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 A GIFT FOR ALL SEASONS. 
 
 To weep o'er hours departed 
 When lift has lost its bloom, 
 
 To wither, broken hearted, 
 May such ne'er be thy doom. 
 
 EDITED BY A LADY. 
 
 1 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 SILAS ANDRUS AND SON. 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 To Mrs. Henry Baldwin, by J. F. P .5 
 
 The May Queen 6 
 
 The German Bandit, by Lt. Sr-ARKS, U. S. N 7 
 
 To Miss Adelia Hoyt 16 
 
 The Minister's Daughter, by Miss Tynpal 17 
 
 The Emperor and the Alcliyiiii^i. from the German 26 
 
 On the Portrait of Miss Tyndal 32 
 
 The Devil's Hollow, an incident of real life 33 
 
 Envy and Candor, a dialogue between two young ladies . . . .38 
 
 Mary Escars 40 
 
 The Coquette, by Miss Lucy E. Milnor 41 
 
 The Yankee Schoolmaster, by J. K. Paulding 50 
 
 The Emperor's Daughter 56 
 
 The Stout Gentleman, a story of an omnibus-driver 57 
 
 Sonnet to Miss K.'s Lap-dog • . .65 
 
 Isa, a tale of Khorassan .66 
 
 A Mother's Love 72 
 
 The Resurrectionists, by an assistant undertaker 73 
 
 The Unhappy Union 82 
 
 Different Ideas of Beauty 85 
 
 Woman's Influence 87 
 
 Selfishness 87 
 
 The Siren— Bird of the Gentle Wing 88 
 
 The Unknown Student, an historical sketch of Bohemia .... 89 
 
 The Witches' Wash-basin, by J. Catherwood, M. D 92 
 
 The Young Lady and the Wife 94 
 
 May-day Morning 96 
 
 The Betrothed, by A. R. Cleveland, A. M 97 
 
 Danglers 121 
 
 The Rat Tower • 124 
 
 Good Night 128 
 
EMBELLISHMENTS 
 
 THE MAY QUEEN FuOHtisnBcs! 
 
 MRS. HEXRY BALDWIN AND CHILD • . . . facing page 5 
 
 MISS ADELIA HOYT . " « 16 
 
 MISS CAROLINE HARRIETTE TYNDAL 32 
 
 TO MISS MARY ESCARS « « 40 
 
 THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER 56 
 
 MISS KETCHUM, OF BOSTON « " 15 
 
 MRS. COSTER AND DAUGHTER 72 
 
 THE SIREN— BIRD OF THE GENTLE WING 
 
 MAY-DAY MORNING « « M 
 
 GOOD NIGHT « " 128 
 
•*' 
 
 if 
 
 
 
 J ' .'• 
 
AMERICAN 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 TO MRS. HENRY "BALDWIN 
 
 by j. e. p. 
 
 'Tie sweet to bend us o'er the angelic forma 
 Vision'd by Fancy ; but 'tis sweeter far 
 To lift our eyes from her enchanting page. 
 And gaze upon the bright realities 
 Of living loveliness. Who feels not this, 
 "Would be enamored of a mimic flower 
 In the rich presence of the breathing rose. 
 
 Thou, Lady, whom the tributary Arts 
 Have placed before us, freshly, as the dew 
 Of life were on thee, art of mortal mould ; 
 And yet so fair — so chastely, simply fair — 
 80 softly beaming with ethereal grace, 
 That Poesy might almost name thee — hers. 
 Who that beholds thy noble mien need ask — 
 Where are thy jewels ? — where the orient pearls 
 That braid the hair, the glittering chains that tell 
 Of rich possessions, and of courtly rank ? 
 
 Like the proud Eoman matron — thy jewels are thy children. 
 And thou hast that — the noblest of all titles — 
 Which, hadst thou not, no princely breath could give. 
 Which having, monarchs might in vain aspire 
 More to ennoble thee : " The young — the fair — 
 The faultless Mother, and the blameless Wife " 
 
THE MAY QUEEN. 
 
 Who shall be Queen of merry May? 
 — The Spring laughs out from op'ning flowers, 
 The Rainbow's smile hath wreathed the showers, 
 Till every drop a gem is seen 
 On nature's robe o&fairy green. 
 The birds, like minstrels from the skies, 
 Pour forth the strains of Paradise, 
 And the free waters leap and play, 
 Like children on this holiday, 
 
 Hailing the Queen of May. 
 
 Who shall be Queen of glorious May? 
 — The maid whose cheek with health is bright, 
 As peach-flowers bathed in morning light, 
 Whose gentle eye in love looks forth, 
 To bless the loveliness of earth, 
 Whose sweet, glad voice is blithest heard, 
 Like carol of the fledgling bird, 
 In answer to her parents' care, 
 When found some joy that they can share — 
 
 She shall be Queen of May. 
 
 • ■ 
 
THE GERMAN BANDIT. 
 
 BT LIEUT. SPARKS, U. B. N. 
 
 Toward the close of the year 1813, I chanced to be carried to 
 England, a prisoner of war, in the then existing struggle between 
 that government and the United States. One of my maternal uncles 
 being a Liverpool merchant of some influence, through his exertions 
 I was immediately liberated on parole, not to depart the British do- 
 minions. It was about this time that the kingdom of Hanover was 
 restored to Great Britain ; and among other tours of pleasure project- 
 ed by my English friends, was one to this dependency of the British 
 crown. 
 
 At this period, the prison of Hanover occupied a plot of ground 
 contiguous to the gate, which opens upon the noble alley conducting 
 to the country palaces of Hernhausen and Montbrillant. Its walls 
 were partially washed by the river Labn, which impetuously hurries 
 beneath the adjoining bridges. It was a strong and compact edifice, 
 sombre and simple, as became its destination. 
 
 Frequently upon returning from riding and walking in the fine moon- 
 lit evenings, a voice of exceeding harmony and expression, issuing 
 from this abode of crime and wo, attracted my attention. When 
 first these soft and mellow notes fell sweetly on my ear, I ascribed 
 them to the jailer's daughter — a dark-eyed, beauteous girl, who. like 
 the flowers that gayly flaunted outside the prison-porch, formed a 
 strange contrast to the hideousness within. This, however, I discov- 
 ered, upon near approach, was not the case. The minstrel was evi- 
 dently a man — some unhappy wretch — probably inhaling the refresh- 
 ing breezes as they fluttered round the massive gratings of his cell, 
 and striving to drown the miseries of his soul or the terrors of his 
 conscience by singing in cadence to his chains. 
 
 The voice was so exquisitely melodious, so rich, and evidently well 
 utored, that I pic^n:exl-4£iu4iiy^dX_s^meHUifj^tunate artist incarcerated 
 
 V 
 
8 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 for debt, or, perhaps, some hot-brained political offender of higher 
 education. Here again I was mistaken. The singer was a murder- 
 er — an incendiary j a man branded with a thousand atrocities; a 
 bandit chief, a species of German Fra Diavolo, who had long deso- 
 lated several neighboring states. A hundred times he had escaped, 
 as if by miracle, from perils and prisons. No less often had he been 
 acquitted of the most heinous crimes by proving alibis, or from want 
 of evidence. At length he had been captured on suspicion of having 
 robbed and murdered a royal forester, and now awaited the last award 
 of the tribunals. 
 
 Upon the restoration of legitimate government in Hanover, civil 
 and criminal jurisprudence resumed its former course. The old Ro- 
 man and Caroline codes, which had been abrogated during the French 
 occupation of Westphalia, at least as regards their application in some 
 points, were revived. Among these the necessity of confession to 
 enable sAnmary punishment to be inflicted upon criminals, where di- 
 rect testimony was wanting to establish guilt. It is necessary to 
 mention this to account for what follows. 
 
 Being seated one day at table near a councillor of the Supreme 
 Court, our conversation chanced to fall upon music, and thence led 
 to the malefactor, whose musical talents I criticised with some warmth. 
 After moralizing upon the contrasts that oftentimes occur between the 
 bounteous gifts of nature to man, and the devilish purposes to which 
 he converts them, my learned neighbor continued : " It will be my 
 painful duty this night to put that man's daring courage to the test. If 
 he succumbs, death will be his doom ; if he resists, his punishment 
 will be perpetual imprisonment ; but he is so marvellously expert, 
 strong, and enduring, his accomplices, both male and female, are so 
 numerous, that I know of no prison that can retain him. Bars, 
 chains, and stone walls, have hitherto yielded to his touch as though 
 they were cobwebs. He passes for having a charmed life. In truth, 
 his escapes and adventures might warrant one in supposing that the 
 darker powers had taken him under their protection." 
 
 " Until he is delivered over by them to more terrible retribution 
 than can be inflicted by human hands," answered I " But you said 
 that you were about to put his firmness to the test — explain, I beg, 
 your meaning." 
 
THE GERMAN" BANDIT. 9 
 
 " He has been tried patiently," replied the judge, " we have had 
 abundant circumstantial evidence, but no direct testimony. In order, 
 therefore, to inflict death, we must have confession, and, as the old 
 laws enjoin the application of the Question " 
 
 " The Question !" retorted I, interrupting him, " the torture ! and 
 this under the British government ?" 
 
 " You mistake," rejoined the judge. " We are not under the British 
 government. That government has no more control over our laws 
 than it has over those of Denmark." 
 
 " But the crown — the prince governor — whose soul would ring 
 with horror at the revival -of this barbarous practice; can not one or 
 other interfere ?" 
 
 " All acts of grace rest with the crown after condemnation, but it 
 can not anticipate judgment," answered the judge. " Our old laws, 
 until abrogated or modified, as they will be shortly, are imperative. 
 The prince is the first servant of the laws ; he can not interpose or 
 anticipate justice ; he must steel his generous heart against all softer 
 sentiments in the face of this stern duty. Besides," added the coun- 
 cillor, " this wretch merits no compassion. The catalogue of his 
 abomination is countless." 
 
 It would be superfluous to repeat the remainder of a conversation, 
 during which my learned neighbor proved only two things to my satis- 
 faction ; namely, that it was utterly out of my good and benevolent 
 master's power to avert the prisoner's sufferings ; and that this would 
 probably be the last time of enforcing the barbarous practice.* 
 
 Strange to say, I was at first seized with a morbid curiosity to wit- 
 ness this terrible operation, and obtained the judge's permission for 
 that purpose. Subsequent consideration, however, induced me to ab- 
 stain ; but I was agitated the whole of that night with horrible dreams. 
 Hacks and instruments of torture, such as I had read of in books, 
 moved around me. Stifled groans and shrill screams thrilled upon 
 my sleeping ears, mingled alternately with soft sounds of music. I. 
 awoke long before daylight with my bones aching as though I myself 
 had undergone the fierce ordeal. My suffering was such that I rose, 
 opened the window, and sought to refresh myself in the early morn- 
 
 • It is almost needless to obseryeHhat the modifications alluded to were effect- 
 ed as speedily as possible, and/that the application of the Question was abolished. 
 
10 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 jng breeze. Scarcely had I done this, ere the different city clocks 
 chimed four. Their heavy droning echo had not yet died away, ere I 
 heard the distant sound of a Tyrolean air, warbled as none could war- 
 ble but the bandit. I listened again. The sounds, rising above the 
 stillness of the night, came from the neighboring prison, wafted by a 
 gentle breeze ; there coidd be no error. It was evident that the appli- 
 cation of the Question had been postponed, and that the wretch was 
 still ignorant of the sufferings that awaited him. 
 
 In this I was deceived. The law had taken its course. The mode 
 and its results shall be told nearly in the words of an eyewitness, 
 whose duty required his presence. 
 
 " I proceeded," said my informant, " at nightfall to the prison, and 
 was ushered into the apartment where the officers of justice were as- 
 sembled. At ten, the appointed hour, the jailer entered, and bowing 
 significantly, indicated that all was ready. A silence, .dead as that of 
 the tomb, reigned around. Not a breath — not a step was heard, 
 the sentinels were removed from the passages. The guardians and 
 executioners moved like noiseless spectres. My heart throbbed al- 
 most audibly as we followed our conductors through the narrow cor- 
 ridors, lighted only by a faint glimmering lantern, held before the pre- 
 siding magistrate. At length we reached a narrow but massive portal. 
 Here there was a pause. The jailer applied his ear to the keyhole. 
 The prisoner slept — I envied him not his dreams, still less his waking 
 thoughts. Thereupon the bolts and locks were cautiously drawn 
 back, and the door was thrown open. At this moment the light of 
 three or four dark lanterns was turned upon the recumbent criminal, 
 and the executioner's men darted forward to perform their office. 
 
 " Aroused by the sudden light and noise, the wretch started from 
 his straw pallet, dazzled and confused. Staring wildly around, he 
 raised his manacled hands to his brow, as if to collect his senses, 
 gnashed his teeth and groaned. In an instant the officials darted upon 
 him, forced him upon his legs, tore his garments in shreds from his 
 body, drove him naked against the wall, and secured his chains so 
 tightly that neither hand nor foot could move. All this occupied less 
 time than I in narrating it.* 
 
 • This first degree of torture was designpigd (if our memory fail not) the 
 ausreissen, or stripping off. 
 
 
THE GERMAN BANDIT. 11 
 
 " The grejfier, now stepping forward, told him that he was to under- 
 go all stages of that torture of which this was the mere preface, and 
 besought him to confess. ' Never ! never ! — a thousand times never ! 
 replied he, clenching his chain-bound hands ; ' though ye tear my flesh 
 as ye have torn my rotten prison garments — never! I know your 
 laws ; do your worst, I defy ye !' Remonstrances and menaces 
 proved equally fruitless. Leaving, therefore, the wretch in the hands 
 of the headsman and his assistant, we withdrew to the vaulted cham- 
 ber prepared for the succeeding work of torture. 
 
 " We were not long detained. In a few minutes the prisoner, over 
 whom a coarse watch-coat- was loosely thrown, entered with a firm and 
 dauntless air. He had recovered his self possession. First casting 
 his eye scornfully upon the implements of torture, he then gazed at us 
 with a look of utter defiance. I could not forbear admiring him at 
 this moment. He was of middling size, blue-eyed and fair. His 
 light hair hung in flowing curls over his shoulders. His figure was 
 slight but sinewy, and his frame admirably proportioned. You might 
 have expected a heart so hideous to have been enclosed within an un- 
 sightly envelope ; but the man who stood before us was comely and 
 well favored as a young Antinous. 
 
 " I had no further time for consideration. The greffier, after read- 
 ing an extract from the law and the judge's sentence, pointed to the 
 instruments of torture, and urged him to avoid their agony by confes- 
 sion. The only reply he made was a scornful smile as he stretched 
 forth his hands to the executioner. 
 
 " A nod was given by the chief official ; in a moment his manacles 
 and leg-irons were removed, and he was forced to the side of the 
 wall, against which a ladder Avas reared.* This he was compelled 
 to mount backward ; his wrists were then fastened with cords, about 
 three feet long, to the topmost bar, and heavy weights were attached 
 to his ankles. Another nod was given ; his feet were then thrust from 
 their resting-place, and his body dropped and swung suspended by the 
 wrists. These and his shoulders were dislocated, or nearly so ; T 
 heard the sinews crack, and had nigh fainted at the sight. 
 
 " No sooner was this accomplished, than the assistants sprang for- 
 ward, lowered the ladder, and would have placed him on his back ; 
 
 • This was, we think, denominated "The Spanish ladder." 
 
12 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEA I 
 
 but, agile as a leopard, he sprang up, laughed a hideous laugh, and, 
 crossing his arms, exhibited no other signs of pain than extended nos- 
 trils and collapsed jaws. The surgeons forthwith came to his aid. 
 bandaged his wrists, embrocated his shoulders, gave him water 
 to drink, and then, throwing a cloak over him, left him to repose. 
 
 • • Your mercy is more galling than your torture,' exclaimed he, 
 a short pause. ' Ye may crush my fragile bones, but ye can not 
 bend my iron spirit ! To your work, then — devils!' Again the ma- 
 gistrates admonished and urged him to confess, but he defied them with 
 sneers and oaths. 
 
 " It would be painful were I to describe minutely the two next de- 
 grees of torture," continued my informant ; " suffice it to say, that the 
 first consisted in twisting leathern ligatures tightly round the arms and 
 thighs, and then smiting the intervening swollen parts with rods, each 
 stroke of which caused the most acute suffering.* The second con- 
 sisted in a pair of high boots of hard leather, somewhat like those 
 of French postillions. The legs were inserted in these ; wedges 
 were then introduced and driven down, until the flesh was miserably 
 bruised. During these operations, not a sigh or groan escaped him ; 
 his heaving bosom alone disclosed his physical suffering. 
 
 " The magistrates inwardly revolted at witnessing this scene, looked 
 at one another, and would fain have abandoned all further attempts to 
 extract confession ; but the law was imperative, and as the criminal 
 evinced no signs of weakness, it was resolved that the last degree 
 should be applied. 
 
 " This was the most terrible of all. Imagine a wooden bench, or 
 trough, surmounted by three or four rollers, moved by mechanism, 
 somewhat in the form of a mangle ; then conceive the patient's body 
 placed within this, and the rollers repeatedly and slowly passing back 
 ward and forward over his chest and limbs, pressing or crushing them, 
 as an iron roller presses the elastic sward. "t 
 
 " Horrible ! horrible !" exclaimed I. 
 
 " And yet he bore this also with unflinching firmness, until, at last, 
 nature gave way, and he fainted. The surgeons again did their duty ; 
 
 * This, as well as we can recollect, was called " The Flemish drum." 
 t These were denominated (to the best of our recollection) " The devil's 
 boot," and "The crushing bench."- . 
 
THE GERMAN BAXDIT. 13 
 
 restoratives were applied, and he recovered. But, as confession could 
 not be extracted, nothing remained but to perform the last operation, 
 and to lead him back to his cell." 
 
 " The last !" answered I ; " surely the wretch could not endure 
 further trials ?" 
 
 "Listen!" replied my informant. "When the Question fails to 
 extract confession, and the patient has gone through the last degree, it 
 is ordained that he shall be completely shaven from head to foot, the 
 staff of moral life broken over him, and that he shall be carried forth, 
 if possible, upon the following day to the public square, and there ex- 
 posed and branded previous to perpetual incarceration. The first por- 
 tion of this ceremony, let me observe, is regarded as the most igno- 
 minious and degrading that can befall a malefactor. Indeed, a super- 
 stitious dread attends it ; for a belief exists among them that he who 
 may be thus treated can not escape a lingering and miserable death on 
 earth, nor the most dreadful and prolonged punishments hereafter. 
 
 " The assistants were on the point of carrying this into effect, when, 
 to our surprise, the bandit started back, and exclaimed, ' Pain I can 
 support, more than ye have hearts or power to inflict — but not degra- 
 dation. Never shall it be said' that Hans the headsman performed 
 the barber's duty ! I have my honor as well as you ! Away, then, 
 with your accursed razors! Give me a bottle of cool wine — my 
 body is scorched ; then lead me to my cell, and to-morrow I will con- 
 fess all.' 
 
 " Our astonishment was profound. The dread of moral degrada- 
 . tion having proved more powerful than that of bodily suffering, we 
 regretted that we had not been permitted to invert the order of inflic- 
 tion. It would have spared us the fulfilment of an agonizing duty. A 
 short conference now took place between the judges, after which the 
 executioners were dismissed. Stimulants were forthwith administer- 
 ed to the culprit ; his limbs and body were carefully attended to ; he 
 was reclothed, conducted to his cell, and left to repose. The magis- 
 trates then departed, leaving me and the greffier to draw up a detailed 
 report of the proceeding. At length, having accomplished our task, 
 we sallied forth and returned on foot toward our homes. 
 
 " It was exactly half-past two when we quitted the prison — I men- 
 tion time, since it more strongly marks the features of this strange 
 
14 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 catastrophe Our road led across the bridge, which connects the two 
 portions of the city. Being feverish, and little disposed to sleep, we 
 leaned upon the balustrade, discussing the past scene. Many seconds 
 had not elapsed, however, ere we heard the splashing of some person, 
 or animal, in the water beneath. The darkness was so profound that 
 we could not distinguish objects ten paces distant ; but ere long, a 
 voice calling for succor was distinctly audible, and, at the same mo- 
 ment, three or four figures rushed by us and vanished in the shade. I 
 and my companions having given the alarm, soldiers and watchmen 
 hurried to the spot. Lights were procured, search was made, and ere 
 long we discovered the bandit, immersed up to his chest in the stream, 
 and clinging to one of the iron stanchions affixed to the prison walls. 
 It is needless to say that he was secured, reconducted to the jail, and 
 placed, doubly ironed, in another cell, whence all issue was impracti- 
 cable. 
 
 " His escape from his previous place of confinement was no less 
 surprising than his recapture. On the one hand, the iron bars of his 
 dungeon were of extraordinary thickness, and the aperture so small 
 as to render escape by that means apparently impossible. On the 
 other hand, the waters of the Lahn, although rapid, were shallow, and 
 he might have waded across without the slightest peril. Once upon 
 the bank, he might have baffled all pursuit. 
 
 "The account he gave of both was brief and almost inexplicable. 
 ' I was possessed of files and other tools,' said he ; ' how I came by 
 them ye shall never know. No sooner was I released from your vile 
 tortures than I set to work. The rusty bars soon yielded to my efforts. 
 The cover of my mattress served me for a rope ; my head is small, 
 my body pliable as leather — I could pass through a needle's eye. 
 But driveller as I am,' he exclaimed, with a contemptuous shrug of 
 the shoulders, ' although liberty was within my grasp, and friends 
 awaited me, no sooner did I touch the accursed waters than my limbs 
 seemed paralyzed. Yes ! I, whom no torments, no anguish could 
 hitherto daunt — I was seized with womanish dread of being drowned ! 
 You know the rest.' Then gloomily adding, ' It was foredoomed ! — 
 Maledictions upon the sorceress, who told my fortunes when I was 
 yet a boy ; — she warned me of the waters.' He then relapsed into 
 
THE GERMAN BANDIT. . 15 
 
 silence, and we could obtain nothing more from him than an assurance 
 that his confession should be made, as he had promised. 
 
 " The shades of night had already yielded to the faint glimmerings 
 of rising dawn, when I issued from the prison. I therefore lost no 
 time in seeking a short repose, it being my duty to attend in the course 
 of four hours to hear the confession." 
 
 " The wondrous alternations of fortitude, superstition, pusillanimity, 
 and levity, exhibited by this man exceeds all belief," observed I, in- 
 terrupting the narrator. " Within half an hour of the time you men- 
 tion, I heard him carolling as merrily as if he had regained his free- 
 dom." 
 
 " You will be more surprised at the contradictions in his character 
 when you hear the sequel," answered my friend. " Listen. The ma- 
 gistrates having again assembled at an early hour in the prison coun- 
 cil-chamber, orders were given to introduce the bandit. Scarcely, 
 however, had this occurred, ere a turnkey entered and announced his 
 death." 
 
 " Which was doubtless the result of the tortures he had endured," 
 replied I. . 
 
