fathers dog should not stay in a tavern, where I have a house. While he was yet connected with the army, an officer complained to him that some soldiers were making a great noise in a tent. What are they doing ? asked the General. They are praying now, but have been singing, was the reply. And is thot a crime ? asked Jack- son, with emphasis. The articles of war, the officer said, order punishment for any unusual noise. God forbid I replied the General, with much feeling, that praying should be an un- usual noise in any camp, and advised the offi- cer to join them. Jacksons views of duty may be well illus- trated by an incident that occurred while he was President. A Y(esteru minister of the Gospel applied to him for office. He was told to call again, and in the mean while, the President as- certained his vocation. Are you not a Chris- tian minister ? asked Jackson. I am, the candidate replied. Well, said the President, if you discharge the duties of that office, which is better than I can confer, you will have no time for any other. I advise you to return home and attend to that, without seeking any addition to your responsibility, that you may be enabled, hereafter, to give a good account of your stewardship. The brave Colonel Miller was asked at the bloody battle near Niagara Falls, if he could take a certain battery. Ill try, was his an- swer, and the exploit was soon accomplished. He was collector of the port of Salem, Massachu- setts, when Jackson became President. Some politicians, in whom the General reposed con- fidence, wished him removed, and one of their friends appointed in his place. He was repre- sented to Jackson as incompetent and a politi- cal opponent. These seemed cause for his re- moval, and the name of the other man was sent to the Senate. Colonel Benton asked to have the nomination laid over, for he was certain that the President had been misled. He called upon Jackson, and asked, Do you know who is the collector of the port of Salem, Sir, whom you are about to remove ? No, replied the Pres- ident; I cant think of his name; but I know he is ttn incompetent man, and a New England Hartford Convention Federalist, for G and H told me so. Sir, said Benton, the incumbent is General Miller, a brave soldier on the Niagara frontier. The President, excited with emotion, said, Not the brave Miller who said Ill try, when asked if he could take that British battery at Bridgewater ! The same man, Sir, responded Benton. Jackson pulled a bell violently, and when the servant appeared, he said, Tell Colonel Donelson I want him, quick. Donelson, said the President, as soon as he entered, I want the name of the fellow nominated for collector at Salem withdrawn instantly. These politicians are the most re- morseless scoundrels alive, Write a letter to 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. General Miller, and tell him he shall hold the office as long as Andrew Jackson lives. Stay Ill write it myself; the assurance will he more gratifying from a hrother soldier. That promise was faithfully kept. These waifs on the surface of Jacksons character indicated the direction of the deep current below. There was grieg deep and solemn, so deep and solemn as to he almost tearless, in the Ilerootage on the second Sabbath in June 1845. The glorious old patriarch of the mansion, then in his seventy-fifth year, was passing his last hours among the living of earth, calm and peaceful as the holy day. Death had ap- proached him gently as a friend, with a crown of immortality for his soul, and he felt no fears for the future nor regrets for the past. He had no children of his own loins to weep over him, but he had adopted a nephew of his wife, as his son and heir, and he and his sweet coin- panion wept at the bedside of their foster- parent with all the real grief of children. And his servants, too, were bowed with sorrow, for they loved him as their best earthly friend. There were many youn~ people of the neighbor- hood who felt like children under his roof and had loved Aunt Rachel, as they affection- ately called Mrs. Jackson, as a dear mother. These were in the house of mourning, with streaming eyes. When the sage felt the cold hand of death upon his brow, he called all to his bedside, and spoke words of tender affec- tion to each. His two little grandchildren were brought from Sabbath school, and he prayed for them, kissed, and blessed them. Weep not, he said to his daughter, my sufferings are less than those of Christ upon the cross. His servants gathered around, some in the room, and some on the outside of the house, clinging to the windows to obtain a last sight, and hear the last words of their dear friend. His parting utterances were Dear children servants, and friends, I trust to meet you all in Heaven, both white and black. Thus peace- fully Imassed tIme spirit of ANDREW JAcIsoN from earth to tIme world of light and immortal~ ity. his mortal remnains rest beneath a beau- tifiml mausoleum, iii the form of the Temple of Liberty, by the side of his beloved Rachel. umong tIme pleasant tiecs of the hermitage. TmmE TOMIL AT TILE hERMITAGE. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 173 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. SAINT IIELENA(coacluded.) DECEMBER 10, 1815. The Emperor was this day conducted to his new residence at Long- wood. In cheerful spirits he rode on horsehack along the rugged path of harren volcanic rocks, a distance of two miles, until he arrived at his final prison-house. Here he found, in the midst of bleak, storm-washed crags, a long, low, one- story house, rudely put together, hut far too small for the accommodation of the few yet de- voted friends who had come to share his captiv- ity. The Emperor examined his prison with se- renity and good-nature, seeming to think more of the comfort of his companions than of his own. About a mile from Longwood, on the road to the Briars, there was a small hovel, called Huts Gate, which General Bertrand, with his wife and son, was permitted to occupy. General Gourgaud and Count Las Cases eagerly solicited permission to sleep in teats, rather than remain in Jamestown, apart from the Emperor. A tent under the windows of the Emperor, was pitched for General Gourgaud; and an unfin- ished room was hastily prepared for Las Cases. Dr. OMeara was also under the necessity of dwelling in a tent. In process of time a room was prepared for each of these gentlemen. For the subsistence of the imperial captive and his exiled court, the British Ministry appropriated sixty thousand dollars a year. This was a small sum, considering the enormous expense of pro- visions, and of every comforl, upon that distant and barren rock. The followers of the Emperor resolutely persisted in treating him with all that deference and respect which were due to his il- lustrious character and to his past achievements. They refused to acquiesce in the insult cast upon France, upon them, and upon Napoleon, by ad- dressing him as if he had been but a successful general, who, by the energies of the sword, had usurped sovereign power. The accompanying view of the house at Long- wood, with tile plan of the rooms, will give an rLAN or LoaOWooLR. I.ONOWOOD.TUZE OLD hOUSE. PLAN OP a CoURT YARD SYRLYRY E~ FARA lROO~y.RrnRzddy) Hi ~--- - - 4~C~i Eu i Iii 9 SRY~R~ ~ WAITI NC-ROOM PARLOR 5 [J L ~ 000 ~~YAA~ ~nR~RRL ~ hO1 CLARA I a p ORIRAR LL OFFICIOS~MCN.OOL.~~,

J. S. C. Abbott Abbott, J. S. C. Napoleon Bonaparte 173-187

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 173 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. SAINT IIELENA(coacluded.) DECEMBER 10, 1815. The Emperor was this day conducted to his new residence at Long- wood. In cheerful spirits he rode on horsehack along the rugged path of harren volcanic rocks, a distance of two miles, until he arrived at his final prison-house. Here he found, in the midst of bleak, storm-washed crags, a long, low, one- story house, rudely put together, hut far too small for the accommodation of the few yet de- voted friends who had come to share his captiv- ity. The Emperor examined his prison with se- renity and good-nature, seeming to think more of the comfort of his companions than of his own. About a mile from Longwood, on the road to the Briars, there was a small hovel, called Huts Gate, which General Bertrand, with his wife and son, was permitted to occupy. General Gourgaud and Count Las Cases eagerly solicited permission to sleep in teats, rather than remain in Jamestown, apart from the Emperor. A tent under the windows of the Emperor, was pitched for General Gourgaud; and an unfin- ished room was hastily prepared for Las Cases. Dr. OMeara was also under the necessity of dwelling in a tent. In process of time a room was prepared for each of these gentlemen. For the subsistence of the imperial captive and his exiled court, the British Ministry appropriated sixty thousand dollars a year. This was a small sum, considering the enormous expense of pro- visions, and of every comforl, upon that distant and barren rock. The followers of the Emperor resolutely persisted in treating him with all that deference and respect which were due to his il- lustrious character and to his past achievements. They refused to acquiesce in the insult cast upon France, upon them, and upon Napoleon, by ad- dressing him as if he had been but a successful general, who, by the energies of the sword, had usurped sovereign power. The accompanying view of the house at Long- wood, with tile plan of the rooms, will give an rLAN or LoaOWooLR. I.ONOWOOD.TUZE OLD hOUSE. PLAN OP a CoURT YARD SYRLYRY E~ FARA lROO~y.RrnRzddy) Hi ~--- - - 4~C~i Eu i Iii 9 SRY~R~ ~ WAITI NC-ROOM PARLOR 5 [J L ~ 000 ~~YAA~ ~nR~RRL ~ hO1 CLARA I a p ORIRAR LL OFFICIOS~MCN.OOL.