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PS 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
 The Estate of S.r.C-?.ee 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3129.V6F8 
 
 Fresh leaves from western woods. 
 
 3 1924 022 207 561 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022207561 
 
FRESH LEAVES 
 
 FBOJU 
 
 WE STERN WO D S. 
 
 METTA VICTORIA FULLER 
 
 NEW YORK AND AUBURN : 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO., 
 
 New York: 25 ParkEow— Aubnm: 107 Genesee-et 
 
 1857. Pi, 
 
/\-7^ s?;^-<i 
 
The broad and blooming West, so rich in sy2van 
 adornment, and so prolific in wild flowers of rare odor 
 and unrivaled beauty, is becoming equally noted for 
 the redolent blossoms of genius ' which prank the 
 hearth of its prairie homes. Each year adds to the 
 number of the latter, which are expanding with won- 
 derful rapidity, and displaying an opulence of foliage 
 almost astonishing. The leaves which they early 
 fling to the winds retain, in many instances, perennial 
 verdure and fragrance, and are too lovely to be trod- 
 den under foot in the retreats of rural industry. Such, 
 it appears to us, is the quality of those gathered 
 herein, and presented to the public. 
 
 PUBLISHERa 
 
MT SISTEE FEAITOTES. 
 
 S&ese ileaDes 
 
 Af FEOnONAIEI,; DEDIOATltD. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Temptee, IS 
 
 A Sequel to the Tempibb, 8C 
 
 The Silyeb Lute: os the Gipst iSmoEB, 153 
 
 Tee Lost Qlote, 187 
 
 The Litikg Statue . . 213 
 
 MOTHEB AND DaUOHTEB, 225 
 
 Edith Manfbed, 276 
 
 Innooenoe, 303 
 
FEESH LEAYES 
 
 FEOM 
 
 WE STERN WO 0*D S 
 
 THE TEMPTER. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE Serpent lay coiled amid the flowers of Eden. 
 A soft and subtle, but terrible smile gleamed out 
 from his luring eyes, as he curled his glittering form 
 gracefully in the deep moss, and looked out over Par- 
 adise. The sun had set A stillness that was deeper 
 than- death — a stillness fearful and profound, hung 
 over Earth. Two forms of wonderful beauty, with 
 hands clasped together and features pale and still, went 
 silently from that bright, holy Eden. They were 
 Adam and Eve. The burning eyes of the Serpent 
 rested on them with a calm, cold, horrible delight, till 
 the four gates of Paradise were closed, shutting them 
 out for ever from its glory. Four cherubims, with 
 
li FRESH LEAVSS 
 
 flaming swords, swept down through space, and stood 
 upon the gates, guarding the tree of life. A huge 
 black cloud ssiiled up from where the sun had set, and 
 spread over the heavens its gloomy and threatening 
 wings. A mighty wind rushed on before, bending 
 the golden-laden trees, and laying the fair flowers low. 
 The stillness, so intense, was broken. The birds of the 
 air hooted and screamed, and the beasts of the earth 
 went howling and raging through that once peaceful 
 and beautiful garden. The Serpent saw, and heard, 
 and smiled — but the smile ended iti a shudder, as 
 he felt the presence of an awful curse hanging in 
 the hot, dark air around him. He knew that he was 
 made a crawling and loathsome thing, and he shud- 
 dered — but he knew that he had power to bruise 
 the heel of the offspring of Woman, and he smiled. 
 His Companion came gliding through the luxuriant 
 moss and coiled herself at his side* a foul but glitter- 
 ing thing. He turned in disgust from her cunning 
 and treacherous wiles ; and, hating the curse which 
 himself had brought upon her, he fled hissing away 
 through the furious storm which was desolating Eden. 
 
 Two brothers stood together in a field waving 
 with yellow com. They were slender and graceful, 
 and oh! so youthful and beautiful Locks of dark 
 
FROM WEStERN WDODS. 15 
 
 faali^ waved in rich masses over the white broW of 
 the <dder. His eye was blafk and flashing, and his 
 mouth was curved into proud and passionate lines. 
 All maaJiness and beauty was developed in his tall 
 Torm and perfect features. 
 
 The younger was just as beautiful, but a thousand 
 times mote soft and womanly in lus almost childish 
 Weliness. His deep, blue, liquid eyes looked out so 
 winningly through thick, drooping lasheS of gold; 
 liis cheek was warm and crimson-tinted; and his 
 hair fell in bright curls upon his poUshed shoulders. 
 His lips weie full and red, and wreathed with a sweet 
 expression of tenderness ; and his forehead looked piu-e 
 like an infant's. 
 
 The brothers Were conversing earnestly together; 
 ihd saw not the glowing eyes fixed on them with 
 malicious exultation, as, hid amid the golden grail, 
 the Serpent looked and listened. The proud eyes of 
 the elder grew darker and mor6 flashing, and his 
 haughty lip quivered as he spoke. Thete was some 
 bitter feeling in his heart, which the low, pleading 
 voice of his brother could not appease. The Serpeht 
 knew that the fire of jealousy was kindling in his 
 bosom. So he distilled a subtle venom from his fahgs 
 through the air which surrounded the youths, and 
 lay still, watching with hateful satisfaction its influ- 
 ence on the high passions of the elder. He saw his 
 
16 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 form dilate with rage, his face grow pale, his eyes 
 flash fire, his teeth closed tightly in the lower lip — he 
 saw the other kiss his forehead and strive to soothe 
 him — he saw the uplifted weapon, the blow, the falling 
 form — and then he glided silently away and left 
 them alone, the murdered and the murderer. 
 
 Abel was dead. The bright, innocent, beautiful 
 boy lay lifeless on a bed of yellow grain. There was 
 no breath on the pallid lip, no light in the closed eye, 
 no quiver of the fallen and fringed lid — but, sunken 
 in the fair and delicate temple was that ghastly 
 wound, flowing with bright, red blood. 
 
 There was death — death on Earth! 
 
 How terrible was the conviction which crept into 
 the cold, stiU heart of Cain ! as he stood with folded 
 arms and gazed on the brother he had slain. All his 
 furious passion was stilled in a moment, as white and 
 motionless as marble he remained, his strong gaze 
 staring on that sweet, pale face, and his ashen lips 
 parted in horror. Then he cast himself on the 
 ground beside him, and called upon his name with 
 phrenzied wildness — but there came no reply. He 
 covered his cheek with kisses, and clasped him to his 
 bosom, but there was no return of his caresses. He 
 put his hand on the still heart — it did not beat 
 He placed his ear to those cold lips — they did not 
 breathe. Then he put back the silken tresses froas 
 
FROM WESTEEN WOODS. 17 
 
 the bloody wound, and gazed upon the crimson tide 
 ebbing slowly forth, till, with a shriek of anguish and 
 despair, he pushed away the lifeless form, and rushed 
 far away over hiU and vaUey into the depths of a 
 mighty wilderness. 
 
 As if pursued by that phantom of horror, he fled, 
 bnward and onward with rushing steps through the 
 gloomy shadows. Hours passed by, and he still fled 
 on, when suddenly he paused. A wild thought that 
 he might hide his crime from the avenging eye of 
 his God came into his heart, and back, quickly as 
 he had come, did he retrace his steps. It was the 
 sunset hour when he reached the spot where his 
 brother lay. He twined his . arms about that cold 
 and beautiful form, and dragging it to the brink of the 
 river which skirted his broad fields, he cast it hastUy 
 in the deep waves. There was a splash, a bubble, 
 a closing together of the parted water, and the river 
 flowed on, bright and peaceful as before. 
 
 Cain sat down on the flowery bank, and washed 
 the blood-stains from his hands, and cooled his burn- 
 ing brow in the pure waves flowing musically over 
 the grave of his murdered brother. But the stain 
 upon his soul he could not bathe away — the fever in 
 his heart the bright waves could not cool. A strange 
 fascination drew him back to the place where the 
 earth had drank up the blood of Abel. Suddenly 
 
13 fBESH LBAYEB 
 
 as he st0D4 theye, a glory apd a brightness filled l^he, 
 air, ipa dazzfing and terrible for his ga^ty eyes; and 
 a voice — the solewn voice of the Almigbty — broke 
 the stillness, with that fearful question, so ttailling 
 to his startled soul — 
 
 "Where is thy brother?" 
 
 "Am I my brother's keeper?" was the fgjnt reply. 
 
 "What hast thou done? Thy brother's Uood 
 crieth unto Ine from the ground-^" and solemnly 
 and fearfully the curse for his great sin was proiiounced 
 by the dread voice of the Lord God. 
 
 The glory and oppressive brightness vanished, and 
 Cain was left alone — with the brand of a murderer 
 set upon his brow, burning for ever deep into his brain, 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! " laughed the Serpent in his ear. 
 
 The murderer started, but the rustle of the retreat- 
 ing mocker through the ripe grain alone met his ear. 
 
 Adam and Eve sat together beneath the pleasant 
 shade of a broad palm tree, waiting for the return of 
 their children. Bread, and honey, and mUk, with lus- 
 cious fi'uit, stood ready for their simple evening meal, 
 beneath the shadows of the waving leaves. 
 
 " Our childi-en tarry late," said Adam, softly kissing 
 the fair forehead of his wife. 
 
 " Praise God foreyermore, that even amid darkness 
 
FBOU WB^tTEBN WQODS. It^ 
 
 tind many trials, h.^ h^th thus biased us in our beaur 
 tifiil oflfepring," murmured Eve, raisjag her bright 
 head from the bosom of her husband, and turning 
 her soft eyes toward the path through which her boys 
 came every evening to their home. 
 
 LpveKer, far IpveUer than our wildest dream, was 
 the first mother, with her rare and radiant form, her 
 motions of exceeding grace, her rich, long, flowing 
 tresses, and face so feir and faultless, so sweetly 
 proud and pure, so winnipgly subdued. Her wistful, 
 earnest gaze lighted up with joy as she saw, through 
 the long line of fig-trees skirting the path, the grace- 
 ful form of her first-bom child advancing through the 
 shadows, which, chequered and quivering, were shift- 
 ing o'er the avenue. But the gladness shining clearly 
 'neath her silken lashes, seemed broken and troubled 
 as she leaned further forward, and continued — 
 
 " Where is my golden-haired, my glad-eyed Abel ? 
 Cain cometh alone — and see ! his step is slow and his 
 proiid head bent. It is not thus that our children are 
 wont to greet us." 
 
 And Adam, too, looked forth intently, as, with 
 heavy steps and drooping brow, their boy drew near. 
 
 Sprin^ng from her low seat. Eve ran to greet him. 
 
 " My child, where is thy brother ? Why art thou 
 so ffllent, why so pale, so sorrowful ? Where is thy 
 brother? — have the wolves, the lions so terrible. 
 
so FRESH LS^TiiS 
 
 devoured him while watching Ms flocks 5 Speak! tell 
 me, where is Abel ? " 
 
 " Mother ! I have murdered him ! " 
 
 " Cain!" 
 
 "Cain!" 
 
 Shrieked the mother, and broke, quivering, from the 
 blanched lips of the father. 
 
 " Nay ! curse me not — I am already cursed ! Look ! 
 look upon the brand that God hath set upon my guilty 
 brow. I am henceforth a wanderer and an outcast 
 No more to hear the words of tenderness, no more to 
 linger by the side of those I love — I go! Father! 
 mother! farewell." 
 
 " Stay, my child," — gasped Eve ; " O God, take 
 not both my treasures, my children, from me ! " 
 
 " Nay, let him go — he is unworthy," said the cold, 
 stern tones of the father, made desolate in the pride 
 of his manhood, and frozen into pitiless, unforgiving 
 sternness by the depth of his great sorrow. 
 
 With no other word, the murderer turned and dis- 
 appeared. Low, like a crouching thing upon the 
 ground, did Adam sink, his powerful frame convulsed 
 with mighty emotions, and his voice, broken and hol- 
 low, murmuring, — 
 
 " Oh ! God ! must thus our sins be visited upon our 
 ofispring ? Thy wrath is greater than we can bear — 
 take away the cup of thy bitterness. Lord God! " 
 
FROtt WESTERN WOODS. 21 
 
 Beside him knelt Lis wife, lier white arms wojiind 
 atound him, her beautiful face buried in his bosom, 
 as, chokingly and broken, the words struggled up 
 from her stricken heart: 
 
 "My children! my children! Alas, my Abel! 
 never, never to see thee, to hear the music of thy 
 voice, to mark the bounding of thy graceful step, to 
 feel thy warm kiss on my cheek — to lose thee thus, 
 niy child ! And he, too — my dark-eyed Cain — to be 
 thus cursed, thus guilty, thus a wanderer upon earth I 
 Why, why was I thus tempted — why must our sin, 
 our curse, go down unto our children? Oh, God! 
 be " 
 
 " Hal ha! ha! " laughed the Serpent, through the 
 twilight 
 
 Shuddering, those two desolate beings clung closer 
 to each other. 
 
 2 
 
22 BREBV LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 a rpHOU wilt wed -with me, my Zumah ? " 
 X " Nay, Aal, I love thee, but I fear thee." 
 
 " Thou must be my wife, Zumah. Then thou shalt 
 live as did thy parents in Paradise. No sin shall 
 stain thy fair young brow. Thou shalt eat of the tree 
 of life, though the flaming swords of the cherubim 
 point even from the gates of Eden. Greater than 
 the cherubim am I — greater than any, save God 
 himself, the maker of all things. Beautiful art thou 
 as the rose in blossom — thou shalt be as wise as the 
 angels. Thine eyes are brighter than stars — like 
 them shall they shine for ever. Knowledge that is 
 boundless, beauty that is fadeless, a home in the 
 garden of Eden, shalt thou have." 
 
 " Thy words are sweeter than the dropping of 
 honey, and thine eyes allure me with a strange fasci- 
 nation; thy form is taller and fairer than any ot my 
 brothers — I love thee when thou art with me, but I 
 dread thee when away." 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. M 
 
 " Maiden, thy speech is folly. Think of the' prom- 
 ises I make thee." 
 
 " Even so did the Serpent tempt my mother." 
 
 " Thou art cruel, Zumah — thou canst not love me. 
 Do I tempt thee when I offer thee heaven? Wilt 
 thou not love me, not wed me ? " 
 
 "Oh! if I dared " 
 
 " Thou must dare. Look into my eyes, my lily, 
 my fragrant flower — look into my eyes and love me." 
 
 The fair young maiden did look, long, long, into 
 jhose black, glowing, fascinating orbs — gazed as if 
 falling into a dream; for their power had spelled her 
 and she could not turn away. 
 
 " Dost thou love me, Zumah ? " 
 
 "I do — I do," murmured the maiden, almost in a 
 whisper, as slowly she sank forward, with her eyes 
 still fixed on his, till she lay powerless and spell-bound 
 in his arms. 
 
 "Mine, maiden, mine!" was hissed through the 
 teeth of the tempter, as his gaze glowed searchingly, 
 with fearful exultation, upon the pallid face of the 
 victim, lying insensible in his grasp. Rapidly the 
 form of the tormentor changed, till a hateful serpent 
 twined itself aroxmd the young girl's form, who lay 
 in its foul coils, all pale and still and beautiful, all 
 cold and white and pure. 
 
 " Thou shalt atone for the curse thy mother brought 
 
24 FRESH tBAVBS 
 
 upon me — the paradise I promised thee shaJl be a 
 hell, thy life an endless torture," muttered the de 
 stroyer. 
 
 " Nay, the maiden is sinless, and innocence shall 
 ever be more strong than the power of a fallen an- 
 gel," uttered a solemn voice. " Leave her ! till Zu- 
 mah hath sinned'can she never be harmed." 
 
 "Baffled! by the Eternal One I would have ri- 
 valed!" The coils of the Serpent unwound, and he 
 glided, hissing and maddened, away, leaving the 
 daughter of Eve insensible, among the dewy flowers 
 of evening. The breeze brought back the breath to 
 her pale Ups and, with a shudder, her large eyes 
 unclosed, but nothing, save the stars of heaven, met 
 their fearful gaze. 
 
 " CuBSKs ! curses 1 curses ! for ever, on all the chil- 
 dren of earth ! My power shall they feel through all 
 time — they shall ^ve themselves up to me for slaves 
 through all eternity ! I will be with them when they 
 know it not — I wiU win them over to my dark em- 
 brace ere they know the form of the spirit which 
 tempts them. Invisible and immaterial in form, my 
 spirit shall lurk ever where they least expect to find 
 me, and when they deem them safe, my fangs shall 
 drag them down, down to that black home where fallen 
 
FROM WESTERN -WOODS. 25 
 
 angels dwell in horrible despair! I will smile — I 
 will whisper — I wUl win — ^I will laugh — ^I will taunt — 
 I will torture ! I will sparkle in the maddening wine- 
 cup! I will throb in the fiery pulse of youth! I will 
 haunt the revel ! I will steal away the treasures from 
 the home of innocence ! I will burn and blacken the 
 white brow of virtue ! I wiH howl, and rage, and shriek, 
 amid the rich, red blood, and the angry carnage of the 
 battle. HeU shall play with Heaven to win Earth— 
 who will be the winner — who ? " 
 
 Thus muttered the Serpeut to himself, one thou- 
 sand years before the Flood. And the game began. 
 For a thousand years that game was played. Win- 
 ning! winning! winning all on earth, the Serpent 
 raised his burning, withering eyes to heaven in the 
 guise of woman's loveliness, and won down angels 
 from their starry thrones to lose their holiness within 
 his fiery folds. Earth was a mighty prize — slowly, 
 surely it was won! Unheeded the play went on, 
 ami J the revel and the dance — amid scenes of inde- 
 scribable magnificence — amid splendor unrivaled — 
 bright, bewildering, dazzling, deceptive ! 
 
 There was a midnight festival within a gorgeous 
 palace. So bright, so gUttering was the scene, an 
 Angel left awhile his home on high, and circUng down 
 through the golden stars, he walked with folded winga 
 amid the throng of guests. A million litmps sparikled 
 
S6 FRESHLEAVEg 
 
 like auns, in hall, and bower, and terrace. Ceilings of 
 jeweled pearl and gold, and walls of mirroring steel, 
 reflected back their light on beautiful forms in flowing 
 robes, gliding and circling with an undulating grace 
 through the dreamy mazes of the dance. Or else, the 
 waving of the flowery foliage, and the breath of the 
 whispering breeze, brake their rich sparkle into a thou; 
 sand changing and fantastic shapes, lovely in shifting 
 light and shade. And here and there they gleamed 
 upon long avenues, where the tempting board was 
 . spread with costly luxuries. Vessels of gold and silver, 
 wrought into rare devices, were heaped with viands, 
 and the jewels in the wrought wine-cups sparkjed 
 brighter than their brimming contents. 
 
 But there were brighter things than these in hea- 
 ven, and the Angel glided through them untempted 
 by their beauty, yet wondering, and admiring t^ie skill 
 and genius of man. But as he went, he met the 
 lovely princess in whose honor this great festival was 
 given. He paused to gaze on her. So beautiful ! his 
 heart thrilled at her glance. 
 
 Her hair fell down in wavy tresses to her white, 
 sandaled feet, as glossy and as ebon as the ra- 
 ven's wing. The jeweled sleeve, looped up to her 
 feir shoulder, revealed an arm, polished and perfect'; 
 the velvet robe, heavy with richness, swayed around 
 a form, of most exceeding grace, and soft, full loveli- 
 
TEOM WKSTEEN WOODS. 27 
 
 ness. Her brow was high and white, and looked so 
 pure, and her sweet mouth was curved exquisitely, 
 in playful, tender smiles. Her eyes! one could not 
 look beneath those half-drooped lids of snow, and 
 their dark, sweeping fringe, into the dreamy, brilliant 
 wells glancing from out their shadow, one moment 
 imbewiidered. 
 
 Advancing with light steps to where the Angel 
 stood, she said — 
 
 " Welcome, most honored guest By thy folded 
 wings, thou art an.AngeL Tarry with us till the 
 mom." 
 
 She twined her snowy arm in his, and turned her 
 oright face up to his bewitchingly, and spoke to him 
 ow, musical words. The Angel returned never again 
 into heaven ! 
 
 But the beautiful princess had a rival. It was not 
 long ere the deluded Angel, loathing the arts of the 
 peerless creature who had won him from the sky, 
 turned coldly from her alluring caresses. Every feel- 
 ing of her ambitious, pasaonate nature was wrapped 
 up in the bright being she had won to dwell with her, 
 and now, w^en she saw the change that 'had come 
 over him, hejTwild heart vowed that nothing, nothing 
 should win him from her side. She feared no rival, 
 for was not her beauty greater than any maiden's in 
 her kingdom ? But she saw that his love was 
 
28 FKEBH LEAVES 
 
 languishing, and allurements that might almost chain 
 the stars she practiced in his presence. The siren 
 voice, the wreathing arms, the glorious eyes, the win- 
 ning lips, the dream-like step, the wavy motion — oh, 
 all was beautiful, most beautiful ! But passion had died 
 in the Angel's heart. A Jonging — intense, earnest, 
 uncontrollable — for the purity he had lost, dwelt ever 
 in his restless bosom. His wings were for ever folded — 
 he coidd not unfurl them — he could never rise to his 
 holy home. But he yearned to meet a being on earth 
 that was like unto his lost companions, spotless and 
 pure, and knowing not of sin. 
 
 There was one such on earth, and the Angel met 
 her. She was a shepherdess, dwelling apart from aU, 
 Bmong her sunny, vine-clad hills. Not so bewildering 
 was her loveliness as that of the proud princess ; but 
 soft, and spiritual, and pure. Her brow was clear as 
 pearl, circled with bands of braided, golden hair ; her 
 step timid and graceful; her eyes shadowy and soft; 
 her voice like tinkling waves of music, clear, low, and 
 swellingly sweet. 
 
 There was a sympathy of spirit between her and 
 the AngeL Every day he wandered %rth to meet 
 her, beside a deep, cool well in the Aadow of two 
 hiDs. Her gentle eyes would grow brilliant at his 
 approach, and the color would come and go softly 
 on her beautiful young cheek. Their communion 
 
PROM WESTERN WOODS. 29 
 
 (fas of things holy and lovely — the wondei-ful stars, 
 the heaven he had deserted, all things hright and 
 good were in their converse, as they sat with clasped 
 hands alone in a fair, fresh valley, by the dimpling 
 waves of the flower-circled well. But a dark, flash- 
 ing eye was at length a watcher of their meetings. 
 The princess had stolen after him, to ascertain the 
 mysterious cause of his daily wanderings. Rage, and 
 jealousy, and revenge burned silently in her heart, 
 when she saw that she was rivaled in her wild and 
 passionate love for the Angel — rivaled by an humble 
 shepherdess ! She stifled the first burst of her wild 
 anger, and, eve after eve, foUoweif the steps of her 
 false lover to the valley, and sat beneath the screen- 
 ing vines, and listened to their words, and meditated 
 revenge. She saw them kneel together, night after 
 night, amid the dewy flowers, and pray to the greal 
 God to take away the stain of sin and earthliness from 
 their joined souls, and give them wings to seek the 
 
 "Now, dearest," murmured the Angel, one fair eve, 
 « to-morrow, at the midnight hour, I wUl be here. 
 And something tells me that our faith and prayers 
 will be repaid — that golden pinions ■wiU be given 
 thee, and mine once more be free. Be ready to leave 
 earth. Farewell." 
 
 He left his young bride kneeling on the turf, with 
 
so FRESHLKAYES 
 
 an exquisite sense of happiness thrilling her lyi-e-lii 
 heart, and glided away among the shadows sleeping 
 in the vale. 
 
 " Thou wilt enter heaven through the -gates of 
 death!" muttered the princess, stealing noiselessly 
 away toward the little cot that stood half revealed in 
 the soft moonlight 
 
 A httle silver goblet filled with milk — the simple 
 meal of the shepherdess — sat on a table by the case- 
 ment. Taking from her vestment a jeweled \'ial, she 
 let fall just one drop into the milk, and ghded rapidly 
 
 Another evenirfg came, and with a high and thrill- 
 ing heart and bounding step, the Angel sought the 
 vale. Close to the water's side his love reclined, and 
 the gleam of her white robe brought gladness to his 
 heart. She did not rise to greet him, she spoke no 
 word of welcome. 
 
 " My love, my angel, come with me to heaven ! " 
 he said, and stooped and kissed her fair, pure brow. 
 
 He started, and drew back, and gazed with a long- 
 stricken gaze upon his bride. Cold — cold and mo- 
 tionless! so sweetly like a pleasant slumber, yet so 
 cold. Dead ! she had crept there to die ! alas ! alas ! 
 
 " And art thou dead, my bride ! Who has done this, 
 my beautiful ? Gone, before me, pure angel, to thy 
 home ! I wonder if I will know thee amid the starry 
 
FROM -WESTERN WOODS. 3l 
 
 throngs of heaven ? yes, for the fairest and 'brightes* 
 there. Well! earth shall chain me not — I will die 
 too ! — mine is the strongest wing, and I will overtake 
 thee ere thou dost reach the sky! My beautiful! 
 here let our bodies rest" 
 
 Almost before the murmur of his voice faded away, 
 the Angel raised her pale form in his arms, and leap- 
 ing in the wave, sank silently beneath its glittering 
 surface. 
 
 A fearful shriek rang on the air, as the princess 
 sprang to drag him from the grave himself had 
 sought — but it was too late ! Dark, deep and stiU 
 slept the well — lifeless and cold slept the Angel and 
 his bride beneath it. 
 
 And still the mighty game was played, and still the 
 Serpent won. Vice decked her hideous form in glit- 
 tering robes, and wore a smiling mask, and walked 
 abroad. Terrible wickedness came forth unshrinking 
 to the light of day; and foulest crimes lurked in dark, 
 hidden places. A polluted and abandoned thing was 
 Earth — there was no purity upon her brow. 
 
 One soul alone, of all the countless thousands in 
 the world, remained holy. In vain the Serpent strove 
 to lure him from his sinlessness, to gain him for his 
 own — Noah was pure. The Serpent won his game 
 
02 FBESHLEAVES 
 
 at length, and claimed his fearful prize. So an ark of 
 Gopher-wood did Noah make, and, according to the 
 bidding of the Lord, he and his family, and two, or 
 even, of every living thing went in. And then the 
 floods came down — oh terrible ! 
 
 The rivers swelled and 'fretted — the mighty seas 
 bounded like maddened things, and broke away and 
 rushed upon the world — the torrents leaped and 
 thundered from high rocks — and down — down — 
 down through the thick air the angry waters fell 
 Shrieking in mad despair, bright forms of youth, 
 withered and foul old age, corrupted childhood, vile, 
 degraded manhood clothed in the garb of splendor, 
 all, rushed with fearful footsteps for the hiUs, dropping 
 the treasures they had grasped in their wild hurry, 
 and strewing the pathway with the riches hindering 
 their flight 
 
 The waters rose and filled the valley. Many a gor- 
 geous fabric and rare device of art ay buried in the 
 floods, yet stUl they rose, high, high over glittering 
 palace, and splendid temple, and mighty tower. Most 
 fearfully sublime, most grandly terrible, was this de- 
 struction of earth's glory ! 
 
 In vain — in vain the pale and frightened throng 
 climb the high mountains — the waters overtake them. 
 In vain the eagle screams, and battles upward with 
 his weary wing through the dark, drenching torrent 
 
VBOM WESTBBN WUVltS. 33 
 
 Only heaven is above — only- one vast sea below — • 
 only death, death all around! 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Serpent, as his huge 
 form lashed the angry waves, and his burning eyes 
 gloated on the destruction of every living thing. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" he chuckled, "I have won! I 
 have won ! Ye are mine ! ye are mine ! ye are mine ! 
 foul seed of woman, ye are mine! I played for 
 Heaven once, and lost — I played for Earth, and won! 
 Mine — MINE ! " he shrieked and sho)(^ed to the pale 
 wretches struggling in the deep waves. 
 
 Ever and anon that hateful laugh broke through 
 the tempest — ever and anon that exulting cry rang 
 out upon the roaring, i ashing, furious wilderness of 
 waters. 
 
 A wreck — a ruin— a hfeless thing — a chamel 
 house was earth. Most solemn punishment of an I 
 
34 FRSRHLEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARTH was repeopled! 
 Upon her brow she wore two emerald glories, 
 each set with five bright jewels — the plains of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah and their ten glittering cities. 
 
 The sun looked down and smiled on thsir magnifi- 
 cence; and in his smUe there sparkled gorgeous 
 temples, arches, and domes, and lofty palaces, beauti- 
 ful fountains, gardens, and terraces, and broad-paved 
 streets, trod by a countless throng. 
 
 Riches unbounded, splendor unparalleled, rare de- 
 vices of art, and wonderful works of beauty, surrounded 
 the new generations of men. Though earth withheld 
 some of her former treasures — though the glorious 
 stars seemed dimmer and more distant, — though the 
 flowers were not so brilliant, nor the murmuring 
 strfiams so clear — though a thousand nameless things 
 were less beautiful than of old, stiU nothing seemed 
 wanting of glory and display. 
 
 A thousand fathoms down in the cold depths of 
 the ocean the Serpent floated, amid rich wrecks of 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 35 
 
 former greatness. Far below the hollow roaring, of 
 the surf above, he spoke : 
 
 " I will visit earth again. Many years have passed 
 since my form has trailed over its flowers. I have 
 lived in the sweeping wave, have existed so exultingly 
 m' the element that gave up the Seed of woman into* 
 my power. Amid desolate ruins I have floated the 
 years away; but my spirit has been busy with the 
 new creation. I have breathed venom on the soft 
 south wind, and evil passions and wild fury into the 
 swift chariot of the tempest. I will go and see how 
 the poison has spread. But most I go to behold the 
 beautiful wonder — the fair woman whose name I 
 hear sung softly on the shore at twilight, and talked 
 of by rude fishermen, or told of on swift-winged ves- 
 sels far from the land. The beautiful — Alda, the 
 beautiful! We must know each other. Oh! howl 
 love to steal into the pure, fresh hearts of these inno- 
 cent young creatures, and rifle the honey from the 
 bright flowers of purity, and nurse into life a host of 
 wild and evil passions in the once peaceful bosom, and 
 waken hateful dreams that will never again sleep, tUl 
 by slow degrees the pure and beautiful, the fairest 
 work of God, is made a fit companion for myself. The 
 earth is waxing full of glory, and / must not be idle." 
 
 A soft and glowing flood of light lay trembling on 
 a scene of brightness. It was a luxurious apartment. 
 
36 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 the sleeping room of Alda the beautiful. A massive 
 lamp of richly wrought gold, burning fragrant oils, 
 hung in the center of the lofty ceiling. Around it, a 
 circle of alabaster fountains cast up their crystal con- 
 tents, which, meeting in glittering arches, descended 
 In shining columns into basins constructed with elab- 
 orately-arranged wires, giving forth at the touch of 
 the falling water a peculiar and exquisite melody. 
 Of rare mosaic were the floor and ceUing, and win- 
 dows reaching from one to the other alternated with 
 carved columns of costly wood. A raised marble 
 divan, cushioned with rich silken fabrics, extended 
 around the apartment. Upon this couch, in a soft 
 slumber, lay the mistress of this splendor. She was, 
 indeed, most beautiful. She was very young, and 
 her loveliness was as fresh as that of a bright flower 
 radiant with morning dew. A world of inexpressible 
 beauty hovered around her childish mouth, and the 
 lashes of those closed and half-transparent lids lay 
 thick and dark upon a cheek where rare, rich tints, 
 like clustering roses, lay. Around the slight and 
 exquisitely graceful form flowed a redundant wealth 
 of tresses of soft, dark brown, gleaming with wavy 
 gold where they broke away in masses about her jeW' 
 eled robe. Polished and dimpled shoulders lay like 
 sculptured loveliness above the rich and sparkling bod- 
 dice ; and fair, round arms twined themselves uncon- 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 37 
 
 sciously amid bands of shining hair. A tiny foot, with a 
 gemmed sandal, peeped out below her flowing drapery. 
 
 A pair of scorching eyes, from amid the flowers 
 and foliage of the terrace, looked in through the low 
 casement on her slundbering sweetness. Alas! alas! 
 if that young maiden is pure as She is beautiful ! for 
 the cunning of the tempter is lurking in her pathway! 
 Upon that high, white brow, and in the penciling of 
 those delicate features, he reads a proud, and passion- 
 ate, and ambitious heart beating in that young bosom. 
 
 "As beautiful as Eve! like Eve she falls — but 
 lower, lower! " murmured the Serpent. 
 
 Already an evil influence seemed diffused through 
 the perfumed atmosphere, for the maiden was restless 
 in her dreams. The delicate brows were knit, the 
 lashes trembled, and the red lips parted, with an 
 uneasy murmur. Then she started from her sleep, 
 and rising from the divan, her brilliant eyes flashed 
 proudly, and she smiled a bright, triumphant smile. 
 
 " Away ! away ! dark dreams ! " she murmured 
 pjBsionately ; "is it not to-night I go to meet the 
 beautiful prince? Yes — thy loveliness, Alda, has 
 won thee a tribute even from him, the greatest in the 
 empire. I have seen him in his graceful pride, when 
 he sat on his fiery steed so fearlessly — I have seen 
 him when he mingled, the brightest there, among the 
 revelers at the feast — I have seen him when he 
 
S8 ..vaSHLEAVES 
 
 braved the ■wild beasts at the amphitheatre — and for 
 his pride, his bravery, and his beauty do I wildly love 
 him. And now I am to meet him — perchance to be his 
 queen. A queen ! a queen ! I will be nothing less — 
 ho! maidens, robe your queen in her bride's attire!" 
 
 Clapping her tiny hands, a dozen handmaids enter- 
 ed, bearing her rich array, and soon attired her in 
 magnificence befitting the great triumph awaiting her. 
 The robe flowing down to her feet was of snowy silk, 
 embroidered with seed pearls in rich devices, and 
 fastened at her slender waist by a zone of diamonds 
 which shone one blaze of light. Her luxuriant hair 
 was wreathed into massive braids, and caught grace- 
 fully here and there with costly jewels. She wore no 
 wreath nor diadem, for to her lover's hand was _ re- 
 served the right to adorn her peerless brow with the 
 ruby garland of a favorite, or the honored crown of a 
 queen. Delicious perfume was sprinkled over her attire. 
 
 With proudly-heaving bosom, and glowing cheek, 
 and flashing eye, the young girl stood before a mirror 
 of polished steel, and gazed upon her bewildering 
 loveliness, Intozioating emotions, new and strange, 
 were swelling in her heart, Wild visions of future 
 tiiumph and power were mingling with the softer 
 pulsations of love. 
 
 But the appointed hour drew nigh. A glittering 
 phaiiot, drawn by twelve snowy steeds, was in waiting ; 
 
PROM WESTEBN WOODS. 39 
 
 and, resplendent with jewels, and pride, and beauty, 
 Alda was borne through the illuminated streets of 
 the city to the palace of the young prince. The death 
 of the king had placed him on the throne, but before 
 he was anointed, he was to choose of aU the lovely maid- 
 ens of the land, a queen. The moment of destiny had 
 come to the ambitious maiden ! 
 
 Alone, unveiled, and trembling, she stood before 
 the prince; With drooping eyelids and a step of 
 wavering gi'ace, she advanced, and kneeling at his 
 feet, raised her magnfficent eyes to his with a smile — 
 oh! such a smile! — so soft, so winning, so irresistible! 
 
 ThriUed by her matchless loveliness, and won by 
 that bright smile, the young monarch bent and kissed 
 her snowy forehead, and placed amid her shining 
 braids the coveted crown. 
 
 " Arise ! O queen, thou hast found favor in our 
 ' sight. The day after to-morrow, at the royal feast, 
 thou shalt share our scepter and otir throne." 
 
 " Most gracious lord, my king, thanks! thanks! not 
 for thy crown, but for thy precious love ! " murmured 
 *he young girl in dreamy, musical tones, raising again 
 her passionate eyes to his face, and remainirig on her 
 tnees before him. 
 
 The prince was fascinated. He raised her from the 
 gold cloth of "the pavilion, and, taking her fair hand in 
 his, led her out from the receiymg-rocBa 
 
40 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 The vision of love and ambition was realized ! 
 
 Alda, the beautitul, sat upon the throne, and the 
 princes and the people bowed down before her love- 
 liness. The wealth of half the treasury, the incomp 
 of half the kingdom, was at her disposal. Never 
 was there a queen of such unequaled charms and 
 splendor. But every offering to her vanity, every 
 new accession of power, but heightened her ambition. 
 To have a thousand lovers who dared not touch her 
 jeweled robe — to dazzle the world by her gorgeous 
 display — was not enough of triumph for the proud, 
 mperious, brilliant creature. She aspired to be more 
 han a queen, and announced herself as a divine be- 
 ing from the skies, sent down to rule and be wor- 
 shiped by every faithful subject. As a goddess, she 
 robed herself in dazzling splendor, and stood in a 
 gorgeous temple to be worshiped by the people. The 
 dress she wore on these occasions was of azure silk, 
 embroidered with diamonds, to represent stars; and 
 up on her brow she wore a crown, in imitation of 
 the crescent moon, and called herself the Goddess of 
 the Night. Ail were her enthusiastic worshipers; and 
 the costly offerings they laid upon her shrine were 
 greater in value than the riches of the treasury. 
 Oracles gave she them out of the corruptness of her 
 own hollow heart, and her votaries grew, in obedience 
 to them, each day more wicked and corriipt 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 41 
 
 But the king was jealous of her power. It ex- 
 ceeded his own greatness, and took the hearts, and 
 the riches, and the obedience of his people from him. 
 He, too, loved the glorious goddess — for her cunning 
 would permit no rival for her lord's affections. He 
 was not willing to have her assassinated to end the 
 rivalry, neither could he brook her grovring and al- 
 most absolute power. 
 
 One day it was announced that the goddess whom 
 they adored had been tran.slated to the skies. .The 
 king clothed lumself in sackcloth, and sprinkled ashes 
 on his head, and sat three days mourning in his pal- 
 ace. Then a new queen was chosen, and the fickle 
 people soon forgot their beautiful goddess — but not 
 the wicked oracles which she had given them. 
 
 In a lonely but rich apartment in the king's palace, 
 Alda was imprisoned. Music, and flowers, and birds, 
 and slaves surrounded her, and the monarch came 
 every day to while away an hour with her; but to 
 be thus thwarted in her ambition, thus compelled to 
 abide in loneliness through those hours that once 
 were full of triumph, was bitter humiliation to the 
 proud girl. How she raved, and threatened, and ca- 
 ressed, and entreated — now beautiful, with scorn upon 
 her curling lip, and anger flashing from her haughty 
 eyes — now putting on such sweet, and winning, and 
 almost irresistible endearments and caresses — now 
 
42 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 cold, and silent, and imperious as a marble statue 
 of pride. But all in vain ; the monarch was wisely 
 careful of his own interests. 
 
 Burning and implacable revenge now dwelt in the 
 girl's bosom. A subtle poison, murdering its victim 
 by slow degrees, she procured, and placed in a goblet 
 of wine, before the daily visit of the monarch ; and, 
 under pretence of friendship for the new queen, sent 
 her a bracelet of rare and beautiful workmanship, 
 but yrhich was certain, though painless, death to the 
 wearer. Then, having no object for which longer to 
 live, and seeing that evU passions and violent grief 
 had faded her own wonderfid loveliaess, she prepared 
 a quick poison, and, drinking the fatal draught, ended 
 her existence before either of her victims. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the worker of her ruin, 
 as his glowing eyes again peered in through the low 
 casement, upon the lifeless form of the once glorious 
 and passionate creature. 
 
 Then the Serpent changed himself into the form 
 of an idol, and sat himself up at the corner of the 
 streets, and all the people fell down and worshiped 
 him. And the idolators went away with horrible 
 wickedness in their hearts ; and deeds that would 
 make the listener shudder to hear, and fearful acts 
 of depravity did they commit. And to some the 
 Serpent canie in the form of gold, to tempt them; 
 
FBOM WESTERN WOODS. 48 
 
 and some of sparkling wine; and some of jealousy, 
 and rage, and covetousness, and every etil passion. 
 No wickedness was there, before or since, like to the 
 wickedness of Sodom and Gomorrah. 
 
 A terrible punishment did they suffer for their sins; 
 for the Lord God was wroth with them. An awful 
 gloom fell upon the cities, lit up by the ghastly glare 
 from one lurid cloud which hung over all the plain — 
 and glowing lightning played over the heavens, and 
 dense fumes of burning brimstone filled the suffocat- 
 ing air. The inhabitants ran to and fro, and gnashed 
 their teeth, and tore their hair, and called wildly on 
 their senseless idols to save them from their coming 
 doom. Their riches and their pride of heart availed 
 them not. The forked fire darted its red tongues his- 
 sing through the air, and molten lava fell upOn the 
 shrieking throng's. 
 
 And when the sun arose on the next mom, whel'e 
 Were the ten bright cities of Sodom and Gomorrah ? 
 A smoking rilin — a blackened heap of asheh deso- 
 lation. O! earth! earth! how did thy crown of jew- 
 els burn and deface thy lovely brow. 
 
 And the Serpent Hssed, hooted, howled in his 
 horrible glee, and lashed his huge form to and fro^ 
 and taunted the dying wretches — and, when the 
 ruin was completed, fled away to the deplto of th6 
 vast ocean. 
 
44 FRESH LEAVXa 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 rPHE wise men of Egypt were gathereu logcvimi 
 X in deep council. They had been summoned to 
 prove their wisdom equal with that of God — to mock 
 the greatness of His power by working great won- 
 .ders — even the miracles which the Lord himself had 
 comnussioned to be shown before Pharaoh. Suddenly 
 in their midst appeared, rising up out of the marble 
 floor, a most mysterious vision. Encompassed round 
 about with a dense mass of whirling, circling fumes, 
 they cotdd not tell the form of the spirit which ad- 
 dressed them. But from the vapor came a voice, 
 sweeter than flowing honey, find softer than the drop- 
 ping of night dew : 
 
 " 0, learned men, O, ye most wise magicians, my 
 power is far greater than thine — yea, it is more mighty 
 than any in the universe. The wisdom which ye seek 
 I can give ye — fall down and worship me, and I will 
 give my power to work wonders into your hands." 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS 45 
 
 And all the magicians fell prostrate before the 
 rision, and worshiped him. 
 
 Then they went in before Pharaoh, in whose pres- 
 ence stood Aaron, with the rod which the Lord had 
 giyen him. And Aaron cast down his rod, and it 
 became a serpent Then the wise men oast down 
 their rods, and they became serpents And they 
 worshiped the spirit again, and besought of him 
 greater power, to do as did Moses, and turn the 
 \»aters of the river into blood. 
 
 The spirit answered — " Give me an oath to give 
 Tip your souls into my keeping, and I will bestow on 
 ye all that ye shall ask of wisdom and greatness." 
 
 Then the magicians took the oath, and, by the 
 power of the spirit, they worked many of the wonders 
 which God gave Moses the wisdom to perform. But 
 when they could no longer do Pharaoh's bidding, and 
 prove themselves equal in skill to the Lord, and went 
 out from his presence to the vision for more power, it 
 had vanished. Then they felt their souls quake with 
 fear, and they were troubled, because of the strange 
 spirit they had worshiped. 
 
 " Ay, ay," chuckled the Serpent that night on 
 his coral pillow, " such learned souls are won light 
 easily. How I love to measure my power by God's, 
 even though I am compelled ever to be defeated. 
 Methinks I was ambitious once — yes, and I am 
 
46 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 now ; and, when the end of this fair earth comes, .1 
 wonder whose kingdom over human souls will be the 
 greatest — the God who created, or the Serpent who 
 banned them. Ha! ha! I must work right busily — 
 winning, winning ever ! " 
 
 Where the soft south wind came stealing to his 
 brow, laden with the sweet scent of spices from the 
 trees which shaded the porch where he sat, and the 
 flowers which twined around its pUlars of hewn stone, 
 was a venerable man. His brow was beaming with 
 loftiness and dignity ; his eyes were deep and calm> 
 and his mouth was beautiful even in old age, with 
 a holy smile of peaceful serenity. Down upon his 
 bosom flowed his long, white beard, and gently, in 
 the sweet, cool air, waved the snowy locks back from 
 his temples. It was beautiful to see that good old 
 man, full of years, and honors, and wisdom, blessed 
 with the affectionate reverence of a whole nation, 
 surrounded with riches, and splendor, and love, sit* 
 ting in the calm enjoyment of his years on the pil- 
 lared porch of Jiis magnificent dwelling. While he 
 , sat there in gentle musing, with the soft south wind 
 caressing his mild brow, a woman glided around the 
 corner of the porch, and, nearing him with graceful 
 steps, stood hesitating with an attitude of soft tinudity . 
 
, FBOU WESTERN WOODS. 47 
 
 Defore him. A woman — yet she looked almost a 
 child — so fresh, and fair, and youthful, in her love- 
 liness. Her eyes were dewy violet, large, soft and 
 languishing, with pearly lids and a sweeping fringe 
 of gold Her small, sweet, loving mouth was bright 
 and glowing as the inner heart of a perfumed rose; 
 and dainty dimples peeped out a moment and hid 
 again amid the bloom of her fresh, dehcate cheek. 
 Like a golden-tinted cloud, a rich mass of shining 
 hair fell down in glittering waves about her slight 
 and pliant form. There was a sweetness in the un- 
 certain, timid smUe, a purity upon the childish brow, 
 an innocence in the blue, limpid eyes that told of 
 girlhood's sinlessness. With glance bent bashfully 
 upon the floor, and one white foot advanced in hes- 
 itating gracefulness, she stood before the venerable 
 man. 
 
 " Fair stranger, for such thy garb and sunny locks 
 betoken thee, why seekest thou our presence ? " he 
 kindly asked. 
 
 "0, thou great king — O, thou most wise king 
 Solomon, I pray thee pardon my presumption. I am 
 a simple Moabitess maiden. I have come from an- 
 other country to behold the one whose great renown 
 is mighty among the princes of the earth. I have 
 left my kindred and the shadows of the household 
 tree, to come and serve thee. Though I may not 
 
48 FRESH LKAVES 
 
 hope to win tby esteem because of our different wor- 
 ship, let me at least be thy faithful servant." 
 
 The words fell trembling from her lips like drops 
 of liquid music, and, clasping her small hands be- 
 seechingly, she raised her pleading eyes softly to the 
 old man's face. 
 
 The man, whom God had endowed with wonderful 
 wisdom, and whom all the sages of the earth did rev- 
 erence to, was flattered more by the modest words of 
 the lovely maiden, standing there in youthful grace, 
 than by all the offerings from the nations of the 
 world. 
 
 " Draw nearer, maiden ; thy speech is sweet. Let 
 me closely behold thy countenance, for it is very fair." 
 
 A bright blush deepened on her cheek, as she ap- 
 proached him with downcast eyes. Then, as if ac- 
 tuated by an irresistible impulse, she bent suddenly 
 foiTvard and pressed her warm, moist lips upon his 
 forehead. Then falling on her knees, she held her 
 clasped hands toward him, as if supplicating forgive- 
 ness. The monarch took those two small, dimpled 
 hands in his own withered ones, and, looking down 
 into her blushing face, said softly — 
 
 " I have many wives, but none that I deem so 
 young and beautiful as thou. I love thee, gentle 
 Moabitess. Forsake, then, the worship of false gods, 
 and thou shalt be the favored wife of Solomon." 
 
FBOM WESTERN -WOODS. 49 
 
 Tears came into the soft eyes of the maiden, and 
 ((he spoke low and half reproachfully. 
 
 " Kindred and country hare I forsaken to look on 
 thee, king. Therefore let me serve thee as a ser- 
 vant, in peace, and beseech me not to forsake the 
 worship of my fathers. If it please thee, let me die 
 to prove my love for thee, but urge me not to prove 
 false to my idols." 
 
 In deepening wonder and admiration, the monarch 
 gazed upon the young face glowing with enthusiasm. 
 His heart thrilled anew with the quick pulse of youth- 
 ful feelings, and his self-love was flattered by this 
 proof of affection from one so young, so pure, so 
 beautiful. He raised her to her feet. She threw 
 her white arms around his neck, and, burpng her 
 fair face in his bosom, burst into a gush of teai-s. 
 
 " Weep not, beloved, thou shalt be my bride," said 
 Solomon, tenderly, folding his arms around her, and 
 smoothing those shining waves of flowing hair. 
 
 "M)h ! I dare not, dare not wed thee ! for fear my idol 
 win curse me," said the maiden, with a shudder, turn- 
 ing her tearful eyes with mournful fondness to his face. 
 
 " Fear not! the great God whom I worship, will 
 protect thee," and he kissed the white brow of the 
 weeper. 
 
 " Nay, nay, this must be my protection," replied 
 she, breaking away from his arms, and taking a small 
 
BO FRESHIiBAVES 
 
 golden image from her bosom ; she held it to her Eps, 
 and, closing her fair eyelids, while a soft, devotional 
 smile hovered around her mouth, murmured a low, 
 mild prayer. 
 
 " I love thee but the more, that thou art true to 
 thy faith, mistaken though it is," said the monarch 
 gently. "And, dearest, I will not ask thee to re- 
 nounce thy worship, but only to wed me, to be the 
 wife of Solomon." 
 
 As if she gathered inspiration from her prayers, 
 the maiden's face grew radiant and bright; and, in 
 answer to his words, she held toward him the little 
 image in her hand, with a smile a thousand times 
 more eloquent than words. 
 
 Solomon hesitated. Him whom God had gifted 
 with wisdom beyond all other men — who had served 
 the Lord his Creator all the years of his life, was 
 tempted to false worship by the .beauty of a woman. 
 He admired her truthful clin^ng to the religion she 
 had been taught was right — he loved her youlliful 
 loveliness — he was fascinated by her pure face and 
 innocent, ai-tless ways. What harm was it, if he de- 
 ceived her by the appearance of a worship that he did 
 not feel ? His God would know that it was done in 
 mockery, and the beautiful maiden would be his. 
 
 He looked, till the power of resistance was gone, 
 into those beseeching eyes. She placed the idol in 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 51 
 
 his bands. He knelt, ^d, pressing the image to his 
 heart, he implored it to bless him, and make him 
 happy with his bride, and not to harm her that she 
 loved one who had been of another faith. 
 
