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 GLABIMONDE : 
 
 TALE OF NEW ORLEANS LIFE, 
 
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 AND OF 
 
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 THE PRESENT WAR 
 
 
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 BY 
 
 A Member of-the N. O. Washington Artillery, 
 
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 L. RICHMOND: K> 
 
 -1 J\I \. 'I^LSlii, COllNER OF 14Tn' AND MAIN STREETS. ^^ 
 
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CLAEIMONDE 
 
 A 
 
 TALE OF NEW ORLEAlfS LIFE, 
 
 AND or 
 
 THE PRESENT WAR,, 
 
 By a MlMBlR OF THE N. WABHINOTOir x^RtlLtKRT 
 
 UlCHMONt): 
 A, MALSBY, COKNER OF 14th ANb MAIN STREETS. 
 1863. 
 
 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress in the year 1863, 'gk 
 the Clerk's Office of the District Cou^t of the Confederate Stales, 
 for the Eastern District of Virginia. ^ 
 
 Fiinted by Macfarlaiie & Ferqusson, -Richmond, Va. 
 
 

 - n 3"^'fi.a- 
 
 Jt^3i, 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 With some liesitation, the author submits a work composed 
 amid the vicissitudes of camp life, and which, in the number of ac- 
 cidents by flood and field, which it has met with from its com- 
 mencement until its formal delivery into the publisher's hands, has 
 exceeded those of the heroin-e whose name it bears. It was written 
 to amuse a few friends, and to while away the dull hours not em- 
 ployed in fighting, forced marchinc:, eating and drinking. At the 
 instance of these partial critics he has placed his MS. in the hands of 
 II publisher; and trusting that tiic good nature which has hitherto 
 i been shown to soldiers will be extended to him whose only fault, 
 after all, will be that he has attempted to please, he submits the 
 following work to the reader's indulgence. 
 
 .h-mv of the Potomac, Fahl^tli, 186Ji. 
 
INiaiODUCTOEY CHAPTEE. • 
 
 % 
 
 I had been put on guard, along vritb twoor three of n\^ comrades, 
 over the provision or commisfiary tent of our brigade — a post much 
 sighed for and coveted by sentinels who prefer spending their mid- 
 night vigils around a blazing fire to promenading on a lonely po$t 
 during a stormy night. 
 
 With a pot of coffee, a canteen of liquor, cigars, and perhaps a 
 deck of cards, tlie night passes more like a pleasant dissipation than 
 ordinary guard duty. Thus whiling away the dull hours, comrades 
 who have been little intimate grow social, old friends more friendly, 
 and secrets are toh^, and confidence reposed which would never be 
 communicated in any other situation. At any rate such was the 
 case with us. 
 
 It so happened that towards midnight our game of euchre grew 
 wearisome, the last fight had beeu discussed^ and the prospect of 
 another debated j it began to be evident t}iat we must turn to some 
 more exciting theme for our nigh't's amusefbent. 
 
 Another hour was spent in recounting tales and adventure? we 
 had read or heard of, by which time we had grown personal and 
 confidential, and the various trials with which fortun-e had favored 
 us each, were in turn related. 
 
 Depend upon it, reader, that each of your numerous friends and 
 
 ^ acquaintances has a story worth the hearing, if he only knows how 
 
 to tell it. The romance of life is not all confined to works of fiction, 
 
 and the materials are around you to compose a book as humorous, 
 
 sentimental and satirical, as the adventures of Gil Bias Himself. 
 
 There happened to be on guard with us a sentinel who associated 
 but little with any one in the regiment, and of whom almost nothing 
 was known except that his name was ^scar St. Armeiit. In his 
 appearance and character, so far as we could understand it, 
 there was absolutely nothing that would attract your attention. His 
 face was neither handsome nor repellant, his figure neither gracefu 
 nor ungainly. In gait, bearing, and general expression of countenance, 
 you could discover nothing in the man which would have dislin- 
 
6 CLARIMONDK. 
 
 guished him A'om twenty others whom you mkjbt have seen in the 
 same day. Nobody that met him ever asked, ''Who is that man ? " 
 And if the question had been asl^, none ot his companions would 
 have been able to answer it. HisTaee was, indeed, a practical rej^e- 
 t.ition of the knife-grinder's answer, "No story to tell, sir.'' At 
 least in this light we viewed him for some months after wc were 
 thrown together ; and long alter the mutual foibles and failings of 
 the rest of us had become too familiar to talk of and laugh over, 
 Oscar remained as unknown, as untbought of, and as little seen, as 
 on the day he first became a soldier. 
 
 This, which was in itself a peeuliarity, at lengtl; urovoked com- 
 ment, and close observers began to discover in his face lines .and 
 leatui'es that were by no means common-place, and to suspect .that -| 
 he must have seen more of life and had more of a history than his 
 listless indifference as to everything around him would have seem- 
 ed to indicate; so that it had thus happened that there was a com- 
 mon desire to know more of him who at first had least attracted 
 our notice. 
 
 Thus, as each of us Recounted the incidents and buffetings of 
 Fortune we had thus far met in life, there was a general disposition 
 manifested to drag St. Ar.ment in the conversation, which he could 
 not well resist. Besides, the liquor, singular as it may seem to any- 
 one who has tested the whiskey we obtained in the army, was ex- 
 cellent. We were in constant expectation of a great battle, and for once, 
 the first and last time^ our taciturn comrade brightened into anima- ^'^ 
 cion, and gave us one true glimpse of his inner self. His manner, 
 iuilf humorous, half satirical, and always melancholy, I can hardly 
 hope to imitate or describe, liut I give below, in his own language, 
 .0 t^c best of my recollection^ the substance of his narrative. 
 
CHAP^JiER II. 
 
 M^ first impressions- are oflBPiack nurse, with a turban wrapped 
 around her head, like the tiara of Cybele, who dandled me in hcv 
 arms when I was fretful, who soothed me to sleep in negro French, 
 and who dropped mc'down the steps or over the banister when she 
 " was herself asleep, which latter was more than half the time her 
 normal condition. 
 
 My existence was otherwise embittered by. being plunged daily 
 into a tub of cold water, and I began ta regard htr as my worst ene- 
 my,' when she carried me to school, (where only English, of which 
 language I knew nothing, was spoken,) dressed as a -girl. Here I 
 was forced to sit between two bouncirtg country girls, who, between 
 constant pinching afnd kissing, well nigh filled my cup of misery to 
 the brim. ■ 
 
 I remember myself a^ J grew older, a Httle white-headed, roi\i^- 
 bottomed shaver, early harnessed to the car of learning, and who 
 drew it, balked and floundered with it, from a-b ab, and b-a ba, to 
 baker, arid' shady, for \7hat seemed to him a cycle of ages. Noah 
 Webster's spelling book was a dreadful load ; I would commence 
 and re-commence it with every nev; teacher, without making any 
 sensible progress that I can noxr recall ; nor, indeed, can I recall 
 much else, excepting that I was systematically Hogged by each and 
 all of them. . 
 
 In cpjirse of time I had learitcd that sit small boys could sit on 
 one long ben?h, a fact which, had I not seen it so distinctly stated 
 in print, I should have been inclined to doubt, for the reason that 
 I was continually tumbling off the longest bench in school, whereon 
 sat five other scholars. I would sit dreamily [making triangles and 
 pai'allelograms on the j5ancTed fipor, with my bare feet, endeavoring 
 to accounf for this contradiction between ])rinted statement and daily 
 experience. I finally concluded that; we were an exception to the 
 rule, because, as I found in examining the matter, there were really' 
 only Jive bo^s, the s/'.i'//t being a girl, whom I now remember as lit- 
 tle Clara, and who, with myself, constituted the right and left file 
 closers of this over-crowded bencii. T could or\\j conjecture how the 
 
^ -'LAKlMOIVi'K. 
 
 Muail boys behaved in the spelling book, l>ut pnicticully 1 foiuid that 
 they were alwa3's pushing and pressing towards one end or the other, 
 and that either Clara or I was crowded off, and suffered punishment 
 as the guilty parties. JjjL 
 
 As the summer days passed by \i^K.'::ii together the stories of the 
 speculative castle-building milk-maid; of the dog, (nobody's enemy 
 but his own,) whose character was damned by an unfortunate selec- 
 tion of friends; and of the industry of the little busy bee. 
 
 Whatever other changes were going on in my education, I found 
 that the floggings and trouncings which I received from my kind 
 preceptors remained ever the same. 
 
 To the last Clara and I v.ere always blundering, always unfortu- 
 nate, and ever being made victims when luckier, culprits made their 
 escape; so that similarity of trials and punialiment, as much a.s of 
 character, made lis in the end th« best of friends. 
 
 When one of us was in trouble the other would testify his or 
 her sympathy with what mute signs and teiegraphic signals were 
 in our po^er. For instance, on one occasion, some mischievous 
 neighbor had poured a bottle of syrup on a dress which Clara wore 
 for the first time; the sight of my little ally tearfully defending her- 
 self from the flies, had disturbed the order of the school ; and as a 
 happy way of ending tt^ confusion, she had been sentenced to stand 
 in a conspicuous part of the room, before her mocking playmates. 
 /saw that she looked at me for some signs of condolence, and hoping 
 that I was concealed bv the door from the observation of our 
 teacher, I ventured to write on the wall, bending on my seat with 
 my knees, in characters large enough for her to read — / love you., 
 Clara. 
 
 • But from this absorbing occupation I was rudely aroused. A 
 shower of blows was fast descending on i^y quivering shoulders ; I 
 was jerked up by the collar, and made to dance first on ong leg arfd 
 then on the other; and in th(^ end I found that I had need of as 
 much sympathy as I hadgivcn. 
 
 Well do I remember the lAst day wc played together as children. 
 The term had closed, and it had been announced that we were to 
 have a little party. The auspicious occasion arrived ; ink spols had 
 
*JLARTMONDE. 
 
 been scoured away, spider webs liad.iiiven place to evergreen fes- 
 toons, clean shirts and pants had superseded ragged trowsers and un- 
 washed linen, while our face|MDwcd with expectation and an extra- 
 ordinary rubbing with soap. ^^B 
 
 With the appointed hour tR^ guests made their appearance ; but 
 as I have since found to be the case in more fashionable assemblies, 
 after all our trouble, there still seemed to be, even when the last 
 guest had arrived, something wanting; a painful ignorance as to 
 what to do, now that we had come together. None of us were old 
 enough to be very strong in a conversational point of' view, and for 
 a long time dancing was forbidden. The boys and girls being both 
 extremely difSdent aboiit forming acquaintances, confined themselves 
 principally to th& opposite sides of the room, and hallooed forth their 
 observations, as if it were important that no one should be excluded 
 JVoni their beneficial efiect. Occasionally some modest youth, with 
 a plentiful allowance of shirt collar, would be forced into receiving 
 cin introduction by way of encouraging the rest, and as if fate had 
 marked me out for a martyr, I was among the early sufferers. Two 
 youths, who were large enough to wear coats with tails, caught me 
 each by an arui, and informed me that they would do me the honor 
 of introducing'me to the finest lady in the room. 
 
 I would have fallen on my knees and begged for mercy, had they 
 not held my arms so tightly as to rend(*i' it impossible. On they 
 dragged me, vainly struggling and resisting, pursued by a shout 
 from the crowd I was leaving, and welcomed with suppressed laughter 
 by the one towards which I was advancing. Reaching the belle 
 of the evening, some words were muttered, the import of which I 
 did not understand, m^ legs were tripped from under me, I was 
 thrust in a seat by the side of this lady, and with a farewell glance 
 and .a threatening jesture, which hinted that I had better stay where 
 i was if t knew what was good for me, my tormentors left me to my 
 fate. 
 
 i had at first a v,'ild idea of jumping out of a twp story window, 
 which was just behind me ; but my newly made acquaintance show- 
 ed so much composui-e in her manner, that I began to feel reassured ; 
 besides, she struck me as being the most beautiful young lady in 
 
lU I'LARIMONDE. , 
 
 the world, and her dross, thoiigh simpie enough, I Ihous^ht, might 
 have been that of a princess."' , jBiere were some flowers in her bo- 
 som; I wondered if these grew''tfflfi|^ut did not feel bold enough 
 to ask. She contrived to draw-n^^^Ko conversation, and listened 
 with great good nature to what iSHKccount I had to give of my- 
 seir, but I still continued to regard her with a superstitious feeling 
 of awe. To complete my happiness, when one of my introducers 
 returned, and alluded to my presentation as a capital joke," she 
 thanked him coldly for having brought her such good company, and' 
 continued her conversation with* me. 
 
 Finding at length that tlie boys were becoming more and more 
 noisy, as that the party, about which jve had so long dreamed, was 
 a drag, Old Slapper, for thus was our teacher called, at length al- 
 lowed us to wind up the day's festivities, .with a reel, an'd pres^ently 
 we heard him tuning the harsh strings of his old violin. With my 
 new protectress for my partner, my happiness was at its climax. It 
 is true I felt a slight tinge <5f remorse that I was not with Clara, 
 but I was somewhat .consoled to observe that she was dancing very 
 gaily without me. 
 
 > I should perhaps have mentioned before that the boys of our 
 academy were to appear at'the party in white pants, but that, owing to 
 somedelay, mine had not been finished at therequired time. Indeed, 
 not much more had beeii done towards making them than putting- 
 in what I believe is known as basting stitches. ^ This did not, how- 
 ever, deter me from going and wearing them, and, indeed, I had 
 forgotten all about their frail tt^xturo half an lionr after putting 
 them on. 
 
 Meanwhile the dance was progressing, and Clara, wild and 
 imprudent as ever, who had taken the prize at the dancing school, 
 and who I fear must have taken a skss of champagne that evening, 
 was dancing as if mad. . Be that as it may, when her turn came, as 
 she started at the upper end of the reel, cried out that she would 
 *how us how she could imitate an'engine, put on steam, sachezed right 
 and left through the smialler dancers, upsetting them at every turn. 
 
 All of the evening her elderly chaperone had been eyeing her 
 movements with an impatience which increased every moment, and 
 
OLAKIMOXDE. 11 
 
 ■ ■ w this lady indignantly ordered Clara to follow her to the car- 
 •iage. Upon this, Clara, putting oh still more steam, executed that 
 •apid backwardpoi^ vrTiich t^ttinated the danscuse^ perfor^mance in 
 ■A theatre just as the curtain ^^Biit to fall, and with a magnificent 
 bow, bade adieu to the festiv^WRif the evening. 
 
 ,'' Poor Clara, won't she get it, though/' I murmured to myself; but 
 undeterred by her fate, and anxious to take a sort of Terpsichorean 
 revenge on the crowd who had witnessed her disgrace, I started 
 down the reel with my partner ; and I fear had soon forgotten lier to 
 execute some pas seuls of my own. It was not long before I had, 
 in accomplishing these, turned around so often, and had drifted and 
 "danced so far away irom her, that it was only by the most herculean 
 • efiforts and extravagant figures, that I was subsequently enabled to 
 regain my place, in doing which, I had inadvertently trod upon the 
 miniature feet of the Cinderillas, and ground my boot heel upon the 
 "light fantastic toes" of the wliole line of dancers. 
 
 What I might not have further done I am unable to say, a:> i now 
 I)ogan to be conscious that all was not right, and that my appearance 
 li'ad become the subject of general mirth. Vainly did I endeavor 
 to di^ne the cause, fjister and faster did I dance, when suddenly 
 hearing the snapping of a thread, 1 glanced downwards. 
 
 With the feelings of a sailor who finds that his vessel is rapidly 
 going to pieces, I discovered that my pants were fluttering wildly 
 in the breeze, and dangled about niykgs,as if merely attached by a 
 spell. I h«|no time to finish my dance, or stand upon the order of my 
 going, but sideling and shuffling, in double-quick time towards the 
 door, T seized the first cap I 'could lay my hands upon, and ran 
 home as fast as my feet would carry me. 
 
 All of this time I had been living in an old plantation house 
 for the -oenefit, as my mother said, to bt) derived from the purr 
 country air; but much more, as 1 have since learned, from her 
 indifi'erence, not to say dislike of children. But a^? I was now to 
 return to New Orleans, in which- was my family abode, it becomes 
 necessary that I should give yo.u .some account of my parents before 
 ]^ proceed farther with my own iuimcdiatc history. 
 
CHAPTJfiilHi 
 
 TJ|jf[] 
 
 When Louisiana was under tnPPrench government, my father 
 held a title, and boasted a polysyllabic name. His rank, upon, its 
 ^ession to the United States, he renounced to become an American 
 citizen, and his name, perhaps, as another evidence of his republi- 
 can principles, he eliminated- of most of its long sounding syllijbles. 
 A courtly old gentleman, with large black eyebrows and grey hair, 
 was my father. His business in life was to do nothing, gracefully, 
 and to spend the income of an immense estate, and finally the estate 
 itself, in prodigal profusion. He would, for instance, give away a 
 magnificent residence to some passing prima donn^, in cases where, 
 as my mother thought, a bouquet would have sufficiently evinced 
 his admiration; and the loss of a mile of street lots was sometimes 
 the result of a single night's amusements. The same magnificent 
 profusion v^as preserved throughout the establishment, or I should 
 rather use the plural form, as his residence in the country cnlygavc 
 a larger field for the exercise of bis princely extravagance. 
 
 He was not, of a nature to grow old,. and had his years numbered 
 the patriarchal time, he wOuld have received the burden under pro- 
 test, and stili have made some youthful show against wrinkles and 
 old age. 
 
 But thus long, or indeed tJie ordinary span, he was not destined 
 to live. The tastes that I have mentioned, cost himjjfcis fortune. 
 There was another, which resulted in his death. 
 
 "While dancing gaily .through .life, shrugging his aristocratic 
 shoulders at its many ills, and distilling pleasure from every source, 
 without much troubling his digestion as to its effect upon those who 
 might come after him, the pitiless fates who apportion to each of us 
 the number of our days and hour.i, had summoned him to the realm 
 of shades. 
 
 For, at the time of which I write, dueling was much in voguej 
 and nothing was thougKt more proper than to shoot your man be- 
 fore breakfast. In this, among other accomplishments, my father 
 greatly excelled — was familiar with the temper of cwordp^ expert \v 
 
CLAKiMONDE. • J ^ • 
 
 (he use of hair triggers; and^ in short, understood his business so 
 •well, that for him .to engage in an affair of honor and kill his anta- 
 aronist was thou2:ht to be a matter of course. 
 