~~, 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. idea of the accommodation prepared for the Em- a fish pond. Some fishes were ohtained, which peror and his party of twenty-two individuals. Napoleon was desirous of placing in the water The Emperor immediately estahlished himself with his own hand. He wished all the children in his ordinary hahits of industry. He did every of Longwood to accompany him, that he might thing in his power to cheer his companions, and enjoy their happiness. The little group, huoy- to promote kindly feelings throughout his house- ant with hope and pleasure, were soon gathered hold. Through the remaining monotonous and around the Emperor whom they so dearly loved. melancholy years of captivity, sickness, and The gloom of Longwood was relieved hy this death, he was hy far the most cheerful and un- gleam of sunshine, as Napoleon, with his retinue complaining of the whole numher.* of artless prattlers, went to the water and watch- The Emperor often invited the children of ed the arrowy movements of the fishes in its General Bertrand and General Montholon into crystal depths. his room. They were always delighted with this A picture of his son had heen placed in a hox privilege. They came rushing to Napoleon with of hooks transmitted to him from Europe. Tears their playthings, shouting and laughing i~a per- gushed into the eyes of Napoleon as he gazed feet tumult of joy, and appealing to him as the upon it. The attendants, moved hy this out- arhiter of their discussions. The Emperor en- burst of parental love, stopped their work of tered heartily into their sports, and surrendered opening the packages, and stood in an attitude of himself to all the fun and the frolic. How sympathy. iDcar hoy ! exclaimed the Emper- happy they are, said the Emperor one day, or; if lie does not fall a victim to some political when I send for them or play with them. All atrocity, he will not he unworthy of his father. their wishes are satisfied. Passions have not yet The annoyances and mental tortures to which approached their hearts. They feel the plen- the Emperor was exposed were innumerahle. itude of existence. Let them enjoy it. At their Las Cases was torn from him, and then his phy- age I thought and felt as they do. But what sician, OMeara. For a long time the Emperor storms since. How much that little Hortensia was slowly sinking into the grave without any grows and improves. If she lives, of how many medical attendance, as he resolutely refused to young t7egaas will she not disturb the repose. I see any agent of his insulting jailer, Sir Hud- shall then be no more. sou Lowe. At one time he took a deep interest in his In the year 1819 the British government con- little garden, and, with his affectionate compan- sented that the friends of Napoleon should send ions, beguiled many weary hours with the spade to him from Europe another physician. On the and the hoe. He planted shrubbery and flowers, 19th of September of that year, Doctor Antom- and raised peas and beans. marchi, who had been selected, arrived at St. He had a basin constructed on the grounds for Helena. Two ecelesiastics accompanied Dr. Antommarchi, as Napoleon had expressed re * A more full account of the Emperors imprisonment, iterated and very earnest desires that the ordi of his joys, his griefs, and his remarkable conversations, nances of religion might be regularly administer- will be given in the History of Napoleon, by the author is household a of these articles, soon to be issued from the press, in two ed to h t St. Helena. One of these, volumes, the Abbe Buonavita, was an aged prelate, who NAPOLEONs APARTMENT AT LONOWOOn. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 175 had been chaplain to Napoleons mother at Elba, and also to the Princess Pauline at Rome. The other was a young man, the Abb6 Vigimli, who was also a physician. Sept. 22, 1819. Dr. Antommarchi had his first interview with Napoleon. He found him in bed, in a small, dark room, very meanly furnished. It was a quarter past two oclock in the after- noon. The room was so dark that when the Doctor first entered he could not see Napoleon. The Emperor perceiving this, in gentle tones re- quested him to approach. He questioned him very minutely respecting his parentage, his past history, his motives for consenting to come to such a miserable rock, and his medical educa- tion. Satisfied with his replies, the Emperor en- tered into a frank and touching conversation re- specting his friends in Europe. He then saw the two Abb6s. At the close of a confiding and an affecting interview, the Em- peror said, in the tones of a man upon the verge of the grave: We have been too long deprived of the or- dinances of religion not to be eager to enjoy them immediately, now that they are within our power. Hereafter we will have the communion service every Sabbath, and we will observe the sacred days recognized by the Concordat. I wish to establish at St. Helena the religious cer- emonies which are celebrated in France. On these occasions we will erect a movable altar in the dining-room. You, Mons. Abb~, are aged and infirm. I will select the hour which will be most convenient for you. You may offici- ate between nine and ten oclock in the morn- ing. In the evening the Emperor was alone with Count Montholon. The Count was not a relig- ious man. He has frankly said, In the midst of camps I forgot religion. Napoleon, with great joy, informed Montholon of his intention to attend mass the next day. He then uttered the following remarkable confession: Upon the throne, surrounded by generals far from devout, yes, I will not deny it, I had too much regard for public opinion, and far too much timidity, and perhaps I did not dare to say aloud, I am a believer. I said, Religion is a powera political engine. But, even thep, if any one had questioned me directly, I should have replied, Yes! I am a Ghristian. And if it had been necessary to confess my faith at the price of martyrdom, I should have found all my firmness. Yes! I should have endured it rather than deny my religion. But now that I am at St. Helena, why should I dissemble that which I believe at the bottom of my heart? Here I live for myself. I wish for a priest, I desire the communion of the Lords Supper. and to confess what I believe. I will go to the mass. I will not force any one to accompany me there. But those who love me will follow me. General Bertrand was an avowed unbeliever. and often displeased Napoleon by speaking dis- respectfully of sacred things. The Emperor was one day, about this time, conversing with him upon the subject of atheism. Your spirit, said he, is it the same as the spirit of the herdsman, whom you see in the valley below feeding his flocks? Is there not as great a distance between you and him, as NAPOLEON A OARI)ENER. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. between a horse and a man? But how do you wishes that I may also he like him, a lump of know this? You have never seen his spirit, clay ? No! the spirit of a heast has the endowment General Montholon, after his return to Eu- of heing iuvisihle. It has that privilege equally rope, said to M. de Beauterne: with the spirit of the most exalted genius. Yes; the Emperor was a Christian. With But you have talked with the herdsman; him faith was a natural, a fundamental princi- you have examined his countenance; you have ple. The religious sentiment was immediately questioned him, and his responses have told roused when in the slightest degree summoned you what he is. You judge, then, the cause by an exterior sensation or an incidental thought. from the effects; and you judge correctly. Cer- When any thing cruel or irreligious presented tainly your reason, your intelligence, your facul- itself, it seemed to do violence to his deepest ties are vastly above those of the herdsman, feelings; he could not restrain himself. He Very well; I judge in the same way. Divine protested, opposed, and was indignant. Such effects compel me to believe in a Divine Cause. was his natural character. I have seen it, yes, Yes! there is a Divine Cause, a Sovereign Ren- I have seen it; and I, a man of camps, who son, an Infinite Being. That Cause is the cause had forgotten my religionI confess itwho of causes. That Reason is the reason creative of did not practice it, I at first was astonished; but intelligence. There exists an Infinite Being, then I received thoughts and impressions which compared with whom you, General Bertrand, still continue with me the subjects of profound are but an atom; compared with whom I,Na- reflection. I have seen the Emperor religious. poleon, with all my genius, am truly nothing and I have said to myself, lIe died a Christian. a pure rothing; do you understand? I per- in the fear of God. I can not forget that old ceive him, God; I see him; have need of him; age is upon me, that I must soon die~ and I I believe in him. If you do not perceive him; wish to die like the Emperor. I do not douhr if you do not believe in him; very well, so much even that General Bertrand often recalls, as I the worse for you. But you will, General Ber- do, the religious conversations and the death of trand, yet believe in God. I can pardon many the Emperor. The General, perhaps, may fin- things; but I have a horror of an atheist and a ish his career like his master and his friead.* materialist. Think you that I can have any sympathies in common with the man wbo does Sentiment de Napeleon sur Xe Chriatianisme: Cenver- believe in the existence of the soul? who satiens religieuses, recueihies ~ Sainte Heleue par M. Xe not General Comte de Monthelen, par M. Xe Chevalier de believes that he is but a lump of clay, and who Beauterne, p. 21. Tila Fi5u eASIN. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 177 The conversation at St. Helena very fre- quently turned upon the subject of religion. One day Napoleon was speaking of the Divinity of Christ, General Bertrand~said: I can not conceive, Sire, how a great man like you can believe that the Supreme Being ever exhibited himself to men under a human form, with a body, a face, mouth, and eyes. Let Jesus be whatever you pleasethe highest intelligence, the purest heart, the most profound legislator, and, in all respects, the most singular being who has ever existed. I grant it. Still he was simply a man, who taught his disciples, and deluded credulous people, as did Orpheus, Confucius, Brahma. Jesus caused himself to be adored, because his predecessors, Isis and Osiris, Jupiter and Juno, had proudly made themselves objects of worship. The ascendency of Jesus over his time, was like the ascendency of the gods and the heroes of fable. If Jesus has impassioned and attached to his chariot the multitudeif he has revolutionized the world I see in that only the power of genius, and the action of a commanding spirit, which vanquishes the world, as so many conquerors have done Alexander, C~sar, you, Sire, and Mohammed with a sword. Napoleon replied: I know men, and dl tell you that Jesus Christ is not a man. Superficial minds see a resemblance between Christ and the founders of empires and the gods of other religions. That resemblance does not exist. There is between Christianity and whatever other religion the distance of infinity. We can say to the authors of every other religion, You are neither gods nor the agents of the Deity. You are but missionaries of false- hood, moulded from the same clay with the rest of mortals. You are made with all the passions and vices inseparable from them. Your tem- l)les and your priests proclaim your origin. Such will be the judgment, the cry of conscience, of whoever examines the gods and the temples of paganism. Paganism was never accepted, as truth, by the wise men of Greece; neither by Socrates, Pythagoras, Plato, Anaxagoras, or Pericles. On the other side, the loftiest intellects, since the advent of Christianity, have had faith, a living faith, a practical faith, in the mysteries and the doctrines of the gospel; not only Bos- suet and Fenelon, who were preachers, but Descartes and Newton, Leibnitz and Pascal, Corneille and Racine, Charlemagne and Louis xIv Paganism is the work of man. One can here read but our imbecility. What do these gods, so boastful, know more than other mor- tals? these legislators, Greek or Roman, this Numa, this Lycurgus, these priests of India or of Memphis, this Confucius, this Mohammed? Absolutely nothing. They have made a perfect chaos of morals. There is not one among them all who has said any thing new in reference to our future destiny, to the soul, to the essence NAPOLEON RECEIVING THE PORTRAIT OF HIS SON. VOL. X.No. 56.M 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of God, to the creation. Enter the sanctuaries of paganism. You there find perfect chaos, a thousand contradictions, war between the gods, the immobility of sculpture, the division and the rending of unity, the parceling out of the divine attributes mutilated or denied in their essence, the sophisms of ignorance and presumption, pol- luted fetes, impurity and abomination adored, all sorts of corruption festering in the thick shades, with the rotten wood, the idol, and his priest. Does this honor God, or does it dis- honor him? Are these religions and these gods to be compared with Christianity? As for me, I say no. I summon entire Olympus to my tribunal. I judge the gods, but am far from prostrating myself before their vain images. The gods, the legislators of India and of China, of Rome and of Athens, have nothing which can overawe me. Not that I am unjust to them! No; I appreciate them, because I know their value. Undeniably princes, whose existence is fixed in the memory as an image of order and of power, as the ideal of force and beauty, such princes were no ordinary men. I see in Lycurgus, Numa, and Mohammed only legislators, who, having the first rank in the State, have sought the best solution of the social problem; but I see nothing there which reveals divinity. They themselves have never raised their pretensions so high. As for me, I recognize the gods and these great men as be- ings like myself. They have performed a lofty part in their times, as I have done. Nothing announces them divine. On the contrary, there are numerous resemblances between them and myself; foibles and errors which ally them to me and to humanity. It is not so with Christ. Every thing in him astonishes me. His spirit overawes me, and his will confounds me. Between him and whoever else in the world there is no possible term of comparison. He is truly a being by himself. His ideas and his sentiments, the truths which he announces, his manner of con- vincing, are not explained either by human or- ganization or by the nature of things. His blith, and the history of his life; the profundity of his doctrine, which grapples the mightiest difficulties, and which is of those dif- ficulties the most admirable solution; his gos- pel, his apparition, his empire, his march across the ages and the realmsevery thing is, for me, a prodigy, a mystery insoluble, which plunges me into a reverie from which I can not escape a mystery which is there before my eyesa mystery which I can neither deny nor explain. Here I see nothing human. The nearer I approach, the more carefully I examine, every thing is above meevery thing remains grand, of a grandeur which overpowers. his religion i~ a revelation from an irtelligence, which certainly is not that of man. There is there a profound originality, which has created a series of words and of maxims before un- known. Jesus borrowed nothing from our sci- ences. One can absolutely find nowhere, but in him alone, the imitation or the example of his life. He is not a philosopher, since he ad- vances by miracles, and from the commence- meat his disciples~ worshiped him. He per- suades them far more by an appeal to the heart than by any display of method and of logic. Neither did he impose upon them any prelim- inary studies, or any knowledge of letters. All his religion consists in believing. In fact, the sciences and philosophy avail nothing for salvation; and Jesus came into the world to reveal the mysteries of heaven and the laws of the spirit. Also, he has nothing to do but with the soul, and to that alone he brings his gospel. The soul is sufficient for him, as he is sufficient for the soul. Before him the soul was nothing. Matter and time were the masters of the world. At his voice every thing returns to order. Science and philosophy be- come secondary. The soul has reconquered its sovereignty. All the scholastic scaffolding falls, as an edifice ruined, before one single word Faith. What a master, and what a word, which can effect such a revolution! With what au- thority does he teach men to pray! He im- poses his belief. And no one, thus far, has been able to contradict him; first, because the gospel contains the purest morality, and also because the doctrine which it contains of ob- scurity, is only the proclamation and the truth of that which exists where no eye can see, and no reason can penetrate. Who is the insensate who will say No to the intrepid voyager who re- counts the marvels of the icy peaks which he alone has had the boldness to visit? Christ is that bold voyager. One can doubtless remain incredulous. But no one can venture to say, it is not so. Moreover, consult the philosophers upon those mysterious questions which relate to the essence of man, and the essence of religion. What is their response? Where is the man of good sense who has ever learned any thing from the system of metaphysics, ancient or modern, which is not truly a vain and pompous ideology, without any connection with our domestic life, with our passions? Unquestionably, with skill in thinking, one can seize the key of the phi- losophy of Socrates and Plato. But to do this, it is necessary to be a metaphysician; and more- over, with years of study, one must possess spe- cial aptitude. But good sense alone, the heart, an honest spirit, are sufficient to comprehend Christianity. The Christian religion is neither ideology nor metaphysics, but a practical rule, which directs the actions of man, corrects him, coun- sels him, and assists him in all his conduct. The Bible contains a complete series of facts and of historical men, to explain time and eter- nity, such as no other religion has to offer. If this is not the true religion, one is very excus- able in being deceived; for every thing in it is grand and worthy of God. I search in vain in history to find the similar to Jesus Christ, or NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 179 any thing which can approach the gospel. Nei- ther history, nor humanity, nor the ages, nor nature offer me any thing with which I am able to compare it or to explain it. Here every thing is extraordinary. The more I consider the gos- pel, the more I am assured that there is nothing there which is not heyond the march of events, and ahove the human mind. Even the impious themselves have never dared to deny the sub- limity of the gospel, which inspires them with a sort of compulsory veneration. What happi- ness that hook procures for those who helieve it! What marvels those admire there who re- flect upon it! All the words there are imhedded and join- ed one upon another, like the stones of an edi- fice. The spirit which hinds these words to- gether is a divine cement, which now reveals the sense, and again vails it from the mind. Each phrase has a sense complete, which traces the perfection of unity and the profundity of the whole. Book unique, where the mind finds a moral heauty hefore unknown, and an idea of the Supreme superior even to that which crea- tion suggests. Who, hut God, could produce that type, that idea of perfection, equally ex- clusive and original? Christ, having hut a few weak disciples, was