 " You are mistaken," rejoined my friend. " Upon opening his cell 
 he was found a lifeless corpse ; but he died by his own hands, in the 
 full possession of all his strength and energies. The very means 
 which had been adopted to secure his safe custody, were employed by 
 him to escape from earthly bondage ; he had strangled himself with 
 his chains. His feet and body were found in such a position as to 
 prove that he must have exerted the utmost force and resolution to rob 
 the headsman of his prey." 
 
 Such was the account given to me by my learned friend. If the 
 different details which he related were founded on fact, the reader will 
 be as much embarrassed as I was to account for the strange contrasts 
 in the character of the (Serman bandit. 
 
TO MISS ADELIA HOTT. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING HER LATE VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA 
 
 They say thou hast a spell beyond the powers 
 Of "wit and beauty — that thine eloquent tongue. 
 Telling for ever of the impassioned wrong 
 
 Of thine own bosom, thus controlleth ours. 
 
 Then will I ask not why the sudden shade 
 Is aye upon thy peerless beauty stealing, 
 Not if thine eye be of thy heart revealing. 
 
 When on its lid the pearly dew is stayed 
 
 Enough for me, that, on that spotless brow. 
 In cloud or sunshine, sit high-ranging thought, 
 And conscious pride, with modesty inwrought, 
 
 Twin seraphs, ever veiling while they glow ! 
 
 Enough for me — if not to me denied — 
 Thy mind's communion: while the better part, 
 Thy heart — or the sad ruin of thy heart — 
 
 Rests with the false one who thy love belied ' 
 

THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 BY MISS CAROLINE HARRIETTS TTNDAL. 
 
 I do not love to speak tq many, of our poor friend and early play- 
 mate, the Minister's Daughter. There is a sacrcdness about her 
 sorrow, it has something so almost mysterious in its dispensations, 
 and is borne with a fortitude and a resignation so saintlike, that it 
 seems ever, to me, unfitted for ordinary handling, and language an 
 inappropriate exponent of her mournful tale. A grief like Caroline's 
 should have no othot interpreter than the sad and solemn characters 
 which it has written on her still beautiful brow. She never weeps — 
 at least no one sees her weep ; and her gentle voice, which from her 
 very childhood had a tone of sadness, is heard by no mortal ears in * 
 the language of complaint. What dirgelike music may be uttered in 
 the haunted depths of that wounded spirit, is known only to herself 
 and the angels ; but to the world, she speaks always calmly, and even 
 cheerfully, at times. You, who knew Caroline through all her young 
 days, will remember well that, light-hearted as that sweet child was, 
 there was even then, at times, a sort of shadow on her brow — an air 
 of thought not natural, and infinitely touching, in one so young. As 
 she grew toward womanhood, the shadow became permanent, without 
 deepening; and the graceful girl, with her long fair hair, and some- 
 what antique fashion of dress, gave us both the impression of one 
 predestinated to suffer. 
 
 " She was of those "whose very morn 
 
 Gives some dark hint of night, 
 And in her eye, too soon, was horn 
 
 A sad and softened light ; 
 And on her hrovr youth set the seal 
 
 Which years, upon her hrain 
 Confirmed too well — and they -who feel 
 
 May scarcely weep again." 
 
 3 
 
18 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Seated, amid the shadows of a summer evening, in the old study 
 which her father had fitted up as a boudoir, for her who was all the 
 ire that time had left him — ministered to by the breath of the 
 jasmine and the fragrance of the rose — I have gazed, at times, on 
 the unconscious girl, when, to my excited imagination, there was 
 something almost apocalyptic in her look, till, as I stepped in upon 
 her, the spirit of prophecy seemed lifted from her forehead before a 
 smile of welcome that made her face like the face of an archangel. 
 Oh ! those happy days ! for Caroline was happy then ; and the 
 seeming cloud on her brow (for it had not yet reached her heart) was 
 but the shadow flung from that approaching destiny which has since 
 alighted. I can not, therefore, speak of the Minister's Daughter to 
 every one : but to you, who knew and loved her as I did myself, I 
 will, at length, fulfil the promise so often made, and narrate the 
 incidents which finally darkened her spirit, for all the remainder of 
 its earthly pilgrimage. 
 
 The early pleasures and early trials of the Minister's Daughter are 
 as well known to yourself as to me ; and you remember well how 
 rich a volume the sibyl Hope presented to Caroline, when she first 
 emerged from childhood. Year after year tore away some portion of 
 that charm ; ..and the perished leaves but enhanced the value to her 
 heart of those that remained. You remember how, each after the 
 other, her sisters were laid beneath the old trees in the church-yard ; 
 and the channels in which her young affections had been accustomed to 
 run, were, one by one, thrown back into the deep well of her spirit, there 
 to seek fresh outlets, or make her heart a waste. Then, her mother, 
 weary with her long separation from those who were to return to her 
 no more, went forth to them — and was laid in a grave by their side. 
 From that day, Caroline was a child no more — at least, she never 
 again looked like one : and her father, the kind-hearted minister, old 
 in heart, though in the vigor of his years, had now but herself to 
 remind him of all that he had lost, and inherit the accumulated treas- 
 ure of love which had reverted to his spirit from the cluster of graves 
 in the neighboring church-yard. And then came happier times to 
 Caroline ; and her heart found fresh issues. 
 
 You remember George P * * * * — the playdays of the young 
 cousins — their joint studies — their young attachment — their mature 
 
THE MINISTER'S DaTGHTEK. 19 
 
 love. You were a witness to the growth of that hallowed and 
 hallowing love, amid the fond and smiling approval of all who had an 
 interest in the youthful pair Those were Caroline's sunn 
 when the memory of her childish griefs had taken a tone in wh 
 indulgence had a charm for her heart, and she seemed, in the bright 
 prospect which was opening up around her, to have emerged from the 
 destiny that had overhung her like a prophecy ! Something, ho 1 
 of her later sorrows, I believe you know ; for you had not gon = 
 from among us, when her new and final trials began. You remember 
 George's departure for the university, and the rumors that ri 
 quiet village, and the hearts that loved him there, of his surrender to 
 the temptations by which he was surrounded. 
 
 You saw the gradual coming up of that cloud, from the day when 
 it was " no bigger than a man's hand," till it had overspread the entire 
 heaven of that hope in which the minister and his daughter had been 
 blest, and shut out the sunshine from poor Caroline's heart. You 
 know that, when George left college, and flung himself into th< vortex 
 of New-York dissipation, instead of returning to the fond and forgiving 
 hearts that awaited him at home, his reckless career of e.\i 
 had involved the fortunes and bowed down the spirit of his father. 
 But the sequel of that painful story, you know not-— and that I am 
 now to relate to you. 
 
 It was in Caroline's boudoir, and amid the deepening si, 
 an autumn eve, that the minister and his daughter spoke tog< ther, for 
 the last lime, of George P * * * *. The old man had marl.' 
 sufferings of his child, in her pale and wasted cheek ; and, in his 
 earnest desire for her happiness, and w r ith something like a hop 
 the nobler qualities of her lover might yet come out clear from the 
 shadows by which they were, for the moment, darkened, had forborne 
 I to her distress, by any comments on the conduct of him to 
 whom she was betrothed. But the profligate student had for] 
 hat yearned toward him, amid all his follies; and ti 
 of his excesses had reached the village, which robbed the minister 
 of his last hope, and made it incumbent on him to dissolve the ill- 
 omened connexion, for the sake of his daughter's peace. T/i that 
 . interview, he exacted a promise from Caroline — given with 
 many tears, but '" unhesitatingly gi\ r en — that she would consider* the 
 
20 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 engagement between herself and her cousin as cancelled: and as he 
 ' her cheek, and bade adieu to her for the night, the poor eirl 
 felt that, but for her father, she was, once more, alone in the world. 
 Never had she felt so desolate till that hour ; but the morning was to 
 bring a yet deeper desolation to her breast. That night took from 
 her the last heart to which hers clung ; for, amid its shadows, the 
 minister had passed away — almost direct, as it seemed, from that 
 painful interview with Ids sole surviving child — to the presence of 
 those whom he had mourned so deeply and lost so long ! 
 
 Months passed over the head of the bereaved girl, cheered by no 
 incident save the universal sympathy which her orphan condition and 
 unvarying sweetness won for her. The new minister, whose family 
 was large, had supplied himself with a more commodious residence 
 than the one in which Caroline lived, and which was parish property ; 
 and an arrangement had been made, which left her, with her nurse, 
 in possession of the home which had been the scene of all her hopes, 
 and was now for her " the house of memory." Tidings had, indeed, 
 been received of her former lover, which, no doubt, brought consola- 
 tion with them — though, after the pledge given to her father within 
 the immediate shadow of his grave, they could no longer bring hope. 
 His naturally noble mind had awakened from its demoralizing dream ; 
 and the energies of a spirit " finely tuned" had directed themselves, 
 at length, to those " fine issues" which were its natural result. His 
 soul had shaken off the foul mists by which its clearer perceptions 
 had been, for a time, so fatally obscured ; and, amid the sweet and 
 sacred images that came gliding back into his purified heart, came, 
 first and sweetest of them all, the vision of the Minister's Daughter. 
 Then it was, that he learned the vow which had come between their 
 hearts — and knew that he and Caroline were separated by the solemn 
 shadows of the minister's grave. In the strength of his redeemed 
 and penitent spirit, he bowed his head to the dispensation which he 
 felt that he had himself provoked ; and lent himself manfully to 
 arrangements in his favor which were making by his friends — and 
 which resulted in once more opening up to him the path to fortune, 
 though far away from the scenes alike of his -early hopes and recent 
 faults. Under circumstances of peculiar promise, he was invited to 
 join a house in the East-India trade, upon condition that he took up 
 
THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 his residence in Calcutta, and in a few weeks the seas were to 
 ratify that separation between George P * * * * , and the Minister's 
 Daughter, which, in her mind, was already consecrated by the grave 
 of her father. 
 
 I have said that Caroline seldom weeps : but many and bitter, in 
 those days, were the tears shed by the solitary girl. It was on a 
 winter's evening, in one of those moments when her spirit was 
 weakened by the sense of its utter desolation, that the window of the 
 old study was opened from the garden, and George P * * * * 
 stood, once more, in the presence of the Minister's Daughter. The 
 buoyant youth of sixteen was changed into a pale and wasted man ; 
 and he had come to take the words of forgiveness from the lips of 
 Caroline, ere he parted from her for ever. No one saw their inter- 
 view ; but the old nurse heard the murmur of voices in the boudoir, 
 and the sound of deep and passionate sobbing. What passed between 
 them is known but to God and themselves — save by its result ; and 
 that result was what might have been anticipated from such an inter- 
 view. What could be expected from two young beings, thus thrown 
 together in the scene of ancient recollections, under circumstances so 
 affecting, and linked together by the old tie which was the only one 
 that time had left — at least to Caroline? How was the orphan girl 
 to be proof against the passionate pleading of the only heart which 
 still beat in unison with her own ? George had the art to persuade 
 his girl that the promise exacted by her father, in the prospect 
 of his follies, would assuredly have been cancelled in favor of his 
 repentance ; and that, if the minister were with them that evening. 
 in the study where they had so often sat together, he would not have 
 stood between his child and the returning penitent, whom she still 
 loved. Caroline's reason and heart alike told her that this was indeed 
 so : and ere the lovers parted on that night, they were once more 
 betrothed. The friends who immediately presided over the fortunes 
 of the orphan, entirely approved of the spirit in which her promise 
 to her father had been read, and gladly ratified the contract which 
 once more opened up a prospect of happiness to her bruised spirit. 
 It was agreed that George should depart for Calcutta, alone : and, as 
 soon as the success of his speculations had been ascertained, and 
 arrangements made for her reception, that Caroline should follow, and 
 
22 AMERICAN" BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 become his wife. There were many in the village, however — where 
 Caroline was beloved of all — who looked on this engagement with 
 mess; and prophesied that no good could come of a contract 
 founded on a breach of promise to the dead. 
 
 And, almost from the first, it seemed as if these forebodings were 
 about to be realized. The ship in which George had taken his 
 passage for India had sailed many months, yet no tidings of it reached 
 his friends. Week after week of anxious suspense passed away, 
 and the ill-fated girl drooped and faded before this new trial of the 
 heart. At length, however, when the time which had elapsed left 
 no hope in the minds of all others, the spirits of the orphan rallied, 
 under some mysterious impulse, and hope came back to her heart, 
 and bloom to her cheek. Her friends looked on uneasily ; for she 
 was obviously sustained by some delusion, and this " hoping against 
 hope" argued an unsoundness of judgment, at which they trembled, 
 but could not wonder. Strange and poetic fancies kept the poor girl 
 happy, through that trying time. Dreams of enchanted islands, at 
 which the ship had, perhaps, cast anchor, wooed by their wondrous 
 beauty — visions of unknown continents, which the crew might have 
 turned aside to explore — accounted to her for the long delay. Then, 
 there were times when her fancies took a more sober tone, and drew 
 their solutions of her lover's silence from something more like reali- 
 ties. But, amid them all, it never occurred to her to doubt that he 
 would, one day, come back. He might have been shipwrecked, or 
 taken by pirates — but his return was a portion of all her speculations 
 — long after his friends had mourned him as dead! And, for this 
 once, fortune was in alliance with her heart. When all who had 
 hopes embarked in that vessel, save herself alone, had laid tliein in 
 their graves, came letters, announcing George's arrival at Calcutta. 
 The vessel had been driven far to the southward, by a long prevalence 
 of adverse winds ; and regained her course when famine had nearly 
 deprived the crew and passengers of all power to avail themselves of 
 the more auspicious weather. Caroline received the news without, 
 any surprise — as what she had long expected : but, in the presence 
 of her assured hopes, her tottering mind gradually regained its natural 
 tone. And then came fresh tidings, announcing George's success j 
 
THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 and Caroline set sail for the East-Indies, to be, at length, united to 
 the lover of her youth. 
 
 The weather was stormy enough, until the ship, in which she and 
 her hopes were embarked, had reached the tropic latitudes ; and, in 
 the excitement, of the novel scenes by which she was surroi 
 Car,. Hue's thoughts were diverted from dwelling much either on her 
 past sorrows 01 .her future prospects. Ihit when the weather lulled, 
 succession of calms and light breezes succeeded to the noise 
 and bustle of fresh gales and hi aw seas, a sort of tender melancholy 
 stole over the spirit of the. lonely girl. Amid the vast solitudes of the 
 ocean— cut olT from all old familiar ties — the sense of her orphaned 
 condition came heavily to her heart ; and though she strove to look 
 forward to that happiness of which she was sailing in search, yet she 
 had been too long the victim of disappointment, to be altogether suc- 
 il in her strife against that feeling of foreboding, so naturally 
 born of the waste of waters and the torpid air. 
 
 It was one evening, after a day of more than usual depression, that 
 Caroline descended to her cabin, in order to seek in sleep a refuge 
 from the heaviness of spirit which she had vainly endeavored to 
 shake off. She sat long at her window, watching the shadows 
 gradually steal over the world of waters by which she was sur- 
 rounded ; and flung herself, at length, upon her bed, weary in spirit 
 •and heavy at heart. But her slumbers were unrefreshing, and her 
 dreams disturbed : and, after a troubled sleep, of she could not guess 
 how long, she found herself suddenly awake. Her face was hid in 
 the bed-clothes ; and a vague and undcrinable terror was upon her, 
 which made her llcsh creep, and chilled the blood within her veins. 
 Cbld drops of perspiration stood on her forehead, and her heart 
 fainted, as the heart of one who stands in the presence of a disem- 
 bodied spirit ! She lay for some moments in this mortal trance ; and 
 then, with a presence of mind marvellous in one whose pulse stood 
 still with fear, she argued herself into the conviction that she was 
 under the impression of a nightmare : and raising her head by a 
 convulsive effort, looked forth into the cabin. The moon shone clear 
 into the small chamber ; and between her bed and the narrow window 
 by which it gained entrance — in the direct path of its rays— stood 
 the pale face and wasted form of George P * * * * • The moon- 
 
24 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 light fell around him, like a mantle ; and the eyes which had never 
 before turned on her without the expression of love, were fixed on 
 hers with a look of calm and passionless repose. With a loud 
 scream, she buried her face, again, within the bed-clothes ; and lav, 
 she knew not how long, in the sleep of insensibility. When con- 
 sciousness returned, and she, once more, ventured to look up, the 
 apparition was gone, and the moonlight fell unintercepted on her bed. 
 With a feeling like that of approaching death, she rose from her 
 couch ; and flinging a cloak over her shoulders, ascended to the deck. 
 It was a beautiful, but melancholy night. The moon glided, 
 spectre-like, through the cloudless heaven ; and flung, from her nearly 
 full orb, upon the slumbering waters, that pale and mournful light 
 which the young and crescent planet never sheds. The ship floated 
 through the waters, before a breath so faint as to be scarcely percep- 
 tible, save from the creeping motion which it communicated ; and, 
 standing on the same tack with themselves, though all but motionless, 
 the yards arfd shrouds of another ship rose right between her line of 
 vision and the wan moon. Most of the canvass had been taken in ; 
 and the two vessels were evidently standing under easy sail for the 
 purposes of communication with each other. As Caroline gazed 
 upon the spars and cordage, with all their tracery defined in the pale 
 moonlight, the strange vessel appeared to her excited imagination like 
 a spectre-ship ; and the same mysterious sense of terror crept to her* 
 heart, that had chilled its life-blood in the cabin which she had left ! 
 But the night-air revived her — and her fear passed away — and a 
 sensation of exceeding tenderness and melancholy took its place. 
 The phantoms of her mother and her sisters passed through her 
 heart, and the echoes of old familiar voices floated to her ear ; and it 
 seemed to her as if her destiny were accomplished, and she were 
 beckoned, by invisible hands, on board the spirit-ship that lay white 
 before her, in the moonbeams. She sat on the poop of the vessel, 
 and watched the strange craft that appeared to her heart like some 
 mystery which it was bound to solve ; till, letters having been 
 exchanged between the ships, the object of her trance-like interest 
 spread its wings, and glided slowly away through the moonlight. 
 Never before had the lonely girl felt so lone. What was that strange 
 ship to her, that her spirit so yearned toward it, and her heart so died 
 
THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 within her to see it depart ? All night, she fancied that she heard 
 the sound of wings that went and came between the ships ; and 
 when, at length, in the gray of the morning, the stranger faded off 
 into the distance, it seemed to her as if the spectre-ship had vanished 
 away into some sea-grave. 
 
 That night at sea it was which left on the forehead of the Minis- 
 ter's Daughter, the solemn characters whose interpretation you have 
 so often sought from me ! The talc is soon told. When Caroline 
 reached Calcutta, there was no one expecting her, and no one to 
 meet her. Three days after the date of his letter, summoning over 
 his bride, her lover had been seized with the fever of the country, 
 and carried off in a few hours. In writing to Caroline, he had 
 recommended her t«r come out by a vessel which was to sail some 
 niou' hs later than that in which, for reasons of convenience, her 
 friends had secured her passage. She was not, therefore, expected 
 so soon ; and when he knew that he was dying, he had made it his 
 earnest request that he might be sent home to lie near her, in the old 
 church-yard. His body was conveyed to New- York, in the vessel 
 which had exchanged letters with the ship on board of which was 
 the Minister's Daughter: and thus had they two met, for the last 
 time, amid the moonlight solitudes of the sea. 
 
 This it is that has weighed more heavily on Caroline than all her 
 sorrows besides. Never has she consoled herself for having misun- 
 derstood the warnings of her heart, in that last unconscious meeting 
 and passed forward to India, in search of happiness, while her lover 
 was travelling homeward to his grave. The strangeness of that 
 meeting — strange enough even to you and me, who are but unimpas- 
 
 sioned listeners to the narration of an incident so singularly Avild 
 
 has haunted her heart, like some high and solemn mystery : and it 
 can scarcely surprise you to learn that the poor girl's mind is indeli- 
 bly impressed with the reality of a visitation from her lover, in her 
 cabin., while the two ships were in company. There are some 
 circumstances, so striking in themselves and so strange in their 
 combination, that it would be worse than idle to argue against the 
 convictions which they leave behind, in the troubled spirits they 
 assail. Caroline returned to her native land, and has resided since 
 amid the friends to whom her story is known, and beside the graves 
 
 4 
 
26 AMERICAN DOOK OK BEAVTY. 
 
 of her perished hopes : and the memories of that night, acting upon 
 a heart which time has once more tuned to all its early 
 have made her the intensely interesting and strangely beautiful being 
 you now see her. 
 
 THE EMPEROR AND THE ALCHYMIST. 
 
 OR THE 9RANDNEPHEW OF FAUST. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 " Everything, yes, everything is possible with the children ol 
 Hermes, who possess an uncorrupt heart. What secrets have I not 
 discovered with your aid, oh, incomparable Faust ! oh, learned Ray- 
 mond Lully ! oh, mighty Nicholas Flamel ! Am I ignorant of the 
 composition of the miraculous water which bestows youth and ever- 
 lasting health ? What recipe is unknown to me 1 Have I not the 
 dangerous talent of transforming the baser metals into gold ! Come, 
 then, let us see ; to work again, with the skill I ought to have at- 
 tained. The Romans were not incapable of rendering brass flexible ! 
 And I am to be arrested by this vile clay ! I ? I, Gottlieb ? I, the 
 grandnephew of Faust ? No, I will discover it !" 
 
 You would have seen of a certain stormy night, in a solitary house 
 situated in the most unfrequented street of Vienna, a man in the prime 
 of youth, richly clad in a black velvet vest, embroidered with Arabian 
 characters of gold, with a cap of the same material, surmounted by a 
 red plume attached with a clasp of emeralds, his sleeves drawn up, a 
 leathern apron on, his feet enclosed in stout buckskin slippers ; you 
 would have seen this man, a learned alchymist, devotedly attached to 
 the grand art, armed with an iron tube, stirring and mixing together in 
 a burning crucible a preparation of sand, vermilion, and fern, yielding 
 to the intense heat which surrounded them. 
 
 " Nothing is more simple than this," said he, suspending the ex- 
 tremity of the tube, into which he blew a drop of this flaming liquid 
 " here is glass — glass, productive of nothing, it is true, yet it is glass 
 
THE EMPEROR AND THE ALCHYMIST. 27 
 
 Let us see now if the powerful poisons, if the less common alkalis, 
 will not conduct me to the lofty end I anticipate !" Then, adding to 
 the mixture already in ebullition an unknown preparation, he followed 
 with anxious looks the bubbles of this hazardous manipulation. Sud- 
 denly he stopped. Full of despair, he violently agitated the antimony 
 and bismuth, blew again through the tube, and finding then that he had 
 produced a hard, transparent, and malleable substance, he expressed, 
 in the words of Archimedes, his noble enthusiasm : " I have dis- 
 covered it !" * * * * * 
 
 The Emperor Joseph 1,1., as everybody knew, delighted much in 
 playing the incognito. He had fallen in many times, in nocturnal 
 wanderings, with very singular adventures ; sometimes agreeable 
 enough, at other times perilous. One of these latter conducted him, 
 through a pelting storm, into a street far distant from his palace. 
 Alone, in the middle of the night, he had just escaped from a band of 
 a fraternity, playing the incognito, minus his purse, watch, weapons, 
 and cloak. Perceiving through the obscurity, in spite of the well- 
 closed blinds of a small, new house, a brilliant light, he directed his 
 course toward it, and rapping loudly with the brass knocker against 
 the oaken door, awaited a reply to his summons. 
 