 But it is time T should|d«|eak of my respected mother. If my 
 father had to have his littWpleasures, it was none the less necessary 
 that she should have hers. She had been a reigning beauty in her 
 day, apd as numerous a train of admirers she still possegsed, (she 
 regarded them in the light of property,) as many rivals, witjji half 
 her age and. twice her remaining attractions. But the preservation 
 of this power, which every day became more difficult, required her 
 consummate skill and addres.-^, particularly in the art of the toilet •, 
 and, then, too, as innocence will be traduced, in spite of the utmost 
 finesse in silencing envious tongues, she had, as a last resort, the 
 Correct sword and pistol practice of my father. * 
 
 Thus strongly fortified, my" poor mother found the world at her 
 ffeet. and save an occasional timid whisper, no sign of mutiny among 
 her overawed subjects. Not to know her, argued yourself unknown, 
 and in spite of many ugly rumors, and suspected bremches on her 
 part, of the conventional codo, she. could go where she pleased, and 
 receive the flattery of her admirers in the most fashionable saloons. 
 No dehutantc could hope for a success without her encouraging 
 smile, deputations crumbled beneath the weight of hei*sarcasm, 
 and her delicate railery could banish as effectually as an imperial 
 ukase-. She was, indeed, recognized and regarded as a power. 
 
 But of her, as of other despotic rulers, the world at length grew 
 weary, and her_ pcfwer first (juestioned, was, in the end, resisted. 
 Only an opportui>ity was wanting for her influence to pass away 
 forever. 
 
 Matters were in this state when the visit* of some live prince be- 
 ,came the ovtjnt of the season. Of course there was to be a ball in 
 his honor, and of course everybody wished to go. To obtain a ticket 
 was a question of fashionable standing, and to fail in receiving one 
 was regarded )lf^ many as a blow little less than the loss of fortune. 
 So thought, at least, my mother, who began to see the difficulties of 
 her position, and accordftigly all of her seductive arts which had 
 
il . " CLAKiMO.XDE. 
 
 never Jiitherto failed, were brought to bekr upon the ticket- cUspeiiiiiug 
 committee. 
 
 The important night at length arrived, the costly tnurnure which 
 the over-confident lady was .to wear li;iiy|nL: since been brought in, 
 and still no card of invitation. But uo^ie ever dispairs of an event 
 upon which our happiness depends; and hour by hour glided by 
 without her .resigning, in anywise, her intention of dancing; with 
 the Pipnce. It was not until the notes of the band, borne faintly to 
 her ear above the noise and confusion of the city, announced that 
 the assenfbly was about to be opened, 'did my mother admit to her- 
 self that she had failed. 
 
 Yes, the festivities of the ball, which she had fondly hoped the 
 Prince would open with herself anti for the dance," Trere now com- 
 mencing, and she not even present! Oh, horror I oh, misery I She 
 saw before her the inevitable loss of her power, and it was not until 
 my father gave orders for his dueling pistols to be cleaned, that she 
 could be kept from fainting in his arms. 
 
 A name was now selected by lot ffom the number of those who 
 coinposed the committee, a challenge sent, and at daylight the next 
 morning there was a hostile meeting between the party whose name 
 was drawn and my father. But this time, as if the gods had refused " 
 all succor to my mother's sinking cause, it was my father, and not 
 as everybody had expected, his antagonist, who was -brought home 
 on the fatal litter. . He had only time to declare the manner in 
 which his body should be laid out, and intimate a j^reference for a 
 rosewood coffin, befor.e he breathed his last. 
 
 Though this blow was all that w'as wanting to affect the complete 
 loss of her position in society, my poor mpther did not cease to strug- 
 gle. But I shall only stop here to mention her last a^pearanrc in 
 public, and hasten on to' what concerns my own life. . • 
 
 It was a night during the season that the yellow fever was daily 
 •numbering its victims by hundreds. Death was abroad everywhere, 
 but the evening was so soft as to tempt her and a party of congenial 
 spirits to a ride over the shell road — that famous avenue, bordered 
 with groves, and which terminated a few miles from New Orleans, 
 at LaksPou6fiartrain. Only the midiiighf vigil lampi^sh^ne through 
 
Cl/AIUMUNDI;. ^ 1;> 
 
 the istreets, and alonrr the road, and nmi<^ht disturbed the silence of 
 the hour, save the slow rumbling of the hearse's wheels, an occa- 
 sional shriek from some departing soul in the last agonies of death, 
 or the forced merriment o%the revellers themselves. 
 
 One might have supposed- that they were bent on some such mis- 
 sion as that of the Memphians. who, carried at midnight the bodies 
 of their dead across the lak% that bordered their city. On the con- 
 trary, it was only the ordinary search after pleasure, and an attempt 
 to leave behind the gloomy atmosphere of death. 
 
 j^rrived at the l;tke, a supper of wines and coitly dishes was or- 
 dered, which it was*thought would add to the hilarity of the party ^ 
 but it did not. Th^n followed bachinal songs and others in which 
 an attempt was made to set death at defiance, but which were more 
 inexpressibly melancholy than any funeral dirge. But the gaiety of 
 the party was too obviously assumed; and at length, wearied with 
 what produced only sickening disgust, my mother, who was the 
 ruling spi;;it, and who now realized, for the first time, that she was 
 growing old, reluctantly gave her consent to return home. 
 
 It was nonq too soon-^thc seeds of disease" began to betray them- 
 selvef; before the party separated; and ere the close of the succeed- 
 ing day, my poor mother was borne a. corpse, yellow and spotted^ 
 by the black horses, to her final resting plUce. 
 
• • CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Thus sadly terminated tlie lives of my parents; and I, who was 
 of so tender and thoughtless an age, thnt I was playing '' hide and 
 seek" the very day of the funeral, was Jeft orphaned and friendless, 
 and for aught that I or any one around me knew, without any near 
 relation. Indeed, the city was so deserted by its inhabitants, that 
 for many days there could be found no curator or administrator, to 
 take charge of the household or myself; and «ach domestic or de- 
 pendant did what seemed right in his own eyes. 
 . From this melancholy situation I was at length rescued by the 
 kindness of Pere Grivot, my mother's confessor; for the good lady, 
 in spite of her worldliness, never altogether lost sight of what she 
 was pleased to term her religion.;. and unburthened herself of her 
 sing, with the utmost regularity. To the house, then, of Father 
 Grivot, I was now taken, and installed as enjant de. choir, or choris- 
 ter of his church, until some one should step forth as my proper 
 guardian. My duties were to ring the bell at early dawn for ma- 
 tins, to light the wax tapers on the altar, to attend at mass, and 
 assist at funerals. Indeed, this last duty was the most important of 
 my services, occupied most of my time, and brought in sufficient 
 revenue to maintain mC' — it being the custom "for the church to 
 charge for funerals, according to the number of priests and choris- 
 ters present — ^and the fund thus r#sed, after deducting the expenses 
 of the vicarage, to divide among those officiating. 
 
 There were, I need not say," other choristers of my own age, and 
 these,, with myself, were left to our own resources, after the perform- 
 ance of the before specified duties. We lived well and were clothed 
 well, and had an opportunity of making some progress in learning — 
 those of us, at least, who showed sufficient inclination for study to 
 invite encouragement. But the time of my youthful associates"! 
 soon found to be otherwise employed. Whether through a natural 
 tendency to vice, or because wc were so. constantly going through 
 the forms of religion, that it came at iQngth to be forgotten that 
 \hey had any meaning;* yet, so it was, that the solemnities which 
 
inspired me only with a sentiment of awe, seemed to be regarded by 
 them as a monotonous and wearisonie business. They practiced 
 their jokes while preceding the dead to the cemetary. They would 
 cause ^he tapers to expire on the altar during the performance of 
 services, or would place the principal singer, whose snuff-box had 
 been previously filled wtth red pepper, in the embarrassing situation 
 of being compelled to chaunt a requiem, while tormented with a 
 constant 'desire to sneeze. But not. satisfied with thus disregarding 
 religion themselves, they had learned to profit by the devotion of 
 others,%nd the money obtained from devout elderly la,dies, they lost 
 or won from each other in games of chance. 
 
 I was sufficiently old and thoug^itfal to understand that in the 
 life I "gras commencing there was no future before me, and that my 
 prospect had undergdne a disastrous eclipse. With a natural tem- 
 perament inclining to melancholy, and saddened by the tragic scenes 
 to which I have briefly alluded, I could take but little interest in 
 the livelier amusement of ray companions. My time. passed as in a 
 sad dream, in listening to the 'heavy tones of the organ, in gazing 
 at the frescoes and paintings on ^the walis^ or in wondQriug at the 
 ever varying crowds who were constantly entering and departing. 
 Sometimes I would brood in a childish sort of way over the sofemn 
 scene that were transpiring'around me — -at the happiness of the "bri- 
 dal party, quicklj^ to be succeeded by the desolatioj,7S of the funeral 
 cortege — the indifl'erence of the voung to religion, and the tardy de- 
 votion of those who had grown too old t(fsin. But the soulless mirth 
 of my companions jarred harshly on such reveries, and doubtless 
 created somewhat the same feeling in me. And if you sometimes 
 find ^hat I am callous to what should be held most sacred, remem- 
 ber the Associations of my early youth, and thank your kinder stars 
 that you were reared tinder better auspices. 
 
 One day, while pursuing some study under the direction of one 
 of the younger, priests, who resided at the house of Pere Grivot, 
 there was ushered into the room in v/hich we were sitting, a stran- 
 ger, who inquired for the Pere. I had before remarked his pre- 
 sence at the church on gala days and at high mass, and had heard 
 from the conversation of those around me, that he bclonircd to that" 
 
18 t TLARIM.OKDE. 
 
 pleasure-seeking class, who came with some" less pious motive than 
 to contribute to the support of the ministers of the church. 
 
 Eis dress, fi;iurs and general features, were unmistakably those of 
 a Creole j and I knew before I heard him speak that he would com- 
 mence the conversation in French. (Indeed, the latter language 
 was then,- and to a considerable extentstill isf the ordinary language 
 of the cify and State, and the only one with which 1 was then, in 
 spite of my experience at the country school, much familiar.) Oth- 
 erwise, he appeared to be a man of the world, past the maturity of 
 life, selfish, sensual and cynical. • * 
 
 .He had just returned from Paris, I .soon heard him say, in the 
 course of a conversation with Father Grivot; arxl what brought him 
 to pay. the present visit, was the purchase of a lot in the cen^jetery, 
 connected with the church. This business required little time to 
 adjust. • • 
 
 "But whom have you here — some novice that, you have picked 
 up out of the gutter?'' said he, alluding tome. ^ f Come here, 
 7na hmne anye.- Too handsome by half, Father, unless you 
 wish him to prove the ruin instea4 of the salvation of the feebler 
 sex.'' 
 
 "l^ou might well think him an angel, did you hear him sing. 
 Heaven forbid that he should ever Income a snare to any of the 
 weak daughters of the earth. But Oscar is a good boy, and comes 
 of a good family, too. Poor souls, tiis father and mother, are not 
 only dead, but died bankrupt in position, wealth, and all that makes 
 life dear. There was but little left 'them in this world -ft^hen they 
 quitted it." 
 
 ''Possible? No friends, connection, or means of support ieft 
 3Ia foi, a very proper time to die. Yes, a fortune is very*seldom 
 sufficient for uur own wants, much less for those who come 
 after." 
 
 ''And so," continued the good Pere, " as there was none left, to 
 care for him; and as his mother, in spite of her many transgressions, 
 died in "the bosom of the church, he naturally fell under our cai-e* 
 May Heaven and the pious instructions he will here receive, enable 
 liim to avoid the errors of those who have ;ronc before him." 
 
 I 
 
CLARIMONDE. 19 
 
 "Your account interests me much," said the' stranger, with , a 
 slight yawn, as he prepared to go. " But you have not yet told fte 
 the name of jour protege. I had almost fancied, from a similarity 
 of feature, (were it not for the absurdity of the thing,) that he was 
 in some way related to my family." ' • 
 
 " His name," replied the priest, is St.-Arment. Oscar St. Ar- 
 nient. May it prove more fortunate for him than for its last pos- 
 sessors." 
 
 His questioner, who had hitherto glaneed casually at me with an 
 air of languid hauteur, now regarded me with unfeigned interest. 
 " 0, impossible ! That was the name of the husband of my only 
 sister. Poor Alceste I and yet he bears her features ! It must be 
 so. . If what you say is true, this boy must be my nephew. 
 Ha, (3scar, you niay fling away" yoDr prayer book, now. You 
 will go to live with me, and have something Vetter to do than count 
 beads. Would you take me for your uncle, boy ? " 
 
 " You do not look like an uncle," gifid I, naively; for his cynical 
 look had not impressed me in his favor. " . 
 
 " You will change your mind," said he, frowning, " as you grow 
 older, and find that you have no other than me to depend upon." 
 
 He then went into further details with the ^re in reference to 
 my history and that of my family, an*d then departed, with the un- 
 derstanding that I would be sent fb: the next day. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Hfi was as good as his word. At the appointed time m sedate 
 <'{ji'idroou servant announced that a carriage was waiting. Then 1 
 bade adieu to the few friends I had formed; the door of the car- 
 riage was slammed with a great noise, which filled me with infinite 
 terror; and with the feeling of a prisoner who is hurried ofl" to his 
 d(iom, I found myself on my way to my uncle'fe residence. 
 
 Arriving at my future home, the carriage passed through an 
 arched vaulted entrance that ran under the building, and stopped 
 in the court-yard or square. 3Iy attendant having ascertaine'd that 
 my uncle had not yet^nished dressing, gave me permission to wan- 
 der through the rooms- tnd gardens until I should be summoned. 
 
 T\' ho ever forgets the early impression of childhood? Though 
 many years have passed over«me since the morning I entered my 
 uncle's, residence, the recollection of it is as vivid as. ever. The 
 grounds had apparently at one time been carefully laid out — being 
 cultivated in squares and parterres, and planted with rare exotics. 
 Otherwise, it was adorned with statues of the niythological god- 
 desses. But the statues had nt)w grown mouldy, the traces of cul- 
 tivation were obliterated, and the utter nejiligencc with which the 
 vines and tropical plants had been allowed to grow, gave it the ap- 
 pearance of an Indian jungle. . 
 
 The interior of the house through which I was permitted to pass, 
 evijiced but little more care in its preservation. The furniture was 
 rich, little used, and neglected, evidently of a date and pattern long 
 since become obsolete. 
 
 In short, about the whole establishment everything indicated the 
 absence of woman's presence, and the little estimation in which the 
 house was held by the owner. 
 
 At length I was carried into my uncle's presence. He was care- 
 fully dressed, and held in his hand a handkerchief scented with 
 patch ouly. After examining me attentively for a moment, it ap- 
 peared that my costume did not' please him. He flew into a trc- 
 
• LA HI. VK^'DK. . li( 
 
 mendons passion with Francois, iny attendant, for Laving brought 
 me to his house without first carrying me to a tailor's, and swore it 
 would be as much as his life was worth should he catch me in such 
 guise again. He then^harged Francois to be in permanent at- 
 tendance upon nie, and to see that I gave hini (my uncle) no 
 trouble. 
 
 Whether this meant that I was. to obey Francois, or he me, did . 
 not exactly appear, but from the latter's manner, I should have in- 
 ferred the former. Henceforth, from his interference and dictatioji, 
 J was to have no peace. }Ie prescribed, I soon found the manner 
 in which I should eat,- as well as the dishes themselves, and in this 
 he was governed by considerations of fashion, rather than health. I 
 was not even allowed to go to bed at night, or get up in the morn- 
 ing, until at such an hour as had received the sanctioi of the monde. 
 However, I anticipate. ♦ 
 
 My uncle, after having roughly ordered me out of his presence , 
 and at length concluded to let me stay^ led the way to the breakfast 
 room. But no sign of breakfast did I see, except, a cup of cofiee. 
 This he drank, allowing inc to do the same, and then having quali- 
 fied his witha^jfiiVe ver7-e of cogniac, led the way to his restaurant. 
 I subsequently discovered that no kitchen was tolerated about the^ 
 house, owing to the odor it diffused. .My uncle's aristocratic nose 
 could not bear that. 
 
 ^' The infernal smell," he complained, " kept your thoughts occu. 
 pied with eating, when they should soar higher." However^ I waa. 
 imver able to see that his ascended any more above eating, or the 
 dull earth, by the banishment of his cook. Indeed, my uncle (I 
 mey as well speak of him at once as i afterwards found him) occu- 
 pietl himself with.the subject of '^Kating considered as one of the 
 fine arts,"* to the exclusion of almost everything else. ' iNo bigot or 
 blind enthusiast ever followed his creed with less regard to the con- 
 sequences; and no friendship by him was for a moment thought of 
 with one who differed from him in a matter of so mucli importance. 
 
 His hour of breakfast was 1*1 o'clock, but; lie would appear in hi:-; 
 accustomed place at the restaurant at 101. The intervening; time 
 was spent in questioning the cook as to the purchases that had that 
 
'J.:!. •'LA^TiMONbK. 
 
 ■Jay been made In the market. Sometiuies he would ev.in»go Llm- 
 i^elf into the kitchen with'^andkerehief to his nose, to inspect some 
 rare delicacy. While thus engaged he would seem to gain a new 
 dignity, and would give his orders with the air of a ruler dictating 
 dispatches. The restaurateurs and waiters, high and low, held him 
 in great awe, and would n'u more question his decisions in regard to 
 food and wines, than would an eastern slave have disobeyed his des- 
 pot's commands. He knew his power, and exercised it, too, and woe 
 to the unhappy (/argo?! who was unfortunate enough to offer him a 
 dish which he considered lov,'. His scowl was withering, and noth- 
 jng would save tlie poor fellow from instant dismissal, but abject 
 submission and an humble avowal that he did not know to whom he 
 spoke. 
 
 If he was particular as to what he ate, he was none the less so as 
 to the' manner in which it was put upon the tablfe. The table must 
 be in a room large, airy and richly furtiished. The crockery and 
 glass must be varied with each dish or brand of wine, and before 
 each plate there was always to be a beautiful bouquet of flowers. 
 One servant only was allowed to attend in white gloves and pumps. 
 When a friend dined with him — and this was an honor granted to ■ 
 few — he was expected Ibr the time to resign all will of his own — all 
 prefei'ences for viands or wines. Criticism of a dish would have- 
 ondangered his life. ' It was sufficient that the article appeared be- 
 fore him. lie always served his friends, as w;ell as ordered the: 
 meals, arfd- for one of them to have presumed to do such a thing 
 would -have been looked upon in the light of a revolt, and punished 
 accordingly. 
 