 " Now I am thine own, my king," said the young 
 girl timidly, when he arose. " I do no bnger fear to 
 esteem thSe." 
 
 He took the bright young creature to his aged 
 arms, and fondly kissed those red and dewy lips. And 
 she, half fearfully, but with bewitching tenderness, 
 twined her round, lily arms about his neck, and laid 
 her velvet cheek, glowing with crimson, against his 
 wrinkled temple, and talked to him in such sweet, 
 artless tones as stole away his very soul. And he, 
 forgetful in her caresses of the great sin by which 
 he had won her, listened to her musical accents, and 
 noted her innocent ways, and almost deemed her a 
 bright, wayward, irresistible child. Thus, with the 
 south wind, heavy with perfume, playing around 
 them, and lovely things in nature a witness to the 
 scene, they sat together — youth and old age — bright 
 tresses of gold, and locks of snow mingling in one — 
 like spring just bounding from the arms of winter. 
 
 Though everything was beautiful to mortal eyes, 
 how would one, gifted with a spiritual sight, shud- 
 der at that fair scene. The greatest jnonarch of the 
 world, the wisest man whom God ever gifted with an 
 
S2 FBEBH LEAVES 
 
 intellect, the good man and* the poet, thus yielding 
 to the blandishments of the Tempter. 
 
 Though his form was far away in the rolling sea, 
 yet the spirit of the Serpent was busy in that scene. 
 
 " This is a glorious triumph," was his thought; " I 
 chose a fitting instrument to execute my purpose. 
 Even this great prodigy of intellect yields" at the first 
 temptation. Oh ! deeply rooted are the seeds of virtue 
 in this most wonderful race, who are my playthings ! 
 This innocent child, here, would find it difficult to an- 
 alyze the reason for her feelings — she suspected not 
 the spirit that was restlessly urging her to this strange 
 conduct, and so she deemed it lovef Pho! love! so 
 do I love Solomon ! " 
 
 Oh ! thou sneerer — oh ! thou scoffer — oh ! thou 
 tannter of our race! great is thy power, and many 
 are thy victories! But the hand that formed us, 
 fashioned thee, also — and we may not know His 
 wisdom. 
 
 A man of glorious presence walked in the wilder- 
 ness. Mingling together in his form were all the 
 elements of manly and spuitual beauty. His large, 
 alow-moving eyes were a clear gray, earnest, and pure, 
 and tender. His high, white brow was placid and 
 unshadowed, and a white gleam of something spiritual 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 53 
 
 and inexpressible lingered upon its polished greatness 
 like a halo. His mouth slept in the still repose of 
 perfect beauty, and floating round it, as it were an 
 atmosphere, was an expression of ineffable tranquillity, 
 and holy, thoughtful sweetness. Parted from his 
 pure temples, his brown hair floated free in waving 
 curls, catching a gleam of gold upon their curving 
 richness, around his white and polished throat. His 
 form was moulded into manly grace; and his bearing 
 was one of singular dignity, repose, and lofty meek- 
 ness. Alone, in the dim wilderness, he walked with 
 musing step and countenance of sweet tranquillity. 
 Soft shadows flitted over him and lay around him in 
 fantastic shapes. The shining foliage above him rus- 
 tled musically in the brec-'e, and tiny insects fiUed the 
 air with a low hum of joy. And, as he paced to and 
 fro over the green turf, these things were his com- 
 panions. Then the solemn twilight crept, with invis- 
 ible footsteps, through the wood ; and the bright stars 
 came out and sent soft messengers of light, with sil- 
 ver-sandaled feet, to read the expression of his match- 
 less brow, and look within his calm, clear eyes, and 
 rest a moment on the perfect hp. And when he wea- 
 ried of his musing mood, and laid him down upon the 
 mossy earth and slept, these silent messengers still 
 jovered round to watch his gentle slumber. 
 
 And still, on the next day, that immaculate form 
 
 4 
 
64 FRESHLKAVES 
 
 •was roaming beneath the shadows in the deep greei 
 •wilderness. There was no cooling stream or fountain 
 near to moisten his lip, nor fruit upon the trees to 
 tempt his taste. 
 
 And night again succeeded day, and day succeeded 
 night, thus on and on till forty days had passed. Yet 
 still the glorious stranger stayed, as held by some 
 strange power, a wanderer in the wilderness. No 
 food had passed his lips. His face was a shade paler, 
 and his brow contracted with the intense pangs of 
 hunger. He bore liis suffering calmly, and mur- 
 mured not at the pain which tortured him. 
 
 Yet was he not alone — for a dark eye was ever on 
 him, marking, with eagerness, his every step, and 
 watching every change upon that heavenly ceunte- 
 nance. And when it saw the anguish, subdued but 
 deep, upon that holy face, a fierce sparkle of exulta- 
 tion lit up that evil eye. 
 
 Then the dark spirit with the watchful eye, took 
 the semblance of a form, and stood before the stran- 
 ger, and tempted him. He led him to the pinnacle of 
 a temple, and the top of an exceeding high mountain, 
 and offered him the riches and glory of the world, if 
 he would but fall down and worship him. 
 
 In vain, in vain to strive to win the Son of God, 
 Serpent ! Angels have yielded to thy tempting 
 But let not thy daring eyes rest on that glorious brow ! 
 
FBOU WESTERN WOODS. 55 
 
 Away! away! back, spirit, to thy loathsome form, 
 deep in the ocean floating. 
 
 Baffled in his wild, daring thought, the tempter 
 disappeared; And lo ! bright angels circled down on 
 glittering pinions, and, with pure worshiping, and holy 
 awe, and gentle hands, they ministered to the immac- 
 idate being, who, alone and solitary in the dim shad- 
 ows aiul the musical air, had fasted foi-ty days and 
 forty nights in the deep recess of a mighty wilderness. 
 
 Ah! boaster, amid furious waves, be stiU! Pure 
 angels' holy hands, not thine, allayed the suflferings 
 of the Son of God. 
 
FRESU liEAVEB 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DARKNESS covered the face of the earth — ^thick, 
 heavy, palpable darkness. Impenetrable gloom 
 shrouded the city of Jerusalem. A blackness that 
 could be felt, hid from the eyes of mockers the most 
 disgraceful scene that ever stained the souls of men 
 with foul and liideous crime. 
 
 Oh! avrful day — oh! day of agony! when all 
 the anguish of a dying world throbbed out its death- 
 throe in one sinless breast How, at the inglorious 
 sight of that wild human throng torturing and mock- 
 ing the Son of God, did the sun withdraw his light, 
 and hide his shuddering face in a black" vail of 
 mourning, and the pure stars shrink, pale and trem- 
 bling, from the brow of heaven ! 
 
 Peace! ye infuriate throng! hush the wild storm 
 of passion in youi' misguided breasts ! And doth this 
 solemn darkness fill ye with trembling? and do your 
 tumultuous ravings sink lower and lower to a fearful 
 
FROM WESTBBlir 'WOODS. 57 
 
 ■whisper — your maddened hearts quail with a name- 
 less dread — your souls quail with a terrible thought 
 of future vengeance? Too late! the deed is done, 
 the penalty incurred which ye so eagerly entreated: 
 "Let Ms blood be on ns and on our children/ " Ye 
 shall be wanderers, outcasts — a despised, insulted, 
 hated, down-trodden race. Ye have crucified your 
 Immanuel ! Ye have mocked your King in the haU 
 of Pretoriimi; have robed his perfect form in the 
 insidting purple ; have pierced his glorious brow with 
 cruel thorns ; have hailed him with coarse jests and 
 sneering cries; have ^ven him the bitter gall; have 
 pierced his delicate limbs with agonizing wounds ! 
 
 Oh ! pitying darkness, thou didst do well to shroud 
 the scene ! There was one who sat near the foot of 
 the cross, whom the palpable gloom weighed down 
 with fear. He would have risen, but his powerless 
 hmbs would not support him. His arms were folded 
 over his bosom ; his drooping head was buried in the 
 folds of his mantle. A cold, leaden stiUness put its 
 hand upon his spirit's throbbings. A giant thought 
 pressed down his heart, and lay upon his brain. 
 Shuddering at the chiU, slimy touch of a huge form, 
 invisible in the darkness, the crowd gave way, and 
 a low, hateful voice whispered in the ear of the 
 unhappy man : 
 
 " Henceforward our destinies are somewhat united. 
 
58 FRKSHIiEAVES 
 
 I place this ring upon thy finger — when I am near, 
 or when my will has had an influence on thy desti- 
 ny, the ring will glow with a burning, lurid light 
 It mattei-s not who I am — I have been in the gar- 
 den of Eden, and my influence has the human race 
 oft felt. I am its best friend — ha! ha! at least, 
 I make them deem me so. I love this scene. Fare- 
 well! we shall meet as often as once a century — 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 A deep groan struggled upward from the bosom 
 of the wretched doomed one, and he strove to cast 
 away the ring which he felt burning around Ms fin- 
 ger — but he could not move it 
 
 The tormentor glided away as he had come, imder 
 cover of the darkness. From the sixth hour to the 
 ninth the gloom prevailed. And when the terrible 
 scene was ended, and that wretched man sitting at 
 the foot of the cross rose up and went away, a fearful 
 change had come upon his pride of manliness. His 
 noble brow was furrowed with deep lines — ^the glossy 
 curls of raven hair, that lay upon his temples, were 
 streaked here and there with gray, and the proud fire 
 of his eagle eye was gone. But, with a powerful 
 effort, he shook off the first great anguish of despair, 
 wrapped his mantle with its wonted grace around his 
 noble form, and walked with slow, heartrheavy steps 
 toward his princely dwelling. There was a sound of 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 59 
 
 ;no'uniJi{, ^u \is ciaxblc, halls. WaiKng and lamenta- 
 tion met his oar. A nameless thought of e\fl chilled 
 his pulse, and past the servants, who knew him not, 
 he was so changed, he hurried to the chamber of his 
 ffife. Motionless he stood a moment at the entrance. 
 The scene within had almost palsied him, and he 
 ttould only stand and gaze with vacant glance, like 
 one who saw, but comprehended not 
 
 His gentle wife was kneeling, in the first great 
 agony of grief, by a low couch — her white face hid 
 among its sUken drapery — mute, tearless, almost life- 
 less. At its foot stood two beautiful young girls, his 
 children, clasping each other in a cold embrace, and 
 weeping as if every sob came from a breaking heart 
 
 Upon the pillow lay his youngest chiM, his pet, his 
 pride, his treasure, his only boy — ^his bright, buoyant, 
 matchless chUd, his beautiful one, the light of his eyes — 
 dead ! The pure, high brow, so princely in its youthful 
 perfectness, was chill and pale — the snowy lids were 
 fixed and still, hiding for ever from those loving hearts 
 the brilliant flash of those dark, radiant eyes, whose 
 witching glance was sunlight to the threshold of that 
 palace home. The blood that, bright and beautiful, 
 gleamed through his dimpled cheeks, had faded and 
 grown cold, never again to bound, with childhood's 
 crimson gladness, to that tiny tracery of blue veins 
 lying beneath the clearness of its polished surface. 
 
60 FEESH LEAVES. 
 
 The small, plump hands were folded motionless upon 
 his infant breast, and those tiny feet, whose soft, quick 
 sound upon the chamber floor was music to each ear, 
 might never bound with gay delight to meet his 
 father's coming step. 
 
 The eyes of the unhappy parent turned instinctively 
 to the ring upon his finger. It glowed and sparkled 
 like living flame, with a light that almost blinded him. 
 
 " Oh God ! " burst from his ashen lips. 
 
 The weeping girls started at the sound, but the 
 mother heard not — heeded not. 
 
 " Father ! oh father ! " sobbed his daughters, com- 
 ing forward, and each taking one of his cold and 
 dewy hands. 
 
 But still he* moved not from the threshold, nor gave 
 one other token of his mighty grief The fair young 
 creatures clinging to him were frightened at his aspect 
 
 " Comfort our mother ! " pleaded the soft voice of 
 the elder. 
 
 Slowly he advanced, and bending over that almost 
 insensible form, he raised her in his arms. 
 
 "Wife!" 
 
 "My husband!" 
 
 They were in each other's clasp ; and great, roimd 
 tears rolled over the face of the proud man, in an- 
 swer to the wild, passionate sobs breaking from her 
 who lay upon his bosom. 
 
FROM -WESTEBir WOODS. 61 
 
 The two young girls advanced timidly toward their 
 parents. " Father ! mother ! are we not left to you — 
 and do we not love you ? " 
 
 " Heaven bless you, my bright children ! Partner 
 of my bosom ! in our affliction let us not forget that 
 God is merciful " — and the strong man strove to be 
 calm — "daughters, come, too — ye are aU left me! " 
 and opening his arms, the four weepers were twined 
 in one embrace. 
 
 Then the father, for the first time, approached the 
 couch, and laid the soft curls back from the beautifu. 
 brow of the dead, and gazed long upon the sweet, 
 pale face, and kissed the childish mouth, yet red with 
 the last heart-beat, and took the tiny hand of dimpled 
 snow in his, while the mourners turned away and hid 
 their faces. 
 
 They scarcely knew that man with the calm, stem 
 expression of sorrow on his face, the furrowed fd'ow, 
 the raven hair threaded with gray, as him who *"'¥* 
 so full of pride and joy that morning from tho.»» 
 
6% FRESH LEAVES 
 
 A TEMPEST on the ocean! ah, hapless mariners! 
 Yet one there was who stood npon the deck of that 
 small ship and gazed through the deepening gloom, 
 with a calm joy, upon the furious storm. The spray 
 that dashed upon his face, the howling, sKrieldng 
 wind, the tossing waves, the angry deep below, to 
 him were a delight. He smiled to hear the crash of 
 thunder, and the lightning's flash was joy. And its 
 lurid gleam, falling at quick intervals upon Ms form, 
 betrayed his strange appearance. A long robe flowed 
 about his withered but majestic form. His long white 
 hair floated upon the wind, and his snowy beard hung 
 almost to his knees. The impress of two centuries 
 was on his lofty and care-stricken brow ; and beneath 
 its hanging arches gleamed out a pair of eyes, wild, 
 dark, and glittering with a deep, strange glow. He 
 had lived on till he had seen his kindi-ed, one by one, 
 laid in their graves, his nation scattered, and his city 
 desolate — each tie which bound him to the world 
 unfastened — and he had but one longing, one un- 
 speakable desire : to follow his lost ones to the tomb — 
 to die, and be at rest 
 
 Earnestly he besought the God of his fathers, amid 
 the anger of the tempest, for the death for which he 
 yearned. 
 
 The storm grew wilder in its fury — a mountain 
 wave swept over the rocking vessel, — a hundred pale 
 
FROM -VVESTEBN WOODS. 63 
 
 and sinking forms were disappearing beneath the 
 foaming billows. A luiid glare of lightning, in al- 
 most constant flashes, revealed that old man with the 
 snowy beard, his white hair floating for an instant on 
 the wave. Then, with a cry of gladness, that rung 
 strangely above the tumult of the storm, he sank! 
 Down — down — his senses in a whirl, and pain giving 
 way to a delicious sense of dizzy, whirling dreams and 
 ringing music in his brain ■ — when suddenly a voice 
 that seemed familiar, was in his ear, saying — "Not 
 yet ! not yet ! " 
 
 Then he became insensible; He felt not the strong 
 hold which dragged him on for many miles through 
 the deep waves, and laid him down at length, breath- 
 ing, but senseless, on a rocky shore. He knew not of 
 the malicious eyes that watched him, tiU the first faint 
 quiver of his own eyelids. He heard not the splash 
 of the huge form in the ocean, but he knew that the 
 Serpent was his deliverer, for, his faint glance wander- 
 ing to-lhe fatal ring, his shuddering sight beheld the 
 curious glow that oft and oft, in those two centuries, 
 had brought him woe. 
 
 Nearly two centuries from that fearful day, when 
 Christ was crucified, had passed by, when the Wan- 
 dering Jew was left by fate upon the coast of Greece. 
 
 Sick, sick at heart, and weak with suffering, he lay 
 for hours upon the cold, wet rock, uttering low groans 
 
64 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 of angiush and despair. The clouds had cleared away, 
 and the mighty deep grown calm. The moon looked 
 down upon the old man's pillow, silvering his long, 
 white beard, and shining coldly and pitilessly upon his 
 sad and desolate countenance. 
 
 Morning came at length, and the old man rose, and, 
 with weary steps, went forward on his endless jour- 
 ney. A low-browed cottage rose before him, not far 
 from the shore. A young girl, fair and fresh as the 
 rose-tinted dawn, stood at the threshold, twining her 
 dark hair over her slender finger. He approached, 
 and, saying he had been shipwrecked, supplicated for 
 her charity. 
 
 He was a Jew, but the heart of the maiden was 
 kind, and she gave him a seat by the vine-clad case- 
 ment, and placed the simple morning meal before 
 him. Wine, too, she brought to refresh the aged 
 wanderer, and then went, singing, to her morning 
 tasks. 
 
 The old man wept at her kindness, blessed her 
 sweet face, and departed. 
 
 That night, a burning spot of red came out upon 
 the maiden's bosom. She drooped, sickened, died. 
 Before another day she was a blackened corse. Broth- 
 ers and sisters, father, mother, caught the infectious 
 disease, and died — friends fdlowed. Over the land, 
 from valley to city, the pestilence spread — farther, 
 
FBOM WESTERN WOODS. 65 
 
 farther. like the wind, it swept over every known por- 
 tion of the globe. Death — death ! was everywhere — 
 sildden, certain, loathsome death ! It was no lime for 
 love — it was no time for partings — it was no time 
 for prayer. The maiden with her brow of snow and 
 lips of red — the lover with his hoping heart and 
 eagle eye — the mother with her tender glance — the 
 babe upon her yearning bosom — the proud, ambitious 
 sire — the man of fame — in cottage and in palace — 
 in desert place, and lonely valley, and populous city — 
 all felt the desolating scourge. 
 
 Oh! terrible! to thus be made the instrument of 
 punishment to the increasing wickedness of earth! 
 What should he do — where should he go ? Build- 
 ing himself a little boat, the Wandering Jew, who had 
 traveled to the extremest north of Asia, placed a few 
 days' sustenance in it, and, with no oar, nor aught to 
 guide him, entered his slight vessel, and drifted out 
 into the ocean, at the mercy of the waves. For a 
 week a gentle wind wafted him onward, when he came 
 in sight of land. A mighty country was stretched 
 out before him, great as the one he left Was it in 
 habited? His boat drifted upon the gravel of the 
 shore — his feet were on the soil of the new earth 
 A forest lay before him. He entered it; and his 
 heart thrilled within him, at the surprising loveliness 
 of nature. The air was full of melody from warblers 
 
66 FBE8H LEAVES 
 
 with bright, glancmg wings — the tall trees towered 
 upward to the sky, covered with rich, green foliage — 
 bright, beautiful flowers, with dewy eyes, peeped out 
 from mossy shelter — a musical stream went singing 
 on to mingle with the glancing waters of the ocean. 
 The heart of the lonely man was gladder than it had 
 been for a hundred years. For, in a paradise like 
 this, if he was doomed to live till time was ended, he 
 could, at least, be a curse to no one but himself — the 
 beautiful of earth, and a stUl place to pray for mercy 
 in, would be his. Onward he went, with joyful steps, 
 when suddenly he paused. What saw he, in that 
 dim and mighty wilderness ? A Jewish temple. 
 
 Yes! there it stood — gUttering among the forest 
 •trees — magnificent almost as the one that fell with 
 the fall of Jerusalem. The entrance door was open. 
 He went in. Silver, and gold, and pr-ecious stones 
 were shining on the altar, and the pUlars, and the 
 roof. Rich silken curtains fell before the inner sanc- 
 tuary — the sanctum sanctorum. 
 
 An aged priest was in the temple. He spoke to 
 him in the Hebrew. They sat and conversed to- 
 gether. The holy man honored him as a prophet 
 sent by Heaven to their nation — the lost tribes of 
 Israel. 
 
 He led him farther on to where some of the in- 
 habitants had built them habitations. The people 
 
FBOU WESTERN WOODS. C7 
 
 received him as a holy messenger. He told them 
 of the coming of a Messiah ■<— of his crucifixion — of 
 the persecution of their people. The tidings fiUed 
 them with giief and wonder. 
 
 They besought him, earnestly, to stay with them, 
 and did him reverence and honor. And he remain- 
 ed; for a century, the ring upon his finger forgot its 
 hateful sparkle. 
 
 But the curse was upon him. 
 
 The same fearful pestilence, which he had sown 
 through the world, appeared among his brethren. 
 With a wretched heart and an aching brain, he 
 again constructed a frail, light skifl^ and committed 
 himself to the sea. But perish he could not, and 
 the winds bore him again to Asia's shores. 
 
68 FBEBH LEWEB 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IT was a gala-day in Rome. The seats of the im- 
 mense ampitheater were crowded with thousands 
 of eager spectators. What pleasant and exciting 
 spectacle had drawn together this vast throng of 
 human beings ? The emperor, himself, and his gor- 
 geous court sat under a canopy of crimson velvet, in 
 a splendid pavilion, to witness the scene. 
 
 Fifty wUd beasts and three hundred Christians 
 had been provided for the day's entertainment! 
 
 Fair, delicate ladies looked on approvingly. Moth- 
 ers brought their young children ito the joyous sight 
 There was one among the spectators who looked on, 
 pale, shuddering, and aghast. It was the old man 
 with the flowing robe, the strange, deep eyes, and 
 the beard of streaming snow. Who shall ever tell 
 the feelings of remorse, the loathing of life, the great 
 thought of punishment endured, which agitated that 
 
PBOM WESTERir WpODS. 69 
 
 enduring bosom ? Who shall whisper me fearful se- 
 crets of five centuries, lying buried in that desolate 
 heart ? Oh ! how every shriek of anguish from the 
 unhappy sufferers pierced to his brain! how every 
 pale, imploring face tortured his soul with memories 
 of that awful hour, when the Messiah of their faith 
 suffered all of their agony in his immaculate person ! 
 how every despairing gaze which chanced to rest upon 
 his face, renewed the curse burning witliin his souL 
 He almost expected that those three terrible hours 
 of dariness would again hide this horrible scene. 
 
 The fearful sport went on. Pale women, with their 
 helpless babes clasped to their bosoms, were given to 
 the lions' jaws. Young maidens, white with horror, 
 with clasped hands, closed eyes, and streaming hair, 
 were tossed into the arena. Men, faint and weak 
 with torture, were armed with a single dagger to 
 prolong the excitement, and made to battle with 
 starved, furious beasts. 
 
 The ring on the old man's finger glowed with in- 
 tense light It almost blinded him to look upon it 
 Amid the shrieking of victims, and the howling of 
 fierce animals, he could distinctly hear a whisper, that 
 had long been familiar to hig shuddering ear: 
 
 " I am here — I am here ! to exult in this scene of 
 my devising. Is it not a pleasant sight ? Thou, too, 
 methinks, once lent a helping hand to bring about this 
 
 5 
 
70 , r-EESH LBAVEB 
 
 glorious result. Mark ! how the elect of God meet, 
 Unshrinking, their fate. Ha! for every wretch that 
 enters that arena this day, shall I have a dozen of 
 the souls of these spectators. Dost not thou rejdoe 
 with me in my triumph, good fiiend ? " 
 
 " Fiend ! tempter ! serpent ! tormentor ! away ! 
 Give me a little peace," muttered the Jew. 
 
 "Peace! ha! ha! have I. not been thy bosom 
 friend for centuries ? Nay ! by thy beard of snow, 
 I leave thee not." 
 
 " Be quiet, then." 
 
 " Will it oblige thee, friend? " 
 
 " It wiL" 
 
 " Faith ! if it were for nothing but to lay thee un- 
 der a new obligajjon to thy master, I would comply," 
 and again the tormentor laughed maliciously. 
 
 The old man groaned. « 
 
 New victims were each moment thrust into the 
 j-ena. One hundred and fifty had met their fate 
 ii the morning drama; and the number of those re- 
 Eaaining was rapidly diminishing. Some fainted the 
 moment they appeared upon the scene, and were 
 brought to consciousness by the horrible pangs of 
 being torn apart alive. , Others fought with the en- 
 ergy of madmen, in the hope of winning freedom 
 by their bravery. Some came with pale, calm faces, 
 und brows that almost seemed to glow with haloes 
 
FROM ■WESTBRir WOODS. 71 
 
 of gloiy, 10 holy and resigned yraa their expression; 
 and met their fate without a murmur, with prayer 
 upon theft meek, wliite lips. 
 
 The cruel scene was well nigh ended. Only one 
 victim, a young girl who had been retained for !he 
 closing 3 ene, on account of her rare beauty, now 
 remained. 
 
 The srliated animals were taken away, and thd 
 maiigled Tiodies of the dead borne oflf in carts. Those 
 who wers only wounded, or not yet dead, were fin- 
 ished by daggers. 
 
 When all was ready, the entrance at one side of 
 th6 amphitheater was opened, the maiden thrust in, 
 and the door closed. 
 
 The spectators held their breath in wonder and 
 awe, as they gazed upon her. Beautiful as a star, 
 white as marble, calm as the hush of midnight, she 
 stood in the arena. They could scai-cely tell she 
 breathed, as. with her small hands clasped over the 
 snowy vesture which covered her still bosom, her 
 sweet face uplifted slightly toward heaven, and a 
 clofud of ebon tresses sweeping around her perfect 
 form, down even to her feet, she stood mute, placid, 
 holy, before the alent &rong. Why was the old man 
 so strangely agitated, as he gazed upon her ? She 
 was the very likeness of his €ldest child, his glori- 
 ous daughter, the bright being who had slumbered 
 
72 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 in the dust for near five hundred years. There 
 ■were the delicate features, the exquisite brow, the 
 black, shining, luxurious hair, the sweet, pure mouth, 
 the graceful throat and swelling, slender form, and 
 thrf proud, spiritual, dark eyes. 
 
 The hush through the vast multitude was de9,thly 
 intense. The opposite entrance was unclosed, and a 
 huge lion, furious with the pangs of hunger, appeared 
 with glaring eyeballs within the enclosure, still held 
 by his strong keepers, who waited the signal from the 
 emperor. The eyes of the maiden turned slowly to 
 the restless animal Calm — white — still — a close 
 observer might have noticed a slight trembling of 
 the long, rich lashes, a scarcely perceptible heave of 
 the beautiful breast. 
 
 The hard hearts of the crowd were melted — not 
 into pity, but into sympathy with that calm bravery, 
 that, whatever might be its cause, awakened their 
 admiration. 
 
 " A pardon — a pardon — good emperor! let her 
 live ! " shouted a thousand voices. 
 
 The eyes of the monarch were resting eagerly upon 
 her loveliness. " Take her away ! " he cried ; " bring 
 another to the sacrifice ! cannot a morsel be found to 
 stay the lion's hunger?" 
 
 " Here ! here is a Jew ! will you have him ? " ans- 
 wered back those who surrounded the aged wanderer. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 73 
 
 " Aye ! throw him in," responded the emperor. 
 
 The old man was tossed Lato the circle below, and 
 tmS people gazed with a mixture of curiosity and con- 
 tempt upon the strange being thus unceremoniously 
 condemned to a cruel death. The maiden was led 
 away, and the signal given for the release of the 
 howliiB^ beast. 
 
 He Iliad crept half around the circle, with his fiery 
 eyes Cied on the sea of faces above him, before he 
 perceived the victim. He paused — gave a low, deep 
 ijrowl, and commenced bounding around the arena, 
 giving, ut every leap, a repetition of that pecuUar howl. 
 
 The spectators leaned forward. 
 
 In lessening circles, the huge animal bounded 
 \roimd the ring, nearing the object of his anger or 
 iright et every circuit, till the space between them 
 was limited to a few feet Here he paused, crouched 
 'ow for a spring, bounded up, and fell dead at the 
 old man's feet. 
 
 The king of the' forest, a huge, fierce beast, the 
 particular favorite of the emperor, lay lifeless at the 
 feet of the aged Jew, the strange man in the black 
 robe and white beard. 
 
 " A miracle ! a miracle ! " shouted the crowd. 
 
 "Let him die!" cried the monarch fiercely. 
 
 Instantly a cloud of javelins and arrows darkened 
 the arena, but the object of their wrath was uninjured. 
 
?4 FBESHLEATES 
 
 The entrance was burst open by a band of soldiers, 
 who, as. they proceeded to seize him, the Wandering 
 Jew put quietly aside, and disappeared among the 
 multitude. 
 
 The robes of Paris were dyed crimson with blood ! 
 in her right hand, she held aloft the fatal axe, red 
 with slaughter ! her voice was loud with blasphemy, 
 her eyes were red with evil passions, her heart was 
 black with infidelity 1 She erected an altar to the 
 Goddess of Liberty, and sacrificed upon its scarlet 
 fires all things that were pure and holy. 
 
 Who aided her in this monstrous work ? who was 
 an enthusiastic votary at the altar of the goddess ? 
 who added to the list of her victims, tiU the life- 
 blood, which flowed at her feet, had nearly risen and 
 extinguished, with its swelling streams, the unholy 
 fires which burned upon the shrine ? 
 
 A little child played once in a gay garden. The 
 sky was bright, and the air pleasant; the birds war- 
 bled, and the flowers were fair and sweet. The child 
 saw a brilliant butterfly hovering on beautiful win^ 
 among the fragrant blossoms, and away he sped in 
 pursuit of the tiny treasure — away! away! Now it 
 was almost within his eager ^asp, and again it was 
 ^beyond. At last ii was his! His small fingeis 
 
FROU WESIBBN WOODS. 79 
 
 pressed tightly those radiant but deEcate wings, Jest 
 the little flutterer should escape. But the bright in- 
 sect grew stU], and, when he relaxed bis hold to giv? 
 it freedom, it fell into his lap, dead. The glitterin^f 
 hue, which had made it so beautiful, was clinging 
 hke particles of fine dust to his fingers. The little 
 boy burst into tears. Long and bitterly he wept at 
 his unthinking cruelty in destroying the gay butterfly. 
 His joyous spirit was saddened, and the sunlight did 
 not seem so pleas^ant, nor the flowers so sweet, as they 
 had done. And this little boy, who wept at the death 
 of a butterfly — ^^who went and buried it carefully 
 between two green leaves in the corner of the garden — 
 was Robespierre ! 
 
 Yet the Serpent selected this tender-heai-ted chUd, as 
 the mstrument of bis cunning — the greatest actor in the 
 fearful drama of which the Tempter was the inspira- 
 tion -^ France the theatre — a nation the performer^ . 
 
 Oh! how the Serpent gloated in those days of 
 terror, over the appalling vice of which he was the 
 instigator. 
 
 Ever, in that season of blood and crime, an old 
 man walked to and fro through the streets of Paris. 
 No one knew from whence he came, nor what was 
 his mission. It was he in the black, flowing robe, 
 and sad, strange coxmtenance. Many remarked him. 
 Some thought he mourned for murdered friends — 
 
76 FRESH LKAVEB 
 
 others, who noticed the fieiy ring which glowed upon 
 his finger, deemed him a conjuror. In mere excess 
 of wanton cruelty they would fire upon the meek, 
 calm stranger, or thrust their bayonets into his person — 
 but they never seemed to injure him. When this 
 became known, many deemed him an evil spirit 
 
 He was present at the great bonfire of the Sacred 
 Writings in the streets of the city; and when the 
 king and queen were guillotined; and heard the 
 blasphemer who rode through the streets defying 
 God, and who, that night, died of the sting of a small, 
 strange fly. All these things seemed to deepen his 
 melancholy, and at every fresh horror he would 
 glance nervously at the strange ring he wore. 
 
 After the death of Kobespierre he seemed less 
 uneasy and. dejected. The ring which he wore was 
 a plain jet, and the spirit which urged him ever to 
 and fro through the scenes of cruelty in the city, 
 appeared to have left him. 
 
 When Napoleon heard of him, he sent for him. 
 
 "Did I not meet you in the burning deserts of 
 Africa, and the snows of the north of Europe?" 
 Napojeon asked.' 
 
 " Yes, sire ; and we will meet again." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "On the Island of St Helena, sire," replied the 
 venerable man. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 77 
 
 Shoriily after, he disappeared. 
 The general wondered at Hs words, but they were 
 afterward understood by him. 
 
 A gorgeous iceberg floated slowly through the chill 
 waves of the Arctic sea. The sun shone cold and 
 bright upon it Vast, glittering, sublime, it towered 
 upward toward the clear, blue hearens. Innumerable 
 coiTuscations of light glanced from its ragged surface — 
 splendid rainbows hovered upon its summit — beauti- 
 ful fret-work of frozen gems and chaste drapery of 
 snowy pearls gleamed 'here and there upon its majes- 
 tic form, caught up in fantastic loops by shining 
 pillars and fastened upon them with radiant icicles. 
 
 But what was that dark shape upon its almost invis- 
 ible summit, standing among the rainbows and the 
 ghtter of the ice? It was a human being. Yes! 
 with folded arms and lofty form, and flowing hair 
 streaming backward on the wind, he stood upon the 
 pinnacle of the iceberg — the Wandering Jew — with 
 the weight of nineteen centuries upon his heart. ' 
 
 Oh! the majesty of some of the scenes of earth! 
 This was one. Build ye, frail sons of earth, your 
 temples and your towers, and boast of your beautiful 
 handiwork. Lavish labor, and gold, and time, and 
 talent upon them. They are very grand — ^they are 
 
73 FBESB LSAVES 
 
 wonderful — but you never saw that tower of ice 
 rearing its glittering form toward the deep, blue sty 
 sparkling like jewels incrusted in pure pearl, its foun- 
 dation the restless waves of the mighty deep, its 
 builder God, its inhabitant the strange old man of 
 nineteen hundred years. 
 
 The green, dark waves dash up against the glitter- 
 ing mass and the cold wind waves the white looks of 
 the aged wanderer wildly back upon the cleai-, sharp air. 
 
 There is something else, resistless as the snowy 
 locks of the old man, that comes upon his sight 
 borne forward by the gale — his hollow and mourn- 
 ful eyes rest sadly upon it^what is it? — a ship, 
 a gallant ship, like a strong man stricken in Ms 
 pride and glory by the hand of sickness, helpless 
 ■upon the bed of that chilly northern sea it l?ys — its 
 gTaceful sails rent and tattered, its beautiful machin- 
 ery broken and shattered — dismasted, dismantled, it 
 floats helplessly onward to its grave. See! a pale 
 and famished band crowded eagerly upon the deck, 
 their straining eyes all riveted with intense earnest- 
 ness upon that calm, majestic tower of sparkling ice. 
 
 Do they wonder at its sublime magnificence? do 
 they admire its glorious beauty ? are there murmurs 
 of delight on those compressed and ashy lips? 
 
 No! no! those eager faces grow white with terror; 
 those pale lips quiver wifh the unspoken fear; those 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 79 
 
 startled eyes distend with the sight of their certain 
 doom — hunger, thirst, cold, all other suflfering is 
 forgotten — those pallid forms sink by one impulse 
 on their knees — their hands are raised to heaven; 
 one low, wild, wailing accent of despair rises upon 
 the gale! Oh! iceberg! grand and gorgeous ice- 
 berg! you hear it not — you have no heart, no pity, 
 no relenting! Smiling, and still, and proud you 
 stand, as if no souls were wild with agony to see 
 your splendid might! 
 
 Onward, onward, surely, swiftly comes the help- 
 less ship to its own destruction. They meet — the 
 iceberg and vessel! there is a hai-sh, grating soimd; 
 a loud, long, terrible shriek — a rush of waters — 
 a commotion of the deep — a solemn silence — and 
 the iceberg staads calm in its greatness as before, 
 with its jeweled forehead lifted to the sky ! but 
 loving smiles, and warm, bright tears, and choking 
 utterance will never more welcome the fated hearts 
 that sank with the ill-starred President! 
 
80 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 A SEQUEL TO THE TEMPTER. 
 
 U'pE SPITE! bespitb! 0, God of Abraham! 
 
 XVi respite for one day," moaned the man of nine- 
 teen hundred years, as he sank to the earth and 
 bowed his withered forehead upon the dust "O, 
 God! let me forget myself for one day — let this 
 burning soul within me cease to burn ! let this weary 
 Heart cease to throb up against a weight of nineteen 
 centuries — let me sleep — let me sleep and forget! — 
 respite, O, God ! respite ! " 
 
 It was the blackness of a stonny midnight through 
 which the tones of the old man struggled — the wild 
 wind lashed the waves with terrible power, and drove 
 them almost to his feet, as he crouched upon the 
 shore of the seething sea. A little distance away, 
 faintly glimmered through the gloQm the thousand 
 lights of an immense city. 
 
FROM WESTBEN WOODS. 81 
 
 The wanderer was alone amid tlie terrors of the 
 tempest — pressed down — down — down to the earth, 
 with a feeling like the consciousness of tons of iron 
 upon his head — dying — dying away! — yet living 
 an endless life of death! He could not perish! the 
 red lightning would not blast him — the mad waves 
 would not rush upon him, and sweep him to de- 
 struction! 
 
 Was it the spirit of God, or the spirit of the Tempter 
 that was in the fierce wings of the storm as they 
 hurried by ? — for the pleading voice of the old man 
 smote upon the ears of the spirit, and it checked the 
 rushing of the storm instantly, and it folded its wUd 
 pinions and was calm — the waters fainted on the 
 shore — the banners of the clouds hung motionless 
 above — the thunder shook, and murmured, and grew 
 stilL 
 
 The prostrate man trembled in the silence, but 
 dared not raise his head. Suddenly, through the 
 darkness, wavered a lurid light — he shook with fear 
 and agony, for it was the ring burning upon his hand 
 that shone thus through the midnight. 
 
 " Respite ! respite ! " pleaded the enduring suflFerer. 
 
 " Call not upon the name of the Most High,'' said 
 the mocking voice of the arch-fiend, " am I not here, 
 whom thou hast served so faithfully and long ? And 
 as just guerdon for thy services, thou shalt have what 
 
82 FBESHLEAVES 
 
 thou hast desired. Forgetfulness of the past, but not 
 death, shall be thine — thon shalt stiU live, but it ahall 
 be a new life — thou shalt be a babe in the cradle — 
 a boy among his books — a youth with his dreams — 
 aye, and a lover with his hopes ; — and it shall not be 
 known to thee for many years that thou hast lived in 
 the past, and are to live long in the future. Yet, 
 remember, the speH is still upon thee — thou hast a 
 mighty work to do for me, and thou shalt not cease 
 from the performing till all be done. This fair and 
 glorious land — this pride, and jewels and crown of 
 Earth, with its floating banner of Liberty, its sunshine 
 and its richness, its millions of proudly-beating hearts ; 
 this land with its knowledge, and freedom, and sun- 
 shine, must be mine — must be mine as all the rest 
 of the Earth has been twice before — amd thou shalt 
 be the minister royal of my negotiations. It shall bo 
 bought with a price — it shall be bought with Gold ! 
 The spell and the power shall be given unto thee and 
 imto Gold. Yet for a time this knowledge is banished 
 from thee — respite is given thee for many years. 
 Servant, fulfill thy desire ! " 
 
 Again the terror of the storm was abroad, and the 
 clouds rushed on. The old man fainted, and moaned, 
 and died — and the waters swept over him, and bore 
 him away with them to his grave in the restless bosong 
 of the deep. 
 
FROM WEaTBRN WOODS. 83 
 
 .'dat night — while the tempest yet shuddered 
 wniiout — in a costly palace, among a thousand other 
 costly palaces, in the heart of a gTeat city — in a 
 splendid chamber, there was hurrying to and fro, and 
 anxious faces, and sighs, and anguish, and tears. A 
 life was given, and a life \\ as taken away — a warm, 
 tiny, new creature wrapped up in soft, dainty coverings, 
 was placed in the arms of the father — his proud lips 
 were pressed with a thrill of rapture to its velvety 
 cheek, and tears of happiness sparkled in his dark 
 eyes — but a faint voice summoned him to the dra- 
 peried couch, and the infant was resigned to its nurse. 
 
 " My husband ! " murmured that feeble voice, " ah ! 
 my husband, I am leaving you ! God bless you and 
 my baby — our baby, Vernon." 
 
 "Melanie — ^Melanie! hush— ^hush — ^hush! you are 
 not dying — you cannot be dying, my beloved ! " . 
 whispered the husband, with white lips, turning sud- 
 denly very pale, and bending over her with his deep 
 eyes darkening with intense inquiry and solicitude. 
 
 The large, spiritual eyes of the sufferer turned slowly 
 to meet his — they were dim already with death, but 
 holy, and heavenly, and full of tenderness — her small; 
 white hand that he had clasped in his feebly, feebly 
 returned the pressure — again there was a low tone 
 hovering on those pale, sweet hps — ^the last, last tone — 
 and the stricken man bent lower down to hear it: 
 
84 TEESH LEAVES 
 
 "Kiss me, Vernon, — good bye — come to me in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Quivering with agony his lips trembled upon those 
 dying ones, and were sanctified by the last faint sigh 
 that came up from the death-throb of that young heart 
 
 The awe-struck attendants lifted away the powerless 
 and almost insensible man from the bedside; they 
 lifted him away, and laid him upon a sofa, and bathed 
 his pale forehead, and wept with pity at the dark sor- 
 row which rendered him so helpless. And there, upon 
 the silken couch with all its fair surroundings, lay the 
 beautiful, dead creature of his idolatry — the f^r, rare, 
 passionate poetess — the beautiful young wife — the 
 mother of an hour, whose delicate, and fragile life was 
 required a sacrifice at the altar of the little babe sleep- 
 ing its first slumber in its fairy-like, rosewood crib. 
 Mournful — very mournful! 
 
 AU over the pillow lay the long, moist, shining 
 hair, thrown back from the sweet, pure brow of the 
 dead — dark and motionless, the lovely lashes rested 
 upon her placid cheeks, vailing for ever the eyes that 
 were a wonder and a gloiy to look into. A faint 
 smile sat upon her beautiful lips, like an angel with 
 folded wings, keeping watch by the gates of music — 
 all fair, all exquisite, all still; but the spirit was not 
 there — the beautiful young poet-bird had perished 
 in the midst of her aioquence and love. 
 
FROM •WESTERN WOODS. 85 
 
 And the strong man — the partner of her bosom — 
 the proud, high, worshiping husband, lay moaning and 
 struggling with his agony — his pale brow, beaded with 
 , the sweat of sufifering, was buried in the cushions of 
 the sofa — ^his hands were writhing together — his soid 
 was black with sudden sorrow. 
 
 And the wee, tiny, breathing thing who had been 
 purchased with so fearful a price, lay slumbering in its 
 unconscious ignorance in those dainty coyerings and 
 beautiful robes, embroidered by the hand that lay so 
 still and white upon the sweet, cold bosom of the 
 mother. And the attendants, with their tearful faces 
 and whispered tones, moved noiselessly about between 
 the living and the dead. 
 
 And stUl the wild storm shuddered and shrieked 
 without the palace of mourning — desolation within 
 and abroad ! The wind fled by with a hoUow groan 
 or angry shriek ; the clouds battled together with 
 swords of lightning, and the white blood poured from 
 their wounded bosoms upon the terrified earth; the 
 ocean went mad with terror, and leaped upon the 
 shore with a cry of despair, and dashed its forehead 
 against cruel rocks with a sullen moan ; the darkness 
 shrank back from the flash of the lurid weapon of the 
 sky ; and much mighty conflict and strong battle of 
 elements, and many strange sounds of wailing and 
 woe were in that terrible midnight 
 
 6 
 
86 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Such was the night and such the scenes, when 
 Vernon Mytalena first opened his poet eyes to the 
 light of our world. 
 
 The child of destiny grew up in that beautiful pal- 
 ace, with no companion but his father and one old 
 servant. There were no friends, no visitors, no flat- 
 terers in the train of the proud and desolate man — 
 who waUsed from morn tiH midnight, like one in a 
 dream, ttjrough the gloomy splendor of his lofty halls. 
 From the hour when they laid his fair, bright, glori- 
 ous bride in her dark, lonely chamber of enduring 
 sleep — from that hour, he cast aside all sympathy, 
 all hope, all the blessings' of Ufe — and locked up the 
 rich casket of his mind's jewels from the world, and 
 gave himself Up to the deflation of his heart. He 
 had no kith or kin in all ihe earth, save the Uttle babe 
 who bore his name — and that — oh ! that had been 
 purchased with so costly a price, that he could not 
 bear to look upon its strange, fair, infant face. An or- 
 phan himself, he had wedded an orphan bride. And 
 a peerless, superb, rarely-gifted pair were they ! . She 
 had no equal in the world for divine loveliness of face, 
 and passionate poetry of heart, and exquisite grace of 
 thought and motion — she was all love, and loveliness, 
 and music, and inspiration — she had large, eloquent 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 87 
 
 eyes; sweeping, shadowy lashes; rich cheeks; a soft, 
 sweet mouth ; a spiritual smile ; and oh ! such beauti- 
 ful, shining hair, parted away from her pure forehead, 
 •md waving, floatmg, glittering, down to her small, fair 
 feet. He was a man that it was a blessing to look 
 upon — a splendid spirit in a fitting frame. He had 
 a regal brow, caressed for ever by dark wavelets of 
 glossy hair; his eyes were always beautiful, but they 
 changed with the changing of the lights and shadows 
 in his soul — now proud, now dreamy, now mourn- 
 ful, now burning ; he had a fervid and eloquent lip, 
 restless with flitting expressions of tenderness, and 
 sadness, and piide, and he had a snule that was 
 ineffably winning and sweet. 
 
 It was while he was a sad and dreamy wanderer in 
 the City of the Sea, that he found his young bride. 
 Sometimes, to whUe away his lonely hours, he painted 
 portraits of the fair faces he chanced to meet, and, as 
 the fame of these was sung in marble halls, one day 
 a lady came to him, and begged him in low, musical 
 accents to picture her upon canvas, so that she might 
 not be entirely forgotten when she went down to the 
 grave. She had no friends, she said, nor was any 
 human being_ allied to her by the ties of blood, and, 
 when she perished, no one would remember her, 
 and aU thought of her would die away, save that 
 called up when strangers looked upon her pictured 
 
88 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 semblance. Her voice thrUled to his inmost spirit «rith 
 its rare, mournful music; her dress was exceedingly 
 rich, and of peculiar style; and, when she put aside 
 her vail with her delicate, slight hand, that vision of 
 loveliness stole upon his eyes which was to be thence- 
 forth and for ever part of his existence. 
 
 " Would he do this kindness for her — would tho 
 Signor Vernon Mytalena ? " 
 
 Would he ? his fingers trembled to do their beau- 
 tiful task, before the embodiment of such loveliness 
 vanished and left the world dark to him — for he half 
 expected that she would melt away like his dreams 
 of angels. 
 
 The young girl threw aside her rich, velvet mantle 
 and flowing vail, and sat down before him with a smile 
 of delight. She took the gold comb from her hair, 
 and let it fall in rich waves about her slight, beauti- 
 ful form, and, folding her white hands on her knee, 
 watched his movements with childish curiosity. But, 
 as he grew absorbed in the inspiration of his work, 
 and all the wild rapture and love of his thrilled soul 
 expressed itself in his fine, eloquent face, the look of 
 innocent wonder and pleasure in her large eyes un- 
 consciously changed to the same expression of his 
 earnest and fervent gaze. Wrapped up in him, as 
 he was in her, she never moved her glance from his 
 face — but the love, the surprise, the entJ»visiastic joy 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 89 
 
 of his countenance was perfectly reflected — no, not 
 reflected, was absorbed in her own beautiful features. 
 Bent a little forward in an attitude of rapt attention, 
 and entirely forgetful of anything but the new and 
 glorious spirit she had discovered, the light of her 
 deep eyes stole down like starlight into the stUl 
 waters of the painter's soul. 
 
 And thus they loved ! There were no heart-aches, 
 or jealousies, or unwilling friends, or coquetries, or 
 doubts! Each saw that the other was their impas- 
 sioned ideal, with rapturous surprise' — they knew that 
 they loved each other, and the poetry, the beauty, 
 the music of their spirits mingled together and made 
 wild bliss. The picture was finished in a few days, 
 and the beautiful original invited the artist to visit at 
 her home. She was a Jewish orphan. She lived 
 entirely alone, with the exception of her servants. 
 Splendor and beauty were within her palace halls. 
 The peculiar gi-ace and poetry of her soul seemed 
 breathed into every thing within her influence. Her 
 home was a Paradise. One might wander till they 
 were bewildered, through its magnificent apartments, 
 glowing with pictures and statues, and lighted by 
 a soft, warm light, stealing in through domes or 
 sUk-curtained, balcony windows; all the atmosphere 
 dreamy with perfume and the low, fitful music of 
 wind-harps. 
 
90 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 Yet, -with her loving heart and spiritual dreams, 
 she had dwelt here alone for years, nor heard the 
 ■whisper of tenderness, nor felt the touch of worship- 
 ing Ups upon her young forehead. Her name was, 
 Melainie. 
 
 How wildly then, and how passionately, her heart 
 sprang out at the call of another's love. How her 
 sweet soul wondered at its perfect happiness, and 
 gave itself up to this blissful reality of a life-long, 
 wordless dream. 
 
 And Vernon, with his loneliness, his knowledge and 
 scorn of the world, his boundless capability of loving, 
 his fine poet taste, and fervent heart — oh! was he 
 not favored of heaven, to have the blessing of this 
 rare, young creature for his bride, bestowed upon 
 him? 
 
 They were wedded soon. Vernon was an orphan, 
 and there were none to say that he should not take 
 to his bosom a Jewish bride. Thus they were all in 
 all to each other — and had, as it were, a world of 
 their own — a rich and glorious world it was, full of 
 visions, and music, and love, and fancies. Vernon's 
 home was across the sea, in our own fair land; it was 
 not so superbly beautiful a place as was his bride's 
 palace, but it was very splendid, stUl; and they left 
 the City of the Sea for a time, to spend a few bright 
 months in the home of his infancy. 
 
PKOM WESTERN WOODS. 91 
 
 And here, their bright, brief, mingled history cams 
 to a close. Here their strange, wild happiness, their 
 trembling hope of another joy, their tremulous fear, 
 their faint presentiment of evil was all brought to 
 a sudden termination — here the desolation and the 
 darkness came upon one heart, and the hand of death 
 upon the other. 
 