 " Who is there ?" 
 
 " Open, in the name of the emperor !" 
 
 His imperial majesty had sufficient time to be thoroughly drenched, 
 for some minutes elapsed ere a genteel youth, a drawn sword in the 
 one hand and a flambeau in the other, like Don Juan before the statue 
 of the commander, came and opened to him. 
 
 <; Who are you ?" 
 
 " An officer of Joseph II. I crave an asylum. I have been stopped 
 by three wretches, who left me in the plight which you now see." 
 
 " Yes, your aspect bears you out ; provided you be not one of them, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " How could you think V 
 
 " Why deceive me ?" said the suspicious fellow, approaching the light 
 to the face of Joseph. " You are the emperor ! I know your maj- 
 esty. Suffer me to enjoy the honor of receiving you into my modest 
 domicil. Walk in, sire ; you are with a faithful subject." Then, 
 having carefully shut the door, he added : " Now, I declare, the arri- 
 
28 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 val of your majesty is quite apropos, since I have an interesting secret 
 to communicate." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Come, sire, repose yourself a while ; we will then converse — if 
 your majesty will permit." 
 
 The emperor, dissatisfied at being recognised, followed his guide 
 with a prudent step and serious air. He was astonished at the ele- 
 gant recherche of the apartments. Many objects of art and curiosity 
 were totally unknown to him. He admired the paintings, the statues, 
 and the sumptuous furniture glittering in silk and gold, and was sur- 
 prised at the common use to which this precious metal was perverted ; 
 but, what astonished him still more, was the costly dress which the 
 owner of this abode brought him, and which he assisted in arraying 
 him with at the side of a blazing forge. • 
 
 " Accept a draught of this beverage, sire. 'Tis the elixir of Aris- 
 tee. You will find it very refreshing, sire." 
 
 Having quaffed this nectar, which both reanimated and revived him, 
 assured by the touching proofs of hospitality, the emperor stretched 
 himself out at his ease in a capacious arm-chair which his host ten- 
 dered him, and signifying to him also to be seated, he conversed with 
 him undisguisedly. 
 
 " All which I have now told you is true, excepting my name, which 
 I would have concealed from you. In short, I am Joseph II. I return 
 you my sincere thanks for the hospitable reception you have afforded 
 me. You have a matter of importance to disclose to me, you say. One 
 can not be more favorably disposed to listen to you than I am ; speak." 
 
 " Sire, you are at the house of the grandnephew of Faust." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the emperor, starting up, " you are Gottlieb 
 Faust ! the scouted — the bloody — he whom they accuse of impiety, 
 of sorcery !" 
 
 " Gottlieb Faust himself, sire." 
 
 " Know you that I have been solicited twenty times to order youi 
 arrest V 
 
 " There are so many fools !" 
 
 " To sign your condemnation ?" 
 
 " So many blockheads !" 
 
 " You know it V 
 
THE EMPEROR AND THE ALCHYMIST. 29 
 
 " Yes, sire, and I also know that your majesty, more enlightened 
 than the ignoramuses and envious persons which surround you, have 
 never credited the silly accusations brought against me." 
 
 " No, certainly," replied Joseph. '"Yet, without an honorable em- 
 ployment, without patrimony, disdaining to make useful the rare talents 
 you possess in the sciences and liberal arts, you lead an easy life, 
 surrounded with every comfort. Everything here breathes of opu- 
 lence and taste. By what means ?" 
 
 " Sire," said Gottlieb, " with such a prince as you, one can speak 
 unreservedly. Everything in me and in my house are extraordinary ; 
 but there is nothing supernatural. That which the Deity conceals 
 from ordinary individuals, he divulges to enlightened souls. I know 
 the great work ; I possess the philosopher's stone. I have gold — 
 gold — always gold. With gold, the wise man enjoys himself. The 
 fool abuses it, and perishes. Pass into my laboratory ; it is yet warm 
 from the effects of a new discovery, curious and wonderful. I had 
 attained the certitude at the instant you knocked at my door. Follow 
 me, sire ; you shall become acquainted with it." 
 
 Joseph entered the workshop : the fire was not yet extinct. 
 
 " Previous to learning you my secret, I wish you to judge of the real 
 power of science. Sire, take this saffron-colored powder. Throw a 
 pinch of it upon this common metal, already rendered liquid by the 
 little remaining fire. 'Tis well ! This, then, is gold ; the sun, the 
 king of metals ! Keep that wedge ; ask to-morrow of the crown jew- 
 eller if it be free from alloy. This vial contains more gold than per- 
 haps the mint ; it is at your service. Your finances are at rather a 
 low ebb ; make use of it, sire : you may believe me. But now come 
 with me to that which is dearer to me than gold." 
 
 Upon a marble slab the emperor perceived a crystal vase, brilliant 
 and transparent. Gottlieb placed it within the hands of Joseph. 
 
 " Sire, here is the miraculous fruit of my secret labors : the cares, 
 the vigils, the researches of two years !•" 
 
 " What ! this piece of glass ?" 
 
 " The same, sire." 
 
 " But our manufacturers in Bohemia " 
 
 " Can not produce the like," said the alchemist with a disdainful smile. 
 " To convince yourself, it but suffices to examine it attentively." 
 
30 AMERICAN" BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " I see nothing extraordinary about it." 
 
 " No ? Well ! throw it down upon the flags of this chamber." 
 
 " But," said the emperor, " it will be dashed into fragments." 
 
 " Throw it down ! Good ! I now pick it up. It is entire, unin- 
 jured. You see, in place of being broken, like ordinary glass, it is 
 but slightly indented. Take this large hammer, strike it yourself upon 
 the bent side, in the interior, there. A few more strokes. Very 
 well. Having then yourself restored this vase to its original shape, 
 you now learn for certain, that Gottlieb Faust, the impious Gottlieb 
 the sorcerer, has divined, contrived, and discovered the wonderful 
 secret to render glass malleable. A mortal creates an imperishable 
 matter, eternal ! What glory, what honor to me ! What do you think, 
 sire ?" added Gottlieb, with a joyful air. 
 
 " That you must for ever abandon this admirable secret — for ever ! 
 You must, I tell you." 
 
 " But, sire " 
 
 " I command !" 
 
 And profiting by the sudden check which this unexpected reply had 
 occasioned, the emperor snatched down a sword from the wall, dart- 
 ed out, and opening the door, exclaimed : " Gottlieb Faust, the day is 
 dawning. I depart. Silence, till we meet again. Yuur days are 
 numbered !" ***** * 
 
 " Well, my dear baron, is it true that his gracious majesty has issued 
 an order for the arrest of that miscreant Faust ?" 
 
 " Yes, count, they conducted the rascal to the palace this morning.'' 
 
 " I hope he will be burnt alive !" added a third. 
 
 " But what crime has he committed ?" chimed in an elegant noble 
 of Thuringia. 
 
 " How ! what crime has he committed ? He's a villain, a blas- 
 phemer, an atheist ! he vomits gold !" 
 
 " Where does he obtain it ?" 
 
 " Xobody knows. No doubt but he is plotting against the state. 
 He has associates. He throws charms around the young." 
 
 " He has injured my mistress," said old Olmestark. " Hang him, 
 I say. We will all witness his execution!" 
 
 It was after this fashion that some worthy German nobles were con- 
 versing in the palace of Schoenbrunn, brave, but ignorant fellows, 
 
THE EMPEROk AND THE ALCHYMIST. 31 
 
 whose type has scarcely changed even at this date, in some of the 
 very small and retired towns in Germany. 
 
 Early in the morning, in good earnest, the abode of Faust had been 
 entered, and himself conducted to the palace. A crowd of specta- 
 tors, idle and unfortunate, who had been succored and relieved by him 
 at various times, followed in tears and murmurs the soldiers who 
 formed his escort. Arrived at the palace, he was immediately intro- 
 duced into the cabinet of Joseph II. 
 
 The emperor, taking him by the hand, thus addressed him : " Gott- 
 lieb, I shall never forget what you have done for me. I admire your 
 talents ; and more, I accept your generous succor, of which my treasu- 
 ry stands in great need. The emperor, in acknowledgment, confers 
 on you nobility. Receive this cross of Maria Theresa, and the title 
 of count of Faustenburg, more acceptable than gold, which you can so 
 easily procure. As regards your wonderful discovery, our word will 
 suffice to convince you of the necessity for renouncing it. Be calm, 
 and listen to me. One of the greatest revenues of the state, one of the 
 principal resources of Bohemia, is the manufacture of that glass so re- 
 nowned throughout Europe ; of that crystal, bought up and supplied 
 throughout the empire. Your process once known, adieu to this trade 
 for ever. I can imagine the sacrifice it wftl cost a man like you, to be 
 obliged to renounce the glorious price of his labors. But the public 
 weal requires it, and it is my duty to exact it. Swear to me, then, to re- 
 nounce this project" — (and shaking hands with him), " I ask it of you, 
 my dear Faust, I ask it of you as a friend ; I will not. command it as a 
 king." 
 
 Gottlieb Faust, or rather the count of Faustenburg, was moved, and 
 promised it with tears in his eyes ; and, what is yet more rare, he kept 
 his word. 
 
 The courtiers were much amazed at so long a conference, and still 
 more so at the unexpected result. It is almost needless to add that 
 those who were so eager to hang Faust, were the foremost in pressing 
 round and soliciting the friendship of the count of Faustenburg. With 
 the vial of Faust, Joseph II. liquidated the public debt ; and at his 
 death, which occurred soon after, he left the finances of the empire in 
 the most flourishing condition. And this will account for the discovery 
 of malleable glass having fallen into oblivion. 
 
ON THE PORTRAIT OF MISS TYNDAL 
 
 'Tis a glorious thing to gaze upon 
 A face •which Beauty hath made its own. 
 Where it 6itteth as on a regal throne, 
 In all its native 6plendor. 
 
 Bright, heautiful one ! ah ! that glad, sweet face, 
 Indeed hath it made its dwelling-place. 
 Investing each glance with a nameless grace. 
 Half arch and yet half tender. 
 
 It dwells in the light of that "bright "blue eye. 
 On the rosy cheek, on the forehead high, 
 Some new-found charm we still descry, 
 No painter e'er could render. 
 
 Say, who can gaze on a form so fair, 
 80 "bright, 60 lovely, and then forbear 
 To pray that with its choicest care, 
 Kind Heaven may defend her ? 
 
T T 2T BAIL 
 
 
 y ■■ ■ y ■//-.,' 
 
THE DEVIL'S HOLLOW. 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF REA.L LIFE. 
 
 In the town of Catskill, on the Hudson river, there dwelt, some 
 twenty years ago, an attorney of the name of Mason. He was in 
 considerable practice, and had two clerks in his office, whose names 
 were Mansell and Van Buren. In point of ability these young men 
 were nearly on a par, but they differed widely in disposition. Van 
 Buren was cold, close, and somewhat sullen in temper ; but in busi- 
 ness shrewd, active, and persevering. Mansell, although assiduous in 
 his duties, was of a gayer temperament ; open as the day, generous, 
 confiding, and free. 
 
 Mason, without being absolutely dishonest, was what is called a 
 keen lawyer, his practice being somewhat of the sharpest ; and as 
 the disposition of his elder clerk, Van Buren, assimilated, in many 
 respects, to his own, he was a great favorite — more intimately in his 
 confidence, and usually employed in those delicate matters which 
 sometimes occur in an attorney's business, and in which the straight- 
 forward honesty of Mansell might rather hinder than help. 
 
 Mason had a niece who, he being a bachelor, lived with him in the 
 capacity of housekeeper. She was a lively, sensitive, and clever 
 girl — very pretty, if not positively handsome. She had the grace of 
 a sylph, and the step of a fawn. It was quite natural that such a 
 maiden should be an object of interest to tw-o young men living under 
 the same roof — and by no means a matter of astonishment that one 
 or both of them should fall in love with her ;' and both of them did. 
 But, as the young lady had but one heart, she could not return the 
 love of each. It is scarcely necessary to say that, in making her 
 election, the choice fell upon Edward Mansell, greatly to the chagrin 
 of his rival, and to the annoyance of Mason, who would have been 
 better pleased to have found Van Buren the favored suiter. How- 
 
 5 
 
34 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 ever, Mansell was the chosen lover, and Mason could not alter the 
 case by argument ; nor was he disposed to send away his niece, who 
 was, in some measure, essential to his domestic comfort — and, more- 
 over, he loved her as much as he could love anything. Matters 
 went on in this way for some time ; a great deal of bitterness and 
 rancor being displayed by Mason and Van Buren on the one hand ; 
 while Kate and Edward Mansell found, in the interviews they occa- 
 sionally enjoyed, more than compensation for the annoyance to which 
 they were necessarily exposed. 
 
 It happened, at the time when Edward's engagement was within a 
 month of its expiration, that Mason had received a sum of money, 
 as agent for another party, amounting to nearly three thousand dollars, 
 of which the greater portion was in gold coin. As the money could 
 not conveniently be disposed of until the following day, it was de- 
 posited in a tin box in the iron safe, the key of which Avas always 
 in the custody of Mansell. Soon after he received the charge, Van 
 Buren quitted the office for a short time, and in the interim an appli- 
 cation from a client rendered it necessary for Mansell to go up to the 
 courthouse. Having despatched his business at the hall, he returned 
 with all expedition, and in due time he took the key of the safe from 
 his drawer to deposite therein as usual the valuable papers of the 
 office over night — when, to his inconceivable horror, he discovered 
 that the treasure was gone ! 
 
 He rushed down stairs, and meeting Van Buren, communicated 
 the unfortunate circumstance. He in turn expressed his astonish- 
 ment in strong terms, and, indeed, exhibited something like sympathy 
 in his brother clerk's misfortune. Every search was made about the 
 premises, and information given to the nearest magistrate ; but, as 
 Mason was from home, and would not return until the next day, little 
 else could be done. Edward passed a night of intense agony — nor 
 were the feelings of Kate more enviable. .Mason returned some 
 hours earlier than was expected, sent immediately for Van Buren, 
 and was closeted with him for a long time. 
 
 Mansell, utterly incapacitated by the overwhelming calamity which 
 had befallen him, from attending to his duties, was walking, ignorant 
 of Mason's return, when Kate came, or rather flew toward him, and 
 exclaimed, " Oh, Edward, my uncle has applied for a warrant to ap- 
 
the devil's hollow. 35 
 
 prehend you ; and, innocent though I know you to be, that fiend in 
 human form, Van Buren, has wound such a web around you that I 
 dread the worst. I have not time to explain ; fly instantly, and meet 
 me, at nightfall, in the Devil's Hollow, when I will tell you all." 
 
 Mansell, scarcely knowing what he did, rushed out of the garden, 
 and through some fields ; nor did he stop until he found himself out 
 ' of sight of the town, on the banks of the river. Then, for the first 
 time, he repented of having listened to the well-mennt but unwise 
 counsel of his dear Kate. But the step was taken, and he could 
 not retrace it now. He proceeded until he arrived at a thick grove, 
 in the neighborhood of the Devil's Hollow, where he lay hid until 
 night closed upon him. 
 
 He then approached a dark opening in which was a deep hollow, 
 .which had acquired a celebrity from its having been the scene of a 
 murder some years before, and hence was an object of such super- 
 stitious awe to the farmers of the vicinity, that he was considered a 
 bold man who would venture there after nightfall. This, doubtless, 
 had influenced Kate in her choice of such a place for their meeting, 
 inasmuch as they would be secure from interruption. 
 
 Mansell returned and still lingered on the skirt of the grove, until 
 the sound of a light footstep on the gravelled path which led to the 
 place, announced the approach of the loved being whom he felt he 
 was about to meet for the last time. The poor girl could not speak 
 a word when they met, but, bowing her head upon his shoulder, burst 
 into a flood of passionate tears. By degrees she became more calm, 
 and then detailed to him a conversation that she had overheard be- 
 tween Van Buren and her uncle ; and gathered thence that the for- 
 mer had succeeded in convincing Mason of Edward's" guilt, by an 
 artful combination of facts, which would have made out a prima facie 
 case against the accused — the most formidable one being the finding 
 of a considerable sum, in specie, in Mansell's trunk. Knowing that 
 he could not satisfactorily account for the possession of this money, 
 without the evidence of a near relative who had departed for Europe 
 a week before, and whose address was unknown, and return uncer- 
 tain, Edward, to avoid the horror and disgrace of lying in the county 
 prison in the intermediate time, resolved on evading the officers of 
 
36 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 justice, until he could surrender himself, with the proofs of his inno- 
 cence in his hands. 
 
 The moon had now risen above the hill which bounded the pros- 
 pect, and warned the heart-broken lovers that it was time to separate. 
 " And now," said he, " dearest, I leave you, with the brand of ' thief 
 upon my fair name, to be hunted like a beast of prey, from one hiding- 
 place to another. But, oh, my Kate ! I bear with me the blessed as- 
 surance that there is one being — and that being the best-beloved of 
 my heart — who knows me to be innocent; and that thought shall 
 comfort me." 
 
 " A remarkably pretty speech, and well delivered !" exclaimed a 
 voice, which caused the youthful pair to start, and turn their eyes in 
 the direction whence it proceeded, when, from behind a. decayed and 
 sol nary tree that grew in the Hollow, a tall figure, wrapped in an 
 ample cloak, advanced toward them. The place, as we have already 
 noticed, had an evil reputation ; and, although Edward and his com- 
 panion were, of course, free from the superstitious fears which char- 
 acterized the country people, an undefinable feeling stole over them, 
 as they gazed upon the tall form before them. 
 
 Mansell, however, soon recovered himself, and told the stranger 
 that, whoever he was, it ill became him to overhear conversation 
 which was not intended for other ears than their own. 
 
 " Nay," was the rejoinder, " be not angry with me ; perhaps you 
 may have reason to rejoice in my presence, since, being in posses- 
 sion of the story of your grief, it may be in my power to alleviate it. 
 I have assisted men in greater straits." 
 
 Edward did not like the last sentence, nor the tone in which it was 
 uttered ; but he said, " I see not how you can help me ; you can not 
 give me a clue by which to find the box." 
 
 " Yes, here is a clue /" replied the other, as he held forth about 
 three yards of strong cord, " here is a line ; go to the river at a point 
 exactly opposite the old hollow oak ; wade out in a straight line until 
 you find the box ; attach one end of the cord to the box and the other 
 to a stout cork — but remove it not yet." 
 
 Mansell, whether he really believed himself to be in the presence 
 of the Evil One, or that the word was merely expressive of surprise, 
 we know not. 
 
THE DEVIL'S HOLLOW. 37 
 
 The stranger took the compliment, and acknowledging it with a 
 bow, said, " The tin box which you have been accused of stealing, 
 is at the bottom of the river, and you will find that I have- said no 
 more than the truth." 
 
 Mansell hesitated no longer, but accompanied the stranger to the 
 spot, and in a few minutes, the box, sealed as when he last saw it. 
 was again in his possession. He looked from the treasure to the 
 stranger, and at last said, " I owe you more than life ; for, in regain- 
 ing this, I shall recover my good name, which has been foully tra- 
 duced." 
 
 He was proceeding toward the shore, when the other cried : 
 " Stop, young gentleman ! not quite so fast ; just fasten your cord 
 to it, and replace it where you found it, if you please." Edward 
 stared, but the stranger continued : " Were you to take that box back 
 to your employer, think you that you would produce any other con- 
 viction on him than that, finding your delinquency discovered, you 
 wished to secure impunity, by restoring the property ? We must 
 not only restore the treasure, but convict the thief. Hush ! I hear a 
 footfall." As he spoke, he took the box from Edward, who now saw 
 his meaning, fastened the cord to it, and it was again lowered to the 
 bottom of the river, and the cork on the other end of the cord was 
 swinging down with the tide. " Now, follow me in silence," whis- 
 pered the stranger, and the three retired and hid themselves' behind 
 the huge trunk of the tree, whence, by the light of the moon, they 
 beheld a figure approach the water, looking cautiously around him. 
 
 " That is the thief," said the stranger, in a low voice, in Edward's 
 ear. " I saw him, last night, throw something into the river, and. 
 when he was gone, I took the liberty of raising it up ; when, expect- 
 ing that he would return and remove his booty, I replaced it, and had 
 been unsuccessfully watching the place just before I met you in the 
 Hollow." 
 
 By this time the man had reached the river's brink, and, after 
 groping for some time through the water, he found the box, but 
 started back in astonishment on seeing a long cord attached to it. His 
 back was turned from the witnesses of the transaction, so that Ed- 
 ward and the stranger had got him securely by the collar before he 
 could make any attempt to escape. The surprise of Mansell and 
 
38 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAVTV. 
 
 Kate may be more easily conceived than painted, ulna, as the moon- 
 beam fell on the face of the culprit, they recognised the features oi 
 Van Buren, his fellow-clerk. 
 
 Our limits will not allow of our saying more than that Mansell's 
 character was cleared ; while Van Buren, whom Mason, for reasons 
 confined to his own bosom, refrained from prosecuting, quitted the 
 town in merited disgrace. The stranger proved to be a gentleman 
 of large landed property in the neighborhood, which he had now 
 visited for the first time in many years, and, having been interested 
 in the young pair whom he had so opportunely delivered from trib- 
 ulation, he subsequently appointed Mansell his man of business, and 
 thus laid the foundation of his prosperity. It is almost needless to 
 add, that Kate, who had so long shared his heart, became Ins wife, 
 and shared his good fortune. 
 
 ENVY AND CANDOR. 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 Envy. What do you think of this Miss H. that is come among us ? 
 
 Candor. I think her a very beautiful, elegant, and accomplished 
 young woman. 
 
 Envy. That I am convinced is precisely her own opinion. 
 
 Cand.or. I am St a loss to know how you come to be convinced, 
 from her manner or conversation, that she thinks so highly of herself. 
 
 Envy. 0, it is quite evident the men have turned the girl's head ; 
 they tell every woman, as you know very well, my dear, that she is 
 elegant, beautiful, and accomplished. 
 
 Candor. It is not then surprising that they should hold the same 
 language to Miss H., whom they must think so in the highest degree. 
 Don't you remember how all the gentlemen were in her praise 1 
 
 Envy. Well, for my part, I do not think the men half so good 
 judges of female beauty as the women. Miss H. has too great a 
 quantity of hair, considering how small her head is. 
 
ENVY AND CANDOR. 39 
 
 Candor. What fault do you find with her person ? 
 
 Envy. She is too tall. 
 
 i 
 
 Candor. She is not above an inch taller than yourself. 
 
 Envy. I do not pretend to say she is a great deal too tall. 
 
 Candor. Can you pretend to say she is too short ? 
 
 Envy. She is neither one thing nor the other ; one does not know 
 what to make of her. 
 
 Candor. That settles the point of her height ; let us now proceed 
 to her face. Do you not find something very engaging in her counte- 
 nance ? 
 
 Envy. Engaging, do you call it ? 
 
 Candor. Yes, I call it engaging. What do you call it ? 
 
 Envy. She is apt, indeed, to smile ; but that is to show her teeth. 
 
 Candor. She would not smile for that purpose, however, unless 
 she had good fine teeth ; and they are certainly the finest I ever saw. 
 