condemned to death. He died the ohject of the wrath of the Jewish priests, and of the contempt of the nation, and ahandoned and de- nied by his own disciples. They are about to take me, and to crucify me, said he. I shall he ahandoned of all the world. My chief disciple ~vill deny me at the commencement of my punishment. I shall he left to the wicked. But then, divine justice heing satisfied, original sin heing expiated hy my sufferings, the bond of man to God will he renewed, and my death will he the life of my disciples. Then they will he more strong with- out me than with me; for they will see me rise again. I shall ascend to the skies; and I shall send to them, from heaven, a Spirit who will instruct them. The spirit of the cross will en- able them to understand my gospel. In fine, they will believe it; they will preach it; and they will convert the world. And this strange promise, so aptly called by Paul the foolishness of the cross, this pre- diction of one miserably crucified, is literally accomplished. And the mode of the accom- plishment is perhaps more prodigious than the promise. It is not a day, nor a battle which has decided it. Is it the lifetime of a man? No! It is a war, a long combat of three hundred years, commenced by the apostles and continued by their successors and by succeeding genera- tions of Christians. In this conflict all the kings and all the forces of the earth were ar- rayed on one side. Upon the other I see no army, hut a mysterious energy; individuals scattered here and there, in all parts of the globe, having no other rallying sign than a com- mon faith in the mysteries of the cross. What a mysterious symbol! the instrument of the punishment of the Man-God. His disciples were armed with it. The Christ, they said, God has died for the salvation of men. What a strife, what a tempest these simple words have raised around the humble standard of the punishment of the Man-God! On the one side, we see rage and all the furies of hatred and violence. On the other, there is gentleness, moral courage, infinite resignation. For three hundred years spirit struggled against the brutality of sense, conscience against des- potism, the soul against the body, virtue against all the vices. The blood of Christians flowed in torrents. They died kissing the hand which slew them. The soul alone protested, while the body surrendered itself to all tortures. Every where Christians fell, and every where they triumphed. You speak of Ciesar, of Alexander; of their conquests, and of the enthusiasm which they enkindled in the hearts of their soldiers. But can you conceive of a dead man making con- quests, with an army faithful and entirely de- voted to his memory. My armies have for- gotten me, even while living, as the Cartha- ginian army forgot Hannibal. Such is our power! A single battle lost crushes us, and adversity scatters our friends. Can you conceive of Cusar as the eternal emperor of the Roman senate, and from the depths of his mausoleum governing the empire, watching over the destinies of Rome? Such is the history of the inv~ision and conquest of the world by Christianity. Such is the power of the God of the Christians; and such is the per- petual miracle of the progress of the faith and of the government of His church. Nations pass away, thrones crumble, but the church remains. What is then the power which has protected this church, thus assailed by the furious billows of rage and the hostility of ages? Whose is the arm which, for eighteen hundred years, has protected the church from so many storms which have threatened to engulf it? Alexander, C~sar, Charlemagne, and my- self founded empires. But upon what did we rest the creations of our genius? Upon force. Jesus Christ alone founded his empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for him. In every other existence but that of Christ, how many imperfections? Where is the char- acter which has not yielded, vanquished by ob- stacles? Where is the individual who has never been governed by circumstances or places, who has never succumbed to the influence of the times, who has never compounded with any customs or passions? From the first day to the last he is the same, always the same; majestic and simple, infinitely firm and infi- nitely gentle. Truth should embrace the universe. Such is Christianity, the only religion which destroys sectional prejudice, the only one which pro- claims the unity and the absolute brotherhood 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the whole human family, the only one which is purely spiritual; in fine, the only one which assigns to all, without distinction, for a true country, the bosom of the Creator, God. Christ proved that he was the son of the Eternal, by his disregard of time. All his doctrines signify one only, and the same thing, Eternity. It is true that Christ proposes to our faith a series of mysteries. He commands, with au- thority, that we should believe them, giving no other reason than those tremendous words, I am God. He declares it. What an abyss he creates, by that declaration, between himself and all the fabricators of religion. What au- dacity, what sacrilege, what blasphemy, if it were not true! I say more; the universal triumph of an affirmation of that kind, if the triumph were not really that of God himself, would be a plausible excuse, and the proof of atheism. Moreover, in propounding mysteries Christ is harmonious with nature, which is profoundly mysterious. From whence do I come? whither do I go? who am I? Human life is a mystery in its origin, its organization, and its end. In man and out of man, in nature, every thing is mysterious. And can one wish that religion should not be mysterious? The creation and the destiny of the world are an unfathomable abyss, as also is the creation and the destiny of each individual. Christianity at least does not evade these great questions. It meets them boldly. And our doctrines are a solution of them for every one who believes. The gospel possesses a secret virtue, a mys- terious efficacy, a warmth which penetrates and soothes the heart. One finds, in meditating upon it, that which one experiences in con- templating the heavens. The gospel is not a book; it is a living being, with an action, a power, which invades every thing which opposes its extension. Behold it upon this table, this book surpassing all others (here the Emperor deferentially placed his hand upon it); I never omit to read it, and every day with the same pleasure. Nowhere is to be found such a series of beautiful ideas, admirable moral maxims, which pass before us like the battalions of a celestial army, and which produce in our soul the same emotion which one experiences in contemplat- ing the infinite expanse of the skies, resplen- dent in a summers night, with all the brilliance of the stars. Not only is our mind absorbed, it is controlled, and the soul can never go astray with this book for its gnide. Once master of our spirit, the faithful gospel loves us. God even is our friend, our father, and truly our God. The mother has no greater care for the infant whom she nurses. What a proof of the divinity of Christ! With an empire so absolute, he has but one single end, the spiritual melioration of individ- uals, the purity of conscience, the union to that which is true, the holiness of the soul. Christ speaks, and at once generations be- come his by stricter, closer ties than those of blood; by the most sacred, the most indissolu- ble of all unions. He lights up the flame of a love which consumes self-love, which prevails over every other love. The founders of other religions never conceived of this mystical love, which is the essence of Christianity, and is beau- tifully called charity. In every attempt to effect this thing, namely, to make himself beloved, man deeply feels his own impotence. So that Christs greatest miracle undoubtedly is, the reign of charity. I have so inspired multitudes that they would die for me. God forbid that I should form any comparison between the enthusiasm of the soldier and Christian charity, which are are as unlike as their cause. But, after all, my presence was necessary; the lightning of my eye, my voice, a word from me; then the sacred fire was kindled in their hearts. I do indeed possess the secret of this magical power, which lifts the soul, hut I could never impart it to any one. None of my gen- erals ever learnt it from me. Nor have I the means of perpetuating my name and love for me, in the hearts of men, and to effect these things without physical means. Now that I am at St. Helena; now that I am alone chained upon this rock, who fights and wins empires for me? who are the court- iers of my misfortune? who thinks of me? who makes efforts for me in Europe? where are my friends? Yes, two or three, whom your fidelity immortalizes, you share, you console my exile. Here the voice of the Emperor trembled with emotion, and for a moment he was silent. He then continued: Yes, our life once shone with all the brill- iance of the diadem and the throne; and yours, Bertrand, reflected that splendor, as the dome of the Invalides, gilt by us, reflects the rays of the sun. But disasters came; the gold gradu- ally became dim. The rain of misfortune and outrage with which I am daily deluged has ef- faced all the brightness. We are mere lead now, General Bertrand, and soon I shall be in my grave. Such is the fate of great men! So it was with Ctesar and Alexander. And I, too, am forgotten. And the name of a conqueror and an emperor is a college theme! Our exploits are tasks given to pupils by their tutor, who sit in judgment upon us, awarding us censure or praise. And mark what is soon to become of me; assassinated by the English oligarchy, I die before my time; and my dead body, too, must return to the earth, to become food for worms. Behold the destiny, near at hand, of him who has been called the great Napoleon. What an abyss between my deep misery and the eternal reign of Christ, which is proclaimed, loved, adored, and which is extending over all the earth. Is this to die? Is it not rather to live? The death of Christ! It is the death of God. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 181 For a moment the Emperor was silent. As General Bertrand made no reply, he solemnly added, If you do not perceive that Jesus Christ is God, very well, then I did wrong to make you a general. During the spring months of the year 1821, the Emperor, whose health had heen long de- clining, was evidently approaching death. The British government had now finished a more comfortahie residence for Napoleon than the old house at Longwood; hut he was too feehle to hear the fatigue and exposure of removal, and it was never occupied hy him. A hrief journal will record the pathetic scenes of his last days. April 21. The Emperor, says Montholon, has again spokeu to me of his will. His im- .igination is unceasingly employed in seeking to find resources frcm which to gratify his liber- ality. Each day hrings to his mind the remem- brance of some other old servant whom lie would wish to remunerate. April 25. The Emperor slept quietly most of the night. Count Montholon sat at his hedside. At 4 oclock in the morning, Napoleon started up and exclaimed, in dreamy delirium, I have just seen my good Josephine. She disappeared at the moment when I was ahout to take her in my arms. She was seated there. It seemed to me that I had seen her yesterday evening. She is not ch~nged. She is still the same, full of devotion to me. She told me that we were about to see each other again, never more to part. I)id you see her ? He soon again fell asleep. In the morning General Bertrand read to him from an English journal, lie happened to fall upon a very atrocious lihel against Caulain- court and Savary, as heing peculiar culprits in what the English called the assassiaotiou of the Duke dEnghien. The magnanimity of Napo- leon revolted at the idea of allowing the odium of any of the unpopular acts of his reign to he laid upon his friends. This is shameful, said the Emperor, and then, turning to Montholon, he added hrin~ me my will. Without say- ing another word he opened the will and inter- lined the following declaration: I caused the Duke dEnghein to he arrested and tried, hecause that step was essential to the safety, interest, and honor of the French peo- ple, when the Count dArtois was maintaining, hv his own confession, sixty assassins at Paris. Under similar circumstances I would act in the same wny. Having written these few lines, without add- ing a word he handed hack the will to Montho- lou. There is something very remarkahie in this declaration. In the first place, Napoleon solemnly assumes all the responsihility of the act. He takes upon himself whatever may he attached to it which is hiameworthy. In the sccond place, he is very accurate in his state- ment. He says, I caused the Duke dEnghien to he arrested aad tried. The evidence is very conclusive that Napoleon, notwithstanding the undeniahle proof of the treason of the Duke, in- tended to have pardoned him. His execution LONOWOOnTuE NEW hOUsE. 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Napoleon deeply deplored. He, however, would as I saw the frequency and obstinate recurrence ask for no abatement of censure on that score, of the vomitings. I beg that you will he very hut held himself answerable for the acts which particular in your examination, that, when you occurred under his reign. The Emperor then see my son, you may be ahle to communicate dictated the letter which was to announce his your observations to him, and point out to him death to Sir Hudson Lowe. the most proper medicines to use. When I am April 28. The prostration of the Emperor no more you will go to Rome. You will see my was extreme. He spoke of his approaching dis- mother and my family, and will relate to them solution with great composure. After my all you have observed concerning my situation, death, said he, which can not he far distant, my disorder, and my death, upon this dreary I desire that you will open my body. I insist and miserable rock. You will tell them that also that you promise that no English medical the great Napoleon expired in the most deplor- man shall touch me. If, however, the assist- able state, deprived of every thing, ahandoned ance of one should be indispensable, Doctor to himself and to his glory, and that he he- Arnott is the only one whom you have permis- queathed, with his dying breath, to all the reign- sion to employ. I further desire that you will ing families of Europe, the horror and oppro- take my heart, put it in spirits of wine, and hrium of his last moments. carry it to Parma to my dear Maria Louisa. From this effort he soon sank down in com- You will tell her that I tenderly loved her, that plete exhaustion, and deliriously murmured I never ceased to love her. You will relate to broken and incoherent sentences. her all you have seen, and every particular re- April 29. The Emperor passed a very rest- specting my situation and death. I particularly less night, suffering from a raging fever. Be- recommend to you carefully to examine my ing unable to sleep, at four oclock in the morn- stomach, and to make a precise and detailed ing he requested Montholon to bring a table to report of the state in which you may find it; his bedside; and then occupied himselg for a which report you will give to my son. The couple of hours, in dictating two projects, one vomitings which succeed each other, almost on the destination of the palac~ of Versailles, without interruption, lead me to suppose that and the other on the organization of ~he Na- the stomach is, of all my organs, the most dis- tional Guard for the defense of Paris. As- eased. I am inclined to believe that it is at- tonishment, says Montholon, has often been tacked with the same disorder that killed my felt at the great faculties of the Emperor, which father, I mean a scirrhosis in the pylorus. I pQrmitted him, on the eve of, or the day after l)egan to suspect that such was the case as soon a battle, which was either about to decide, 01 TIlE EMPEROR DICTATING 1115 LAST LETTER. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 183 had decided the fate of a throne, to sign de- crees, and occupy himself with matters purely administrative. But these facts are far inferior to the one which we here attest. But five days later, all that remained of this sublime genius was a corpse. And yet his thoughts were still constantly directed toward the happiness and future prospects of France. When Dr. Antommarchi came in, he found the Emperor, though manifestly fast sinking, calm and rational. Napoleon spoke again of the can- cer in the stomach, with which he had supposed that he was afflicted, and said to the Doctor, I recommend to you once more to examine my pylorus with the greatest care. Write down your observations, and deliver them to my son. I wish, at least, to preserve him from the dis- ease. Antommarchi suggested the suhstitution of a blister for the plaster which he had applied to the epigastric region. Since you wish it, said the Emperor, he it so. Not that I expect the least benefit from it. But my end is approach- ing, and I am desirous of showing, hy my resig- nation, my gratitude for your care and attention. Apply, therefore, the hlister. The feverish state of his stomach induced him to drink much cold water. With characteristic gratitude he exclaimed, If fate had decreed that I should recover, I would erect a monument upon the spot where the water flows, and would crown the fountain, in testimony of the relief which it has afforded me. If I die, and my body, proscribed as my person has been, should he de- nied a little earth, I desire that my remains may be deposited in the cathedral of Ajaccio, in Cor- sica. And if it should not be permitted me to rest where I was horn, let me he buried near the limpid stream of this pure water. May 2. The Emperor was in a raging fever during the night, and quite delirious. His wan- dering spirit retraced the scenes of the past, vis- ited again his beloved France, hovered affection- ately over his idolized .son, and held familiar converse with the companions of his toil and his glory. Again the lurid storm of war heat upon his disturbed fancy, as his unrelenting assailants comhiued anew for his destruction. Wildly he exclaimed, Steingel, Dessaix, Massena! Ali! victory is declaring. Hun, hasten, press the charge! They are ours 1 Suddenly collectin~ his strength, in his eagerness he sprang from the bed; but his himhs failed him, and lie fell pros- trate upon the floor. At nine oclock in the morning the fever abated, and reason returned to her throne. Call- ing the Doctor to his bedside, he said to him earnestly, Recollect what I have directed you to do after my death. Proceed very carefully to the anatomical examination of my stomach. I wish it, that I may save my son from this cruel disease. You will see him, Doctor, and you will point out to him what is best to he done, and will save him from the cruel sufferings I now ex- perience. This is the last service I ask of you. At noon the violence of the disease returned, and Napoleon, looking steadfastly and silently upon the Doctor for a few moments, said, Doc- tor, I am very ill. I feel that I am going to die. He immediately sank away into insensibility. All the inmates of Longwood were unremitting in their attentions to the beloved sufferer. He was to them all, from the highest to the lowest, a father whom they almost adored. The zeal and solicitude they manifested deeply moved the sensibilities of the Emperor. He spoke to them in grateful words, and remembered them all in his will. As he recovered from this