 The babe was in the cradle, and the' mother in 
 the grave. In utter gloom and night of heart, the 
 mourner turned away from sympathy — turned away 
 from the face of his child, and shut himself up in tho 
 chamber where she died ; or knelt before that picture 
 himself had painted; or paced to and fro through 
 gloomy corridors, wearying the night out with the 
 solemn sound of his slow, heavy steps. 
 
 Months and months passed away, and the infant 
 began tottering, with its spiall feet, over the carpet, 
 and could lisp out " papa" — the word that the faithful 
 old servant had taught him. Still the father heeded 
 not Ms boy, and would not look upon him. One day, 
 the child wandered from its nursery, and, delighted 
 with its liberty, clapped its tiny hands and went glee- 
 fully from room to room, filled with wonder at what 
 it saw, tiU it reached the apartment where hung the 
 the portrait of his Jewish mother. With a cry of 
 delight, he stopped as his eyes caught that lovely 
 form, and gazed earnestly upon it The yearning in 
 
92 EBESn LEAVES 
 
 his infant heart, to be caressed by such a beautiful 
 being, to be treated tenderly by a mother's love, was, 
 perhaps, instinctive. Creeping close to it, he endeav- 
 ored to clasp its robe, and, when it did not stoop down 
 and take him in its arms, the tears gathered in his 
 large, soft eyes, his little lip quivered, and he raised 
 his hands pleadingly toward those of the picture. 
 
 " Papa — papa — papa! " he said, imploringly. 
 
 " Papa " was the word that expressed everything 
 lovely to him — such was the lesson his nurse had 
 taught him, when his father had refused to be in his 
 presence. 
 
 At this moment, Vernon entered the room. He 
 had not seen his child before for months. It was 
 spealsing his name. He looked upon its face; the 
 features were his own — but those soft, tearful eyes, 
 so spiritual and deep — they were Melanie's — they 
 were Melanie's ! 
 
 Something stirred through the depths of his sorrow 
 then, and thrUled his heart with a strange emotion. 
 He caught the babe in his arms, and pressed it again 
 and again to his bosom. For the first time since his 
 great desolation came upon him, he wept 
 
 " I am your papa," he said in a low voice, trying 
 to smile. 
 
 The chUd repeated the words after him, and looked 
 into his face with smiling wonder, and put up his 
 
TKOM WESTERN WOODS. 93 
 
 dimpled hand, and played with the raren curls that 
 were already streaked with gray. 
 
 " And that " — he said, in a still lower tone, point- 
 ing to the radiant picture, " that is your mother, my 
 child." 
 
 " Mother," said the little boy, and held up his lips 
 to kiss it. The weeping man raised him up to tho 
 portrait, and then hurried with him from the room. 
 Finding the servant, he inquired of her the name of 
 his boy. 
 
 " Your own name, sir," replied the wondering old 
 woman. 
 
 From that time, henceforward, little Vernon was 
 constantly with his father. Years passed away, and 
 each day was like unto the past in the history of the 
 two. When the father paced his chamber with un- 
 even steps, now in stem stillness, and anon melting 
 into words of mournfulness, murmuring passionate 
 bursts of mournful poetry, while hot, large tears stole 
 fast and silent down his cheeks, and the words of his 
 tenderness and sorrow trembled on his quivering lips ; 
 at such moments, the little boy sat in the deep win- 
 dow, or nestled in a corner of the sofa and repeated 
 in a low voice to himself, the murmured and broken 
 sentences of his parent, his large, soft, earnest eyes 
 fixed with a wondering, pitying look upon that pale, 
 fine face. And when the mourner would at length 
 
94 FBEBHLEAVES 
 
 notice the earnest expression of that beautiful, young 
 countenance, he would catch the tiny form to his bo- 
 som, and mighty sobs would shake and convulse it. 
 Then they would go together into the sacred apart- 
 ment where hung the glorious semblance of the lost 
 one, and the father would kneel before it, and his 
 little one would lean up against him, and together 
 they would weep and adore. 
 
 Strange dreams, for one of his age, crept over the 
 child of destiny — strange, wonderful, vague, poetic 
 dreams. Waking or sleeping, his thoughts were of 
 his beautiful, bright mamma, who smiled upon him 
 but never stirred — and who, his papa told him, was 
 in heaven — and of that papa, dark, and sad, and wild- 
 From his fair parents, and from the statues, pictures, 
 vases, and rare gems of art, that fUled his palace- 
 home, his ideas of the beautiful were fashioned. 
 
 As he grew older, and capable of comprehending 
 the mystery of death, and the pictured semblance 
 of his angel mother, and to understand her history as 
 it fell from the quivering lips of the mourning man, 
 the parent began to take upon himself the education 
 of the child. 
 
 Little Vernon was by nature an artist, and it was 
 a relief to the weary man to instruct his boy in an 
 art to which he himself had once been so passionately 
 devoted. In the languages, too, and belles-lettres, he 
 
FROM •WKSTEBN WOODS. 95 
 
 was versed, and a great portion of those hours, he 
 had once spent in quiet and dark despair, were now 
 passed happily in the instruction of his child. 
 
 And very peculiarly gifted with wonderful loveli 
 ness and talent was this child; his nature seemed 
 utterly averse to all things coarse and unrefined; 
 his deep, shadowy eyes were full of beautiful visions, 
 looking out beneath their dark lashes sweetly and 
 sadly upon the world; his little heart beat softly to 
 low, spiritual melodies; his young soul was mourn- 
 ful with greati earnest thoughts; his slight fingers 
 wrought with the pencil images of strange radiance 
 and power for one so young. 
 
 Twelve years of weariness, since the marble and 
 flowers were placed above the beautiful form of Me- 
 lanie, and he who moiimed for her, and wore out life 
 with ceaseless grief, was placed by her side in the 
 dark chamber of the dead, with silver threads in his 
 raven hair, and lines of sorrow across his fine, high 
 forehead. 
 
 The orphan dreamer was alone in that great, grand 
 palace — alone, save the old servant, and the picture 
 of his mother. Before her dear, dear semblance, he 
 poured out the passionate grief of his young heart. 
 It was now all the world to him ; and, if he wandered 
 
96 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 forth by day througli long corridors and splendid 
 apartments, it was only to return to that one little 
 room and weep. At night, that beautiful fece looked 
 down upon him through the mist of all his dreams. 
 
 There was something, in the circumstances of his 
 life, peculiarly adapted to the development of his wild, 
 poetic nature. And so sensitive, so gentle, so refined, 
 so given up to his own singular thoughts, so gifted 
 was he, that luxury and splendor seemed necessary to 
 his life and happiness. The beautiful things which 
 surrounded him seemed part of his existence. But 
 the hand of destiny clasped tight his delicate fingers, 
 and drew him away — away — away from these. 
 
 A base and skillful impostor, coming, in pretence, 
 from the sunny south, came with his perjured hire- 
 lings, and false deeds, and swore a wrong against the 
 innocent man in his grave, and took away his home 
 from the young orphan, and forced him, penniless and 
 friendless, inexperienced and helpless, into the world 
 of which he knew so little. 
 
 There was one thing the poor child begged of 
 the cruel man who had robbed him of his own fair 
 home — it was the picture of his mother! He kissed 
 the foul hand of the wretch, and sunk down upon 
 his knees, and pleaded for that picture — it had be- 
 come an object of love, of reverence, of adoration, to 
 him — it was his only friend — it was something pure 
 
FEOM WESTERir WOODS. 97 
 
 and holy — it embodied heaven and the angels to 
 him — it was dearer than any earthly thing. 
 
 The cold-hearted villain refused with a sneer — 
 what! ^ve him thcU/ — that was a glorious thing; it 
 would sell for thousands of dollars ! — and the boy 
 went out alone into the world, ignorant of the neces- 
 sities of poverty, and with his high heart full only of 
 grief, beauty, and wonder. 
 
 By bitter, bitter experience, he learned its ways! 
 
 Bravely he struggled on, giving love and tenderness 
 unto all, leaning naturally upon others for sympathy, 
 and fuU of eager ambition and hope ! — but no one 
 answered unto the yearning of his spirit for delicate 
 affection and trust Cold and sure, the frost of un- 
 kind words blighted the sweet flowers of his bosom ; 
 keen wants and careless chidings hushed the flovring 
 music of his heart; contempt and scorn turned into 
 bitterness the sweetness of the waters of his soul. 
 
 But dreaming, and soft, and spiritual as was his 
 nature, the world could not crush it. But it changed 
 it The love was turned to pride; the murmuring 
 words to the curve of disdain upon his brightly -beau- 
 tiful lip ; haughty defiance came at length to sit upon 
 his princely brow, oftener than the radiant visions that 
 once illuminated its whiteness with a strange and ear- 
 nest light. The yearning of his soul for tenderness, 
 struggled with a lava tide of bui-ning thoughts, that 
 
as FRESH LBAVES 
 
 rolled and dashed against the aching barrier of Hb 
 restless bosom. His powers of mind grew more in 
 tense. Blended with the darkness and pride of hiii 
 soul were mingled fancies of inexpressible loveliness, 
 and broken flashes of radiance, and tones of musical 
 
 So he struggled up toward manhood — a wonder 
 of genius and beauty, yet cursed by poverty — and 
 the fine strings of his heart stretched to their utmost 
 tension by a weight of bitterness ; and his bosom 
 throbbing, and his eye flashing, and lips compressed, 
 save when the- thought of his mother melted his 
 beauty into an inefiable sweetness and tenderness. 
 
 A massive silver chandelier shed down a flood of 
 gorgeous light upon a fair apartment in a palace 
 standing opposite to that which was once the home 
 of the young artist, Vernon Mytalena. There were 
 many rich articles of luxury lying- in its fair glow — 
 soft, sinking sofas, pleasant cushions, and footstools 
 of rare velvet, and heavy draperies of the same, falling 
 over tall windows, till their gold fringe swept the 
 bright, tufted carpet There was a lute lying on the 
 floor, and a harp in a comer; and, upon the walls, 
 were superb mirrors, and a few exquisite paintings. 
 This apartment was not quite unoccupied — upon the 
 
iROM WESTEBN WOODS. 99 
 
 crimson coverings of a sofa, a young girl had fallen 
 asleep. Her rosy, tapering fingers pressed her white 
 temple, as her small hand nestled amid the gloriou? 
 wealth of hair that shadowed her sweet face, and. 
 floating round her lovely arm, like sunlight round ^ 
 Parian pillar, broke away over her shoulder and slept 
 in a thousand shining rings upon her form and over 
 her velvet couch. 
 
 One who has ever seen in a vision, an angel resting 
 upon a crimson cloud after sunset, with its eyes softly 
 closed, and its misty robes flowing in grace about 
 it, and a glory through all the air, will realize the 
 oeauty of May Grove as she slumbered on the glow- 
 ing sofa in her snowy dress, with the rich light dream- 
 ing around her. 
 
 There was a low rap upon the halfopened door, 
 but the young girl did not awake, and, thinking the 
 room was deserted, a young man entered, and, with 
 a slow step, wandered around with his eyes resting 
 upon the paintings, till suddenly startled at the dis- 
 covery of the beautiful slumberer, he paused before 
 the sofa, and sank involuntarily upon his knees. 
 
 The intruder was perhaps twenty three. He was 
 eminently handsome ; but his eloquent mouth had a 
 haughty curve, and his brow was as cold as it was 
 beautiful. - There was a girlish tenderness and sweet- 
 ness in the drooping of his dark lashes, but the eyes 
 
100 FKESH LEAVES 
 
 beneati them were psoud as Lucifer's. Yet, as those 
 eyes rested upon tte young sleeper, they grew softj 
 and angel-like, and pure, and his lip forgot its bitter 
 sneer — he clasped his hands together in surprise and 
 rapture, and bent earnestly forward, gazing upon her 
 trith hushed, breath. 
 
 With a softlyrheaving bosom, and a starrily placid 
 face, the young girl dreamed ; but the dark eyes that 
 lingered so intensely upon her, had power to open her 
 eloped lids, as sunlight opens twin violets. Softly and 
 dowly she raised her long lashes, tOl her large, shad- 
 owy eyes met those bent upon herw A passionate 
 smile parted her dewy lips, and holding her white 
 arrns toward him, she murmured in a sweet, mUd 
 voice, 
 
 " You have come to me at last, glorious embodi- 
 ment of the love, and beauty, and poetry of my soul ! 
 You are here in my presence, my own one, my beau- 
 tiful! Come to the heart that has so long pined for 
 you — mine, and mine only." 
 
 The young man looked earnestly into those beau- 
 tiful eyes— r- his soul throbbed with emotion as hei 
 words, named him her own — but he saw that she 
 yet slept, though his intense gaze; had opened, as 
 if by fascination, those lovely lids: and,, though he 
 would have given worlds to^ have repjied as passion- 
 ately to her pleading, he only gently kissed the small. 
 
FBOM WESTERN WOODS. 101 
 
 haiM extended toward him, and replied, " Lady, for- 
 give me, I deemed the apartment deserted. You are 
 dreaming, lady, I wDl retire." 
 
 As she comprehended his words, the dreamy eyes 
 of May Grove brightened full with a confused light, 
 and a rich blush broke over her soft, fresh cheek. 
 Starting up with a beautiful motion, that made- her 
 thick tresses glisten like waves of gold, she smUed 
 through her tears and embarrassment, and said, 
 
 " Dreaming ? surely, a wild, wayward dream. It 
 was a foolish, maiden fancy, was it not ? " 
 
 The heart of the stranger burned within him to 
 tell her that he did not think it an idle fancy, 
 but the earnest and irresistible ti-uth — that he was 
 hers entirely and only, even as he felt that she was 
 created for him — but he dared not say so, for it was 
 not the way of the nineteenth century to say such 
 things, before he had had an introduction to his spir- 
 itual love — so he only said again, 
 
 " I regret disturbing your dream, lady. Mr. Grove 
 gave me permission to examine his paintings, and, if I 
 desired, to copy from them." 
 
 " I am not disturbed at all, I assure you," replied 
 the young ^rl; but her glowing cheeks, and drooping 
 lashes told plainly, that she was disturbed, whether 
 pleasantly or not "Mr. Grove is my father — I am 
 
 May Grove." 
 
 7 
 
102 FRKBII LEAl-F? 
 
 " And I am Vernon Mytalena, and sr artist.'" 
 "Are you? " questioned the child-like creature, with 
 a smile of delight, raidng her soft eyes with pleased 
 inquiry to his face. " You are Vemon Mytalena ? I 
 have spent hours admiring your works, and thinking 
 how I should love one who could thus create such 
 beautiful images. Your picture of the Madonna hangs 
 in my own chamber, where I can always look at it 
 when I wake at night — it looks so ineffably sweet 
 and gentle in the dim light of the night-lamp, that I 
 ever have dreams of angels, or else of — of the one 
 who conceived it Strange ! " and again those radiant 
 eyes rested on his countenance. " I always dreamed 
 of you just as you are — only — only not quite so 
 proud. But that I think makes you more beautiful — 
 and I am sure you could not be haughty to those you 
 loved." 
 
 Proud ! there was not much pride in his soul then, 
 nor anything but wonder, and pain, and love — ^won- 
 der, at her surpassing loveliness and perfect purity — 
 pain, that he was a struggling aspirant after fame and 
 wealth, and she the daughter of a vain millionaire. 
 Love, the instantaneous love that had sprang into being 
 from every fiber of his wild, dreaming, beauty-fevered 
 spirit, when the sleeper in her dreams pleaded for him 
 to come to her heart, and held out her soft arms to 
 encircle him. He could have told her then that he 
 
PROM WESTERN WOODS. 103 
 
 had also dreamed of her — that he knew the mystery 
 of her blushes and surprise — he could have spoken 
 most eloquently of spuitual love — but it would have 
 been wild and foolish, and he repressed the words on 
 his restless lips, and walked with the bright young 
 creature from painting to painting, insensible, for the 
 first time, to their beauties — but listening, gazing, 
 absorbed in his new vision of love and loveliness. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the young girl, suddenly, " come into 
 this apartment, there is a picture here — none know 
 its author or origin — the most wonderfully, surpass- 
 ingly-beautiful creation the human mind has faculties 
 to conceive of. I thought there was something about 
 you that reminded me of it — and now I know it is 
 your eyes — you have her eyes — the very same — i 
 so beautiful ! " 
 
 She led the way into another magnificent room, and 
 Vernon followed with a quick thrill at his heart — he 
 thought of his mother ! He had heard that the one 
 who had deprived him of his birthright, had disposed 
 of his palace and articles of vertw, and returned to the 
 south : and, burning with the joyful thought that he 
 Toight again look upon the only thing he prized on 
 earth, he had hurried to his former home, but the 
 picture had been purchased, he could not ascertain 
 by whom. 
 
 So fearful was he now of disappointment, that hes . 
 
104 FRJSSH LEAVES 
 
 hardly dared look up, as pauang before it, May 
 asked — 
 
 " Is it not wonderful! " 
 
 Slowly he raised his glance, and again upon his 
 soul, in all its loveliness, the face of his mother smiled 
 upon him. A thousand memories, and dreams, and 
 thoughts of by-gone tears, and mourning, and of hours 
 spent in silent worship of that radiant form — all the 
 strange visions, the love, and- the beauty, and the 
 shadowy, dreamy hue of his childhood came upon 
 him ; and with it a crushing sense of his struggle with 
 the world, his rejected sympathies, his hardening 
 heart. His face grew pale, and his lip quivered, and 
 kissing it wildly, he sank upon the floor and spbbed, 
 and his proud form shook with long-repressed, long- 
 growing agony. 
 
 "Is it his love — is it his love?" murmured May 
 Grove to herself, and her own cheek whitened to the 
 hue of a lily. 
 
 Why should she tremble if it was his love ? 
 
 At length he raised his proud head from his hands, 
 and turning his dark eyes, with a look of unutterable 
 sadness, to the fac.e of the pale young girl, he said in 
 a low voice — 
 
 " My mother — my own beautiful mother." 
 
 May Grove had not yet learned to repress sympa- 
 ^thy — her soft eyes filled with tears, and, wishing to 
 
 • '-4 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 105 
 
 soothe his sorrow, she laid her fair hand upon his 
 raven curls, and stooping, kissed his forehead with her 
 tremulous lips. 
 
 All the fountains of tenderness in the strong man's 
 bosom were sweetly stirred — how could he ever have 
 bitterly cursed the world, when one so beautiful, so in- 
 nocent, and loving, and pure was dwelling in its midst ? 
 
 " Heaven bless you, dear one ! " he said earnestly, 
 and rising, he took her quivering hand and led her to 
 a seat. Sitting at her feet, for the first time, he poured 
 forth in a low, ^ad, touching voice the history of his 
 life — his strange, overshadowed, but happy infancy; 
 the gloom and mourning of his father for the loss of 
 the beautiful creature whose portrait hung there before 
 them; and the death of that father; the base scheme 
 which had robbed him of all that was dear, and sent 
 him ignorant and helpless to struggle with the world; 
 of that long, long, weary struggle, when daily his 
 loving sympathies, his gorgeous fancies, his eloquent 
 ambitions were crushed in the battle of hfe. And 
 then the words he could no longer repress, gushed 
 fortli in an impassioned torrent of feeling — how the 
 pride and bitterness his soul had learned, was melted 
 before her presence ; and how he felt that she only, 
 could waken his heart once more to wild happiness, 
 cr freeze every impulse for ever, leaving him a deso- 
 late, cold, and passionless form to stand in the halls of 
 
106 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 existence, as a proud marble statue stands in the halls 
 of the happy. 
 
 Bright tears stood on the drooping lashes of the 
 young ^rl ; her heart was startled, and thrilled, and 
 stirred. There was a moment of intense silence after 
 the last word trembled from the lips of the speaker — 
 then the white arms, which had pleaded for him in 
 her dreams, were folded softly around his neck, and 
 sobbing, and murmuring broken words of joy, May 
 Grove nestled her sweet face in the bosom of Vernon 
 Mytalena. 
 
 The burning stars of heaven came out into the 
 night, and looked down into the gardens of Paul 
 Grove — smiling dreamily upon their dewy flowers, 
 and rustling foliage, and white statues, and sUver- 
 singing fountains. The drooping clusters of blossoming 
 vines hung their graceful heads tenderly to the whis- 
 per of caressing leaves; and dim, cool shadows deep- 
 ened the placid beauty of the starry air — the gardens 
 were lovely as a faint vision — all perfume, flowers, 
 silver gleams, cool spray, shifting shades, and murmur- 
 ing melodies. 
 
 May Grove stood by a fountain. Her thick tresses 
 floated on the sighing wind, and her dainty hand 
 played with the falling water. 
 
3PB0M OlSiSIERN WOODS. 107 
 
 She was waiting for her lover. 
 
 Presently a step coming down a myrtle avenue 
 broke on her listening e^x; and tossing back her wild 
 hair, she bent half forward to listen, while a rich flush 
 Rnd a soft smile mantled her face. As the step drew 
 nearer, she turned to meet the approaching form, but" 
 shrank back again and leaned against the marble 
 fountain-nymph,, murmuring - — 
 
 "My father!" 
 
 "May — my daughter," said a cold, stem voic^ 
 " for what are you here in the damp night-air alone, 
 and unattended. 2Tot to meet some cunning aspirant 
 to your father's gold ? " 
 
 A flush shot into the young girl's cheek, and she 
 raised her eyes, with a proud glance to his face. 
 
 " Has your child no tenderness, no charm, no virtue 
 to please the hearts of others, that you for ever think 
 they seek her gold, not her ? " she asked, with a bit- 
 terness unusual to her soft lips. 
 
 "Oh! yes, all these, my child — your mother had! 
 but I married her for her dower, for all that! and 
 men love riches now, quite as much as in my youth. 
 But come — my choice for you is made, and the happy 
 lover awaits you in the drawing-room. A worthy 
 match — ^young, handsome, and rich." 
 
 May turned pale, and adced in a low voice — 
 
 " Who is he, my father ? " 
 
103 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 « Young Terence Endicott." 
 
 " Sim, father ! I scorn him as I would a Tiper." 
 
 " He is very handsome, and so rich you .will forget 
 your idle prejudice, and marry him with joy." 
 
 " Never — never — never ! " 
 
 "No girlish eloquence if you please, my dear; he 
 is my choice, and you mtist obey the dictate. For 
 tunes depend not on the caprice of girls." 
 
 " Oh, father, we are rich enough already ; and have 
 gold to spare to the gifted and suffering." 
 
 "Gifted and suffering! who learned you this? — 
 not I. Come, Terence will not bear neglect. Be 
 gay, be bright, and bend your queenly pride to his, 
 for he is haughty as Satan himseK" 
 
 " And almost as evil. I pray you spare me, father, 
 / love another!" 
 
 "Another! do you? well, unlove him, then. How 
 rich is he ? " 
 
 " Penniless, but worthy all our gold." 
 
 " Humph ! worse than nonsense ! I thought I had 
 kept you so close from all such whining pretenders 
 that you, at least, would stand as a model daughter, 
 whose happiness and glory was secured by a father's 
 care. Only to-day I bade my servants kick a pre- 
 sumptuous painter from my presence, who came to 
 me, as haughty as a lord, to claim your hand. Poor 
 panter! how impudent! how absurd!" 
 
FROM WESTEEN -WOODS. 109 
 
 « It is Mm I love, my father!" 
 
 "May! are you mad? Never let me hear you 
 say that again. Come instantly. Kemember, I am 
 your father ! " 
 
 He seized the slight hand of the trembling girl, 
 and dragged her away from the fountain toward the 
 illuminated mansion. With a smothered curse, Ver- 
 non Mytalena emerged from the shade of the myrtle- 
 vines, and stood out in the dim light, with flashing 
 eyes, and compressed lips, and dilated form. "Aye! 
 withered up and base old miser! so he did tell his 
 grinning slaves to insult me in his halls — and, as I 
 live, he shall repent the foul indignity. Oh, May! 
 May ! pride ! poverty ! and agony ! Would that I had 
 never loved! then there would have been nothing 
 now to restrain the bitterness and the anger of my 
 soul against the world — no soft eyes winning me 
 away from revenge — no sweet voice hushing the 
 tumult of my passions — none of this strugghng with 
 tenderness and sternness — none of this anguish I 
 scorn to feel. She is sitting, with a breaking heart, in 
 the midst of a splendid mockery — and I ! — I will go 
 again to my solitary room and wear out the midnight 
 with my restless heart beating loudly upon its silence. 
 Sweet mother ! starry, angel mother, be with me." 
 
 With an uneven step he hurried, to his small room. 
 As he entered it and cast open the shutters to the 
 
110 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 night air, a flood of faint starlight gleamed sweetly 
 over the beautiful pictures which alone relieved the 
 nakedness . of the pooi; apartment, save a few books, 
 and a writing table by the window. Resting his elbows 
 on this table, he sat long hours of that fair night with 
 his burning face buried in his hands — the silence 
 broken only by his heavy breathing and the quick 
 throbbing of his excited breast. 
 
 At length he was startled by a light touch upon 
 his bowed head, and looking up, May Grove stood 
 before him in her white dress, and jeweled hair, and 
 pale face. She had gUded in at the low window, 
 and, as he started up, she said in a hurried voice, 
 with clasped hands, 
 
 " I am come to tell you why I did not meet you 
 to-night at the fountain. Do not think I meant to 
 sUght you — I wished to be there so much — but my 
 father—" 
 
 <■ " May ! " exclaimed the painter in a voice so start- 
 ling that she stopped at once, " even you must never 
 mention your father's name in my presence. I can 
 bear almost anything else for your sake — but not 
 that! — not to be spurned from the presence of the 
 parent of my idol, by the feet of grinning lackeys. 
 By my mother's beauty, and my father's passionate 
 blood — no ! I knew why you did not meet me — I 
 heard what passed between you and him — I saw him 
 
FBOM ■WESTEEir WOODS. HI 
 
 drag you away !^ — and then I came home, and have sat 
 here ever since, with a fire burning in my bosom of 
 whose wild torture I never before conceived. Every- 
 thing has perished in that fire of agony — my dreams 
 of beauty, my hopes of fame, my devotion to my sweet 
 art, my love of poetry and eloquence — all, all have 
 melted down into one hai'd, stern mass within my 
 bosom — one lump of rich, bright gold lighted up 
 and sparkling in the glow of a burning revenge ! 
 This night, a vision has come unto me — I have felt 
 almost as if I were no longer a mortal man, but an 
 eternal spirit, unto whose power was given the jew- 
 eled key that unlocked the rarest treasures of the 
 earth ! Poverty, away ! Scorn, insult, contumely, 
 how will ye snule to kiss my feet! May! to-mor- 
 row, I go to the land that my eyes have seen this 
 night as in a vision! — and I return not to thee, nor 
 to love, till wealth, that will purchase the world, is 
 mine — till gold, that will make his heap show like 
 a pebble at the mountain's base, comes at my bid- 
 ding — tiU men look upon my glory with awe — tiU 
 po^er, and kingdoms, and grandeur are mine ! I see 
 it, feel it, know it all, plain as the day, and my soul 
 is changed within me." 
 
 Fainter and fainter grew the young girl at his 
 quick, round-dropping, energetic words, till, when he 
 ceased, she clasped his feverish hands in her own 
 
12 FBKSH LEAVES 
 
 cold, trembling ones, and, bowing her forehead upon 
 his bosom, she moaned in the sudden desolation of 
 her wild love, 
 
 " You TviU leave me then — ^leave me alone to strug- 
 gle — and at length be oflfered up on the altar of that 
 passion for gold ! You — you — you are mad, too, 
 with that baneful poison ! Love, and beauty, and 
 purity, and all God's beautiful gifts you have given 
 up ! Yet have you mocked my trust by breathing 
 of eternal devotion — oh ! I am so desolate ! " 
 
 " Gold will purchase aU these things. May — it will 
 eat out the stain upon my honor — it will make men 
 bow to the proud spirit they now spurn." 
 
 " Will it buy such love as is all in all to such as 
 you and me ? You are not yourself now, Vernon — 
 I can not believe .you are in your calm, firm, rea- 
 sonable mind — you ai-e excited by what has passed 
 to-day. You will think more soberly to-morrow — say 
 that you will, my own Vernon ! " 
 
 " I shall be gone to-morrow, May." • 
 
 " And you can go, and forsake me in my time of 
 trial — leave me helpless in the hands of the cruel — 
 forget the passionate love you have sworn to me — all 
 this for what I would so readily sacrifice for you. This 
 night I have stolen from splendid haJls to seek you 
 in your lowly room, and tell, you that I was ready 
 to give up all and flee with you — home, friends, 
 
FROM WESTERir WOODS. 113 
 
 magnificence, my father, my jewels, my sweet haunts 
 of loveliness, where I have dreamed the young years 
 of my life away, all, all — and welcome anything — sor- 
 row and trial — so it was shared with you. And my 
 heart was glad within me when I thought how we 
 would go far away from those who have been cruel 
 to us, and, with our own gifts, win the fame and the 
 fortune that would make them proud to welcome us 
 back. Tour beautiful art — my poetry and music — 
 and our blessed love ! we could have been so happy ! 
 Our souls could have grown so grand, and brave, and 
 strong — Earth would have been more beautiful from 
 the proud triumph, and the beauty, and the love of 
 our tried souls. This woidd have been true greatness. 
 O, Vernon! Vernon! turn back now from your wild 
 thoughts, and go with me." 
 
 The young man clasped her to his bosom so lightly 
 that she hardly breathed — his cheek was blanched, 
 and his forehead sweated with pain — for, in the wild 
 Whirlwind of passion that had swept over his soul, the 
 star of love still burned like a glory in the night of 
 his stormy spirit. 
 
 " No — no — no ! it cannot be now — it is too late ! 
 the inspiration of my art has fled from me — the am- 
 bition for fame has gone with it — there is nothing left 
 but my strong will to gain riches, and my love for 
 thee. No — no — I have seen strange things in my 
 
114 FKESH LEAVES 
 
 tortures this night — things have been revealed to me 
 like prophecies — I see a future that will rival the 
 glory of Solomon, the gorgeousness of the princes of 
 old. — I see my destiny, and shall I turn away from 
 it ? I cannot ! But only be true to me, my own 
 one, resist your father's wiU — be true some months 
 or years, and oh ! the reward shall come. I swear to 
 you that for every ingot of gold that I lay up, shall be 
 laid up a burning thought of love and thee ! Think 
 you, I could see your delicate fingers toiling for 
 bread — ^your beautiful form wasting away from want ? 
 My May ! it was the agony of these thoughts that so 
 stirred up my strong soul, that in obedience to my 
 will, as it were, these visions of my destiny came up 
 before me. Do not think I am mad, May. I am 
 just as calm now as I shall be till my purposes are 
 wrought out. Only promise to be true, to forget not 
 till you hear from me — will you promise ? " 
 
 " Then you will leave me ! " gasped the young girl. 
 
 " It is beginning to grow light — the night will soor 
 vanish, and the day that parts us be here — this is 
 our last hour ! Speak to me. May ! say one word of 
 sweetness to linger in my ear till I come to claim 
 you — win you not say one word ? " 
 
 But the young girl had fainted in his arms. He 
 passed through the window with his pale burden, and 
 stood a moment in the gray twilight gazing upon her 
 
PKOM WESTERN WOODS. 116 
 
 beautiful forehead, and closed eyes, and disheveled 
 hair — tearlessly gazing upon her pallid and exquisite 
 loveliness — then, sealing their mute parting with one 
 kiss of agony upon her stirless lips, he hurried through 
 the deserted streets till he reached her father's gar- 
 dens, and, laying her light form upon, the dewy turf, 
 by the fountain, he sprinkled the cool spray upon her 
 sweet, wliite face. 
 
 He waited till the breath of life once more quivered 
 faintly over her lips, and, ere those sad eyes imclosed, 
 or those lips murmured his name, he was gone ! 
 
 " They kneel upon the sloping sand, 
 As bends the human knee, 
 A beautiful and tireless band, 
 The priesthood of the sea ! " 
 
 With a murmur on their lips, and a dimple on their 
 faces, and a glow upon their bosoms, the waves stole 
 lUp and knelt upon the shore of the Pacific. 
 
 Upon a rock that jutted out into the sea, a solitary 
 man sat gazing upon the purple glory of the water 
 where the sun had just dropped into its bosom. The 
 soft wind iluttered the raven hair floating about his 
 fine forehead; the spray bathed his bare feet, and 
 the gorgeously-tinted sky smUed into the dreamy 
 eyes that were fixed, '^th a forgetful gaze, upon it. 
 
116 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Guided by a hand ttat he felt but did not see, 
 through prairie and -wilderness, and over mountains 
 and through strange scenes of danger, and beauty, 
 and fear, the man ot destiny had wandered alone 
 this mighty distance — had been rescued from every 
 peril — hurried from every danger. Where he slept 
 at night, there were always springs of cool water on 
 the prairie — always fruit in the wilderness — the In- 
 dian saw him not, and wild beasts avoided him — 
 slowly, safely, and surely his feet had traveled to 
 the land he had seen in a vision ! It was Yernon 
 Mytalena that sat upon the rock at sunset, musing 
 upon days of past happiness — alone, aJone in the 
 loneliness that surrounded him. 
 
 For weeks he had been here, spending his days in 
 the mountains, and descending at evening to wander 
 by the seaside. There were berries, and fruits, and 
 fishes for food, but he had not yet beheld a human 
 face or heard a voice. The powerful knowledge that 
 his destiny would not be interfered with by death, 
 kept him from fear — but oh! the appalling loneliness 
 that had grown so painful to him. 
 
 The everlasting dirge that the ocean murmured al- 
 most maddened him, yet was strangely fascinating, 
 and he could not break away from its spell. And 
 now, as he sat there, lost in thought, with its sad, 
 sweet music breaking in ceaseless cadence upon his 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 117 
 
 ear, a dream, as it were, of by-goae ages, crept over 
 him, and, blended with that melody, he saw a thou- 
 sand scenes go slowly by him, in which- it seemed that 
 he, himself, had been an actor. Their voices sounded 
 to him like the echo of a thousand years gone by. He 
 heard the murmur of the waters of Kedron, and saw 
 the starry lake of Galilee ; then, sensations like those 
 of drowning crept over him; and again he seemed to 
 be floating in a frail bark far from land. The twilight 
 darkened and the moon rose up, and still he was in 
 this trance, and, when he at length started from it, 
 it seemed as if he had lived long years since the sun 
 set; and there was a weight upon his heart that op- 
 pressed him. Yet wherefore ? — he knew not ; and, 
 if a half-thought flashed over him, he lost it before he 
 knew its shape, and was more sadly bewildered than 
 before. 
 
 Oh ! then, how he pined for the soft hand of pas- 
 sionate, young May amid his curls, and her sweet 
 voice in his ear! Not even all the glittering gold 
 that had burst upon his sight in the last few weeks, 
 would have been worth as much to him as one low 
 word from her, one touch of her bright lips. But 
 even this feeling, in a measure, passed away, at the 
 wild throb to avenge the stain that burned upon it— 
 and, with quick steps, he descended from the rocks 
 
 and paced the shore tiU midnight * * » • 
 
 8 
 
118 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Till daylight, aye, till he had worn life out with 
 restless motion, would Vernon Mytalena have trodden 
 those sands, had he known what was passing many 
 thousand miles away that night 
 
 The whole magnificent mansion of Paul Grove was 
 gorgeously lighted and garlanded with flowers, and 
 eloquent with music, and laughter, and gay words. 
 Silken robes floated, and bright jewels flashed — fine 
 forms bent courteously, repai-tee sparkled. The vrorld 
 was so proud and happy to shine at the wedding of 
 May Grove and Terence Endicott. 
 
 At the end of a suite of splendid parlors, that had 
 been thrown into one, a snowy silk curtain drooped 
 in rich folds before a small temple where the rites 
 of marriage were to be solemnized. As a wreath of 
 white roses drew up this curtain in gTaceful loops to 
 the ceiling, revealing the occupants therein, the whis 
 pering and laughter died away, and, with brek.thles» 
 curiosity, the assembly gazed. 
 
 The bridegroom was handsome, and a smile of tri- 
 un}|^ lighted up his face; but the smile was loo sin- 
 ister and haughty, where it played around his hps, to 
 inspire love apd trust in the young creature who stood 
 by his side — for the clear eyes of the spirit were hers, 
 and she shuddered when he took her hand. There 
 was a rich crimson on the cheeks of the bride, and a 
 beautiful, unnatural brilliancy in her large eyes, that 
 
FROM WKSTBRN WOODS. 119 
 
 came and •went several times during the ceremony. 
 But when he turned, at the conclusion, to Mss her 
 forehead, the color and light faded away entirely, and 
 she sank motionless into the arms of her husband. 
 
 " What susceptibility ! what sensitiveness ! what 
 soul!" said the flattering crowd; but there was a 
 pang, sharper than a dagger, at the heart of the 
 father, as he took his child into his arms and bathed 
 her face with the perfumed water that was held for 
 him. But his heart was too calloused to feel re- 
 proach any longer than till those mournful eyes un- 
 closed again and looked into his face. 
 
 He whispered a few words in her ear, but she 
 turned away with a low, half-suppressed moan. 
 
 Presently she grew stronger, and, leaning on the 
 arm of her parent, received the congratulations of 
 the crowd, with a faint smile that deepened into one 
 of bitterness, as the mocking forms were one by one 
 gone through with. But they did not read the nature 
 of the smile; and the eyes, that might have spoken 
 too much, were shaded by the low drooping of long 
 lashes. 
 
 When the supper hour came, and the refreshment 
 rooms were thrown open, the bride had disappeared 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Detain the bridegroom from coming, while we 
 search for her," cried many voices, and, while gay 
 
120 FREBH LEAVES 
 
 forms gathered around Terence Endicott, many has- 
 tened to the gardens in search of the absent bride. 
 
 They found her in a few moments, lying upon the 
 earth, in a dim, sweet place by a fountain side ; and, 
 silent and pale with horror, they brought her in and 
 laid her upon a sofa, before the father and husband. 
 The delicate lace, and rich silk, and pearls, and flow- 
 ers of her bridal-dress were dripping with blood, and 
 a small, gold penknife fell from the folds that lay 
 upon her stained bosom, as they laid her down. The 
 father, who had driven her to this desperate deed, 
 fell down upon his knees beside her, his form shak- 
 ing with fear and the agony of remorse. The lover 
 was pale as death, but he found time, even in that 
 dreadful moment, to whisper in the ear of the 
 parent, . 
 
 "Let them think that some rival has done this." 
 
 The old man, in this sudden shock, caught the idea 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Who has done this ? " he cried aloud, in a shrill, 
 painful tone. " Who has murdered my darling on her 
 wedding-night, out of foul envy ? Who is there that 
 would not see my beautiful child happy, but must 
 murder her, because of hate ? " and he filled the air 
 with wailings and cries like a child. But, aye, old 
 man, you would have given all your gold then to 
 have seen your daughter smile or speak! 
 
FBOM WE8TEBN WOODS. 121 
 
 "Who has done this?" repeated the pale-faced 
 (hrong. " Alas ! alas ! what a wedding ! How- 
 terrible!" 
 
 The desperate young creature had not completed 
 her resolve, for the physicians, who gathered round, 
 pronounced her still alive ; and, when she was home 
 to her chamber, and the wound examined, they said 
 she would live, with tender care. 
 
 Then the heart of the old man, her father, broke 
 with joy — he died. 
 
 A pale, sweet face looked out of a chamber upon 
 a fair, fresh scene. The window opened to the floor, 
 and a little balcony led out of it. Beneath, rose a 
 green park, and stately trees, fountains, and flowers; 
 a grove was in the distance, and a silver lake. The 
 mansion was magnificent, and the grounds were beau- 
 tiful enough to stir the heart of the saddest one to joy. 
 
 But loveliest of all was the pale lady who sat upon 
 the balcony. She was very young, but white and sad, 
 and robed in widow's weeds. Her beautiful golden- 
 brown hair was put away behind a widow's cap, but 
 many a long, bright tress stole out and waved upon 
 her bosom. The snowy lids and thick lashes had a 
 mournful way of shadowing her sad, spiritual eyes. 
 A. beautiful little babe, of a few months old, nestled 
 
122 FBSSH LEAVES 
 
 in her anns — a little ^rl, with bright eyes, bright 
 hair, bright cheeks, laughing in her mother's lap like 
 a young joy cnnging to a sorrow — a sunlit-gleam on 
 a pale cloud — a star in the faint arms of night 
 
 The lady was singing, in a low, clear, musical voice, 
 a song so sad, and touchingly, wildly, sweetly mourn- 
 ful, that, if a servant chanced to pass beneath the bal- 
 cony, he stopped and listened with great tears rolling 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 " Poor thing! poor thing! " they muttered to them- 
 selves, and to each other, "she used to sing it so much 
 before master died, and she sings now more than ever. 
 I do n't believe she married the one she loved — the 
 master was not good enough for her — ^he was haughty 
 and angry. She has always been so meek, and kind, 
 and sweet to us — poor lady ! And when he was 
 brought home that lime from the hunt» all bleeding 
 and pale with that great gash in his forehead, and 
 ' she tended him so kindly for weeks, never leaving him 
 till he died, how he used take her hand and look up 
 so pitiful-like, and ask to for^ve him for something he 
 had done to grieve her, and then she would weep and 
 kneel down, by the bed and pray for him. And now 
 she seems so lonely, poor creature, with no one to love 
 but her baby, and always singing that sad song." 
 
 It was May Endicott who sat in widow's weeds, 
 holding her infant, and chanting that mournful song. 
 
FKOM WESTERN WOODS. 128 
 
 It was " Allan Percy " that she murmured for ever to 
 herself: 
 
 "Slumber thou still, my innocent — mine own, 
 While I call back the dreams of other days ; 
 In the deep forest I feel leas alone 
 
 Than when those palace splendors mock my gaie, 
 Fear not I my arm shall bear thee safely back ; 
 I need no squire, no page with bended knee, 
 To bear my baby through the wild wood track 
 Where Allan Percy used to roam with me. 
 Lullaby I 
 
 " Here I can sit, and, while the fresh wind blows, 
 ■Waving the ringlets of thy shining hair. 
 Giving thy cheek a deeper tinge of rose, 
 
 I can dream dreams that comfort my despair ; 
 I can make visions of a different home, 
 
 Such as we hoped in other days might be— 
 There no proud earl's unwelcome footsteps come 
 There, Allan Percy, I am safe with thee. 
 Lullaby ! 
 
 " Thou art mine own — I '11 bear thee where I list 
 Far from the dull, proud town and donjon keep ; 
 From my long hair the pearl chain I '11 untwist. 
 
 And with a peasant's heart sit down and weep. 
 Thy glittering, broidered robe, tny precious one, 
 
 Changed for a simpler covering shall be ; 
 And I will dream thee Allan Percy's cMld, 
 
 And think poor Allan guards, thy sleep with me 
 Lullaby ! " 
 
124 FBESH LEA-VK8 
 
 As her sweet voice trembled on the mournful " Lul 
 laby," a servant entered with a missive. 
 
 " They say this is for you, lady, it is directed, to 
 May Grove." 
 
 Laying her babe quickly in the cradle, the mother 
 sprang and, taking the letter eagerly from the silver 
 tray, hurried with it on to the balcony, and tore away 
 the seal with trembling fingers. For the first time in 
 long months a rich flush, like that of girlhood, shot into 
 her cheek, her lips quivered, and grew red, and her 
 dark lashes brightened with tears as she read. Then 
 she pressed it to her bosom and read it over, and over 
 
 "Oh! May, May," were the words it bore, "my 
 darling, my precious one, how shall I write to you — 
 what shall I say ? It is so long since I have heard a 
 human voice tiU now — so long since I have written 
 or spoken to anything but the ocean, and the wind, 
 and the trees, that I know not what to tell you; only 
 " that with every grain of gold I have gathered, I have 
 treasured a thought of thee, with every jewel, I have 
 laid up a hope for the future. , My wild visions are 
 more than realized — all the monarchs of the earth 
 have not so much riches as I ! The land that I saw 
 in my dreams, I have found. Gold is in the plains, 
 and in the mountains in abundance for thousands of 
 kings; for months I have done nothing but gather 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS, 125 
 
 lumps of gold, and hide them away in a secret cave 
 far from the place where I found them. If a million 
 men were searching for it they could not find my 
 stronghold, and. all the rest I am willing to proclaim 
 to the world. Bare jewels I found in one valley, and 
 gathered them up by handfuls. When even my wild- 
 eat ambition was siirfeited, I traveled farther down 
 tl' e coast, and at last met a vessel, and have commu- 
 nLsated my discovery, and have now this chance of 
 writing to you. 
 
 " Oh! what shall I say to you! shall I tell you how 
 I have sometimes been almost mad with loneliness — 
 huw I have yearned to hear you speak — how passion- 
 ately I trust that you have been true to me through 
 silence and desertion. It is but a little while longer 
 now, and you will be mine ! In the next vessel I 
 shall come! 
 
 " Oh ! my beautiful, my peerless May ! how like a 
 princess you will be when my gold and gems are 
 woven into radiant shapes to heighten your loveliness. 
 When I sit you upon a jeweled throne, and stand by 
 your side, how mockingly will I spurn those who have 
 once slighted me — spit upon me — striven to crush me ! 
 
 " Sometimes I have had strange trances come over 
 
 me since I came hire — visions of things done and 
 
 seen hundreds of years ago, creep over me. I have 
 
 been alone so long that I attribute it to that — your 
 6 
 
126 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 presence will soothe away feverish thoughts — we will 
 once more be happy — oh! so happy! Speedily I 
 shall hasten to your side, oh ! loved one ! Almost as 
 soon as my letter I shall come to thee — good-bye for 
 a little time." 
 
 But there was a sharp pang of pain, mingled with 
 the rapture of the young mother. Would he love her 
 as well, now that she had been compelled to wed 
 another? would he be kind to her sweet babe? — had 
 not this strange infatuation changed and hardened his 
 soul, and ruined his spiritual beauty. All these things 
 her heart gave her an answer to. Did he not leave 
 her to the mercy of her father, and that man — and 
 should she not rather blame him, than he her ? Was 
 not her babe too sweet and beautiful for any one to 
 help loving it devotedly? — could three years ruin the 
 glorious spirit whose equal she had never met? And 
 the young widow smiled, and was happy. 
 
 With her head drooped gracefully to her hand, and a 
 soft color glowing on lip, and cheek, she sat, and dream- 
 ed, forgetful of all around her — till suddenly, startled 
 by a step at her side — he — ^her glory, her dream, her 
 spirit-love stood' before her, with a passionately happy 
 face. 
 
 Oh! that was a meeting of^eat joy, for one of 
 Earth 
 
FBOM WESTEnsr ■WOODS. 12^ 
 
 Babylon was a splendid city! — so was Tyre, an.' 
 so was Rome ! In ancient days there was much mag- 
 nificence — stories of oriental gorgeousness have been 
 told us in glowing words, like diamonds dropping upon 
 golden wires ! — but there was a city that triumphed 
 over Babylon, and Rome, and Tyre — there was an 
 era that was richer in splendor than the days of old — 
 that was a land that rivaled the charmed and glitter- 
 ing east! 
 
 The development of a thousand arts, and sciences 
 had made that city like a sybil's dream. Air, earth, 
 and water, and fire were easy instruments of skiE to 
 make life oflfe swift hurry from pleasure to pleasure. 
 Happiness was as refined, as fragile, as delicate as the 
 brief being of the etherealized creatures who enjoyed 
 it Life was shortened, but the pleasures of life ■frere 
 condensed. 
 
 No clumsy palaces, nor solemn-looking towers or 
 temples rose to sight Exquisite edifices elaborately 
 graceful, sprang up in thfe naidst of orange, and mag- 
 nolia trees, and wound about with silvery streams that 
 here and there leaped down in mimic falls and play- 
 ed upon delicately-arranged instruments, whose httle 
 wheels moved golden wires to melody. There were 
 light barges upon dimpling -lakes ; there were silken- 
 curtained carriages floating through air ; there were 
 luxury and idleness, and gorgeousness in the city of 
 
128 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 pleasure; and, a few miles away, dark men toiled 
 ceaselessly in dreary mines, for stuning ore. 
 
 Uko the moon among the stai's, one palace shone 
 out amid all others. Standing amid lovely terraceSj 
 and fragrant trees, lite a beautiful statue in gTace- 
 fally-arranged drapery, and perfect in its proportions 
 as an exquisite piece of sculpture, it was a rare com- 
 bination of the rich and chaste. The inside of this 
 elegant structure was like a picture, or a poem of a 
 spiiitual mind, it was so magnificent, yet so intellectual 
 in its arrangements. No one but a woman, a dreamer, 
 and a poetess, could have fitted up those labyrinthian 
 apartments with such bewildering splen«lor, yet such 
 exquisite and vision-like effect. 
 
 In an inner apartment of this palace, upon a rose- 
 colortd, silken lounge, a lady lay sleeping away the 
 long hours of the summer day. Her shining hair 
 was braided with jewels, and her small hands and 
 lovely arms were covered with rare ornaments, and 
 ner little foot flashed with gems, as it stole out from 
 the hem of her dress. This beadtiful sleeper was 
 May Mytalena, the wife of the proud man who had 
 aU things at his command but a crown, and who as- 
 pired to even that She was as lovely as in her girlish 
 days, but very delicate and slight. Her hands were 
 transparent, and her forehead and temples looked too 
 pure and spuitual for earth. Her cheek had a rare, 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 129 
 
 faint, hectic glow that was ineffably sweet, and her 
 loving lips were tinted with the same soft color. 
 
 She was restless in her sleep, and murmured to 
 herself, and a blight tear crept out from beneath 
 each, lid, and hung quivering upon the dark, closed 
 lashes. 
 
 Poor May ! she had always been too spiritual for 
 life. • In her girlhood, the base spirit of her miserly 
 father had jarred her sensitive soul — then she was 
 torn away from her dreams of love, and holiness, and 
 beauty, and wedded to a man whose heart was simken 
 in selfishness and vice — then, when she was at last 
 united to the ideal of her spirit, after a brief space 
 of exquisite happiness, she was doomed to watch the 
 bloom and perfume fade from their flowers of love — 
 and, instead of the bright waters for which her soul 
 thirsted, apples of silver and gold were served to 
 her yearning heart — and, while the great spirit of 
 Vernon Mytalena bent all its energies to bringing 
 men and riches to his feet, she silently pined away 
 for want of spiritual sympathy. 
 