 Envy. What signifies teeth 1 
 
 Candor. Well, let us come to her eyes. What do you think oi 
 them 1 
 
 Envy. They are not black. 
 
 Candor. No ; but they are the sweetest blue in nature. 
 
 Envy. Blue eyes have been long out of fashion ; black are now all 
 the mode 
 
 Candor. Blue ones are coming round again ; for those of Miss H. 
 are much admired. 
 
 Envy. Her fortune would procure her admirers among the men, 
 although she had no eyes at all. 
 
 Candor. That stroke lights entirely on the men, and misses the 
 person against whom it was aimed. 
 
 Envy. Aimed ! I have no ill-will against Miss II. 
 
 Candor. I am glad to hear it. 
 
 Envy. No ! not I ; why should I ? 
 
 Candor. I am sure I can not tell. 
 
 Envy. She never did me any injury. 
 
 Candor. I was afraid she had. 
 
 Envy. No, not in the least, that I know of. I dare say she is a 
 good enough sort of a girl ; but as for beauty, her pretensions to that 
 are very moderate indeed. 
 
TO MISS MARY ESCARS 
 
 Thou art beautiful, young lady ! On thy cheek 
 
 Glows the rich brown of fair Italia's girls, 
 And the dark tresses shade thy forehead meek, 
 In glossy curls, 
 
 Like raven's wings spread on a cask of pearls. 
 
 And 'neath the dark-arched 'brow thy soft eyes glow. 
 Like stellar gems that spangle night's "blue throne ; 
 
 And from thy rose-like lips thy accents flow. 
 In a soft tone, 
 Calypso and her nymphs might fancy for their «. wil 
 
 Thy sylph-like step, and the high spiritual air, 
 
 Bespeak the presence of a noble mind ; 
 And thy calm face a soul devoid of care, 
 Where lie enshrined. 
 
 Like costly gems, virtue and truth combined. 
 
 Brightness attend thee, lady ; may the founts 
 Of science quench thy thirstings, and the muse 
 
 Lead thee to poesy's enchanted mounts. 
 And round diffuse 
 Honors and blessings pure as heav'n's sparkling dews 
 
 As slowly winds the bright meandering stream. 
 
 Through landscapes gemmed with forests and with fiowe: 
 
 Rich as the pictures of a painter's dream. 
 When fancy's bowers 
 Are pencilled by the rosy-fingered hours. 
 
 So glide thy life through friendship's flow'ry vale, 
 Bright, beautiful, from storm and tempest free ; 
 
 Dimpled in smiles by fortune's prosp'rous gale, 
 A tranquil sea, 
 Bound to the ocean of eternity. 
 
 And as the sun in western skies sinks low. 
 
 Dying in grandeur on his throne of fire, 
 While evening's tears in pearly dew-drops flow, 
 And round his pyre 
 
 The grief-flushed clouds, fade, languish, and expire 
 
 Such be thy exit — round thy dying head. 
 
 May virtue shed her most benignant. 
 While love and friendship gather round thy bed. 
 And mourn thy clay. 
 
 About to " rest in peace" till full meridian day. 
 
" y 
 
THE COQUETTE. 
 
 BY MISS LUCY E. MILNOB. 
 
 " I will not marry yet," was her reply — her face half averted 
 from the kneeling figure beside her, whom still she suffered to retain 
 her hand — whose arm still encircled her waist, unforbidden. " 1 will 
 not marry yet,'' and love was in the tone of the very accents that 
 withheld the boon of love, or deferred the bestowal of it. 
 
 James Griswold was a young man of moderate fortune; accom- 
 plished, unsophisticated, and of quick sensibilities. A student, and 
 fond of retirement, he had selected for his summer residence a small 
 hamlet on the Long Island seacoast, about twenty miles from New 
 York, where, between his books and the smooth seashore, along 
 which he loved to ramble, his time passed anything but heavily. 
 Here he had resided about a month, when the little community re- 
 ceived an addition, in a young lady and her mother, Avho joined it for 
 the purpose of a temporary residence ; and young Griswold stepped 
 back in surprise, when, issuing one morning from the cabin in which 
 he lodged, he beheld two females, in the attire, and with the air, of 
 fashion — the one leaning upon the arm of the other — approaching 
 the humble portal whence he had just emerged. He bowed, how- 
 ever, and passed on. 
 
 He had scarcely more than glanced at the strangers, but, transient 
 as was his survey of them, he saw that one of them was an in- 
 valid — the younger. " How touching is the languor which indispo- 
 sition casts over beauty 1 M exclaimed Griswold to himself; "health 
 would improve -the loveliness of that face, but the interest which now 
 invests it would vanish. No visitation," he continued, "but late 
 hours and crowded rooms have sent her hither — for I prophesy she 
 comes to make some stay." He was right. Griswold returned from 
 his ramble earlier than was his custom. His thoughts that day 
 
 6 
 
42 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 were in the hamlet, and not upon the shore. lie approached his 
 lodging with something like the emotions of expectation and suspense. 
 
 llr looked at his landlady, on entering, as it' he expected her to 
 communicate something ; and was disappointed when she merely re- 
 turned the ordinary response to his salutation. He entered his apart- 
 ment dispirited, and threw himself into a chair near the window, the 
 sash of which he threw up, as if he wanted air. For the first time 
 he felt the oppression of loneliness. " They have not come to stop," 
 said he to himself, and absolutely with a sigh — and no wonder! In 
 an assembly, a lovely, graceful, and delicate woman, beheld for the 
 first time, would have exacted from him only the ordinary tribute 
 which beauty shares with beauty ; but, in a remote little fishing ham- 
 let, inhabited by beings as rude as their neighbors, the sea and the 
 rocks, such a vision could hardly come, and vanish, without leaving 
 a strong impression upon the beholder. Young Griswold sat abstract- 
 ed, chagrinned — mortified. 
 
 The opening of a window in a cabin opposite, roused him. The 
 sash was thrown up by a white arm, shining through a sleeve of 
 muslin, thin as gauze. Presently a dimpled elbow reposed upon the 
 sill, and a cheek of pensive sweetness sank upon a hand, so small, 
 so white, that it seemed to have been modelled for no other office 
 than to pillow such a burden. A thrill ran through his frame, quick- 
 ening him into wakeful life. 
 
 How the hand talks ! What passion, thought, and sentiment, are 
 in it ! What tongues are the fingers ! Oh ! the things that the 
 hand which this young man sat watching, discoursed to him, as it 
 changed its posture — now with the palm, now with the back, kissing 
 its owner's cheek — now extending one finger upon the marbly, ample 
 temple — now enwreathing itself with one jetty curl and another — 
 now passed over the arched bright forehead — now lowered, and lan- 
 guidly drooping from the window-frame, upon which the arm to which 
 it belonged lay motionless — then raised again, with slow and waving 
 motion, till it closed with the cheek that half met it — then gradually 
 crossed over the bosom that seemed to heave with a sigh, as it passed, 
 and pressed to the heart — then clasped with its beauteous fellow, and 
 carried to the back of the head, the full, elastic arms swelling and 
 whitening as they contracted ! 
 
THE COQUETTE. 43 
 
 Grisvvolcl gazed on entranced. Hitherto, tho cheek alone of the 
 fair invalid had been presented to him, but now her head turned ; her 
 eyes mot his and dropped — she rose and withdrew. 
 
 Only glimpses of her did Griswuld catch again that evening — but 
 they were frequent. A hand — an elbow — the point of her shoul- 
 ' der — once or twice her figure, flitting backward and forward, as she 
 paced up and clown the apartment. Dusk fell ; still he remained at 
 his post, Was it a guitar that he heard ? It was but awakened as 
 the first tones of an Eolian harp, which you hold your breath to hear. 
 Her hand was on the strings ; one chord at length she struck full ; 
 another succeeded — and another. Then all was silence for a time. 
 Griswold still remained at the window — nor in vain. The music 
 woke again, as fairy soft as before, and a voice — soft as the music, 
 but oh! far sweeter — awoke along with it. She was singing, but 
 he could hear nothing except the strain ; and yet he heard enough to 
 tell him that it was the theme of tenderness, though sung by fits, that 
 rather seemed to help than mar the passionate mood. The stars 
 shone out ; the moon, in her first quarter half completed, showed her 
 bright crescent clear though setting ; the folds of a white drapery 
 shone dimly through the still open casement. Did the wearer ap- 
 proach, to look out and gaze upon the fair night? No. The sash 
 was pulled down ; the string and the voice were hushed ; the inter- 
 esting minstrel had retired. Griswold retired too; but though his 
 head was upon the pillow, not a moment of that night were his vision 
 and his car withdrawn from the open window. 
 
 It was broad day before forgetful ness cast her spell over the ex- 
 cited spirits of young Griswold, nor was it broken till high noon. 
 He arose, emerged from his chamber, and took an anxious survey of 
 the habitation opposite. The room appeared empty. He partook 
 hastily of a slight repast, and, sallying out, made his way to the sea- 
 shore. He had not proceeded far, when, turning a point, he beheld 
 the elder female hi advance of him, standing still and looking anxious- 
 ly upward toward a projecting summit, some hundred yards from the 
 shore. He followed what appeared to be the direction of her eyes, 
 and saw the younger, half way up, reclining upon her side. Some- 
 thing appeared to be amiss. He quickened his pace, and, joining 
 the former, learned from her, that her daughter, attempting to climb to 
 
44 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 the top of the steep hill, had incautiously turned, and, unaccustomed 
 to look from a height, was prevented by terror from proceeding or 
 descending ; that, from the same cause, she had slipped down several 
 feet ; and that she, herself, durst not attempt to go to her assistance. 
 Griswold had heard enough ; he bounded up the steep. As he ap- 
 proached the fair one, modesty half overcame terror, and she made a 
 slight effort to repair the disorder into which her dress had been 
 thrown by the accident. The young man assisted her to complete 
 what she had effected but imperfectly ; he encouraged her, raised her, 
 and, propping her fair form with his own, led her, step by step, down 
 to the beach again. Nor, Avhen she was in perfect safety, did he 
 withdraw his assistance — nor did she decline it ; though, as appre- 
 hension subsided, confusion arose — coloring her pale cheek to crim- 
 son, at the recollection of the plight in which she had been found. 
 Her ankle was slightly sprained, she said, having turned under her 
 when she slipped. What was this, if not a Avarrant for the proffer 
 of an arm ? At all events, Griswold construed it as such, and escort- 
 ed the fair stranger, leaning upon him, back to her lodgings. From 
 that .moment a close intimacy commenced. They were constantly 
 together — sometimes accompanied by the mother — more frequently, 
 and at last wholly alone. 
 
 In the midst of romantic scenery, where there is no impediment, 
 no distaste on either side, is almost sure to awaken, and to foster love. 
 Young Griswold loved. The looks, the actions, all but the tongue of 
 Amelia assured him that his passion was returned. Her health had 
 improved rapidly ; the autumn was advancing, and the evenings and 
 nights were growing chill. The mother and daughter now talked of 
 returning to New York ; a day was fixed for their departure — and, 
 on the eve of that day, young Griswold threw himself at the feet of 
 the lovely girl, and implored her to bless him with her hand. Yet, 
 though she did not deny that he had interested her — though her eyes 
 and her cheek attested it — though the hand which was locked in his, 
 locked his as well — though she suffered him to draw her toward 
 him, by the tenure of her graceful waist — still was her reply, " I will 
 not marry yet." 
 
 Griswold did not require to ask if his visits would be permitted in 
 town — he was invited to renew them there. A journey to Charles- 
 
THE COQUETTE. 45 
 
 ton, however, on a matter of pressing necessity, respecting the 
 affairs of a friend, prevented his return for a month. At the expira- 
 tion of that time he found himself in New York, and, with a throb- 
 bing heart, repaired to the habitation of Amelia's father, near Union 
 Square, on the very evening of his arrival. The house was lighted 
 up — there was a ball. He wa*s scarcely dressed for a party ; yet he 
 could not overcome his impgjience to behold again the heroine of the 
 Long Island shore. He rang, at the same moment when a knot of 
 other visiters came to the door, and, entering along with them, was 
 ushered into a ball-room, the footman hurriedly announcing the names 
 of the several parties. The dance was proceeding. It was the 
 whirling waltz — 
 
 The dance of contact, else 
 - Forbid ! abandoning to the free hand 
 The sacred waist ; while, face to face, that breath 
 Doth kiss with breath, and eye embraceth eye — 
 Tour transed coil relaxing, straightening — round 
 And round, in wavy measure, you entwine 
 Circle with circle — till the swimming brain 
 And panting heart, in swoony lapse, give o'er ! 
 
 It was the waltz, and the couple consisted of a man of the town, 
 and — Amelia. 
 
 The party who had entered with Griswold immediately took seats, 
 but he stood, transfixed to the spot where his eyes first caught the 
 form of the young lady, in the coil of another. She saw not him. 
 With laughing eyes, and cheeks flushed with exertion, she continued 
 the measure of license — her spirits mounting as the music quick- 
 ened — until she seemed to float round her partner, who freely availed 
 himself of the favorable movement of the step, to draw her toward 
 him in momentary pressure. They at length sat down, and were 
 soon engaged in earnest conversation. Griswold writhed. He re- 
 tired to a room where he thought he should escape observation, and 
 threw himself into a chair. 
 
 " Who think you, now, is the happy man ?" said one of a group of 
 gentlemen who at that moment came into the apartment Avhere he sat. 
 
 " Why, who, if not Singleton !" replied another ; " he has waltzed 
 himself into her heart. This is the twentieth time I have seen her 
 dance with him." 
 
46 AMERICAN BOOK OF BF.AVTV. 
 
 " Oh ! another will waltz him out of her heart," interposed a third , 
 " she is an incorrigible coquette, from first to last." 
 
 ■e the party separated. Griswold scarcely knowing what he 
 did, after sitting abstracted for a few minutes, rose and descended the 
 staircase. 
 
 He started with the intention of quitting the house, but the supper- 
 room had been just thrown open, and trffi press carried him in. Nor 
 was he allowed to stop, until he had reached the head of the table. 
 Every seat but two, close to where he stood, was occupied. " By 
 your leave, sir," said a voice behind him. He stepped back, and the 
 waltzer led Amelia to one of them, and placed himself beside her. 
 Young Griswold would have retreated, but could not without incom- 
 moding the company, who thickly hemmed him in. Amelia drew her 
 gloves from the white arms they little enhanced by covering — the 
 waltzer assisting her, and transferring them to the custody of his 
 bosom. His eyes explored the table in quest of the most delicate of 
 the viands, which, one after another he recommended to her, until 
 she made a selection. He filled a wineglass with sparkling Bur- 
 gundy and presented it to her, then crowned a goblet, till the liquid 
 almost overhung the brim — breathed her name over it in a sigh — and 
 quaffed it off to the bottom at a draught. He leaned his cheek to 
 hers, till the neighbors almost touched. He whispered her — and she 
 replied in whispers. He passed his arm over the back of her chair, 
 partly supplanting it in the office of supporting her shoulders. He 
 pressed so close to her, that it would have been the same had both 
 been sitting in one seat. She was either unconscious of the familiar 
 vicinity, or she permitted it. The whispering continued ; the word 
 " marriage" was uttered — repeated — repeated again. Griswold heard 
 her distinctly reply, " I will not marry yet," as she rose — and, turn- 
 ing, met him face to face. 
 
 " Griswold !" she involuntarily exclaimed. But he spoke not, save 
 with his eyes, which he kept fixed steadfastly upon her. 
 
 " When did you arrive ?" she inquired hurriedly, and in extreme 
 confusion. 
 
 " This evening," replied the young man, without removing his 
 eyes. 
 
 " When did you join our party ?" 
 
THE COQUETTE. 47 
 
 " While you were waltzing," returned Griswold, with a smile. 
 
 " And how long have you been standing here ?" 
 
 " Since supper commenced j I made way for your partner to hand 
 you to that'seat, and place himself beside you." 
 
 " You have not supped ! sit down, and I will help you to s< 
 thing." 
 
 "No !" said Griswold, shaking his head, and smiling again. 
 
 " My mother has not seen you yet; come and speak to her." 
 
 " No ; I have not a moment to spare. I leave town again imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 " To-night! Farewell," said he, turning to go. 
 
 ''You, surely, are not going yet," earnestly interposed Amelia. 
 
 " I must not stay," emphatically rejoined Griswold. " For one ob- 
 ject alone I came to town. That is finally disposed of. The neces- 
 sity for my departure is imperative. Remember me to your m 
 -night!" he added, moving toward the door. 
 
 " Have you been well ?" she inquired, almost tremulous!-. He 
 continued his progress as fast as the throng permitted him, aff 
 not to hear her. She followed, laid her hand upon his arm, and 
 stopped him. 
 
 " You surely are not well now," she remarked, in a tone of solici- 
 tude. 
 
 " No," he replied, passing on till he reached the door. 
 
 "Griswold!" she exclaimed, heedless of those who surrou 
 her, " stay a little longer! — an hour — half an hour — the quart 
 an hour." 
 
 Griswold stopped, and, turning, looked upon her with an expres- 
 sion so tender, yet so stern, that she half shrank as she met his 
 " Not a moment," he replied ; " I should be only a clog upon 
 pastime. I do not waltz !" Then snatched her hand —raised it to 
 his lips — kissed it — and, dropping it, hurried down the staircas 
 departed. 
 
 Amelia at once perceived the awkwardness of her situation — re- 
 covered her self-possession — and, with well-dissembled mirth, affect- 
 ed to laugh. 
 
 "A poor lunatic!" she .exclaimed, " whom I pity, notwithstanding 
 
18 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 his extravagant aberrations of mind. He is innocent in his madness. 
 But conic, Let ns forget him." 
 
 The dance was resumed. She was the queen of the mirthful 
 hour, that shone, surpassing all. She laughed, she rallied, she chal- 
 lenged, she outdid herself — her spirits towering the more, the more 
 the revel waned. Party after party dropped off; still she kept it up, 
 till she was left utterly alone — and then she rushed up to her cham- 
 ber and cast herself upon a couch, dissolved in tears. 
 
 She loved young Griswold. Vanity had been touched before — but 
 never sentiment, till she visited the little hamlet on Long Island. At 
 first she could not, or would not, persuade herself that Griswold would 
 not return ; but a month set that point perfectly at rest. She drooped. 
 Society — amusement — nothing could rouse her into her former self. 
 Her partner in the waltz in vain solicited her to stand up with him 
 again. She declined the honor ; his visits were discouraged. Her 
 mother anxiously watched the depression of spirits that had taken 
 possession of her, and seemed daily to increase. The winter passed 
 without improvement — the spring. Summer set in; bloom and fruit 
 returned, but cheer was a stranger to her heart. Change of scene 
 was recommended. She was asked to make choice of the place 
 whither she Avould go ; she replied, with a sigh, " to the Long Island 
 shore." 
 
 She and her mother arrived at the same little hamlet which they 
 had visited the summer before, early on a Sunday morning, and reoc- 
 cupied the identical lodgings. The landlady, a kind-hearted creature, 
 expressed her surprise and sorrow at the altered appearance of her 
 delicate young lodger. 
 
 " Ah !" said she, " the young gentleman would be sorry to see 
 this — though he has had his turn of sickness too ; but he is now 
 quite recovered." 
 
 " Mr. Griswold ?" breathlessly inquired Amelia. 
 
 " Yes," replied the landlady, " that same handsome, kind, young 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! is he here ?" she vehemently demanded. 
 
 " He is, my lady," returned the landlady. 
 
 " Mother!" she exclaimed, as she turned upon the latter a look, in 
 which pleasure was painted for the first time since the momentous 
 
THE COQUETTE. 49 
 
 night of the ball. " Where does he lodge ? " asked Amelia, turning 
 to the landlady. 
 
 " In the same place. He came back about a month after he left," 
 added the landlady. " Poor young gentleman !" she continued, " we 
 all thought he had come to die among us — so pale, so melancholy. 
 He would keep company with no one — would speak to no one — and 
 at last be took fairly to his bed." 
 
 Amelia laid her head upon her hand, covering her eyes ; her tears 
 had begun to flow. 
 
 " But the daughter of our neighbor, who had a rich brother that 
 sent his niece to school at New Haven, and had determined to adopt 
 her, having • completed her time, came upon a visit to her father, 
 shortly after the return of the young gentleman, and her mother made 
 her read to him constantly, to divert him — and he grew fond of lis- 
 tening to her — and well he might, for a sweet young creature she 
 is — and at last his health took a turn, and he was able to quit his 
 bed, and to walk, as he used with you, my dear lady — rambling 
 whole hours along the seashore with her." 
 
 The eyes of Amelia were now lifted to the landlady's face. Her 
 tears were gone, all but the traces of them ; they seemed as they 
 were glazed. The landlady had paused at the sound of several 
 voices, and a kind of bustle without, and noAV ran to the window. 
 
 " Come hither, ladies !" she exclaimed, " they are just coming out." 
 
 Amelia, by a convulsive effort, rose, and hastily approached the 
 window with her mother. 
 
 " Here they come !" resumed the landlady, " and this is the end 
 of my story. The young gentleman at last fell in love with his sweet 
 young nurse, and offered to marry her. She had already fallen in 
 love with him ; she accepted him, and this very morning they are 
 going to church. There they are ! look ! did you ever see so sweet. 
 a sight ? What a couple ! God bless them ! They were made for 
 one another !" 
 
 The landlady started and looked round. Amelia had fallen in a 
 swoon upon the floor. With difficulty they recovered her. In an 
 hour her mother was on her way with her toward NeAv York. In a 
 month she was dressed in a shroud. 
 
 7 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE CITY OF HUDSON. 
 