 I have been thus particular in describing my uncle's table pecu- 
 liarities, as therein lay his glory — his phiiosopliy, and whatever.be- 
 liefs he had farmed through life. Otherwise, his time, and as I went 
 with liiYn, I may say my time, was consumed, dully, and unprofita- . 
 bly enough, in following the crowd and visiting the various public 
 places of the city. He had for instance a bo?c'at the Opera; but 
 the music was evidently a bore to him ; and what he meant by going 
 to the 0]iera, was to ta!k with his friends, or engage in a game of 
 rlominoes m the cafe. He would cenerallv content himself with 
 
CLARIMONDE. 2-> 
 
 glancing- through his glass at the other pleasure seekers/ and iC 
 tempted to stay longer, would sleep through ,the rest of the per. 
 formance. So that, between him and Fran^ois^ it was only when 
 long after midnight, that I was permitted, at length, thoroughly 
 exhausted, to retire to rest. 
 
 For some weeks after his finding me, my presence seemed to be 
 an unfailing source of satisfaction; more, I have since been led to 
 believe, from disc(>vering,an heir to his estate after his death, to the 
 exclusion of certain distant relatives whom'he detested, than from 
 any genuine natural affection. After that* period, his interest les- 
 sened, and as it was but too evident that I was in his way, I joyfully 
 took advantage of his apparent desire to be relieved of my pre- 
 sence. , ' 
 
 In my rambles over the hou^e I had early found the way to the 
 library; a large room well stocked with books, which seemed cover, 
 ed with the dust of ages. Here I soon learned to while away many 
 dull hours — first, in looking at the pictilres, and subsequently in 
 reading the contents of those dust-covered tomes. With what de- 
 light did I at that age read the works with which the shelves were ' 
 laden; which even at that day had almost become obsolete ! 'I be* 
 gan to in^lgine myself a Scottish Chief— that I was surrounded by 
 the New Forrest — that I inhabited Udolpho's my3terious chateau - 
 and I am quite certain that T was as nnelancholy jnd unfortunate as 
 the noble Thaddeus of Warsaw himself. 
 
 Af one time I fell in love with the '^Bleeding Nun,'' but soon 
 abandoned her to pursue my amours as a gay, blue-cloaked cav- 
 alier in the streets of Madrid. I adopted the career of ji bandi^, 
 with an occasional rcIa\q|^iou to make a piratical excursion over the . 
 blue waves; 1 jumped unharmed from precipices many hundreds 
 of feet high, and eloped with a female Vampyre — was buried alive 
 m damp vaults, and cut my way through rock-ribbed prisons. 
 
 I was at length resurrected from this life in a summary manner. 
 Unfortunately, or perhap.s I t<hould say, fortunately, for tue, my di- 
 gestive or*ans were not made after the same pattern as niy uncle's. 
 I was impolitic eneu^ one day to. say, on being asked why I did not 
 ^-at of a certain d;«h lo which he had helped me, that it made mc- 
 
.'LAKIMON DE. 
 
 ;>ick. He instantly flew into a violent rage, and almost so far forgot 
 himself ae to strike me before the friend "who chanced to be dining 
 with us, when that friend averted the storm which was about to 
 burst over my head, by inquiring if it were not tinie that I was sent 
 to school. I can see the expression of my uncle's altered counte- 
 nance even now, as this bright idea entered his mind. 
 
 The columns of a newspaper were immediately referred to, and 
 the advertisement of M. and Mme. Baudoin appearing to be the 
 most promising, Francois received immediate orders to have me 
 transferred to his care. It did not take me long to make my few 
 preparations; and secretly pleased to escape from a life which had 
 no charms for me, I entered the Pensioriawe de Baudoin the next 
 dav. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 M. Baudoin, 1 soon found, was a little, bald-headed gentleman, 
 with protruding eyes, who had come to this country as a gardener. 
 Mat" rs not prospering with him in this capacity, he had contracted 
 a marriage with a certain milliner, and tradition represented that 
 the institution which he now had under his control, had been given 
 him as a bonus, upon the completion of a marriage with some one 
 who had previously been the clirr ami of the lady in question. The 
 world had looked coldly upon the institution of Baudoin for some 
 time after its commencement ; but in process of time it came to be 
 discovered that his grounds — for he was a good gardener — looked as 
 blooming as the garden of th ^ Hcsperides; and that the female pu- 
 pils of Madame dressed with more taste and fashion than the young 
 Misses of any similar institution in the city. 
 
 Neither of the heads of the school interfered actively in our stu- 
 <lies ; these being confided to subordinate teachers, who deserved 
 the credit of what progress we made, if we made any, in our studies. 
 Madame we never saw excepting on the streets, riding or promena- 
 ding, and very gaily dressed ; while Monsieur, her husband, logged 
 through life contentedly enough, snipping and clipping away at his 
 shrubbery, and^ making bouquets for his patrons and favorite femaft 
 pupils. Engaged in this occupation, we were allowed to admire 
 him at a distance, but in no wise to approach or disturb ; and any 
 attempt to trouble his intellect with questions connected with our 
 studies, would be visited heavily, not only upon our own heads, but 
 those of our unfortunate teachers. 
 
 This was the institution in which I grew up, and in which ray 
 tastes, habits and thinking, and in short j my whole character, was 
 formed for all nfter life. Our studies, as at that time was general 
 in the city, and still is, in many parts of it, were conducted one half 
 of the day in French, and during the remainder in English; and 
 as is not the case in any other city, the two languages are so equally 
 u&ed, thjey were epoken by us with ae much ease as if they had been 
 2 ■ .. 
 
26 CLABIMONDE. 
 
 both, which tney really were, our mother tongues ; but beyond this; 
 our education was sadly deficient. So that, at the end of my four 
 years' course, I could quote the fir-t five lines of the Greek poem 
 devoted to Achilles' wrath ; I knew that iEneas had carried on a 
 classical flirtation, and terminated it with something like modern 
 rascality; and that the sum of the angles A. B. C. plus D. E. F. 
 were, for some forgotten reason, equal to another descriptiol of 
 angles. But bcyOnd this my education was a failure. The rest of 
 my ideas were mostly derived from Dumas, Sue, Balzac, and other 
 of the yellow colored novels, French and English, still less fitted to 
 give us practical ideas of life. 
 
 Thus having to go through the fornjs and drudgery of school life, 
 without ever making any progress, I chafed incessantly, and sighed 
 for the moment of freedom. I often attempted to pursuade my uncle 
 to relieve me from a life which was wCrse than useless. But, per- 
 haps from imagining my education to be in good hands, because 
 the tuition was extremely high, or from some more selfish motive, 
 upon this point he remained inexorable. The pleasure of my com- 
 pany for a few days was a severe trial to a man of his tastes and 
 habits, and the mere mention of my coming home for good would 
 DC sufficient to fill him with fury. 
 
 " Do anything you please except coming home to bore me } I won't 
 hear of it, I tell yeu." 
 
 *And these choleric exclamations of the moment betrayed his- 
 whole line of conduct regarding me. I was never denied money in 
 profusion; my accounts were paid without examination; and, in- 
 general, I was allowed to do as I chose ; but as to troubling his ease 
 for a single moment with giving me sympathy, counsel, or example, 
 for my improvement, the meanest scholar, that had any relations 
 at all, was more fortunate than I. 'Not that my uncle was a very 
 bad man, or well knew for how much subsequent unhappiness in- my 
 life he might be accountable. He was merely a doubting, distrust- 
 fiil cynic, who believed little in earthly good, and was not quite sure 
 whether the success or failure of a young man's life was a matter of 
 mi;ch consequence. But to return. Having nothing to do at 
 iscbool, and living in a large citj^ with plenty of pocket money, w.e 
 
CLARIMONDE. Zi 
 
 at length — that is, myself and companions — begin to acquire disso- 
 lute habits, almost from necessity. I ceased sleeping at the college 
 altogether ) became a frequent visitor at the kino rooms, and reli- 
 giously visited the Dutch beer gardens every Sunday afternoon. 
 Luckily for uie, this kind of life could not always continue. The 
 time at length arrived at which even M. Baudoin felt a delicacy in' 
 chargine: me for lessons which I never attended, and having received 
 a diploma in Latin, which I could not read, I now had the courage 
 to present myself, with my trunks, before my uncle. 
 
 " "He (^'t have the heart to drive me into any more establish- 
 nients of learning, with such a pretty piece of sheepskin as this," I 
 uneasily soliloquized, and the result showed that I was right. 
 
 Arriving in his presence, I found him engaged with a notary in 
 some business; so earnestly, indeed, that he merely raised his eyes 
 momentarily as I entered. I had leisure to observe him. His eye 
 was less bright, his cheek thinner than when I had formerly parted 
 with him, but his suspicious, sceptical look, remained the same. 
 
 For some moments after the man of business had departed, he 
 still seemed absorbed in reflection ; but at length raising his head, 
 he glanced at me an enquiry which seemed to demand why I had 
 come. 
 
 • " My education at M. Badouin's college has been completed, ua- 
 ■(He. There is nothing further for me to accomplish there. I have, 
 therefore, returtied to await your further pleasure." 
 
 "Have you learned anything?" 
 
 '' A difficult question for me' to answer. However, in the classics 
 we have read " — 
 
 "Never mind the classics. You know nothing about them, of 
 course — none of your name ever did. Not that I think it necessary ; 
 but have you acquired the usual accomplishments of young men 
 who h ive, or suppose they will have, more money than need for the 
 exercise of their brains ? ' 
 
 . " I hope you will find that t have not altogether lost my time. 
 In riding, music and dancing, I flatter myself I am somewhat au 
 fait. My fencing master tells me I have a tolerable wrist; other- 
 
2i< -:LAKlM()Nt)E.i 
 
 wise I can ring the bell an average nunibt!j[- ul times in iht pistol 
 gallery." 
 
 "Umphl" Dancing and fighting — to shine in a lady's bower, 
 and kill your rival — I believe this is all we ever learn. You have 
 to commence life with the advantages of those who have gone be- 
 fore. You certainly cannot complain of your education. So accom- 
 plished a paragon deserves to shine. To show you I am interested 
 
 in your success, you may have my ticket to the ball, of which 
 
 I am a subscriber. Stay; to-day is ManU-graa — it will take place 
 to-night. There is nothing else to be said, I presume." 
 
 " If you would," I ventured to say, although I clearly ^w that he 
 wished to finish the interview, " give me a little sympathy uncle, and a 
 little affection, it would make me much happier. Will you not al- 
 low me to be to you a son, and interest myself in ministering to your 
 comforts ? " : 
 
 ^^ Par dieiXy I am not so old as you would have me believe; and 
 supposing I was, Fran9ois can do that better than you. Be satisfied, 
 I will die in good time, and you will be master then. * Now go ; it 
 is time for me to dress for dinner." 
 
 And so, having nothing else to do, I sallied into the streets, and 
 with the happy temperament of youth, had soon forgotten that I 
 had not one single friend to advise me as to 'the temptations by 
 •which I was surrounded. , 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I'he day known in Xew Orleans as 3Iardi.gras,.to which my uncje 
 had alluded, whatever may be its religious use or meaning, was at 
 that time well calculated to dispel any momentary depression of 
 spirits. Singular figures of bom sexes, in every variety of costume, 
 on horseback and on foot, were passing to and fro, and perpetrating 
 harmless jokes on the many passengers. But even in this city, with 
 its substratum of French and Spanish population and traditions, 
 masquerading, in broad daylight, accords ill with the genius of our 
 people, and is mostly confined to the wilder and ruder spirits of both 
 sexes. 
 
 It is only wlien the garish ligLt of day has fled from the heavens, 
 that thc^ true apirit of the carnival begins to bfe felt and seen. Lc u; 
 processions, representing knights of the olden time, troubadours, 
 gipsies mingled with chdracterg of more modftrn origin, once more 
 revisit the earth. The denisens of Olympus, and the u.ythic chu- 
 racters of the golden age are slowly bourne along in their antique 
 cars, and pleasingly intermingle the past with the present. Later 
 in the evening they disappear at the entrance of the theatres, opera 
 houses, and saloons; which have been fitted up for dancing; and 
 would you enter fully into the spirit of the hour, it is thither you 
 * must follow them. 
 
 In spite of all that is said about the commonplace and 
 trivial character of balls, and, indeed, of what you yourself 
 know them in ^fter life to be, what youth, of either sex, in the 
 full possession of health and happine^, can enter within their liniits 
 for the first time, without a sensation of delirium and intoxication 
 « similar to that he imagines of the blest in Heaven. The numerous 
 lights, the reflecting mirrors, the voluptuous sensations produced by 
 the music, and lastJy the gay and animated throng which are every- 
 wherf in motion — all excite that exhilaration and lightness of heart 
 which is born in the soul, but onco or twice in a life time. 
 
 This I now found to be my first sensation on entering; my second 
 was that of inlinitp.'^ndncs?;. jtroducrd bv feeling myself a stran^rer in.'< 
 
 Ik 
 
jO • CLARIMONDE. 
 
 self-occupied crowd of seeing amazons, peasants, princesses, vivan- 
 diers, and beauties in ijvery variety of costly dress, all hurrying and 
 pressing in the mad delirium of the dance, without for one moment 
 being affected by my happiness or misery. I had retired in this 
 mood to one of the boxes, too bashful and little accustomed to scenes 
 of this sort to be ready in securing partners, and was looking with 
 an envious eye upon those who wei# more fortunate. A light touch 
 upon the shoulder at this moment caused me to turn, and in doing 
 this, I now became aware of the presence of a zephyr-like figure 
 standing hitherto unheeded at my side. It was that of a beautiful 
 fairy, in half ma^ clad in a gossamer dress, which shaded rather 
 than concealed her form and rounded limbs. Upon her shoulders 
 she bore golden butterfly wings. So irresistibly did*her attitude 
 and air impress me as she stood softly leaning forward to whimper 
 in my ear, that for a moment I thought her some supernatural exha- 
 lation, c 
 
 '^ Shall I call yoaiHy good Genius, or are you only a very pretty 
 mortal?" I said to her. 
 
 " I am Psyche, or the Sojil, unlettered swain j do you not see my 
 wings ? I am weary with the world below, and have flown to the 
 heaven of this dress circle. But why do i/ou not dance ? " 
 
 " It was a presenticnent that you were coming soon to be my part- 
 ner ; for you are going to dance with me, are you not ? " 
 
 "Hum ! Goddesses do not dance with every rash youth presump- 
 tuous enough to seek their hand. Are you quite sure you dance 
 well?" 
 
 " You shall see — it will not be very diJEcult with a goddess for Ji 
 partner." ^ 
 
 "And are your gloves quite clean ? I do not choose to have im- 
 printed upon the back of my dress^the cognizance of a hand in addi- 
 tion tp my other ornaments." 
 
 " See— I put on a fresh pair in honor of your divinity." 
 
 " Let us commence, then ; but h» careful of my wings." 
 
 Here she placed her cheek against my shoulder, the band struck 
 up a lively waltz, and we were soon jostling and forcing four way 
 
CLARIMONDE. 31 
 
 'through the imaiensc crowd, in sweet unison with the music, and as 
 chappy as thou«:h- 1 really held a goddess in my arms. 
 
 "You do net dance so bad! Only you must not hold me too 
 close." 
 
 " I was fearful that the crowd would tear you from me ; and you 
 .dance so light I was apprehensive that my Psyche might fly away." 
 
 ^* There I your compliment has caused you to lose the step. You 
 shall not ta,lk until the music has ceased. And you must always 
 let me go forward^ or I shall tread upon the skirt of my dress and 
 fall." ' . ~ • 
 
 "As you will; I shall improve under' your instruction; but are 
 jou not Terpsichore, and not Psyche, or, kideed, some maitresse cfe 
 danse f" 
 
 " Naughty boy ! You shall not dance with me any more! How- 
 ever, the music has ceased already. Give me your arm, and carry 
 me where there is purer air. Now tell me who you are." 
 
 "A marvelously proper question ! Must I tell my name to every 
 one who chooses to challenge it ? If you are really a goddess you 
 know already." 
 
 " And so, perhaps, I do ; and you would not now have the honor 
 of having me leaning upon your arm, did not I, as well as my duenna, 
 who you see yonder watching us, know full well who you are." 
 
 " Ygu have not yet shown any remarkable knowledge of my his- 
 tory. Grive me some proofs of your power." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Oscar, you, were not so gay a cavalier when first I 
 knew you. Then you were only a little melancholy priest; but even 
 before this, when you ran off from a party and deserted your part- 
 ner, I knew you." 
 
 « Well, is that all ? " 
 
 "Then you used to wait for your Httle lady-love at the door of 
 her school, and dance together* wherever you happened to find an 
 itinerant hand organ. One time you were dancing to the dead- 
 march of some funeral procession; but that, you know, was bad for 
 lovers, and so you have never seen her since." 
 
 "True, only in part; for I sec her now. In telling mine, you 
 have also recounted your own historv. You are the little Clara that 
 
32 CLARIMONI>E. 
 
 4 
 
 brought me some bnn-hons ; and it was you vrho^ coming on the 
 eve of some holy day to the church with a basket of flowers, fell 
 from a step into Oscar's ar.ns. But what was your last name ? Pid 
 you ever have any other besides Clara ? " 
 
 "None — at least, you must know me by none other.'' 
 
 " But you certainly will give me some clue ? You will allow me 
 to come to see you, will you not?'' 
 
 " Impossible. We must say good bye when we part to night; be- 
 sides, I am just escaped from a convent's walls, and am now on my 
 •\ray home, and so we could not meet any more if we would. But 
 yonder my friends are beckoning to mo. I must leave you now. 
 When you see me again it will be in a dijfferent disguise — plain 
 white domino and black itoask. Do you think you will know me ? " 
 
 "Impossible to be mistaken — that is, if you are bent on leaving." 
 
 "Then aurevoir." And she disappeared among the crowd. 
 
 The rooms now had but little charms for me. I could only pro- 
 menade from one part to the other, and curse the delay that sepa- 
 rated us. At length, after having vainly sought for twenty times 
 the form I missed in every quarter, I saw a mask issue from the 
 dressing room, which answered to the given description. 
 • " I have grown dreadfully impatient at not seeing you." 
 
 " But you do not know me," was the reply from a disguised 
 voice. 
 