 While the tears still sparkled on her lashes, a young 
 girl softly stole into the room, and sat down on a heap 
 of cushions on the floor by her mother's side. 
 
 Maud Endicott was beautiful, but her beauty was 
 Uke her father's, haughty and dark. A slight, small 
 form; dark, passionate eyes; bright, scornful lips; o 
 
130 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 queenly bearing, and a musical voice, •with raven has 
 folded like a crown, and richly jeweled, an oval fao"., 
 small hands, and magnificent attire, made her most 
 princess-like. She could love and hate alike — and 
 she looked upon her pure and fragile mother with, 
 a deep affection, that made her haughty, impulsive 
 spirit beautiful and meek in that calm, gentle presence. 
 
 Wondering at her mother's tears, the young crea- 
 ture kissed them away, waking the sleeper fi:om hei 
 mournful dreams. 
 
 " There were tears on your cheeks, dear mother," 
 she said tenderly, " were your dreams so sad ? " 
 
 The invalid heaved a deep sigh, and, raising her 
 large eyes to her daughter's face, replied — 
 
 " Would you like to have me tell you all my life, 
 now, Maud? You know something of my history, 
 now; but I shall not be here long to tell you the 
 rest, and, if you are ready to hear, I will talk with 
 you about it, that you may perhaps have -more knowl- 
 edge of life to guide you, when your mother's careful 
 hand has mouldered to dust." 
 
 " Do not speak of that," said Maud with tearful eyes, 
 nestling her head down on the sofa by her mother's 
 bosom, and preparing to listen with silent interest 
 
 In a low, eloquent, impressive tone, broken now 
 and then by sudden emotion, the pale lady told her 
 tale of life ; and, by the tears that streamed down the 
 
I'BOM WESTERN WOODS. 131 
 
 cheeks of Maud, at the cruelty of May's father, and 
 her parting with her lover; by her start and shudder 
 at the incidents of May's first wedding-evening; Dy 
 her breathless eagerness, when hearing of her own 
 father's character and fate, she showed how deeply 
 (she sympathized in the story. 
 
 " Maud ! " said the mother, in an earnest tone, as 
 she paused near the end of her narrative, " I know 
 not whether I shall dare to tell you the rest, or not. 
 If I thought it would make you unhappy, I would be 
 still — if I thought it would enable you better to meet 
 evil, I would speak — - though the words would come 
 bitter and slow enough from my heart." 
 
 " Then do not distress yourself, dear, dear mother." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better know all, my child; but 
 do not be startled at anything I say. It has always 
 been a gift of mine to read, with a kind of spiritual 
 sight, almost every thought that passes through the 
 bosoms of others. If it had not been for this, I 
 might, perhaps, have seen less to grieve me in life — 
 I might not now be pining away in a yearning after 
 pure spirits. 
 
 " My child, you know you are very beautiful ; and 
 that gems and splendor become your queenly style ; 
 vou are ambitious to shine the brightest and the 
 proudest star in all the throng. I have told you 
 how the once grand and gifted soul of my husband 
 
132 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 lias gradually become absorbed in ambitious dreams 
 of power, and a baneful passion for gold — gold. In 
 place of the tender lore he once bore for me, he has 
 now only the deare to see me moving in the throng, 
 or enthroned in stately pomp, blazing with jewels, and 
 bright with pride. In this he is disappointed ; my 
 nature and ill health unfitting me for the task; and 
 lately, has woke up to a sudden sense of yovr beauty 
 and queenliness — his love has turned from me to 
 you — and, when I am dead, which will soon be, he 
 will seek you for a wife." 
 
 "Oh! mother !" murmured the young girl. 
 
 " I have told you this," said the mother calnriy, 
 "that you may understand the love he wiU proflfer 
 you — it is not pure, it will not make you happy — it 
 is only a kind of triumph in your beauty. Then I 
 implore you, by the purity of your young heart, by 
 all your impulses of aflFection, by my unhappiness, not 
 to wed yourself to one who will clothe you as his idol, 
 and place you upon a shrine of gold, and call his 
 cringing followers around to worship you. Have a 
 higher ambition, my daughter; be better, be nobler 
 than this, or you will never meet me in the spirit- 
 world to which I shortly go." 
 
 "I have always loved him as a father; how could 
 you think I would do this thing," murmured the 
 weeping girl. 
 
FROM WKSTERN WOODS. 133 
 
 " Because I think I know your heart, my daughter; 
 and you are too young and beautiful not to be daz- 
 zled by the ambition to be the queen of all this fair, 
 great land. But you will remember what I have said ; 
 and promise me to wed for love, not power, wiU you 
 not, my child ? " 
 
 The answer of the young girl was interrupted 
 by the entrance of Vernon Mytalena, who came and 
 sat down by them, and, holding the thin hand of 
 the mother, looked into the beautiful face of the 
 child. 
 
 Tears, and care, and struggling passions had altered 
 th^ inspired dreamer more than his lovely wife ; his 
 glorious beauty had fled — his once eager, eloquent 
 lips were habitually compressed, his eyes were sunken, 
 and his brow contracted — yet was he a noble and 
 splendid man, whose words, and tone, and manner 
 were full of a quiet, haughty consciou^ess of power, 
 which few would care to dispute. 
 
 As he sat and looked into the face of Maud, those 
 words of her mother — "be the queen of aD this land," 
 burned in her thoughts, and, unconsciously, she gazed 
 upon him and wondered how long it would be before 
 he grew old, and how much gray there was mingled 
 with his raven locks, and whether it would be possible 
 to love a man like hkn. Suddenly she was conscious 
 of the large eyes of her mother reading her souL and, 
 
 9 
 
134 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 ■with a burning blush, she buried her face in her 
 mother's bosom, whispering, 
 
 "I promise — I promise what you ask." 
 
 There was a splendid pageant in the streets of the 
 great western city. There was a costly hearse draped 
 with rich han^ngs, and bearing a superb coffin sol- 
 emnly — a coffin fit to enshrine the fair form of the 
 great man's wife — the inner one of solid silver, and 
 the outer of polished ebony with gold plates, and in- 
 scription set in mosaic ; and all this drawn by twelve 
 slow-stepping, jet-black steeds, and, walking at the 
 head of each, a servant in sable livery. There was 
 an immense procession of splendid carriages covered 
 with funeral trappings, and all the pomp, and show, 
 and ceremony, and richness possible. The tomb was 
 magnificent, in a sweet, solemn spot, where she had, 
 before her death, requested it to be. 
 
 There were great toars of sorrow dropped around 
 the grave of the sweet, dead lady, but they feU not 
 from, the eyes of the chief mourner. He was becom- 
 ingly calm and stem, and held upon his strong arm 
 the faint form of the young girl who mourned most 
 passionately for her mother. 
 
 Could it be that Vernon thought, in that solemn 
 hour, of the first time he ever looked upon the radiant 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 135 
 
 face of the bright dreamer now lying white and still 
 in all this fearful state? No matter ! she died as 
 many a dreamer dies — her heart wasted away as 
 does many a poet's heart Yet he mtist have felt 
 something of his old spirit coming back to him — he 
 must have seen again vividly the beautiful, neglected 
 picture of his mother — have started with a remem- 
 brance of his father, and of how different was his de- 
 votion to his bride — have thrilled with a memory of 
 his youthful inspiration — have sickened one moment 
 with the thought of his hollow, mocking life. 
 
 But even with all these thoughts, was not a brighter 
 and a prouder than she, clinging in beautiful sorrow 
 to his arm — was there not richness and show enough 
 here, to atone for all the want of love ? 
 
 And thenceforth the troubled heart of the spiritual 
 May rested sweetly in the grave. 
 
 Maud Endicott sat upon a sofa opposite a large mir- 
 ror, blushing, and trembling, and striving to appear 
 calm. She was alone, but evidently awaiting a visitor. 
 She was dressed with elaborate richness and care. 
 A small tiara of costly gems sparkled above her fore- 
 head — that forehead so sweet, and smooth, and clas- 
 sic. There were bands of emeralds half hiding the 
 exquisite arms from the small wrist to the white 
 
136 FBJSSH LEAVES 
 
 slio\ildei-s, from wMcli the looped-up tissue of kce 
 waved ligMy back. Her dress was of green velvet, 
 with a rich black silken tissue floating over it, caught 
 here and there with emerald brooches. Where her 
 thick, raven hair was folded over her head, a sweet 
 crimson rosebud nestled, relieving the splendor of 
 attire almost too heavily rich for a young girl. 
 
 Suddenly the little foot that patted the carpet so 
 restlessly grew still, and, playing with her jeweled 
 fan, she afiected not to perceive the in#uder who 
 entered softly, until he was by her side. 
 
 " Maud ! " he said, and sat down by her side, and 
 took her beautiful hand in his. 
 
 She shuddered slightly as he did this ; yet, with the 
 strange contradiction of the human heart,^ it was for 
 him she had attired her loveliness to such advantage. 
 
 "My father!" she said with infinite tact, with- 
 drawing her hand to arrange a fold of her dress. 
 
 " Why do you call me by that hateful name ? " he 
 replied impatiently — " call me anything but that ! 
 Will you not speak to me as ' Vernon,' as ' friend ? '— 
 wiU you not some time consent to address me as 
 your husband? " 
 
 " Why do you still trouble me with words like 
 these ? " asked the beautiful girl, in a low voice, while 
 the color deepened in her cheeks, and her proud eyes 
 were turned to his reproachfully. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 137 
 
 «' Trouble you ! am I so hateful to you Maud ? — so 
 poor, feo aged, so infirm, so vile, that you slight me 
 thus? or, do you love another?" 
 
 " No — no — ^ no ! " said the young girl quickly. 
 
 •' Then will you not love me, Maud ? " 
 
 The haughty man was kneeling before her, clasp- 
 ing both her hands in his, and with his dark eyes 
 earnestly reading her face. He had mused so long 
 upon her beauty and pride, and striven so hard to 
 win her,- that the passionate affection of his youth 
 was almost stirred again within his heart — he felt 
 that she must be hie. Had she yielded at first to 
 his pleading, he would have esteemed her only as .the 
 beautiful crown of his pomp and pride ; but his na- 
 ture was (Jne too passionate and strong to yield to 
 opposition — and that the haughty young creature 
 should dare to refuse his hand, but awakened him 
 to a sense of her charms, and made him the more 
 determined in his wish. 
 
 There was a flash of triumph in Maud's eyes when 
 she saw him at her feet — a thousand youthful lovers 
 would not have flattered her so miich; and, looking 
 into the face upturned to hers, she was almost start- 
 led by the wonderful beauty that again lit it up in 
 that moment of anxiety. She forgot her promise to 
 her dead mother, and thought that she might love 
 him — surely his soul was one to jnspu-e respect and 
 
138 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 awe, and now lie looked as tender, and as earnest, 
 and far more fascinating than any yontMul "lover. 
 But, true to her own nature, so naturally aspiring 
 and designing, with the thought that she might ac- 
 cept his proffered glory, came a fuller consciousness 
 of her power over the great man, and how she could 
 wield it to bring the fulfilling of her wildest dreams 
 of ambition. 
 
 " Will you not answer me ? " he asked more ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " Even if the preference of my heart is given to 
 you, I must show respect to*ttie memory of my 
 mother," she answered, with averted eyes. 
 
 " If we say that it shall be, will the world dare 
 to dictate as to what is right ? " exclaimed Vernon 
 passionately. 
 
 " It might be, that they would not wish to disap- 
 prove," said the fair girl, turning her large eyes full 
 upon his — "if you were their monarch, and I your 
 queen." 
 
 " You would love to be a queen, would you, my 
 peerless one ? " said the lover with a smile, for he 
 admired the aspiring spirit of that youthful, glorious 
 woman. 
 
 Maud did not reply in words; but she answered 
 his smile with one most soft and bewildering, and, 
 bending over, touched her bright lips gently to Lis 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 139 
 
 fjrehead. Then, blushing at the deed, she covered 
 Ler eyes with her fair hands, which were taken softly 
 sway and showered with kisses, while he said, in a, 
 gay, proud tone, 
 
 " These tiny fingers woidd sway the scepter, would 
 they, my eloquent one? Well fitted they are for 
 such a task. And this form, too, and that haughty 
 spirit, were made for a throne. And, if I should 
 promise you a crown, would you not be mine, and 
 weai- it?" 
 
 " Yes ! " said the young girl, slowly, " when the 
 crown is gained." « 
 
 "Thank you a thousand times, my dear one; but 
 wiiy must we wait tiU the scepter is ours ? " 
 
 " The people might murmur at this sudden mar- 
 riage, Vernon ; but now you have their respect. Gold 
 alone will not purchase a kingdom, in this age, dear- 
 est; intellectual power and grandeur must be added 
 to its magic. Am I not right ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you are, sweet Maud — but if my joy 
 must be delayed till this triumph is achieved, I shall 
 labor most perseveringly to accomplish our ambition. 
 Then you wiU accept the crown I lay at your feet — 
 you will be mine, most beautiful one, will you not ? " 
 
 With a radiant smile, the glowing face of Maud 
 drooped upon his shoulder, and she whispered in his 
 ear — 
 
140 FRESE LEAVES 
 
 " That day, I will be your queen." 
 
 And, -when she raised her face again, the mirror 
 opposite reflected its expression of triumphant hap- 
 piness. Then the thought of her mother's words 
 came full upon her heart, and she shuddered with 
 a sudden presentiment 
 
 With a heavy tramp — tramp — tramp, Vernon 
 Mytalena paced his gorgeous sleeping-room, wearing 
 out the night with his slow, dragging steps. His arms 
 were folded tightly over liis brgast, and he muttered 
 to himself in painful tones — 
 
 " If this burning thought would not haunt me for 
 ever, I think I might be happy. Is' not all that I ever 
 craved, mine, or soon to be mine ? yet the veriest slave 
 is not so wretched as I am now ! Sleep has fled away. 
 Oh! this dreadful, dreadful oppression that weighs me 
 down — this thought that is never defined — this 
 presentiment that has no shape — this memory, and 
 knowledge of things unseen, unknown, far down the 
 vista of the past — these haunting images of sweet, 
 pure, Jewish faces smiling upon me in marble halls, 
 or sleeping in the shadow of the cedars of Lebanon — ■ 
 this fl'tting of forms, and scenes before me, van- 
 ishing ere I have grasped their shape — this weight, 
 this curse, this iron hand upon my bosom, till every 
 
FEOM WHBTERN 'WOODS. J il 
 
 breath comes struggling — I shall go mad — I shall 
 go mad! 
 
 "Oh! the torture of being mocked by doubt, by 
 fear, by unknown evil I I can brave the world — 
 death — battle — hate — anything but this haunting 
 spirit which I have no hope to conquer or subdue, 
 •because I know not its form, because I can not war 
 with a shadow, though that shadow freeze me by 
 slow degrees, and rest heavier than lead upon my souL 
 
 " Oh, Miriam, for one soft toiich of thy hand upon 
 my feverish brow ! Miriam ! Miriam did I say ? — 
 what brought that name to my lips — what brought 
 that vision of a pure, proud, spiritual girl before my 
 eyes? Yet I knew her — I loved her — our vows 
 were plighted by the starry waves of Galilee. What 
 did I say ? it must have been in my restless dreams 
 that I have seen her so often. I think I am mad/ it 
 must be 1 How absurd ! that I should fancy myself 
 in Palestine, with a Jewish maiden's black eyes smiling 
 into mine — ha! ha! how absurd! I am mad — hal 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 And trying to dissipate his wretched thoughts by a 
 pretence of mirth, the xmhappy man laughed to him- 
 self and paced his room v?ith faster steps. Then, as 
 the tenor of his -thoughts chaaged, he spoke again, 
 
 "My conspiracy is admirably arranged — all gooc- 
 well — it will be but a little scheming, a little blood 
 
X42 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 shed, a few millions of my gold, and a third of this 
 great Republic wiU be in my hands — and I its king I 
 And who, after that, shall dare to place a limit to my 
 power — ^the rest of this Republic, the rest of the world 
 wUl be in my hands ere years have fled — such great- 
 ness, such -glory, such splendor ! — I shall go wEd with 
 ambition. Yet I must be cahn — a fearfuUy gTeat 
 mind and strong, cool energies alone can accomplish 
 this — but I shoidd not fear, I should exult in the 
 power of mind required, did not this feverish dream, 
 that wUl not be shaken off, at times unman me with 
 its mocking face. 
 
 "But even that dream shall yield! nothing can 
 daunt me but death, and that I know will allow me 
 to fulfill my schemes. Why, Miriam, look not so re- 
 proachfully — Miriam again ! well, I wUl try to sleep 
 and drive her phantom face away. To-morrow I must 
 be calm and strong, and I need repose. But no, I wiU 
 not sleep; I will write, write, write, till the time of 
 action comes ! it eases my restless soul to bind it to 
 the task of writing, and perhaps if I put my plans 
 upon paper more fully and analyze them more closely, 
 I shall be more calm and prepared." 
 
 For the rest of the night he wrote rapidly, and just 
 as day was breaking, threw himself exhausted on his 
 couch, and sank quickly into a disturbed slumber. 
 
 It was not long before from a small closet, a man 
 
, FROM ■WESTERN WOODS.. 143 
 
 crept out and stood in the rooiti, his eyes burning with 
 malice, as he regarded for a moment the sleeping 
 conspirator. 
 
 " Poor fool ! " he said, with a bitter sneer, " it is 
 dangerous to trample even a serpent under your 
 haughty heel. One enemy can rival ten million 
 friends, sometimes ; and an ill-used servant can take a 
 world from the hand of his master. Ha! a third of 
 the Republic will be yours when you awake ! " and 
 gathering up the manuscripts which were scattered 
 over the table, he stole from the room. 
 
 Yet this man was only a hateful lackey, whom Ver- 
 non had angered by some little word or deed. 
 
 And while the conspirator slept on his costly couch, 
 dreaming of coming glory, the Ughtning fingers of the 
 telegraph were deciphering to the astonished great 
 men at the seat of government, the daring and sldllfiil 
 plot which his mighty brain had fashioned and nearly 
 consummated. 
 
 " Maud ! do you love me ? " 
 
 There was a breathless silence. 
 
 "Maud do you love me? me, alone — destitute of 
 power, and splendor, a wanderer, an outcast, would 
 you love me still? Speak, quick! this is the hour to 
 try vour soul." 
 
144 FRE8H LEAVES 
 
 The speaker was Vernon Mytalena, who had burst 
 into the apartment where she sat sweeping a golden 
 lyre with her jeweled fingers, and sank at her feet. 
 His face was very pale, his eyes burning, his brow 
 contracted with an expression of doubt and agony. 
 
 Maud started, and the bright crimson died away 
 from her cheeks at his strange manner, and pallid face. 
 
 " That is a strange question to ask of me, is it not ? 
 you frighten me, you seem so eaxnest," she said with 
 an attempt to smUe, as a quick presentiment of evil 
 rushed over her, 
 
 "This is no time to trifle, Maud — what I must 
 know is, if you love me!" — and flinging his arm around 
 her waist, he drew her down toward him, and looked 
 into her face with his burning, intense eyes. " Maud ! " 
 he continued in a low, distinct tone, "all is lost — 
 friends, fortune, power — I must flee — even now the 
 officers are in pursuit of me. It was for 7jou I grasped 
 so high, and will you not share the fall with me ? " 
 
 The young girl made no reply. The color had all 
 died away from her beautiful marble face ; there was 
 a great struggle in her bosom. 
 
 " Every instant that I linger, Maud, perils my life. 
 I have but one chance of escape — there is a passage 
 leading from our palace, under the round, and open- 
 ing into a cave upon the ocean shore, There is a 
 small vessel there that I provided for tbis emergency. 
 
TROM WESTERN WOODS. 145 
 
 There are provisions, and water, and a few men to 
 man it — we will flee to some remote nook, till the 
 tide of fortune again bears me back to the splendor I 
 now leave. Will you go ?" 
 
 The beautiful girl turned away her eyes from that 
 pallid and painfully disturbed face. Love and ambi- 
 tion struggled in her proud heart Where were her 
 queenly dreams of fame and glory — where her glit- 
 tering crown — where the worshipers at her shrine 
 of beauty? Could she find aU these in the lonely 
 spot to which they would flee ? — ^with only that one 
 disappointed man to admire, and flatter, and love 
 her — ^with no whispered adulation to charm her ear — 
 no eyes to droop before her eloquent scorn. Then 
 she thought of her mother — "She would bless me 
 for clinging to him in the time of desolation," her 
 heart murmured to itself. 
 
 " Do you not hear the tread of many feet about 
 our palace — do you not hear the tutault in the rooms 
 below? there is but one instant for you to speak!" 
 
 The excited man held both her hands with a grasp 
 that almost crushed them, and his burning eyes watch- 
 ed her quivering lips 
 
 " No — ^no — ^I cannot go ! " she murmured at last, 
 as the tumult below grew louder and more loud. 
 
 One deep groan burst from the breast of the unhap- 
 py conspirator, and, flinging her hand from him ho 
 
146 FBKSH LEAVES 
 
 strode to the door. Maud summoned courage to look 
 at his face ; it was as proud as in its most glorious 
 scenes of triumph, and a thousand times more grand 
 in its defiance of despair. He flung open the door 
 leading into a long passage and, as he passed through, 
 Maud fell fainting upon his bosom, with her feeble 
 arms clasping his neck. 
 
 "Forgive, forgive! I could not live without j'ou — 
 death, or poverty, or despair, I share it with you," 
 she murmured, as her eyes closed in insensibility. 
 
 Lifting her in his arms like a httle child, he pressed 
 one passionate kiss upon her forehead, and fled with 
 her along the dark passage and down a flight of steps, 
 and again through a damp and midnight vault, on, 
 on, tUl the sound of surging waves smote faintly on 
 his ear. 
 
 In another moment, he stood in a dim cave, and 
 the ocean lay at his feet, flashing and foaming against 
 the sharp rock. A little vessel lay dreamily in the 
 dim light upon the deep water close to this rock, and 
 a dozen men were rowing silently about, filling casks 
 with water from a gushing spring, and stowing away 
 boxes of provisions in then- small ship. They gave a 
 low huzza when their leader appeai-ed. 
 
 "We feared they had prevented your coming," 
 6aid one. 
 
 " No — no — my men, I am safe ; and, if you get 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 14? 
 
 me from tMs place unharmed, there is a brave box 
 of glittering gold for you, stow'ed away in yonder 
 nook," said Vernon, pointing to a recess in the cave, 
 as he sat down by the spring and bathed the fair 
 forehead of the young girl in the cool water, and 
 smoothed back the dark tresses that had fallen from 
 the gold network which chained them. 
 
 "And a poor lady is to go with him; how sweet 
 she is," they murmured to each other, as they .stole 
 glances of reverential admiration at her beautiful face. 
 
 When the light and life came back to the deep eyes 
 of Maud, instead of a lofty palace, with luxury, and 
 magnificence, and pomp, she found herself lying on 
 a heap of rude cushions, her head supported on the 
 bosom of her lover, and only the humble vessel for a 
 home, and rocks and waves for the only surroundings, 
 in the place of fretted domes, and carpets rich and 
 soft 
 
 " My poor — poor Maud ! " moaned the wretched 
 man. 
 
 " I am happy here," was her low reply, as she 
 nestled her pale face closer to his bosom; but she 
 sighed as her glance fell upon the jewels and silken 
 attire that glittered around her form 
 
 The day was fast deepening into twilight, and, un- 
 der cover of the night, they were to put out from 
 their hiding-place, and trust themselves, in their frail 
 
148 FftESH LEAVES 
 
 bark, to the mercies of the sea. The twilight deep^ 
 ened into intense mrkness, as Vernon and Maud sat 
 together awaiting their fate. There were no stars 
 visible, and the sailors muttered to themselves that 
 there would be a storm. But the box of gold was 
 a greater matter with them than the fear of death, 
 and they went bravely to work, and the vessel was 
 soon gliding over the waves. 
 
 It was not long tiU the wind began to moan, and 
 the sails to shiver, and the waves to murmur impa- 
 tiently. The night deepened and the storm grew 
 wilder; sharp flashes of lightning revealed the sea, 
 glittering with foam and tossing terribly. Maud clung 
 in mute terror to the bosom of her lover; one of his 
 strong arms circled her waist, and the other clasped 
 tight the mast, to prevent the blast from lifting them 
 into the sea. 
 
 And the flashes of lightning grew more vivid and 
 frequent, and the thunder muttered, and the wind 
 shrieked, and the waves moaned. Though the storm 
 was grand beyond expression, there was nothing in 
 it so sublimely beautiful as the two forms who stood 
 revealed in the constant gleams of light. The strong, 
 great nature of the conspirator, perverted and dark- 
 ened as its glory had been, now shone most grandly 
 in this hour of fear and danger. His noble face was 
 almost inspired with its look of calm courage, and 
 
FROM WBSTEEN WOODS. 149 
 
 almost stem contempt of fear; softeaed into beauty by 
 the tenderness with which he looked upon the young 
 creature, whose pleading, eloquent eyes rested upon 
 his face, to read there whether to hope or despair. 
 The wild blast fluttered her silken robe, and her long 
 hair streamed like a black banner around her slight 
 form ; her jeweled hands, and arms, and forehead 
 flashed with a mocking brilliancy, as if they laughed 
 at the terror of the scene. 
 
 The vessel shuddered and staggered, and again 
 leaped boldly from wave to wave. As the storm 
 grew more terrible, the lovers clung closer to each 
 other. One moment they stood heart to heart and 
 lip to lip — the next they were riven apart for ever, 
 and were gasping in the furious wave that, sweeping 
 over their little vessel, carried all its crew to destruc- 
 tion. A flash of light revealed to Vernon the bright 
 form of the young girl sinking in the angry sea; he 
 had one glance at her white face ; he heard her 
 shriek his name in a sharp tone of agony, and the 
 next moment all was dark. The vessel, the stem 
 men, the beautiful girl, were gone for ever. 
 
 Oh! that was a horrible, horrible night to Vernon 
 Mytalena. He co'idd not drown! On and on he was 
 borne by the rushing waves — he sank — he rose — he 
 struggled — he gasped — he suffocated — yet still he 
 could HOt drown ! 
 
150 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 The storm went by; the moon came out and looked 
 down upon the tired ocean, whose bosom yet heaved 
 as if the breath came hard and heavily, — she smiled 
 upon the waves, and they answered back her smile. 
 Yet still the form of that strange man floated on the 
 glittering deep. The wildest thought cannot reach 
 to the extremity of his suflfering through those dread- 
 ful hours. Once more he knew himself. The man 
 of twenty centuries knew himself/ The fearful scene 
 of the crucifixion of Christ; the three hours of dark- 
 ness and terror that followed, when the vail of the 
 temple was rent in twain ; his first great anguish of 
 remorse; the perishiag away of his beloved kindred; 
 the fearful plagues he had brought upon mankind; 
 the heavy, iron, slow-rolling years that had passed 
 over him ; his prayer for a short respite ; the manner 
 in which it was granted; the wearisome future; oh! 
 how horrible was that night! 
 
 His Miriam floated in the air above, with her pure 
 eyes sorrowfully fixed upon his face, as she circled 
 above him in shining robes and disappeared among 
 the stars ; his May paled and pined away before him, 
 and sank into the sea; his Maud's death-shriek rang 
 through his brain, and he saw her face on every 
 passing wave. 
 
 Then the voice of th& Serpent was once more in 
 his ear — 
 
FROM WSSTEBN tVOODB. 151 
 
 "The respite thou didst plead for, I have given 
 thee; and, in return, the work I trusted thee to per- 
 form thou hast well done. The seeds of idleness, 
 and luxury, and death, thou hast planted, and the har- 
 vest shall be rich. Eejoice ! for it hath shortened the 
 days of thy probation — it hath hurried the great 
 reward of my followers. Ha! ha! my own power is 
 shortly to be chained for a thousand years, and did 
 I not well to multiply my works in good season, by 
 making thee my friend and servant! Ha! ha! thou 
 hast done nobly, and goodly fruit shaU spring from 
 the seeds thou hast planted — anarohy, and treason, 
 and war — splendor, efiieminaey, and guilt — O, Sodom 
 and Gomorrah — O, Tyre and Sidon, blush with 
 shame! behold, there shall a greater arise than ye — 
 ' it shall be more tolerable for ye in the day of judg- 
 ment ' — ^ye will not be Aiine so entirely. What! art 
 thou not grateful for thy long respite ?— ^ art thou not 
 glad that I command thee ? Yet will I promise thee 
 that fire, earth, air, and water shall harm thee not, 
 that thou shalt still be saved for thy mission — thou 
 wilt have a few years yet to grow old. Farewell ! a 
 few times more will we meet I hear my friends in 
 the deep sea laughing at our meeting — they rejoice 
 with those who rejoice — ha! ha!" 
 
 And again, from away down in the ocean's depths, 
 the Wanderer heard that hateful laugh ringing up 
 
152 FBSSH LEAVES 
 
 through the waves with its terrible "ha! ha! ha!" 
 And when the sea left him, at last, lying faint and 
 weary upon the burning sands, surely never one day 
 so fearful a change had wrought in the destinies of 
 mortal man. His empire was 4 ruin — his vast riches 
 had passed away — his bride was in the deep — two 
 thousand years was on his heart — a curse was on his 
 head — the splendor and glory of his hopes was a 
 dream — his respite was a mockery ! Slowly he lifted 
 his fainting form from the barren shore, and com- 
 menced again his weary wanderings, murmuring, in 
 a broken voice, with head bowed upon his breast — 
 " Surely the great God will soon be merciful I" 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 153 
 
 THE SILVER LUTE: 
 
 THE GIPSY SING-EE. 
 
 AMEKRT party were gathered round the tall May- 
 pole, which, decked with flower garlands and 
 streaming with gay ribbons, arose from the center of 
 the Yillage green. Happy swains were there, con- 
 tented for the while but to gaze upon the group 
 of buxom, rosy-cheeked maidens, who were busy 
 wreathing coronets for their May Queen. Bursts of 
 laughter, and strains of lively music, rang out upon 
 the air, fragrant with the perfume of early blossoms. 
 Gladness sat upon erery youthful brow, and hap- 
 piness upon each red and smiling lip; while the 
 furtive and tell-tale glances which stole from the 
 bright eyes of the blushing maidens, told much to 
 embolden the bashful swains, who dared not breath 
 
154 FBBSH LXATS 
 
 the illy-concealed secret, which look am me unwit- 
 tingly betrayed. 
 
 The last rays of the departing sun streamed upon 
 the festive scene; the brightest, perhaps, in the 
 whole of merry England, which is not now as it was 
 then. For England then was " merrie England;" 
 when the free and hardy outlaws roamed through 
 the depths of dark forests ; when the barons regaled 
 their honest peasantry with staunch old ale and good 
 substantial beef; and when the world boasted not 
 another such a race as were the hardy subjects of 
 "Queen Bess." 
 
 A roving horde of Gipsies were now upon the 
 green, a short distance from the revelers, throwing 
 their tambourines, jingling their silver bells, and 
 dancing and singing to the great annoyance of those 
 villagers who were not engaged around the May-pole. 
 
 A little apart from the rest, was a Gipsy woman, 
 apparently some twenty-eight or thirty years of age, 
 though she might have been younger. A short 
 scarlet cloak, depending from her shoulder, together 
 with a bright purple handkerchief, twisted around her 
 head, gave her a singularly wild and fantastic appear- 
 ance. She was a very handsome woman, -her dark 
 though clear complexion suiting well her brilliant eyes 
 and raven hair. 
 
 Her form was stately, and there was an expression 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 155 
 
 of pride on her still beautiful lip. She held & alver 
 lute, of rare and exquisite workmanship, and the 
 fingers were taper and small, that wandered amcmg 
 the chords, as she sung a plaintive melody in a low 
 and touchingly' sweet voice. 
 
 Her only listener was a child, about six years of 
 age, habited as a peasant, though her deUcate form 
 and sweet intellectual face, might well belie her 
 humble garb. The song of the Gipsy woman seem- 
 ed to touch a strange chord in her heart, for her. 
 bright lips were parted with the intensenesa of feel- 
 ing, and the light of some new enthusiasm was in 
 the large, languishing eyes, which were cast upon 
 the ground, as a pearly tear broke from the long 
 kshes which shaded them. The woman too, seemed 
 agitated; but she still continued her low, sad melody 
 till she saw that the feelings of the chUd were wrought 
 to the highest pitch of excitement, when, suddenly 
 ceasing, she said, in tones of winning softness: 
 
 " Come with me, sweet one, and I will always sing 
 to you, and this too, shall be yours, all your own;" 
 and she pointed to the lute which she held. 
 
 The child looked wonderingly upon the speakei^ 
 who wag smiling sweetly, though in her restless eye 
 the' deepest anxiety was depicted, and then turned 
 her gaze wistfully upon the lute, whose notes had 
 so enchanted her. 
 
156 TRESH LEAVES 
 
 "Isodene! Isodene! hast thou not ■well nigh for- 
 gotten thy high duties?" and half a dozen smiling 
 maidens approached and placed in the hands of the 
 child the coronet of flowers which she was to bin(? 
 on the brow of the May Queen. 
 
 The chUd turned away reluctantly and joined the 
 gay group, which in a moment more were dancing 
 merrily upon the bright green sward. 
 
 " Isodene ! " repeated the woman slowly and mus- 
 ingly; "yes, yes, it must be so." Placing her hand 
 upon her brow, she remained for a few moments in 
 deep thought; then arising, she approached a group 
 of peasantry who were watching the progi-ess of the 
 dance, and said, 
 
 "Can any one tell me who is yon dark-eyed little 
 lass, whom they call Isodene ? " 
 
 " Aye, that we can," responded one of their number. 
 " She is the child of our neighbour Leinfin, -and his 
 dame Margary. A sweeter, kinder little angel never 
 lived ; and right proud they are of her, though some 
 do not stop to say that she is no kith nor kin of theirs. 
 And well they might, for those dainty limbs and fairy 
 motions become not lowly blood like ours." 
 
 The Gipsy woman appeared satisfied, and- turning 
 away, resumed her seat upon the smooth, rich turf, 
 gazing hstlessly upon the blithsome group of revelers 
 who thronged around the May-pole. 
 
TROM WESTERN WOODS. 157 
 
 With the first dawn of light, the Gipsy horde 
 were on their way, leaving the village green still and 
 alone, which the day before teemed with a glad and 
 noisy throng. But the strange woman with the lute, 
 lingered behind. Noon came, and she was still in 
 the village, wandering around, though she never lost* 
 sight of the low-roofed cottage where dwelt Isodene. 
 
 When at length old Leinfin and his wife left with 
 their little stock of thread and vegetables, which they 
 daily disposed of farther up the village, the Gipsy 
 woman approached the cottage, which was left in the 
 care of little Isodene, and beckoning her to her, said, 
 
 " Come, pretty one, and sit beneath this tree, whilst 
 I sing again to you. " 
 
 The child approached the sin^ng woman, and smil- 
 ed as she obeyed, while the Gipsy, touching the lute 
 first sang a wild, broken Gipsy song. When she had 
 finished, she placed her arm around the child, and 
 drawing her towards her, asked, 
 
 " Are you fond of music, sweet one ? " 
 
 "Oh! very, very,'' answered she enthusiastically; 
 " I wish you would sing again the song that you sung 
 yesterday ; it seems to me as if I had heard it before, 
 a long time ago, in a dream, or sometime — " 
 
 " Are your parents kind to you ? " continued the 
 woman. 
 
 "Oh yes! but sometimes they are very harsh, and 
 
1S8 FRESH LSAVES 
 
 say that I am not their daughter; afterward they 
 are pleasant again, and bid me not repeat what they 
 said while they were angry. I told you, because I 
 love you.'' 
 
 "Well dear, if you love me, are you not willing 
 to go with me ? You shall have fine clothes and 
 see fine countries, and I will always be very kind to 
 you, and teach you to play upon the lute. Will 
 you not go?" 
 
 " I love you very much, and I love the pretty lute ; 
 but I cannot leave my parents." 
 
 Again the slender fingers of the Gipsy woman 
 touched the lute, and a low and witchingly sweet pre- 
 lude rose upon the quiet air. Then the voice of the 
 player mingled with the exquiate strains, and swelled 
 into a fuller tone of harmony, as the broken words 
 of a childish melody, with wMch mothers are wont 
 to quiet their children, rose upon the air. As she 
 sang, the Gipsy's eye fell upon the little Isodene, 
 who had slid from her embrace, and now lay crouch- 
 ed at her feet, with quivering lip and tearful eye, 
 her whole soul wrapped in the music spell which 
 chained her senses. 
 
 Stooping down, she smoothed the ringlets from 
 the fair brow of the child, as she whispered, 
 
 " Will you go with me ? " 
 
 « I cannot leave my parents," was the answer. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 159 
 
 A tear stood in the Gipsy's eye, and her hand 
 and voice trembled, as she sang a moumful strain, 
 as of a mother grieving for her lost child. It seem- 
 ed to operate with magic effect upon the heart of 
 little Isodene, who arose, and placing her hand in that 
 of the woman, looked up confidingly, as she said 
 
 " I will go with you, and you shall be my mother." 
 
 " Haste, then, sweet one, before your parents re- 
 turn ; and remember, you must not be called Isodene, 
 but ZaUa, the Gipsy's daughter." 
 
 " And may I not call you mother, and may not 
 this pretty lute be mine ? " said the chUd eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, yes, every thing you wish. But we must haste 
 from here before your parents return," was the reply. 
 
 It was not without many tears, however, that little 
 Isodene, now, Zaila, left for ever the home of her 
 childhood; but she was too young to grieve long, 
 and was soon laughing and chatting merrily, as nhe 
 ran by the side of her new-found friend. Never 
 having been far from the coll«{»'j of her p.^^eBts, 
 every tiling she beheld was full of interest, and it was 
 with childish delight and eagerness, that she chased 
 the gay butterflies, or plucked the fair flowers which 
 brightened her patL Occupied with every thing 
 around, she felt not the fatigue of her long walk, till 
 twilight appeared, and her conductress still journey- 
 ed on. As the darkness increased, she crept closer 
 
160 FRBSH LEAVES 
 
 to the side of the Gipsy, and clasping her hand tighter, 
 said, 
 
 " Dear mother, I am very tired and lonely ; I ■wish 
 we could be there now ; do n't you ? " 
 "Be where, child?" 
 
 " To our new home in the green woods, where 
 every thing is pretty." 
 
 " WeU, sweet one, we soon shall be," replied the 
 Gipsy; but finding that sleep was overpowering the 
 wearied child, she took her in her arms, where she 
 soon fell into a gentle slumber. 
 
 We will not attempt to picture the grief of old Lein- 
 fin and his wife, when search for their child proved 
 unavailing; nor how the memory of the sweet and 
 gentle littie Isodene lingered in the hearts of the hon- 
 est villagers, but follow her new fortimes as those of 
 Zaila the Gipsy. 
 
 When Zaila awoke, she found herself lying upon a 
 pallet spread on the gTOund, over which was erected 
 a tent to shield her from the night dew. The tears 
 came into her eyes at the thought of the pleasant home 
 she had forsaken; but the remembrance of the lute 
 and kind face of her Gipsy mother, soon banished 
 them, and creeping to the opening of the tent, where 
 she heard voices, looked out. Mute with wonder, she 
 gTzed upon the curious and mixed up scene before 
 V.r. The whole band of Gipsies which she had seen 
 
FROM WliSTBElT WOODS. 161 
 
 upon the green the day before, were collected there in 
 the dim forest Large fires were casting their flicker- 
 ing light around; and, while some of the women 
 were busy preparing for a feast the many delicacies 
 which they had stolen from the country roundabout, 
 the rest of the party were drinking, singing, dancing, 
 and indulging in every species of boisterous mirth. 
 The child shrank back, for their rude revelry, and 
 wild, imcouth looks frightened her, and called in a 
 Jow, half-fearful tone, for her mother. 
 
 In a moment the watchful Gipsy was by her side, 
 soothing her with kind words, and, having first brought 
 to her a plate of dainty food, she folded her arms 
 about her, and lay down to sleep. 
 
 When Zsdla next awoke, the sun was shining in 
 cheerily at the tent door. Her mother had arisen, 
 and was busy preparing a suit of Gipsy apparel for 
 her httle charge. When she had attired her in these, 
 and stained her skin of a darker hue with the juice of 
 a nut which she carried with her, the Gipsy led Zaila 
 to the banks of a little lake near which they were en- 
 camped, and bade her view herself in its clear depths. 
 " And how does my sweet daughter Hke her Gipsy 
 looks ? " said the waman, as she smoothed back the 
 silken ringlets from Zaila's brow, and tied a large 
 straw hat upon her head, bidding her run and gather 
 flowers to form a wreath for it. 
 
162 FRESH LKAVEa 
 
 The scenery around was wild and beautiful, and 
 the heart of tlie child leaped for joy as she bounded 
 down into the green hoUow to pluck the sweet blos- 
 soms, upon which the dew was yet glistening. 
 
 It was strange with what a yearning tenderness 
 and fond anxiety, the Gipsy woman watched over the 
 child of her adoption; how she studied each look, and 
 motion with most affectionate solicitude, and shielded 
 her from every blight which might fall upon her. 
 Not a rude jest or coarse remark, did she ever allow 
 to be uttered in the presence of the gentle child, who 
 was looked upon as a visitant angel, by the wild and 
 uncultivated creatures who formed the tribe. Nor 
 was the lute woman, as they called her, regarded 
 with less veneration, her word being law, and the 
 same reverence being paid to her that they would pay 
 to a superior being. Zaila was learned to be an ar- 
 dent admirer of nature, for the Gipsy woman never 
 failed to point out each half-hidden beauty, and lovely 
 tint of the surpassingly beautiful scenes through which 
 they daily passed. The music of the birds and trees 
 and breezes, filled her heart with delight, and she 
 never tired of gazing upon the softened loveliness of 
 meadow and brook, or the lofty grandeur of rocks, 
 cataracts, and towering mountains. Thus did she 
 grow up with a warm and imaginative heart; the 
 most delicate fancy and finest sensibility ; a pure and 
 
TEOM WESTERN -WOODS. 163 
 
 lovely being, full of gentle sympathies and kindly 
 impulses. 
 
 The passion for music which she had shown when 
 she first heard the song of her she now called mother, 
 had grown into perfect enthusiasm. Assisted by the 
 instruction of her mother, she was soon able to call 
 forth the most soft and exquisite strains from the lute, 
 which was now resigned to her. She also possessed 
 an imcommonly sweet voice, which daily cultivation 
 had brought to a still greater degree of perfection. 
 
 As the graces of ZaUa's mind, so did those of her 
 person each day more fuUy develop, tiU, at length, 
 when she reached the years of maidenhood, a creature 
 of more perfect loveliness could scarcely be imagined. 
 
 Always attired in some wild yet tasteful way, with 
 her long raven tresses wreathed with flowers, and her 
 lute in her hand, she looked like some sylph of the 
 wildwood come to weave her spell of enchantment 
 and vanish. Her eyes, of the darkest possible hue, 
 were large and languishingly soft; all the depth and 
 tenderness of her nature beaming through the silken 
 lashes which shaded them, and laid upon the rich 
 color of her cheek, as the dark fringe of a pearl-cloud 
 canopy lays upon the glowing bosom of sunset Her 
 beautifully-formed mouth, ever wreathed with pride 
 or tenderness, gave a spirited expression to tlie sweet 
 repose of her classic features. Hands and feet of 
 
164 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 fairy delicacy belonged to a slight but exqmsit'ely-pi-o 
 portioned form, whiob bent into a thousand graceful 
 attitudes, with the play of her fancy, as the gentle wUd- 
 flower bends to the breath of the evening zephyrs. 
 
 Proud, indeed, was the smile in the eye of the 
 mother, as she gazed upon this child of her adoption, 
 whose beauty and goodness well repaid her devoted 
 and idolizing love. Wandering, as they were, amid 
 new and strange scenes, ZaUa gradually forgot those 
 of her early childhood, or if ever a dim recollection 
 of the past came upon her mind, the suggestion of 
 her parent, that it was some half-remembered dream 
 of other days, satisfied her. 
 
 The fame of the wondrous loveliness and talent 
 of the young Gipsy singer had spread over half of 
 Europe ; the door of prince and peasant was willingly 
 thrown open to her. 
 
 In one of their rambles through England, the Gipsy 
 horde, to which Zaila was attached, encamped near 
 one of the most beautiful and stately castles in the 
 country. A message was sent for the singer and her 
 lute to appear at the castle. Against her usual cus- 
 tom, Zaila's mother refused to accompany her, and 
 not till she heard that the lord of the castle was 
 absent, would she approach. 
 
 When they arrived, they were shown from the 
 grand entrance-hall into an elegant apartment fitted 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 165 
 
 up as a lady's boudoir. Fountains, whose showers 
 of snow-wreathed spray gave a deKcious coolness to 
 the air ; exotics, of the most beautiful foims and 
 brilliant colors; rare singing birds of gorgeous plu- 
 mage ; books, in richly bound and glittering vellum ; 
 everything in the most splendid and costly profusion, 
 served to make it a little paradise of luxury. 
 
 Before the entrance of those whom they were to 
 entertain, the Gipsy took the lute from Zaila's hand, 
 and sang the same plaintive melody that won the 
 heart of little Isodene, now her child. While she 
 was singing, Zaila seated herself upon an ottoman 
 at her feet, and, with her hand upon her brow, re- 
 mained in deep thought. When the song was fin- 
 ished, she looked ' up into her mother's face — 
 
 " Mother," said she, " it must be a strange fancy of 
 mine, but there comes upon my memory, like the vis- 
 ion of a dream, the remembrance of a scene like this; 
 with a fond, and tender, and beautiful being hanging 
 over me, humming the very words which you have 
 just concluded. And her face was like yours, dear 
 mother, only younger and lovelier; there was a tall, 
 noble-looking man, too, who ever had kind words and 
 smiles for you and me. It is very strange, is it not ? " 
 
 " Pooh! child, it is only your romantic dreamings; 
 
 you must not indulge in them," sjud the woman, but 
 
 her face was pale and agitated. 
 
 11 
 
166 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 " But mother — " here Zaila was interrupted by the 
 entrance of a lovely girl, a fitting occupant for the 
 splendid apartment which seemed to be her home. 
 
 " Shall I sing of love or romance, fair lady ?," said 
 Zaila, running her finger lightly over her lute-strings. 
 
 " It were the only subject worthy our attention ; for 
 war's sounding themes better befit the hardier sex," 
 said the lady, smiling. 
 
 And Zaila sung a ballad, entitled " Love and Beau- 
 ty," in which she adroitly mingled a few compliments 
 to the listener. 
 
 With expressions of admiration at the perfection of 
 the singer in her art, the lady drew a ring from her 
 finger, and placed it upon Zaila's, childishly toying 
 with the small hand which was held out to her. 
 
 " Are you the wife of Count Lelingford, the lord 
 of this castle ? " said the Gipsy, as they were about 
 withdrawing. 
 
 This was said in a careless tone, but there was a 
 wild anxiety in the look of the speaker, that attracted 
 the attention of the lady as she replied, " that she was 
 only his neice." 
 
 The Gipsy moved away, muttering, " Not yet, not 
 yet, but the time shall come — " and, suddenly check- 
 ing herself, she turned, with a forced smUe, to the 
 lady, apologizing for her inquisitiveness. 
 
 A short time after this, as their encampment was 
 
FKOM WESTERN WOODS. 167 
 
 fixed on the border of a forest, Zaila took her lute 
 to wander as was her wont, in search of flowers. At- 
 tracted by the beauty of the scenery, she wandered 
 on, heedless of the distance, till suddenly she emerged 
 into a scene of such wild loveliness, as chained her 
 spellbound to the spot On one side, a huge mass of 
 black, towering rocks rose up against the bright, blue 
 sky, and, from their topmost heights, there dashed a 
 roaring cataract, which, leaping from crag to crag, 
 whirled round and round as it reached the bottom, 
 dashing the feathery spray high in the air, and then 
 gUded smoothly on into the bosom of a sUveiy stream 
 which wound through a little glen, whose rich turf 
 was spotted with wild flowers. The bright sun, which 
 was just peeping out from beneath a dark cloud in 
 the western horizon, threw his glittering beams upon 
 the rock, changing the tumbling waters and white 
 spray into a thousand varying tints of rainbow splen- 
 dor. But there was one object, in that wild and beau- 
 tiful scene, that Zaila noticed not Concealed from 
 sight by a huge tree, stood a young courtier, attired 
 as a hunter, with his bow and arrow flung upon ths 
 ground, and his faithful dog lying at his feet. He, 
 too, had been admiring the landscape, but, when his 
 eye fell upon the lovely Gipsy, all else was forgotten, 
 With hands clasped in delight and her red Hps parted, 
 she stood gazing upon the briUiant scene. 
 
168 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Her hat was off and hanging on her arm, and her 
 Tuiconfined tresses floated like a shadowy vail around 
 her slight figure, some of them even kissing the dainty 
 foot, half buried in the bright, green turf. The warm 
 sunset heightened the bright vermilion of her cheek, 
 and the soft sparkle of her liquid eye, while nothing 
 could equal the attitude of untaught grace in which 
 she stood. 
 
 But suddenly was Zaila's rapt contemplation broken 
 in upon, for an enormous wild boar came bounding 
 through a neighboring thicket, and rushed directly to- 
 ward her. A single shriek broke from her lips, and, 
 dropping lute and flowers, she stood still with afiright, 
 while the raging animal neared her at each frantic 
 bound. Pale and motionless as a statue, her feelings 
 were too powerfully excited to allow her to seek re- 
 lief in insensibility or flight. An age seemed to be 
 condensed in the moment that elapsed, before an ar- 
 row, sent with unerring aim, pierced the heart of the 
 monster, and laid him dead upon the ground. In a 
 few moments, and recovering from her fright, she 
 was gathering up her fallen flowers, when the young 
 hunter presented himself before her. 
 