insensibility he spoke faintly to his companions, enjoining it upon them to be particularly careful in attend- ing to the comforts of the humbler members of his household after he should be gone. And my poor Chinese, said he, do not let them be forgotten. Let them have a few scores of Na- poleons. I must take leave of them also. It is refreshing to meet such recognitions of the brotherhood of man. Mey 3. At two oclock in the afternoon the Emperor revived for a moment, and said to those who were appointed the executors of his will, and who were at his bedside, I am about to die, and you are to return to Europe. You have shared my exile. You will be faithful to my memory. I have sanctioned all good I)rinciphes, and have infused them into my laws and my acts. I have not omitted a single one. Unfortunately, however, the cir- cumstances in which I was placed were arduous, and I was obliged to act with severity, and to postpone the execution of my plans. Our re- verses occurred. I could not unbend the bow; and France has been deprived of the liberal in- stitutions which I intended to give her. She judges me with indulgence. She feels grateful for my intentions. She cherishes my name and my victories. Imitate her example. Be faith- ful to the opinions we have defended, and to the glory we have acquired. Any other course can only lead to shame and confusion. He then sent for the Abbd Vignali. A mov- able altar was h)laced at the Emperors bedside. All retired except the Abbd. Napoleon then, in silence and solitude, upon his dying bed, re- ceived the sacrament of the Lords Supper. After the solemn ordiiiance Count Montholon returned to the room. The tranquil tones of the Emperors voice, and the placid expression of his countenance, indicated the serenity of his spirit. He conversed a few moments upon re- ligious subjects, and peacefully fell asleep. As he awoke in the morning he said to his valet, Open the window, Marchand; open it wide, that I may breathe the air, the good air, which the good God has made. May 5. The night of the 4th of May, dark, cheerless, and tempestuous, enveloped St. Hel- ena in even unwonted gloom. The rain fell in torrents. A tornado of frightful violence swept the bleak rocks. Every tree which Napoleon had cherished was torn up by the roots, and laid prostrate in the mud. The dying Emperor, 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. unconscious of every thing which was passing around him, tossed restlessly upon his pillow. And now occurred the most affecting scene which had yet been witnessed in this chamber of suffering. The children of the family were introduced, to look, for the last time, upon their friend, now insensible, and hreathing heavily in death. They had not seen him for more than a month. Shocked at the change which had taken place in that countenance, which had ever been accustomed to contemplate them with so much benignity and affection, they for a moment gazed upon the pallid and emaciate features with hesitation and terror. Then, with flooded eyes and loud sobbings, they rushed to the bedside, seized the hands of the Emperor, and covered them with kisses and with tears. All present were overpowered with emotion and the heavy breathing of the dying was drown- ed in the irrepressible lamentations of the mourn- ers. Young Napoleon Bertrand was so overcome by the heart-rending scene that he fainted, and fell sefiseless upon the floor. In the midst of this death-drama one of the servants, who had been sick for forty-eight days, rose from his bed, and emaciate, pallid, delirious, and with disor- (lered dress, entered the room. In fevered dreams he imagined that the Emperor was in trouble, and had called to him for help. The delirious and dying servant stood tottering by the side of his delirious and dying master, wild- ly exclaiming, I will not leave the Emperor. I will fight and perish with him The dying hours lingered slowly away, during which inarticulate murmurs were occasionally heard from the lips of the illustrious sufferer. Twice I thought, says Montholon, that I distinguished the unconnected words, France armyhead of the armyJosephine. This was at six oclock in the morning. During the rest of the day, until six ocThck. in the evening, he ~vas lying upon his hack, with his right hand out of the bed, and his eyes fixed, seemingly ab- sorbed in deep meditation, and without any ap- pearance of suffering. A pleasant and placid expression was spread over his features, as if he were sweetly sleeping. A dark and tempestuous night succeeded the stormy day. The gale, with increasing fury, swept the ocean and the black rocks, and wailed as mournful a dirge as could fall on mortal ears. The very island seemed to shake before the gi- gantic billows, hurled against its craggy cliffs by the spirit of the storm. In the midnight dark- ness of that terrific elemental war the spirit of Napoleon passed the earthly vail, and entered the dread unknown. Isle of ElbaNapoleon, were the last words of the gentle and loving Josephine. France the armyJosephine, were the last images which lingered in the heart, and the last words which trembled upon the lips of the dying Emperor. NAPOLEON REcEIvINe TuE SACRAMENT OF TUE Loans SUPPER. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 186 Napoleon had earnestly expressed the wish that his body might be buried on the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people whom he loved so well. Bnt if that privilege were denied his remains, he prayed that his hody might be taken to his native island, and deposited in the tomb of his father at Ajaccio. But if the English government declined also that request, he entreated his friends to bury him in a secluded spot, which he had selected, at St. Helena, beneath a weeping willow, which overshadowed the limpid spring from which Na- l)oleon had received so many refreshing draughts of cold water. With his glowing affections he loved this spring as if it had been his personal friend. Application was immediately made to Sir Hudson Lowe for permission to remove the re- mains to Europe. He informed the friends of Napoleon that the orders of his government were imperative, that the body of Napoleon was to remain at St. Helena. He, however, gave the assurance that it was quite a matter of in- difference to him in what part of the island Napoleon was buried. They entreated him al- most with tears, for permission to take the body home to his relatives and friends. But Sir Hudson Lowe, obedient to the requisitions of his government, was necessarily inexorable. He could not consent, notwithstanding the most affecting supplications and entreaties on the part of Madame Bertrand, to allow even the stomach and the heart to be removed. After a very careful post mortem examination the body was prepared for its buriaL The valet de chambre dressed the Emperor, as he was usually dressed in life, with white waistcoat and breeches, black cravat, long boots, and cocked hat. He was thus placed upon the bed, in his small bedroom, which was shrouded in black. The cloak which Napoleon had worn at Marengo was spread over his feet. A silver crncifix was placed upon his chest. Behind his head was an altar, where the Abbf Vignali stood, reciting the prayers of the church. Napoleon had won the respect and affection of all the inhabitants of that bleak rock. There was no one at St. Helena, save Sir Hudson Lowe, who did not speak in his favor. Rapidly the tidings of his death spread to every indi- vidual. An immense crowd was soon assem- bled at Longwood. During the afternoon of the 6th, and the whole of the 7th, an unending procession passed slowly ~nd solemnly through the room, gazing in silent and religious awe upon the lifeless remains. Even Sir Hudson Lowe said, in this sad hour, lIe was Enqiands greatest enemy, and mine too, but Ifargive him. The morning of the 8th of May dawned with unusual brilliance. A perfect calm had suc- ceeded the storm, and not a cloud obscured the brightness of the sun. At an early hour all the inhabitants of the island were directing their steps toward Longwood, to pay their last tribute of respect to the remains of the Emperor. At half past twelve oclock the grenadiers placed TIlE DYING SCENE. 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the coffin upon the hearse. The fnaeral car was drawn hy four horses, richly caparisoned, and each led by a groom. The f~ided cloak he wore at Marengo was his fitting shroud. Four of his devoted friends held the corners of the pall. Twelve grenadiers walked by the side of the hearse, to carry the coffin, where the bad condition of the path along the crags prevented the wheels from advancing. The Emperors horse, caparisoned in black, was led by a groom. The household of Longwood, dressed in deep mourning, followed sadly behind, weeping, with heart-rending grief; as children at the grave of a father. Next after them came the Admiral and the Governor, on horseback, accompanied by the officers of the staff. In long procession the inhabitants of the island, men, women, and children, reverently joined the funeral train. The garrison, two thousand five hundred in number, which had been stationed upon the island to guard the Emperor, lined the whole of the left side of the road from Longwood nearly to the grave. Bands of music, at ap- pointed intervals, breathed their requiems over the crags bathed in the silent sunlight. As the procession passed along, the soldiers, two by two, fell into the line, and with reversed arms solemn- ly paced the dead march to the grave. The roar of the ocean was hushed. Not a leaf trembled upon the gum-wood trees. And not a sound, save the death dirge, fell upon the listen- ing ear, as the burial train moved slowly amidst the blackened crags. The whole career of Napoleon constitutes the wildest romance which imagination can conceive. But no events dur- ing that wondrous history are more touching and sublime than his death and burial on this lone, barren isle. At length the hearse stopped. Huge blocks of blackened lava, precipices, and towering crags obstructed the further advance of the wheels. Twelve grenadiers with difficulty took upon their shoulders the remains, in the heavy triple coffin of tin, lead, and mahogany, and carried them along a narrow path, which had been con- structed on the side of the rugged mountain, to the place of burial. The booming of minute guns, from the Admirals ship in the harbor, reverberated from pinnacle to pinnacle of this gloomy rock, adding inconceivable sublimity to the scene. Every heart was vanquished by uncontrollable emotion. The coffin was placed on the verge of the grave. The Abbd Vignali recited the burial service. As the body was then lowered to its resting place, three successive volleys from a battery of fifteen cannon dis- charged over the grave, resounded in thunder peals along the crags of St. Helena. This was responded to by a simultaneous discharge from the ships in the harbor and every fort upon the THE GRAVE OF NAPOLEON. THE DEAD SEA, SODOM, AND GOMORRAH. 