 " Do not torment me, thus ; I have suffere^d enough already from 
 waiting. You cannot expect me to be deceived in so short a time 
 as to your figure, gait, color of your eyes; and lastly — disguise it as 
 you will — your voice." 
 
 "Well, then, since you have penetrated my disguise so easily, be 
 it as you say. But you have separated me from my party, who have 
 gone into the supper rqom without me. What shall I do ? " 
 
 "Do! why you will go in with we, of course. W^e will quietly 
 sup together, and you will soon forget your loss in a glab's of rose 
 champagne. (Here waiter, your best supper.) Now you will have 
 to remove your mask," I said, as we entered the room and sat down 
 to the table. * 
 
 " No, it has springs, I can cat very well as I am.'^ 
 
CLARIAIONDE. Oo 
 
 I felt SO disappointed thd,t I did not have the heart to say any 
 more until the supper was ended. 
 
 As I paid the waiter, and rose with my inconnue to leave, she sud- 
 denly discovered her party. 
 
 " Mad'moiselle, one word morp ; I fear I shall not have another 
 opportunity to speak." 
 
 " That is very possible, as my friends are only waiting me to de- 
 part/' 
 
 " This fact emboldens me. AVill you not give me your name 
 and address ? " 
 
 ^'No! decidedly no ! " 
 
 " Then, for pity I one glance at the lovely face which lies hidden 
 r.ndcr your mask. If you knew what happiness it woul^ give me, 
 yuu would not deny me so slight a boon." 
 
 *' True, it costs little, and you have invited me to a fine supper ; 
 would it make you vei^i/ happy," she said, with something of a mali- 
 cious air. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," I replied, with ill-suppressed eagerness. 
 
 " Be happy, then." Here she removed her mask. 
 
 If the sight that met Imogene's eyes had now confronted mine, it 
 would not have been seen with more horror. Instead of gratified 
 pleasure, I startled back with an exclamation of bitter rage and dis- 
 appointment. However, the face I now saw before me was merely 
 that of an elaerly lady, who>so visage was- puckered with wrinkles? 
 and of the color of scorched parchment. To complete my chagrin, I 
 now saw the lady whom I had so^ eagerly sought, still costumed 
 as Psyche,' descending the stairs, and evidently greatly enjoying my 
 discomfiture. But the stairs were blocked up with ladies getting 
 ready to depart, and before I could extricate myself, I had the ad- 
 ditional mortification of seeing her enter a carriage, "S^ave me a co- 
 quettish salute, and drive rapidly away. 
 
* . CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 My pursuits for som6 months succeeding this adventure, though 
 nominally that of reading law, were a« frivolous as one could well 
 imagine. The state of mind to which I had arrived, viz : tliat of 
 a young man who is struck with a pretty face, for some unaccounta- 
 ble reason to every one except himself,' is of all others the most ab- 
 surdly miserable, if for no other reason than .that it unfits him for 
 any serious occupation. Had I been an employee, I should have 
 quarreled yith my employer, and lost my situation. Had I known 
 how, I would have sought relief in writing poetry. As it was, I be- 
 came a constant attendant at soirees, and assemblies, in the hopes of 
 again meeting my inconnue. My manner of conducting myself 
 there was to lounge around the doors, scowl at every .one who passed, 
 and to 'fancy myself generally miserable. I frequented churches^ 
 rode constantly in every city omnibus, visited the various places of 
 amusement, and promena'ded Canal at the hour when the crowd 
 ^as the greatest. These resources failing, I took to wearing start- 
 ling colors and dressing in the ruffianly style, to the intense horror 
 of my uncle, who would fly into a tremendous passion as- often as 
 he saw me, and indignantly order me to take the oonoxious gar- 
 ments off. In short, my many ^/aitcAeries 'wearied and disgusted him, 
 and he sighed for an opportunity of getting rid of me. 
 
 One day I was dining with him jind hi3 friends, — an august 
 coterie, of whom I stood not a little in dread and from whom I was 
 wont to escape as quickly as possible. 
 
 Soup being brought on the table, I had well nigh finished eating 
 mine before the rest of the party had peppered, salted and season- 
 ed theirs to the conventipnal pitch. 
 
 " Do you find the soup to your taste V inquired one of the party, 
 as he emptied the contents of a cruet into his basin. 
 
 " Very good — very good, indeed," I replied, well pleased to have 
 an opportunity of accounting in' some manner- for n>y haste. 
 
'^ CLARIMONDE. ^ 35 
 
 It 
 
 " Ah ! delighted to hear you say so ; our cook is not generally so # 
 fortunate in his soups/' 
 
 My uncle having now, with much preparation, arranged the sea- 
 soning of his dish according to his rules, conveyed a spoonful of 
 the liquid in question to his lips. Uttering a fierce oath, the spoon 
 fell from his nerveless hand, and this movement was followed by 
 similar gestures of condemnation on the part of his friends. ' The 
 waiter was summoned and abused as proxy for the cook, and the 
 conversation passed to another theme. 
 
 " This business of eating, at Ijrest) is a disgusting affair/' said one 
 of the party sententiously. 
 
 " Low, doubtless, but also dangerous," said my uncle ; " that 
 which constitutes its only noble quality. There are other risks to 
 run in life besides those incurred by charging batteries. If Damo- 
 cles had a sword suspended over his table, it was placed there by his 
 cook. Do you remember L'Harp ? His wife would never have left 
 him if his friends could have persuaded him to abandon his diet of 
 hard boiled eggs. And Duvall I No wonder jx man that eats fried 
 steaks and bacon should die on the gallows." . 
 
 How many more instances my uncle might not have quoted upon 
 *he subject of his favorite theme there is no telling, had I not at 
 this moment upset the sauce-boat in his lap. He sprang up from 
 his seat with a wrathful shout. 
 
 ^' Grand Dieu I You will yet be the death of me ! I have ate at 
 a thousand dinner tables without such an accident ever before hap- 
 pening. The world is wide enough for both of us — decidedly we 
 must part. Never again put your legs under the same mahogany 
 with mine !" . * 
 
 I made an angry protest against thus being spoken to as a child, 
 and left the table. That day I formed my resolution. I would call 
 upon my uncle once more upon business, and then renounce city dis- 
 sipations, of which I was now heartily weary. 
 
 " I have arrived at some resolutions^" said I, as T called upon him 
 tire following morning, " with which it would, perhaps, be best that 
 I should acquaint you at once. I have now attained my majority, 
 
36 CLARIMONDE. 
 
 and been admitted to the bar. I wish to gu in pfrson and admin- 
 ister the estate left by my father. My time otherwise I will occupy 
 "with my profession." 
 
 " Be it as you wish, young man. You have only to communi- 
 cate with my lawyer." And so our last interview terminated. 
 
 It did not take me many days to make these arrangements, and 
 with no regrets, except for the precious time I had wasted, I shook 
 off the dust of my feet against my native city, and braced myself 
 for another dehut into life. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My road led through interminable pine forests, through which 
 the winds were dismally sighing, or through long lanes, which ran 
 between zig-zag fences. This dreary prospect did not fill me with 
 any flattering anticipations, but I was utterly unprepared for the 
 dreariness and desolation of the miserable collection of houses, 
 which I had determined was hcnesforth to be my home. As I drove 
 through its streets, up to its principal, and indeed only hotel, I found, 
 that I might have as soon expected to see, anj" of the ordinary 
 pigns of animation,*or of life in the Haunted House, as described 
 by Hood, as in this dreadful place. 
 
 By amusement was understood drinking in a bar-room, whose 
 " properties'^ were, a decanter, a half dozen broken tumblers, and 
 as many spoons. The more serious business of the inhabitants was 
 fighting, and playing nt the game of Brag, while reclining upon the 
 grass in the public square ;*and scf fascinating was it, that its partici- 
 pants never thought to look up from their occupation, exceptins; to 
 inquire "who was killed?" in the various fights which were mean- 
 while transpiring. At nighf they would sit in one of the few stores 
 of the village, around a fire of inflammable pine, and recite and lis- 
 ten to old stories of blood and murder, which had occurred in the 
 place, and as the knots, with which the flames were fed, would burn 
 with every degree of heat, in the space of a few minutes, our circle 
 would widen and contract, from immediately around the fire place, to 
 the remotest parts of the room. One might have thought to have seen 
 us constantly moving our chairs as we listened to these recitals of all 
 thehorrid events which had occurred in the^ neighborhood for the past 
 twenty years, that we were going through some iind of incantation, 
 or performing with our seats some complicated crescent dance. 
 
 I was standing in a knot of villagers, a few days after my arrival, 
 when I was beckoned apart from the crowd, by a man who had 
 been pointed out to me as the ruling spirit of the place. My first 
 idea was, that my professional services were needed j my second, that 
 
38 CLARIMONDi:. 
 
 I would be expected to fight. His pants were adorned with a sort 
 of military stripe, hia blue neckerehief was tied in a loose sailor's 
 knot, and a jockey cap covered a bushy head of hair. Large rings, 
 a flashy breastpin and chain, and a devil-may-care air generally, 
 made up what was otherVise lacking. 
 
 " Have you brought your faro-bank tools along," he commenced, 
 regarding at the same time a plush velvet vest,- in which I was *lien 
 arrayed, very attentively. " You hav'nt ?" (in answer to a negative 
 nod,) " then it does'nt signify ; I want you about something else 
 just now. You have your fiddle with you, at any rate." • 
 
 I explained to him what my profession was, and was about to in- 
 terpose some plea in reference to my musical attainments, when he 
 interrupted n^e. 
 
 " Oh, d — n it, you need'nt tell me, you know; I've seen your 
 fiddle case myself, and old Sprawles, your tavern-keeper, says he 
 has heard you' play. But squire, the point is this ; we are trying to 
 get up some fun and devilment out in the country, and I want to 
 take you along. I think you'll do. So if you say so, I'll harness 
 up my team, and we'll take an eaj-ly start. And by the way," he 
 added, without waiting for my assent — " if you happen to have 
 another vest in that style, I would like to run it myself" 
 
 I found both propositions reasonable, and we were soon on our 
 way, behind what Hawkins, my new friend, called a " slappin' team 
 of cattle." 
 
 On our arrival at the place for which we had started, we found 
 most of the guests outside of the house, or lounging around the 
 doors. The building itself was of rude construction, the ground 
 floor being of logs ; it having been used in earlier times as a .place 
 of protection against the Indians. Within was a quilting frame, 
 iiround which were seated, and busily plying their needles, the girls 
 of the surrounding country. There had been as yet, little or no 
 conversation, or any sign that this was a festive gathering ; and the 
 parties might have been engaged upon the cerements of the dead, 
 for aught that appeared in their manner. 
 
 A few of the bolder spirits displayed their gallantry by snuffing 
 the candles, and as often by oversetting them, or putting them out. 
 
CLARIMONDE. 39 
 
 and altogether it was evident that the time for the expected fan 
 had not yet arrived. 
 
 But the appearance of Hawkins seemed to be regarded as the 
 looked for signal. The men took immense drinks behind the house, 
 while the quilt was raised to the ceiling bj the fairer portion ^f the 
 guests. Sam and myself entered arm in arm ; the crowd followed at 
 our heels, and the festivities were now fairly begun. First there were 
 the well-known country games, which have held their place from 
 time immemorial, and which were pleasantly enlivened by the 
 squeezing of hands, and the kissing of pretty partners ; then others 
 of a musical character, in wfeich gentlemen and ladies would form 
 in double file, and march from one- end of the house to the other — 
 Sam leading the way, in an immense shirt collar, and roaring out 
 songs, in which the rest joined — such as Barbara Allen, the Black- 
 smith's daughter, etc., etc. One of them was descriptive of the 
 farmer's cares, and run in this wise : 
 
 " "Tis thus the farmer sows his ground, 
 He i'>i\(]< Ills arms and looks around ; 
 He wlifcLs around aiicl views the-sight, 
 And stamps the ground with much delight." 
 
 The folding of the farmer's arms, stampiiig of the ground, and 
 other gestures described in the song were gone through in panto- 
 mine by the party with great spirit. 
 
 When all of these resources were exhausted, there having been 
 many drinks taken in the meanwhile, Hawkins delighted the asseni- 
 bled gtfests by informing them thit the young squire, meaning my- 
 self, was no bad hand with the 'fiddle, and that if such was their 
 wish, they could now have plenty of dancing. 
 
 The suggestion was readily responded to by a quick scuffle for 
 partners. I was to kiss the prettiest girl present for my share of 
 the amusement ; and my scruples and embarrassment haying beea 
 in this way overruled, a commanding position was xissigned me, on 
 the top of a table. And so matters having been arranged to every 
 body's satisfaction, the old house resounded for the rest of the even- 
 
 I 
 
40 CLAKIMONDK. 
 
 ing with the heavy tramp ol' the (lai)cer.o, and the unrestrained 
 mirth of every one. 
 
 I sai^ the satisfaction of every one, but there was on«? exception. 
 A saHow, black-haired youth, had seen fit to conceive an unjust 
 jealousy of me from the preference I had given to his sweet-heart, 
 and cupied himself with haughtily regarding me from conspicu- 
 ous places in the apartment. I did not pay any attention to the 
 circumstance at the time, but I afterwards had cause to remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 The time at length arrived, when those who were sober enough, 
 thought, it prudent to break up, an^l the ladies had retired for 
 bonnets and shawls. At this point Hawkins whispered to me, ''we 
 had better be gittin', too, squire ;" but the advice came a moment 
 too late. A cry was raised for a parting stag-dance ; the door was 
 fastened, and I was soon playing, nolems volens, " Natchez under th(i 
 Ilill," as fast as my fingers and bow would let me. 
 ■ .But my friend's presentiment, that the crowd, always quarrelsome 
 and ready for a fight, had imbibed too freely to be left alone with- 
 out some restraining influence, now proved true. Faster and faster 
 moved the. dancers as the excitement of the hour grew upon tbem ; 
 each one jostled rudely against his neighbor; and catch-words and 
 compliments began to be bandied about, of anything but a compli- 
 mentary nature, or pacifying tendency. At this moment the lights 
 wereaccidently or designedly put out; my table, upon which I had 
 been sitting as a throne, knocked over, and with such cries from 
 many voices as '• I'm the bull of the woods," the fray commenced 
 in good earnest. Pistols were drawn, knives freely used, and arti- 
 cles of furniture*»in gen^jal circulation. 
 
 From this scene, in which I began to regard myself de trop, I 
 wUs anxious to escape, and after some effort, succeeded in gaining 
 an open window. But I was not to be let off so easily. Just as I was 
 in the act of making my exit, a hand was laid upon my throat, and 
 i could hear the quick cocking of a pistol. There was a fierce " 
 Htruggle for a moment, and out we both went, my unknown assailant 
 and myself, through the window. As we fell heavily to the ground, 
 1 heard the discharge of the pistol, whleh my adversary must haw* 
 
CLAKIMONJDE, -H 
 
 ij,old in his hand ; hut for some moment!? i wus so stuaned with my 
 fall I could not tell which of us was wounded. * 
 
 "No time to lose, partner,".! ?,t length heariJ Hawkins whisper- 
 ing above mo, who, it fjeemcd, had followed pretty closely oil our 
 heels. '' You have killed your man, and you will soon have all of 
 his friends and relations upon you." 
 
 *' He was not killed by my act — it was his own fault, if^any 
 body's." 
 
 " Yours or his 6wn, you excited his rage about liis swe.et-heart, 
 and he^s as dead as a mackerel now. But come, you must git iij}, 
 and git from this s«ction until the thing blows over." 
 
 I thought my companion's advice too good to hesitate about ac- 
 cepting .it. I bethought mo that I had engaged, with the legal 
 gentleman, witk whom I liad read law, to obtain in writing, in 
 the requisite form, the depositions of a certain aged witness, who 
 was then living in a portion of Louisiana, known as " Up the 
 Coast," I therefore concluded that the most favorable time I would 
 have of attending to this business would be the present, 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 The next morning found uie jolting along mj waj, in an old 
 travel-stained coach, walking by its side when the roads were rough, 
 and for which I did not much care ; but not unfjequently having to 
 carry a rail on my shoulders, to pry it out when bogged in the mud. 
 Besides these little drawbacks, it was pouring down rain during the 
 whole journey ; the wind would sigh dismally tiirough the forests, 
 and everything seemed to impress me with a conviction that my 
 journey boded me no good. When we stopped foi* refreshments, we 
 encountered nothing but the most God-forsaken wayside taverns, 
 where I was uniformly addressed as " stranger," by the landlords, 
 and where, when forced to remain at night, the shutters would keep 
 beating against my window-panes, dismal accompaniments to the 
 raging storm, or vague warnings not to go farther. 
 
 The eimid of traveling was at length relieved, by the presence of 
 a companion, though not much at least, for a day or so. His chief 
 occupation for that period of time, was to project his head out of • 
 • the coach window, and examine the sky ; and as <f, too much for 
 his spirits to bear up under without some support, he would follow 
 ■up these examinations, by taking a pull at a black flask, and inviting 
 me to do likewise. But finding that this course did not affect any 
 •change^ he gradually became more communicative, and freely im- 
 parted to me his circumstances. 
 
 First, his name was D 'Armas, or Be Armas, as he would some- 
 times pronounce it, to make sure of the prefix. He was of Spanish 
 and French descent^ (his ancestors having come over with Ponce dc 
 Leon, or Be Soto, at least so he told me,) and from his accent, I 
 imagined that he spoke the latter language much better than En- 
 glish. JHe had at one time held a commission in the United 
 Htates service, but had resigned, and was now but recently returned 
 from Paris. Indeed, I 'soon found that he affected the Parisian or 
 cosmopolitan style, and never alluded. to that city without a sigh. 
 
 " Wc can't 3»ct thincrB hero as wc ought to have them. There is 
 
CLARIMONDE. ^ 48 
 
 -eveiy yariety of flesh, fish and fruit in the country, and no one that 
 knows how to cook. , But a good cook requires a very rare order of 
 genius. I have a growing presentiment that I shall die of starva- 
 tion." • - 
 
 " But it seemed to me when we stopped last to change horses, and 
 fried rashers of bacon upon skewers, that you eat your share with 
 as iiood a stomach as the rest of us." 
 
 " What would you have, mon ami? I know the living you have 
 liere will be the death of me, but one never knows ^ow to die with 
 resignation. We struggle on to the last. And then, too, your li- 
 quor I" Hore he offered me the flask. 
 