 "And is it to you. Sir Knight of the Bow and 
 Arrow, that I am indebted for my gallant rescue ? " 
 she said, gracefully presenting her hand in token of 
 her gratitude. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 169 
 
 " Happy, indeed, am I," replied he, removing his 
 plumed cap, " if my poor hand has been of any ser- 
 vice to such a beautiful maiden as thou; and shall 
 pay a due meed of thanks to that kind fortime which 
 has procured a tribute of gratitude from such sweet 
 lips. But, surely, thou wouldst have been taken for 
 the goddess of this fair spot, with silver lute and 
 flower-garlands, had not thy shriek betrayed that 
 thou wert of mortal mould." 
 
 " Nay, sir Knight, no sylph of the wildwood, 
 but plain Zaila, the Gipsy singer. Now, who art 
 thou?" 
 
 " Henry, the Hunter of the Forest," he said, smil- 
 ing at her simplicity; " but, if thou art the wondrous 
 Gipsy singer, I have a request to make." 
 
 " Oh! a song of course," said ZaUa, and, seating 
 herself at the foot of a gnarled and twisted oak, she 
 threw off her hat and tuned the lute. 
 
 As strain after strain of the sweet gushing melody 
 quivered among the strings, and, rising, was echoed 
 by tree and rock, mingling with the dash of the cat- 
 aract and murmur of the brook, she forgot time, and 
 place, and listener, in the delight of her theme. 
 
 And there stood the young hunter, rapt as was ehe^ 
 in gazing upon the face of the beautiful enthusiast — in 
 whose cheek the color was brightening, as the silken 
 lashes rested tremblingly upon its rich velvet, or, 
 
170 FRESH LKATES 
 
 raising, revealed the liquid light of the eye, 'whoso 
 earnest gaze seemed asking a new chord of melody 
 from the music choirs of heaven. 
 
 As she arose from her seat on the turf, ZaUa's eye 
 encountered the respectful but admiring gaze of the 
 hunter, and a blush suflFused her brow and bosom, 
 and her glance sought the ground, as she strove to 
 conceal her embarrassment, by dallying with the rib- 
 bon on her hat 
 
 " The slender fingers of many a high-bom dame 
 and noble lady have I seen wandering among the 
 lute-strings; but no hand was so delicate as thine, 
 nor strains so divinely sweet," he said, in tones of 
 undisguised admiration. 
 
 Used, as she was, to praise and flattery, his tones 
 thrilled her heart with new and undefined emotions, 
 and, in her agitation, she dropped her hat at his feet 
 In a moment, he was on his knee before her, present- 
 ing it to her ; but not till he had disengaged the rib- 
 bon which bound it, and, with her flowers, placed them 
 in his bosom. This action brought all Zaila's self-pos- 
 session to her aid, and, with flashing eye and haughty 
 tone, she demanded that which he had taken. 
 
 " Nay, fair maiden, I meant thee no offence ; but 
 Burely I shall be compelled, to disbelieve thy profes- 
 Bion of gratitude, if thou dost still refuse so slight a 
 token of remembrance to one who loves thee wholly 
 
FROM WBSTBKN WOODS. I7l 
 
 For, here on my bended knees, I swear that no other 
 image than — " 
 
 He ceased, for she, to whom he was pouring forth 
 his ardent vows, was bounding lightly away, gaily 
 singing — 
 
 " I 'm a merry, merry Gipsy lass. 
 And no other would I be. 
 Nor king, nor titled courtier. 
 Shall breathe his tows to me." 
 
 So, taking his bows and arrows, he departed, to 
 dream of the lovely enchantress who had woven her 
 spell around the chain of his destiny. 
 
 But, though Zaila thus lightly fled from the vows 
 of the handsome and noble-looking courder, yet she 
 could not so easily cast his image from her mind ; for 
 hers was a heart overflowing with the wealth of young 
 and ardent affections, and which could not be content- 
 ed with the love of a parent, idolizing though it was. 
 So, it was no wonder that the words and looks of one 
 like him, should open a new fotmtain in her heart, 
 whose pure and holy waters should never cease to 
 gush forth with a sa,d and mournful music. Zaila 
 knew that his rank was far above hers, and thal^ 
 probably, long before this, he had ceased to think 
 of the humble songstress of the grove. Still was the 
 remembrance of him ever clouding the STinshine of 
 her heart, till her soft cheek grew more transparent, 
 
172 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 her fawn-like step less agile, and the languishing light 
 in her dark eye more earnest and tremblingly tearful; 
 yet was she but more spiritually beautiful. At last 
 the sad music which was trembling on her heart- 
 strings formed itself into words, and was breathed 
 from her lips in numbers of pensive and mournful 
 sweetness. Then, indeed, did every heai-t acknowl- 
 edge the wondrous powers of the lovely songstress; 
 but she heeded not their praise, and only longed to 
 be free from their flatteries. 
 
 The Gipsy woman could not but note the sorrow 
 that was preying upon her child; and, when at length 
 she won from the blushing maiden the coufesaon of 
 her love, she replied — 
 
 " Aye, aye, the time will come, when he shall hi 
 proud to claim thee as his bride ! it will not be long 
 till the fulfillment of that for which I have so long 
 suffered." 
 
 Zaila looked with wonder upon her parent as she 
 said this; but she questioned her not, for she felt 
 that her destiny, perhaps, was to be a strange one, 
 and the dim recollection of a thousand long-past in- 
 cidents crowded upon her naind. 
 
 And now there came a message from the queen, 
 requesting Zaila to be present at court, and give a 
 concert to the assembled nobles of the land. Great 
 as was the distinction, Zaila woidd fain have declined 
 
FBOU WESTERN WOODS. 173 
 
 till invitation, had not her mother bade her accept it. 
 With her own hand, her mother attired her for the 
 festival, and, as she fastened the last rich braid of 
 hair in its place, whispered — 
 
 " You wiU not return the same as you are now." 
 Zaila replied not, save by an inquiring glance, and 
 departed with a secret hope of seeing the young hun-* 
 ter who had saved her life. 
 
 The spacious and lofty musician's hall was fiUed 
 with the noblest personages of the land; but there 
 was no haughty " ladie " present, whose proud lip 
 deigned not to bestow a meed of praise upon the 
 youthful songstress, as she timidly entered, tmd was 
 led, with downcast eyes, into the presence of the 
 queen. Never, perhaps, had she looked so exquis- 
 itely lovely, as when she blushingly received the to- 
 ken of the queen's favor, in the shape of a magnificent 
 diamond bracelet, which her majesty clasped with her 
 own hands upon her small wrist. A robe of crimson 
 velvet set ofif her daa-k complexion and graceful form 
 to the utmost advantage; while her raren tresses, 
 which usually fell in rich profusion on her swan-like 
 neck, were parted into glossy braids, and negligently 
 fastened by a gold pin. Her rounded arms were bare, 
 being shaded only by a paU of richly-worked lace, 
 and her tiny foot was thrust into a dainty slipper of 
 
 embroidered satin. 
 8 
 
174 FREBH LSAVES 
 
 When Zaila seated herself, she glanced inquiringlj 
 around in search of a never-to-be-forgotten one ; but 
 the face of the young hunter greeted her not, and, 
 with a feeling of disappointment, she turned to hei 
 lute. If expressions of admiration had not been 
 murmured before, when her slender fingers wandered 
 'among the lute-strings, calling forth the most thrill- 
 ing strains of witching melody, and 'mingling with 
 them the soft, clear tones of her sweet voice, then 
 it was that their power could be traced in the still 
 and scarcely-breathing auditory. But, when voice and 
 lute ceased, a perfect shower of applause, and clap- 
 ping of tiny hands, and throwing of flowers, might 
 have rivaled a like scene in a Parisian theater. 
 
 While Zaila was sLaging, a deep groan sounded 
 through the haU, and a nobleman, who had just en- 
 tered, fell insensible into the arms of his servants, and 
 was borne off. 
 
 In the confusion which followed, ZaDa heard the 
 name of "Count Lelingford" frequently mentioned; 
 but, though it sounded familiar to her, she could not 
 recollect where she had heard ii 
 
 The company had departed from the musician's 
 hall, and Zaila was in one of the suites of rooms be- 
 longing to the maids of honor, who were curiously 
 questioning her, and praising her performance, when 
 a servant entered and said, that the Count Lelingford 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 176 
 
 requested a private interview with the Gipsy singer, 
 who had been performing in the concert halL Full 
 of conjectures, Zaila entered his presence, and the 
 first glance at his face doubled her doubts, for the 
 face seemed as familiar as the name. 
 
 " Thy name ? " said he, as soon as they were alone. 
 
 " Zaila," was the reply. 
 
 " Hast thou any parents ? " 
 
 " I have a mother." 
 
 " And what is her name ? " 
 
 " Our tribe call her the Lute Woman." 
 
 " Thou sayest thou art a Gipsy; wast always one?" 
 
 " 'T is so my parent tells me." 
 
 "Thou canst not then remember of being other 
 than thou art now?" 
 
 " Sometimes there comes a vague remembrance of 
 a quiet village, and lovely cottage home, and of a 
 Gipsy enticing me away with the music of her lute. 
 But my mother says 't is but a dream." 
 
 As Zaila said this, the agitation of the count in- 
 creased to such a degree, that it was with a scarcely- 
 audible voice he asked — 
 
 " And that, then, is all thou knowest of it ? " 
 
 " Some months ago, we were traveling in the north 
 of England, when we paused at a lofty castle. The 
 lord of the domain was absent, but I remember of 
 my mother asking a very lovely lady who invited us 
 
i76 FREBH LEAVES 
 
 there, if she were his wife. I knew that while we 
 were there the place seemed familiar to me, as one 
 which I sometimes dream of as having been the home 
 of my infancy ; and immediately there came upon me 
 the recollection of a beautiful and richly-dressed lady, 
 who hung over me with all a mother's fondness, and 
 of a proud and stately man, who was all kindness to 
 her and me. The moment I beheld your face, the 
 scene at the castle was brought to my mind, for, 
 surely, it is like his who called me daughter. It is 
 very strange that such foolish fancies will present 
 themselves to me ; my parent frowns when I repeat 
 them." 
 
 " Who — where is she — thy mother ? " hurriedly 
 uttered the count. " Pardon me, but was shp ever 
 kind to thee?" 
 
 " My mother, though cold and distant to others, has 
 ever been the kindest and most idolizing of parents, 
 And, though sometimes gloomy and abstracted, yet 
 was she ever gentle to me ; and never did she dispute 
 my wUl save once. That was, that I should attend 
 the concert this evening. In this, she seemed to have 
 some especial object, for she selected my attire, and 
 bade me wear it. Before I left, she opened a small 
 box which I had never before seen, and took from 
 thence this chain and miniature, which she placed 
 around my neck, and this ring upon my finger." 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 177 
 
 " Let me see the ring," said the count 
 
 Zaila drew it from her finger, and handed it to him. 
 It was a plain gold ring, on the inside of which was 
 inscribed the word "Isodene." 
 
 " God of heaven, it is too true ! My wife ! my 
 child ! " and Count Lelingford fell back upon his chair, 
 and would have again sunk into insensibility, had not 
 Zfiila hastily summoned a servant with cordials. 
 
 Upon the restoration of the count, he ordered the 
 servants to withdraw, and, when they were again 
 alone, exclaiming 
 
 " O, Isodene! my own — my long-lost child!" he 
 threw his arms around her, and pressed her to his 
 bosom. 
 
 "Thy child? "said the perplexed and wondering 
 Zaila. 
 
 " Yes, Isodene, 't is true ; thou art my child, and 
 she, thy Gipsy mother, is my wife. Come, sit by me, 
 and I win tell thee alL" 
 
 Mechanically did ZaUa obey, and the count com- 
 menced — 
 
 " I shall not long dwell upon the scenes of my 
 youth. SufiBce it to say, that I was ever haughty 
 and passionate ; the hatred and fear of those school- 
 mates whom I considered below me in wealth or rank, 
 and over whom I delighted to exercise that power 
 which, as a son of a count, I felt myself authorized 
 
178 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 to claim. But, among my classmates, there was one 
 to -whom I was sincerely attached, and whom I felt 
 to be my equal in eveiy respect His name was Ed- 
 ward, the young Duke of Elmainge. When we had 
 finished our education, we set out together on a tour 
 through Europe. The second country which we vis- 
 ited was Spain, and there we became acquainted with 
 the beautiful daughter of one of Spain's proudest 
 nobles. Never, before, had my eyes rested upon so 
 lovely and fascinating a creature as was Isodene, only 
 daughter of Don Elverado, the most powerful noble 
 in the Spanish court. The first time we met was at 
 a masquerade, given by her father; and, before the 
 evening was half over, her beauty and grace had 
 completely captivated me. 
 
 "We met again, and I found that my love was 
 returned. Half phrenzied with joy, I sought her 
 father's consent to our union, but the haughty noble- 
 man gave me a decided negative. This was indeed 
 a damper to our hopes; but, determined that Isodene 
 should be mine, I persuaded her to elope. For the 
 sake of my love, she left her country, home, and 
 friends, taking only her lute, which was the gift of 
 bei dead mother. 
 
 " My friend journeyed on, while I, proud of my 
 beautiful bride, returned home, and spent a season 
 at court, wb'in, my father Laving died, we retired U 
 
FROM WESTBEH WOODS. 1?9 
 
 his countiy-seat It Vas the castle you spoke of as 
 having visited. Here did I and my sweet bride spend 
 four of the happiest years that ever blessed the life 
 of mortals. Surrounded with books, and birds, and 
 flowers, and with her cherished lute, myself, and her 
 infant, for companions, my wife's heart seemed con- 
 stantly thrilling with rapturous delight I, too, was 
 equally happy. Her purity and goodness seemed to 
 have dispelled all my evil disposition, and gave room 
 only for the exhibition of the good qualities which I 
 
 " At length mj' friend returned from foreign coun- 
 tries, and his first act was to seek out the little para- 
 dise of which I had sent him a most glowing descrip- 
 tion. You were then about three years old, and the 
 very picture of your mother. Being warmly wel- 
 comed, my friend prolonged his stay at the castle 
 from weeks to months, till he had almost become 
 one of our little circle. He was always paying the 
 most devoted attention and gallantries to my wife, 
 who received them as coming from her husband's 
 friend, and in that light it was that I also viewed 
 them, firadually did Ehnainge advance hints as to 
 the sincerity of my wife in her professions of devo- 
 tion to me ; and alluding to the favor which «he had 
 shown him previous to our marriage. Finding that I 
 repelled his insinuations with indignadon, he desisted 
 
180 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 for the time; but not till he had aroused not only 
 jealousy toward my wife, but hatred toward him. At 
 length he advanced, seemingly, plausible proofs of the 
 perfidy of her whom I had esteemed as almost an 
 angel, and then, like a coward as he was, he fled from 
 my presence. Improbable as it would have seemed 
 in my calmer moments, I then beUeved that my wife 
 had never loved me, but had wedded me with her 
 affections fixed upon another. 
 
 " In a paroxysm of rage, I sought her apartment, 
 and charged her with perfidy. Terrified at my furi- 
 ous aspect, and horror-struck at the charges made 
 against her, she fell insensible at my feet When 
 she awoke to recollection, she defended herself with 
 all the truth of artless innocence ; but, too enraged to 
 listen to anything, I bade her begone. Now was all 
 the haughtiness of her Spanish blood aroused; and 
 turning proudly, and without a tear, she took her 
 child, and was about to depart; but, determined that 
 she should be fully punished, I snatched you fi-om 
 her arms, and again bade her go. All a mother's 
 tenderness rushed upon her heart, and, for the sake 
 of her child, she deigned to kneel at my feet and beg, 
 with tears and entreaties, for her sweet, her only 
 child — but I was unyielding. She then asked for 
 her lute, which I gave her, and she departed for ever. 
 Determined that the child of one like her shou'd 
 
PROM WBBTEBN WOODS. 181 
 
 never be called my daughter, I had you carried to a 
 peasant, whom I paid Uberally for taMng care of you; 
 hoping that, as his child, you woiild be happier than 
 as heir to misery and rank. Broken-hearted and des- 
 olate, with all my visions of happiness crushed at a 
 blow, I strove, by a Ufe "of gayety and dissipation, to 
 lose the keen sense of my misery. It was not long 
 tiU thoughts of my rashness, in judging my wife thus 
 hastily, forced themselves upon my mind; and, with 
 them came the conviction of her innocence. At thir 
 time, I received word from Elmainge, stating that the 
 whole story which- he had told me was falsehood ; tha*' 
 he had seen and loved the beautiful Isodene; and 
 that, maddened because she preferred me, he had 
 devised this plan to destroy our happiness. When I 
 received this information, I was carried insensible to 
 my bed, and only awoke to such wretchedness as 
 words cannot describe. 
 
 " The image of my gentle, suffering, deserted wife, 
 thrust from her home, her child, and happiness for 
 ever, was always before my mind. I hastened, as 
 soon as I was able to leave my bed, for you, deter- 
 mined at least to do justice to her child. But, as if 
 fortune had deserted me, 4iy daughter had disap- 
 peared but a few days before : supposed to have 
 been stolen by a band of Gipsies. 
 
 " I have never known a peaceful moment since, It 
 
 1? 
 
182 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 was your ^eat resemblance to your mother, that led 
 to this discoFsry this evening. 
 
 "Let us go io yota mother, dear Isodene, even 
 now, and on my kn<)es will I implore forgiveness for 
 my injustice; for I hope, that my sweet child has 
 already forgiven her wretched father." 
 
 Freely did the weeping Isodene, now no longer 
 Zaila, award forgiveness to hsr parent; and, late as it 
 was, they started foi|J*tGipsy camp, in search of the 
 lute woman. The GipJ^were holding their midnight 
 revelry, but her thej^si'i^ looking for, was not there, 
 and, upon inquiring, they found that she had departed 
 some hours previous. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Isodene, bursting into tears, " I now 
 know why it was that she wept, and clung to me so 
 passionately, upon my departure. Poor mother ! I am 
 afraid we shall never see her again." 
 
 Knowing that search would prove unavailing, they 
 turned despairingly away, and Isodene forsook her 
 Gipsy mode of life for ever. 
 
 A month from this time, a brilliant assembly throng- 
 ed Count Leiingford's lordly castle, to celebrate the 
 finding of his lovely daiighter. All the pageantry of 
 gilded wealth, and rank \7as glittering there ; but Iso- 
 dene was not happy ; two hearts, the dearest to her 
 an earth, were yet wanting, and she sat with her small 
 hand upon her bright brow, and tears in her dark 
 
FBOM WESTERN WOODS. 183 
 
 eyes. At this moment her father approached with a 
 yoimg nobleman, and announced Henry, the young 
 Duke of De Mountfort 
 
 Isodeue looked mechanically up ; her cheek turned 
 ashy pale, and, murmuring " Henry," she fell fainting 
 into her father's arms. 
 
 An hour afterward she stood alone by her lover's 
 side, with her hand resting confidently in iis, and with 
 the hat ribbon wound playfully aroimd his waist and 
 fastened to her wrist by the bracelet clasp. 
 
 Her heart was orerflowing with happiness; and 
 when Henry left to answer to the cal\'i|f some feoquet- 
 tish lady, who wished to lead with him the! -dance, 
 Isodene sought the garden, and seating herself by a 
 fountain, whose falling waters filled the air with lulling 
 music, she murmured: 
 
 " Would that my dear mother were here, I should 
 then want nothing to complete my happiness ! " 
 
 Scarcely had she ceased speaking, when a form 
 started up in the moonlight, and the Gipsy was before 
 her. Long and affectionate was. the conference be- 
 tween mother and daughter, and then the woman 
 turned to go. In v^n were all Isodene's tears and 
 pleading; she would have departed, had not the tail 
 form of Count Lelingford arrested her steps. The 
 countenance of the woman changed not, as haughtJly 
 she bade him stand aside. 
 
184 FBESH LiiAVES 
 
 " Nay," said the penitent husband, hurriedly, " -wt 
 till I have made thee all the reparation in my por'jr, 
 for the injuries done thee." 
 
 •Passionately, earnestly, eloquently, did he plead 
 forgiveness for the -wrong he had committed. 
 
 "You plead in vain," said she, coldly. "When, 
 in a moment of passion, because a false and Ij'mg friend 
 had whispered falsehood in your ear, you thrust me 
 from my home, my husband, and my child, did you 
 think I could ever again love you? No! When, 
 from the moment that you won me from my parent's 
 mansion, only to thrust me alone and friendless upon 
 the world, with all the purest and holiest feelings of a 
 woman's heart outraged — from that moment my love 
 was changed to scorn. But I stUl loved my child, and 
 bitter were my moments tiU. three years afterwaj'd, 
 when I recognized my daughter, the descendant of 
 Spain's proudest nobles, in a peasant's garb ; though 
 I rejoiced that she was absent from one, unworthy 
 the name of parent By the influence of a moth- 
 er's face and voice, I drew her from home — resolved 
 that she should be a Gipsy, and know no other 
 parentage. But the knowledge that she loved one 
 of higher rank, and that that was the only way to 
 secure her happiness, decided me to again give her 
 up to one not worthy of calling her his child. She 
 is now yours, and I go." 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 185 
 
 "Thou hast been well avenged," said the count, 
 in accents of deep agony. 
 
 "Mother," said the beautiful Isodene, in a deter- 
 mined tone, winding her arms aroimd her parent's 
 neck, and looking tearfully up into her face, " mother 
 you must stay! if you do not, I wiU give up all my 
 new-found wealth, and rank, and go with you, if it be 
 to death. Look upon my father's care-worn face, and 
 say if he has not suffered enough ; would it not be too 
 severe to again blast his hopes, and tear his wife and 
 cJiild from his arms. Oh mother! do but say forgive." 
 
 She took her mother's hand and kissed it, and 
 placed it unresisted into her father's. 
 
 Such tender, pleading eloquence! who could re- 
 ast it? The proud heart of the Gipsy relented, and 
 she consented to be again called the wife of Count 
 Lelingford. 
 
 It was not long till the sound of mirth and revelry 
 ag^ sounded through the lofty halls of Lelingford 
 Caatle. And when the lovely Isodene stood before 
 the altar and placed her hand in that of the young 
 Duke of De Mountfort, a proud and happy father and 
 smiling mother stood by, to breathe their blessings on 
 the head of the young bride. 
 
 The Silver Lute was again restored to its original 
 place, in the little boudoir; but Isodene, the wife of 
 De Mountfort, now claimed it as her own ; and often 
 
183 
 
 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 did the murmur of the fountains mingle ■with the 
 tones of witching melody, which had won her love 
 and happiness as Zaila the Gipsy Singer. 
 
fROM WESTERN WOODS. 187 
 
 ^HE LOST GLOVE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LITTLE Jai was sittmg in the September sun- 
 shine, thti . fell in checkered gleams across the 
 old wooden steps, in front of a decayed and tottering 
 building, in one of the by-streets of the Empire city. 
 The sunlight seemed like a pleasant visitor, as it crept 
 from her little naked feet and ragged dress up over 
 her dimpled arms and shoulders, and nestled amid 
 the shining curls, hanging in disheveled profusion 
 around her sweet and childish face. But, as it grew 
 more inquisitive, and stole under her drooping lids to 
 discover the color of her downcast eyes, it betrayed 
 two bright, sparkling, but son-owfol-looking tears, just 
 creeping down to the edge of those silken lashes. 
 
 Just at that moment, a young man, who was pass- 
 ing by, stopped short in his hasly walk, to gaze for 
 
188 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 a moment on the sunshine, the tears, and the beau 
 tiful little creature before him. He was a poet and 
 a painter; and, struck by the exqiiisite grace and 
 beauty of her face and attitude, perfect in their un- 
 conscious and unstudied loveliness, he sought to im- 
 press the image upon his memory. 
 
 " What a glorious picture I have stumbled on," 
 said he; "I must have that picture — tears, sunshine, 
 and all. It will win me fame." 
 
 The little maiden threw up the lashes glittering 
 with moisture, and, perceiving a stranger, with aa 
 artless but sad smile, held out her hand and said: 
 
 " Please, ar, just a ^xpence for ipy mother." 
 
 The stranger looked at the little pleading hand, and 
 forgot the beautiful face. It was just such a hand as 
 he had dreamed of, had sought for, but had never 
 before found. Even though belonging to a child, its 
 tiny proportions were most exquisitely developecU— 
 rounded, delicate, dimpled, tapering, perfect 1 In the 
 rapture of an artist's joy, the young man caught the 
 beautiful little hand in his and pressed it to his lips. 
 The child looked surprised and frightened, but she 
 said, meekly, 
 
 " Only a sixpence, sir," in her childish, musical voice. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," replied the artist, fi>r the 
 first time comprehending what she said, vai emp- 
 tying a handfuU of dimes in her lap, 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 189 
 
 " Oh! thank you! " said she, her large, blue eyes 
 darkening with a flash of delight; " you are very 
 kind, sir." 
 
 " I should like to paint your portrait, pretty one ; 
 and I wUl give you as much more money, if, when I 
 come for you to-morrow, you will go home with me, 
 and let me take your likeness." 
 
 " What is that ? " asked the wondering child. 
 
 " Oh ! I will show you to-morrow — something very 
 pretty." 
 
 " Well, I will go, sir, if mamma will let me." 
 
 The artist, all enthusiasm at his precious discov- 
 ery, stepped gayly down the street, and the little girl 
 bounded away in the opposite direction to buy a loaf 
 of bread for her sick mother. 
 
 " See here, Mr. Baker! " said she, joyfully, smLng- 
 ing into a little bakery, where a hard-featured man 
 stood behind the counter — " I may have the bread, 
 now, for mother, may n't I ? " and she held out her 
 little hand, grasping tight the shining pieces of silver. 
 
 " Eh ! where did you get thal^ little girl ? Of course 
 you can have the bread, when you can pay for it." 
 
 " Given to me, sir." 
 
 " Humph! on account of your blight eyes, I sup- 
 pose. Catch me giving bread, or money, either, to 
 folks, because they are pretty;" and, laying out a 
 loaf of bread, he took one of her dimes in exchange. 
 
190 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 " Oh! " exclaimed the child, her eyes falling on a 
 few oranges ranged in the window, "1 '11 take an 
 orange, too — it will please mother so." 
 
 Another dime was taken; and, with the loaf of 
 bread and the orange, she flew back to her comfort- 
 less and destitute home. 
 
 " See here, mother, what I 've brought you! " she 
 exclaimed, gayly, bounding into the wretched apart- 
 ment ; but she stopped short, and, letting fall her 
 treasures, sprang to the bedside, where, pale and mo- 
 ' tionless, a woman lay dying, alone and unattended. 
 
 The ashy lids were closed over sunken eyes ; her 
 colorless lips were parted, and the breath came slow 
 and struggling from her scarcely-heaving bosom. 
 
 " My mother ! my poor mother ! " shrieked the 
 chil^^ winding her arms around the emaciated form 
 of her parent, and covering her cold, clammy brow 
 with kisses. 
 
 " My child ! " said the mother, faintly — " I am dy- 
 ing, my Stella." 
 
 " Oh! mother! " sobbed the little girl. And these 
 two words, and the tone in which they were said, 
 coming, as they did, from the heart of a cMld, were 
 fraught with an agony of grief and suffering. 
 
 " Stella," continued the djdng woman, " this ring, 
 (with a strong efibrt, taking it from her finger and 
 giving it to the child,) keep it always — never, never 
 
FROM n^eiEUN WOODS. Idl 
 
 part vrith it — it may some time bring you friends. 
 Stella — God bless thee, my poor orphan ! " and, 
 clasping her child convulsively to her bosom, she 
 heaved a deep sigh, and sank back upon her pil- 
 low — dead. 
 
 All that night, the little girl sat alone on the 
 wooden steps, now drying her eyes to look up at 
 the bright stars, where she thought her mother had 
 gone ; and again sobbing and wailing most touchingly, 
 till, just as the rosy tint of dawn crept over the great 
 city, from mere exhaustion she fell asleep on her hard 
 pillow. 
 
 That day, the artist did not come. An affair of 
 importance called him from the city for a couple of 
 weeks ; and, when he returned, and still full of the 
 thought of the little maiden, went to look for her, 
 Bhe was gone, and the old house was untenanted. 
 
 A month afterward, he sailed for glorious Italy 
 
192 FRESH LEATSB 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 EIGHT years after this occurrence, on & pleasant 
 erening of October, soon after sunset, a gentle- 
 man was promenading through Broadway. Just in 
 advance of him, tripping gracefully over the pave, was 
 a young girl of light and elegant form, in a tasteful, 
 but rather plain dress, and close cottage hat. He 
 was admiring her graceful and gliding step, when 
 he suddenly paused. She had dropped one of her 
 gloves. He picked it up. It was a dainty little cre- 
 ation of white kid, just the least bit in the world 
 soiled by contact with the pavement 
 
 " Exquisite ! " muttered he, hurrying after the fair 
 loser, wilih' the commendable intention of returning rt, 
 and, perhaps, making the acquaintance of a lady who 
 wore such a glove. 
 
 But he was a moment too late ; for, just as he was 
 overtaking her, she turned suddenly and mounted the 
 steps of an elegant dwelling. Balancing her pretty 
 feet on the edge of the marble door-sill, she sbooi fcr 
 
FEOM WESTERN WOODS. 193 
 
 Wf a moment with her hand on the polished knob. 
 The hand was ungloved, white as snow, and beautiful 
 as it could be. She opened the door without ringing 
 the bell, and disappeared in the halL Of course, she 
 resided there. 
 
 The gentleman placed the little glove in his pockel^ 
 took down the number of the residence, and walked 
 away. 
 
 It was twilight when he reached his lodgings ; and 
 going immediately to his room, he threw himself into 
 an arm-chair by the window, and sank into a reverie ; 
 from which he was awakened by the presence of a 
 visitor, whose unceremonious entrance put to flight a 
 whole cloud of angels in white Md gloves, and little, 
 mortal hands without them. 
 
 " Why, I say, Ernest^ how do you do ? — do n't you 
 hear me ? " 
 
 " Is it possible ! I beg your pardon ! my old chum 
 
 Hal , how are you ? " exclEumed the dreamer, 
 
 sprin^g from his chair, and shaking his friend most 
 sensibly by the hand. "Why, how you have changed ! 
 eight years have improved you vastly, I must confess." 
 " I can return the compliment, with interest," re- 
 plied Hal, gazing admiringly upon his friend's elegant 
 form, and stiikingly handsome, and intellectual counte- 
 nance. " European polish has done much, even for 
 you. But how have you fared ? how succeeded ? have 
 
194 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 you realized half your young dreams of glory? Las 
 the artist been as successful as the poet? — for we 
 have occasionally been favored here with some of youi 
 luxurious fancies, done up admirably, in beautiful 
 verse." 
 
 " I fear you flatter me, Hal ; but with regard to my 
 painting, I have been almost as successful as I could 
 wish — that is, for one who pursues it merely for his 
 own amusement" 
 
 " Quite an accomplished amateur, eh ? " 
 
 The two friends sat down to converse upon old 
 times, and the happy present, and the promising 
 future. 
 
 Ernest Dunmore had indeed not spent eight years 
 in travel, in cultivating his fine taste, and intellectual 
 ^ts, without returning to his country an exceedingly 
 refined, and fascinating man. 
 
 " By the way, Hal," said he, suddenly interrupting 
 his friend in a glowing description of his anticipations 
 of the future, "can you tell me what young lady 
 resides at No Broadway ? " 
 
 "Why, Isidore Allen, our city belle. Have you 
 seen her? She is a beautiful creature — bewitches 
 all of us. And that just reminds me that I came with 
 a pressing invitation from the Bentleys, for you to 
 attend a grand party there to-night Miss Allen wiU 
 of course be there." 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 195 
 
 " Then I shall, certainly ! " was the animated reply. 
 
 "Why, Ernest, you must have seen this paragon of 
 
 beauty. In love, so soon, after resisting all the bright 
 
 eyes, and bewildering smiles of foreign perfection for 
 
 eight years 1 " 
 
 " Indeed, you are mistaken. I am not certain that 
 I have seen this belle of yours — at least, I have not 
 seen her face." 
 
 " Well, you shall see her to-night. The ladies have 
 heard of your arrival, and are on tip-toe to behold the 
 wonderful Mr. Dunmore, the poet, the painter, and the 
 millionaire." 
 
 " How very flattering! " returned Ernest, smiling a 
 quiet, but perfectly satisfied smile, as he turned to the 
 mirror to arrange his toilet for the evening. What 
 gentleman, possessing grace, accomplishments, intel- 
 lect, and the advantages of personal beauty, and 
 great fortune, would not be a Uttle inclined toward a 
 pleasant feeling of vanity? None, certainly — at 
 least, not Mr. Ernest Dunmore. 
 
 It was late in. the evening when Hal Hazleton and 
 his/friend entered the brilliant and crowded rooms of 
 the Bentleys. A lady was at the piano. It was Miss 
 Allen, and the gentlemen edged through the throng, 
 and reachetj 4e instrument just as the sweet voice 
 of the beEe was trembling on the concluding stanza. 
 She was certainly a beautiful creature, just nineteen. 
 
196 FBE8H LEAVES 
 
 with glorious, dark eyes, sweeping lashes, an exquis- 
 itely-curved mouth, and finely-chiseled features — a 
 graceful form, too; but her hand — a shade of disap- 
 pointment darkened the fine face of Earnest — it was 
 a very pretty hand, slender and tapering; but it was 
 not the hand — it could not wear such a glove. 
 
 " A radiant creature ! is n't she ? " whispered Hal, 
 as she rose from the piano. 
 
 "Very. pretty," was the disappointed reply. 
 
 " Very pretty I " was the rather indignant ejacula- 
 tion. " She is peerless, unequaled, divine ! " 
 
 " But her hand ! " At this moment, the lady tumea 
 toward them, and Hal presented his inend, Mr. Ernest 
 Dunmore ; and soon the two most distinguished per- 
 sonages present — the belle and the artist-millionaire — 
 were promenading through the brUliant assembly. 
 Ernest found his bright companion really bewitching. 
 She was witty, learned, brilliant, beautiful — ^he would 
 certainly have been fascinated, had it not been for 
 the little kid glove that was lying on his heart, and 
 the perfect little hand he had seen on the door-knob. 
 As it was, his heart thrilled and palpitated slightly 
 beneath its tiny treasure, and he colored twice, and 
 stammered once — the accomplished Mr. Dunmore. 
 
 The belle was unusually charming. She thought 
 she had made a decided and most agreeable conquest 
 She had quite a passion for paintings. Ernest would 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 
 
 197 
 
 have a room prepared for the exhibition of his works 
 . to his friends, by the day after to-morrow, and he 
 would be happy to wait on her there, and hear her 
 opinion : no doubt her criticisms would be of value. 
 And they separated, mutually pleased. Poor little 
 glove ! what wiU be thy fate ? 
 
188 TKBSa LEAVES 
 
 GHAPTER III. 
 
 ISIDORE ALLEN was slowly promenading througl 
 the exhibition-room, leaning on the arm of Ernest 
 Dunmore. He was more than ever enchanted by her 
 grace, her fine taste, and her loveliness. She was 
 very enthusiastic, and her observations showed correct 
 judgment and cultivated- taste. Ernest sighed, as he 
 stole a glance at her hand — it certainly was not a 
 perfect one — and thought of the glove so carefully 
 laid — on his dressing-table. 
 
 " This," said Ernest, as he withdrew the cloth which 
 hung over a painting, " I consider my master-piece." 
 
 " Beautiful ! beautiful ! " said Isidore, and the tears 
 sprang uncalled into her dark, soft eyes, at the love- 
 Uness of the picture. Ernest perceived them, and 
 thought them the dearest tribute that could be paid 
 to his powers as an artist 
 
 It was a picture of the little girl, the sunshine, 
 and the old wooden steps. There was the childish, 
 graceful attitude; the little, pleading hand extended 
 so prettily; the dancing curls of gold, and the tearful 
 fringes thrown up from her large, mournful, beautiful 
 
VROM WESTERN -WOODS. IW 
 
 eyes, and, over all, the ricii, warm, glowing light, 
 slumhering softiy over the brightly-sorrowful picture. 
 
 " Precisely ! " exclaimed Isidore, after regarding it 
 an instant; " it is the very likeness of Stella May, my 
 dressing-maid. One would think it copied from her, 
 just as she looked eight years ago, when mamma 
 brought her home as my companion and assistant" 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Ernest, while a flash of surprise, 
 and delight beamed over his face ; " will you not teU 
 me something of your Stella May ? " 
 
 " With pleasure ; for I look at her always in connec- 
 tion with some romance or another; she is so peculiar, 
 sucj^ a strange being. I was only a child myself, 
 when, one day, mamma was visiting several poor 
 people, to whom she frequently afforded assistance, 
 when she noticed a little girl sitting in the doorway 
 of an old building, weeping bitterly. She spoke to 
 her kindly, but the little girl only raised her head a 
 moment, and then sobbed more wildly than ever. 
 'My mother — my dear mother — they have buried 
 my mother ! ' was all she could make her say. Touch- 
 ed by her grie^ and anlidiQus to know if she was left 
 friendless, mamma entered the house, which she found 
 entirely deserted, and unfurnished. What little wretch- 
 ed furniture had remained, had been seized by the 
 neighbors, in payment for various articles which they 
 had fiivtn the woman before she died. The mother 
 
2(H FRESH LEAVES 
 
 had een buried by the poor-officers, arid the child 
 Tvas Ic t unpitied, unprotected, homeless, and destitute. 
 Mamma took the little mourner into her carriage, and 
 brought her home. For days she refused all consola- 
 tion, weeping all day, and sighing all night, as if her 
 young heart had broken with its grief. But we were 
 all very kind to her, and, gradually, she became more 
 contented; and when, at length, she smiled, or war- 
 bled to herself notes of music that she had heard, 
 child as I was, I loved her for her beauty, and sweet- 
 ness. We knew there must be some unusual circum- 
 stance connected with her, for she had a ring, engraven 
 on the inside, with her name, ' SteUa May ; ' and then, 
 she was so naturally lady-like, and refined, so tasteful, 
 and intelligent, it seemed as if the very spirit of grace 
 breathed, and lived in every thing she said or did. 
 Mamma congratulated herself on having found such 
 a treasure of a companion for her daughter; and, as 
 for me, Stella was my dependence — for she assisted 
 me in all the tasks imposed upon my youthful patience 
 by a dried and withered specimen of a governess. 
 Though three years the youngest, she was more ready 
 than I in every branch of study, which mamma allowed 
 her to pursue, merely to gratify me. Music, of course, 
 was not included. But for this she had such a pas- 
 sion, and seemed so utterly wrapped up in it, that 
 I really felt grieved- not to have her share in my 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 201 
 
 lessons. She never said anything about itj but, the 
 tears would start to her eyes when I left her for the 
 practice-room : so, at length, I persuaded mamma to 
 let her take lessons, too. And such a musical talent 
 as she has, is really wonderful ! — she performs the 
 most divinely on the harp of any one I ever heard ! 
 Then she has such an exquisite taste in dress ! I do 
 not pretend to exercise the least judgment with re- 
 gard to the arrangement of my wardrobe — she so far 
 excels me in all such matters. Then she is so sensi 
 tlve, so proud, yet so grateful for kindness ! Really 
 she is quite a wonder of a deessing-maid ! I do be- 
 lieve, if she were to be brought out — despite the 
 advantages of fortune — she would tbrow me quite 
 into the shade." , 
 
 " That would be impossible, Mi^ Allen. But do 
 you never introduce this fair wonder to your friends ? " 
 
 " Ah, I see ! " said the lady, laughing, " you would 
 like to catch a glimpse at her rare beauty ! Very 
 weii ! — as you are an artist, and she looks so very much 
 hke this painting of yours, I will humor you, if possi- 
 ble. But she has too much native delicacy to ever yield 
 to my solicitations to appear in the parlor ; so I shall 
 have to bring her here. Mr. Hazleton wUl call for us 
 to-morrow?" she said, as that gentleman appioached. 
 
 " Certainly ; I shall only feel too much honored." 
 And the three continued on their way round the room 
 
803 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE next day, as the snowy fingers of Stella May 
 were wreathing the dark hair of her mistress into 
 shining braids, Isidore said, 
 
 " Would yoTi like to visit the exhibition-room of our 
 new artist, this afternoon, Stella ? " 
 
 " Yes, lady, very much," replied the young girl ; 
 "but—" 
 
 " Nay, Stella^ou must go, just to oblige me. There 
 is a picture therathat I admire very much, and I know 
 you would love w see it." 
 
 " Indeed, lady, I cannot tell you how much I love 
 everything beautiful — my harp, my flowers, and my 
 own beautiful mistress," said the young maiden, in 
 a trembling and slightly mournful voice ; " but such 
 things make me sad and unhappy, when I know I 
 ought to be grateful and contented. But I will go." 
 
 How wildly the heart of Ernest Dunmore throbbed 
 and palpitated, when his eyes met those of Stella 
 May. The brightest dream, the loveliest fancy, the 
 Sweetest vision of his poet's soul, looked on him 
 through those eyes; the one embodiment of all his 
 
• a'jM WESTERN WOODS, 203 
 
 heart haa i^nged for, and not found, lived, breathed 
 before him ! The pure, girlish, spiritual brow; the 
 deep, dreamy, shadowy eyes ; the sweet mouth, beau- 
 tiful in its expression of subdued repose ; the eloquent 
 color, coming and going in her cheek, just as the 
 thoughts came and went in her soul. There was a 
 proud reserve mingled vrith the ineffable grace of 
 her manner, that no princess could surpass. Ernest 
 almost forgot to notice her hand, till she raised it to 
 smooth back a truant curl that had stolen from the 
 confinement of her straw hat. It was the hand he 
 had looked for eight years! She wore but one glove; 
 where was its mate ? Ernest smiled, and his heart 
 gave a bound against the little whjfe treasure ■ that 
 had again found its way to his vest-pocket And he 
 had once held that beautiful hand iiFhis — had pressed 
 it to his lips; would he ever clasp it again? For 
 Ernest Dunmore was a proud millionaire, and Stella 
 May was a dressing-maid! 
 
 They paused first before a lovely picture of sun- 
 set — an Italian scene. Stella gazed at it with a 
 (lushed cheek and biightening eye. 
 
 " Do you love Italy ? would you like to Visit it, Miss 
 May?" 
 
 " I have dreamed of it ever," replied the young 
 girl, raising her soft eyes innocently to her compan- 
 ion's face. 
 
204 PEESH LEAVES 
 
 There was something peculiar in his earnest gaze, 
 and the silken lashes drooped slowly toward the deep- 
 ening color in her cheek. Isidore Allen observed the 
 manner of both, and, when Stella raised her eyes, she 
 curled her full Up very slightly, but it called the crim- 
 son to that gentle brow, and a flash of pride to those 
 deep, beautiful eyes. Isidore was sorry in a moment — 
 she was usually so kind and considerate ; but Ernest 
 had excited her ambition, and she was jealous — of 
 her dressing-maid. But she knew Mr. Dunmore to 
 be proud and fastidious, and the next moment she 
 smiled at her own vain fears. 
 
 " And now for the picture I told you of, Stella," 
 said Isidore, as the four paused m front of the vailed 
 painting. 
 
 " Only a sixpeifce, please, sir, to buy bread for my 
 mother," repeated Ernest, keeping his eyes fixed on 
 the maiden's face, as he drew aside the curtain. 
 
 Stella gazed at it a moment, and then up into the 
 face of the artist, with a look of wondering inquiry. 
 Their eyes met, and Stella burst into tears. Perhaps 
 it was the memory of her mother — perhaps it was 
 his thoughtless and cruel reminding of what she had 
 been — that so affected her. The artist was embar- 
 rassed. It was a delicate subject to make ap^flpgies 
 for; and his friend Hal and Miss Allen both looked 
 surprised, but he rallied, and said frankly: 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 205 
 
 " Forgive me, Miss May, if I have wounded your 
 feelings. It was unintentional; and, indeed, I am 
 very happy to meet again the little girl who, you see, 
 I have never forgotten." 
 
 " Then this is a portrait of our Stella, is it ? " said 
 Isidore, caressing the young girl, to remove her injured 
 feelings. 
 
 " Let us return. Miss Allen ; I do not feel well," 
 said she, in a low tone ; and they retired. 
 
 That evening, there was no company in the pailor, 
 and Stella came down, at Isidore's request, to play 
 for her. 
 
 " Oh 1 that Mr. Dunmore could picture her thus 
 lovely upon the canvass," thought Isidore, as she 
 watched her beautiful companion, who was leaning 
 over the harp, lost in her own sweet melody. Her 
 rounded arm gleamed out from its falling sleeve, like 
 moulded snow, as the smaU fingers of that lovely hand 
 swept over the quivering strings ; like the shadow of 
 a fluttering rose-leaf on a hly, the soft color hovered 
 on her cheek; and her bright, spiritual eyes were cast 
 upward with a dreamy, clear, forgetful look, as her 
 bright lips trembled with the rich gush of music thrill- 
 ing up from a soul full of beauty and melody. 
 
 The two maidens were both so absorbed that they 
 
 did not hear the ring of the door-bell, nor notice the 
 
 gentleman who stood, hat in hand, just inside the 
 9* 
 
206 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 parlor. It was Mr. Dunmore. He, too, was charmed 
 into silence, and stood mute and motionless till the 
 last quiver of the harp died away, and Isidore, per- 
 ceiving him, exclaimed laughingly, 
 
 " Spell-bound, Mr. Dunmore ? " 
 
 Stella started and blushed crimson, and, rising has- 
 tily, would have retreated from the apartment, but 
 Ernest detained her by begging for another song. 
 She recovered her self-possession immediately, and 
 complied gracefully with his request. 
 
 The evening passed away delightfully. Ernest 
 was a man of rare accomplishments and inexhaust- 
 ible sources of amusement and information. It was 
 the first time Stella had ever met with such a person ; 
 books and her own high thoughts had been her only 
 .ompanions. It was no wonder, then, that, listening 
 jagerly to every accent of his fine voice, and drinking 
 in the enthusiasm of his dark, soul-lit eyes, she forgot 
 herself, her circumstances, all the sadness of her life. 
 
 But she was doomed to a quick waking from her 
 dream : Isidore saw it all, and displeasure flashed 
 from her eyes, as she saw that she was rivaled by 
 the sweet loveliness of the young orphan. 
 
 " Stella, you may retire, now," she said quietly, and 
 stingingly. 
 
 The young girl's cheek grew deadly pale, but she 
 arose with the proud dignity of a queen, and, bidding 
 
FROM WESTEBN WOODS. 207 
 
 Mr. Dunmore good eyening, left the apartment. A 
 flush of indignation mounted to the white forehead 
 of Ernest, as she disappeared, and his manner became 
 isold and constrained. 
 
 Isidore saw she had made a misstep, had forgotten 
 her position as a lady, and, for the first time in her 
 life, felt humbled. She strove to be gay and brilliant, 
 but she failed, and in a few moments her visitor left. 
 
 Who can tell the deep misery in the desolate or- 
 phan's heart, as she threw herself on her couch and 
 strove to hush its wild throbbing ? A cloud had ever 
 cast its dim shadow on the happiness of that young 
 heart, and now the cloud had burst in a wild storm 
 of anguish, that threatened to annihilate every flower 
 of hope she had ever cherished. Sensitive to an ex- 
 treme, proud and delicate, to be thus repulsed and 
 scorned before Mm, and by the only one who had 
 ever appreciated her since they bore her mother away 
 to the pauper's burial-place. Long after midnight she 
 sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
 The next morning, Stella was ill; but she said no- 
 thing, though her head ached intensely, and her face 
 burned with f&ver. Isidore's heart reproached her 
 with her cruelty; but she knew that an apology 
 only would deepen the wound, so she told her kindly 
 that she might keep her room, if she was not well. 
 Solitude was grateful to the orphan's heart 
 
"208 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THREE weeks passed away, and Ernest Dunmore 
 had called but once on the belle. Hopeless of 
 ever winning his regard, she had renewed her flirta- 
 tion with Hal Hazleton — for whom, perhaps, after all, 
 she had the most affection, if he was not quite so 
 distingue. 
 
 The Aliens were all out to a brilliant bridal party. 
 Stella had gone down to the deserted parlors, and, 
 seating herself by the splendid center-table, buried 
 her face in her hands. Half an hour passed by, 
 and she still sat motionless; but by-and-by the words 
 struggled up from her aching heart, broken and 
 almost incoherently: 
 
 " And this is fate — my fate ! while Isidore is so 
 happy — cherished, loved, worshiped, even by him. 
 Oh ! I am so utterly wretched — so very unhappy 1 " 
 
 " Would to be loved, cherished, worshiped, make 
 you happy, dear Stella? " said a rich, manly voice, in 
 tones of thrilling tenderness, as an arm stole round 
 her waist, and lifted her to her feet 
 
FROM WEBTBEN WOODS. 
 
 209 
 
 " Ernest ! " murmured the fiightened girl, hiding 
 her beautiful young face in his bosom. 
 
 "Stella! vision of my dreams! radiant spirit-love 
 of mine ! beautiful embodiment of all the poet or the 
 painter ever yearned for ! I am thine — all thine — 
 my Stella!" 
 
 There was a hush through the lofty apartmenl^ 
 broken, at last by a low sob, coming up from a heart 
 too fuU of happiness. 
 
 I 
 
210 FBESH LEAVSB 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 IT was a beautiful June morning, radiant mih sun- 
 light, and heavy with perfume where, occasionally, 
 the air floated over a dewy garden in the midst of 
 the close, populous city. There was a wedding at the 
 church that morning, and it was crowded with the 
 elite — drawn thither out of curiosity to get a glimpse 
 of the bride of Ernest Dunmore, the millionaire. It 
 was rumored he had chosen Miss Allen's dressing- 
 maid to be the partner of his wealth and accomplish- 
 ments. There were many smiles, some sneers, and 
 stiU more wondering remarks. But they were all 
 hushed, when the bridal-party entered and walked 
 up the aisle. 'A suppressed murmur of admiration 
 was all the sound, as every eye was riveted on the 
 rare loveliness of the bride's young face. There was 
 no bashfulness, no awkwardness to ridicule — only a 
 beautiful timidity, as softening and as graceful as the 
 vail that floated round her, as she stood by the side 
 of her betrothed before the altar. Isidore AUen and 
 Hal Hazleton were their attendants. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 211 
 
 The priesti in his clerical robes, stood up and com- 
 menced the ceremony, when they suddenly thought — 
 who should give the bride away? At this important 
 moment, a noble-looking man, still in the prime of 
 life, stepped forward and gave away — his daughter! 
 It was no time for explanation, and the ceremony 
 proceeded. 
 