187 NAPOLEON. BORN AT AJACCIO The 15th of August, 1769. DIED AT ST. HELENA The 5th of May, 1821. island. The grave was then filled in, carefully dent stimulate or discourage our researches closed with masonry, and a guard of honor into the antiquities of other classic sites; but placed over it. travels in Judea are always welcome. Twas The officers of the Emperor, upon the day of the same fifteen centuries ago. No common his d,eath, had ordered a stone to he prepared, feeling urged the journey commemorated in the to rest upon his grave, with this simple inscrip- old Pilg rims progress from Bordeaux to Jeru- tion: salem, in the fourth century; no ordinary mo- tive provoked the crusades. It has been con- sidered proper, in modern times, to sneer at those great enterprises, to talk of them as the fruit of barbarous superstition, and to weigh their merits in the same scale as we would the Japan expedition or the war with Mexico. There may possibly he some error in this off- hand way of dealing with the past. We, who think lightly of the Bonillons and Ccuur de Lion, may profitably compare their spirit and their aims with -our own, and set down, if we can, wherein the difference between us lies. It was no doubt a very uncivilized mode of proving their affection for the birth-place of Christianity to carry fire and sword into the Saracen homes; but we must remember that they had no travel1 ers to traverse Palestine from Samaria to Moab, no hooks to describe the condition of the Holy Land, no records of what man was doing with the spot God had chosen for his own people and for the Redeemers birth-place. If we can fancy such achange in theworids fnce as would exclude us from the shores of the Holy Land, and close the entrance of the sacred cities to the people of Christendom, such events as the preaching of a new Peter the hermit, and the equipment off ash armies of crusaders, would by no means seem impossible. As mattel-s now stand, we need no such ebullitions of Christian zeal. We know far more about the land of the Jews than the degraded Arabs who hold it: year after year, our learned men and our zealous missionaries wander over its deserted plains, and bring home rich harvests of historic and legendary lore. Of late years, the passion for Eastern travel has in- crensed more than ever. All the great anthors have pined for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; our libraries swell with hot-pressed volumes on new discoveries in the land of Canaan, Samaria, and Juden. It is possible, as Lamennais and many famous preachers in our own country assure us, that we are growing indifferent to the essentials of religion; but most assuredly, our attachment for the historic associations of Christianity was never more lively or universnl. A former number of this Magazine contained a sketch of the Dead Sea from the pen of one of our most esteemed contributors. At that time, our information on the subject was derived from the travels of Irhy and Mangles, and the works of Burckhardt, Robinson, and Lynch. The former, enterprising and zealous explorers, had penetrated as far as Kerak, in the land of Moab. Burckhardt, a missionary sent out from London, traversed the whole of the valley through which the Jordan and the Dead Sea flow. The Rev. Dr. Robinson, whom we are proud to call our countryman, extended his explorations still further; and though his con- The graver had already cut the inscription, when Sir Hudson Lowe informed them that the orders of the British government were impera- tive; that no inscription could be allowed upon the tomb, but simply the words General Bona- parte. It was a cruel insult, thus to pursue their victim even into the grave. Remonstrances were unavailing. The French gentlemen at last obtained the poor boon of having a stone cover the grave without any inscription what- ever. The willows which overhung the tomh were immediately stripped of their foliage, as every individual wished to carry away some souvenir of the most extraordinary man this world has ever known. On the 27th of May the household of Napo- leon sadlyembarked for Europe. The day be- fore their departure they went in a hody to the tomh of the Emperor, and covered it with flowers and bathed it with their tears. They then embarked on hoard an English ship, and waved a last adieu to that dreary rock, where they had endured five and a half years of exile and of woe; but where they had also won the homage of the world by their devotion to great- ness and goodness in adversity. One of their number, Sergeant Hubert, in the enthusiasm of his deathless devotion, refused to abandon even the grave of his Emperor. For nineteen years he continued at ~t. Helena, daily guarding the solitary tomb. And when, at the united voice of France, that tomb gave up its sacred relics, and they were removed to repose upon the banks of the Seine, beneath the dome of the Invalides, among the people he had loved so well, this faithful servant followed them to their final resting-place. Napoleon now sleeps in the bosom of France, enthroned, as monarch was never enthroned before, in the hearts of his countrymen. France has reared for him a mausoleum which is a nations pride. Through all coming ages, travelers from all lands will, with religions awe, visit the tomb of Napoleon. The voice of obloquy is fast dying away, and will soon be hushed forever. THE DEAD SEA, SODOM, ANTE GO- MORRAR. T lIE interest we take in the Holy Land never dies. Over and over again we read with pleasure descriptions of Mount Olivet, Jerusa- lem, and Genesareth, the hallowed birth-place at Bethlehem, and the time-honored remains of the people of Judab. Fashion and acci

Dead Sea, Sodom, And Gomorrah 187-193

THE DEAD SEA, SODOM, AND GOMORRAH. 187 NAPOLEON. BORN AT AJACCIO The 15th of August, 1769. DIED AT ST. HELENA The 5th of May, 1821. island. The grave was then filled in, carefully dent stimulate or discourage our researches closed with masonry, and a guard of honor into the antiquities of other classic sites; but placed over it. travels in Judea are always welcome. Twas The officers of the Emperor, upon the day of the same fifteen centuries ago. No common his d,eath, had ordered a stone to he prepared, feeling urged the journey commemorated in the to rest upon his grave, with this simple inscrip- old Pilg rims progress from Bordeaux to Jeru- tion: salem, in the fourth century; no ordinary mo- tive provoked the crusades. It has been con- sidered proper, in modern times, to sneer at those great enterprises, to talk of them as the fruit of barbarous superstition, and to weigh their merits in the same scale as we would the Japan expedition or the war with Mexico. There may possibly he some error in this off- hand way of dealing with the past. We, who think lightly of the Bonillons and Ccuur de Lion, may profitably compare their spirit and their aims with -our own, and set down, if we can, wherein the difference between us lies. It was no doubt a very uncivilized mode of proving their affection for the birth-place of Christianity to carry fire and sword into the Saracen homes; but we must remember that they had no travel1 ers to traverse Palestine from Samaria to Moab, no hooks to describe the condition of the Holy Land, no records of what man was doing with the spot God had chosen for his own people and for the Redeemers birth-place. If we can fancy such achange in theworids fnce as would exclude us from the shores of the Holy Land, and close the entrance of the sacred cities to the people of Christendom, such events as the preaching of a new Peter the hermit, and the equipment off ash armies of crusaders, would by no means seem impossible. As mattel-s now stand, we need no such ebullitions of Christian zeal. We know far more about the land of the Jews than the degraded Arabs who hold it: year after year, our learned men and our zealous missionaries wander over its deserted plains, and bring home rich harvests of historic and legendary lore. Of late years, the passion for Eastern travel has in- crensed more than ever. All the great anthors have pined for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; our libraries swell with hot-pressed volumes on new discoveries in the land of Canaan, Samaria, and Juden. It is possible, as Lamennais and many famous preachers in our own country assure us, that we are growing indifferent to the essentials of religion; but most assuredly, our attachment for the historic associations of Christianity was never more lively or universnl. A former number of this Magazine contained a sketch of the Dead Sea from the pen of one of our most esteemed contributors. At that time, our information on the subject was derived