 " Bad enough, certainly, but still it somehow disappears." 
 " No, it is nqt bad ; there I disagree with you. All liquors are 
 good, comparatively. But those of France are a little Letter than 
 this. Pah I" The last exclamation was made after he had swal- 
 lowed a draft. • 
 
 * " How much farther does your road lead you, said 1, by way of 
 changing the subject." " My journey is nearly completed." 
 
 " I get out at the old plantation chateau, you see just on ahead.'' 
 " Indeed ! then we will still remain together. That, I make outr 
 from the description of the driver, is the object of my destination.' 
 t^ Tonnerre! Then I congratulate myself upon the accession of your 
 /Company, and wish you much happiness in your visit. I have been 
 an inmate of the house before, and though the ladies are agreeable 
 enough, to tell the truth*, a hon compagnion is what you cannot here 
 always command." 
 
 It was near nightfall, when we at length alighted ; and in spite of 
 my companion's welcome, it w;is with a vague presentiment of com- 
 ing evil, that I drew near the door. I glanced nervously at the 
 piansion itself, and endeavored to discern in its general appearance 
 the character of Wa inmates. Its age appeared to be great, and from 
 the material with which it was built and plastered, as well as from 
 the general architecture, it must have been constructed during the 
 ^arly occupation of the country by the Spaniards, Otherwise, it 
 was covered with the tendrils of some parasitical plant, and almost 
 concealed in a dense grove of orange, and other evergreen trees. 
 
 Entering the house with P'Arma?., I wa."? ushered into the jires- 
 
-44 CLARIMONDE. 
 
 ence of Madame Gonzales, the mifitreBs of the manBion, an4 cfler 
 the usual salutations were interchanged between her and my com' 
 panion, I was presented in due form. 
 
 3Iadame appeared to be raflier past the middle period of life, and 
 to have moved much in good society. Her face .still retained traces 
 of great beauty, and what defects time had wrought in her charms, 
 were gracefully concealed by the art-s of the toilette. Like most 
 Creoles, she was evidently but little accustomed to English; but. 
 this was quickly forgot in her agreeable manners, and warm recep- 
 tion. 
 
 " The letter which preceeded j'our arrival. Monsieur," were her 
 lirst words, '^ tells me you come on business. May I hope you will 
 also make your visit one also of pleasure ? AYe are here so little^ 
 troubled with guests, that in welcoming, them, we feel only that we 
 are receiving n favor." 
 
 ^' Madame you show me too much kindness, and during the shoifc 
 time my business detains me, I will gladly remain with you." 
 
 "We cannot afford to lose you soon. Monsieur. That is too pain- 
 iul to think of, so soon after some one to keep us company. You, at 
 your age, certainly will not put in as a plea, the pressure of time ? 
 Leave that to us, who have grown older," she said with a gay 
 Jaugh. " But you arc tired, doubtless, now— your rooms are 
 ready, which I hope you will find to your taste." 
 
 " And Mons. Gonzales, the husband of our hostess, do we not 
 find him at home ?" T said to D'Armas, when we had withdrawn. 
 
 " Yes, but he is seldom visible ; you meet him much oftener in 
 the back portico, than in the parlor; his influence is rather of a neg- 
 ative kind, and is felt in the success of the crop, and the" yearly selk 
 tlement of accounts." , 
 
 I descended no more into the parlor that evening, though my com- 
 panion did, but remained in my room, nursing my low spirits and 
 secretly envious of the enjoyments below, the sound?? of which T 
 could occasionally hear. 
 
 At breakfast, D'Armas occupied the head of the table, carved 
 and criticized the dishes, and found fault with the servants. *' 1 
 d-onit believe I more than half like this D'ArniMS," I - mrnt;illv 
 
(.'LAKLMuNDi:. 4;> 
 
 thooght. " He seems moot iniernnlly at home. What business has 
 he here any way ?" » 
 
 These questions, which there was no one to answer, were just then 
 forgotten in the sudden appearance of a young lady, who entered 
 the room at full speed, crying in French, several times, " Philo- 
 pene, philopene — Henri, you owe me the forfeit." It was only 
 when she was completely out of breath, and had overset the coffee 
 urn, which a servant was c^irrying, over my shirt bosom, that she 
 became aware of my presence. 
 
 An awkward introduction from Madame, followed, in which the 
 young lady was presented as her daughter^ which was succeeded by 
 ^ still more embarrassing silence, during which time. I sat bolt up, 
 light, in my chair, and gazed moodily out of the window. Still I 
 could not help stealing an occasional glance at her who had caused 
 my discomfiture. She was very pretty — nay dazzlingly beautiful, 
 and as I made thesc^ observations, my ill-nature began to disappear. 
 But she was talking in French, with that vivacity which does not 
 leave a line of feature in repose, and which all of the race who 
 speak that language seem to possess, tilking too to cousin Henri. 
 
 My chagrin began to return. 
 
 She had all of the features, and the black hair, which distinguish 
 the Southern races of Europe. But her complexion was fair, prob- 
 ably from some intermixture of Northern blood. And tken too, her 
 teeth ! No Goddess of youth and health, ever had more dazzling 
 ivory. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 After the meal was finished, I found myself with some trepida- 
 tion, alone with the young lady who had been introduced to me as 
 M'lle. Clarimonde, and no words as yet exchanged towards forming 
 an acquaintance. I sighed to think I had not picked up more 
 drawing room ideas, and as the superstitious sailor of the Mediter- 
 ranean vows so many candles to the Virgil in return for help from 
 threatened danger, so did I promise to the altar of fashion an obla- 
 tion of new suits, patent leather boots, and other accessories of dress 
 could I but extricate myself from my present embarrassment. But 
 the silence could not last always. 
 
 " You speak French, doubtless, monsieur?" said she, in that lan- 
 guage, seeing I was somewhat slow in commencing the conversation. 
 But I gave her to understand I could trust myself only in English. 
 
 "But I speak but little English, myself," continued she, in the 
 same tdngue, " and unless you should happen to speak a little 
 French, I am afraid we will not be able to interchange our ideas." 
 
 She paused for a reply ; I answered her by a look of respectful 
 inquiry; foj I well knew that any avowal of an acquaintance with 
 the language would impose on me the necessity of speaking it alto- 
 gether. 
 
 She appeared to have some lingering doubts still, and suddenly 
 overwhelmed me with inquiries in French, so pleasing, so softly in- 
 sinuj^ing, that I found it difficult to expr^ my ignorance of her 
 meaning in my countenance or by word. 
 
 '* But why do you so much object to English, Mademoiselle ? yoH 
 seem to comprehend it perfectly, and from the fe'w words that you 
 have used, I can perceive that your accent is by no means bad." 
 
 She made no reply, but bending her head so that her face, with 
 the exception of a pouting lip, was almost concealed by a mass of black 
 curls, she sat at the piano, where she had take* her seat when w* 
 entered the parlor, idly running her fingers over the keys in the 
 most charmingly pettish manner. 
 
CLARIMONDE. 47 
 
 " Since you will not talk, perhaps it will please yom to play for 
 me, Mademoiselle. .You are not very angry with me for being una- 
 ble to speak your language ?" 
 
 Still no reply, unless a ringing, mirthful laugh, and the continued 
 thumping of the piano, miL,ht be coasidered as such. 
 
 " It is a very dull life we lead here in the country," she at length 
 said ; " so when I heard Mama read the letter of introduction which 
 preceded you, and which flattered you more than you deserve, I be- 
 gan to form all manner of grand ideas of you, and to dream of you 
 as a prince in disguise. You cannot imagine how disappointed I 
 am in you. Monsieur. Ah, I am afraid you are not a prince." 
 
 *' But, my dear Mademoiselle," I commenced indignantly to pro- 
 test; but she disdained *iy apology, and was already dashing off in 
 a rapid and brilliant mor^cau of music, with an air of 
 perfect indifference as to its reception. I cared little enough for 
 rapid overtures ; but I could not help watching, with eager interest, 
 her various attitudes and expression -, the fluttering of her curls, and 
 the quick movements of her taper fingers over the keys, ^er man- 
 ner was so instinct with life and vivacity, that to see her in tjie 
 midst of a grand opera, |uggested the idea of some wild colt sud^ 
 denly put for the first time .under the restraint of bit and spur. I 
 think some such ludicrous expression, she must have seen written 
 on my countenance, a» she suddenly ceased playing, and looked me 
 steadily in the face. 
 
 " Oh ! what is the use in playing for you ! will you tell me that 
 that fantasia was not executed well ?" 
 
 "You play divinely; you misinterpret my looks altogether." 
 
 •^ But then you play yourself — nay, no denial." 
 
 " Only a few simple old songs, which are not worth the hearing 
 of so fine a perfonncr as yourself?" % 
 
 "They wilf be new to me; and then, too, we admire everything 
 that is old. No excuse, sir critic ; I must hear you." 
 
 "And so you shall, if it will give you pleasure," and I took the 
 seat." 
 
 "Ah! Monsieur St. Arment~r-what is your first name — Oscar? 
 You are not ao bad as I thought. We shall become famous friends. 
 
•IS CLARIMONBE. 
 
 How useftilyou will be ; I shall like j'ou better than Henri, that Ls, 
 M. P'Armas. You shall be my cavalier when we have any pic-nic 
 excursion: and can you dance? Oh I we love dearly lo dance 
 here." 
 
 ^' Now you flatter me; however, the trouble of making a suitable 
 return outweighs the pleasure. But you suspected me -just now of 
 not being a prince ; you owe me some apology." 
 
 And so I found all embarrassment and difficulty vanish in her 
 presence, and that at the end of an hour's conversation we had be- 
 come fast friends. Then she showed me the family librar}^, and 
 consigned it to my care during my stay. 
 
 "But you will not go away, soon, will yo*. Prince Oscar? You 
 will stay here and amuse me, and play with ine, will you not, like a 
 good Prince ? But I must leave you now, to make some visits with 
 Mama." 
 
 The remainder of the morning I stayed where she had left me, 
 wonderin^at what was to me the strange being, who, a moment be- 
 fore, had made the dark room light with her presence — building 
 air-castles, in which she was ever the bright inmate, and weaving 
 crolden fancies, out of the few words that had passed between us. I 
 was continually recalling what had been said — studying new mean- 
 ings to unimportant words, wondering what wwild be said when next 
 we should meet, and vainjy trying to remember whom I had ever 
 seen with just such a bewitching toss of her black curls. 
 
 No one can ever assign any reason why his fancy should or should 
 not become inflamed with a woman's image ; why a black eye should 
 contain so much more of the poison in one case than another, or 
 why the tone of one voica should act like a Circean spell, when others , 
 more melodious fall p^^erless. And so, without having any reason, 
 I henceforth became subject to her will, and was a happy or miser- 
 able slave, as her caprice might dictate. Not that I yet dreamed . 
 of my state ; I did not seenny gossamer ^tters, and thought I was . 
 still free. ' 
 
 I was absorbed in my reveries, when a domestic entered to in 
 quire at what hour dinner should he eerred^ 
 
 
CL2LRIM0NDE. 49 
 
 '' Madame and Mademoiselle have not yet return'ed ? " I de- 
 manded. ^ 
 
 " Monsieur is all alone to-day/' 
 
 I tola him to serve it when he would, and then resigned myself 
 to my first pangs of anguish. The loss of her company for a few 
 hours seemed an almost unendurable evil. * 
 
 I was still despondent and gloomy, when the carriage, late in the 
 evening, drove to the door. Mademoiselle gave her hand, in de- 
 scending, to D' Armas, who did not care for it, and seemed oblivi- 
 ous of me, to whom it would have been a priceless boon. 
 • Our conversation, during the evening, was by no means so flatter- 
 ing to my vanity as I had been fancying all day it would be, and I 
 soon retired, almost sullenly, to my room, ready to resign her to the 
 Pandemonium, where I doubted little she and the rest of her sex 
 would ultimately arrive. 
 
CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 The subsequent evening the house was thrown open to the recep- 
 tion of visitors. Our principal resource was dancing; but there 
 were not wanting those among the elder guests, who found a charm 
 in keno hezigue, and other Frencj^ games. Madame Gonzales was" 
 kind enough to furnish us with the music, at the piano. M'lle. 
 Clarimonde, for I bad by this time learned her name, led the dance, 
 and though I obtained her hand for the various waltzes as many 
 times as was my due, ic was with ill-suppressed jealousy that I saw 
 that others were as eager for the favor as myself, and that it was just 
 as readily granted to them as to me. While thus, absorbed and 
 careless of all about me, lounging through the hail, I was suddenly 
 aroused by her now well-known voice. 
 
 "Let me^ke your arm. Now tell me whether you have been 
 asleep or dreaming. Can none of our belles of the country charm 
 ycu ? So short a time from home and yet love-sick for the absent 
 one?'' 
 
 "You do not deserve a compliment for your penetration, this 
 time. I have never been in love, yet; that is, if you will except the 
 present moment," I tried to stammer out. " I am very innocent of 
 Cupid's wil^s, and know but little of the tender sentiment*" 
 
 " Ah I I shall soon make you admi: to the contrary by your own 
 language. Do you know that I am something of a gypsy ? " 
 
 " Without knowing, I should think it highly probable.'' 
 
 ^* Weil, I can at least recall the past, if not foretell the future. 1 
 shall prove to you that you are not as ignorant of the tender passion 
 ^you pretend." 
 
 " You will, at least, suffer me to remain a sceptic till I see some 
 evidence of your power." 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; but you will not remain so long." With this 
 she took her pencil and wrote upon a card the words which I had 
 long since written upon the school house wall, and which had been 
 flogged indelibly into my memory. g 
 
 1 looked at my companion for tht^gt moment, half belkviBg xa 
 
CLARIMOXDm -31 
 
 Lcr pfeteuded superuatural powers ; but the next I saw staudlng be- 
 fore me and laughing at my astonishment, the face of my quondam 
 ■fchoolmate. 
 
 "■ And have you known me ever since my arrival, and did not tell 
 me ? How could you remain a hypocrite so many hours ? And to 
 think that I cried for you so often when I first left school ! You 
 were the only friend I had, then. Mademoiselle.'' 
 
 " And we shall still be as good friends as ever, Oscar, if you wish 
 it." 
 
 '- Yes. b^t I am afraid we will not be so closely united as when 
 we hud no other Jriends to divide our friendship. Now you have 
 ever so many followers to oflFer you homage, and your smile will be 
 as ready for, them as for me." I could not repress a dolorous sigh. 
 
 " What I you have just discovered me, and jealous so soon ? But 
 50U know we all love to be admired — my keart is large enough for 
 a great many friends." 
 
 '^ I would much rather you would reduce the number somewhat; 
 or, indeed, limit it to one, provided you happily selected me. But 
 tell me ho^ it is, that you come to be living here. 
 
 '• When you first knew me, I was staying with a relative, the 
 same, you remember, who carried me from the party. She resides 
 in Xew Orleans, now, and this coming winter I am to come out — 
 with her .for my chaperone. But I have promised to waltz with 
 this gentleman who is approaching. Get your partner and join 
 us.". 
 
 But as I could not dance with Mademoiselle herself, I thought it 
 pleasanter to smoke a cigar on tlft balcony, and wonder whether 
 this was the pleasantest or most mi.-erable time of my life. ""We 
 will be as friendly and fimiliar as when we were children ; but what 
 lover ever was satisfied with that '! My presentiment in coming was 
 correct ; it will do me no good, afld I do not yet see the end. To- 
 morrow and henceforth I will shut myself in the library and busj' 
 znyself with law.'' 
 
 Arrived at this wise resolve, I threw away my cigar and went to 
 bed. Sleep, however, did not visit my eyelids, in spit« of my good 
 resolutions. ' 
 
 The next morninc: my less wA-e extended across the library table. 
 
52 <"LARIMOXDE. 
 
 and I was making frantic efforts to undcrst(^nd a knotty case in 
 some old law book that I had discovered. At the end of an hour 
 my heart was beating rapidly, and I did not remember a word. Just 
 then a servant entered, who said that Miss Clarimonde had sent her 
 compliments, and begged me to come and amuse her. I was dying 
 to go, but remembering my resolution, I sent her word I was too 
 busy to come. . 
 
 Then a second messenger appeared — Mademoiselle wished to prac- 
 tice a duet, and would require my aeslstance, T must nome. ^ • 
 
 I had just, enough strength left to make a faint refusal, and then 
 threw the book across the room. 
 
 . I was sullenly clutching my hair, and stalking about the room 
 with "a miserable scowl, when I heard . a mirthful laugh behind 
 me. 
 
 " So this is the business that so much engages you I" 
 
 Another long peal of laughter from Clarimonde, for of course it 
 was she. 
 
 "lam afflicted with the blue devils to-day," I moodily said. 
 " Why don't you leave me to be dull and miserable by myself? Do 
 you wish to share them with me ?'" 
 
 " Ah, you are angry with me about something, and have been 
 forming some foolish resolutions; I know it — I know it," she (?x- 
 claimed. , 
 
 And so I was dragged off to the piano stool ; and so I continued 
 to make excursions on foot and on horseback whienever she -wished ; 
 and these amusements we would sometimes vary by floating together 
 in a Vustic bark over the river, tnrough the long shadows formed* by 
 the trees. 
 
 But, in spite of these manj advantages, her conversation and 
 manner were such as never led me to imagine that my foolish loyc 
 was returned ; and, although the Avord was ever on my lips, I could 
 no more have breathed it to her than to a friend who is sceptical of 
 the existence of the passion. 
 
 The time at length arrived which I had to spend in taking my 
 depositions. This task accomplished, my departure could not well 
 be delayed ; but it came sooijer than I expected. • 
 
 "We had b^cn spending the evenfng much as usual ; that is, Henri 
 
<-LABiM'JND,E. ' ..-tX 
 
 •'iud 1 had danced with Olarimonde, to the music of the ''Black 
 Domino/^ and other favorite airs, which Madame had played for us. 
 Then we haid eaten fruit and candies till bed time, and having 
 nothing else to do, were about to retire. 
 
 *' Clarimonde," said I, during a momentary tete-a-tete, "1 have 
 ^ever yet asked- you who i& this Henri D' Armas, who honors your 
 amily with so much attention. A distant relative is he not'/"' 
 
 " Do you not then really know ? " said she, regarding me with a 
 curious look. • 
 
 "To tell the truth, I don't know that I exactly fancy M. D'Ar- 
 mas. I have never conceived sufficient admiration or interest in 
 him, although he is undoubtedly a man of talent, and is sometimes 
 good company, to make any inquiries." 
 