 Stella May was the wife of Ernest Dunmore. 
 
 The bride and groom immediately changed places 
 with their attendants, and the whole fashionable world 
 stared in mute surprise as the good man pronounced 
 Isidore Allen and Harry Hazleton man and wife. 
 
 " My daughter 1 God bless you, m}' beautiful child ! 
 and may you be happy with your young heart's 
 choice ! " and the stranger folded Stella in his arms, 
 and kissed her white brow fondly. 
 
 Something told Stella it was indeed her father, and 
 she wound her fair arms around his neck, and pressed 
 her warm lips to his cheek. 
 
 " Stella ! " said Ernest in surprise, " perhaps this is 
 a mistake ! " 
 
 " Let this be the proof," said the stranger, taking a 
 gold locket from his bosom, containing two minatures — 
 one, evidently a likeness of himself, the other the very- 
 counterpart of the bride. 
 
 " Your mother looked just as you do now, when I 
 married her," said Mr. May, regarding his bright 
 
212 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 daughter, with eyes dim with tears. " But we parted 
 in bitterness, and were both proud; and when I 
 repented, and went to search for her, she had gone, 
 none knew whither. I have at last learned her 
 mournful fate; but I am happier than I have been 
 for many years, to-day, my daughter. Heaven bless 
 those who have been kind to you!" and he looked 
 gratefully at Isidore, who whispered to her husband : 
 
 " I always knew Stella May would have a romance." 
 
 " And so we must go south, first, and roam amid 
 the orange flowers and myrtles around your father's 
 romantic home, must we ? " said Ernest Dimmore, as 
 he handed his bride into the carriage, "and go to 
 Italy afterward ? " 
 
 " If he wishes it, Ernest But, really, in the confu- 
 sion I have dropped one of my gloves." 
 
 " Oh! never miad, dear," said Ernest, taking a little 
 white glove out of his vest pocket, and handing it to 
 his wife, with a very demure countenance, " this will 
 answer." 
 
 " The glove I lost last fall ! " said the bride, with a 
 look of wonder. 
 
 " Ahem! " said Ernest 
 
FROM WESTKKN WOODS. 213 
 
 THE LIVING STATUE. 
 
 AST AR — a dream — a passion-flower — ^was beau- 
 tiful Nina Forrest! A poet — a thrilling and 
 exalted one — was her father: a wild and radiant 
 creature — such as those that sometimes make us say, 
 " surely, angels thrill us with their presence yet," — 
 was her mother. Italy, passionate Italy, was her 
 birth-place — starry skies, and whispering winds, and 
 rare bright flowers, were her companions — a lute was 
 her idol — a marble palace, hid away in the loveliest 
 valley that the burning skies of her native land ever 
 looked upon, was her home. 
 
 It was midnight What had Nina to do with sleep- 
 ing dreams, in that stiU and beautiful hour ? It was 
 now, that her cheek grew crimson, and Ler heart 
 
 throbbed feverishly, and her whole being quiver**! 
 
 14 
 
214 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 with the intenseness of unutterable emotions, answer- 
 ing back, silently, the murmur of the waves that 
 flowed brightly by her home — the tremble of rich 
 starlight — the perfume of orange flowers — the dim, 
 deep, awe-inspiring shadows of distant rnountains, and 
 the wUd, faint whisper of the caressing wind. She 
 leaned from the balcony of her chamber, and looked 
 up, dreamingly, to the silver and sapphire sky, with 
 her large, black, spiritual eyes. Rich, curving lashes 
 laid back till they met the delicate arch of her white 
 brow — thick tresses of ebon hair rippled like shining 
 waves around her form — a-rare, soft color wavered in 
 her young cheek — a trembling eloquence was upon 
 her restless, crimson lips. 
 
 A wanderer and adventm-er, who had strayed into 
 the valley, was hidden amid the shadows of Nina's 
 bower. With breathless eagerness his fine head was 
 incUned forward, and his dark, gray eyes deepened 
 and burned as he gazed upon the surpassingly-beau- 
 tiful vision that, like the personification of an exquisite 
 dream, leaned gracefully upon the marble balustrade. 
 
 "Oh! Venice! Venice!" he murmured, "how would 
 your enthusiastic throngs grow mad with- delight to 
 look upon the image of one so inconceivably lovely. 
 A world's applause and a deathless name would he 
 win, who could mould the pulseless marble into the 
 likeness of aught so beautiful. Nina FoiTest — the 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 215 
 
 peasants tell me that is your name — you must be 
 won — must be the bride of Laurens Delano: not that 
 there is room in my wild heart to love, as those eyes 
 tell me you would love — my soul is all given to ambi- 
 tion, to a hope of immortal fame — but that I may 
 mould from th'at exquisite form and radiant features, 
 a creation of stone that shall win me immortality ! " 
 
 With a throbbing pulse, and eager gaze, he watched 
 the maiden, tiE her head drooped gently upon the 
 snowy arm resting on the balustrade, the dark-fringed 
 lids closed slowly over her starry eyes, the breath 
 swelled softly, and evenly in her beautiful bosom — 
 she was asleep. Silently, and cautiously the young 
 sculptor crept from the orange-bower, and, with fear- 
 less daring, climbed up, by the vines and pillars, till 
 he stood beside the fair slumberer upon the balcony. 
 
 The rich moonUght laiy like a spiiftual day upon the' 
 earth, and in the air. He bent silently over the living 
 vision of beauty> and mused upon her bewildering 
 loveliness; while his spirit thrilled, not with love, nor 
 a sense of bliss, but with the thought of the fame he 
 would win, if he succeeded in transferring those perfect 
 proportions to marble. 
 
 The crimson of excitement had gone down fiom 
 her lily cheek, and left it clear and white ; and every 
 lovely feature was perfect in its sweet repose. 
 
 Laurens Delano knelt down by the sleeper, and. 
 
216 FRBBH LEAVES 
 
 taking her small, soft hand in his, he pressed it pas- 
 sionately to his bosom. With a sighing breath, and 
 parted lips, the young ^rl unclosed her large eyes, 
 with a slow flash of surprise upon the stranger at her 
 feet. 
 
 Ambition is almost as strong an incentive as love ; 
 and the Signor Delano was artful and talented. In a 
 low and eloquent voice; he murmured wild, broken 
 expressions of admiration and endearment — angel- 
 dream, and star-vision, and sweet, living reality, he 
 called her — as the planet of his destiny, he addressed 
 her — should that destiny be wild, and mad as the 
 thunderstorm, or sweet and placid as a night when 
 the evening-star was queen of the jeweled sky? 
 
 All this was in glowing Italy, where love springs 
 instantaneously into perfect existence. If Nina Forrest 
 was ^fted with the passionate sensibility which makes 
 the eye swim and darken with tears, the cheek flush, 
 and the lip quiver with the unspoken emotion called 
 up by a passing form of nature's loveliness, how would 
 her wild young spirit respond to these first words of 
 Dassion that had ever fallen upon her ear ! 
 
 The yearning of her spirit, and the thrilling of her 
 heart, found a bewildering and sweet utterance in the 
 language of another addressed to herself; and her 
 soul yielded instantly to its fascination. 
 
 The dark ringlets of Laurens Delano mingled with 
 
FROM WESTBRN WOODS. 217 
 
 the raven oiirls of Nina — his warm breath was on 
 her forehead — and, trembling like a frightened bird, 
 she nestled to his bosom, and, in wild warbles of bro- 
 ken music, breathed out her timid, and delicious joy. 
 Tlfl-ee nights from then, she threw herself into the 
 arms of her lover, and went with him to his distant 
 home, leaving the starry bowers, and marble halls of 
 her parent's palace lonely, mournful, and desolate. 
 
 The sculptor, Laurens Delano, was pacing with a 
 hasty step to and fro through his studio. The imple- 
 ments of his art were scattered around, and a statue, 
 nearly finished, stood on a pedestal It was evidently 
 intended as a likeness of his wife, but it did not please 
 him; he was impatient. It lacked the expression of 
 passionate spirituaUty, the ethereal delicacy and yet 
 fervor of her beauty, the rare, and ineffable loveliness 
 of her features. It was very beautiful — but it was 
 not the perfect embodiment of the image in his mind — 
 it was not such a creation of genius as would crown 
 his brow with an imperishable wreath of glory. He 
 was vexed and excited almost to madness, to think 
 that his hand should fail to execute what his mind 
 conceived — ^he laughed bitterly at his want of success, 
 and stamped his feet upon the floor in anger. Sud- 
 denly a strange thought entered his troubled breast. 
 
218 VBESB LEAVES 
 
 and calined his fretful mood. His brow burned, and 
 Ms fine lip curled with an exulting smile. No one had 
 been permitted to behold his bride — he had kept her 
 entirely secluded, that none might know but that his 
 master-piece was an ideal creation. Herself shcfuld 
 personate the marble form he wished to sculpture — 
 she should be a Jiving staMie that would win him im- 
 mortality. He had heard of a subtle and curious 
 potion, to be procured in Venice, that would suspend 
 all appearance of life for three days. For three days, 
 then, should his exhibition-room be open, and his beau- 
 tiful bride should mock the gaze of admiring throngs 
 with her rare, and ravishing loveliness. It was true, 
 there was a risk in the wild attempt — she might die 
 in her long trance, and his soul be stained with a fear- 
 ful crime — but he loved her only that she promised 
 to bring glory to his brow, and even death, when 
 weighed in the balance with fame, was found wanting. 
 While the sudden thought yet thrilled from his soul to 
 his fingers, he applied himself to his purpose. First, 
 he carved out a pedestal in the fashion of a balcony, 
 whose balustrade, covered with vines and flowers, 
 should conceal all of her form but her exquisite bust 
 Then he fashioned a light and graceful coif with flow- 
 ing waves of hair, that should cover her own raven 
 tresses. Then purchased the subtle draught. 
 
 Nina was reclining on a heap of cushions in a dim, 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 219 
 
 cool, pleasant apartment, whose perfumed air was 
 musical with the murmur of a fountain, ^nd whose 
 octagonal sides were of trellis- work shadowed with 
 luxurious foliage." It was morning. By her side, 
 upon the floor, was a silver salver, holding fruit, and a 
 goblet of wine. 
 
 Sipping from the goblet, she waited for her hus- 
 band. He came; and, asking her if the wine was 
 pleasant, he sat by her side and held her hand. 
 
 " Laurens ! do you love me, Laurens ? " she asked, 
 raising her large eyes to his face with a smile. " I 
 feel so dreamy and pleasant, and all in a thrill of 
 strange sensations. I should like to hear your low, 
 deep voice whispering its dear eloquence in my fas- 
 cinated ear. Hold my head against your bosom, while 
 I sleep, and dream of you," 
 
 The sculptor took the bright being in his arms, 
 and smoothed down her silken hair; caressing her 
 and murmuring sweet words of tenderness, as if aU 
 his sold was melting into love, and flowing out in his 
 low, impassioned tones; gazing down,' all the while, 
 with deep, intense eyes into her radiant face. 
 
 A soft languor weighed down the fair eyelids of 
 the young wife, but a ra(Uant smile hovered around 
 her lips, replying to his caresses. 
 
 With- that beautiful smile still lingering over her 
 rare countenance, she sank into a deep, deep sleep. 
 
220 EBESH LEAVES 
 
 One Wolild not think her living, so motionless grew 
 her bosom, and so perfectly colorless and marble-like 
 her face. 
 
 Laurens Delano gazed upon her for a long time 
 after this strange trance had crept over her vital en- 
 ergies — gazed as if he could not take away his eyes 
 from the exquisite loveliness of the still, white form 
 he held. Then he pressed a burning kiss upon the 
 pallid forehead of his young bride, and bore her from 
 the room. 
 
 Throng after throng of eager visiters poured into 
 the room of the sculptor, to behold the gem of art — 
 the rare master-piece, the triumph of his profession — 
 the sleeping maiden of Laurens Delano. 
 
 Some gazed in breathless admiration, as if a tone 
 would waken that perfect form to life — some murmur- 
 ed low exclamations of surprise and delight — some 
 burst into raptures of applause, and cast wreaths and 
 costly gifts at the feet of the young sculptor, who sat, 
 apparently heedless of everything else, leaning his 
 head upon his hand, gazing upon the object of his 
 triumph. There was the sleeping maiden, with her 
 rounded and polished arm twined about a slender col- 
 umn, and her beautiful head drooping upon the arm. 
 One could almost see the smile creep out and dimple 
 
FROM -WKSTBRN WOODS. 221 
 
 around her small, sweet mouth, and the white bosom 
 swell with a living heart Never before was marble 
 moulded into anything so spiritual, so delicately. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, though Laurens Delano 
 had clasped that fair creature in all the radiance of 
 life to his breast, with scarcely an emotion of tender- 
 ness, yet now that he saw her there, stUl, and white, 
 and mute, he loved her with a wild, deep fervor. It 
 seemed to him that his hands had moulded that 
 lovely form — that she was in reality the creation of 
 his mind — the embodiment of his genius. And, as 
 this, he loved her; he began to wish that she had 
 life — had the power to love, and answer unto the 
 vague yearning of his soul. He forgot that she was 
 a reality ; that she would wake fi-om this deep trance, 
 after a lapse of many hours. His cheek flushed at- 
 the praise of the crowd, and he felt the laurel wreath 
 upon his brow — but he was not satisfied — fame was 
 not the bewildering angel he had deemed it — then, 
 even in the moment of his fullest triumph, came the 
 yearning for a being like that statue, to share in his 
 glory. And, motionless almost as it, he sat through 
 the first day, never turning his deep eyes from that 
 form. 
 
 All that night, with the dim hght of a solitary 
 
 lamp falling over it, he gazed upon it; and, when 
 
 the throng was admitted the next morning, they 
 10 
 
222 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 found him sitting in the same position that he occu^ 
 pied on the preceding day. Some smUed, and re- 
 marked about his conduct — but he did not heed 
 them. 
 
 There was another person present, who was as 
 wrapped up in admiration of the statue as the sculp- 
 tor. All through the hours for exhibition, on both 
 days, he remained not far from Signor Delano, com- 
 pletely and intensely absorbed in the beauty of the 
 statue. He was a young American — a poet — with 
 a pale, intellectual countenance, arid mournful, proud, 
 large eyes. He, too, loved what he deemed to be a 
 lifeless form of marble — worshiped it, because it was 
 the ideal of all the beautiful images in his soul. 
 
 The third and last day of the exhibition arrived: 
 the sculptor and the poet were side by side' — so close, 
 that each might hear the throbbing of the other's 
 pulse. The room was crowded with visitors — all 
 eyes were bent on the sleeping maiden — a breathless 
 hush filled the apartment; they fancied they could 
 see the rosy tint shoot up into her cheek — it seemed 
 so real. And reality it was — it was no fancy. The 
 straining eyes of Laurens Delano marked that color;, 
 and, as a comprehension of the truth forced itself, at 
 last, upon his mind, a wild gasp shivered up from his 
 bosom. He would have rushed to the statue, and 
 dropped the curtain over the niche where it stood — 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 223 
 
 he would have cleared the crowded room, before it 
 was too late — but he had no power to rise. 
 
 More earnest and intense grew every gaze — more 
 deathly the stillness, that was broken with no sound, 
 save the quick fluttering breath of the multitude. 
 Softly the bosom of the statue began to heave — the 
 lips parted — a warm glow stole over its cheek — the 
 long lashes quivered on their crimson resting-place — 
 the white lids slowly unclosed — the dark, soft eyes 
 of the vision rested on the spectators. 
 
 " O heavens ! where am I ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 These words aroused the poet. He sprang to her 
 side, took the form from the pedestal, and, before the 
 astonished crowd had moved a finger, had disappeared 
 through a private entrance. 
 
 At that moment, Delano fell upon the floor in 
 mighty convulsions ; his strong nature was a wreck. 
 There was no groan, no gasp, no sigh; the crimson 
 life-torrent gushed out over his white lips — he was 
 dead! 
 
 Many thousand miles away from the studio of the 
 sculptor, Nina and Clare Mather were silently bless- 
 ing each other, with the power of their love. 
 
 Though their home was in the chilly north, yet 
 Nina blossomed more sweetly than any of the rare 
 
£24 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 exotics which surrounded her. A rich glow of sunset 
 stole blushingly through curtains of crimson sUk, and, 
 creeping over the costly carpet, rested lovingly upon 
 the radiant form of the beautiful Italian. She was 
 sitting on a heap of cushions, with her lute in her 
 lap, and her bright head . resting upon the knee of 
 her poet-husband. With a wild and bewUdering 
 sweetness, her dainty fingers swept over the strings 
 of her. lutei and her voice gushed out in tones whose 
 exquisite melody was eloquent of love; and ever as 
 she sang she raised her large, soft, passionate eyes to 
 meet the fond, deep gaze of her husband; and her 
 bright cheek dimpled with a beautiful smile, as his 
 loving fingers thridded her black, flowing hair. Nina 
 had learned to speak our language, but she chose to 
 sing in her own beautiful tongue ; and, doubtless, the 
 words of her song were very sweet — for the heart of 
 the poet throbbed quicker at her music, and his face 
 was eloquent of happiness, as she laid aside her lute, 
 and he drew her, tenderly, close to his side on the 
 sinking velvet of the sofa. 
 
 And, as the crimson gleams of sunset stole out as 
 silently as stars, and the dim, dreamy shadows of 
 night came in, the poet and his bride sat together — 
 while the faint murmur, of words of tenderness crepl 
 softly through the pleasant apartment. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 22a 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUaHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 a rpiNK—tink— tinkle!" rang otit the little silvery- 
 X toned bell through the boudoir of Isabel Linn. 
 The white hand of that peerless lady replaced the 
 soft-toned bell upon an antique-mosaic flower-table, 
 and she relapsed into her former attitude of elegant 
 repose. The boudoir befitted nothing but the beau- 
 tiful being who was its mistress. It was a small room 
 of circular shape — looped, like a tent^ from the cen- 
 ter of the arched roof, with rich curtains of rosy silk 
 sweeping down the sides, and caught back from the 
 glittering mirrors, lovely statues, soft pictures, slight 
 tables, and rare vases, placed between slender pillars 
 of mdjble. In every unoccupied recess, luxurious 
 heaps of velvet cushions, the same soft color as the 
 drapery, were thrown. The lady herself reclined ou 
 
226 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 a low, yielding sofa, nearly concealed beneath the 
 splendid dress which floated over it, but whose rose- 
 color still softened the dazzling whiteness of the bare 
 arm, and the rich glow of the round cheek nestled 
 upon it It was evening — and a lamp, tinted with 
 the same softening tinge, flooded the beautiful apart- 
 ment with a dreamy and eloquent light, that made 
 the fair ornaments, the sweet pictures, the perfumed 
 flowers, the young statues, and the elegant lady ap- 
 pear more fair, and sweet, and young, and elegant stiU. 
 The lady was evidently dressed for an assembly. 
 Her fine, voluptuous form was draped in rich crimson 
 satin, with an overdress of exquisite lace, rare and 
 delicate. Ornaments of gold and rubies caught the 
 lace upon her snowy bosom, and held it up from her 
 exceedingly lovely arms ; and from them it waved back 
 and fell around — like — like nothing; for nothing was 
 ever so beautiful ! Her black hair was twisted with 
 rubies, and wound around her head in magnificent 
 folds. Her style of beauty was so brilliant, that all the 
 jewels, upon her hands, and arms, and bosom, and hair, 
 seemed part of her loveliness, and were not misplaced. 
 If the rubies were bright, her lips were as red, and 
 her eyes as flashing; and the beautiful contrast of her 
 raven hair, waved back from her high, white forehead 
 and haughtily-curved neck, was still more dazzling. 
 After ringing the silver bell, she sank into her former 
 
PKOM WESTEBNi WOODS. 227 
 
 hii<tless attitude, and, when a servant entered at the 
 the door, she said, without raising her eyes, 
 
 " When Mr. Cleveland Merefort calls, show him in 
 here." 
 
 The servant departed, and she was again alone . 
 with her thoughts. Thai they were pleasant, was 
 shown by the gay smile which broke gradually over 
 her face — the rich lips parting, the fair cheeks crim- 
 soning, and the dark eyes shining hke deep waters 
 beneath their drooped lashes. Isabel Linn was not 
 young — she was thirty -five, and looked twenty-five ; 
 but she was peerlessly and voluptuously beautiful; 
 more splendidly so than a younger lady could be. A 
 strong will and powerful passions breathed in all her , 
 attitudes, and glances, and features — the motion of 
 her firm but graceful foot, the curve of her deUcate 
 nostrils, the superb turn to her full, red lips, the 
 sleeping fire in her large, slow-moving eyes, made 
 her a fascinating and fearful creature. But she had 
 made it a study through all her life, till she had at- 
 tained a wonderful degree of self-possession. There 
 was sotnething that breathed of power and passion 
 in the very calmness of her slow, graceful motions. 
 And now, though there were a thousand emotions 
 making her heart throb, she stirred not one of her 
 delicate fingers, nor the small slipper just revealed 
 beneath her flowing dress. 
 
228 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Presently the door again opened softly. Her bosom 
 heaved quickly, and a deep flush broke over her cheek, 
 and, with a smile of ineffable brightness, she slowly 
 raised her deep, bewUdeiing eyes toward the door. 
 But she paused in the welcome that rose to her 
 lips, and the flush went back from her face — for it 
 was not yet Mm who. had come. 
 
 A young girl stood timidly within the room, hesi- 
 tating whether to go or remain, for the lady did not 
 bid her enter. She was sweet and fair — not more 
 than fifteen — ^with a slight form, and hair like an an- 
 gel's wing, changing, and bright, and golden. There 
 was something in her gentle hesitation very difierent 
 from the proud repose of the beautiful woman be- 
 fore her. Her dress was of delicate white, and some 
 bright roses lay on her bosom — her face was the 
 purest thing out of heaven! 
 
 " You may come," at length said the lady. 
 
 The maiden glided in, and sat down on a cusHon 
 by the sofa. 
 
 " EflSe, my daughter! " said the woman, with unu- 
 sual tenderness, for she was chary of the affection she 
 bestowed on her only child ; but love was busy at the 
 mother's heart, and love softens the manner toward 
 all. Wild, wild dreams of love were waking in her 
 bosom, and changed her cold bearing unconsciously. 
 
 " Mother," said the fair girl, hesitatingly, raising 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 239 
 
 her sweet face, and then dropping her eyes till the 
 silken lashes touched the cheek, where a delicate glow 
 was wavering out into a blush ; " mother," — and her 
 cheeks were crimson — " You know I am but a child, 
 only fifteen ; and I have n»;ver yet kept anything from 
 you, and may I not tell you how very, very happy I 
 am ? and how my heart is still trembling with its new 
 delight? You know—" 
 
 The bashful girl paused, and the mother, wonder- 
 ing if that mere child could have found a lover, laid 
 her white hand on those brown curls to reassure her. 
 
 " You know Cleveland Merefort, mother ? " 
 
 "Yes! yes! what oi him? " saidenly exclaimed the 
 mother, withdrawing her hand, and fixing her burning 
 eyes intently on the blushing face before her; " what 
 of Mm, EffieLinn?" 
 
 " Oh, mother ! you will not be offended, you cannot 
 be ; he is so good, and manly, and gifted ! I could not 
 think it a harm to love him. He is so beautiful aijd 
 gentle, and loves me so earnestly — I am sure he 
 does " — murmured the timid girl, as her cheek grew 
 pale, and the tears sprang instantly to her soft eyes 
 
 " Indeed ! did he teU you this ? did he say he loved 
 you?" asked the lady, in a tone of withering contempt 
 " Or are you only guessing at all this happiness ? " 
 
 " He did tell me, that he loved me," was the proud 
 and earnest reply; " and I knew that it was truth he 
 
 15 
 
230 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 uttered, for Hs eyes were solemn, and looked into 
 mine so gently, and his lips trembled as he spoke 
 these happy words, and, when he drew me close to 
 his heart, I felt it beat so rapidly, and — '' 
 
 " Effie— Effie— Effie ! " almost shrieked the woman. 
 
 " You frighten me, mother ! you look so fearful ! 
 What have I done ? Is it wrong to love him ? Tell 
 me, dear mother, is it ? " pleaded the quivering voice 
 of the young girl, shrinking from the intense gaze of 
 those dilated and burning eyes. 
 
 " Do not look at me so ! " she still pleaded, as that 
 motionless look, and the spot of livid red on the 
 cheeks of her mother, made her tremble. 
 
 •' Effie Linn, remember ! " was uttered in the dis- 
 tinct tone of deep passion, " you wiU never marry that 
 man — never! Receive no more vows of love from 
 him! cast him off — forget him — or you are no child 
 of mine ! remember ! " 
 
 " Cast him off ? never — never! " murmured the 
 young creature, whom this sudden shock to her sweet 
 happiness startled from a whole world of life-dreams 
 to a sense of utter misery; and, with these words, she 
 slid from the ottoman insensible upon the rich carpet, 
 whose gay hues mocked the pallor of her cheek. 
 
 Again the boll sounded, a sharper summons than 
 before; and, to the servant who appeared, the lady 
 spoke in a cold, calm tone : 
 
ITROM WESTERN WOODS. 231 
 
 " Summon her maid, and assist my daughter to her 
 room — she is not -well." 
 
 The maid came, and they bore the fainting girl 
 from the apartment The moment they disappeared, 
 Isabel Linn passed her hand over her forehead, as 
 if to feel if all traces of her passion were smoothed 
 away. The game she had to play was now more 
 difficult, and at this moment required all her skill. 
 
 Resuming her former position, with her feet half 
 hidden in a cushion, and her head nestled in the high 
 corner of the sofa, she arranged her glittering dress 
 around her, she folded her small hands, quietly smiled 
 a dreamy smile, and fixed her languishing eyes with 
 a still look upon the cai-pet. 
 
 Five minutes afterward, Cleveland Merefort stood 
 within the room. He glanced around the exquisite 
 boudoir, with a look of surprise, mingled slightly with 
 embarrassment. He was a very handsome man, of 
 thirty, with a polished and frank bearing — with a 
 singularly fascinating smile, though he seldom smiled — 
 dignified almost to coldness — evidently gifted — evi- 
 dently a most perfect gentleman. There was a kind 
 of sadness in his eyes and reserve in his manner, which 
 told of passionate feeling repressed and hidden — a 
 bind of moumfulness in his smile which went quick to 
 the heart — a kind of pride that roingled with his 
 reserve, which made him deeply interesting; and all 
 
282 FlfBSH LEAVES 
 
 these things said that he was evidently a talented cow- 
 man. And this was, perhaps, the reason why he had 
 never loved or married hitherto. 
 
 " Mr. Merefort," said the lady, raising her dark eyes 
 slowly, with a sweet smile upon her lip; and holding 
 out her small hand, without rising from the sofa. 
 
 As he advanced toward her with slight confusion, 
 her heart told her that this consciousness was not, as 
 she had fondly hoped, an evidence of her power, but 
 was owing to the thought that Effie had revealed the 
 new relation in wliich he stood to her. This then was 
 the mortifying cause of his frequent calls and delicate 
 attention. The deference of his services were those 
 he paid to his future mother, instead of — oh! she 
 could have gnashed her teeth in bitterness! but it 
 would not do then, and she looked up so eloquently. 
 
 " Sit here," she said, retaining his hand a moment, 
 and motioning to the ottoman where Effie had sat 
 
 The gentleman felt grateful and gratified; for he 
 had no doubt now but that she was prepared to receive 
 him as her son-in-law ; and previously, notwithstanding 
 her marked kindness to him, he had entertained a fear 
 that his poverty would be an objection to his claiming 
 the hand of the daughter of the rich widow Linn. 
 
 " Is Miss Effie well this evening ? " he asked, taking 
 the seat she assigned him close by her side. 
 
 "A little indisposed — nothing serious," was the 
 
PROM WESTEEN WOODS. 233 
 
 reply ; " she retired to her room a few moments ago." 
 
 " Indeed ! " was the remark, in a disappointed tone. 
 
 " I have not ordered the carriage for an hour yet," 
 continued Mrs. Linn, sweetly, " and we will have a quiet 
 chat, which wiU be charming, will it not ? By-the-by, 
 do you fancy the arrangement of my boudoir ? " 
 
 "It is delightful — a fairy palace," replied her vis- 
 itor, glancing through the elegant apartment with a 
 pleased eye. " How very kind she is to give me this 
 opportunity to speak, thought he ; and the beautiful 
 Lcdy, whom he had always admired, appeared doubly 
 brilliant and lovely to him then. 
 
 But if he had the opportunity, he had no way to 
 improve it; for the fascinating woman reclining on 
 the sofa before him, in her splendid attire, with the 
 "rosy light falling over her, fixed her large, dark eyes 
 upon him, and murmured, in a low voice of music, a 
 thousand eloquent things; leading his thoughts even 
 from the subject which engrossed them. 
 
 &]ie spoke of beauty, and he felt how very beautiful 
 she was. She spoke of love; and he realized that 
 she was capable of intense love ; that passionate emo- 
 tions throbbed beneath the bosom heaving in those 
 rich folds of satin and lace. Burning words of poetry 
 fell in liquid cadences from her lips ; and he wondered 
 at, and then was carried away by her iiresistible elo- 
 quence. He was a worshiper at the shiine of beautyi 
 
234 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 genius, poetry, love; and here before Mm was a lovely, 
 nay, a glorious -woman, radiant witli one and gifted with 
 another, breathing the third, and glowing and blushing 
 with the last The ball, and even the sweet Effle in 
 her lonely room, were forgotten. He bent forward with 
 smiling eyes and heightened color to listen ; his own elo- 
 quence, so often concealed by reserve, was awakened, 
 and he rivaled her in the utterance of beautiful seuti- 
 tnents. Oh ! it was a feast of intellect and passion. 
 
 In the midst of all this, the carriage was announ- 
 ced ; and the splendid siren, with a gay laugh at their 
 forgetfulness of time, took the arm of her companion, 
 and they were wMrled away to the ball ; while young 
 Effie lay moaning upon her restless pillow. 
 
 It was late when the two entered the brilliant halL 
 Many eyes were centered upon them. They were cer- 
 tainly the most striking couple in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Linn was the leader of the ton, and the hand- 
 some Cleveland was even more interesting than usual; 
 something sparkled through his dignity that was very 
 pleasing. He was always a favourite in society, for 
 though poor, he was noble, fine-looking and peculiar. 
 
 The mammas and daughters all liked him as a vis- 
 itor and companion ; but the former warned the latter 
 to beware of anything more; which fortunately was 
 unnecessary — the reserve and particular taste of the 
 gentleman keeping him from any declarations, which 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 235 
 
 might alarm pai-ents, and please young ladies. Cleve- 
 land was a fine waltzer, so was the superb widow. 
 They waltzed till every eye was upon them, it was 
 so beautiful. They floated around in the music, per- 
 fume, and light The lace dress waved and the 
 satin glistened about that lovely form ; her cheek was 
 glowing, and her rubies flashing. Cleveland himself 
 was enchanted; it was perfectly entrancing to hold 
 ' that magnificent creature, and to circle, and glide, and 
 float away in that bright atmosphere, breathing with 
 bewitching melody. He felt his companion, dizzy with 
 the motion, press closer to him, and he wished that it 
 was Effie that was sharing this delight ; and he whirl- 
 ed on till the bright head sunk on his bosom, and then 
 he was obliged to seat his beautiful partner. No, no, 
 he did not wish it was Efiie, was his after-thought — 
 not Effie with all those eyes upon her, bold and ad- 
 miring ; he was almost sorry it was Effie's mother. But 
 he forgot this presently, and after a time they waltzed 
 again. It was a brilliant party, and this couple, for two, 
 were delighted. It was late wh5n they di-ove home, 
 but the spirits of Mrs. Linn were hardly yet fatigued. 
 " You will call to-morrow ? " she said, as Cleveland 
 left her at the door. The flattered man consented 
 with pleasure, to come to a private tea with Effie and 
 herself in the boudoir — for Mrs. Linn added this to 
 her invitation. 
 
230 I'REBR LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE lady did not wake her maid when she reached 
 her room, but, unfastening her heavy ornaments, 
 she laid them aside, and threw herself upon her couch; 
 though very weary, she did not sleep. Her feelings 
 were of very mingled character; triumph, for she 
 saw that she impressed Cleveland Merefort; bitter- 
 ness, that he had not paid homage to her power before, 
 but had dared to pass her by, and bestow his love on 
 a mere sweet child; anxiety, for the result of the 
 game she played; and, taxing her ingenuity to know 
 best hr ^ to manage Effie, and compel her to resign 
 him of her own consent. 
 
 She lay sleeplessly till long past sunrise, busy with 
 her thoughts, and then, throwing on her morning-gown, 
 she sought the chamber of Effie. The fair girl lay 
 upon the bed, dressed in the same attire, and with 
 the same roses lying withered on her bosom as on the 
 evening previous. She had not undressed, but was 
 now sleeping nervously. Her eyelids were stained 
 with tears ; her cheek was feverish, av > ehe moaned 
 and muttered in her dreams. 
 
FKOM WKBTBRN WOODS. 23? 
 
 Her mother sat down by the bedside, and looked 
 upon her. A thriU of remorse shot through her heart 
 as she gazed ; but it was momentary — she herself 
 could not be the sacrifice, her child must be. She 
 reasoned that her love was strongest, for it was the 
 love of her passionate, and developed nature. No ! — 
 Effie must be the sacrifice ! 
 
 The eyes of the maiden opened presently, as if she 
 was awakened by the gaze fixed upon her. 
 
 " Oh ! mother,'' she murmured pleadingly. 
 
 " My darling child, did what I said last night dis- 
 tress you so much? I was afraid that you were 
 suffering, and have come thus early to talk with you 
 about it." 
 
 " You have come to take back those cruel words — 
 to take them all back! I know you have, you speak 
 so kindly," said Eflle, eagerly. 
 
 " Not to take them back," said the mother, ia the 
 
 gentlest tone, "but to give you reasons for what I 
 
 said — good reasons, that will reconcile you to them." 
 
 , " Reconcile me ! " replied the fair girl mournfully, 
 
 laying her small hands together tightly on her bosom. 
 
 " EfiSe, I wiU take you into my confidence. You 
 dare not betray the trust of your mother — you can 
 not rival her! / love Cleveland Merefort as never 
 woman loved. Speak, my child ! your mother's hap- 
 piness is in ymir keeping." 
 
288 FRKSR LEAVES 
 
 " Do I not, too, love him, wildly, devotedly ? Moth- 
 er, it woiild IdU me to give him up ! — mother — 
 mother — mother ! " 
 
 " Listen, Effie. I would not be selfish. I do not 
 wish to be selfish; but I am older than you, and 
 know the heart better. I know that with you it is 
 but a school-girl afiection — in two years you will 
 smile at the idea of dying for love ! But with me it 
 is life, hope, being, all ! If I thought that you would 
 sufier io all as I have already suffered since you told 
 me that he loved you, I would sooner perish than 
 require it" 
 
 "But, mother, he loves me — shall I wrong myself 
 and him?" 
 
 "Act coldly to him, and he wiU forget you; only 
 consent, and I can make him love me." 
 
 The young girl hid her eyes and moaned — " Moth- 
 er — morther!" 
 
 " Listen again, Effie — I have not told you all — 
 you cannot dream how utterly my hopes are fixed on 
 this. Effle, I will reveal my heart to you — this is 
 vcLj first love, as it is my last. From my infancy tiU I 
 was married, I suffered the pangs of poverty ; I was 
 beautiful — but beauty was a mockery ! — for I was 
 poor ! I longed for the means of gratifying my tastes — 
 for arraying my loveliness in jewels, and sUks, and 
 laces. I longed to be a belle — to be admu-ed. Oh] 
 
FROM •WESTERN WOODS. 239 
 
 1 forgot that there was anything to be prized, but 
 wealth. In vain my mother warned me. At your 
 age I married a man whom I could not like — but he 
 was rich — very, very rich. What mattered it, if he 
 was old, and ugly, and ignorant? — he was rich as 
 Croesus. I was his wife — I lived in splendor, and 
 was courted, flattered, and envied. I was beautiful 
 and wealthy, but I was miserable. I hated your 
 father — I. could not endure his caresses. If he had 
 not loved me, I should have been grateful to him for 
 the luxury that surrounded me; but his love — the 
 love of one so ignorant, and withered-up, and vile — 
 was dreadful Yet all the ten long years he lived 
 with me, I was compelled to conceal this ; for, should 
 he know it at his death, but my third of his immense 
 wealth would be mine. He was blind to my dislike, 
 and at his death left all to me. At last I was free — 
 free as the wind — with all things at my Command. 
 You, Effie, were my child, and everything you asked 
 was yours — you have always been gratified in every 
 wish — but all this time that I loved you, and cher- 
 ished you, could I dream in what way you" were to 
 rise up and crush me ? " 
 
 Again the young girl moaned helplessly. 
 
 " At last I have loved! — with all the intensity of 
 sentiments and passions, hoarded up and stifled for 
 long years, I love. To say I love, is an empty term. 
 
240 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 I feel that my very reason is bound up in this feel- 
 ing. Effie, could you be happy, married to this man; 
 ■■^Hn and your mother, perhaps — I feel so " — and she 
 pressed her hand to her forehead — "perhaps a ma- 
 ""^ niac, or, happily, in her grave ? Never ! ■ And I 
 would not have said this — I -would have suffered 
 and died — but that I am convinced that your hap- 
 piness is not reaUy concerned in this. Remember, 
 you are a mere child — just from yoTtr books and 
 aprons — it cannot be! But you say nothing — you 
 forget that I am your mother, that my life is in your 
 chUdish hands! you will marry Cleveland Merefort! " 
 
 The woman, who had always been so cold, and 
 proud, and calm, that the young girl had almost 
 feared her, was now on her knees before her child. 
 It was enough, and too much. 
 
 " Mother, rise. I did not speak, because I could 
 not — but I am resolved. I can not, after what you 
 have said, marry that man. I only hope that he will 
 love you. Go — go, if you please, mother ! I want 
 to be alone." 
 
 " Bless you, my child ! my darling, noble child ! 
 Of course, your own good sense will suggest what 
 is the proper manner for you to observe toward Mt. 
 Merefort. Try and forget this, dearest, and I will at 
 length be happy." 
 
 She kissed the cold brow of her daughter, and left 
 
FROM WBBTEBN WOODS. 241 
 
 tue room. Well satisfied witli the result of this skill- 
 ful appeal to the heart of poor Effie, and fatigued 
 with all this excitement, she again sought her couch, 
 and slept, undisturbed, for many hours; while the 
 one, whom she had called on to mak^his bitter sac- 
 rifice, was pacing her room with the slow, heavy steps 
 of misery. 
 
 It was after dinner, before she summoned her maid 
 to assist in dressing. 
 
 " Which is the most becoming, Margaret, this green 
 velvet, or this black one ? " 
 
 " The green velvet makes Madame look magnijique, 
 the black very charming; the black makes Madame's 
 eyes look very bright and her lips red." 
 
 " I will wear the black this evening, Margaret, as I 
 lo not wish to look magnificent in my boudoir." 
 
 So, when the maid had finished attiring her, her 
 jnistress was herself pleased with the plain, elegant, 
 black velvet, and with the delicate network of gold 
 ■thrown over the back of her glossy hair, together 
 with plain gold bracelets. She stood long, studying 
 this style in her mirror. Her hair was done up high 
 in folds, and shown blackly through the chaste and 
 glittering network; the boddice of her dress was close 
 and plain ; her arms, bare to the dimpled elbow, look- 
 ed rounder and snowier than was their wont, in the 
 broad circlets of ^Id which bound them. Her dress 
 
242 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 gave a pensive, touching air to her brilliant beauty; 
 her eyes did indeed look darker and deeper, and their 
 curved lashes longer, and her bright lips fresher and 
 dewier. A crimson thread would almost have de- 
 stroyed the rfect of this simple elegance. She 
 decided that her dress, at least, was perfect. 
 
 Mrs. Linn was in her boudoir, but no Effie, when 
 Cleveland entered. The two sat down at the little ta- 
 ble which had been brought in and set with a dainty 
 repast in delicate taste. The young man looked anx- 
 ious, till his hostess informed him that her daughter 
 w^as still indisposed, and could not appear. He then 
 looked both anxious and disappointed. 
 
 " Is she seriousiy ill ? " he asked, earnestly. 
 
 " Only a very little indisposed, yet she thinks she 
 had better keep her room to-day." 
 
 " She must be really unwell, if she will not come 
 down to see me," thought her lover, and the expected 
 pleasure of his visit vanished. He was silent and 
 grave. In vain, the winning woman exercised her 
 powers of fascination; they fell unappreciated upon 
 him, except that he thought that the sweet lady be- 
 fore him was too young and lovely to wear the title 
 of mother to a man of his age, and he smiled to him- 
 self at the fanciful thought. 
 
 Thinking this, he looked at her more earnestly, and 
 thought her more beautiful than e-fer, for her brilliant 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. S43 
 
 charms were softened into a more pensive style ; and 
 the wild, impassioned love she secretly cherished, lent 
 a melting, glowing sweetness to her tones and actions. 
 Her eyes were almost bewildering, but there was 
 something about them that did not, could not touch 
 his heart like the clear, pure, innocent ones of his 
 soul's sweet choice. 
 
 This little tea-party was a failure. Cleveland con- 
 tinued silent and sad, and rose at last to leave. The 
 widow was chagrined, but she did not at all despair. 
 
 As Cleveland returned through the parlors alone, 
 having begged his hostess not to trouble herself to 
 accompany him, he saw Effle half concealed in the 
 embrasure of a window in one of the apartments. 
 He advanced immediately in surprise, and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 " And you are well enough to be standing here, 
 and would not even come a moment to see me at 
 tea," he said, reproachfully, gazing fondly into her 
 lovely face. 
 
 The poor girl could not speak that moment. She 
 had not known he was there, but dared not say so; 
 and, if she had known it, what would it avail ? She 
 turned very pale. 
 
 " Forgive me, dearest, you do indeed look faint and 
 ill," he continued, with anxious tenderness. " You are 
 not going to be redlly so sick? oh, I hope not! " 
 
&44 FRESH LBAVES 
 
 " I am not very unwell," she said, at length, in a 
 faint, cold tone, withdrawing from the arm he had ex- 
 tended when she turned so white. " I have a slight 
 headache." 
 
 It was so unlike her usual confidmg sweetness, that 
 he knew that she was ill or oflfended. 
 
 " Oh ! my darling EflSe, you do n't know how I 
 wanted to see you last night; and to-night I was so 
 glad — I thought you would be with your mother, 
 and we would have such a happy evening. I was 
 so anxious, I could not remain — I fear your mother 
 thought I was hardly polite. Oh ! dearest, I wished 
 to steal to your chamber and see if you were so ill, 
 and kiss your poor forehead, if it ached, before I came 
 away ; " and he would have pressed his truthful lips 
 upon her pure brow, but again she shrunk awajf. 
 
 Her heart beat almost to bursting — she would have 
 given worlds to have received that earnest kiss. She 
 thought of her mother, and her promise. 
 
 " Mr. Merefort! " she said, in a constrained tone. 
 
 " Effie ! " was the sad and grieved reply. " Effie 1 " 
 he continued, "have I offended you unconsciously? 
 Believe me, I do not know in what manner. Tell 
 me, that I may atone. You are very much altered 
 to-night, dearest." 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Merefort; pray, do not think I am 
 offended," she replied in the same constrained tone. 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 245 
 
 She did not dare to raise her eyes, to meet his look 
 of surprise. 
 
 " Good evening, EflSe," he said, in a wounded tona 
 
 " Good evening," was the chilling reply. 
 
 The next moment he was gone, and the tinhappy 
 girl sank down upon the floor and buried her face in 
 her hands. Her heart was almost broken ! 
 
 And she must still play this terrible part — woimd 
 his love, estrange his affections, when her own heart 
 was yearning wildly — and she must see him give that 
 love to another — see him at the altar — it was a mar- 
 tyrdom to her heart more cruel than deatL But she 
 had resolved, and promised to play her part — ^and she 
 ivovid not fail — it must be done. 
 
 16 
 
246 FBEBH LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WEEKS and weeks had passed awiiy. In vain 
 had the lover striven to ascertain the cause of 
 the change in Effle's manner. At first, he pleaded to 
 know, when by chance he met her ; then his wounded 
 pride and a£fection kept him silent; and at length he 
 ceased to speak to her except in the most formal way. 
 But he suffered almost as much as she ; he endured 
 the agony of suspense, and the torture of her chilling 
 demeanor. She saw that he suffered; and the noble, 
 padent, heart-weary girl would have revealed all to 
 him for his sake, but that her duty to her mother 
 seemed sacred. So she only hoped that he might 
 forget her and be happy. But she could not look 
 upon his proud, but mournful face without almost 
 betraying herself, and at length she avoided him 
 altogether. 
 
 Yet he still visited at the house of Mrs. Linn. He 
 was irresistibly attracted by the siren. At first; he 
 
FROM WKSTBEN WOODS. "47 
 
 maagined that the mother knew of his attachment to 
 her daughter, and sympathized with him in her ne- 
 glect; then again he concluded that she knew noth- 
 ing of it, but that he was a favorite of hers ; perhaps 
 that she loved him ! No, no, he could not think that ; 
 out there was something about her that attracted him 
 to her side, and made him wish for her sympathy 
 and gentleness. Not that he was not yet true to 
 his EflBe — he was — he was ! He loved her with 
 the intense fervor that a reserved, proud, intellectual 
 man of thirty will love for the first time a sweet, 
 pure, gifted girl. But this very love made him seek 
 the mother; he had a faint hope that through her he 
 might at least discover the cause of this strange fals- 
 ity on the part of his affianced. She was so soothing, 
 so gentle, so beautiful, so eloquent, that, unconsciously, 
 he was deeply interested in her, and could not pass a 
 day out of her society; it was a balm to his suflfering 
 heart 
 
 She saw all this, and acted accordingly. She saw 
 just how far he was in her power, and she had a 
 hope. It was a longer struggle to gain him from his 
 disappointment than she had anticipated, but she did 
 not despair. To her, it was happiness to have him 
 come and sit by her, if he only listened to her words — 
 for Effie was out of the way, and he was hers alone — 
 d his mournful thoughts did still wander away aftei 
 
248 FBEBH LEAVES 
 
 the beloved false one. She stifled all pangs of re- 
 morse — she lived but for one thing : to gain the love 
 of Mr. Merefort. 
 
 One morning, Isabel Linn sat in a beautiful apart- 
 ment, opening into the conservatory. The room was 
 dim, and fresh, and pleasant. She was attired with 
 studied carelessness, and looked very lovely. A booi 
 was in her hand, which she laid aside with a flush 
 of joy, as Cleveland entered; he came across the rich 
 cai-pet, and sat down upon a low seat beside her lux- 
 urious arm-chair. He was more than usually sad — 
 he sat for some time without speaking, while Isabel 
 looked upon him with tender eyes. 
 
 " Do you believe there is such a thing as true and 
 constant love ? " he asked, suddenly, raising his dark 
 . eyes intently to her face. 
 
 Those beautiful orbs of hers seemed to melt away 
 in tenderness, as she looked into his, without answer- 
 ing in words. 
 
 " You are sad this morning," she said softly. " I 
 would that I could banish that moumfulness from 
 your face for ever." 
 
 " You may, perhaps, alleviate it," he replied, slowly. 
 
 " Then tell me," she said, with a sweet smile, bend- 
 ing toward him. 
 
 " Let me confide to you the secret of this sadnesS," 
 he said. 
 
TROM WESTERN WOODS. ' 9 
 
 She held out her delicate, fair hand, and he pretjed 
 it in both his, as he said rapidly — 
 
 " I loved your daughter, Mrs. Linn — I was be- 
 trothed to her; I loved intensely and purely and 
 thought she returned it. I believed the gentle ords 
 that trembled on her lips and the blush on her jheek, 
 ■when she told me that her love was like to mine. But 
 for many weeks she has slighted me : I have not even 
 seen her recently. The change was so sudden, so en- 
 tire, I could not but believe that she loved me still 
 as ever, but that some fatal misunderstanding existed. 
 Tell me, do you know aught of this ? and, if you do 
 not, will you be so very, very kind, as to learn for me 
 the reasons of this change ? " 
 
 Mrs. Linn listened with a soft smile, and, when he 
 raised his eyes earnestly to hear the answer to his ques- 
 tions, she smiled still more, yet kindly, gently, pityingly. 
 
 " Can it be that a man of your experience and 
 knowledge of life would trust his happiness to a mere 
 child ?" she SMd, with a burst of gentle surprise. 
 "EflSe has but just left her studies, Mr. Merefort; 
 and, of course, the offer of love you made was ac- 
 cepted ; young girls can not know themselves, and are 
 invariably flattered by the first attentions they re- 
 ceive. Doubtless her conduct now is but a foolish 
 caprice — some other admirer has appeared, and you 
 are forgotten. I only regret that your noble and true 
 
250 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 love was given so carelessly, to such a child. But it 
 ■would not be manly to let a school-girl make you 
 unhappy." 
 
 Cleveland bit his lips mth mortification and agony. 
 Could it be possible he had been such a very sim- 
 pleton ? 
 
 " But I would not have a worn-out, second love. 
 So you think there is no such thing in life as earnest, 
 true, unchanging love ? " he asked, bitterly. ' 
 
 " How could I think so ? " she asked, in a low, sweet 
 tobe, and, turning those large, dark, passionate eyes 
 slowly- to his, she bent forward still farther, and made 
 no other reply. 
 
 Her companion knew not what to say. He was 
 fascinated by that eloquent face, yet his heart was 
 still true to another. 
 