from the travels of Irhy and Mangles, and the works of Burckhardt, Robinson, and Lynch. The former, enterprising and zealous explorers, had penetrated as far as Kerak, in the land of Moab. Burckhardt, a missionary sent out from London, traversed the whole of the valley through which the Jordan and the Dead Sea flow. The Rev. Dr. Robinson, whom we are proud to call our countryman, extended his explorations still further; and though his con- The graver had already cut the inscription, when Sir Hudson Lowe informed them that the orders of the British government were impera- tive; that no inscription could be allowed upon the tomb, but simply the words General Bona- parte. It was a cruel insult, thus to pursue their victim even into the grave. Remonstrances were unavailing. The French gentlemen at last obtained the poor boon of having a stone cover the grave without any inscription what- ever. The willows which overhung the tomh were immediately stripped of their foliage, as every individual wished to carry away some souvenir of the most extraordinary man this world has ever known. On the 27th of May the household of Napo- leon sadlyembarked for Europe. The day be- fore their departure they went in a hody to the tomh of the Emperor, and covered it with flowers and bathed it with their tears. They then embarked on hoard an English ship, and waved a last adieu to that dreary rock, where they had endured five and a half years of exile and of woe; but where they had also won the homage of the world by their devotion to great- ness and goodness in adversity. One of their number, Sergeant Hubert, in the enthusiasm of his deathless devotion, refused to abandon even the grave of his Emperor. For nineteen years he continued at ~t. Helena, daily guarding the solitary tomb. And when, at the united voice of France, that tomb gave up its sacred relics, and they were removed to repose upon the banks of the Seine, beneath the dome of the Invalides, among the people he had loved so well, this faithful servant followed them to their final resting-place. Napoleon now sleeps in the bosom of France, enthroned, as monarch was never enthroned before, in the hearts of his countrymen. France has reared for him a mausoleum which is a nations pride. Through all coming ages, travelers from all lands will, with religions awe, visit the tomb of Napoleon. The voice of obloquy is fast dying away, and will soon be hushed forever. THE DEAD SEA, SODOM, ANTE GO- MORRAR. T lIE interest we take in the Holy Land never dies. Over and over again we read with pleasure descriptions of Mount Olivet, Jerusa- lem, and Genesareth, the hallowed birth-place at Bethlehem, and the time-honored remains of the people of Judab. Fashion and acci 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. clusions do not always coincide with those of later travelersas, for instance, in the location of Zoar, which he placed on the eastern shore of the Dead Seahis observations are always worthy of respect. Finally, Lieutenant Lynch, of the United States Navy, made his exp~idition through the Dead Sea in 1847 and 1848, and not only described the character of that lake with fidelity. but added much to our knowledge of the interesting sites on its shores. We have now another student and explorer in the ficldF~tlicien de Saulcy, a Frenchman, and a member of the Institute. This gentleman has long been favorably known as one of the first Orientalists and Archmologists of France. An antiquary and a philosopher of more than average attainments, his private fortune en- abled him to gratify his tastes without inter- ruption from business cares. Bereaved, in July, 1850, of his wife, to whom he was tenderly at- tached, be resolved to exchange the painful scenes by which he was surrounded for others less fraught with melancholy suggestions; and with this view, he undertook a journey to the Holy Land. He was eminently fitted to he a useful traveler. His mind was well stored with information, and his heart was deeply imbued with tbe cardinal truths of the Christian relig- ion. To these advantages he added others scarcely less valuable for such a taskgreat powers of endurance, unquestionable courage, and practical common sense. On his first ap- plic.~tion, .the French government conferred upon him the title of Gbarge dszae mission scien- t~/ique; and he had as little difficulty in finding a few trusty friends, imbued with the same ideas and full of the same hopes as himself, to accompany him on his pilgrimage. A learned and pious Abbd, a few accomplished youths, whose passion for natural history was likely to be gratified on such a journey; these, with M. de Rothschild, who was enlisted at Jerusalem, con- stituted the expedition which traveled through Palestine under the orders of M. de Saulcy. All, especially the leader, set out full of ardor and spirit. M. de Snulcys zeal was gratified at the very beginning of his journey. At Beyrout he was shown the identical spot where St. George, of British memory, killed the dragon. The saint was prone to cleanliness, a remarkable virtue in his days. After his victory he called for a piece of soap, and washed his hands, which were cov- ered with the blood of his vanquished foe whence, saith tradition, arose a dirty stain which M. de Saulcy saw on a rock at the place. A little farther on, he rested at the spot where the same authority assures the traveler that Jonah was landed out of the belly of the fish. There is nothing to mark the prophets escape. Some remains of a large town, in the shape of fallen and broken pillars, several Fellah cottages, trees, a Mohammedan oualy, and a khaa or are all that Dc Saulcy notes. At Beyrout the expedition is finally ized. Horses are hired at sixty cents per march- ing day, and thirty when they are allowed to rest. A Greek cooka sneaking, servile scoun- drel, whose prime ohject on all occasions is to steal and lieis likewise secured; hut as he robs not only his employers, but every oneelse on the road, and does not even spare the churches, the French travelers are compelled to discharge him on their arrival at Jerusalem, and replace him by a Christian named Matteo. A hatch of moukrisas the Syrian muleteers are called completes the caravan. More idle, aggravating scamps can not be conceived; our antiquary wonders how he restrained himself from break- ing their heads a dozen times a day, and so do we. Whenever the Frenchmen want to start the moukris want to stay; when the former order a halt, the latter push on. Never a mon- kri thinks of doing his work, hut all together bawl for some one to help them; and when their employers patience is wearied out, the rascals advance with unblushing fiwe, and ask for a backs/os/i, or present. At length they are off; and the discomforts of the journey begin. One night, after securing, at great expense, a room in a roadside khan, they discover that their apartment is tenanted by a family of poultry. Notwithstanding the expostulations of their host, who protests that no one ever thought of driving his fowls out of doors, the Frenchmen eject their companions; but alas! a hole in the wall ren- ders their labors vain. As fast as the animals are expelled they re-enter, and the travelers are fain to sleep in the midst of a concert of cock- crowing. Next morning three of their horses THE DEAD SEA, SODOM, AND GOMORHAH. 189 are missing. The host professes utter astonish- ment and deep concern; but M. de Saulcy, who seems to have understood the Arab character, presents a pistol to his head, and the lost animals suddenly reappear, all ready harnessed. A few similar adventures mark the journey to Djenin, where M. de Saulcy, with a gallantry which does credit to his age, is vastly smitten with the beauty of the women. Their arms and legs, adorned with massive silver bracelets, he recommends as a useful study to artists. The road to Jerusalem, if picturesque, does not appear to be quite as safe as travelers might wish. Benighted near Naplouse, Mohammed, the guide, tells his companions, in a jolly tone, to put a bullet in their guns and hurry on. The injunction is scarcely obeyed before the same functionary whispers hurriedly to the Frenchman nearest him, There they aresee the thieves let us fall upon them 1 No reply being made, Mohammed~ charges with a furious Nemchi (Come on.) He is challenged by the robbers, but makes no other answer than firing into their midst. A dark form rises, quivers an instant, then falls heavily to the earth. Others emerge from behind bushes and rocks, and scamper into the forest. Mohammed utters the usual anath- ema: May Allah curse thee; thee and thy father, and thy fathers father I and returns composedly to his party, after having forced his horse to touch the corpse with his hoof. The deed gave rise to no remorse in the Mussulmans heart; he lit his chibouk, and proceeded on his journey as tranquilly as though his victim had been an insect. An Abb~, who was attached to the expedition, protested lustily against the hom- icide, but De Saulcy himselg with his usual com- mon sense, viewed it as a clear case of self-de- fense, and took no more thought on the matter than the authorities of the region. At last Jerusalem is reached. Like all mod- ern travelers, M. do Saulcy is much dissatisfied with its outward appearance, and complains bit- terly of its filthy streets, unsafe pavement, and gloomy aspect. Fortunately he is lodged in a decent hotel, kept by an Englishman, with the un-English name of Meshulam; and the luxury of a clean bed, after the dirt and vermin of the roadside stations, consoles him for other disap- pointments. His first thought is the prosecu- tion of the main object of his journey; until he has discovered something new, or thrown fresh light on some monument of antiquity, he scarce- ly ventures to indulge a natural curiosity amidst the relics of the Jewish capital. Even