 " I am sorry that you do not like him ; he is my Ji<ince." She 
 ?ail this with as much simplicity as though she did not kflow I 
 would be staggered by the blow. But to do her justice, she did 
 not 'fully estimate its effect. , 
 
 "Mama has been already troubling me to appoint the day; but 
 I am just from the Convent, now, and I wish to see the world ; I do 
 not choose to get married yet. Am I not right ? " 
 
 " U ndoubtedl}', you do well," I replied, struggling to conceal my 
 emotion. " But the business which brought me to your house is 
 accomplished. I have tarried too long with you already, and I must 
 leave you to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh I no — not'so soon ?" 
 
 But my resolution remained firm, notwithstanding her entreaties, 
 afld the polite regrets of the family. I bnde them adieu, made my 
 preparations for departure by the stage, which would pass early in 
 the morning, and the rest of the night t spent in going wearily 
 over, in my own mind, what had occurred to me during my stay. 
 The daylight was just beginning to drift through my windows, when 
 I summoned sufficient resolution to look, for the last time, on objects 
 which would forever remain dear. Thp porter had already preceded 
 me with my trunk, when I turned my eyes once again towards the 
 door. ■ ' 
 
 AVhat tliey had been ^n despairingly seeking for in the faint light — 
 
54 ' CLARIMONDE. 
 
 the loved form of Clariuionde — I' now saw before me. With dis- 
 heveled tresses floating loosely about her shoulders, and only a light 
 shawl thrown over her white wrapper, I at first had taken her for a 
 phantom of my morbid jjincy; but her words soon undeceived me. 
 
 "I am very, very sorry you are going thus away. What need is 
 there for so much haste? We will see you again, will we not?" 
 
 " Yes, I shall see you again, perhaps at your wedding. Good bye, 
 Clarimonde." ' 
 
 " Good bye, Oscar; you will not forget me, and we shall always 
 be very good friends, that is, if you will allow me. Ah ! I shall 
 miss you sadly when you are gone I" 
 
 She bent her head as she stood upon the steps; I kissed the tear 
 from her eye, clasped her slender waist for one moment in my 
 arms, and then hastily departed. Then I heard the heavy door 
 close behind me with an ominous sound; which seem6tl to tell mo 
 we must forever go our diflFerent wayy. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I returned to the village of Dogwood, but ambition had died 
 -within me. Moody and desponding, I saw* but a reflection of my 
 spirits in the decayed aspect of the place, and its grass grown 
 sheets ; in the gallows, with its rotting hemp, and in its deso- 
 late burying-ground. 
 
 There was a long, vac^^nt store-room-' in the building, of which 
 my office formed a part, that was filled with old masonic trumpery, 
 processional banners, and worthless 'equipments of some by-gone 
 military company. It had at one time, too, been used for holding- 
 fairs, or festive meetings of some sort,- and the faded wreaths and 
 garlands, which still hung around, rendered it to me inexpressibly 
 dreary. 
 
 In this unfrequented lumber room, I now oftentimes withdrew, 
 and passed my time in playing upon a violin airs and accompani- 
 juents in unison with the life I was leading. With no business, 
 and no employment, with all sources of energy dried up within mc, 
 1 began to feel that I could not endure the atmosphere of the place 
 much Ioniser. 
 
 One day I receivad a letter from my uncle's man of business, 
 begging me to hasten as soon as possible to the ci<-y. The health 
 of my only relative, it was added, was rapidly failing, and unless I 
 should return soon, there was but little probability of* my ever again 
 seeing him in life. A summons so imperative admitted of no de- 
 lay, and I need not add I lost no time in once more regaining my 
 native city. 
 
 • Dismounting from the cumbrous vehicle in which my journey 
 h<ad thus far been performed, I accepted a seat in the buggy of an ■ 
 acquaintance, who was driving in the direction of my uncle's resi- 
 dence, and we werc'soon tearing along over the paved streets as fast 
 as a couple of spirited horses could carry us. 
 
 My companion, whom I nov/ found was half intoxicated, was still 
 urging on our course, as wc drew near the house, when suddenly 
 
r)6 <'LARlMOND?y 
 
 our wheels came in rude contact with those of a hearse, which stood 
 before the door. ' It was a bad omen, I thouirht, and T was by no 
 means reassured when I learned that It was ray uncle who was dead, 
 and that the mournful carriage was now in waiting to convoy him, 
 •who .was my last r^ative, to his final resting pl^ce. There had 
 been but little unity of sentiment between us during his life', and' 
 after his spirit had flown fdr ever, it seemed that we could not avoid 
 coming in" collision. I entered the house, as a notary was reading 
 his will, thoujrh it sounded much more like a malediction. T was 
 the appointed legatee,' both of his imprecations and his. wealth, and • 
 the latter he seemed to hurl at me, as if he well foresaw that it 
 would be the greatest misfortune that oould be bequeathed to * 
 me. ' . 
 
 And now that I can look back upon the past, I can see what a 
 dreadful load I had to stagger under. What youth, in the most 
 favourable circumstances, could put forth his best energies, could 
 struggle for a paltry remuneration, when do what he would, he 
 could not spend his bank notes as fast as they accumulated? And 
 when I add, that I was without any settled purpose, and that I was 
 embittered and dispirited by the rementbrance of my unrecjuitcd 
 love, the wpnder rather is that I did not become more reckless and 
 prodigal than I did. But I anticipate. 
 
 So I followed my uncle's remains to their final resting place, ac- 
 companied thither, by the way, by my dissolute friend, who insisted ^ 
 upon singing, while supporting himself against a tree, in a dismal 
 bass voice. * ' ■ 
 
 Then I reflected that I was the sole . possessor of a colossal for- 
 tune, with nothing to do — so I had now begun to reason — but spend 
 and enjoy. To show my respect fur his memory I determined to 
 dress henceforth in irreproachable black — some of my friends 
 thought it became me. My" time I occupied in emptying, with- 
 much solemnity, the bottles of wines he had collected in his estab- 
 lishment. Meanwhile — for it wiis evident that j; young man having 
 a princely revenue at his disposal could not afford such a life long — 
 I would endeavor to see what was to be done. But was it not a 
 pity that Prince Fortunatus, with all of his resources, (and I \ 
 
ei^RIMONDE. • • 57 
 
 cursed my unhappy lot,) should be condemned to sigh for a woman 
 in vain ? 
 
 Musins; thus as I sat late at night in my room, my reveries were 
 disturbedJsy a ringing of the door bell. " A party of gentlemen, 
 and among them M. D' Armas, at the door, who desire you to de- 
 scend," says Francois. I do so — find . an omnibus full of convivial 
 friends, (it is not difficult to %id them now,) who force me to join 
 them. Having purchai^ed a collection of musical toy instruments, 
 we proceed to amuse ourselves by serenading the houses of well 
 known friends.' The butt of the party is a certain judge, more 
 known for his .legal knowledge than his appreciation of a joke. 
 However, it is understood that our night's travels are to terminate 
 with a supper, and his love of good eating has induced him to put 
 up with the extravagant spirits of the party. At each house one 
 of the number is^ required to furnish a song, or play upon his instru- 
 ment some air, while the rest of the party joins in a chorus. This 
 arrangement is readily submitted to by all until it came the turn of 
 the before-mentioned dignitary. 
 
 " Come, Judge," says one, " take your trumpet and blow us a 
 pensivcrair." 
 
 " But, my dear sir, I have no idea of music— I never tried to 
 sing a song or play upon an instrument in my life." 
 
 " That matters not — so much the more need for your learning 
 now." 
 
 ■ '^ And upon such an absurd instrument, too ?" 
 " Strike up, Judge, your audience is getting impatient." 
 " A man of my time of life and position," interposed the Judge 
 piteously. 
 
 " Dignity is at a discount here. Once for all, no excuse. Not 
 another drink until you have displayed your talents." 
 
 Thus adjured, the Judge, with the -air of a spoilt child, took the 
 toy trumpet,, dejectedly placed it to his lips, and produced upon 
 it a faint souTnd. 
 
 " lioudcr ! Louder!" shouted the party. • 
 
 The wretched martyr. to pleasure did as he was told, and inflated 
 his cheeks to their fullest capacity. 
 
•38 • OLARIMONpE. 
 
 ^'Now sgund US a charge." 
 
 Here his eyes seemed fairly starting from their sockets. At 
 lerigth^ after a fearful blast, 'he sank back in his seat exhausted, 
 and inquired, in a faint voice — ^ . 
 
 "For God sake, gentlemen, are you satisfied ?" 
 
 These amusements, thus happily commenced and prolonged 
 through the night, Vere continued q^t a well known restaurant du- 
 ring the whole of the following day. The different meals were 
 combined into one grand whole, and our time was spent in ordering 
 and consuming the various dishes that lay within the power of the 
 chef. Occasionally between the courses the party would adjourn to 
 the open air to test a question of boxing, wrestling or running, be- 
 tween the fastest men of the party. At one time attention was di- 
 rected to the baldness of the Judge, whereupon some one declared 
 that it had been occasioned by his standing too often on his head 
 when a boy'. 
 
 " Ah, Judge, that is a trick that you never as yet have shown u^. 
 We must have that." 
 
 " I do assure- you," cried the victim, " I have never attempted 
 any such experiments as man or boy." * 
 
 " Let us see what you can do before we accept of any excuses. 
 You shall have a cushion to put under your head. Come, your 
 friends will help you with a leg until you get started. Here we 
 go." 
 
 And in spite of all prayers and entreaties, the performance had 
 to be gone through with upon the table. At the critical moment, 
 those of the party who had hold of his legs, released their hold, and 
 the unwieldly body of the performer fell at full length, and with a 
 loud crash, among the bottle* and glasses. 
 
 But at length even these resources failed us, and something else_ 
 h^d to be thought of. ' 
 
 " Why not a game of cards ? I happen, by the merest chance, to 
 have a pack with me," eaid 31. D' Armas. 
 
 N6 one- dissented. 
 
 '^ I believe we all play ?" he further inquired. 
 
 I was obliged, with many blushes, to confess my ignorance. 
 
CLARIMONDE. o9 
 
 " Bui the game i8 so simple — the mere work of a moment." 
 
 1 offered no further objection, and the remainder of the day was 
 thus passed. In spite of the simplicity of the game, I discovered 
 that I invariably lost while D' Armas won. 
 
 "Courage, 7non ami/' lie said, as he replaced the pack in his 
 pocket, " it requires some little practice to thoroughly understand 
 it. It cost me something, now that I remember, the first time I ever 
 played." 
 
 And so, as we returned home, I forgot that I had played my first 
 game of chance, and -the consequences to which it might lead — 
 forgot that within the same house, and upon a somewhat similar oe- 
 casion my poor mother had contracted the seeds of death — and 
 when I retired, was happy that in doing this I had also forgotten 
 my unrequited love. « 
 
r CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It may perhaps appear strange that I ehould now appear a^ 
 the intimate associate of D' Armas, whose position in relation to 
 Clarimonde would naturally have inspired in me aversion. But I 
 soon foiMid it difficult to resist an intimacy which he sought with 
 every art to force upon me, and I was^ besides, in that greatest of 
 all wildernesses, a large city. Besides, without feeling any disposi* 
 tion to make him a friend, his agreeable manners, many accomplish- 
 ments, and the pleasant bitter things he could say about every friend, 
 soon made him alnjost an indispensable companion. 
 
 I accompanied him to pistol galleries, jvas initiated by him behind 
 the scenes, and 'introduced to the most fashionable gourmets and 
 viveurs.' When I wished to spend my money at* gaming, no friend 
 coiild have been kinder in showing me where it could agreeably and 
 fashionably be done ; or to win a mistress, none knew readier means 
 by which my purpose could be effected. " If you really are bent," 
 said he to me one day, " upon going to *the deuce, I can show you 
 the pleasantest and most agreeable path." And he was good en.ougli 
 to keep his word. 
 
 I chanced at the opera, one well-remembered benefit night," in 
 company with Henri when the world of fashion glittered in the 
 well filled boKes, and indeed in every avenue and pathway leading 
 thereto. The curtain rose anon, and I sat silently wondering a.t the 
 vshower of bouquets, which fell almt)st knee-deep around the prima 
 donna, whose benefit nighi it was, and which even for this city of 
 iiowers, seemed rather a Sybarite's dream than anything more terre6- 
 tial. 
 
 " Ah ! you seem interested," said Henri. « " I share your admi- 
 ration." 
 
 " Ycu could not welcome a goddess with more joyful ovations.'' 
 " You refer to the battery of opera glasses that is directed to- 
 wards her, I suppose," said he, seeming to find some diflSculty in 
 
CLARIMONDE. 61 
 
 understanding what there could be poetic in encountering the stare 
 of a whole audience. 
 
 " But now let us hasten to pay #ir devoirs'— it will be a pleasure 
 for me to '.present yo;;." 
 
 " Bufr, my dear sir, I do not understand — that is, is it not an un- 
 seasonable hour," I replied, wondering what had put it into his 
 head to go behind the scenes. But he did not seem to hear me, and 
 beckoninp: to me to keep him in sight, moved ofi'. Nor did my com- 
 panion take the direction I anticipated, but crossed to the opposite 
 side, and entered a hr/r. Its occupants I now for the first time dis- 
 covered were Clarimonde and her aunt ; and it was to the former I 
 now^saw that my companion had doubtless referred, as the cynosure 
 of aM eyes. 
 
 Whether it were long absence, the splendor of her evening cos- 
 tume, or whether time had added ne^ lines of intellect and grace— =• 
 her always radiant countenance seemed to me to have gained ad- 
 ditional beauty, and to have bloomed into the perfection of human 
 loveliness. I thought I detected another change after the usual salu- 
 tations had been passed, which, however, did not occasion me so much 
 ■ pleasure. The impulsive, mirth-loving, spoiled child, whose mind 
 had seemed so transparent, had vanished, so I thought, and given 
 place to a being more beautiful perhaps, but at the same time more 
 repellant, distant, and less susceptible of the warmer impulses of the 
 heart. 
 
 I am willing to admit, that in her reception of me, there was 
 such an absence of flattery; such an indifference to my own claims 
 to admiration, that I may unintentionally have revenged myself, by 
 supposing this to 1be her general character. It certainly was very 
 painful to my wounded vanity, to be obliged to confess a woman 
 most lovely, at the very moment wh^n she appeared so disappoint- 
 ed in me. 
 
 Added to this, that though I had long known Clarimonde to be 
 contracted in marriage with .another, arid that her manner towards 
 me had" never indicated any warmer sentiment than friendship, I 
 had still entertained, in spite of myself, a hope that my passion 
 might be reciprocated. 
 
 But in her reception of me this evening, without any appearauee 
 
h-2 TLAKIMONDE. 
 
 of iucivility or ctcii coldness, there "vvus that which would have 
 dampened the ardor of the most sanguifnc lover. I consequently 
 soon left the work of entertaining her to Henri, and subsided into 
 obscurity by the side oF her aunt. 
 
 I was supporting a conversatioti as well as 1 could, in reference to 
 the operatic devils in red flannel tights, and the shgrt-skirted dan. 
 senses, who were picturesquely developing and elaborating wilh their 
 lower limbs those portions of the play, to which the higher notes of 
 the voice were obviously unequal. But my attention was absorbed 
 with Clarimonde, who was sitting in front of me; and I listened to 
 th-e words which fell from her lips, with much more anxiety, than to 
 the discourse of the talkative Madame by my side. 
 
 " I am afraid I am very much disappointed in your friend^' it 
 was said in a low voice, but not so low, as to fail in reaching mvear. 
 
 "Ah, what would you have? The young man is • sufficiently 
 commb ilfaut, or I need not tell you he wcfeld not be with me"—- 
 was Henri's reply. 
 
 "We estimate character very difierently; his goodly company 
 !Tiay perhaps explain my disappointment." 
 
 " It occurs to me, you should rather have s^ken of him aST/our 
 friend, than dsminc." 
 
 " By no means. But you remember how much we were interest- 
 ed in. his favor, when we last saw him, he was so amiable and handr 
 3ome, and looked so-much like a soft blushing girl, that no woman 
 could help falling in love 'with him. And then his face had that 
 delicate shade of melancholy, which our sex so much admire. Not 
 the blase look^ whicji indicates the exhaustion of all sources of plea" 
 sure, but as of one just entering the threshold, who sees fi'om afar, its 
 ' emptmess and vanity.'^ 
 
 " I am afraid my own face will indicate some of the mournful 
 tinge, which you so poetically describe, if you*continue. You do 
 not tell me, that you find him changed in that respect ? He certain- 
 ly looked mournful enough, while conversing with you, a few mo- 
 meiits since, to have satisfied any one in reason." 
 
 •' I dare say; but the old expression and character of his face is 
 gone; now his look is coarse and dissipated. Xum protege, iox so 
 
("LARIMONDE. ' ^') 
 
 I incline to think him, ouo:ht to feel grateful for the society into 
 which you have initiated him." , « 
 
 I could remain to hear no more. With a c-urse upon my lips, for 
 her cold pity, and an amiable determination, never to venture into 
 her presence again,' I furmally saluted the party and hurried away. 
 I was now cu<[[||oose from the only being who .migh^t have influ- 
 enced my conduct for the better; and with no reproving eye amid 
 the atmosphere of pleasure and dissipation by which I was surround- 
 ed, to hint at a better life, I abandoned myself to the current and 
 floated down the stream of life, the unhappiest mortal upon whom 
 the sun shone. It was the consciousness that I might still escape 
 the whirlpools by which I was surrounded, that constituted my mis- 
 cry. For I had not yet gone so far as to bani^ reflection oi; be uu' 
 mindful of the profitless life I was leading. But I could feel that 
 the chorda which bound me to the virtuous, Vvcre one after another 
 snapping asunder, and that my good angel was about to fold forever 
 her wings. 
 
 , Henri's refined wickedness at length began to weary me, and a 
 discovery tjiat my polished adversary knew too much of cards, for 
 one who confined himself to the rules of honor, destroyed what lit- 
 tle friendship there had been between us. Our rupture had, how- 
 ever, no effect in restraining mp, and if anything, I was in a worse 
 condition than before ; for though D' Armas cheated me out of my 
 money,, himself, he denied *that privilege to every one else. 
 
CHAPTER XV.' 
 