 BY J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The city of Hudson furnishes one of those examples of rapid growth 
 so common and so peculiar to our country. It goes back no further 
 than 1784. and is said now to contain nearly six thousand inhabitants. 
 But towns, like children, are very apt to grow more in the first few 
 years, than all their lives after. But Hudson has a bank, which is a 
 sort of wet-nurse to these little towns, giving them too often a preco- 
 cious growth, which is followed by a permanent debility. The town 
 is beautifully situated, and the environs of the most picturesque and 
 romantic description. There are several pretty country-seats in the 
 neighborhood. Here ends, according to the law of nature, the ship- 
 navigation of the river ; but by a law of the legislature, a company has 
 been incorporated, with a capital of one million of dollars — how easy 
 it is to coin money in this way ! — to make a canal to New Baltimore : 
 for what purpose, only legislative wisdom can explain. There was 
 likewise an incorporated company, to build a mud-machine for deepen- 
 ing the river. But the river is no deeper than it was, and the canal to 
 New Baltimore is not made, probably because the million of dollars is 
 not forthcoming. One may pay too dear for a canal as well as a 
 whistle. That canals are far better than rivers, is not to be doubted ; 
 but as we get our rivers for nothing, and pay pretty dearly for our ca- 
 nals, I would beg leave to represent in behalf of the poor rivers, that 
 they are entitled to some little consideration, if it is only on the score 
 of coming as free gifts. Hudson is said to be very much infested with 
 politicians, a race of men, who, though they have never been classed 
 among those who live by their own wits, and the little wit of their 
 neighbors, certainly belong to the genus. 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 51 
 
 Hence to Albany the Hudson gradually decreases in magnitude, 
 changing its character of a mighty river for that of a pleasant pastoral 
 stream. The high banks gradually subside into rich flats, portentous 
 of Dutchmen, who light on them as certainly as do the snipes and 
 plovers. •• Wisely despising," observes Alderman Janson,* " the bar- 
 ren mountains, which are only made to look at, they passed up on the 
 liver from Fort Amsterdam, till they arrived hereabout, and here they 
 pitched their tents. Their descendants still retain possession of the 
 seats of their ancestors, though sorely beset by the march of the human 
 mind, and the progress of public improvement on one hand, and on thp 
 other by interlopers from the modern Scythia, the cradle of the human 
 race in the new world — Connecticut. These last, by their pestilent 
 scholarship, and mischievous contrivances of patent ploughs, | 
 thrashing-machines, patent corn-shellers, and patent churns, for the 
 encouragement of domestic industry, have gone near to overset all the 
 statutes of St. Nicholas. The honest burghers of Coeymans, Cox- 
 sackie, and New Paltz, still hold out manfully ; but alas ! the women — 
 the women are prone to backslidings and hankering after novclti 
 Dutch damsel can't, for her heart, resist a Connecticut schoolmaster. 
 with his rosy cheeks and store of scholarship, and even honest yffrow 
 herself chuckles a little amatory Dutch at his approach ; simpering 
 mightily thereat, and stroking down her apron. A goose betrayed - 
 no, I am wrong — a goose once saved the capitol of Rome ; and it is 
 to be feared a woman will finally betray the citadels of Coeymans, 
 Coxsackie, and New Paltz, to the schoolmasters of Connecticut, who 
 circumvent them with outlandish scholarship. These speculations," 
 quoth the worthy alderman, " remind me of the mishap of my unfortu- 
 nate great-uncle, Douw Van Wezel, who sunk under the star of one 
 of these wandering Homers." 
 
 Douw, and little Alida Vander Speigle, had been playmates 
 their infancy — I was going to say schoolmates, but at that time there 
 was no such thing as a school, so far as I can learn, in the neighbor- 
 hood, to teach the young varlets to chalk naughty words on walls and 
 fences, which is all that learning is good for, for aught I see. Douw 
 
 ■ A Merman Nicholas Nicodemus Janson was the flower of the magistracy of 
 Coxsackie, and died full of years and honor, on St. Nicholas' day. in the year ot 
 our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven. 
 
52 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 was no scholar, so there was no danger of his getting into the state 
 -on for forgery; but it requires but little learning to fall in love. 
 Alida had, however, stayed a Avhole winter in York, where she learned 
 .0 talk crooked English, and cock her pretty little pug nose at our 
 good old customs. They were the only offspring of their respective 
 p- rents, whose farms lay side by side, squinting plainly at matrimony 
 veen the young people. Douw and Alida went to church together 
 every Sunday ; wandered into the churchyard, where Alida read the 
 epitaphs for him ; and it was the talk of everybody that it would cer- 
 tainly be a match. Douw was a handsome fellow for a Dutchman, 
 though he lacked that effeminate ruddiness which seduces poor igno- 
 rant women. He had a stout frame, a bluish complexion, straight 
 black hair, eyes of the color of indigo, and as honest a pair of old- 
 fashioned mahogany bannister legs, as you would wish to see under a 
 man. It was worth while to make good legs then, when every man 
 wore breeches, and some of the women too, if report is to be credited. 
 Alida was the prettiest little Dutch damsel that ever had her stocking 
 filled with cake on new year's eve, by the blessed St. Nicholas. I 
 will not describe her, lest my readers should all fall in love with her, 
 or at all events weep themselves into Saratoga fountains, when they 
 come to hear of the disastrous fate of poor Douw, whose destiny it 
 was — but let us have no anticipations; sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof. 
 
 It was new year's eve, and Douw was invited to see out the old year 
 at Judge Vander Speigle's, in the honest old Dutch way, under the 
 especial patronage of St. Nicholas. There were glorious doings among 
 the young folks, and the old ones too, for that matter, till one or two, or 
 perhaps three in the morning, when the visiters got into their sleighs 
 andskirred away home, leaving Douw and the fair Alida alone — or as 
 good as alone, for the judge and the yffrow were as sound as a church, 
 in the two chimney-corners. If wine and French liquors, and such 
 trumpery, make a man gallant and adventurous, what will not hot- 
 spiced Santa Cruz achieve ? Douw was certainly a little flustered ; 
 perhaps it might be predicated of him that he was, as it were, a little 
 tipsey. Certain it is, he waxed brave as a Dutch lion. I'll not swear 
 but that he put his arm round her waist, and kissed the little Dutch 
 girl ; but I will swear positively, that before the parties knew whether 
 
 
THE VANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 53 
 
 they were standing on their heads or feet, they had exchanged vows, 
 and become irrevocably engaged. Whereupon Douvv waked the old 
 judge, and asked his consent on the spot. " Yaw, yaw," yawned the 
 judge, and fell fast asleep again in a twinkling. Nothing but the last 
 trumpet would rouse the yffrow till morning. 
 
 In the morning, the good yffrow was let into the affair, and began 
 to bestir herself accordingly. I can not count the sheets, and table- 
 cloths, and towels, the good woman mustered out, nor describe the 
 preparations made for the expected wedding. There was a cake 
 baked, as big as Kaatskill mountain, and mince-pies enough to cover 
 it. There were cakes of a hundred nameless names, and sweetmeats 
 enough to kill a whole village. All was preparation, anticipation, and 
 prognostication. A Dutch tailor had constructed Douw a suit of snuff- 
 color, that made him look like a great roll of leaf-tobacco ; and a York 
 milliner had exercised her skill in the composition of a wedding-dress 
 for Alida, that made the hair of the girls of Coeymans and Coxsackie 
 stand on end. All was ready, and the day appointed. But, alas ! I 
 wonder no one has yet had the sagacity to observe, and proclaim to 
 the world, that all things in this life are uncertain, and that the antici- 
 pations of youth are often disappointed. 
 
 Just three weeks before the wedding, there appeared in the village 
 of Coxsackie a young fellow, dressed in a three-cornered cocked hat, 
 a queue at least a yard long hanging from under it, tied up in an eel- 
 skin, a spruce blue coat, not much the worse for wear, a red waistcoat, 
 corduroy breeches, handsome cotton stockings, with a pair of good 
 legs in them, and pumps with silver buckles. His arrival was iiive 
 the shock of an earthquake, he being the first stranger that had up 
 peared within the memory of man. He was of a goodly height, weli 
 shaped, and had a pair of rosy cheeks, which no Dutch damsel evei 
 could resist ; for to say the truth, our Dutch lads are apt to be a little 
 dusky in the epidermis. 
 
 He gave out that he was come to set up a school, and teach the 
 little chubby Dutch boys and girls English. The men set their laces 
 against this monstrous innovation! — but the women! the women! 
 they always will run after novelty, and they ran after the schoolmas- 
 ter, his red checks, and his red waistcoat. Yffrow Vander Speigle 
 contested the empire of the world within doors, with his honor the 
 
54 AMERICAN BOOK OK BEAUTY. 
 
 judge, and bore a divided reign. She was smitten with a desire to 
 become a blue-stocking herself, or at least that her daughter should. 
 The yffcow was the bell-wether of fashion in the village ; of course, 
 many other yffirows followed her example, and in a little time the lucky 
 schoolmaster was surrounded by half the grown-up damsels of Cox- 
 sackie. 
 
 Alida soon became distinguished as his favorite scholar ; she was 
 the prettiest, the richest girl in the school — and she could talk Eng- 
 lish, which the others were only just learning. He taught her to read 
 poetry — he taught her to talk with her eyes — to write love-letters — 
 and at last to love. Douw was a lost man the moment the schoolmas- 
 ter came into the village. He first got the blind side of the daughter, 
 and then of the yffrow — but he found it rather a hard matter to get 
 the blind side of the judge, who had heard from his brother in Albany 
 what pranks these Connecticut boys were playing there. He discour- 
 aged the schoolmaster, and he encouraged Douw to press his suit, 
 which Alida had put off, and put off, from time to time. She was 
 sick — and not ready — and indifferent — and sometimes cross — 
 
 Douw smoked his pipe harder than ever at her ; but she 
 resisted like a heroine. 
 
 In those times of cheap simplicity, it was the custom of the country 
 for the schoolmaster to board alternately with the parents of his schol- 
 ars, a week or a fortnight at a time ; and it is recorded of these learned 
 Thebans, that they always stayed longer where there was a pretty 
 daughter, and plenty of pies and sweetmeats. The time at last came 
 round, when it was the schoolmaster's turn to sojourn with Judge 
 Vander Speigle the allotted fortnight, sorely to the gloomy forebodings 
 of Douw, who began to have a strong suspicion of the cause of Alida's 
 coldness. The schoolmaster knew which side his bread was but- 
 tered, and laid close siege to the yffrow, by praising her good things, 
 exalting her consequence, and depressing that of her neighbors. Nor 
 did he neglect the daughter, whom he plied with poetry, melting looks, 
 and significant squeezes, and all thai ; although all that was quite un- 
 necessary, for she was ready to run away with him at any time. But 
 this did not suit our Homer ; he might be divorced from the acres, if 
 he married without the consent of the judge. He, however, continued 
 to administer fuel to the flame, and never missed abusing poor Douw 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 55 
 
 to his face, without the latter being the wiser for it, he not understand- 
 ing a word of English. 
 
 By degrees he opened the matter to the yffrow, who liked it ex- 
 ceedingly, for she was, as we said before, inclined to the mysteries 
 of blue-stockingism, and was half in love with his red waistcoat and 
 red checks. Finally, she told him, in a significant way, that as there 
 were two to one in his favor, and the old judge would, she knew, never 
 consent to the marriage while he could help it, the best thing he could 
 do was to go and get married as soon as possible, and she would bear 
 them out. That very night Douw became a disconsolate widower, 
 although, poor fellow ! he did not know of it till the next morning. 
 The judge stormed and swore, and the yffrow talked ; till at length he 
 allowed them to come and live in the house, but with the proviso that 
 they were never to speak to him, nor he to them. A little grandson, 
 in process of time, healed all these internal divisions. They christ- 
 ened him Adrian Vander Speigle, after his grandfather ; and when 
 it came to pass that the old patriarch died, the estate passed from 
 the Vander Speigles to the Longfellows, after the manner of men. 
 
 Poor Douw grew melancholy, and pondered sometimes whether he 
 should not bring his action for breach of promise, fly the country for 
 ever, turn Methodist, or many under the nose of the faithless Alida, 
 " on purpose to spite her." He finally decided on the latter, married 
 a little Dutch brunette from Kinderhook, and prospered mightily in 
 posterity, as did also his neighbor, Philo Longfellow. But it was ob- 
 served, that the little Van Wezels and the little Longfellows never 
 met without fighting ; and that as they grew up, this hostility gathered 
 additional bitterness. In process of time, the village became divided 
 into two factions, which gradually spread wherever the Yankees and 
 the Dutch mixed together ; and finally, like the feuds of the Guel- 
 phus and Ghibelines, divided the land for almost a hundred miles 
 around. 
 
THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Blessed was the artist's hands that "bad© 
 
 Those features on thy surface shine. 
 And with advent'rous skUl portrayed 
 
 That form, and made thee -what thou art, divine : 
 And heav'n-born was the art that made thee hear 
 Those eyes, and that fair face that have no equals here 
 
 What though the Coan artist drew. 
 
 And Venus gave to mortal eye, 
 A thousand such as thee in view, 
 
 And thy "bright teints with his may safely vie : 
 Immodest "beauties from Ms pencil shine. 
 But thou art chasteness all, and purer charms are thine 
 
 What though the huge Colossus rears 
 
 Ahove fair Rhodes his towering height, 
 And on his giant forehead hears 
 
 The image of yon glorious orh of light ; 
 A tnousand suns in thee as "brightly gleam. 
 Thine eyes are even suns, and shed as "bright a beam 
 
ETi'lfiJR 
 
THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 
 
 A STORY OF AN OMNIBUS-DRIVER. 
 
 I detest an up-town residence. True, it is pleasant when you 
 get there, but as my income will not warrant a coach establishment, 
 I am now reluctantly compelled to take a daily passage at dusk by 
 the 30th-street line of omnibuses. In pleasant weather this mode of 
 travelling is rather agreeable ; but in a rainy or drizzly night, the 
 Fates protect me from hunting up a seat in an omnibus. Last Tues- 
 day I tried the experiment for the fortieth time, and after standing for 
 nearly an hour under the awning in front of Peale's Museum in Broad- 
 way, I espied a vehicle, whose driver had a most singularly good- 
 natured look, and who, I verily believed, would pity my desolate con- 
 dition, notwithstanding I noticed that his vehicle contained the full 
 complement of twelve inside. Emboldened by his appearance, I 
 beckoned to him, and my anticipations were agreeably confirmed by 
 his promptly reining in his steeds. After a short parley I was reluc- 
 tantly permitted to mount the box, with my umbrella spread. I was 
 not mistaken in the physiognomy of the omnibus-driver. He had a 
 liberal share of the milk of human kindness, and withal was exceed- 
 ingly talkative. We had scarcely proceeded three blocks, when he 
 had given mc his opinion concerning all sorts of subjects, persons, 
 and things in general. 
 
 " I suppose," said he, " you thought it singular that I didn't wish 
 you to get up on the driver's seat, when you hailed me ?" 
 
 " Yes," said I inquiringly. 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you would like to hear the reason." 
 
 " Yes," I again answered, " for I am sorry to have annoyed so 
 obliging a person." 
 
 " No trouble, I assure you, sir ; but the fact is, we drivers must 
 have rules, or on nights like this we might be crowded out of our 
 seats." 
 
 8 
 
58 AMERICAN* BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " Surely the seat is very commodious," replied I, " three persons 
 may Bit here with case, and I can see no objection to taking one out- 
 side passenger at any time." 
 
 " All gentlemen ain't alike, you know," responded the obliging 
 driver, " and could you but see the stout man who used to ride up 
 here, you wouldn't blame us for refusing to take up anybody on the 
 outside." 
 
 " Indeed," replied I, " who is he ?" 
 
 " That's more than I know • but he told me how he came to his 
 size, and it's a queer story — why, sir, he could not get through that 
 door there by more than ten inches !" 
 
 I expressed my astonishment at these dimensions of the discarded 
 outside passenger, and the driver continued : 
 
 " The first time that this fat man got on my vehicle, I noticed he 
 was a very agreeable talker, but I lost two days in repairing the for- 
 ward springs, and that cost me fourteen shillin', you know." 
 
 " I dare say, driver," said the fat man to me, at our first meeting 
 " that you haven't seen many men of greater bulk than myself." 
 
 " No, indeed," said I, "I never came across one who couldn't get 
 inside before, and it isn't over comfortable riding here so crowded, 
 and with a heavy load." 
 
 " So I supposed," rejoined he. " I hoped such would be your reply. 
 For I'd have you know that I'm proud of the distinction which my 
 lai confers." 
 
 " Like most distinctions, though," observed I, " you must feel the 
 weight of it irksome now and then." 
 
 " I do," replied he, " particularly in hot, muggy weather. It's also 
 inconvenient" he continued, " in many ways. Sometimes, when I 
 beckon a cab from the stand, the driver shakes his head and says 
 he's engaged. If I hail an omnibus, the driver is sure not to notice 
 me. In narrow, crowded thoroughfares I'm looked upon as a positive 
 obstruction and public nuisance. In Nassau street, one day, I hap- 
 pened to stop to look at some political caricatures, when the shop- 
 keeper hailed me, just as he would the driver of a heavy wagon, 
 with ' Come, go ahead, sir ; we can't have the street blocked up to 
 please your fancy.' I never could travel by a mail-coach in all my 
 life ; the proprietors, one and all, made some objection to my luggage, 
 
THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 59 
 
 even if I carried but a small brown paper parcel. ' It won't do,' they 
 used to say, ' it won't do ; we can't delay the mail with so much 
 luggage.' In railroad cars I Tare somewhat better, though the Great 
 Western road charged me for two seats the last time 1 travelled that 
 way. When I go to a theatre, or any other place of public amuse- 
 ment, first I'm asked to sit ' this way,' then ' a little more that,' until 
 I'm screwed into all in inner of shapes, and there I am, perhaps, at 
 last, sitting with my back to the stage, squinting out of the corners 
 of my eyes in the most uncomfortable manner possibly to be imagined. 
 But, notwithstanding these drawbacks, I glory in my superior S] 
 gravity, over the rest of my fellow-creatures. There's a joy which 
 all stout men feel in glancing at their shadows in the sun, which thin 
 ones have not the capacity of entertaining. We are compelled to 
 assume an air of dignity in our gait, and the very assumption instils 
 the feeling. Oh, yes ! driver," said he, " you may rest assured if a 
 man of discreet years wishes to be on superlatively good terms with 
 himself — which is the most desirable affection that he can foster — 
 he must cultivate an unbounded stomach." 
 
 " I agree with you, sir," replied I, " that a solid, portly man is more 
 good-looking, and consequently more to my taste, than your cadaver- 
 ous, bloodless, transparent, vinegar-fed, milk-an'-water, doughy, ill- 
 bred, foreignish-looking varmint." 
 
 " To be sure he is," rejoined the stout gentleman. " To be sure he 
 is. And, as to which of the two is the most comfortable to himself, 
 I can answer from experience." 
 
 " Were you ever lean, then ?" inquired I. 
 
 " As Romeo's poison-vender," replied he ; " indeed, he was a well- 
 fed citizen, compared to what I was three years since." 
 " How did you come to pick up so ?" asked I. 
 " It's a singular story," returned the fat man, smiling, " but not a 
 very long one." 
 
 Observing that " I should like to hear it, if there was time," he 
 said : 
 
 " With all my heart. Not long since I was, as I am now, in good 
 healthy condition, both in body and mind. When I put my heel upon 
 a daisy, there was full three hundred weight upon the flower, which 
 I consider to be good honest weight for a man in the prime of hi. 
 
60 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 days. Few individuals, if any, put more rich food under their waist- 
 coats, drank more good brandy and iced Croton, thought less, slept 
 more, and laughed louder and longer, than I did. But change is the 
 essence of the mutable laws which govern all things pertaining to 
 numanitv. If we do not of ourselves 'work the oracle,' that which 
 we term chance — miscalled destiny — is certain to effect it. 
 
 " For some time I had been lodging at a ' genteel boarding-house' — 
 as it was described in the advertisements when vacancies occurred — 
 in Beekman street. Like most such places in such localities, it was 
 occupied by merchants' clerks, law students, occasionally an old maid 
 or a widow, with very small means, a respectable single gentleman 
 or two, and an adventurer, with large mustaches and limited ward- 
 robe. This latter individual was the lion of the establishment, until 
 it was discovered that his estates in England returned so very small 
 a rent-roll, and that neither the landlady nor the washerwoman could 
 extract the amount of their respective claims, notwithstanding the 
 superlative excellence of their elocutionary powers in the art of dun- 
 ning. 
 
 " I had been an inmate of this menagerie for little more than a 
 year, when an eccentric-looking, mysterious person came to fill up 
 ' a vacancy' recently caused by the English landholder being taken to 
 the Tombs on suspicion of picking somebody's pocket at the lower 
 post-office. He Avas a tall, slim individual, bearing the appearance 
 of having been starved upon principle from the hour of Ms birth. 
 Pale, meager, and sunk, were his jaws, which elongated to a point, 
 and his neck was scraggy, and little less than an impoverished heron's. 
 His eyes were set close together, and were as black and glowing 
 and twinkling as a snake's when contemplating the seizure of some 
 unsuspecting frog, croaking his love to his mate in the summer's sun. 
 Bald' and polished as oiled mahogany was his flat and compressed 
 head, while a few straight, long bristles were carefully combed from 
 the back, and brought over the ears. A straight line chalked upon a 
 slate would faithfully describe his figure. From his contracted, nar- 
 row shoulders to his protruding heels, there was no deviation from 
 the perpendicular. All was even. Round his throat a small leather 
 stock was buckled, so that the ends did not meet behind, and his 
 costume was always black from head to foot. 
 
THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 61 
 
 " For some days after his arrival, I knew nothing more of the new 
 comer than that he was addressed as Dr. Gagem. At the table he 
 was very silent, and, as it was my custom to retire to my private 
 room alter dinner to discuss my bottle, I had but little of his conversa- 
 tion or society. 
 
 " Some three weeks had elapsed since his becoming my fellow- 
 boarder, when I noticed that everybody in the house, more especially 
 the ladies, began to appear excessively unwell. None of them could 
 eat, and all looked white, thin, and low-spirited. I inquired of one 
 or two what occasioned this change, and received for a reply, that 
 1 they were under the advice of Dr. G.' 
 
 " ' The sooner you're from under it the better then.' rejoined I. 'if 
 I can judge from appearances.' 
 
 " ' You'll think differently soon,' said my fair informants. ' Ah, 
 sir !' sighed they, ' do consult the doctor.' 
 
 " ' Thank ye,' returned I, ' but while I continue as I am, I'll take 
 no advice to improve my health.' 
 
 " One evening I was sitting comfortably alone before a cheerful fire 
 in my own snuggery. A bottle of fine old port wine was my only 
 companion, and there it stood on the table, close to my elbow, with 
 its crimson blood sparkling in the blaze — temptation personified. I 
 had just drawn the cork, and was gurgling the first glass from the 
 gray cobwebbed neck of the black bottle, when a gentle tap w-as heard 
 at the door of my apartment. 
 
 " ' Come in,' said I, surprised at the interruption. 
 
 " The door opened, and in stalked Dr. Gagem. 
 
 " ' Pardon this intrusion,' observed he, bowing and smiling, ' but I 
 have something to communicate which will not bear longer procrasti- 
 nation.' 
 
 " ' Pray be seated,' replied I, offering him a chair. ' I shall be glad 
 to hear anything you may have to say.' 
 
 " ' You're very stout, sir,' said the doctor, occupying a chair on the 
 opposite side of the table. 
 
 " ' I am, thank God,' replied I. ' Will you take a glass of wine, 
 doctor V 
 
 " He waved his hand. ' Not for worlds, sir,' rejoined he. ' It is 
 
62 AMERICAN' BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 to warn you from such poison that I have intruded upon your privacy. 
 Delay is death .'' 
 
 " These three last words were delivered in the most solemn and 
 deliberate manner. 
 
 " • Delay is death !' repeated I, more amazed than alarmed. 
 
 " ' And no mistake,' added he. 
 
 " ' What do, what can you mean, sir?' asked I. 
 
 " ' The aegis of friendship,' returned the doctor, ' is the only pro- 
 tector from destruction or injury. I've come here this evening to 
 place my shield between you and sudden, premature decease.' 
 
 " ' Good God, sir !' I exclaimed, ' am I going to be assassinated ?' 
 
 " ' You are/ coolly replied he. 
 
 " ' Heaven protect me ! By whom, and for what V 
 
 " The doctor smiled. ' By your own hand,' he replied. 
 