 " Yes ! " she said, earnestly, after a while ; " I know 
 that there is a love, which is hardly a love, it is so 
 much of worship, thought, life — but it is not the 
 shrinking love of a trifling, timid child. It is the 
 passionate devotion, the wild idolatry, the burning 
 aflfection of older, stronger, more fully-developed nar 
 tures. It is the love that comes at the- time when 
 the heart knows itself and others ; when its thoughts 
 are matured, its impulses strengthened, its gifts cul- 
 tivated, its aflfections deepened into steady, fervent, 
 intense power; when the spirit, and the beauty and 
 
SEOM WKSTKKN WOODS. 251 
 
 ihe genius of life are at the zenith of their glory. 
 It is passion — it is hope — it is life — it is all ! it is 
 fearfully, madly deep and strong ! it does aD, dares all, 
 sacrifices all to its own intensity! It fears not! it 
 shrinks not ! it gives all or none ! " 
 
 She bent further forward, as she paused, and laid 
 her soft hands on the dark curls of the man before 
 her, and pressed a quick, warm kiss upon his fore- 
 head. Then, folding those hands mutely over her 
 bosom, she drooped her head, while a cninson blush 
 burned on her cheek, where the long lashes trembled 
 in drooping confusion. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, while Cleveland 
 gazed upon the blushing, beautiful, impassioned crea- 
 ture who had thus revealed her love to him. Had 
 he indeed been mistaken in looking for unselfish love 
 from a very young girl ? did this splendid woman love 
 the most devotedly ? It would seem so — for, while 
 one would not make a sacrifice of pride to explain the 
 cause of her estrangement, or perhaps had even no 
 pride and no cause, the other had sacrificed pride and 
 more, and now sat trembling and subdued before him. 
 While he still thought, a tear dropped down from 
 those long, jetty lashes, and fell on his hand. The 
 spell was completed. He sank upon his knees, and 
 took the small hands from her bosom, and pressed 
 them to his own. 
 
252 I'RESH LEAVXS 
 
 " May I look for that love and devotion from my 
 beautiful Isabel?" he asked. 
 
 The superb head was on his shoulder — broken, 
 murmuring words of tenderness fell from her lips — 
 and then, blushing, radiant, smiling, confused, bewil- 
 dered, she glided from the room, and left him kneel 
 ing, entranced, and dreaming by her chair. 
 
 " Come to-night," she said, as she left him. 
 
 For a long while, Cleveland knelt there, with his 
 head drooped upon his hand. His heart beat so vio- 
 lently, that he could not think calmly. When his 
 pulses grew more subdued, he realized that he did 
 not yet love the beautiful creature who had just left 
 him — but he thought he might do so — and, for her 
 sake he would try. Of Effie he thought with a curl- 
 ing lip— sAe was unworthy; yet there was still a des- 
 olation and gloom in his heart. It would yet take all 
 the beauty and the skill of Isabel Linn to complete 
 the triumph which had sent her, quivering, joyous, 
 blushing, happy, to her chamber, to hide her tumult- 
 uous bliss in solitude. 
 
 By-and-by, the young man arose and stepped out 
 into the conservatory, to soothe his mingled feelings 
 among the flowers. There, close by the door, lying 
 among the bright blossoms, pale and still, was the 
 broken-hearted and devoted Effie. She had seen all 
 that had passed within; and, when she heard that 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 263 
 
 last, low, earnest question of CleTeland's, and saw 
 him sink upon the floor and clasp her mother's hand, 
 the strong purpose which had upheld her gave way, 
 and she fell, insensible, among the fair flowers — none 
 of them "so lovely yet so blighted as herself 
 
 Her lover looked upon her, for a moment, motion- 
 less. She had grown very thin since he saw her last; 
 traces of heart-sufiering were on her transparent fore- 
 head, and pale lips, and wasted form. In a moment, 
 he felt that he had wronged her — that she was and 
 had been very unhappy '■ — and for what cause ? He 
 resolved now to know, if it was not too late. He took 
 her in his arms, and bore her into the drawing-room — 
 took a chased-gold bottle of salts from the table, and 
 sat down on the sofa, supporting her head on Lis 
 breast, and chafing her hands, and applying the salts 
 to her nostrils. Still she did not stir, though her 
 pulse beat faintly in her delicate wrist. A glass of 
 wine stood on a small stand, near by — some of this 
 he poured between her lips — and, after a few anxious 
 moments, she gave a faint sigh, then breathed gently, 
 and unclosed her eyes. 
 
 The face of her lover bent above her — his deep 
 eyes were looking witli unutterable tenderness upon 
 her. 
 
 " Cleveland, is it you? do I rest here?" she uttered 
 fainliy, and, with a blissful smile, she pressed her head 
 
 n* 
 
254 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 closer on his bosom, half clasped him -mth. her arms, 
 and closed her eyes again. 
 
 " I did not think I should ever nestle here ag^n — 
 yet you love me still ! you have come to me to tell 
 me how entirely I am yours 1 " 
 
 The young man replied to her low murmur, with 
 fervent kisses on the sweet brow that had grown so 
 pale and spiritual. She loved him yet — he knew 
 it, now — ^yet, like a sharp dagger, came the remem- 
 brance of the past scene ! it was that which had 
 taken the breath from the young lips of Effie. What 
 should he do ? He was false to her, if it was but for 
 a moment, and she knew it — aye, and another knew 
 it, and rejoiced in it His brow contracted with pain. 
 Oh, how he longed to have this mystery cleared 
 away, for he felt there was a, mystery! He waited 
 anxiously for the fair creature, he sustained, to gain 
 strength to tell him all. 
 
 Suddenly the young girl pressed her hands upon 
 her temples ! 
 
 " I feel such agony here ! " she exclaimed — and, 
 before her supporter could prevent her, she sprang 
 from him and stood in the center of the apartment. 
 
 Her eyes were now wide open and brilliant, and 
 her cheeks were red, and clear, and hot, and her fore- 
 head pale. 
 
 "Mother! mother! mother! " she moaned, clasping 
 
TEOM WESTEKN WOODS. 255 
 
 her hands piteously, "do not be so cruel! See! how 
 you lure him away from me ! Ah, mother! you 
 look like a beautiful serpent enchanting him ! I see 
 your great eyes burning down into his ! I told you 
 I would die, mother, if you took him from me ! and 
 look ! " pressing her hands on her heart — " there is 
 such a pain here, that I know I am dying! Dying — 
 dying, mother ! and you killed me ! " 
 
 Cleveland shuddered at the unnaturally brilUant 
 eyes that were fixed upon him with a gaze of re- 
 proach and feverish agony — he shuddered at that 
 wild look and burning form — his EflSe was dehrious ! 
 But he would not summon help yet — he wished to 
 hear from her raving Ups the whole of this mystery. 
 The yoimg girl now came a step toward him, and the 
 expression of her face changed — her large eyes were 
 troubled, and tender, and pleading! 
 
 " My own Cleveland ! do not look so coldly upon 
 me! for sweet mercy's sake! turn away that bitter 
 look ! I did not mean to be cold to you — beUeve 
 me, I did not; and, when I saw you look so despair- 
 ing, oh! Cleveland, my heart was breaking! slowly, 
 slowly breaking! But she bade me do so, dearest — ' 
 she compelled me ! I plead to the stars, and they did 
 not listen ! I prayed to the angels, and they heard me 
 not — cruel! cruel! cruel! It is terrible, to see you 
 look so— do I not shrink and quiver before your gaze ? 
 
250 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Oh, Cleveland, I shall shriek out, if you do not pity 
 me and forgive ! See, I am at your feet — at your 
 feet, Cleveland ! " 
 
 The young girl was kneeling at his feet, with her 
 pale, thin hands outstretched to him — her whole face 
 was brilliant with fever, and softened by its pleading 
 expression. It would have touched a heart of stone 
 to have seen that burning, beautiful, mournful face! 
 If the mother had witnessed it, it might have smote 
 her heart ! The lover's breast hardly held its burst- 
 ing emotions. " Oh, curses on that beautiful de- 
 ceiver! curses on my silly self !" he exclaimed, in the 
 bitterness of anger and remorse. 
 
 " You curse me, Cleveland ? " said the poor gjirl, in 
 a reproachful voice, clasping his knees, and hiding her 
 wild, sad face. 
 
 " Curse you for my own mad folly ? Dearest, look 
 upon me ! see ! I am beseeching you to listen to me ! 
 I love you so tenderly — so dearly ! " 
 
 He took her up from the floor, and supported hei 
 in his arms, trying to soothe her and make her com- 
 prehend him. 
 
 "Is it indeed you, Cleveland? have you come to 
 take me from my dreadful mother ? Ah ! she de- 
 ceived you so terribly that it broke my heart! Let 
 us sit down and talk about it." 
 
 They sat down on the sofa, and he held her. 
 
rBOM WESTERN WOODS. 257 
 
 " Haik ! I hear the flowers in the conservatory 
 laughing and singing, because you love me yet, and 
 will take me away ! I am so happy — my heart is aJl 
 in a flutter — my brain is burning — do you hear them 
 laugh ? Ah ! they are moaning — ^it is not you — you 
 must be my poor mother. Yes, it is you, Cleveland ! 
 I hear your deep voice — ^my mother's voice is sweeter, 
 but it is deceitful. I do not love her; do you, dear- 
 est ? Now I remember, you told her you would love 
 her, and it made my heart ache ; but we will love her 
 together, and — are you here, dear ? it is so dark, I 
 can not see you ! " 
 
 Here she sank against him more heavily, and mur- 
 mured inarticulately. He had heard enough to set 
 his soul on fire ; and, veiy much alarmed at the illness 
 of his Effie, he laid her carefully on the sofa, felt her 
 throbbing temples, and hurriedly rang the belL 
 
 " Call Mrs. Linn," he said to the servant. 
 
 In a short time, Isabel came back into the apart- 
 ment, with a soft blush and a look of inquiry. 
 
 " Your daughter is fll," he said, almost sternly. 
 
 The haughty woman turned pale, and would have 
 stammered out a question, but, passing her with a 
 cold bow, Cleveland Merefort hurried into the streets, 
 and paced them with restless steps. 
 
 Effie loved him yet — oh, joy ! but Effie was very ill, 
 and would not probably live ^t- oh, unutterable agony! 
 
258 ' FRESH LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 IT was the crisis of the fever ! 
 Profound silence was in the marble mansion of 
 Mrs. Linn. In one of the lower apartments, with lis 
 face buried in the arms which were folded over a 
 chair, knelt Cleveland Merefort — waiting in intense 
 anxiety for the messenger who should bear the fatal 
 or joyful tidings — moving not, scarcely breathing in 
 his suspense. 
 
 In the chamber above, the sick girl lay sleeping. 
 The nurse, physician, and mother were gathered 
 around her bed. Wasted, and pale, and still, she 
 lay on the white pillows; the breath just trembled 
 on her pallid lips. • 
 
 The mothe^ sat with her head di-ooped on her 
 hands, watching the face of her child. God for^ve 
 her ! but, as she looked upon that sweet but deathly 
 face, there was a hope in her heart, which she dared 
 ** not acknowledge to herself, that the crisis might 7iot 
 be favorable! deeper emotions than those called up 
 
FKOM WESTERN WOODS. 259 
 
 by the situation of her child a^tated her, though her 
 face was pale and calm. She feared — indeed, she 
 knew — that the man she loved must know all, for his 
 stern look, and the incoherent ravings of Effie, con- 
 vinced her of this. 
 
 Very, very fallible and slender, therefore, were the 
 hopes she entertained of now succeeding. A tem- 
 pest of varying passions — love, anger, sorrow, mor- 
 tification, revenge — every feeling by turns burned in 
 her bosom. 
 
 After a long, weary watch, the sleep of the invalid 
 was broken. She unclosed her eyes ; in an instant, 
 the doctor was bending over her. 
 
 " She will live, madam," he said, after a moment 
 of suspense. 
 
 " Ah, heaven be praised ! " said the nurse ; and, 
 approaching Mrs. Linn, she whispered, " There is a 
 young gentleman down stairs, in a dreadful fret to 
 hear from our dear young lady — shall I send word, 
 that she is better, and will get well ? " 
 
 The mother started and changed countenance. 
 
 " I will go myself, and tell him this happy news," 
 she said; and, kissing her daughter's 'forehead, she 
 hurried from the roont 
 
 It was a great effort for her to appear calm, as she 
 entered the room where Cleveland was yet kneeling. 
 But she need not have striven so hard, for he had 
 
260 VBESH LEATES 
 
 that moment forgotten his portion toward her. When 
 she entered, he sprang up. 
 
 " Tell me instantly, Mrs. Linn — oh, speak ! is she 
 dying?" 
 
 " The crisis is past — the physician pronounces her 
 out of danger ! " 
 
 The lover clasped his hands fervently. 
 
 " And now, dear one," said the lady, with the smile 
 of an angel, " now, that this anxiety is over, we can 
 again spend a charming hour together. Sit here — I 
 want to talk of all that has happened since we were 
 separated by this unfortunate illness." 
 
 Mr. Merefort declined the seat she proffered, with 
 a cold, impatient air. 
 
 " Can I not be permitted to look upon the poor 
 sufferer — my Effie?" he asked. 
 
 Isabel did not blush, nor frown, but replied, with 
 her everlasting, beautiful smile, 
 
 " Ah, I scarcely know! any excitement saight — " 
 
 " But she shall not see me — I will not speak," in- 
 terrupted the lover eagerly. " Believe me, I will be 
 discreet." 
 
 The lady ground her teeth secretly, but smiled 
 again. 
 
 " Come, then; but I will not answer for you to the 
 doctor," she said. 
 
 He followed her with a beating heart; and, silently 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 281 
 
 entering the sick room, stood by the bedside, concealed 
 by the curtain. 
 
 Oh, his darling, beautiful, sufifering Effle ! He would 
 have given a fortune, had he possessed it, to press 
 that wasted form to his breast, and see a smile on that 
 pale, pure cheek. Still, and colorless, and exquisitely 
 lovely she lay — so motionless and pure, like a rare 
 statue, only more spiritual, more transparent 
 
 " Doctor," she said, faintly, as they all gazed on 
 her, " have I been very iU ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear lady ; but you must not speak 
 now." 
 
 She moved her eyes slowly, till they fell on her 
 mother's face. 
 
 " You here, my dear mother ? " and, as her eyes 
 stiU wandered, they rested on the countenance of her 
 lover, who, in his agitation, had advanced within sight; 
 a faint, sweet smile shone then from those large eyes — 
 " and you, too, Cleveland ? then mother has repented. 
 You are mine! bless you, bless you, mother! "she 
 almost whispered, she was so weak. 
 
 No one heard her, but the two interested. Mrs. 
 Linn turned white. 
 
 " The young lady must cease talking," here inter- 
 rupted the doctor. 
 
 Effie made an eflFort to extend her hand to her 
 betrothed, as he was turning away; he took it, held 
 
 17 
 
S62 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 it a moment tenderly, looMng down into those loving, 
 languid eyes, with mournful interest ; then turned 
 away, and left the house, despite the stiU placid in- 
 vitation of the lady to remain. 
 
 After he departed, Mrs. Linn's tender smUe van- 
 ished. She went to her room, closed the door, and 
 paced hurriedly to and fro. The mask of sweetness 
 was thrown aside, and it was frightful to see her in 
 the paroxysms of mortification and disappointment. 
 She tore her magnificent hair, till it hung in dishev- 
 eled masses around her haughty form; she bit her 
 convulsed lips till they were stained with blood ; she 
 snatched off her jewels and flung them away; she 
 stamped her delicate feet tQl they were blistered; she 
 tore the muslin drapery from her beautiful arms, and 
 the folds of silk and linen from her swelling, passion- 
 ate, wild, mad heart! She threw herself prostrate on 
 the floor, with her black locks and torn garments 
 streaming around her. Then she arose, and lifted up, 
 in threatening grandeur, her clenched hand. Splendid, 
 yet, degrading sight ! passions that, cultivated and re- 
 strained, would have made her sublime in womanly 
 power, now ra^ng uncontrolled — wrecking and con- 
 vulsing their fair tenement ! One moment she was a 
 hateful fury, debased by anger and malice, grinding 
 her teeth and teaiing herself; the next, she was terri- 
 oly, touchingly beautiful — as anguish, and sorrow, and 
 
FBOM WESTERN WC ODS. 263 
 
 regret, at this blighting of her first, strong' love, agi- 
 tated her. Then the dark eyes were thrown upward, 
 in an intensity of agony, their long lashes trembling 
 on the contracted brows ; then her burning hps quiv- 
 ered, and her small hands pressed her throbbing 
 bosom; then the attitude of that superb form was 
 eloquent of despair. 
 
 Half the night the excited woman gave herself up 
 to this uncontrolled outbreak of her emotions. What 
 dreadful thoughts suggested themselves during that 
 time, who shall say ? That she did curse her daugh- 
 ter for faUing ill, for getting well, is true — ^but whether 
 darker thoughts of yet making that recovery impossi- 
 ble, brooded in her blackened soul, the events that 
 followed only witnessed to. We know that such 
 things have transpired, and Isabel Linn was willful, 
 passionate, unprincipled, uncontrolled — she loved her 
 daughter's affianced, and hated that daughter. 
 
 Completely exhausted, Isabel at length threw her- 
 self on the bed, and fell into a muttering slumber. It 
 was late the next day when she awoke. She sprung 
 from her couch, and hastened to the mirror. It gave 
 back her features pale and haggard; her lips were 
 blood-stained, her eyes heavy — there were aetua^y 
 two or three wrinkles on that beautiful face ! 
 
 " It will never do to indulge in this," she murmured. 
 " I look ten years older than I did yesterday." 
 
26i FRESH LEAVES 
 
 So she -washed her complexion in as many soothing 
 creams as Henry the Third was once in the habit of 
 doing, and applied rose-balm to her wounded lips, and 
 gathered up her disheveled hair in a French twist; 
 then throwing herself again on the bed, brooded an 
 hour over her dark thoughts, before she rang for her 
 breakfast and her dressing-maid. 
 
 From that time forward, for several days, the 
 haughty, cold, and indifferent manner of Isabel was 
 changed for one of gentleness and suavity, at leasts 
 before Cleveland, who came every day, as EfiSe grew 
 stronger, to sit beside her couch, sometimes silently 
 holding her hand, sometimes reading to her, and some- 
 times whispering dear words which brought a faint 
 hue of happiness to the cheek of the invalid. Isabel 
 even took the lover to her boudoir one day, and hum- 
 bled herself before him, confessing, with penitential 
 sorrow, that she had been the cause of Effie's illness, 
 but that she had no idea that so mere a child was 
 really so interested — that her own wild love blinded 
 her, but that now she saw the wrong, and had made 
 a great effort, for her child's sake, to smother her own 
 feelings, and she thought she had conquered them — 
 when Effie was well enough, they would have a wed- 
 ding — she could smile now, to see her two children 
 wed one another. 
 
FBOM WSSIERN WOODS. 
 
 265 
 
 Cleveland pitied and forgave her, and -went away 
 with a heart full of joy, to talk to his bethrothed 
 about it; and the invalid, too, smiled and blushed, 
 and geempd a great deal better. 
 
 '>*MiMfe 
 
266 FBE5H LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CLEVELAND MEREFORT was threadmg his way 
 through one of the miserable by-streets of his 
 native city. Though he was not a rich man, he had 
 a heart and a purse for the suffering ; and now, with 
 Ms fine, intellectual face beaming with kindness, he 
 was on a visit to one of the poor men he had at some 
 time employed, who was now sick. As he turned a 
 corner in the dirty street, a lady, in a plain, dark dress 
 and thick vail, gUded before him, without perceiving 
 him. He watched her with interest, wondering if 
 she, too, was bent on a charitable errand — ^for that she 
 was elegant and fastidious he saw, though she was in 
 this low part of the city. Her whole demeanor, de- 
 spite the plain dress, was so haughty and graceful, 
 that he at once was almost sure that the lady was 
 Mrs. Linn. 
 
 After preceding him for a short distance, she paused 
 a moment, and then entered, \4th a hesitating step, a 
 dingy house, which, the young man at once recollected, 
 was the abode of a necromancer, and dealer in love 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 267 
 
 and hate philters. Convinced that it was Mrs. Linn, 
 he strove to conjecture her errand, hut was at a loss. 
 He proceeded on his mission of mercy, and then 
 wended his way to the residence of his dear invalid. 
 
 Effie was now so strong that she came down every 
 day and sat in the easy chair, in the back drawing- 
 room — the pleasant room that opened into the con- 
 servatory. 
 
 As he was now in the habit of doing, Cleveland 
 entered the hall without ringing the bell, and going 
 first into the front drawing-room, he paused a moment, 
 when he saw that the inner door was half open, to 
 lOok, unperceived, upon the fail- suflferer. 
 
 She sat by the open window, with her head resting 
 on her pale hand. She wore a pale blue morning- 
 dress — her hair was pushed back wearily from her 
 forehead, and a slight flush of anticipated pleasure, 
 probably, was on her clear, soft cheek. As we said 
 before, her face was the purest thing out of heaven ! — 
 and now, spiritualized yet more by suffering, it was 
 unearthly in its loveliness. 
 
 While the lover, with suspended breath, was feed- 
 ing his soul on this rare beauty, he saw, through the 
 partially-closed door, Mrs. Linn enter behind EflSe, 
 holding something, wrapped in paper, in her hand. 
 Her bonnet and vail were cast aside, but it was the 
 same dark breath. She paused at a stand where 
 
260 FBESH LBAVSa 
 
 stood some cooling drink for the invalid, and pouring 
 some of this from the cut-glass pitcher into a silver 
 cup, she dropped the contents of the paper into the 
 goblet. Had it not been that her hand trembled so 
 violently, and that she grew so deathly pallid, he 
 ■would have supposed, of course, that it was some pow- 
 der prescribed. But h&r face wore such a strange 
 expression, and she pressed her hand to her heart, as 
 if to strengthen some purpose, that immediately the 
 thought of the visit to the necromancer flashed over 
 him. He gTew quite faint at the thought, and leaned 
 against the wall, still watching the inner room. When 
 the mother grew more calm, she went to her daughter 
 and kissed her cheek. 
 
 "You are a little feverish this morning, I fear," 
 she said kindly. 
 
 " No, Mother, I feel better — almost well," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " I will roll the stand here, where you can drink 
 when you are thirsty," continued the lady, and, doing 
 as she said, sLe left the room, remarking — " Cleveland 
 will be here soon, I suppose." 
 
 The sweet girl blushed, and, as the door closed after 
 her parent, ere the blush faded, Cleveland entered 
 and called it back again. 
 
 He sat a moment or two, conversing pleasantly. 
 
 "So you are almost well, are you, dearest? I 
 
FROM WBSTERlf WOODS. £69 
 
 heard your mother say you must diink this beverage; 
 so, as you are well enough to tease now, I shall give 
 it all to the canaries and lap-dog," and the lover aa-ose 
 and took the silver cup in his hand. He said this 
 playfully, and the invalid smiled brightly. 
 
 "Very well, Sir Torment," she responded, "you 
 will fail to tease me there — I am happy to be rid of 
 it. Doubtless there is some bitter potion in il^ left by 
 our jEsculapius." 
 
 " Nevertheless I shall feed it to your pets," he- said, 
 " if only to try the eflfect of the good doctor's drugs 
 on them." 
 
 And laughing, he emptied the contents of the cup 
 into the china dishes on each side the gilded cage of 
 the golden warblers, and the rest into the porcelain 
 plate of Uttle Fidele. Then he filled it again from the 
 pitcher, and watered a portion of the plants in the 
 conservatory, and set the goblet back with a gay face. 
 
270 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 a inFFIE, dear, can not you trust mef ^an no 
 
 X_J you place entire confidence in whM I say? 
 Believe me, it is only necessity that urges me —a press- 
 ing necessity, which I keep from you, for your own 
 happiness." 
 
 "I do trust you, Cleveland; but it is 9> strange, 
 when we were to have been married in a fi:w weeks, 
 to propose so strange a step ! Tell me all, Cleveland, 
 or I can not decide. 
 
 The lovers sat in a little sylvan temple, -which the 
 costly taste of Mrs. Linn had caused to be eiscted in 
 the center of the grounds. It was a lovely September 
 afternoon. They supposed they were entirely alone — 
 but, Isabel, coming herself to summon the young 
 couple to tea, heard the eager questions of the gentle- 
 man, and paused to listen outside the doorway, which 
 was made of marble in the shape of two sweet statues, 
 with their hands linked together overhead. 
 
 "Oh, EflSe, Effie! I can not tell you anything, 
 except that the reason is good. Do not hesitate, 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 271 
 
 then — be mine to-niglit — and to-morrow we will be 
 far away on our journey to a southern home. MTien 
 I tell you, Effie, that it is for your own safety and 
 welfare, you will not refuse me." 
 
 " Leave my home, my mother, for ever — be mar- 
 ried secretly — go to the south — conceal from my 
 mother where I am ? Oh ! Cleveland, it is not possi- 
 ble ! it can not be — " 
 
 " Speak, dearest! what do you suspect? " 
 
 " You have not by accident committed — you have 
 not — tell me, have you committed some terrible 
 crime ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Effie, then you do not confide in me, when 
 I tell you that I have done nothing wrong. You will 
 not place yourself in my keeping now, \mder circum- 
 stances a little darkened ; yet, in a few weeks, you will 
 trust your happiness to me. If you can not consent 
 now to give all to me, I can not accept the gift at a 
 more fitting time. I have told you that I have done 
 all this for you. I have made sacrifices for your 
 happiness. I would willingly tell you "qU now, only 
 that I assure you it is better that you should not 
 know. Effie, do you believe me ? " 
 
 "I do, I do! But my mother — my lonely, deso- 
 late mother — my home — to leave them for ever ! " 
 
 "Do you love them better than him you have 
 promised to wed ? " 
 
272 FBESH LEAVES 
 
 The young girl burst into tears. 
 
 " Dearest, my own sweet one," pleaded the lover, 
 "it is cruel, I know, to tear you away from them. 
 It is natural that you should hesitate. I hardly, my- 
 self, realized this, the necessity was so very great. Yet 
 you must go; you must be mine to-night And, if 
 you will not feel satisfied without, you shall know the 
 cause : though, I assure you, you would be happier in 
 ignorance. Yet, rather than that you should suspect 
 me of any crime, I will tell you alL" 
 
 " No, no ! " interrupted the lovely girl, " tell me 
 nothing ! I will trust to the words you have spoken. 
 Heart and soul are yours already, and, if you say so, 
 to-night I wUl be yours ! " 
 
 And she hid her blushing face in his bosom, trem- 
 bling and confused. 
 
 At this moment, Mrs. Linn stood in the temple. 
 A scornful smUe was on her lip, and her eyes flashed 
 fire. 
 
 " So, my grateful, loving little bird is going to fly 
 away, is she ?• I shall have to fasten her cage-doors 
 to-night. Can Mr. Merefort explain the meaning of 
 this sensible freak ? " 
 
 Effie Ufted up her face, which was pale now, instead 
 of blushing, and stood with her eyes cast down. She 
 had always feared her mother, and as she heard her 
 speak in that distinct and hissing tone, she clung closer 
 
FROM WBSTBEN WOODS. 273 
 
 to her lover. She felt that those great, fiory eyes 
 ■vroidd annihilate her if she looked up. 
 
 " I can not explain, Mrs. Linn," said the young man 
 firmly, " you have given your child to me, and I claim 
 her now." 
 
 " I retract the promise then," was the disdainful 
 reply. •' I did not anticipate this; it was not part of 
 the contract. Can you tell what one so miserably, 
 wretchedly poor as you, is to do with that dainty, 
 delicate, luxurious child? You are very discreet, 
 EfiBe ! " she added, with an accent of bitter scorn. 
 
 "Mother!" said that fair girl, with imusual firm- 
 ness, "you chose riches, and how are you repaid? 
 My choice is love! " ajid her small hand sought that 
 of her lover. 
 
 " Bless you Effie," said the young man, folding his 
 arms around her. 
 
 " Effie will stand without your aid, if you please," 
 said the mother haughtily. 
 
 The proud man pressed her closer, looked up at the 
 excited woman with a calm smile : " Henceforth her 
 home is here," he said with dignified tenderness. 
 
 " It is a home which iU befits the daughter of Isabel 
 Linn," was the sneering reply. " / have a presenti- 
 ment that my dainty child will not Uve very long, under 
 such gentle care !" And a flash of dark triumph made 
 the beautiful fiend look awful. 
 
274 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 Cleveland looked steadily in those triumphant eyes, 
 and said with slow and distinct emphasis, 
 
 " / have a presentiment that she will live longer 
 even .in my humble home, than under the care of her 
 affectionate mother. That the potions received from 
 David, the necromancer, are not healthy for such del- 
 icate creatures, let the late death of your flowers, your 
 canaries, and your lap-dog testily !" 
 
 EflSe looked up with a startled and frightened look, 
 turning as white as a lily, as she met her mother's gaae. 
 
 For a moment the betrayed and discomfited woman 
 stood motionless, growing paler and more pale, her 
 great, dark eyes were distended and her lips parted ; 
 then pressing her hands over hqj- mouth, as if to repress 
 the thrilling scream which burst forth, she sunk slowly 
 down to the floor. 
 
 " My mother!" murmured Effio, kneeling beside her, 
 as she saw a crimson torrent of blood gush from the 
 lips of the magnificent but fatally-thwarted woman. 
 
 The bloodvessel which bm-st, proved fatal ; the phy- 
 sician, speedily suromoned, could not save her; and ere 
 the morning broke, she was dead. 
 
 "Forgive — forgive!" she faintly whispered, some 
 nours before she expired. And EflSe and Cleveland 
 neard her, and pressed her cold hands. 
 
 Her death was an accident — so people thought — 
 laused by falling, and receiving an internr^ injury. 
 
FBOM WESTERN WOODS. 
 
 275 
 
 "When the bright form of Isabel Linn was shrouded 
 for the coflSn, bitterly, bitterly Effie wept over it. She 
 Lad already forgotten the great crime her mother had 
 meditated against her; and Cleveland shuddered and 
 wept too, for his Effie's sake. 
 
 The life of Isabel had been a mockery; for she wor- 
 shiped riches and was rewarded accordingly. She was 
 buried with funeral pomp ; and that was the end of aU. 
 
 No, not yet the end; nor yet quite a mockery: for 
 Isabel was a mother ! — ^mother to the pure, the angel- 
 like and surpassingly-lovely wife of the gifted Cleveland 
 Merefort; the sweet woman who lived so many years 
 to dispense mercies with her delicate hands. 
 
278 
 
 FBEBH L£i.Vl:S 
 
 EDITH MANFRED. 
 
 PAET FIEST. 
 
 ii k DIM, religious light" floated through the little 
 XA. chapel that stood amid a group of grand old 
 trees in the spacious grounds of Manfred Mansion. It 
 was morning, and the marriage ceremony was being 
 performed in the chapel. 
 
 The hride-was a fair, slight, delicate creature of 
 nineteen, and looked wonderfully beautiful as she 
 stood at the altar, beside the tall, elegant, intellectual 
 man who held her trembling little hand. She was 
 the frailest, softest being that ever wo^e bridal flowers, 
 and exceedingly lovely ; her form was like a spirit's, 
 in its dress of gossamer lace, and was shadowed by a 
 long, rich vail, floating from her beautiful hair, dark- 
 brown and silken, that was parted simply over her 
 pale, forehead, and done up in glossy bands around 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 
 
 211 
 
 fier head. 'Her large, blue eyes rested upon the floor, 
 and their long black lashes on her flushed cheeks. 
 There was more than one among the guests, who, 
 wrapt and silent, gazed upon her spiritual expression 
 and fragile beauty, who almost forgot that she was of 
 earth, and turned away, at the close of the evening, 
 with a sigh, and with a feeling that one so gentle and 
 delicate was not long for the cherishing of love below. 
 But no one could have thought at that happy hoiu', 
 that there was a strange, mysterious drama to be 
 acted out with the help of that blissful, and beautiful 
 creature. 
 
 The relatives of the bride stood near her. The 
 mother was a pale, sweet woman, youthful in appear- 
 ance, and aristocratic, though gentle. She looked 
 upon her daughter with the yearning, tearful, careful, 
 expression of matei'nal love. The father gave away 
 the bride. He was a noble and rather handsome 
 man, with merry, hazel eyes, and a laughing mouth. 
 Though an Englislunan, living in America, he was 
 neither haughty nor insolent, but humorous, refined, 
 educated, and altogether an interesting man. 
 
 Close clinging to her mother's hand, a little girl of 
 eight years old, looked up with wondering smiles and 
 tears, to the timidly happy fiice of her beautiful sister. 
 Then she turned her eyes to the proud man who was 
 to take her sister from her, and whispered to her 
 12* 
 
278 FEBSH LEAVES 
 
 mother, with an expresaon of childish fee&ig m her 
 face : — 
 
 "Mamma, if brother Herbert marries Edith, can 't 
 he marry me sometimes too? " 
 
 This child looked like her father; her dancing curls 
 of gold promised to deepen to soft brown, and her 
 dark eyes had the "same merry and intelligent expres- 
 sion that always beamed from his. She was his pet; 
 but Edith was his wonder — his idol — his tender 
 thought — almost his religion. These, then, were 
 the relatives ; the small chapel was filled with the few 
 friends who Uved near — there not being more than a 
 dozen neighbors in the surrounding country. 
 
 When the solemn rites were concluded, Edith raised 
 her eyes to her husband's face, with an expres- 
 sion of happy and immeasurable love. That soft, pure 
 glance seemed to fiU the place with its tender radi- 
 ance, and, timid though it was, it fell like corroding 
 pdson on the soul of one of the guests. ^ 
 
 He was a dark-looking man of thirty, with a coun- 
 tenance developed with many virtues, and more vices — 
 passionate, gentle, fierce, sensual, spiritual — a strange 
 blending of uncommon and splendid gifts, and low 
 desires. In the depths of his gray-blue eye, in the 
 curving of his mouth, in his massive forehead, and 
 heavy brow, lay an expression of mighty power, for 
 good and evil. 
 
FROM WESTEBH WOODS. 279 
 
 Once, only, he had sued for the hand of Edith 
 Manfred. She had gently refused him, when he 
 knew that her afi'ections belonged to none other; a 
 man of his perceptions could not but understand the 
 almost loathing of her shrinking manner, though, with 
 intuitive gentleness, she strove to conceal it 
 
 He accepted her refusal, and went away, never 
 troubling her again ; and, though she felt, at the time 
 of his proposal, how strongly he loved her, yet she now 
 supposed him to have forgotten his hopeless passion. 
 
 But when she turned away her beautiful eyes from 
 her husband's face, by chance she met the fixed gaze 
 of her old lover, and she shuddered and turned pale. 
 He smiled as he saw the effect of his glance. She 
 turned yet paler at that mysterious and not loving 
 smile, and pressed closer to her chosen one's side. 
 But those who observed the change, attributed it to 
 natural emotion. 
 
 Before the guests departed, the bride-cake was cut, 
 and distributed. 
 
 " I have foimd the ring, and, of course, will be mar- 
 ried first, will I not, Mrs. Herbert Delaney ? " 
 
 Again the bride started — partly to hear hernew 
 name, and partly at the tone and manner of the deep 
 voice and look ; the fortunate finder was her old lover, 
 Burt McSweeney, 
 
280 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 PAET SECOND. 
 
 "VrOTHING could exceed the happiness of the young 
 jji bride, during the first three weeks of the marriage. 
 Herbert had taken her to the city, and placed her in 
 a fashionable boarding-house. They were to remain 
 there during the winter; affording him an opportunity 
 to withdraw from business, as a popular lawyer: the 
 parents of Edith were so unwilling to part with her, 
 that he had consented to make his home with them. 
 
 When a young man, and Edith was a mere babe, 
 Mr. Manfred, from fancy, or a deeper reason, left 
 England for our country, and chose the beautiful 
 situation where he now resided, adding all that wealth 
 could, to make it the most elegant country-seat in the 
 state. They lived very retired, himself and his gen- 
 tle and lovely wife, so that Edith had seen but little 
 of the world at the time she was married. 
 
 A purer, sweeter, more enthusiastic young creature 
 never existed, than the lovely Editk Three weeks 
 after her marriage, she sat in a luxuriously-furnished 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 281 
 
 room on the fi.-st floor of their boarding-house. She 
 tet near the window, but was not looking out; her 
 eyes were drooped in a reverie, and her expressive 
 face wore a look of the most unutterable bliss and 
 joy. Since she came to the city, she had been in a be- 
 wilderment of happiness. Every thing she saw was 
 novel and delightful — the leisure hours of her husband 
 were spent in showing the wonders of the city. This 
 task to him was exceedingly pleasant, for not only did 
 her rare beauty and grace excite the most profound 
 admiration, but a new phase of happiness was revealed 
 to him, through the genius, taste, enthusiasm, and 
 childish, artless enjoyment of his young wife. And to 
 be with him, and have such a world of scenes and 
 new emotions and thoughts to enjoy, made her heart 
 light and happy, and her sweet face radiant. It was 
 not foolish, thoughtless happiness, but pure and ra- 
 tional; and the radiance was such as shines forth 
 from but few of the beautiful faces on earth — for to 
 but few is given Edith's power of loving, or her inno- 
 cence, or her genius. 
 
 When Herbert was absent during those happy 
 days, she would sit for hours dreaming over his com- 
 ing, his words, his looks, the past, the future; and 
 the days were not long enough for her to dream, and 
 muse, and love. Sometimes the feeling would come 
 over her that she was too happy; and she would 
 
282 FKESE LEAVES 
 
 cover her innocent face with those little, soft hands, 
 and pray that she might not love too much. * 
 
 Thus passed the time till the day she sat by the 
 window, awaiting the return of her husband. Pres- 
 ently he came, and she bounded to meet him. There 
 was the wonted kiss, and the fair creature led him 
 to the S0&. 
 
 "Edith," he said, as they sat down, "I must leave 
 you in a few moments, to be gone three days. It is 
 too, too bad, is n't it, dear Edith ? but I hope these 
 ugly business arrangements wiU some time be com- 
 pleted, and then — " 
 
 He did not finish, but holding her dear face softly 
 in his hands and bringing it close to his own, looked 
 tenderly into the eyes already brimming with tears. 
 
 " I shall not have the heart to go, if I see tears," 
 he continued; "and you know I would not leave you 
 a moment, but from necessity. You should go with 
 me, dearest, but it is bitter cold, and I shall be too 
 busy to take care of you." 
 
 "But I have never even thought of your going 
 away, Herbert," said the young wife, with an efifort to 
 smile. 
 
 " See ! the cars leave in twenty minutes," he said, 
 taking out Ms watch. " I shall surely be home at 
 three o'clock day after to-morrow. And there is an 
 old acquaintance of yours in the city, who will call on 
 
FKOM 'WESTERir WOODS. 283 
 
 you ; I gave him our address ; it is Burt MoSweeney," 
 and he rose to go. 
 
 " Burt McSweeney," said Edith, with an involuntary 
 shudder. 
 
 " Do n't you like him, my love ? " 
 
 "Ko, Herbert, I always had a dread of him; I do 
 not know why. I presume it is foolish, but I can 't 
 help, it. Oh, Herbert, I feel so dreadful to have you 
 leave me now ! " 
 
 " Dreadful ! " said the husband with a smUe, press- 
 ing the fond creature to his side. She clung to him 
 as if the parting was for years. 
 
 There was a passionate embrace, and the young 
 man hurried from the room, while Edith sank weeping 
 upon the sofa. 
 
 Suddenly the door again opened, and Herbert re-en- 
 tered ; a sharp pang of agony had thrilled through his 
 heai-t as he left the presence of his wife — a feeling he 
 did not understand — only it prompted him to return 
 and look on her again. She sprang toward him, and 
 again there was a quick, close, convulsive embrace — 
 and he was gone. 
 
 The next day, as Herbert had mentioned, Burt 
 McSweeney called on Mrs. Delaney. 
 
 She received him with gentle politeness, mquiring 
 ifter her friends, and anxiously after her loved parents. 
 He, in turn, was formal, polite, and rather kind. His 
 
S84 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 manner was peculiar, yet fascinating. There was not 
 a smile to make her turn pale, nor a look to make her 
 shudder; she thought him far more pleasing than 
 ever before, and almost forgot her former involuntary- 
 dread. He had so much to say to her about her' 
 friends, that as he rose to go, she begged him to sit 
 longer, and teU her of every thing that had transpired 
 since she left Manfred mansion, adding in conclusion, 
 " I am very lonely without Herbert." 
 
 He resumed his seat, and said with a smile, " Then 
 you have already learned not to live without him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I could not part from him long," replied the 
 young wife, turning her large eyes upon the peculiar 
 face of her visitor. Again he smiled, and, after half 
 an hour's further conversation, rose and retired. 
 
 The night of that day was remarkably cold. There 
 was a brisk, piercing, intense air, full, as it were, of icy 
 needles stinging the poor to death. It was one of 
 those still, dark nights that chills the wanderer, makes 
 the insurance company think of fires, and causes the 
 poverty-stricken to suffer and die. That night Edith 
 Manfred prayed fervently for her absent husband, 
 and then nestling among the warm pillows, slept 
 soundly and sweetly. 
 
 Toward three o'clock in the morning, the cry of fire 
 rang through one of the streets of the city. A crowd 
 gathered — the firemen came — it was the fashionable 
 
FROM. WESTERN WOODS. 285 
 
 boardiixg-liouse in which young Edith slept Out into 
 the freezing air, hurried the half-clad inmates ; for it 
 was a terrible night for fire ; and, giving up all hope 
 of saving that building, the firemen directed their 
 efibrts toward those adjoining. 
 
 There were not many boarders in the house ; it 
 accommodated but a certain number; and, as they 
 grouped together for a moment, they looked upon 
 each other to see if all were there. 
 
 Suddenly arose the cry from among them, " The 
 bride ! the bride ! Mrs. Delaney ! she is liot here ! she 
 is lost ! " The crowd took up the terrible burden, 
 shouting her name in terror ; but there was no reply. 
 
 Hundreds surrounded the now all-in-a-blaze build- 
 ing. A daring fireman mounted to her window; but 
 it was of no avail, for the flames burst from it and 
 drove him back. The fire seemed to have originated 
 in her chamber. 
 
 The ladies of the house, fainting with terror, were 
 borne away. But, long after the house was consumed, 
 a crowd of persons, pale and agitated, stood around 
 the spot where it had been, talking, in low tones, o' 
 the terrible fate of the beautiful bride; and maijj 
 were still there when the morning came, idly looking 
 on the smoking ruins. 
 
 "Married but three weeks, I am told, and very 
 young ! " said one of the bystanders. 
 
286 FRESH LBAVBS 
 
 " And her hiKband away — how will he take it?" 
 added another. 
 
 The next moment, a man forced his way through 
 the crowd, and stood by the speakers. It was Her- 
 bert. He had returned in the morning instead of 
 afternoon train. "What! a fire!" he exclaimed in 
 surprise. " Can any one teU me where my wife, Mrs. 
 Delaney, was taken ? " he asked of one of the men in 
 sudden agitation. 
 
 The man was a rude, coarse fellow, but even he 
 turned white in sympathy with the husband. 
 
 There was profound stillness in the whole crowd. 
 Struck by this and the frightened appearance of the 
 men, with a terrible presentiment, Herbert leaned, 
 nearly fainting, against the person behind him. 
 
 " It is thought — that the fire — came from the 
 lady's — " 
 
 " What?— what?— what? " shrieked Delaney. 
 
 Awed and terrified by his intense gaze, the poor 
 man made no reply. 
 
 "Speak!" cried Herbert, "speak!" 
 
 " Mrs. Delaney was — burned ! " 
 
 At this moment, a friend of the sufferer stepped 
 up, and, hastening to his side, exclaimed: 
 
 "For heaven's sake! be a man, Delaney." 
 
 " Great God ! " was the reply, in a voice so hollow 
 and awful, that the stoutest man there shivered as he 
 
FROM ■VTESTBKN WOODS. 287 
 
 heard it. As lie spoke, he fell into the arms of his 
 friend, convulsed, and was borne away. 
 
 That same afternoon, just at sunset, a traveling 
 carriage dashed up to the door of Mr. Manfred. 
 
 "Oh, papa! mamma! Edith's come! I see Her- 
 bert ! " shouted the little Annabel, bounding up the 
 steps. Before the glad parents reached the door, 
 Herbert staggered in, but there was no Edith ! 
 
 His burning eyes met those of the wondering pa- 
 rents; he leaned silently against the wall, pale and 
 changed, with a wild, almost insane expression upon 
 his hollow countenance. 
 
 "Where is our daughter?" asked both the parents, 
 turning toward each other. ' 
 
 He looked at them, and, with a fearful smile, replied 
 slowly — 
 
 "She — is — dead!" 
 
288 FBESH I,KA.VGS 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 A YEAR after these events, the Manfred family 
 returned to England. They could not endure 
 the place of such memories. 
 
 The mother looked feebler and less proud than 
 hitherto ; the father was now gray and old. Life and 
 joy seemed to flow quickly in but one bosom, that of 
 the little, merry, beautiful Annabel; though even she 
 was saddened by the g-rief of those around. Herbert 
 went with them; and he was the most changed of alL 
 His sparkling wit, his brilliant face, the glor}' of his 
 hopes were changed. He had recovered from the 
 first shock of his desolation, and the illness that fol- 
 lowed — but he was a grave, silent man. A cloud, 
 that could not be dissipated, enveloped the sun of his 
 cheerfulness ; only a faint twilight glimmer struggled 
 through the gloom — it was his gentle sweetness. 
 And, in the midst of this darkness of the mind, this 
 sadness of the soul, shone out a bright, particular 
 star, that carried him onward — Edith in heaven. 
 
PROM WKSTKRIT WOODS. 289 
 
 The old ancestral halls of the Manfred castle again 
 received the last descendants — the stricken parents 
 and the radiant child, destined to be the sunlight 
 of the hearth, and, with them, the man they loved 
 as a son. 
 
 Weeks and months passed away slowly. It was 
 necessary that Herbert should occupy his time and 
 mind, to prevent his grief from injuring his health: 
 and, under his direction, the old place grew bright 
 and beautiful. The most of his quiet hours were 
 passed in the library; and here the young Annabel 
 would find him absorbed in books, or lost in thought. 
 Then she would tease him away from them ; she 
 would even make him sometimes smile at her willful 
 caprice. Over her parents, she exerted the same 
 happy influence, and something, that was almost gay- 
 ety, at times came over the group. Every day, their 
 only remaining child became dearer to the bereaved 
 parents ; and, as she approached maidenhood, an affec- 
 tion, the most intense, because shadowed by sorrow, 
 was centered in her. 
 
 Annabel was a bewitching creature, with a heart 
 brimful of love and joy, with a crimson cheek and a 
 laughing, dark eye, and chestnut curls, and a bright, 
 saucy, yet loving, lip; in sweetness and purity like 
 Edith, yet different — more proud, and not so spirit- 
 ual. So was her face something like her lost sister's ; 
 
290 FEESH LKAVES 
 
 when she was pensive, it was much so. Herbert used 
 to look at her and sigh heavily. ;- 
 
 If there was any thing which would call ,out the 
 sympathies of her warm and passionate nature, it was 
 the continual sadness upon the brow of Delaney, long 
 after her parents began to smile, and even to plan for 
 the future. Every delicate attention, every running 
 tear, every tender little action of the child — she was 
 yet a child — went to soothe the dark soul of her 
 brother. When he was present, her eyes followed 
 his, her sweetest smiles were for him, she sat by him 
 at the table, she gathered flowers for his window. 
 
 In return, he taught her the most of her accom- 
 plishments — music, drawing, riding, the languages, 
 book-knowledge — he was her teacher in all. 
 
 She looked particularly charming, riding her splen- 
 did steed, her long curls floating on the air, and her 
 fair cheeks glowing. Herbert was always with her, 
 when she went out. He was a fine musician, and she 
 had a great natural talent for music — and they sang 
 and played much together. 
 
 He was a profound scholar, and the roguish, care- 
 less Annabel, at thirteen, was a wonderful proficient 
 in every thing he taught her — educated and accom- 
 plished. 
 
 She used to beg him to read to her from the vol- 
 umes of poetry on the library shelf — listening, with 
 
FROM WESTBEN WOODS. 201 
 
 tearful eyes, to the beautiful passages pronounced in 
 his eloquent and touching way. 
 
 He was a most dangerously-fascinating companion 
 to the susceptible young ^rl — to whom, besides bei 
 parents, he was her all of love and society. Yet, 
 strangely enough, Herbert never thought of this dan- 
 ger, as grateful to her for her kind, and soothing, and 
 joyful influence, he bestowed upon her all he had to 
 give of gratitude, affection, and care. 
 
 About this time, Delaney went to London to trans- 
 act some business for Mr. Manfred. It was five years 
 that day, since the terrible event which had desolated 
 his heart, that he walked through the streets of the 
 immense city. Thinking of this, he forgot where £e 
 was, till suddenly he paused before the large glass 
 window of a mantaumaker's shop. The door, from 
 the show-room into the apartment where the girls 
 were sewing, was open, and, as he looked up, fuU of 
 thoughts of the past, there, as if the embodiment of 
 his fancy had risen up, sat Edith, 
 
 So he thought for the moment that his eyes rested 
 on the pale face bent low over the rich garment. But 
 that beautiful vision suddenly laid down her work and 
 disappeared into a back apartment, leaving Herbert, 
 with his heart standing still, gazing upon the door 
 through which she had disappeared. 
 
 For several moments, he stood motionless, and then 
 
292 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 passed on muttering, "Insane! insane! to think it 
 •was my dead Edith! my Edith in heaven! Yet how 
 like her! oh God!" 
 
 The sudden sight of one so closely resembling the 
 radiant creature, filled him with anguish almost insup- 
 portable. It was as if he had seen her rise from the 
 grave before him. 
 
 Again and again, as long as he remained in Lon- 
 don, he returned to the same place, to look again 
 upon the woman who was so much like his angel ; 
 but he never saw her more-; and he began to think, 
 at last, that it was a mere phantom of his brain. 
 Yet, long after he returned to Manfred castle, that 
 pale, sweet face haunted him day and night, and he 
 became sadder arid more depressed than he had been 
 for many months before. Then, at the sight of a 
 sorrow from which she could not win him, the first 
 cloud came over the sunny spirit of Annabel 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 29d 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 IT was near the seventeenth birthday of their daugh- 
 ter, that Mr. and Mrs. Manfred consulted together 
 about a darling plan that had long lain quietly in each 
 of their hearts, and promised them joy. They wished 
 Herbert to wed Annabel. They feared that he might 
 sometime leave them, and that then the heart of their 
 only child would break. For, with a mother's eyes, 
 !Mrs. Manfred bad discovered the secret of Annabel's 
 heart, through her glances and her blushes, and she 
 knew that the very soul of her daughter was wrapped 
 up in the fascinating man who had been her compan- 
 ion from childhood. She knew that Herbert loved 
 the bright girl with a brother's love, and she hoped 
 with more ; but she feared that he would never offer 
 to marry her. Yet she felt it would be best for th° 
 young couple to be united, for her parents might die, 
 and, then, who would be Annabel's protector ? 
 