 I had wandered, one niglit, through my accustomed haunts, and 
 found them deserted by the gay revellers, by whorPlhey were usually 
 frequented. Farther inquiry informed me, that this was the appointed 
 evening for what was intended to be the most brilliant soiree of the 
 .season. ' > 
 
 To attend scenes of this sort, I had not only begun to.find weari- 
 some, but the sight of pleasure around me, in which I alone seemed 
 an uninterested spectator, filled mc 'with the profoundest melan- 
 choly. • Nevertheless, I felt an eager craving for companionship • 
 and although knowing that I could promise> myself no enjoyment, 
 and that, on the score of happiness, I had, perhaps, better remain 
 awa y, I yet determined to go. 
 
 The night was already far advanced, but I hastily made what 
 changes in my costume fashion rendered imperative, and was soon 
 on my waiy, guided by the melting, vohiptubus strains of music. 
 
 It was a rapid waltz, the band was playing as 1 entered, so, lively 
 and exciting that it might have .invoked Terpsichore, herself, to the 
 scene. Youth and 'beauty were seething, surging and undulating 
 in a vortex of gaiety, and anon would subside into calmer revolu- 
 tions around the central suns of grace and loveliness. 
 
 I was looking on, more interested and moved than I had reason 
 to expect; something of jouthful impulse rising within me, when 
 a form flitted by, whose movements were, to the other dancers, what 
 the walk of j-Eneas' goddess mother was to ordinary mortal.?. Vainly 
 I tried to escape from the old memories which were-jiwakened with- 
 in, and which I had thought were long since consigned to oblivion. 
 I wandered around from one room to another, and wolild ever 
 return to gaze, unnoticed, as if fascinated by some Circean spell. 
 At length, heated by the hot air, and preferring the soft light of tjie 
 moon to the gaa'ish lights within, I passed into the illuminated. gar- 
 Jens, and wandered through the groves of orange, citron and mag- 
 nolia. Then I sat down by a fountain, which threw hi ah in air a 
 
GLARIMONDE. <)n 
 
 slender stream ol' spray, and sought to shut out, in the murmur ol' 
 its fall, the sounds of revehy which crept through the perfume- 
 laden trees.. . , 
 
 r had not been long in my .retreat before, my mournful reveries 
 were interrupted by approaching footsteps. Anxious only to escape, 
 [hurried down a narrow, winding walk, and was moving hastily 
 away. Suddenly, without premonition or warning, I came face to 
 face upon one who seemed to have wandered, herself, a little apart 
 i'rom the rest of her party. I would have passed on, but happening 
 to raise my eyes, 1 involuntarily exclaimed — 
 
 "Clarimondel". 
 
 *^ Oscar! Do we really once more meet'/" 
 
 Then there was an abrupt pause. I was the first to recover from 
 my embaira^ir.ent, or perhaps I should say, to regain my pride. 
 
 '' Tou seem 'to have lost youV c?cort, Mademoiselle, will ymi allow 
 me to be of any service ?"• I ventured .to remark, with* as much 
 coldness as I could ab'sume. 
 
 She made a slight gesture of refusal ; but perceiving that I was 
 in the act of moving on, she 'placed herself in my path. 
 
 " Stay' — we were once friends. Will. you resent my interference 
 in your affairs? You cannot continue to live long a;? you do now ! 
 Your very existence is becoming only a" question of time. Is it too 
 late to warn you, Oscar ?" * 
 
 ■ " It is not much to pardon your interest in my weli'are. As to 
 its doing me any good, frankly, I fear not. 1 have neither the 
 inclination nor the res.olution to effect any lasting change. But it 
 is you, after all; unconsciolisly, doubtless,- tliat has made my life si> 
 purposeless. Need I tell you of the power of a gifted and beauti- 
 ful woman ? It will do no good, but you must hear me now, Clari- 
 monde.^I was blessed with the gifts that men most prize, when I 
 first mfet you, and not least among them, 'a disposition which would 
 have found contentment in any Idt. It is all sadly changed now. 
 The last ingredient is poured into the chemistV retort, and what 
 was clear as crystal before, becomes muddied and discolor-ed. Ah, 
 unrequited love was the subtle essence thatdias so changed the cuj) 
 oi* hap})inefc^s for me. Yes, I had learned to love you, Clariinonde ; 
 
66 CLARIMONDE. 
 
 thougQ why should I say, had learned, when my passion was of a 
 moment, and had no slow cojimencement?" 
 
 ''And you blame me for all this?" said Clarimondc, with a sad 
 smile. *' You cannot t^omplain that I ever led you on by word or 
 act. You knew me to be the betrothed of another. The lover that 
 sighed for an angel deserved to die for his folly. Be jus; — I.gi»'e 
 you no cause. It ^as all your own fault — that is, if I have so des-' 
 perately bewitched you as you would have appear." 
 
 " But, Clarimonde, can we reason thus coldly when the passions 
 are enlisted ? When we love, it is easy to deceive ourselves with 
 the mirage of hope. To quote an old simile, the poor moth, whose 
 wings have been singed, does none the less hover around the flame. 
 Y^ou are the bright light around which my poor h(^rt has been 
 fluttering, and the warning comestoo late."* 
 
 She hesitated some moments Jjefore replying, and her arm now 
 rested tenderly upon mine. 
 
 ''Are you quite sure, Oscar, that others have not been exposed 
 to trials besides yourself? Are not; most of us at each other's 
 mercy ? But it depends upon ourselves whether we become better 
 or worse — whelher we nobly struggle with a wild impulse, or basely 
 abandon the path of duty. You have suffered ? so have I." 
 
 As she concluded, her voice died out in cadences so soft as to be 
 almost undistinguishable from the murmur of the fountain. 
 
 In the trembling accents and yielding form, together with the 
 words she had just spoken, I read what I had never dared previ- 
 ously to hope, and I gained courage to say — 
 
 " Tell me, Clarimonde, that you do not intend to marry this man 
 tij whom you were then affianced. The engagement was the act 
 of others, not yours. 1 need not say you do not love him T' 
 
 *^Nay, Oscar^ you were unjust before ; now your questi^i is un- 
 fair. To answer you, however, my family thinks our marriage has 
 been delayed too long already, and is anxious ior its immediate ful- 
 .filment." 
 
 " And you consent to be thus disposed of?" 
 
 " There are obstacles and embarrassments which will render it 
 difficult for rac to do otherwise. And the mere" continuance of our 
 
OLAKIMONDE. 
 
 6T 
 
 engagement, for so long a period, naturally binds us together by a 
 thousand unseen chords which are difficult to break. Indeed, I 
 much fear it will bo impossible." 
 
 /^Then, good-bye, Clarimonde, we had better part. I wish you a- 
 great deal of happiness in youi* marriage/^ 
 
 '' Do not leave me yet/' said she, gently detaiining mo. ''We must 
 not part thus ! ! Oscar, if" — . But there was no need for her 
 to finish the sentence, I answered it before it was spoken, by fold- 
 ing her in my arms. * 
 
 But even in that moment, when every line ki ftfer face was elo- 
 quent with her now revealed secret, she still forbore committing 
 herself finally ; but bidding, me hope for the best, and come on tlie 
 morrow to hear her decision, she released herself from my arm and 
 hastened away. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 1 remained where she had left me, framing good resolutions, and 
 indulging glorious dreams for the future ; but from this revery I was 
 aroused by a well known voice; it was in the conventional, impas- 
 sive tone, in which yon could feel that not a muscle of the speaker's 
 face moved, and which, for its cold, sarcastic and sneering expres- 
 sion, might havebeen that of M.ephistopholes himself 
 
 I* A beautiful night and enchanting scenery, but may 1 interrupt 
 your reverie for a moment? I have a few words to address 
 to yoti — nay, you need not look so proud.' Others are looking at us, 
 who, if they cannot hear, can at least see. Will it please you to 
 smoke a cigar? You cannot help looking amiable under its influ- 
 ence.'' ' . 
 
 "I find both of your proposals very reasonable, M. D'Armas^" 
 tsaid I, knowing well enough in what direction the conversation 
 tended. • " . 
 
 ^^Then," continued my companion, "I have not foun'd your con- 
 duct in all respects that of an honorable mag. You have seen fit to 
 tbrce the lady whom I am shortly to marry into a very long inter- 
 view. Need !■ explain my wishes farther, mon ami?" 
 
 He said this in a tune of voice as if he was really addressing a 
 friend. . . * 
 
 "Sest assured that your meaning is perfectly understood, M. • 
 D'Armas. Have you anything farther to propose?" 
 
 " Oh, Tiothing; " (with a slight shrug of his shoulders.) But it 
 is now very near daybreak — do you not find that the most delightful 
 portio* of the day ?/' . 
 
 " Lndoubtedly ; it certainly is very .pleasant at times to brush 
 away the early dew in the company of a friend." 
 
 '^Do you see the iiiend whom you would like to have attend 
 you?" ._ . • 
 
 "None; t,here arc not many witnesses needed, and any man, of 
 honor whom you jnay name, will be equally ugreeable to me." • 
 
iJLAKIMuNDK. •'•' 
 
 '^So be it; I believe that we arc about equal in the pistol gallery, 
 aud if anything that you ring the bell — " ' 
 
 " We will uQt quarrel as to the terms — arrange them as you 
 •will." • . ^ 
 
 " Then, if everything is settled, we will both of us remain at the 
 soiree. Jawbones, the surgeon, shall be our mutual friend, and we 
 will keep our counsel while he goes after the pistols.'* 
 
 *' Once, again I arm quite at your service as to any dispositions 
 you may'make/" was my r#ply, and we moved off in different direc' 
 tions. 
 
 In a little while afterwards we proceeded to the appointed ground 
 together, and as the grey light of the dawn was still indistinct, and 
 as. neither of us were -particular as to distance, we stood at considera- • 
 bly less interval than the conventional twelve paces. The word of . 
 fire was given, a simultaneous report followed, and my adversary - 
 dropped to the ground. Then followed a hasty examination by the * 
 Doctor over the body of my now prostrate foe, and the professionnl 
 shako of the liead, which obviated any further inquiry. * , 
 
 " I am afraid- it is all over with me^' 31. D' Armas murmured in 
 his usual calm tone of voice. ." I leave you, Monsieur, in possession 
 of the field; lam in good hands here with the Doctor; you have 
 but little time — save yourself if you can." - . 
 
 I was obliged to admit to myself that th^ caution appean^d well 
 , timed, as a party, attracted .by the explosion of arms, was rapidly ap- 
 'proaching. Bitterly cursing my folly, I hastily left die spot,'and . 
 succeeded in reaching a(ttistant city. Then I sat down to write an 
 account of the affair, to Clarimonde, and await what further events 
 might transpire. That letter, I' afterwards learned,- never reached 
 the place of its j^lestination. Meanwhile I awaited with what pa- 
 tience I could, the slow passage of each succeeding day, until days 
 had lengthened into weeks. After six weeks' absence, I could en- 
 dure it no longer. My encounter with my late adversary I began < 
 to regard as some freak of my imagination,* and I determined to re- 
 turn to the scene of my Ibrmer haunts, at any and every hazard. 
 On my way home I was detained by a steamboat explosion, arid 
 •once, for a still longer period, was kept under arrest under the 
 
70 . OLARIMONDi:. 
 
 charge of being a pick-pocket. But at length I stupp .d once more 
 upon the well-known shore. I hurried a ong, fevered and agitated, 
 like the felon for whom I had been mistaken, in the hopes of meet- 
 ing some friend, who would relieve mv worst fears. Then I stopped 
 to read a paper which the newsboys were hawking. There was no 
 paragraph which immediately concerned me, but in it I saw that 
 Glarimonde had, the previous day, been bound in the holy bonds of 
 wedlock to Henrk .The paper fell from my hands — I staggered 
 and remembered no more. , 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Every one must remeinbcr the scourge whicli a few years back, 
 decimated our largest Southern city, in which no labor was then 
 performed, except by the chain -gangs, who dug trenches for the 
 dead, and in which no vehicle moved, but the dead cart. All o^ 
 that dreadful -lime, when the angel of death stalked through, th^ 
 streets and visited every nouse, I languished under the shadow of 
 the fell destroyer. 
 
 Imagine me escaping, after months of sickness, where better and 
 strongeir men had gone to their last resting place, and once more re- 
 turning to a world with which I had no sympathy, no interest, and 
 no pleasant memories.41 Disease sometimes produces a healthier con- 
 dition of the whole man, mentally and ph3^sically'— a more resolute 
 devotion of the faculties to some object- in life, but such was not its 
 effect upon me. 
 
 Imagine me after a long interval spent in traveling, or rather in 
 purposeless wandering, in which the sight of strange lands taught 
 m^ no wisdom, as once more re-entering one of the old yellow coaches 
 which at that time was the only means of public conveyance. Time 
 and mental trouble has wrought many changes in me as in most of 
 us, and but few would have recognized in me the one who a few 
 year# previous had traveled over the same road so full of life and 
 hope. At least its two inmates^ and there were two who already oc- 
 cupied it — did not. * 
 
 They did not know me, but it reqiiired little effort of memory to 
 discern in the forms before me my old rival, Henri, and Clari- 
 monde, his wife. From the positions they respectively pccu- 
 pied towards each other, it were easy to see that their union had 
 not been of the most tender kind. Henri, who occupied. the whole 
 6f tlie back seat of the vehicle, was sleeping, or affected to be so, 
 as I entered. My only resource was a seat by Clarimonde. 
 
 When Henri at length opened his eyes, he appeared to be exam- 
 iaing ray features attentively, though with furtive glances, afi if en- 
 
9 
 
 72 fLAKlMONDE. 
 
 deavoriug to recall some Jong forgotten face. Then turning to Clari- 
 nioude he languidly observed in French. 
 
 ".Do you know, Madame, of whom our companion reminds iney 
 
 A gesture in the negative was her reply. ' , 
 
 " Nevertheless, there is a certain expression about our new friend'p 
 face, which it seems to me, we ouijht both to remember. Jom, if I 
 mistake not, enterttftned for the prototype,, more than a passing 
 fancy; /remember it, because he, whom this persoii resembles, 
 came near inflicting on me a dangerous pistol-shot wound. 
 
 " Indeed I you have never seen fit to emighten me with that por- 
 tion of your history," was hei; reply, in a tone of voice in which she 
 did not altogether succeed, in disguising her interest. 
 
 '• Why, yes," you remember the soiree of Madame Zambelli ? It 
 was towards the close of the evening, that we chanced to meet,- and 
 to tell the truth, the subject of our convers^ion and the cause of 
 our disagreement and encounter was naught else than your fair self 
 You see then, ma c/icre," he continued in his soft moQking laugh, 
 ^Hhat underrate me as you will, I thought you a prize wotth strug- 
 gling for, for Heaven knows I bore the youth no malice, except that 
 his claims appeared to be preferred to mine." 
 
 " And yotir subsequent meeting — two such reported shots, aqd 
 fighting for so great a prize as you represent me, there might have 
 been danger. People are sometimes killed in duels^ are they not ?" 
 
 " Undoubetly. And so it might have been so with us, had not the 
 sole friend who attended us, obviated the difficulty, by loading our 
 pistols only with powder. The afi'air took place in the gray of 
 early morning. At the first discharge I fell, as the attending sur- 
 geon asserted, and my antagonist believed, mortally wounded.' 
 A crowd was gathering — ^the boat in which we had crossfed the 
 river was about to return, and everything indicated that unless my 
 opponent \>^ished to be arrested under a charge of murder, he had 
 better be taking a t^porary departure from the city. The rest you, 
 already know. Before he eould return, or make any satisfactory ex- 
 planation of his conduct, you had listened to reason, and made me 
 the happiest of men." 
 
 The last remark, which was intended as a triumphant sneer, 
 
CLAKIMONDE. 
 
 brought the blood to Clarimoiido's face, but she only complained of 
 sickness and begged Henri to throw away his cigar. 
 
 ^' Will your sex never grow reconciled to tobacco ? You certain- 
 ly do not expect me to throw away such a Havana as this— better 
 ride with the driver, and submit to the temporary losrf of your conv 
 puny. I leave you in charge of our new friend, (speaking for the 
 first time in English) with the hope that you may be^more interest- 
 ed in his company, thap you generally are in mine." Here he 
 closed the door behind him, and mounted on the box by the side of 
 
 the driver. 
 
 I never doubted for a moment that Clarimonde knew me, "yet for 
 severalln in utes after we were thus unexpectedly left ulonc,we sat 
 trembling in silence, in the growing shadows of the evening. 
 
 " Do you not know me, Clarimonde— have you indeed forgotten 
 me r I ventured xit length to murmur. But she gave no audibk 
 sign that she heard me. 
 
 '< You have just heard the cause of what would otherwise seem 
 inexplicable in my conduct. I left you suddenly, but I was driven 
 away by circumstances which I could not control; fate, not my will, 
 forced us apart." 
 
 " Ti' so, why not accept her decrees, kindly and at once ? You 
 should not havo forced this interview, Oscar. Our threads of life 
 were woven in different woofs ; they were not intended to unite and 
 mingle. . Eetter forget the past, and travel our separate ways in 
 life. Better indeed we had never met." 
 
 "Ohance has brought^us together, Ckrimonde, as unexpectedly 
 to me a& to you. Have you no kind word of greeting? Do act 
 reason thus ^Idly, but remember you have now in your presence, 
 perhaps for 'the last time, one whose history, every motive of action 
 and greatest misfortune might be comprehended in the words, Hr 
 loved If ou." 
 
 . " Ah ! Os(?a-r, why speak- of this now ? What good will it do 
 either of us, or to what can it lead '? It will but make the dreadful 
 return to a weary, every day life still morg insupportable. Let us 
 rather encourage each other in the path of duty by parting »t 
 ouce." 
 
74 CLAliIMO^'DE. 
 
 She tried to look the words «bc ypoke, but i'rom her moistened 
 lids, and humbling voice, she was evidently ?<truggling. as much 
 with herself, as answering me. 
 
 "Tell me, at letist," said I, beginning to feel my power, and mad- 
 dened by the remembrance of the cheat which Henri had himself 
 exposed, tell me. that the love which con-^umes me, is not altogether 
 forgotten by you ? I do not ask you to withdraw any love from 
 him, whoso name you bear. That you never gave liinj, and I need 
 not your words for what I know already." 
 
 ^' No, no ! I am unwell — leave me." And then in a softer tone 
 — " had you still retained one loving i^emembrance of me, Oscar, 
 you could not, sitUatad as wc now are, thus entreat me." 
 