 "'Faugh! pooh, pooh!' returned I. 'Not while good fat roast 
 beef and ' 
 
 " * I know what you would say,' interrupted the doctor. ' But listen. 
 It is the good cheer, as it ignorantly is termed, which kills seven 
 tenths of the population of this city. Where one dies of starvation — 
 and I believe a few do yield their immaterial spirits to mingle with the 
 thinner air, by the necessitous code of total abstinence — ninety-and- 
 nine go off from eating and drinking to excess. It has been my 
 pleasing and self-imposed duty for some years past, to study the pre- 
 ventives for cutting short the thread of life, and I feel a conscious 
 pride in being able to say that my arduous labors have been crowneO 
 with success. These pills,' continued he, taking a box from his waist- 
 coat pocket, ' are composed of a powerfully cathartic, but innoxious 
 vegetable. Take them, sir, from the hand of a disinterested friend. 
 I take no fees. My only reward is the pleasure of plucking the 
 falling man from the yawning abyss. I know, from my professional 
 observation, that the lease of your life is nearly run out. Take a 
 dozen of those pills night and morning — let your diet consist of 
 brown gagem bread, and vegetables, exclusively — and when the pills 
 are gone, 'come to me for more. If you are not a very different man 
 at the end of one little month to what you are now, say, sir, that 
 I'm no judge of physic or diet.' 
 
THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 63 
 
 " ' But, doctor,' replied I, expostulating, ' I never felt better in my 
 life. Why should I take physic, or change my mode of living?' 
 
 " ' By the same rule that the mariner furls his sails before the storm 
 bursts,' replied he. ' Medicine, sir, should be taken more frequently 
 as a preventive than by way of cure.' 
 
 " ' That may be very true,' rejoined I. ' But, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, I see no reason for fear. I'm just as I've been for the last 
 fourteen years.' 
 
 " ' Do not flatter yourself that, because the danger has not appear- 
 ed, it will not,' added the doctor. • I beg now to apprize you that the 
 germes of apoplexy are about to spring. Be warned in time. Leave 
 off animal food, beer, wine, and spirits, and stick to my pills and brown 
 bread. Delay is death !' 
 
 "Now he chanced," continued the stout gentleman, "to strike the 
 only vulnerable point in my constitution. I had often thought, with 
 some degree of trembling, that I might be a likely subject for apo- 
 plexy, and after some more conversation, and a great deal of reflec- 
 tion, I determined to follow his advice. 
 
 " Heaven knows that Dr. Gagem had not underrated the powers of 
 his physic and diet. In three weeks I had no more stomach than a 
 deal-board. Weak at the knees, pale as a peeled turnip, and so de- 
 bilitated that T could not sit upright in my chair, I began to think it 
 high time to change the system, and told the doctor so. 
 
 " ' No, no, no,' returned he. ' The desirable effects are just per- 
 ceptible. Stick to the plan I laid down for you, and in a few days 
 you'll never be liable to a fit of apoplexy as long as you live.' 
 
 " ' Then I must keep to my bed,' said I, ' for I can scarcely crawl 
 either out of it or into it now.' 
 
 '• ' Do so,' added the doctor. ' The more repose the better.' 
 
 " Four long, weary days I remained in bed, so attenuated that I 
 could hardly turn myself from side to side. Every figure and flower 
 upon the curtains I counted over and over again in my lonely hours, 
 and speculated, as they drew themselves lazily along, upon the joys 
 that awaited me upon receiving permission to live again. 
 
 " I had been dreaming of rich, thick turtle soup, haunches of veni- 
 son, fatted capons, and things of such kind, when I was suddenly 
 awoke Dy a familiar voice, crying, ' Sleep no more. Wake and eat.' 
 
64 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " I opened my eyes to the sound, and there by my bedside stood 
 an apparition, holding a large tray, loaded with a rump-steak, smoth- 
 ered with onions, a couple of French rolls, newly baked, and a bottle 
 of ruby-bright port wine. 
 
 " ' Am I asleep — do I dream ?' said I. 
 
 " ' No,' replied the voice, which I now recognised as belonging to 
 iny kind-hearted, loquacious landlady. ' No, Mr. Brown,' added she, 
 ' you've been asleep long enough, so have I, and nearly every one of 
 my boarders beside.' 
 
 '" What do you mean?' asked I, sticking a fork into the savory 
 dish, and commencing a demolition of the dainties. 
 
 " ' First of all, finish every morsel that I've brought you,' replied 
 she, ' and then I'll astonish you with a bit of news.' 
 
 " ' "What will the doctor say, ma'am V I inquired. 
 
 " ' Doctor /' exclaimed the landlady. ' A pretty kind of doctor, in- 
 deed ! His object,' continued she, ' was to kill everybody in the house.' 
 
 " ' Kill everybody in the house !' repeated I, stopping in the act of 
 draining a glass of port. 
 
 " ' Ah, sir !' sighed she, ' I little thought what a viper I'd got under 
 my roof.' 
 
 " ' Explain yourself, ma'am,' returned I. 
 
 " ' You'll eat no more when I have,' added she. 
 
 " ' I can't as it is,' said I. 'My powers of gastronomy are sadly 
 impaired.' 
 
 " ' Tis well they are not beyond tinkering,' replied the landlady. 
 ' It was intended to render 'em so. For the sham doctor was nothing 
 more nor less than ' 
 
 "'What?' said I. 
 
 " ' A sleeping partner in an undertaker's .'" 
 
 " ' Good God !' exclaimed I. ' Drumming for business ?' 
 
 " The landlady nodded. 
 
 " It was true enough, driver," observed the stout gentleman ; "such 
 was the object of the self-dubbed Doctor Gagem." 
 

V<' i < , <',^-/?// //.^ 
 
SONNE T 
 TO MISS K.'8 LAP-DOG. 
 
 Blessed is thy lot, supremely blessed. 
 
 Who sees must envy thee ; 
 Thus by that gentle hand caressed, 
 And fondled in the rosy breast 
 Of that fair queen of chastity. 
 
 Diverted by thy artless play, 
 
 Companion of her home, 
 With thee she sports the live-long day, 
 And makes thee partner of her way 
 
 When fancy leads her steps to roam. 
 
 Her daily meal she bids thee share, 
 
 And, with unfeigned delight, 
 Selecting, with attentive care, 
 The choicest morsels for thy fare. 
 Provokes thy little appetite. 
 
 6weet fav'rite, while tis thine to share 
 
 What all with envy see : 
 For this her kindness, fHa her care, 
 Let gratitude reward the fair 
 
 With pleasing, fond fidelity. 
 
 9 
 
I S A; 
 
 A TALE OF EHOSA88AN. 
 
 scene is laid during the attacks made by the Arabs on the Persian em- 
 
 At the celetrated "battle of Kudseah, nearly all the Persian army, 100,000 
 
 strong, fell The Arahs lost 3,000 men. The battle of Nahavund decided the 
 
 ;n out cf an army of 150,000 men, 30,000 fell, pierced by the 
 
 lacces of the Arahs, and 80,000, in retreating, were drowned. 
 
 The sound of revelry was loud in Shahryar's brilliant palace. 
 Azor, the flower of Persian chivalry, had returned ; and all the beau- 
 tiful and the brave were assembled there to greet the youthful war- 
 rior. All bearts beat high — music breathed around its witching 
 power, and combined with the mazy dance to steep the senses in 
 delight. There, every beauteous race beneath the sun were met — 
 there shone the full and fawn-like eyes of Persia's daughters, the 
 half-closed glances of the Kathayan, the bloom of Georgian cheeks, 
 the golden ringlets of the Western isles. On a throne of pure white 
 marble, carpeted with shawls and cloth of gold, Shahryar sat, arrayed 
 in royal attire. His only child, the lovely Isa, to whose heart the 
 pageant had been like death, had quitted the joyous festival to seek 
 her lonely bower, to brood there in melancholy stillness o'er her grief. 
 The moon was forcing its tender light through gilded lattices, wreathed 
 with woodbine, honeysuckle, and the timid jasmine-bud ; and Isa's 
 heart was impressed with the solemn and quiet beauty of the scene, 
 heightened by its striking contrast with that she had quitted ; and the 
 sounds of merriment, issuing at intervals from the haram, obtruded 
 upon her ear as if in mockery of her serious feelings. Gradually 
 yielding to the calm and tranquillizing influence of the evening, she 
 took her lute and tremblingly struck the phords. The strain at first 
 was wild and irregular, but soon ran, as if unconsciously, into a mel- 
 ody, the favorite of her beloved Azor ; that melody was accompa- 
 nied with a voice which mated well with the tones of that soft in- 
 
iSA. 67 
 
 otiumeiu. The last notes were still lingering, as if unwilling to 1 
 their lovely creator, when a light and well-known footstep made her 
 conscious of her lover's approach. He stood before her, and, in hur- 
 ried accents, said, " isa, my betrothed, this night we part — before to- 
 morrow's sun has kissed the brow of Turok we meet the Arab on the 
 plains of Kudseah. Victory will crown our arms, for righu . 
 will support the just; then, with the speed of the eagle, will I return 
 and claim my beauteous bride. Bethink thee of thy vow — may e i ery 
 saint watch over thee !" 
 
 Isa replied, in trembling accents, " Farewell ;" and detaching from 
 her rosary a golden amulet, fretted with Arabic characters, she threw 
 it round his neck ; " Be this a charm of safety m the hour of danger — 
 may this avert every threatened evil." She paused, for at that ms 
 there burst upon them from beyond the grove that crowned their sol- 
 itude, the tramp of horses, the shrill call, the clash of the cymbal, 
 the ringing of arms. It was Azor's signal for departure ; he started 
 at the sounds ; his hands pressed upon his beating brow told how re- 
 membrance throbbed therein ; then, throwing himself upon his knees, 
 and as suddenly starting up, he cried, " Oh ! Isa, in vain I strive to 
 oiler up a prayer — my knee may bend, my lips may move, but without 
 thee I can not pray." 
 
 Isa's head bent upon his trembling arm, startled by the breathing 
 of lips that echoed back her anguish; she suddenly raised herself; 
 her mild eyes looked up to Heaven — eyes whose light seemed rather 
 given to be adored than to adore ; and, with a countenance calm but 
 sorrowful, a sadness that could not weep, breathed an inarticulate 
 prayer. The impatient pawing of the ground, the champing of a bit, 
 told Azor his faithful steed awaited him. In happier hours Isa had 
 ridden him, when, as if conscious of his precious burden, he was all 
 gentleness ; now his wild nostrils snorting, his mane erected, he 
 struggled fiercely under his warlike equipments. Isa rushed to him, 
 and, clinging to his neck — " Rakush, dear Rakush. carry your muster 
 to victory." Azor's foot was now in the stirrup — his burning lips 
 impressed a kiss upon her extended hand ; her e> es took their ago- 
 nizing farewell — she fell senseless into the arms of her faithful Ma- 
 ridah. 
 
 Isa had from her childhood been affianced to Azor ; the deadly wars 
 
68 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAU'l V 
 
 with the Arabs had taken him from her ; but absence had inc i 
 her love. Hers was a pure, deep, ardent, and imperishable feeling. 
 Azor was the sole joy, the pride, the ambition of her fond hear* ; and 
 never did saintly martyr dedieate himself with more intense devotion 
 to his faith than did Azor consecrate his heart to her. Love had been 
 to his impassioned soul not merely a part of his existence, but the 
 whole, the very life-breath of his heart ; and a purer shrine at which 
 to offer up the fragrant incense of a first affection never existed. 
 Isa's was not alone that loveliness by which the wilder passions are 
 captivated ; it possessed the mind which sparkled through her whole 
 frame, and lighted every charm. Her playful blushes seemed but the 
 luminous escapes of thought ; her clear forehead was shaded by a 
 rich profusion of glossy hair ; her eyes were full, and when stirred 
 by anger or surprise, were fire itself, but at a word of tenderness be- 
 >ubdued and soft. Her mouth was harmony and love ; and hers 
 was a form that could have spared from its rich world of beauty, 
 charms enough to have made others fair. 
 
 In her were combined all that the spirit seeks for in woman, and 
 all that the senses pine for on earth. Maridah, for whom she felt a 
 sister's affection, had early been bereft of one who had been her sole 
 terrestrial hope, and, in her widowed state, the only feeling that seem- 
 ed happiness to her, or rather the sole relief from aching misery, was 
 to see Isa happy. Her smile brought to this faithful friend warmth 
 and radiance like moonlight on a troubled sea. Many had sought 
 Maridah's hand, but in vain ; the hymeneal chaplet that first graced 
 her virgin brow was withered, and she knew no second vow could 
 ever bid it bloom again. Daily did she pray and weep at the sepul- 
 chre of the dead, strewing the grave with fragrant blossoms, from 
 the divine armita to the humble rosemary and basil-tuft, and looking 
 forward with meek confidence to the time when their spirits, bursting 
 from their charnel-vault, would be reunited, and wing their way to 
 eternity. 
 
 Time lingered on — Isa, the once light-hearted maid, with sinking 
 heart and tearful eyes, now bitterly, day by day, mourned her lover's 
 absence. Her faltering speech, her estranged look, her very beauty 
 changed, showed too well how deep his memory was graven on her 
 heart. The cypress-leaf was withering — unsoothed by rest or sleep, 
 
isa. 69 
 
 death seemed approaching. Sometimes she would start from her 
 feverish slumber, and in the fond but deceitful thought that he had re 
 turned, instinctively clasp to her panting bosom its disordered dra- 
 pery. Sometimes, too — for vague rumors of a buttle had reached 
 her — she beheld him, in her troubled dreams, on the field of blood, 
 his cimcter flashing, his gallant steed springing to his touch, outnum- 
 bered, not outbraved, opposing despair to daring, his sabre shivering 
 to the hilt. The groans of the dying, the shout of Allah Akbar, the 
 cry of ravening vultures, sounded on her ears ; she saw her lover 
 blackening within her arms, parched and writhing in agony — his ashy 
 lips approached hers. Maddening, and in torture, she awoke. Her 
 dream had been too true — a wounded straggler from the field brought 
 her the fatal news, that her soul's first and last idol had been mis- 
 sing after the murderous strife. 
 
 x\zor had been foremost in the battle ; with vigor more than human 
 he animated all. His crimson hand had given bloody welcome to 
 the foe; foiling the enemy's ranks, now reuniting his own; wounded, 
 at last, he bent senseless over his saddlebow — a film swept across 
 his eyes — with feeble and convulsive effort he raised the amulet to 
 his parching lips, then, gasping, fell senseless to the ground. Across 
 his dizzy brain came the vision of her, his heart's pure planet, shining 
 above the waste of memory — stupor crept over his frame. The 
 voices of the exulting foe soon woke him from his transient forget- 
 fulness — he tried to spring all bleeding from the earth — his creese 
 was raised to stab his war-horse, who now, masterless, was strug- 
 gling to burst his bloody girth. A band of Arabs seized the chief, 
 and he, his country's pride, was doomed to experience an exile's sor- 
 row. Azor's sufferings were acute in mental as in bodily anguish ; 
 he lingered on a wretched existence ; one dear thought still haunted 
 him, but the expiring throb of hope was nearly over. 
 
 On the eighth morning, Maridah entered Isa's apartment, and, with 
 a countenance brightened with unusual joy, awoke her suffering friend. 
 " Rise, sister ! rise ; I've news will make this day most blessed to 
 thee and me — see these lines from Azor, brought by a ransomed 
 prisoner." 
 
 A faint scream escaped Isa's pallid lips ; her heart throbbed high. 
 Seizing the scroll, she pressed it to her lips ; then, falling upon her 
 
70 AMERICAN BOOE OF BEAl'TV. 
 
 b from her heart's inmost core breathed a fervent prayer ; then, 
 
 with a glow of rapture, she threw herself into Maridah's arms, wildly 
 exclaiming, "Allah be praised! he lives! a captive — yet he lives." 
 
 Shahrvar, whose territory was threatened by the powerful Abdal- 
 lah, sought the alliance of the Calif Istkahar, unhappily one of the 
 many slaves of Isa's charms. He had offered ransom for the captive, 
 Azor ; the terms struck heavy upon a father's ears — they were the 
 hand of his affianced child. In vain did his better nature, his pater- 
 nal feeling, struggle with his people's welfare ; suffice it to say he 
 consented to sacrifice his child. Isa heard his determination with 
 calm resignation — even without a murmur. She saw but one way 
 to extricate herself, and resolved to adopt it. 
 
 Istkahar was hourly expected at Merou ; the nuptials were to be 
 celebrated in the mOst sumptuous manner. The morning arrived ; 
 the rising sun seemed to visit with unusual splendor the polished 
 domes, and fretted minarets, and stately towers. Like an eastern 
 queen, decorated to receive her lord returning from triumphant war- 
 fare, so was the royal city arrayed in all her gala decorations ; and 
 the young morning breeze sported joyously with ten thousand thou- 
 sand banners, making them to flaunt and flicker with their gaudy folds, 
 and to seem like living inhabitants of the deep azure of that Persian 
 sky. The bridal cavalcade was one unbroken line of splendor to the 
 beholder's eye — to Isa it was a melancholy funeral pageant. Through 
 the apartments, rich with arabesque painting and gilding, flowers and 
 censers breathing sweets, Isa roamed almost bewildered. To her it 
 was a maze of light and loneliness — the pomp of the scene was in 
 opposition to her feelings. 
 
 Paler than the marble pillar against which she leaned, Isa awaited 
 the sacrifice ; her anxious friend Maridah was by her side, and pri- 
 vately conveyed to her a small casket, which Isa concealed within 
 her vest. The spacious hall was now crowded ; the contract was 
 read; Isa's trembling fingers seized the pen, and signed the fatal 
 deed. The tidings spread ; messengers were despatched to the Arab 
 camp. The ceremony was proceeding. Isa was now called upon 
 to pledge her vow at the altar ; she approached it with firm step, then 
 taking the mysterious casket, was about to press it to her lips, when 
 a thrilling cry of Azor reached her ear. Every eye turned toward 
 
ISA. 71 
 
 the corridor — there Azor stood, his desperate hand raised toward 
 heaven, and, almost inflamed to madness, he shouted, " Isa ! thy vow! 
 by the remembrance of our once pure love ! — thy vow ! — heaven ! — 
 vengeance !" 
 
 " Oh, curse me not, dear Azor !" Isa wildly replied ; " it was grief, 
 it was madness caused it all. Doubt not, my love ; when every hope 
 was over, when frightful voices told me thou wert lingering in captiv- 
 ity, I thought but of thy freedom — I would have purchased thy ran- 
 som with my life — my brain gave way; and think how maddened I 
 must have been, when, to save thee, I courted death ! Be not de- 
 ceived — death is the bridegroom that awaits me !" 
 
 Azor rushed forward, dashing the casket from her hand, sprang into 
 her arms, and clasped her with speechless ecstasy. 
 
 Istkahar, who had witnessed this scene with intense interest, ap- 
 proached Isa, and, uniting her hand with Azor's, tore the contract. 
 At this generous action the shouts of Allah echoed through the halls, 
 the warrior's swords were pointed to heaven, while the harem's love- 
 liness, waving their embroidered scarfs, made the air resound with 
 the bridal song : — 
 
 " Mubarak bad ! Mubarak bad ! 
 Auspicious may your fortunes be ; 
 And ever may your hearts, stall glad, 
 Respond to nuptial revelry. 
 Mubarak bad! Mubarak bad I" 
 
 The ceremony proceeded ; and never did earth behold a sight more 
 beautiful, when, as the rays of heaven (descending on the altar) shed 
 their holy beams upon each brow, they knelt before that shrine, at 
 the foot of which she would have immolated herself — their hands 
 clasped in one, thus fondly pledged to live and die together. 
 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 BY J, E. P. ON SEEING THE PORTRAITS 07 MRS. OOSTER AND HER DATTGHTBR 
 
 A Mother's love ! Ah, what can be 
 
 Of earth's affections half so holy, 
 From sin and selfishness so free, 
 
 80 little tinged with human folly? 
 
 Look on that face, so calm, so mild I 
 What love beams forth in every feature I 
 
 Ah, thou ehouldst treasure, lovely child, 
 The lessons of thy gentle teacher ! 
 
 From her thou mayest leam to shun 
 The paths that lead to sin and sorrow; 
 
 And through the course thou hast to run, 
 Her bright example may'et thou borrow. 
 
 May peace upon ye both attend. 
 
 Fair gentle child and lovely mother ; 
 When in this world your course shall end, 
 
 May ye be blessed in another ! 
 
THE RESURRECTIONISTS 
 
 A TA.T.'R BY AN ASSISTANT UNDERTAKER. 
 
 Some people are by nature calculated for a particular calling, and I 
 think I may safely assert that I was for the funeral trade. I well re- 
 member, when quite a lad, I used to trudge it long distances to see a 
 fine burial. The tolling of a bell was music to me, and the shovel- 
 ling of the gravel into the grave, good diversion. I delighted to be 
 handling the old toothless sculls thrown up by the sexton's spade, and 
 my playground was always in the churchyard alone. 
 
 In due time I was apprenticed to an undertaker in Broadway, and 
 so ardently did I engage in my master's business, that I soon gained 
 not only his entire confidence, but I may say that I was the favorite 
 of the establishment. In fact I was soon promoted to act second to 
 him at funerals, and to take the sole direction myself, in all cases 
 during his absence. 
 
 One day my master came to me and said, " We've got a country 
 job, Joey, and I must get you to drive the hearse — the widow is un- 
 common particular." 
 
 " Is she, sir ?" said I, almost bursting with delight at the prospect 
 of going out of town on a professional tour. 
 
 " Yes," replied my master ; " her husband was a very fat gentle- 
 man, and she's much afraid to have him jolted. The funeral will 
 go from Bleecker street the day after to-morrow, to ****** in 
 Connecticut j but you will have to start to-morrow morning early, 
 and not let the horse go off a walk. The funeral party will overtake 
 you." 
 
 " Very well, sir," replied I. 
 
 " Be careful and don't jolt him, Joey," added he ; " if you do, it 
 might prove unpleasant, for he is a very tender subject " 
 
 10 
 
74 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " I understand, sir, and you may rely that I will not," said I, proudly. 
 
 It was just nine o'clock on a cold February morning that I started 
 from Bleccker street with my solitary but silent passenger. I w as 
 occupied during the whole tedious day with my thoughts, and with 
 marking the progress of my journey by different tavern-clocks, where 
 I stopped to warm my fingers and administer comfort to the inward 
 man. I had performed nearly two thirds of my journey when night 
 overtook me, and the cold became more intense. Sometimes the moon 
 peeped for a moment between dark and heavy clouds flying before a 
 whistling wind, making the night look pitchy black and comfortless ; 
 but lighting a cigar, and between the puffs humming a tune, I felt as 
 cheerful as a cricket in a hay-field. While thus proceeding with 
 careful pace, I came in sight of a remarkably neat looking white 
 tavern. The appearance of comfort and convenience, either for man 
 or beast, tempted me to stop and take a rest. After seeing my horse 
 and vehicle comfortably provided for in the shed, I took my way to 
 the bar-room to order supper and get something to drink. 
 
 " What, Joey !" hallooed a voice as I entered the room ; " is that 
 vou, my fine feller ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied I, " it is ; how are you, Harry Drinkal ?" 
 
 " Pretty middlin, I thank you," rejoined he, " but a little out of 
 luck." 
 