 That day, at the end of the conference with her hus- 
 band, they sent for Herbert to come to their room, ani 
 
 19 
 
294 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 the matter was proposed. He was evidently startled 
 and grieved. 
 
 "No, no, never! my Edith! I can not!" he ex- 
 claimed, as he hastily paced the apartment. 
 
 " You will listen ? " said the mother, and she re- 
 vealed to him the entire love Annabel cherished for 
 him, and pictured the position of their darling, so 
 young, so beautiful, so unprotected, should her pa- 
 rents be suddenly called away. 
 
 For half an hour, the parents waited, in silent expec- 
 tation, as he hastily tramped through the room ; and 
 then he approached, and with eyes full of tears, took 
 a hand of each, pressed them warmly, and replied : 
 
 " Yes — yes — Annabel must be my wife," and then 
 passed quickly from their presence, leaving them sat- 
 isfied that their children both would yet be happy. 
 
 Herbert went down to the Ubrary, and taking a 
 book, threw himself on a sofa, and was soon lost in 
 earnest thoughts. 
 
 A hght step broke upon his musing mood; he 
 looked up ; it was Annabel. " They are right," he 
 thought, as he marked the color deepen oli her cheek, 
 and her moist, dark eyes quiver andtdroop. There 
 was, too, a melancholy shade, over her bright face. 
 
 " Come here, dear Annabel," he said, in a low tone; 
 and she obeyed, and sat by his side ; and, for a long 
 time, he read to her from a volume of poems — read 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 295 
 
 of love! At lengtli twilight compelled Lim to lay 
 aside his book, and, through the dim atmosphere, 
 looking upon the beautiful face lying on his shoulder, 
 he saw it was bathed in tears. 
 
 He took up the soft little hand from her lap, and 
 pressed it gently in both his; and, unable any longer 
 to repress her grief, the young girl sobbed aloud. 
 
 He took her close to his bosom, and, laying his cheek 
 against her dark curls, he whispered in her ear — 
 
 " Annabel, will you be my wife ? " 
 
 The weeping girl shrank away from his arms — 
 her heart that moment was revealed to itself — yet 
 was she unspeakably happy ; bashfulness and bliss 
 broke over her young face, and Herbert saw the 
 whole of her loving heart, and saw that it was his. 
 
 " I have but a* grief-stricken heart to ^ve in return 
 for your young and joyous one ; I am not fit to be the 
 husband of one so bright and fair; but oh, Annabel! 
 if I can, by care and devotion, make you happy, you 
 shall have all I have left of love from the grave of 
 poor Edith!" 
 
 In a few weeks, Annabel was seventeen. On the 
 morning of that day, nine years before, Herbert had 
 wedded the spiritual, ill-fated Edith, and the little sis- 
 ter had asked — " If he could not marry her, too ? " 
 
 Now, that same sister and himself stood together 
 at the altar, in a little chapel, the coimterpart of the 
 
296 FRKSH LEAVES 
 
 other. It was in the afternoon, and there were no 
 witnesses except the household. A golden, autumn 
 sunlight flooded the place, and a beautiful stream 
 outside murmured gently, as it were, a bridal hymn. 
 
 The bridegroom was very pale and composed ; the 
 bride agitated. The ceremony had but just com- 
 menced, when a vision appeared at the chapel door — 
 pale, thin, but almost as beautiful as ever, there stood 
 Edith ! Her mother shrieked out, and the bride faint- 
 ed in terror; for her sister, she thought, had risen 
 from the dead to rebuke her! 
 
 But Herbert heeded not the fair creature who fell 
 at his feet His thoughts ran back to the phantom he 
 had seen in the mantaumaker's shop, and he knew — 
 what? — Edith's eyes had met his; they sprang to- 
 ward each other ; and oh ! the untold rapture of that 
 meeting, after nine years of absence, mourning, and 
 agony ! 
 
 The parents soon felt that she was no spirit, and 
 the loved, lost child was folded in their arms. In that 
 moment, all forgot for what they had gathered in the 
 chapel — all but Annabel, who had risen from the 
 floor, and stood leaning against the altar — speechless, 
 quivering, burning with agony, her hands clasped over 
 her forehead, and her wUd, dark eyes turned to the 
 faces of Edith and Herbert. A lingering illness fol- 
 lowed this sudden reversion of feeling; for several 
 
FROM WESTKBN WOODS. 
 
 297 
 
 ■weeks, she was confined to ter bed. But, when she 
 did recover, the sparkling Annabel was much changed. 
 She was a proud girl, and, for the world, she would 
 not have stayed near Herbert 
 
 " Mother! " she cried, one day as she sat in her in- 
 valid's chamber — " have I not an aunt in London, who 
 once invited me to spend a year with her ? " 
 
 And when she was sufficiently strong to bear the 
 fatigues of travel Annabel went to London, 
 
"398 FRESH LEAV38 
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 ii rpELL me over again the strange incidents of our 
 X separation — ^I never tire of hearing them from 
 those dear lips," said Herbert — as he sat by his wife, 
 fondly holding her hands, a year after the events 
 detailed ia the last chapter. 
 
 The wife smiled a sweet, but half-sad snule, and 
 told, even for the twentieth time, her little history. 
 
 " I was awakened from my sleep, that dreadful 
 night, by the glare of flames in my room. I would 
 have shrieked, but, at that moment some one bent 
 over me, and told me to fly — the building was on fire! 
 I was too terrified to recognize him — I thought it was 
 you, for I had just dreamed that you had returned; 
 and flung myself into his arms. In two moments, my 
 self-possession returned — and oh ! the fear and despair 
 with which I found my mouth was bandaged, and I 
 was being carried ofl' in the arms of Burt McSwee- 
 ney ! — the man I had from childhood feared and 
 disliked ! — who I knew loved me to death, to crim^ 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 299 
 
 and to desperation ! I would not cry out — I could 
 not free myself; but I could not faint — though terror 
 and anguish made me sick and weak, I would not give 
 way to faintness ; but strove with a strong mastery 
 over the emotions that shook me ! " 
 
 " My noble Edith," interrupted Herbert. 
 
 " Can I ever tell you about the rest of that awful 
 night, and the long, long day that "followed ? " contin- 
 ued JEdith. "When the bandage was removed from 
 my mouth, and I was put down from his hateful hold, 
 I was in the poor cabin of a little vessel bound for 
 England, the captain of which had been hired by Burt 
 to keep his secret My captor was obliged to return 
 on shore to finish his preparations for the voyage, and 
 it was after daylight that he came back to tell me 
 with horrible minuteness the supposed circimstances 
 of my loss, and the despair and anguish of my hus- 
 band. He then again went out, after bringing in 
 breakfast, and fastened the cabin door, as the vessel 
 could not leave till night. All day I sat in mute and 
 motionless agony — then the vessel began to move — 
 then we were out on the ocean — night darkened 
 around — there was no escape ! Oh, Herbert ! at last 
 I knelt to pray to God. An hour — two — three — 
 and still I knelt and prayed franticly. Some one 
 i,ame to the door — opened it — came up to me, as, 
 with my face buried in my hands, I prayed in agony ! 
 
300 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 My heait leaped, as the person spoke — it was not 
 he! — it was the captain, who said: 'The lady's lover 
 has been taken very ill, and wants to see her.' 
 
 " Was it in answer to my prayer ? I went up with 
 my informer, and saw the strong man in spasms, and 
 pitied him, and pitied myself ! Then I begged and 
 implored the captain to turn back with me : I offered 
 gold uncounted ; but he only smiled — McSweeney's 
 purse was more substantial than my promise. For a 
 whole week the suffering man kept his bed — it was a 
 fearful week to me — and he was very iU. At length he 
 crawled one day upon deck to enjoy the fresh air. The 
 water was quite rough — he was weak — and a pitch 
 of the vessel threw him overboard. How I shuddered 
 when they told me he was swept away with all his 
 many crimes upon him ! and how I rejoiced that I was 
 free from his power — his love, or his hate ! 
 
 " But oh ! how I pined during the remainder of that 
 long voyage. I was then the only passenger, and when 
 Burt was drowned, his purse went with hun. At length 
 we reached England, but the evil captain refused to 
 take me back, for fear of punishment. I was then 
 alone and desolate in a great city, and pennyless ! I 
 went to different vessels to beg a passage" home ; but 
 my youth and beauty were then a curse ; I found that 
 my story was not believed ; ajid, with a breaking heart 
 I flew away from disgusting smiles and leers 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 301 
 
 " With life and love who could despair ? My gar- 
 ments were yet good, and I procured employment in 
 the shop whete you once came so near finding me. 
 I wrote home — the letter must have miscarried; I 
 wrote again — but by that time you had left America. 
 
 You were near me, but I knew it not Madam B 
 
 was pleased with my industry, and I worked only for 
 her. Day and lught I toiled to lay up means to pay 
 my passage home; but wages were very low, and I 
 could do but little more than support myself Thus 
 passed away nine long and bitter years, when one day 
 a roll of silk came folded in a printed paper. As I 
 glanced over it, I caught my father's name and 3-ours : 
 it was a business advertisement, and gave your address. 
 I fainted in my chair — the mistress thought I was Ul; 
 but the next day I started for home, for love, for you!" 
 
 She looked up with a kind of mournful smile as she 
 concluded, that despite her present happiness, revealed 
 the gloom and sorrow that so long had pressed upon 
 her. The husband clasped her to his heart, and kissed 
 her over and over again — her who had toiled so many 
 years, strengthened by holy feelings. 
 
 " And you," he asked, " my slight, my frail, my 
 shrinking, delicate Edith — why was it that this suf- 
 fering and toil did not kill you ? " 
 
 She raised her beautiful eyes to his, and said, softlj, 
 " I loved you Herbert, and I prayed; when my fingers 
 
302 FBERH LEAVES 
 
 ached and my brain was dizzy, I prayed; ever and 
 ev#r, in all sorrow, to our Heavenly Fatter I looked 
 for strength. And, dearest Herbert, oiight we not to 
 beferateful?" 
 
 He was just doing as he always did, at the conclu- 
 sion of her tearful story — kissing her sweet lips — 
 when a carriage and four dashed through the park and 
 stopped at the door. 
 
 IJe and Edith went out to welcome the visitors. A 
 rather gay and foppish man, handsome, and withal in- 
 telligent, handed out a beautiful girl in a white vail 
 and blushes. 
 
 The bridegroom was an English nobleman — the 
 bride was dear Annabel — more beautiful, more hap- 
 py than ever — ^but more quiet, and somewhat London- 
 Uke in the aristocratic repose in which she extended 
 the fingers of her white glove to Herbert. To Edith 
 she was affectionate and gentle — to her parents the 
 same dear girl as ever. 
 
7K0M WESTEBN WOODS. 803 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 " The shadows lay along Broadway 
 
 'Twas near the twilight tide — 
 
 And slowly there, a lady fair. 
 
 Was walking in her pride ; 
 
 Slow waied she, but viewlessly 
 
 Walked spiiits at her side. 
 
 " Peace charmed the street beneath her feet 
 And Honor charmed the ail" ; 
 And all astii' looked kind on her. 
 
 And called her good and fair." — WiLua 
 
 A WARM-LOOKING, delicate hat, and a splendid 
 cloak, softened the proud face, and enveloped 
 the peerless form of one of Broadway's most beautiful 
 daughters. Along the crowded street with a step as 
 gliding and as haughty as the measure of a royal 
 melody, she passed ; and it was hke the sound of a 
 pure note amid a hurrying march of discord, to look 
 upon her, walking in her beauty. 
 
S04 F.BEBH LEAVES 
 
 Like a drop of ottar of roses on the bosom of 
 a muddy stream, fragrant and uncontaminated, she 
 floated calmly down the waves of "the great thor- 
 oughfare. 
 
 It was dusk, as she ascended the broad marble 
 steps of her palace-home. Leaving her dirty over- 
 shoes, and rich furs, and warm, quilted muffings in 
 the care of a servant, the fair lady went through the 
 lofty parlors into the cheerful, and cozy-looking library. 
 Here the darkness without, and the warm glow of the 
 anthracite within, were struggling for the mastery; 
 a mad and a merry chase they had of it, despite of 
 the entrance of the lady fair. Never minding the 
 graceful little shiver with which she s\mk into the 
 arm-chair, close up by the shining grate, out sprang 
 the crimson fire-light^ and pursued the night-shadow 
 all over the room, treading with as little reverence 
 upon the quaint bindings of old philosophers, as upon 
 the gilded names of modern rhymers, standing in 
 rows upon the well-Uned walls. Now the shadow 
 took refuge in the drapery of the recesses, and the 
 fire-light was there in an instant; and anon it mocked 
 its pursuer, resting quietly uponJihe rosy lips of some 
 beautiful portrait, with its dark hands over the smUing 
 eyes of the pictured charmer ; but, with the quickness 
 of jealousy, the light was there, caressing the soft 
 cheek that gloved tenderly at its touch. 
 
FKOM -JVESTBRir WOODS. 305 
 
 The lady sighed softly, and, at that moment, the 
 fire-light, darting by her, revealed the soft sigh to be 
 a happy one ; for a beautiful, complacent, tender smile 
 was melting over the bright maiden's countenance. 
 
 Lights were brought in, and the fanciful struggle 
 was ended ; the shadow retreated through the window, 
 and only returned to peep in occasionally to enjoy 
 the nonenity of the fire-light, which had crept back 
 to the grate, quite abashed by the gaze of the brilliant 
 lamp. 
 
 The lady crossed the apartment, and sitting down 
 at an antique, costly, little writing-table, took up a gold 
 pen, and smoothing a sheet of scribbling paper, held 
 the pen above it so that a little rainbow from the dia- 
 mond point fell upon the one dear name written 
 carelessly on the page. After musing a moment, 
 with a half-blush she wrote a few words that seemed 
 like a note of invitation ; and after reading it over she 
 said softly to herself, "that is the style," and taking 
 a very plain and elegant sheet of white note-paper 
 from a large quantity that lay beside her, she copied 
 the billet she had written. Again and again her 
 rapid and graceful pen repeated the same words upon 
 sheet after sheet of the delicate white paper, only 
 varying the names of those addressed, to answer to 
 a long list of aristocratic names lying at her Utile left 
 hand. 
 
308 FKESH LEAVES 
 
 "And walking there, was one more tail 
 
 A slight girl lily pale : 
 And she had unseen company 
 
 To make the spirit quail ; 
 'Twixt want and scorn she walked forlorn 
 
 And nothing could avsiU." — Willis. 
 
 Perhaps an hour after the proud beauty of Broad- 
 way glided onward to her home, a young girl followed 
 on her steps ; the poor hood was thrown down over 
 her face, and her thin shawl wrapped closely around 
 her slight and shivering form. She seemed to shrink 
 away from the glare of the street-lights, and the bril- 
 liancy of the shop-windows; and she never oast a 
 glance at the beautiful creatures who swept by her 
 in velvety comfort, clin^ng to the arms of proudly 
 tender husbands, and brothers, and lovers, and fathers. 
 
 With a hurried and irregular step she wandered 
 along, till pausing a moment before the same marble 
 mansion into which the daughter of wealth and honor 
 had disappeared an hour before, she pressed her hand 
 tightly over her heart, and stood as if waiting for 
 strength to enter. Then ascending to the door she 
 opened it without lining, and again paused in the 
 halL There was no rude servant to forbid the pale 
 intruder an entrance, for John was taking a nice bit 
 of turkey and gossip with the housekeeper in the 
 basement Flinging her scanty shawl and hood upon 
 
PROM WESTKBN WOODB. 307 
 
 *he floor, she stood revealed, in the Ught ol the lamp, 
 as a very youthful, and exceedingly beautiful young 
 girl, — beautiful, though her cheek was thin and col- 
 orless, and her lip compressed and pale. The black 
 hair was pushed back from her wan temples, her 
 large eyes were burning with an expression — not of 
 mildness in the least — but of deathless resolution; 
 and every pallid and exquisite feature bore the same 
 strange, inexplicable look — ^it might be of hardened sin, 
 or calm revenge, or of desperate and injured inno- 
 cence. And so much did this look triumph over that 
 of suflfering, that the wretched thinness of her frame, 
 and the meager pallor of her face were not suggestive 
 of the miserable condition of starvation. 
 
 As if perfectly familiar with the place, she softly 
 opened the parlor door, and glancing within and find- 
 ing it deserted, she stole noiselessly through that room 
 and another, until she came to the hbrary ; here she 
 listened a moment and then silently opening that door, 
 entered and closed it. The lady still sat at the curious 
 writing-table, penning those httle notes, with her back 
 to the intruder. Her cheeks were glowing richly, 
 and her form swelled with soft fullness the embroid- 
 ered silken dress, her hair was folded softly over her 
 white forehead, and her young lip was crimson with 
 life's wine. 
 
 The steady, burning gaze of the pale creature at 
 
308 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 the door, must have affected her like magnetism, for, 
 though there was no noise, she turned slowly around, 
 while the color as slowly faded from her cheeks. 
 
 " You here ? " she asked, with a look of more con- 
 tempt than one would have thought would have sat 
 upon those lovely features ; and rising to her feet, she 
 waved her hand imperiously. 
 
 The motion was not obeyed, and she tried in vain 
 to look coldly into those burning and resolute eyes, 
 shining upon her with a dangerous light, from the 
 place where the pale intruder stood. With all the 
 strength of her will she could not prevent her gaze 
 from quailing, and her face from blanching, beneath 
 those eyes. 
 
 " Yes 1 Madeline Seymour," was at length the slow 
 response, " I am come to demand of you, justice. Are 
 you ready and willing to yield it ? " 
 
 " Mary Seymour forfeited all right to ask that ques- 
 tion, or any other, of any virtuous woman, when she 
 flung herself outside the pale of their pity and pro- 
 tection," scornfully replied the lady. " Have I not for- 
 bidden you the entrance to a house which was once, 
 and still might be, had it not been for your strange 
 criminality, a happy and pleasant home for you ? " 
 
 A wild, red flush burned a moment on the thin 
 cheek of the girl, and her great dark eyes flashed forth 
 an indignant lightning that made the beautiful cousin 
 
FROM ■WESTERN WOODS. 309 
 
 shrink — that should have blackened her white bosom, 
 and withered it, even as it heaved in anger under its 
 weight of jewels — blackened its outside semblance of 
 purity till it was as dreadful as the color of the heart 
 within. But both, in a moment, were more calm; 
 and as the red went back from the cheek of the intru- 
 der to her heart, giving her strength to speak, she 
 spoke in a tone so solemn and startling that her listener 
 sank, shuddering, into a chair. 
 
 " Enough, enough of such words, Madeline ! You 
 aare not trifle with me now; and your own heart the 
 best knows how false, how entirely, utterly false ! is the 
 accusation you have heretofore made against me, and 
 would still make — aye, make to me now, while your 
 cheek whitens, and your lip trembles with fear, and 
 your heart pants with its sense of guilt, Madeline ! " 
 And the speaker came close to the listener, who was 
 making a powerful effort to be calm; — "Send for 
 Herbert Clark, — send for my betrothed husband, and 
 confess before him that, because I was a poor orphan 
 in your father's house, with none to save and protect, 
 that you have irreparably injured me! Confess, that 
 when you saw him, the noble, gifted, and flattered 
 man of wealth, prefer my humble beauty, and hapless, 
 but, thank God ! virtuous heart, to your own briUiant 
 charms, and fascinations, and compliments, that then 
 
 your poor cousin and dependent became hateful in 
 
 20 
 
310 FRESH LEAVES 
 
 your eyes — because unconsciously your rival — be- 
 cause inexpressibly happy in the belief that, for the 
 first time, she was loved, and tenderly cared for, but 
 unendurably wretched under the petty, but pitiless 
 persecutions of your jealousy! Send for him and con- 
 fess that, maddened by your own unrequited passion, 
 you laid the most cunning and cruel of plots ; the most 
 artful, black, and unholy device to injure and ruin a 
 poor, friendless, but pure and innocent girl — and she 
 your cousin! Confess that you succeeded in your 
 plan — that yon even darkened his faith in my puri- 
 ty — that you took from me cdl/ my spotless name, 
 and the heart that was vowed to mine — that you 
 turned me thus helpless upon the streets, pitilessly 
 dooming me to those crimes under the false accusation 
 of which I suffered ! Tell him, that I have borne cold, 
 and sickness, and hunger, and persecution, and yet am 
 true to myself and him, even though he has thus for- 
 saken me ! Tell him that I am dying now, and only . 
 wish my memory to be done justice to, now that no 
 other earthly reparation can be made ! Will you do 
 this, Madeline ? Shall I ring the bell for a servant ? 
 He must be gone quickly, for in a little time even this 
 small mercy can not be shown to me." And the pale 
 creature reached out her wasted hand to grasp the 
 bell-rope, while her solemn eyes looked for an answer 
 into the face of her cousin. 
 
FROM -WKSTEKl]- WOODS. 311 
 
 Madeline had risen to her feet, all feeling of remorse 
 and guilt had vanished, in the fear that Herbert would 
 be apprised and convinced of her crime, now that she 
 nad played a game so fearful, and had won at last; 
 even in that moment she was in great danger of losing 
 all and being overwhelmed in disgrace ; for she knew 
 that he was coming that evening to see her — she met 
 him in her promenade, and told him to come in unan- 
 nounced to the Ubrary, and assist her in writing the 
 wedding cards ! She feared that the solemn assertions 
 of the sufferer, so sharpened and irresistible with the 
 arrows of truth, would bring conviction to the soul of 
 the man who had worshiped the beautiful and impas- 
 sioned young creature, the wreck and shadow of which 
 now stood before her — a wreck and shadow yet mighty 
 in the power and grandeur of injured innocence. With 
 a defiant brow, and a voice husky with anger and 
 terror, she asked — 
 
 " Will you leave, now, this instant, Mary Seymour, 
 before I summon help ? I wUl not trouble myself to 
 answer your silly, weak demand." ^ 
 
 "Had you rather wither under my dying curse, 
 than do what I have required of you ? " slowly asked 
 her interrogator, whose deep and searching eyes had 
 never turned away for an instant 
 
 The haughty syren was appalled by the manner of 
 this question, but she laughed convulsively as she took 
 
S12 FRESH LKATES 
 
 up one of the notes from the writing-tab-e, and, hold- 
 ing it toward her companion, said scornfully — 
 
 " Read that, and see if you deem me so silly as 
 yourself! Will I tell the man, who in three days is to 
 be my husband, that I have done this thing that in 
 your raving you accuse me of? Now, that he is mine 
 at last, shall I throw him from me ? — the game was 
 too difiBcult to play, my artless cousin." 
 
 Maiy glanced at the card, where the names of those 
 she had most loved, and who had mOst injured her, 
 were united, and once again a sharp thrill of anguish, 
 as of old, went through her heart But for such feel- 
 ing it was too late — too late. 
 
 " Will you send for Herbert, Madeline ? " she asked, 
 in a more excited manner than she had yet been 
 betrayed into. 
 
 " Fool ! "'was the reply, hissed through the white 
 teeth of the beautiful Madeline. 
 
 " Then I will no longer ask you to do this for my 
 sake, but for your own — for, Madeline, / aro dying 
 now ! I shaHi^not live half-an-hour ! and you are my 
 murderess ! You will make me no atonement for the 
 injuries you have done me, and I carry this accusation 
 to the judgment bar of God — that you are my murr 
 deress! When you meet me there, it must be to 
 answer for the life you have taken, Madeline ! " — here 
 her voice sank to a strange and thrilling whisper — 
 
PROM -WESTEBN WOODS. 313 
 
 " do you know tliat I have not eaten any food for five 
 days and nights — that I am dying of starvation? " 
 
 The beautiful demon was not yet entirely a demon, 
 though her passionate and unprincipled heart had 
 prompted her to aH this selfishness, and as that hollow 
 whisper smote upon her ear, she exclaimed — 
 
 "Good God! Mary, is this so? You shall have 
 food, now, immediately ; — but oh ! tell me that you 
 forgive me ! I did not think of this ! I never thought 
 of your starving ! Oh, it is horrible ! " 
 
 " It is too late; nothing now can save me, for the 
 death-cold is upon me. Tell me, wUl you do this 
 thing I have asked ? " 
 
 " Never ! I can not ! I would rather die ! But food, 
 food, food, — you must not perish! I will hasten to 
 bring you nourishment; — you rmisi not die, for I can 
 not be a murderess ! " 
 
 And the terror-stricken creature turned to summon 
 assistance : but there in the door, which he had silently 
 opened, stood Herbert Clark, pale and stern, his dark 
 eyes lowering upon her. 
 ^ She gave one shriek, and would have simk to the 
 floor, but the power of his glance upheld her; and, 
 when he simply uttered " food ! " with a mechanical 
 step she obeyed him, and passed from the room. 
 
 Then, with a cry of manifold anguish and joy, the 
 strong man — who had just escaped from the spell of 
 
314 rRESH LEATSS 
 
 the syren — sprang to the side of the dying victim, 
 and folded her to his bosom, just as she was fainting 
 to the earth. One last look of unspoken love gleamed 
 on him from those closing eyes, and with the effort 
 she made to utter his name, the young sufferer per- 
 ished. Vain was the pleading agony of his tenderness ; 
 vain the wildness of his kisses and the groan of his 
 despair; the mighty effort of the struggling spirit in 
 that wasted and miserable tenement to establish its 
 innocence in his eyes, had bent till it suddenly broke 
 the bow of life, and the arrow of the soul passed 
 quivering into the "shadow land." 
 
 That was a terrible night that Herbert and Madeline 
 passed by the side of the beautiful dead, lying in her 
 pale and delicate beauty; and the fearful silence of 
 those snowy lips, was, to them, more hard to endure 
 than the loudest reproaches. 
 
 The shadow again- crept in to look on, and the fire- 
 light was too sad to chase it away. Once, only, the 
 light flashed wildly — when Madehne laid a heap of 
 daintUy-written notes within the grate. 
 
 Broadway is still made beautiful by the gliding steps ^ 
 of one of her most aristocratic fair ones. A charm 
 still purifies the atmosphere wherever that cold, and 
 pure, and virtue-patronizing lady passes; and those 
 who would turn with a shudder from the poor 
 wanderer they met that chiUy night, still gaze with 
 
FROM WESTERN WOODS. 
 
 315 
 
 admiration upon the stainless brow that frowns with 
 becoming severity upon the shadow of a reproach! 
 
 And all the world wonders at, and applauds the 
 angel charity and goodness that prompted the sinless 
 Madeline to forgive her cousin before she died, and to 
 go to the trouble of the funeral. 
 
»■*• ■ 
 
 I. WOMAN'S MISSION. 
 
 Gift Book for Young Ladies. 
 
 Or Woman's Mission ; being Familiar Letters to a Young Lady on 
 her Amusements, Employments, Studies, Acquaintances, male and 
 female, Friendships, <fec., by Dr. Wm. A. Alcott, frontispiece on 
 steel, Muslin, 307 pp., 12mo., 16 cents. 
 
 CONTENTS LBADINa HEADS. 
 
 General Yiews and Bemarks ; BplritofWoman'sMiEtsion; Dattes to Herself ; Amnse- 
 ments; Employments; Btadies, Books, &o. ; Moral Character; Associates in the Fam- 
 ily; Associates beyond the Family ; Mere AcqnalQtance; Correspondents; Doing Good 
 with the Pen; Particular Friendships ; Society of the other Sex; FriendBhip with the 
 other Sex; Qualifications for Friendship; Physical Qualifications; Seven Plain Bnles; 
 Disappointments; Doing Good; FuUingout of theFire; Associated Effort; Churchand 
 Sabbath School ; Trath, Justice, and Mercy ; Labors among the Slok ; Self-denial; Self- 
 
 II. HEALTH, BEAUTY, AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Young Woman's Book of Health. 
 
 By Dr. "Wm. A. Aloott, 312 pp., 12mo., Muslin, 76 cents. 
 
 The Tonng "Woman's Book of Health, from the pen of Dr. Wm. A. Alcott, conveya, 
 In simple and nntechnical language, au amount of medical iuformation which cannot 
 but be of eminent serTlce to those to whom it Is addressed. The main object of the 
 volume is to state the means of preserving one's health, rather than the way to hunt 
 np one's health when lost Doctor Alcott's reputation is well known in this country, 
 and we feel satisfied that not only young females, but women of all ages, will find this — 
 his last book— eminently Instructive and suggestive. — Weatem Ch/riman Adu. 
 
 III. WHAT WOMAN MAY AND SHOULD BE. 
 
 Young Lady's Book. 
 
 Or, Principles of Female Education, by Rev. Wm. Hosmeh, frontis- 
 piece on steel, 301 pp. 12mo., Muslin, 15 cents. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I — Woman as a Human Being; Chapter 11 — Woman as a 
 Social Being; Chapter III — Moral Education ; Chapter IV — Intel 
 lectual Education; Chapter V — Physical Education ; Chapter VI — 
 Domestii'- Education ; Chapter VII — Civil Education; Chapter VIII — 
 Ornamental Education. 
 
 The foregoing works are eminently popaJar. Tbey should occupy a place in the cabi- 
 net of every yoiing lady in the land, as their counsels will always be found reliable, and 
 their instructions possess a charm which renders them not only useful, bat very agreea- 
 ble and entertaining companions. 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Eow, New York, and 107 Gcnesee-st., Aubnrn. 
 
\mh f0r §0iTng P^eit* 
 
 Young Man's Book. 
 
 Or, Self-Education, by Rev. "Wm. Hosmer, frontispiece on Steel, 291 
 
 pp. 12nio., Muslin, '75 ceata. 
 
 A cnnstant and persevering dotermiQatioa to tread in the steps wbicL natnrally lead 
 3 honor.— J. Q. Ada/ma. 
 
 We are glad to see such books lanuched oat Bpon the sea of public mind. They 
 are sato crafts and freighted with wholesome and salutary truths. Mr. Hosmer writes 
 for the good of bis readers, and deals in the plain and practical matters of man's educa- 
 tion and course of life. He is a safe counselor for the young, and never gilds a perni- 
 cious sentiment in the seductive drapery of rhetoric. This book has the calm and 
 truthful characteristics of the author. He writes with an eye upon man^s highest des- 
 tiny upon earth, and the great results of his living, in Heaven. — Cayuga CM^, 
 
 Grift Book for Young Men. 
 
 Or Familiar Letters on Self-knowledge, Self-education, Female Soci- 
 ety, Marviage, Ac, by Dr. "Wm. A. Alcott, frontispiece, 812 ppi 
 12mo., Muslin, 75 cents.. 
 
 " tTp I it is a glorious era I 
 
 Hfever yet has dawned its peer I 
 Up and work 1 and then a nobler 
 
 In the future shall appear I " 
 
 CONTENTS LEADING HEADS. 
 
 -aliminary Kemarks ; Self-respect and Self-reverence; Self-knowledge; Self-depen 
 aonco; Solf-education ; Harmony of Character; Self-instinction ; Light Eeading ; Cor- 
 rect Conversation ; The Schools; The Love and Spirit of Progress; Love of Inquiry; 
 or, Free-thinking ; Eight Use of Ourselves ; Thysiology; Phrenology; Physiognomy; 
 Traveling; Conscientiousness; Love of Excitement; On Purity; Models and Model 
 Character; Decision and Firmness; Setting Up in Business ; Money-getting; Pleasure 
 ,Seekmg; Mental Excitants ; Respect for Age; Buties to the Aged ; Politics and Polit- 
 ical Duties; Female Society; General Duty of Marriage; Eeligion and Skepticism; 
 The Christian Beligiou ; Death and Futurity. 
 
 Golden Steps for the Toung. 
 
 To Usefulness, Respectability and Happiness, by John Mather 
 
 Adstin, author of " Voice to Youth," frontispiece on Steel, 243 pp. 
 
 12mo., Muslin, 75 cents. 
 
 We honor the heart of the writer of this volume as well aa his head. He has here 
 adtlressod an earnest and manly appeal to the young, every page of which proves his 
 sincerity and his desire for their welfiH-e. The subjects treated of in the different lec- 
 tures are those indicated on the title pa^e. Integrity and virtue, usefulness, truth and 
 honor, are the "Golden Stops" by which the young may ascend to respectability, use- 
 fulness, and bBipymese,—Atbamy State Begigter. 
 
 MILLER, OETON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Row, New York, and 107 Genesee-st, Auburn. 
 
A Gem for Ladies! 
 
 "Instruction and amusement may combine, 
 As heat is blended witli the beams that shine." 
 
 THE CHEISTIAI YmTUES, 
 
 PERSONIFIED AND EXHIBITED AS A DIVINE FAMILY, 
 
 nj TBEIB 
 
 DISTierCTrVE CHAEACTEES, ASSOCIATIOlirS, MISSIONS, LABOES, 
 TEAlfSFOEMATIONS, AND ULTIMATE EEWAEDS. 
 
 AN IJLLUSTRATED ALLEQORY. 
 
 BY EEV. D. D. BUCK. 
 
 In One Volume, 290 pp. 12mo, Price $1 00. 
 
 9 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS- 
 
 Feom A "Webtebn Poetess.— The language is chaste and appropriate, the characters 
 finely drawn, and the whole makes a fine family picture, which some great artist like 
 Powers, or Durand, might chisel into palpable form, op cause to glow upon the almost 
 breathing canvass with admirable effect.— Mna. Janb Makia Mead. 
 
 The author evinces ingenuity in the construction of his Allegory, the perusal of 
 which cannot fail to contribute to the amusement and instruction of the intelligent and 
 pure-minded, to whom the volume is alfectionately and respectfully dedicated. It is 
 a well printed volume, &c., &c. — Ubv. Dr. Floy — itaUonal Magamne. 
 
 The.author of this work is already known to oar readers by sundry contributions to 
 our columns. He is also known to the public as the author of " Our Lord's Great 
 Prophecy." In the present volume he has given us an illustrated Allegory — exhibiting 
 after the manner of tho Pilgrim's Progress, the various offices of the several Christian 
 Virtues — their vocation Aere, their reward hereafter. The work exhibits not a little 
 ingenuity in its conception as well as execution. It is quite readable, and will be equally 
 instructive to the young. — Rev. D. W. Claek, D. D. — The Ladies'' Repository, 
 
 The author has well and admirably combined instruction and amusement in his al- 
 legory of the " Christian Virtues." We commend the book strongly, and hope it may 
 enter many a home — ^be a welcome guest at many a hearthstone. — Literary Journal. 
 
 This work, with just discrimination, paints all the christian virtues, and the attention 
 is called, successively, to the origin, character, office &c. of all the members of the Di- 
 vine Family, Religion, Truth, Liberty, Faith, Hope, Charity, Mercy, Justice, Contem- 
 plation, Impulse, Zeal, Industry, Patience, Humility, Virtue, Temperance. Of this 
 family of sons and daughters, Rblioion is represented as the Divine Mother. Tho 
 study of the book can but be a great aid to pious meditation. — C/i/risiian, Messenger. 
 
 The excellence and beauty of the Christian Virtues, as here presented, cannot fail to 
 commend them to the readers' approval, and to make a salutary and lasting impression 
 upon their minds; while the intrinsic Interest of the work, will delight, instruct, and 
 improve. — Syracuse Jbii/rnaZ. 
 
 The truthfulness of its characters, in all their movements and relations, challenges 
 oniversal recognition — far more so than had they been drawn ftom individual, rather 
 than universal experience. The author of the volume before us has taken hold of his 
 subject with much of Bunyan's spirit and power, and In treating the great family of 
 Christian virtues— Truth, Hope, Charity, Faith, Patience, &c— in their separate or 
 associated development in human life, he has invested them With more than mortal 
 entity, and clothed them abont with transcendent grace and beauty. — Mo&mng Mirror, 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 26 Park Row, New York, and 107 Genesee-st., Auburn. 
 
'LE JN A lii V EH S. 
 
 BY MAliY J, HOLMES, 
 
 Author of " Tempest and SansMne,'" "The English Orphana," " The Homestead 
 on the Hillside," etc. etc. 
 
 In One Volume, 416 Pages, 12 mo. Price $1*00. 
 
 As the social and domestic i-elations are the great sources of happi- 
 ness, or its opposites, so those romances that properly treat of those re- 
 lations — of the virtues that adorn, and of the vices -that deform them 
 ' — are clearly the most interesting, impressive, and useful. 
 
 'LMA RIVERS Is an American Domestic Story, unveiling in a mas- 
 terly manner the sources of social and domestic enjoyment, or of dis- 
 quiet and misery. By intermarriages of New England and Kentucky 
 parties, a field is opened to exhibit both Yankee andSouthern domestic life^ 
 for ■which the talented authoress was well prepared, being of Yaukee 
 birth and early education, and having subsequently resided in the South. 
 She was thus especially fitted to daguerreotype the strictly domestic 
 and social peculiarities of both sections. 
 
 »LENA RIVERS AND THE PRESS- 
 
 A work of nnnsnal promisa Mrs. Holmes possesses an enviable talent in the stndy of 
 American character, which Is so perfectly developed by acute observation from life, that 
 it would now be impofisible for her to write an uninteresting book.^PA«^ 8a^ BvUetnai. 
 
 There still lingers the artist-mind, enlivening, cheering, and consoling by hai)py 
 thocghta and pleasant words; moving the heart alternately to joy or sorrow, convulsing 
 with laughter, or bringing tears to the eyes. — Rochester Amertca^. 
 
 The characters are well drawn, and the tale is one of interest. It will find many well 
 pieced readers. — Albam/y Statesman. 
 
 The story is simple, natural, truthful. — Bochester Dg/Uy Advertiser. 
 
 Before we were aware, we had read the first two chaptera. We read on — and on — and 
 it was long after midnight when we finished the volume. "We could not leave it "We 
 know of no work with which we could compare " 'Lena Elvers " — so as to form a just 
 estimation of its merits. — MerricfosUle Chronicle. 
 
 It is not the first of the author's works, but it is the best— /Stofe Register. 
 
 To the sex we commend it, on the assurance of Its merit volunteered to as by ladi» 
 In whose critical acumen we have the fullest confidence.— ^w^oZo Mapress. 
 
 The story opens in New England, and is continued iq Kentucky, with very lively and 
 characteristic sketches of scenery and character in both States. It is both good and ts~ 
 TEEK8TING. — 2few YorJc DaA^ Times. 
 
 The moral of the plot is excellent Cowardly virtue, as eshibited by 'Lena's father, 
 may here learn a lesson without sufiering his bitter experience ; while the rashness of 
 youth may be warned against desperate acts, before a perfect understanding is had. — Jfisui 
 Bedford mapress. 
 
 ^9 ♦ ■»■ 
 
 Su8t I'ublighedj ttutf&rm with the above^ a JVew Edition of 
 
 BY MARY J. HOLMES. 
 In Oue Volume, 380 pp. 12ma. Price %t 00. 
 
 This earlier work of Mrs. Holmes received the highest praise of Ee- 
 Tiewers, and has proved a great favorite with all classes of intelligent 
 readers. 
 
 MILIEE, ORTOIT & CO., Publishers, 
 
 23 Part Row, iS'ew York, and Wi Genesce-st., Auburn 
 
Noble Deeds of American Women. 
 
 Edited by J. Clement and Mrs. L. H. Sigodrnet, 7 Illustrations on 
 Steel a^d "Wood, 480 pp. 12mo., Muslin, $1 25; Full Gilt Edges and 
 Sides, $2*'00.* 
 
 Such examples should be Bet before them, s& patterns for their daily imitation.— Xoc^, 
 
 The records of female courage and virtue herein presented to the daughters of the 
 /and, will, we trqst, encourage a laudable ambition to imitate the noble examples. 
 
 Facts are nAire sublime than fictions ; and American women have actually performed 
 all the good,' and grand, and glorious deeds which the honest and judicious novelist 
 dares ascribe to the female sex; hence we have found no occasion, in striving to make 
 this work interesting, to deviate irom the path of historical truth. 
 
 It is one of those books that you can open at almost any place and be sure of finding 
 something both interesting and instructive. It should be read by all who want to know 
 who of their countrywomen are entitled to a hi^h place in the pages that commemo- 
 rate the lives of the great and good. — Lockport Democrat. 
 
 The Introduction, by Mrs. Sigoumffs^, contains common sense views of woman's 
 sphere, duties and pleasures. — Clevdand Herald. 
 
 It embraces anecdotes of an exceedingly interesting character, prepared with mnch 
 taste and judgment The literary reputation of the editor is a guarantee for the faithful 
 performance of his part of the work. — XJHca JSigiaten 
 
 Fresh Leaves from Western Woods. 
 
 A Beriea of romantic and deeply interesting stories of Western 
 
 Society, by Metta V. Fullee, 315 pp. 12mo., Muslin, 15, cents. uU 
 
 Gilt Edges and Sides, $1 76. 
 
 The author will be found to deserve as warm sympathy ftom the hearts of the virtu- 
 ous as the admiration which she will receive from the judgments of the discerning.— 
 Detroit TrUjime, 
 
 Odd-Fellow's Amulet. 
 
 Or the Principles of Odd-l'ellowship defined, the Objections an- 
 swered, and its Adrantages maintained, by Rey. D. W. Bbistoi., 
 with five Illustrations on Steel, 248 pp. 12mo., Muslin, $1 00 ; Full 
 Gilt Edges and Sides, $1 50. 
 
 Household Scenes for the Home nircle. 
 
 A ooUeotion of Family Incidents and Scenes by Fanny Fern, Na- 
 thaniel Hawthorne, Leigh Hunt, and others. An admirable com 
 pendium for the fireside, four Illustrations, 311 pp. 12mo., Muslin, 
 $1 00 ; FuU Gilt Edges and Sides, $1 50. 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Row, New York, and 107 Genesee-st., Anbum. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE BIBLE 
 
 BEma 
 HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES 
 
 OF THE WOMEN OF THE BIBLE, FEOM 
 
 EVE OF THE OLB TO THE MARYS OF THE 3S[E"W TESTAMENT, 
 
 BY REV. P. O. HEAD LEY. 
 One VolmiKe) 284 pp. 16nio.9 Illustrated. Price $1 00. 
 
 It is the desiga of this work to breathe encouragement to the ma- 
 ternal heart, and to infuse the spirit of their high destiny into the 
 minds of the Women of America. 
 
 OPINIONS OF REVIEWERS- 
 
 Tbe author of this work possesses enongh traits of resemblancB to the author of the 
 "Sacred Mountains,^' to leave no doubt of his right to the name of Headley. There la 
 much of that spirited descriptive power, which has made the elder brother apopnlar fi^ 
 YOrite, and ^ves promise of a successful career on his own account — N. Y. JEkwn. 
 
 It contains nineteen descriptive biographical sketches, arranged in chronological order, 
 including nearly all the distinguished women of the sacred annals, and forming an out- 
 line of Scripture history. The illustrations are from original designs, and are numerous 
 and appropriate. No ordinary powera of imagination and expression are shown in the 
 vivid and picturesque descriptions; and the nne portraitures of character rivet the in- 
 terest, and set forth the Scripture delineations In a stronger light. In this respect, the 
 book has no rival, for no other is so complete^ following so dosely, at the same time, the 
 sacred narrative. We hope it is but an earnest of other works from the pen of its gifted 
 author. — Rome Journal, 
 
 The author has appropriated very much of the poetry and romance of the Bible, in 
 the sketches he has given of nineteen women, who have come down to us through their 
 peculiar merits, embalmed in inspiration. Whoever reads the story of Sarah, the bean- 
 tiful Hebrew maiden, the admiration of the Ohaldean shepherds and the pride of her kin- 
 dred, and of the other subjects of these sketches, will read a story far more attractlva 
 Chan any romance or novel — O&uaego Tmies. 
 
 MILLF.R, ORTGN & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Row, New York, and 107 (ieneeee-st/, Auburn. 
 
German Sacred Poetry. 
 
 ENGLISH YERSION 
 
 OF 
 
 BY HENRY MILLS, D. D. 
 In One Volume, 368 pp. 12mo, Price $1 00. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 We hare already expressed our high opinion of the merits of this volume, both In 
 the selection of the hymns and in the verBions. This second edition contains upwards 
 -of forty additional hymns, which well deserve a place with the first series.— if. J". 
 Independent. 
 
 We should be glad to apprise those who are unacquainted with the first edition of 
 Dr. Mills' little work, of the exceeding richness and beauty of some of these hymns. 
 They are from Protestant authors of various dates, from Luther to Hengstenberg, and 
 relate to almost every phase of Christian doctrine and experience. Some are full of 
 tenderness and feeling— expressing the profoundest Christian emotions, and all are 
 orthodox in sentiment Dr. Mills has rendered them, we doubt not, with that remark- 
 able fidelity and accuracy which are characteristic of everything he does, and certainly 
 with ease and freedom. Many of these hymns should find their way into our practical 
 psalmody, as possessing, besides solid excellence, an agreeable freshness and novelty 
 of expression. We are very glad to be thus introduced to the inner life of German 
 piety, and to receive so rich an accession to this invaluable part of our religious litera- 
 ture. To this new edition, Dr. Mills has added some forty new hymns, and revised the 
 whole— rendering it as faultless as criticism and care can . do. — M. Y. Evang^dst. 
 
 THE ST. LAWRENCE AND THE SAGUENAT, 
 
 BY CHARLES SANGSTER. 
 In One Volume, 260 pp. 12mo, Price $1 00. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS- 
 
 \ am glad to bear a musical voice from Canada— the first, I believe, from a land so 
 r'ch and beautiful, but hitherto without a literature. — Bataed Tavlok. 
 
 These Poems are written in a bold, masterly style, full of imagery, and displaying 
 ability of no common klud. Mr. Sangster is a poet in the true sense of the term, and 
 leads his readers, in burning langu^e of inspiration from nature up to nature's God. 
 The "St. Lawrence and the Saguenay " is a master-piece ; and in fact, the whole book 
 breathes the spirit of a master's mind.— O^towa Oommercd^ Tmiea. 
 
 That Mr. Sangster is a poet of more than ordinary merit we have long since been fully 
 sonvinced; but most assuredly we were not prepared for so much as his truly noble 
 voem "The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay" exhibits. The poem as a whole, is every 
 way worthy the genius of a true-born poet. It is so seldom a Canadian poet appoars, 
 tliat the public may well afford to patronize the best the country has produced.— jHom- 
 titon Spectator. ... - - - . ■ 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO.,' Publishers, 
 
 26 Park Row, New York, and 107 Genesee-st., Auburn. 
 
THE POETS 
 
 AND 
 
 POETRY OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 BY GEORGE GILFILLAN. 
 One Volume, 325 pp. 12iuo., Frontispiece, Muslin, Price $1,00. 
 
 The author is one of Scotland's most eloquent living -writers. The 
 theme is attractive, at once awakening every pure and noble senti 
 ment, and is here treated by one who, possessing the genuine poetic 
 spirit, is able to discover and to set forth the glowing images, the sim- 
 ple beauties, and the pathetic appeals of the word of God. — Bev. Dr 
 Chester. 
 
 This work has already assumed the character of a classic. The able 
 and interesting manner in which the Poets and Poetry of the Bible 
 are treated by Mr. GilfiUan, has deservedly placed him among the first 
 class writers of the age, in public estimation. His style is rich and 
 varied, and his subject has been proved by him to be susceptible of a 
 variety of interesting illustrations. — Scott s Weekly. 
 
 IIGIDEITS AID lAMATIVES, 
 
 FOB 
 
 BY REV. A. RUSSELL BELDEN. 
 
 Frontispiece. 379 Pages, 12mo. Price $1 00. 
 
 Tbft foregoing work combmes both interest and instruction. It has been the view of 
 the compiler to furnish a work, that while it would attract and engage the attention of 
 yontb, would, at the same time, improve their minds and hearts, and impress them wltb 
 a love of '* whatsoever things are lovely, and whatsoever things are pure." 
 
 The work embrace*a great variety of subjects calculated to show not only that " wis- 
 doms ways arc ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace," but on the other 
 hand, to demonstrate oonolosively, that " The way of the transgressor is hard." 
 
 MILLER, ORTON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Row, New York, .and Iff? Genesee-st., Auburn. 
 
PARKE MADISON, 
 
 OB 
 AS SHOWN IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 THE SENATOR'S SON. 
 
 BY METTA V. FULLER. 
 In One Volume, 281 pages 12ino., Muslin. Price 75 Cents. 
 
 It is believed that no Temperance Tale published in this country 
 60 graphically portrays at once the cause, the curse, and the cure of 
 intemperance, as this. It exhibits, vividly, the fascinations and allure 
 ments which Fashioit throws around its votary, and the snares in 
 which refined society entraps its unwary victim. It presents the ca- 
 reer of an eminent statesman, occupying a.high position in the national 
 councils — the social habits which that position engendered, among 
 them the habit of tarrying long at the wine — and the effect of those 
 " feasts of reason " and that flow of champagne, upon himself, his 
 family and friends, and especially upon his talented and noble-hearted 
 son, the excellent though unfortunate Paekb MADisoifi for whom the 
 reader's sympathy is constantly excited. .-^ 
 
 Silkr Cup of Sparkliug grops, 
 
 FROM MANY FOUNTAINS 
 
 FOR THE FRIENDS OF TEMPERAN(TE. 
 
 BY MISS O. B. PORTER. 
 In One Volume, 312 pages, 12mo., Muslin. Price 75 Cents 
 
 "Bright as the dew on early buds that glistens. 
 Sparkles each hope upon their flower-strewn paths." 
 
 We make no apology for presenting this volume to the public. The 
 subject to which a large portion of its articles relates, is all-impor- 
 tant, and cannot be too frequently presented, nor too strongly urged 
 upon the consideration of community. 
 
 To all who desire the peace of families, and the purity and happi 
 ness of society, we say. Hand round the Sii.vee Cup among yourselves, 
 and if, after having tasted of its contents, you find it to contain the 
 true elixir, drink therefrom to the health of its amiable compiler, and 
 pass the goblet to your neighbors. 
 
 MILLEE, ORTON & CO., Publishers, 
 
 25 Park Eow, New York, and 107 Genesee-st., Auburn.