 "I tempt you to no wrong; sympathy, companionship in trouble, 
 is all I ask. Does it make you the worse to know, that 1 still love 
 and admire your many charming qualities? Would it render me 
 in life less useful, or my future more barren, to know that your eyes 
 were sometimes moistened with pity for me? 'I v,rill leave you, 
 then.'' 
 
 " What you ask should not be spoken ; nay, is impossible." 
 
 " The coach is approaching the. end of the jouVney ; no other an- 
 swer ? " 
 
 " All that I could tell you, you know alread}^," she at length said 
 with an effort. 
 , " For pity, Clarimonde I One tender word, before wc part." 
 
 "There'xS not an hour, Oscar, since last we miet, in which you 
 have been absent froni my thoughts. I wept for you when awako, 
 and sleeping my mind was none the less .busy with your image. 
 Once more to meet you, 1 prayed, and yet 1 tremUed with appre- 
 hension at every shadow, lest my fondest wish should be realizedwt 
 And now that we have met, Oscar" 
 
 " You would havfe me leave you ;" and I folded her in my arms. 
 '' I^et us fly from the world and remember the past, only as a dream." 
 
 She released herself from my embrace, but did not reply. But 
 in her face, t yead no resistance; only the admission of her weak- 
 ness, and a piteous appeal for mercy. 
 
 The coach now drew up^ at a wa^oide hotel, and L withdrew with 
 
ARUMUNDI;. «;j 
 
 • 
 
 my fellow travellers, to pass the ulglit in forming plans of action 
 for the morrow. Long I mused over the unexpected encounter-of 
 the day— of the man who had embittered and rendered useless my 
 life; and I smiled proudly at his coming humiliation. Then too 
 the possession of the woman of whom it had been the business of 
 half my life to dream — was it not a sufficient motive of itself, to 
 urge me on to action. ~ 
 
 But the other side of the picture ! To think of her I had known 
 from childhoi)d, with whose name, the few good deeds, and motives 
 of my life had been associated — the innocent days of her maiden- 
 hood — her brilliant advent into society and present position— could 
 I really forget all this, and ask her to shjice the fortune of one who 
 had nothing to look forward to in the future ? 
 
 Between these 4wo courses of action — honor and principle on one 
 side, and present happiness on the other, did my good and evil 
 genii w^age a doubtful strife, and fiercely ^ontend for the mastery. 
 The soft light of morning, growing out of the darkness, found mo 
 still thus engaged — and then was heard the notes of the bugle, 
 announcing the departure of the stage. 
 
 It was now too late to hesitate, and yet a dozen times did I. has- 
 tily move towards the^ door, .and then return. " Farewell," at 
 length, I exclaimed, summoning all my more generous impulses to 
 my aid. " With the fulfilment of your wishes, depart all hopes of 
 happiness for me." 
 
 Here Henri and Clarimonde entered the coach, the door closed, 
 and the vehicle moved slowly away. Ikit ere they had disappeared 
 from my view, for what I regarded as forever, J caught from my 
 window Clarimonde's glance, and waved her a ^d adieu. ^I'he 
 movement was responded to, and I saw from her half mournful look 
 that my motives were understood and respected. Then the driver 
 lashed his horses, the light glistened on the rapidly turning wheels, 
 and Clarimoude in the cumbrous coach, disappeared in a long Vinh 
 of dust. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The abrupt ending of our friend's narrative was occasioned by 
 the entrance of the. relief guard. The story, we had begun to find, 
 somewhat of the longest, and a frequent yawning and stretching of 
 arms, by which the restless testified their impatience, may have had 
 some influence in hastening its close. 
 
 " You don't talk often, Oscar, but by Judas, you do spin it out 
 long when you get under way. D — n such a man; come, let's have 
 a farewell pull at the canteer^— ^I'm afraid that yarn of yours will 
 sit a little cold — and then to bed." 
 
 We lost no time in putting both proposals into execution, and 
 moved towards our quarters, judt aS Aurora, fair shepherdess, was 
 driving before her, her flock, of stars. 
 
 But a stries of military movements were now transpiring, which 
 soon banished all thoughts of sleep, or lesser cares, from our minds. 
 ►Soon there sped up in mid air a rocket, vrhich we rightly regarded 
 as a portent of coming dangers and battles. This, in turn, was sue* 
 ceeded by the distant booming of cannon ; and as the da^ advanced, 
 a dense pillar of smoke-, like a black stain, was seen in the eastern 
 horizon. 
 
 The long roll was sounded throughout camp ; baggage was hastily 
 packed and sent to the rear, and the troops marched oft' to meet tlie 
 foe. * , 
 
 As regiment af^ regiment hurried ofi" to take the pQsitions as- 
 signed to them, signs of the coming struggle become still more per- 
 ceptible. The roads were covered with wagons, driving furiously 
 to the rear, and with wounded soldiers, who had already been 
 stricken down in the preliminary encounters, who were now. being 
 conveyed in ambulances to the hospitals. But ' occasionally, con- 
 founded in the ruder throng, were to be seen fugitive families, 
 mothers with their children, and sometimes, too, those of the weaker 
 sex, whose dress and appearance, in spite of the dust and wildness 
 of their situation, indicated a more tender nurture. 
 
TLARIMONDE. . ' U 
 
 For several days -vve stood in constant readiness for an attack by 
 the enemy. The heat was almost unendurable, and the men were 
 compelled to sit down in ranks, or stretch their exhausted forms in 
 the shade of the neighboring trees. Kations were rarely dis- 
 tributed, and seldom consisted of more than hard bread. Our 
 greatest sufferings were, however, occasioned by the scarcity or dif- 
 ficulty of obtaining water ; and if one of us was so fortunate as to 
 obta;n a canteen of the precious fluid, it was a rare proof of friend- 
 ship when its contents were divided with a suffering comrade. 
 
 At night we would lie down in the chilly dews, and would sink 
 to sleep recalling the past and wondering what changes were re- 
 served for us in the future. 80 that, in many cases, the last con- 
 Tersation we were toliave with many old friends, was while cowering 
 beneath the rain, and under one and the same blanket. 
 
 At length the morning of the great battle- came, and we could 
 see the light gleaming upon the pieces of a distant battery of the 
 •nemy, as .it rapidly wheeled into position, fhen a wreath of 
 smoke curled slowly into the air, followed by a breathless silence of 
 a few seconds, and then, as. a large shot whizzed over our heads, wc 
 heard the sound produced by the firing of the first gun. 
 
 It is not necessary, at this late day, to enter into a general de- 
 scripti'on of the battle, or of any of the movements oif the two 
 armies. Our regiment found itself, owing to the necessities of war, 
 or,' as we then thought, to some egregious error, placed far in ad- 
 vance of any support, and where our destruction or capture, seemed 
 inevitable. ' But every one engaged •seemed to accept it as h'm 
 destiny, and though doubtful and distrustful o^thc usefulness of 
 the sacrifice, remained at his post until ordered off the field. 
 
 Division after division of the enemy had been brought against 
 us, and the struggle had gone on, increasing in deadly intensity, 
 until their whole force seemed converging on the wo6d we occupied, 
 and broke upon us like an armed wave. 80 that amid the blinding 
 smoke, the shower of iron hail, to which we were exposed, the ine- 
 qualities of the ground, and the dense growth of shrubbery, it. 
 became impossible to understand the commands. Companies were 
 separated from each other, and friend undistinguisliable from foe.. 
 
16 '- J.AKIMONDE. 
 
 It was at this juncture that I saw St. Arment, who was fighting 
 by my side, affected with apparent emotion, and gazing earnestly at 
 some one in the opposing ranks. 
 
 " What is the matter, comrade ? do you find the bullets incon- 
 veniently plentiful ?" ■ - 
 
 '' They have as little terror as life has charms for me. But do 
 you see the officer -who is advancing towards us, at the head of his 
 men?"' 
 
 " Not well. But who is he ?" 
 
 " My old friend, Henri, with whom I have still an account to set- 
 tle. I'will point him out with my musket," at the same time taking 
 deliberate aim. 
 
 But before I could hear the report of his gun, a volley from 
 along the enemy's whole line was poured into us, and I saw my com- 
 panion stagger and fall. There was little time, in that moment, to 
 regard the dead or dying j nevertheless, I ventured to drag him 
 under the shade of a neighboring tree. The blood was flowing 
 freely from his wound, and unless soon staunched, I feared he would 
 not long survive. But T heard the cry, "rally to your colors," 
 from our brave leader, und I could remain no longer. I hastily, 
 placed him, in a sitting posture, against the trunk of the tree, with 
 his revolver and my canteen at his side, in case of need, and bade 
 him a sorrowful farewell. 
 
 }: ,k ^. * rpjjg contest had ceased ; victor and vanquished had 
 passed on, and the dead and dying remained possessors of the field. 
 r myself had, at a Inter hour, been wounded and left behind, and 
 crawling into thof thick(?st part of the shrubbery, L determined tu 
 lie concealed until I could gain some tidings of the battle, or could 
 escape in the obscurity of night. When at length the time came, 
 when I thought it would be safe to move, I concluded to pass tlit* 
 spot where I had last seen my wounded friend. 
 
 But the task of returning to the exact spot, was one of no easy 
 accomplishment, and I soon found it almost impossible to move with- 
 out treading upon the body of some mangled corpse, or of wretches 
 whose hour wa<< only postponed, hoarsely begging for water. And 
 here it was ca.sy to be seen, that amid^ the thousand faces of pros- 
 
CLARlMOiNDK. 
 
 79 
 
 trate foes, there was none with th^t resolute, unyielding expression, 
 , which Pyrrhus so much admired in his fallen Romj^n adversaries, 
 but only one of intense horror. 
 
 Finally, beginning to despair of ever more seeing Oscar, I was 
 mentally determining to abandon the search, when my attention was 
 rivetted by the fluttering of a woman's dress. Well knowing that 
 she must be one of the nurses, who came to tend the sick and 
 wounded, and hoping that from her I might learn the information 
 I sought, I hastily drew near. 
 
 One more corpse I had to pass, and that I recognized as the 
 ofiicer whom Oscar had pointed out to me in the morning as Henri ; 
 and near this, his lifetime rival, lay Oscar St. Arment— their blood 
 refusing to mingle, although so close together— while bending over 
 him, and supporting his drooping head upon her breast, knelt her 
 whose dress had first attracted mj attention. 
 
 No need to inquire who she was— no guilt in loving her now, 
 Oscar; for without having any premonition of her presence, I 
 knew that the kneeling figure, now before me, could be none other 
 than his long-lost, but always loved, Clarimondc. ^ 
 
■WEST & JOHNSTOK 
 
 * 
 
 145 MAIN STREET, 
 
 Have Recently Published, 
 
 WAR SONGS OF THE .SOUTH. Edited hy •' Bohemian," correspondent 
 of the RichniWl Dispatch. Price, $1 Ml). 
 
 A NEW MAP OF THE STATE OF VIRGINIA, containing all the 
 counties, principal towns, railroads, telegraphs lines, rivers, canals, 
 and all other internal improvements. This is the best map of the 
 State ever published. We have spared no pains to make it perfect. 
 It is gotten up on beautiful map paper, made expressly for us to print 
 this map'upon. Size — 2S by 36 inches. Bound in pocket form. Price, 
 $2 50. 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS FOR HEAVY ARTILLERY. Prepared by a Board 
 of Officers for the use of the Army of the United States, containing 
 forty-three beautifully engraved plates. Price, $5 00. 
 
 NAPOLEON'S MAXIMS OF WAR. Price, $1 00., 
 
 ROBERTSS HAND-BOOK OF ARTILLERY. A new edition. An 
 t^xact re-print from the latest revised New York edition of 1861. 
 Price,- $1 00. 
 
 THE VOLUNTEER CAMP AND FIELD BOOK, containing useful 
 and general information on the Art and Science of War. for the leisure 
 moments of the soldier. By Johm P. Curry. Price, 75 cents. 
 
 NOTES ON ARTILLERY— from Rbbins, Hutton, Chesney, Mordecai, 
 Dahlgreen, Jacob, Greener, Gibbon and Benton. By W. Leroy Broun, 
 M. A. Price, 50 cts. 
 
 LIFE OF JAMES VV. JACKSON, the Alexandria hero— the slayer of 
 Ellsworth — the first mariyr in the cause of Southern Independence ; 
 containing a full account of the circumstances of his heroic death 
 and the many remarkable incidents in his eventful life, consfituting a 
 true history — more like romance than reality. Publishedfor the bene- 
 fit of his family. Price, 25 cts., by mail 35 cts. 
 
 THE SOUTHERN SPY. By Edward A. Pollard. (Fifth thousand.) 
 Price, 50 cts. 
 
 CAUSE AND CONTRAST- By T. W. MacMahox. (Sixteenth thou 
 and.) Price, $1 SO. 
 
 Address orderMo ^ WEST & JOHNSTON, 
 
 4-5 Main Street. Richmond. 
 
THE FIRST YEAR OF THE WAR. 
 
 Bj ED W ABB A. JPOLLAB.V. 
 
 WEST & JOHNSTON, Pii tollsUers, 
 
 UNPARALLELED SUCCESS ! 
 
 Five Thousauil Copies already disposed of, and Twenty Thou 
 Copies of this (Jreat Book Avill be dispoited of hy the 1st of 
 
 Thousand 
 
 Jan< 
 
 «ary, 
 
 It is a Southern Book by a Somhein aiitlior! 
 It is called for by old and young, male and female ! 
 its uiahenticity cannot be doidjted, and' should be rejid by all, 
 PRICE— $2 no. By Mail, $3 Ou. 
 
 From the Atlanta (Ga.) Intelligencer : 
 
 " We recoi^nize, however, in the few introJuctory pat,'es of * The First 
 Year of the War' that we have hastily peruserl, truth set forth Jjy this bril- 
 liant writer with brevity and force, and with that graceful diction that has 
 won the admiration of all who are familiar with his writings. * * ' -" * 
 It supplies — what is much needed — a history of the first year of the war, 
 the causes that produced it, and the battles fought in it, from the beginning 
 down to the defeat of McClellan's army near Richmond. 
 
 Recently published, 
 
 A TREATISE ON FIELD FORTIFICATIONS, containi;ig instructions 
 on the methoils of Laying Out, Constnu-ting, Defending, and Attacking 
 Entrenchments, with the general outlines; also, of the arrangement, 
 the attack, and defence of permanent fortifications* By D. H. Mauan, 
 Professor of Military and Civil Engineering iu the United States Mili- 
 tary Academy, at West Point, New York. Fourth edition, revised auc^ 
 enlarged, containing all the plates. Price, .$'2 50. 
 
 A MANtFAL OF MILITARY SURGERY, for the use of Surgeons in the 
 Confederate States Army, with %n Ajjpen^ix of the Rules and Regula- 
 tions of the Medical Department of the Confederate States Army. By 
 J. Julian Chisolm, M. D., Professor of Surgery in the Medical College 
 of South Carolina, Surgeon in the Confederate Statds Army. Second 
 edition, revised and in>proved. Price, $3 00, by mail, postage paid, 
 $3 50. 
 
 AddresK orders to WEST & JOHNSTON, 
 
 • Ptiblish^-s and Booksellers, 
 
 115 Muin Street, Rielnnoiiil. Vir'/inia. 
 
ORDNANCli MANUAL, FOR 1863. ^ 
 
 WEST &L JOHNSTON, 
 
 Have now ready the ORDNANCE MANUAL for the use 
 of the officers of the Confederate States Army. Prepared 
 under the direction of Col. J. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, 
 and approved by the Secretary of War. First Edition. Con- 
 taining 32 beautifully lithograplied plates. Price, $8. 
 
 Upon the receipt of the^price Ave will forward the book to 
 any part of the Confederacy. 
 
 RECENTLY ^PUBLISHED. 
 
 'I he most superb an(J elaborate scientific book ever pub- 
 lished in the South, viz: 
 
 SUMMAllY of the Course of Permanent Fortifications, and 
 of the Attack and Defence' of Permanent Works, for the 
 use of the Cadets of the United States Military Academy. 
 By D. H. Mahan, Professor of Military Engineering, &c. 
 "^-^.'^ This is the most splendid, elaborate, scientific, and in- 
 dispensable book ever printed in the South. It is an exact 
 reprint from the West Point Lithographic Edition, which was 
 exclusively printed for the use of that Institution, eontaining 
 32 beautifully lithographed plates ; size : 20 inches, 17 inche^. 
 The public are invited to examine this important work. 
 ^'This is the finCst work ever gotten up in the South, and 
 will compare with the best works of the Appletons. * '-'' "^^ 
 It is accompanied by a large book of splendidly executed 
 plates." — SoutJwrn Illustrated Neivi>. 
 
 Pr.ge: TWENTY DOLLARS.* 
 
 Upon the receipt of which it will be forwarded, free of 
 other expense, to any part of the Confedericy. 
 
 A HAND-BOOK for the Practice of AVar, for the use of 
 military mefl.of all ages and countries. By Gen. JoMiNi. 
 Translated from the French by M. F. Pardigon. With 
 plates. Price, $1 50. 
 
 Upon the receipt of the price we. will forward it to any 
 part of the Confederacy. 
 
 WEST k JOHNBION. FiiblleherB. Ekhmond. 
 
New Publications— Now in Press. 
 
 WILD WESTERN SCENES. 
 
 IS^e^v Series. 
 BY JNO. B^ JONES. 
 
 This volume-, like its predecessor, with which the reading 
 public has long been familiar, is a vivid narration of life and 
 adventure in the far West, including encounters with Indians, 
 Bears, Buffalo Siud'other adventures incident to the life of a 
 Western Hunter. The Vork shows no abatement in graphic 
 delineation of character, closely woven plot, or in the fire and 
 life-like vigor which the, author lias infused in the first seriej; 
 of Wild. Western Scenes. 
 
 2: E L L A^. 
 
 BY JESSIE RANDOLPH. 
 
 A Romance of Real, Life in Florida and the West- India ! 
 Islands, with animated descriptions 'of the gay and festive 
 Pensacola, the accidents and incidents by sea and land, andjij 
 the European tours of the heroes and heroines. 
 
 This thrilling romance portrays with graphic precision the^ 
 strong, vehement, but patient and enduring .love of the dar 
 sons and daughters of the flowery Peninsular. Though sep' 
 arated for many long years, yet, like the needle to its pole, 
 the hea'rt had but one object for which it longed. A boo! 
 every way suitable for the family library, parlor, or studio. 
 
 M. A. 1m:ALSBY, Publisher, 
 Corner of Main and 14th Streets, Richmond, Va. 
 
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