 It was one of our discharged apprentices, who had been in the 
 business a long time ; but nothing could keep him sober even at his 
 jobs, and so at last he was turned off by the boss, and had, as I was 
 told some time before, turned resurrectionist. Harry was a short and 
 thick-set wiry-looking fellow, with a broad face, and a pair of small 
 eyes sunk right under his shaggy brows. His mouth was the largest 
 I ever saw, and, taking him all in all, he was about the ugliest chap 
 to be seen in a month's march. By his side sat a fox-haired Irish- 
 man, tall, bony, and with the sinews of an ox shown in his bared and 
 brawny arms ; between his legs a white bulldog squatted ; and, taking 
 the three as a party, I never met with a rougher lot. 
 
 " This friend of mine," said Harry, " Mr. O'Brien, is a man al- 
 ways ready to fight and drink from sunrise to sunset." 
 
 " Troth, you may safely say so, whinever you plase," observed Mr. 
 O'Brien. 
 
THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 75 
 
 " I prefer drinking to fighting," I replied, " and, if you'll drink my 
 health, I'll stand treat 
 
 After two or three goes of brandy each, they became very talka- 
 tive, and commenced letting me into their secrets. 
 
 " I suppose you know what we're about to-night V whispered 
 Harry. 
 
 " I can guess the trick you're up to," said I. 
 
 " Sacking a subject," replied he ; " and the best stroke of trade 
 that we've had since we took to the spade and pickaxe." 
 
 " And how's that ?" I inquired. 
 
 " A smart young doctor, who is a walking saw-bone and amputation 
 shop by himself, wants a subject for private use," replied Harry, " and, 
 just for once in his life, wishes to see the performance of getting one 
 out. So he has agreed to give a matter of ten dollars if we let him 
 go along." 
 
 " It's a queer notion," observed I. 
 
 " Curiosity, sir, curiosity as pure as the real Irish whiskey," said 
 Mr. O'Brien. " There's more money made out of curiosity than any 
 other feeling in the world. To see a learned pig, or a man hung — 
 it's curiosity that brings the people." 
 
 " He's a real out-and-out feel-osopher," remarked Harry. " The 
 firm of Drinkal and O'Brien's no soft-soap concern," continued he, 
 laughing, and giving his partner a heavy bang between his shoulders. 
 
 "Are you sure of success to-night ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Certain," replied Harry. " We had information of a young fe- 
 male's being buried to-day not three miles from here, and the yard's 
 nicely lonesome." 
 
 " I thought, you said our customer was to join us here at ten o'clock," 
 remarked Mr. O'Brien, as the clock in the bar-room struck that hour. 
 
 " Well, so I did," replied Harry. " I have no doubt the gentleman 
 will be here presently." 
 
 " I'll go and get the horse put. in, then," rejoined his partner ; and 
 with that he left the room. 
 
 Soon after his going away the door was thrown open, and in came a 
 tall young man wrapped in a great wide cloak. He seemed some- 
 where about twenty years old, and was of a very pale countenance, 
 with sharp, thin features. 
 
76 AMERICAN BOOK OK BEAUTY. 
 
 li It's pretty near our time, sir," observed Harry, rising as the 
 stranger entered the room. 
 
 " Yes," replied he ; " but I'm hardly disposed to accompany you, 
 the night's so wretched and cold." 
 
 " Never have a faint heart, sir," said Harry, encouragingly. " Take 
 a glass of hot brandy-and-water ; that's a lotion against cold." 
 
 " Are you now ready to start ?" asked the gentleman. 
 
 " We shall be in a few minutes," replied Harry. " O'Brien's gone 
 to bring the wagon round." 
 
 Mr. O'Brien, however, remained absent much longer than was ex- 
 pected, and when he returned he seemed to be quite warm. The per- 
 spiration stood on his face, and he was panting for breath. 
 
 " What the devil have you been about ?" asked Harry. 
 
 " I forgot to bring the spades," replied he, " and I've had to run 
 nearly two miles to borrow a couple of them." 
 
 " Forgot to bring the spades !" exclaimed Harry. " Why I — " 
 
 " No you didn't," interrupted Mr. O'Brien. 
 
 " But I say — " 
 
 " You didn't," again interrupted the Irishman, and I fancied he gave 
 Harry a kind of wink. 
 
 " Oh, yes, perhaps you're right, perhaps you're right," returned 
 Harry, and then he went into an extravagant fit of laughing. " Only 
 to think," said he, " that I should forget the spades ! What an over- 
 sight !" and then he haw-haw'd again. 
 
 I couldn't see anything in particular to laugh at myself, and I won- 
 dered what tickled him so. But I was young and green then. 
 
 " How soon do you start, Joey ?" asked Harry of me. 
 
 " In about half an hour," I replied ; " can't you wait for me ; or 
 ain't you going my way ?" 
 
 " I expect you'll pass us," replied Harry. " But we must be off, 
 s we have a full night's work ; no doubt we shall see you again, 
 presently." 
 
 With this the three left the house, and, climbing into a light wag- 
 on at the door, the horse bounded forward at a rapid pace. 
 
 I was soon afterward on the same road with my hearse. The 
 cold increased with the night. A thin sleet fell, with some rain, and 
 was blown into my face till I had no feeling left in it. Howling and 
 
THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 77 
 
 whistling through the leafless trees and hedges, the wind swept, along, 
 and nothing was heard above its roar but the bark of a dog now and 
 then, and the harsh scream of a screech-owl, as she flapped her broad 
 wing in the wintry blast. 
 
 I proceeded at a slow pace, and when I had got about three miles 
 from the inn, I saw in the rays of the moon, which showed her face 
 for a moment, the spire of a country church peeping above the top of 
 a dark willow tree, and close to the road-side. Under the tree I saw 
 a light move, and then it appeared to be put out. " That's Harry's 
 dark lantern," said I to myself, and so it proved to be. 
 
 Upon stopping opposite the church, I heard the click of the spade 
 at work, and, getting off my box, was directed toward the spot by the 
 sound. When within a short distance of them, the dog, who was 
 squatting on a sunken grave, gave a deep, threatening growl. 
 " Is that you, Joey ?" inquired Mr. O'Brien. 
 " All right !" I replied. 
 
 " Down, Jowler, then, down, feller," replied his master. " If it had 
 been anybody we didn't want to see," continued O'Brien, laughing, 
 :{ he'd have drawn their windpipe out by this time." 
 
 By the side of a partly-opened grave, in which Harry was working, 
 stood the young medical student, and, as I came near him, I knew he 
 was either trembling with fear, or shivering with cold, for his teeth 
 chattered together, so as to be heard some distance off. " Make 
 haste," he said, impatiently; " I wish to God I had not come !" 
 
 " Don't get in the fidgets, sir," replied O'Brien ; " Harry will soon 
 get to her. Take a drop o' rum ; it'll comfort the cockles of your 
 buzzum, sir," continued he, offering the flask. 
 
 " No, no, no, I can't drink," rejoined he. "Make haste, pray let 
 us leave here directly." 
 
 " As soon as possible, if you're in such a hurry," added O'Brien. 
 " But in a snug, cozy place like this, I don't see any call for haste." 
 
 " I do, I do," returned the gentleman, quickly. " I know there's 
 cause for haste." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! you're a little bit scared, sir, that's all," added the 
 Irishman. " Ha, ha, ha ! how asy some folks are frightened ! Ha, ha. 
 ha ! I can't help laughing ;" and his loud peal echoed through the 
 place, until every gravestone seemed to throw back the sound. 
 
78 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 u I say, you Paddy," called a voice from below. 
 
 " Well, and what have you to say ?" inquired O'Brien, leaning over 
 the edge of the grave. 
 
 '• We're in the wrong box," replied Harry. " This is a real stale 
 one, and no mistake." 
 
 The Irishman, hearing this, stamped his feet with rage, and cursed 
 like a fiend. 
 
 " Hush !" exclaimed the young gentleman, springing to his side ; 
 " do hold your tongue." 
 
 " Ain't it enough to make a dumb infant swear ?" returned O'Brien. 
 " Are ye sure it's too ripe, Harry ?" inquired he. 
 
 " I'm not certain," replied his partner, " but the box looks so." 
 
 After a short pause O'Brien lowered some grappling irons attached 
 to a rope into the grave, and told Harry to fix them in the shroud 
 " for," said he, " you'll be a week in making up your mind about her." 
 
 " I'm very doubtful, certainly," replied Harry ; " but there you are, 
 all right ; pull away." 
 
 Hand over fist the Irishman tugged the corpse to the verge of the 
 grave, and, taking it in his arms, threw it across his bent knee upon 
 the ground. 
 
 " She won't do," said he, putting his hand into a side pocket, and 
 taking out a hammer. " But she's got some good grinders for the 
 dentist ;" and, holding the lantern close to the body's face, he struck 
 the mouth sharply, crushing in the jaw. 
 
 A shriek, wild and piercing, burst close to my ear as the hammer 
 (ell. " My God ! My God !" exclaimed a voice, and, jumping a yard 
 at a single bound, the young gentleman fastened a grip like a tiger 
 upon the throat of the Irishman. In a moment he was hurled to the 
 ground, like a bull-dog shaking a rat from him. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with you ?" said O'Brien. 
 
 " The matter !" screamed the medical student. " The matter !" 
 and then he rolled upon the earthj as though in liquid fire. " Ha, ha, 
 ha !" but the laugh was more horrid than his shrieks. 
 
 " By Saint Patrick !" said O'Brien, " he's gone clean mad." 
 
 " Would to Heaven that I was !" hallooed the gentleman. " Would 
 to Heaven that I was ! for then " 
 
THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 79 
 
 He could say no more, but fell into a fit by the side of the corpse, 
 apparently with as little of life left in him. 
 
 Thinking his noise might disturb the neighborhood, I didn t wait 
 an instant longer, but, running as fast as I could out of the yard, mount- 
 ed my hearse, and started again with my load. I learned a few clays 
 afterward that they had mistaken the grave, and that the body dug up 
 was that of the young gentleman's own mother ! 
 
 The next morning, after my arrival at the place where the funeral 
 was to go from, and just as we were ready to start for the grave, in 
 our best plumes and feathers, a letter was put in my hands, marked 
 " in haste." Upon breaking it open, you may think of my astonish 
 ment when I read the — — but here is the letter : 
 
 " Dear Joseph : I'm almost busting with larfin to think how you 
 will be laft at when our go of last night comes to be known. But as 
 you have always been a first-rate fellow, and treated me like a gen- 
 tleman, I won't let it get you into trouble if so be you're not a fool, 
 and I reckon you ain't. Now, Joey, take a friend's advice. Be par- 
 tickler in telling the fellows to draw your load with an old nurse's care 
 from the hearse, for if they shake him, mark my words, Joey, he'll 
 rattle like marbles in a saucepan. And if so be any of the mourners 
 hear the row, they may take it into their obstinate heads to call for a 
 screwdriver. In this case, my fine feller, you'd get very wrongfully 
 suspected of foul play, as all you'd see on the box being opened, would 
 be a few dozen large stones from the stable, put there in place of 
 your fat passenger by my shrewd partner, Mr. O'Brien. Joey, you 
 may think I'm lying, but I'm not when I say, if I'd known of his plan 
 aforehand it shouldn't have happened. However, what's done can't 
 be undone, and all you've got to do is, mind and not have the box 
 shaken, that's all. " Harry Drinkal." 
 
 It may be easily supposed that I had a sort of a queerish sensation 
 at this piece of news. All manner of fancies came over me. The 
 old widow, thought I, will insist on having just one last look before 
 he's covered up. Then I feared we should have an upset, a slip, or 
 i rope snap. All possible events for finding me out in the quandary 
 ivere chewed very fine in my brain, and as I got upon the hearse to 
 /oin in the procession, no poor fellow ever mounted a much more un- 
 easy seat in this world or the other, I know. As in a good many 
 
80 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 other affairs, appearances being against me, no one would credit the 
 truth in case the exchange was discovered ; and all my hopes and 
 prospects of course depended on the secret remaining snug and 
 secure. 
 
 On our way to the churchyard, things went smooth enough. I was 
 more gentle than a lamb with my horse, especially round the near 
 corners, ibr, thought I, if one or two of them stones get loose, they'll 
 find me out to a certainty. 
 
 " Be careful, Sammy," said I to one of the men, as he unfastened 
 the hearse door ; " be careful, Sammy. The lady partickerly ordered 
 that he wasn't to be jolted." 
 
 " Pooh !" growled Sammy, in a loudish whisper, " I dare say you 
 smacked him out here at the rate of twelve miles an hour, and spent 
 the rest of the time at the taverns along the road." 
 
 " At no expense of yours, if I did," replied I, indignantly. 
 
 '• Well, then, I'll be careful," said he sarcastically, and at the same 
 time giving the coffin such a pull that sent all the blood tingling to 
 my toes. 
 
 Desperation makes 'a man beside himself. Without thinking of 
 the consequences, but only of the likelihood of Sammy's violence let- 
 ting the cat out of the bag, I leaped off my seat, and, throwing the 
 reins across my horse, rushed to what I may call the rescue. 
 
 " Drop that as you would a hot potato," cried I, clutching hold of 
 the coffin. 
 
 " Damn your impudence !" hallooed Sammy, planting a left-handed 
 whack just in the middle of my pin-cushion. " Put that in your 
 pipe," said he. 
 
 Down I tumbled backward, and lay sprawling in the road. Our 
 master, who was standing with the old widow and the other members 
 of the fat old gentleman's family, at some little distance off, saw there 
 was something going on, and came running toward us like a lamp- 
 lighter. 
 
 " What's all this about, eh ?" asked he ; " what's all this about V 
 
 Now Sammy was as artful a fellow as ever was picked, and see- 
 ing I couldn't speak a word, said he, " Sir, I'm sorry to say Joey's 
 drunk." 
 
 " Drunk !" exclaimed he, fixing a look upon me that I shall never 
 
THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 81 
 
 forget ; " drunk at a job like this ! Oh, Joey ! what an ungrateful boy 
 you are !" 
 
 " I'm not, sir," replied I as well as I could, but each word seemed 
 to prove, to the contrary. "I'm not drunk, ssir. Sammy's hit me be- 
 cause I wanted to see your orders obeyed, and he wouldn't do them." 
 
 " Shut up your noise," returned my master ; " I'll see into this busi- 
 ness by-and-by." 
 
 After the performance was over, there was a regular sort of trial, 
 and my story being believed, Sammy Avas cleared out. My master, 
 thinking a good thing might be made out of the morning's rumpus, 
 went with his best business-face to the family, and made out that I 
 was one of the tenderest-hearted boys in the world, who couldn't 
 tamely sit by and see the affectionate feelings of a devoted lady out- 
 raged. With a little more lingo, he so scraped upon the catgut oi 
 the old widow, that she sent me a five-dollar gold piece, and a message 
 to bid me remember " that one kind turn often brings another." 
 
 As near as I can recollect, it was just two months after this funeral 
 of the box of stones, that we had a job to take a body out of the Lu- 
 natic Asylum. The day was very wet and doleful-looking. A thick 
 fog hung in one dense cloud from house-tops to the damp and greasy 
 stones. A drizzling rain fell, and the air seemed to drill itself through 
 your wheezing lungs. Cold and wet, we arrived at the island in a 
 boat. 
 
 " What's this 'sylum built for?" asked one of our green chaps. 
 
 " I expect it's for people who've lost their wits," I replied. 
 
 " Are we going, then, to bury one of them ?" asked he. 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " we're just about putting the finishing stroke to 
 that which the horrors began." 
 
 As I was screwing down the lid of the coffin, I entered into con- 
 versation with one of the keepers, who told me the history of the 
 deceased. " He was a fine young man," said the keeper, " a young 
 doctor practising anatomy, and, wanting a subject, he went with some 
 resurrectionists to raise one somewhere up in Westchester. Not 
 knowing where they were going to, you may guess his surprise when 
 he found himself in the churchyard of his own native village. The 
 horrors now began to creep upon him, and he tried to persuade them 
 
 11 
 
82 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 to leave the place, but ' No, no !' was the answer, ' not until we fill 
 our bag.' 
 
 " It is a most singular and remarkable circumstance," continued 
 the keeper, " that these fellows should have made a mistake, and the 
 first body they dug up was no other than the young gentleman's ma- 
 ternal parent, who had been buried some seven weeks." 
 
 "Good God!" I exclaimed, remembering the circumstance of the 
 night, with which the reader is acquainted ; " and what followed ?" 
 
 " From that moment the young fellow became daft," rejoined the 
 keeper, " and in two weeks after the event he was brought here by 
 his friends. He has never spoken during the last six weeks. In- 
 deed, his is a melancholy end !" 
 
 THE UNHAPPY UNION. 
 
 The fate of Fanny F. made a strong impression upon my mind I 
 have known few women of more amiable dispositions, more accom- 
 plished, or more capable of rendering a man of sense and sentiment 
 happy, and of being rendered happy by him. 
 
 Her great weakness lay in her having too little reliance in her own 
 judgment, and being too pliant to the importunity of others. She was 
 persuaded by her relations to marry Mr. Bond, a young man, who, by 
 the death of an elder brother, had acquired an immense fortune. Her 
 relations assured her that " he was the best young man in the world ;" 
 and when she confessed to them, that in spite of his good qualities, it 
 was impossible for her to meet with a man for whom she could feel 
 more indifference : she was told that it was an objection of no impor- 
 tance, because she might come to like him more, but would never like 
 him less, which was an advantage many married women did not 
 enjoy. 
 
THF FNHAPPY UNION. 83 
 
 Mr. Bond was a great observer of decorum and uniformity, and 
 particularly fond of whatever was new As he had taken a wife, 
 which was quite a new thing to him, he resolved to have other parts 
 of bis establishment as new ns her. to please himself. 
 
 He therefore took a new house, ordered new furniture, new car- 
 riages, new liveries, caused his old pictures, particularly a 
 family, by Raphael, to be new varnished, and he exchanged an an- 
 tique statue which his father had brought from Rome, for one a great 
 deal newer. 
 
 He rejected the proposal of having some old family jewels to be 
 new set for his wife, and ordered others for her, all spick and span 
 new : in short, everything he presented her with, was new, except his 
 ideas : of these he had but a scanty proportion ; and what few he had, 
 were worn threadbare by use. 
 
 The frequent repetitions of observations not worth making, was 
 rather tiresome to the most patient of his acquaintance, but. to his w T ife 
 became oppressive. 
 
 As young Mr. Bond lived as well, according to the phrase, as most 
 men, he had abundance of visiters. His house was peculiarly conve- 
 nient to some of his wife's relations who were fond of entertainments. 
 and to whom it was more agreeable to enjoy them in their friends' 
 houses, than in their own. Poor Fanny was thought by some to have 
 been made a sacrifice to this taste of her nearest relations ; for what- 
 ever happiness they might have in her house, she had none. She 
 was miserable, however, in a different style to other unfortunate 
 people ; not from want, but from superabundance : she had a profusion 
 of everything, and seemed to have a relish for nothing There were 
 few things of which she had a greater share, and for which she had a 
 smaller relish, than her husband's company. 
 
 When first I knew Fanny F., she lived with her mother in a 
 manner, and she was one of the most cheerful girls I was evi 
 quainted with. 
 
 When I visited her after her marriage, I found her in a house like 
 a palace, surrounded with gaudy superfluity ; but she herself with a 
 face of languor and dejection. At sight of me, her features were en- 
 livened : I recognised the countenance of my old companion ; but, her 
 husband coming in, it resumed its former dejection. Nothing, to be 
 
84 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. 
 
 sure, could be more tcazingly ceremonious than the behavior, or more 
 oppressively insipid than the conversation, of this worthy man. His 
 Lashed as often as he spoke. She made one attempt to get rid 
 of him, by putting him in mind of an engagement. " There would bo 
 more impropriety," said he, " in leaving you and this lady, my dear, 
 than in breaking the engagement." I entreated he might use no cere- 
 mony. He said, " he understood politeness better." 
 
 When I saw the case desperate, I rose to withdraw. He led me 
 through several rooms to exhibit his new-colored pictures, and the 
 splendor of the furniture. " You see, madam," said he, addressing 
 me, " that your friend is in possession of everything that can render a 
 woman happy." The tears started into my poor friend's eyes, and I 
 hurried away, that she might not see I had perceived it. 
 
 If I had not been so determined before, this example would have 
 me resolve never to be the wife of a man I did not both love and 
 esteem in a supreme degree, whatever his wealth and his good nature 
 might be. 
 
 Unquestionably, instances may be produced of women who have 
 been rendered unhappy by husbands whom they both loved and es- 
 teemed at the time of their marriage ; but even those women, though 
 on the whole, unfortunate, had enjoyment for a pertain period at least, 
 whereas poor Mrs. Bond has never had a day free from tedium since 
 that of her marriage. Her hours, which formerly danced away as 
 lightly as those of Guido's Aurora, now move at a snail's pace along 
 a heavy, cheerless road. Good sense, generosity, and spirit, with 
 humanity, are indispensable requisites in a husband. 
 
DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUT1. 
 
 It is difficult to form any punctual notions of beauty. Qualities of 
 personal attraction, the most opposite imaginable, are each looked 
 upon as beautiful in different countries, or by different people in the 
 same country. " That which is deformity at Paris, may be beauty at 
 Pekin !" 
 
 "Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape. 
 
 Who dost in every country change thy shape ; 
 
 "black, there brown, here tawny, and there white ! " 
 
 The frantic lover sees " Helen's beauty in an Egyptian brow." The 
 black teeth, the painted eyelids, the plucked eyebrows, of the Chinese 
 fair, have admirers ; and should their feet be largo enough to walk 
 upon, their owners are regarded as monsters of ugliness. The 
 Lilliputian dame is the beau ideal of perfection in the eyes of a 
 northern gallant ; while in Patagonia they have a Polyphemus-standard 
 of beauty. Some of the North American nations tie four boards round 
 the heads of their children, and thus squeeze them, while the bones 
 are yet tender, into a square form. Some prefer the form of a sugar- 
 loaf ; others have a quarrel with the natural shortness of the ears, and 
 therefore from infancy those are drawn down upou the shoulders ! 
 
 With the modern Greeks, and other nations on the shores of the 
 Mediterranean, corpulency is the perfection of form in a woman ; and 
 those very attributes which disgust the western European, form the 
 attractions of an oriental fair. ^ It was from the common and admired 
 shape of his countrywomen, that Rubens in his pictures delights so 
 much in a vulgar and odious plumpness : when this master was desi- 
 rous to represent the " beautiful," he had no idea of beauty under two 
 hundred weight. His very Graces are all fat. 
 
 The hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has always been 
 a disputed point which color most becomes it. Wc account red hair 
 unhandsome; but in the time of Elizabeth it found admirers, and 
 
86 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, though she had exquisite hair of 
 her own, wore red fronts. Cleopatra was red-haired ; and the Vene- 
 tian ladies at this day counterfeit yellow hair. 
 
 But where are we to detect ils especial source of power ? Often 
 forsooth in a dimple, sometimes beneath the shade of an eyelid, or 
 perhaps among the recesses of a little fantastic curl ! The fit of admi 
 ration seizes us without warning, and either disposition, or our weak 
 ness, favors the surprise. One look, one glance, may fix and deter 
 mine us. 
 
 Few are there that can withstand " the sly smooth attraction of a 
 fair young face." — " It calls the cynic from his tub to woo." Led by 
 no sense as they are by the eyes, you may see the most sober men 
 content to lock up their wishes in the meshes of a little auburn hair. 
 Many could demonstrate to perfection the eligibility of freedom to 
 servitude, and yet are practically too weak to resist the sensual allure- 
 ments of some pretty casuist : a touch, soft as the brush from the 
 pinions of the dove, winds them to her purpose. 
 
 "Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare. 
 And beauty draws us with, a single hair !" 
 
 We seek not here to revolt the enthusiasm of any man, or to warp 
 any natural bias that may be felt toward the daughters of men ; yet 
 how far an unmitigated dotage upon beauty is reasonable, no one in his 
 sober senses can hesitate to decide. 'Tis a composition we can all 
 admire ; it exists doubtless for peculiar ends ; but let it maintain its 
 legitimate influence, and be bounded there. The privilege of being 
 first heard, it is always likely to have ; but must it always continue to 
 take place of everything, ordinary and extraordinary ? 
 
 "For what admirest thou, what transports thee so? 
 An outside ? Fair, no doubt and worthy well 
 Thy cherishing, thy honoring, and thy love — 
 Not thy subjection '" 
 
 Yet this influence, vast as it is, is but for a while ; it is " a short 
 lived tyranny." It is an electrifier, the power of which only endures 
 while an adventitious property abides with it. The holyday-time of 
 beauty has its date, and 'tis the penalty of nature that girls must fade 
 and wither, as their grandmothers have done before them. 
 
DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUTY WOMAN'S INFLUENCE, ETC. 87 
 
 The venerable abbey, and aged oak, are the more beautiful in their 
 decay ; and many are the charms around us, both of art and nature, 
 that may still linger and phase. The breaking wave is most graceful 
 at the moment of its dissolution ; the sun, when setting, is still beauti- 
 ful and glorious, and though the longest day must have its evening, 
 yet is the evening as beautiful as the morning ; the light deserts us, 
 but it is to visit us again ; the rose retains after-charms for sense, and 
 though it fall into decay, it renews its glories at the approach of anoth- 
 er spring. But for woman there is no second May ! " Stat sua suique 
 dies" To each belongs her little day ; and time, that gives new 
 whiteness to the swan, gives it not unto woman ! 
 
 WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. 
 
 Like the olive-tree — said to fertilize the surrounding soil — there 
 are some few ministering angels in female guise among us all and 
 about our paths, who sweetly serve to cheer and adorn life. Our 
 amusements are insipid unless they contribute to them ; our efforts of 
 noblest ambition feeble, unless they applaud — its rewards valueless, 
 unless they share them ! There are, too, some rude spirits in the 
 world, whose bolder nature female influence admirably serves to refine 
 and temper ; and perhaps it is not an extreme eulogium of the poet — 
 that without that influence many a man had been "a brute indeed!" 
 The concurrence of both sexes is as necessary to the perfection of 
 our being, as to the existence of it : man may make a fine melody, but 
 woman is also required to make up harmony ! 
 
 SELFIS HNE S S 
 
 If, in the wide catalogue of human faults, there be one more than 
 another which we would cover with our hand as the most unsightly 
 blot upon human nature, it is the vice of selfishness. There are faults 
 that may be wept over, but this is not one of them ; and crimes, spring- 
 ing directly from the passions, seem almost venial compared with that 
 habitual, undisguised self-worship which is the offspring of a mean 
 soul "Tis a blemish that stands out grossly to the eye — more 
 
 "Than lying, vainness, babbling, i n nkerr 
 Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
 Inherits our frail blood !" 
 
THE SIREN. 
 
 The Sirens of the World no more 
 
 Hold their dominion on the main ; 
 The Steam-King rules from shore to shore, 
 And from his iron lungs the roar 
 Would drown their Circean strain. 
 
 But o'er the Earth their magic power, 
 
 With three-fold cords, is bound — 
 For now to Song, their ancient dower, 
 The loving Bird, and lovely Flower, 
 To form their spells, are found. 
 
 BIRD OF THE GENTLE WING, 
 
 Bikd of the gentle wing, songster of air, 
 Home from thy wandering dost thou repair? 
 Art thou deserted then, 'wilder'd and lone ? 
 Come to my breast again, beautiful one. 
 Here in the rosy beds hover anew ; 
 Eating the garden-seeds, sipping the dew: 
 Then in my bovver the fragrance inhale 
 Of each lovely flower that waves in the gale. 
 
 When the bright morning-star, rising on high, 
 Day's early harbinger, shines in the sky, 
 Then ?hnll thy numbers, so lovely and gay, 
 Rouse me from slumbers to welcome the day ; 
 When the still evening comes, tranquil and clear — 
 When the dull beetle roams, drumming the air — 
 Then on the willow-trees, shading the door, 
 Sing me thy melodies over once more. 
 
 Thus shall the moments fly sweetly along, 
 Timed to thy minstrelsy, cheer'd by thy song ; 
 Till as the light declines far in the west, 
 Thou 'mid the trellised vines, hush thee to rest. 
 Why did'st thou leave me in sadness, alone? 
 Could'st thou so grieve me, my beautiful one? 
 Welcome, dear minion, again to my door, 
 Here fold ihy pinion, and wander no more. 
 
it^j 
 
THE UNKNOWN STUDENT. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF BOHEMIA. 
 
 There is something inexpressibly fearful in the history of the Thirty 
 Years' War for the extirpation of protestantism in Germany, Bohemia, 
 and Hungary, under the second Ferdinand. The horrible bigotry of 
 this emperor can scarcely be conceived. In Bohemia, especially, 
 never in the world was there such a butchery — a deep, deadly, and 
 persevering butchery of the people ! From end to end of the country 
 marched great armies, overwhelming every attempt at resistance by 
 the outraged people ; and in their train, from village to village, and 
 from house to house, went the Jesuits, with troops of dragoons, to 
 convert the survivors to the holy mother church. The command was 
 to forsake heresy, and be converted ; the arguments were bullets, and 
 the refusal, death. Hence comes the phrase of " dragooning people" 
 into anything. The whole land was one amphitheatre of martyrdom. 
 The people fought, and often conquered, but in vain ; and then issued 
 forth that strange apparition — the Unknown Student. What a singu- 
 lar episode is his advent in the history of this war ! His real name 
 and origin were unknown, and will always remain so. He had all the 
 reckless enthusiasm of the student ; the zeal of the hero or the saint ; 
 and the eloquence which tingles in the ears of wronged men, and runs 
 through the quick nerves like fire. Solemn and mysterious, he stood 
 forth in the hour of need, like a spirit from heaven. The wondering 
 people gathered round him, listened, and followed with shouts to vic- 
 tory. They stood in the field of Gmunden, in the face of the magnifi- 
 cent Salzburg Alps. The Unknown Student was in the midst of them ; 
 and, pointing to the lake, the forests, the hills, and the glittering alpine 
 summits above and around them, he asked if they would not fight for 
 so glorious a land, and for the simple and true hearts in those rocky 
 
 fastnesses ? In the camp of Pappenheim (Ferdinand's general) they 
 
 12 
 
&0 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEATJTY. 
 
 heard the fiery words of his harangue ; they heard the vows which 
 burst forth like the voice of the sea in reply, and the hymn of faith 
 which followed. From rock, ravine, and forest, rushed forth the im- 
 petuous peasant thousands ; and even the veterans of Pappenheim 
 could not sustain the shock. The right wing scattered and fled ; the 
 peasant army, with the Unknown Student at their head, pursuing and 
 hewing them down. There was a wild flight to the very gates of 
 Gmunden. Then came back the fiery Unknown with his flushed 
 thousands. He threw himself on the left wing of Pappenheim with 
 the fury of a lion. There was a desperate struggle ; the troops of 
 Pappenheim wavered, victory hung on the uplifted sword of the Un- 
 known Student, when a ball struck him, and his role was played out. 
 His head, hoisted on a spear, was a sign of shivering dismay to his 
 followers. They fled, leaving on the field four thousand of their 
 fellows dead ; Pappenheim and extermination in their rear. 
 
 "What a picture is that which the historians draw of the horrors 
 which this so-called religious war inflicted on all Germany ! Some 
 of them reckon that the half, and others that two thirds, of the whole 
 population perished in it. In Saxony alone, within two years, nine 
 hundred thousand men were destroyed. In Bohemia, at the time of 
 Ferdinand's death, before the last exterminating campaign of Torsten- 
 son and Banner, the Swedish generals, the population was sunk to a 
 fourth. Augsburg, which before had eighty thousand inhabitants, had 
 then only eighteen thousand ; and all Germany in proportion. In 
 Berlin were only three hundred burghers left. The prosperity of the 
 country was for a long period destroyed. Not only did hands fail, and 
 the workshops lie in ashes, but the spirit and diligence of trade were 
 transferred to other lands. 
 
 After thirty years of battles, burnings, murders, and diseases, Ger- 
 many no longer looked like itself, and it is estimated that ten millions 
 of its inhabitants had been exterminated ! The proud nation was 
 changed into a miserable mob of beggars and thieves. Famishing 
 peasants, cowardly citizens, lewd soldiers, rancorous priests, and 
 effeminate nobles, were the miserable remains of the great race which 
 had perished. 
 
 The atrocities which had been committed in this war were unexam- 
 pled. In the storming of Magdeburg, thu soldiers had amused them- 
 selves, as a relaxation from their wholesale horrors perpetrated on the 
 
THE UNKNOWN STUDENT 91 
 
 adults, with practising tortures on children. One man boasted that he 
 had tossed twenty babies on his spear. Others they roasted alive in 
 ovens : and others they pinned down in various modes of agony, and 
 pleased themselves with their cries as they sat and ate. Writers of 
 the time describe thousands dying of exhaustion ; numbers as creeping 
 naked into corners and cellars, in the madness of famine falling upon, 
 tearing each other to pieces, and devouring each other ; children being 
 devoured by parents, and parents by children ; many tearing up bodies 
 from the graves, or seeking the pits where horse-killers threw their 
 carcasses, for the carrion, and even breaking the bones for the marrow, 
 after they were full of worms ! Thousands of villages lay in ashes 
 and, after the war, a person might in many parts of Germany go fifp 
 miles in almost any direction without meeting a single man, a head of 
 cattle, or a sparrow ; while in another, in some ruined hamlet, you 
 might see a single old man and a child, or a couple of old women. 
 " Ah, God !" says an old chronicler, " in what a miserable conditior 
 stand our cities ! Where before were thousands of streets, there now 
 were not hundreds. The burghers by thousands had been chased 
 into the water, hunted to death in the woods, cut open and their hearts 
 torn out, their ears, noses, and tongues, cut. off, the soles of their feet 
 opened, straps cut out of their backs ; women, children, and men, so 
 shamefully and barbarously used, that it is not to be conceived. How 
 miserable stand the little towns, the open hamlets ! There lie they, 
 burnt, destroyed, so that neither roof, beam, door, nor window, is to 
 be seen. The churches ? they have been burnt, the bells carried 
 away, and the most holy places made stables, market-houses, and 
 worse of — the very altars being purposely defiled and heaped with 
 filth of all kinds." Whole villages were filled with dead bodies of 
 men, women, and children, destroyed by plague, and hunger, with 
 quantities of cattle which had been preyed on by dogs, wolves, and 
 vultures, because there had been no one to mourn or to bury them. 
 Whole districts, which had been highly cultivated, were again grown 
 over with wood ; families who had fled, on returning after the war. 
 found trees growing on their hearths ; and even now, it is said, foun- 
 dations of villages are in some places found in the forests, and the 
 traces of ploughed lands. It is the fixed opinion that to this day 
 Germany, in point of political freedom and the progress of public art 
 and wealth, feels the disastrous consequences of this war. 
 
THE WITCHES' WASH-BASIN 
 
 BT J. OATHEBWOOD, M. D. 
 
 The Brocken is one of the wildest and highest habitable points of 
 the Harz mountains in Germany. It was no doubt its superlatively 
 savage character which, thousands of years ago, made the wild natives 
 pitch upon it as the altar-place of their gods, and add there horrors of 
 a cruel superstition to the furies of the elements. The blood which 
 for ages flowed on its craggy and bleak heights, and the thrilling cries 
 of human victims, and the horns and drums of the ruthless priests, 
 have sunk into the hearts of the people hereabout with a force that 
 neither time nor education has been able to eradicate. They believe, 
 as firmly as they believe in their God, that all the evil spirits of the 
 world assemble upon the Brocken at stated times. The great altar of 
 the ancients has been converted by them into " the Devil's Pulpit ;" 
 and the place where the pagan dances were celebrated, and the hollow 
 stone where the priests washed away the gore of the sacrifice, have 
 assumed the equally characteristic names of the " Witches' Dance- 
 Place," and the " Witches' Wash-Basin." 
 
 Some of the more shrewd of the inhabitants of this region, who 
 " live by their wits," in entertaining the numerous visiters from all 
 parts of the civilized world, take the utmost pains to confirm the vari- 
 ous legends of the place ; and as " the Brocken" has occupied a large 
 space in countless books of European travellers, I can not refrain from 
 relating an anecdote, which accidentally came under my own observa- 
 tion, relative to the wonderful peculiarities of the Witches' Wash- 
 Basin-^ 
 
 Two English gentlemen — one of them with a very large volume 
 of " Travels in Germany" under his arm — inquired, on entering the 
 Brocken House, for the Witches' Wash-Basin, whither they were im 
 
the witches' wash-basin. 93 
 
 mediately conducted. Arrived at it, they tasted the water which had 
 collected from several days' rain and fog in this scooped-out stone, and 
 pronounced it insipid. Whereupon they returned again to the house, 
 and were shown to their room. Soon after, one of them, provided with 
 a mug and napkin, returned to the Witches' Wash-Basin, scooped out 
 the water, and wiped the hollow quite dry with a cloth ; and this 
 business beir.g satisfactorily finished, returned to his room. In pur- 
 suance of her duty, a serving-maid, who noticed this proceeding, took 
 the earliest opportunity to replenish the hollow stone with fresh water, 
 the moment she could do so unobserved. After the gentleman had 
 had some coffee and eggs, he set out again to the Witches' Wash-Basin> 
 when he found, to his great delight, that the water during his absence, 
 and in the brightest atmosphere and sunshine, had again collected! 
 He then fetched his mug, drank some of this fresh water, and pro- 
 nounced it superlatively excellont. Once more he scooped it out, and 
 posted himself, watch in hand, in order precisely to determine in what 
 time the basin would again fill itself. As soon as this fact was known, 
 some one rushed out of the Brocken House with loud and fearful cries 
 toward the Wolken-Hiiuschen. The philosopher at the Witches' 
 Wash-Basin seeing this, and imagining that something very remarkable 
 had happened, left the observation of the basin for a few moments ; 
 when the same maid, who was watching her opportunity, filled it a 
 second time. On his return, he was delighted to find that in exactly 
 ten minutes and forty seconds the water had re-collected itself. He 
 now ordered a table and chair, paper, pen, and ink, to be brought, 
 in order to note down the minutest particulars of this great natural 
 wonder ; and while writing his article, he protested in the most solemn 
 manner that his book of travels should at least on this point be most 
 distinct in its description of so wonderful a phenomenon ! Therefore 
 he asserted that this was the greatest curiosity which he had seen in 
 his travels in Germany, and that it alone was a sufficient inducement 
 to an ascent of the Brocken. He lamented only that this remarkable 
 stone should receive so little attention ; it ought, he suggested, to have 
 a little house built over it, and the water only appropriated to curative 
 purposes 
 
THE YOUNG LADY AND THE WIFE. 
 
 BT THE BDITOB. 
 
 A lady should appear to think well of books, rather than to speak 
 well of them ; she may show the engaging light that good taste and 
 sensibility always diffuse over conversation ; she may give instances 
 of great and affecting passages, because they show the fineness of her 
 imagiii the goodness of her heart; but all criticism, beyond 
 
 this, sits awkwardly upon her. She should know more than she dis- 
 plays, because it gives her unaffected powers in discourse ; for the 
 same reason that a man's efforts are easy and firm, when his action 
 requires not his full strength. She should, by habit, form her mind to 
 the noble and pathetic ; and she should have an acquaintance with thp 
 fine arts, because they enrich and beautify the imagination ; but she 
 should carefully keep them out of view in the shape of learning, and 
 let them run through the easy vein of unpremeditated thought ; for this 
 reason, she should seldom use, and not always appear to understand, 
 the terms of art ; the gentlemen will occasionally explain them to her. 
 [ knew a lady of address, who, when any term of art was mentioned, 
 always turned to the gentleman she had a mind to compliment, and, 
 with uncommon grace, asked him the meaning ; by this means, she 
 gave men the air of superiority they like so well, while she held them 
 in chains. No humor can be more delicate than this, which plays 
 upon the tyrant, who 'requires an acknowledgment of superiority of 
 sense, as well as power, irom the weaker sex ! 
 
THE YOUNG LADY AND THE WIFE. 95 
 
 A lady sporting her learning, and introducing her verses upon all 
 occasions, reminds one of a woman, who has a fine hand and arm, a 
 pretty foot, or a beautiful set of teeth, and who is not satisfied with 
 letting them appear as nature and custom authorize, but is perpetually 
 intruding her separate perfections into notice. If a woman neglects 
 the duties of her family and the care of her children — if she is less 
 amiable as a wife, mother, or mistress, because she has talents or 
 acquirements, it would be far better if she were without them ; and 
 when she displays that she has more knowledge than her husband, 
 she shows, at least, that no woman can have less sense than her- 
 self. 
 
 There is no great need of enforcing upon an unmarried lady the ne- 
 cessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a 
 youthful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied at- 
 tractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of 
 budding beauty needs no aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it 
 is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state 
 that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be 
 most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman 
 can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when a lover. 
 Men are always duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by 
 their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and 
 marrying mere mortals. A woman should, therefore, ascertain what 
 was the charm that rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and en- 
 deavor to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing 
 undoubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an 
 unmarried female always observes. She should maintain the same 
 niceness and reserve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to 
 preserve a freshness and delicacy in the eye of her husband. She 
 should remember that the province of a woman is to be wooed, not to 
 woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in 
 love ; bounty loses rather than wins him. 
 
MAY-DAY MORNING. 
 
 Bor.ve on the April winds I heard a joyous strain, 
 
 And as ilie light breeze rose and (I'll, 
 
 So, whli alternate sink and swell, 
 It floated o'er the plain. 
 
 And clearly might you hear the burden of the lay, 
 
 As with sweet voices, ringing frpe, 
 
 There sang a band of sisters three, 
 "Come forth, come forth, sweet May ! 
 
 "The insect on the wing, the bird upon the spray, 
 The wild-flower bending o'er the rill, 
 The tree whose leaves are folded still, 
 
 Wait for thy step, sweet May." 
 
 And at their bidding comes a maiden, young and fair; 
 
 Her cheeks are blushing like the rose, 
 
 And round her Blender figure flows 
 Her soft and golden hair. 
 
 A garland of wild flowers is wreathed around her head ; 
 
 Well pleased, I meet her sparkling glance, 
 
 And see her springing step advance 
 Over' the verdant mead. 
 
 And as her fairy step touched lightly on the ground, 
 The primrose bloomed, the cowslip sprung, 
 And violets their odours flung 
 
 Upon the air around. 
 
 Then burst from every grove a chorus sweet to hear, 
 
 From birds on every waving bough, 
 
 Singing their sweetest carols, now 
 That Spring and May are here. 
 
 And then from every cot comes forth a joyous crowd 
 Of boys and girls, who seek for flowers, 
 And welcome in the Spring's first hours 
 
 With songs and laughter loud. 
 
 And still the sisters three sang on in chorus gay, 
 
 " Come forth, young May, with flowrets bound ! 
 Of all the months that circle round, 
 
 We crown thee Queen, May !" 
 
r/JA".r 3 
 
THE BETROTHED 
 
 BY A. B CLEVELAND, A. M. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE RIDE. 
 
 It is now nearly fifteen years since the events I'm about to re- 
 late took place. I shall not trouble you with the details of my family 
 history, or the chain of events which placed me, at the age of nine 
 teen, a student in Hamilton college, in the State of New York ; suf- 
 ficient to say that such was my position at the time I am now about 
 referring to. 
 
 About a year after my advent at college, I formed a strong friend- 
 ship with a young brother student of the name of Campbell, a frank, 
 kind, and generous fellow. In truth, a more perfect young man I 
 never knew. With one of the strongest frames, he had even an al- 
 most feminine delicacy of appearance, so nicely proportioned was 
 each limb and muscle. With the spirit of a lion, his heart was tender 
 as a woman's, and his features bore the stamp of an honorable mind 
 and rectitude of principle. 
 
 Both of us were passionately fond of country rambles, and it was 
 frequently our custom to ride abroad on horseback, seeking and find- 
 ing adventures, which a sober denizen of a town might envy. 
 
 It was a morning in March. The rough, burly wind swept huin- 
 mingly through branch and through bough, " piping before the flowers 
 like a bacchanal." Heavy dew hung upon the greensward, glittering 
 in the glad sunshine, and the songs of birds, trilled in wild deligln, 
 rang merrily through meadow, copse, and wild. Spring, smiling, 
 pretty spring, was dancing in her early, unfolding loveliness. Flowers 
 peeped from their frosted trance, and welcomed their mistress as she 
 
 13 
 
.98 AMERICAN' BOOK OF BEAVTY. 
 
 pressed each bud and blossom. The bee stole from his almost store - 
 less hive, and recommenced his busy, thrifty task. Things that love 
 the summer hailed the herald of their joy, and revelled in nature's 
 freshly-decked beauty. 
 
 We had ridden several miles from .College Hill, when we suddenly 
 came near to an Indian mound, so common in that part of the country, 
 and were somewhat surprised at seeing a lady sitting alone upon it, 
 attired in a green riding-habit, and holding the rein of a beautiful 
 white horse, cropping the grass at her feet. There was something 
 strange in the expression of her features as we met her gaze, al- 
 though more beautiful man's eyes never rested on. Her hair, black 
 as the raven's wing, was looped in two thick braids on each side of 
 her face, radiant with loveliness. Her dark thick brows arched above 
 a pair of hazel eyes, that flashed again as they seemed to penetrate 
 the object of their regard ; and her complexion rivalled the half- 
 blown rose that she was carelessly pulling to pieces leaf by leaf, and 
 letting them fall scattering in the wind. Her figure was tall and 
 slight, but the tight habit showed a bust exquisitely moulded, and there 
 was something inexpressibly strange in her intense and almost fiery 
 glance, Avhich fixed our attention upon her. 
 
 " Who can she be ?" exclaimed Campbell. 
 
 " Heaven knows !" replied I, " but there'll be no difficulty in learn- 
 ing. I'm only astonished that we've not heard of her before." 
 
 " Heard of her before !" repeated Campbell, involuntarily. " She 
 can not reside near, or we must have heard of her," continued he, por- 
 traying by Iris manner an extraordinary interest concerning the fair 
 stranger. 
 
 " Here comes somebody who doubtless can inform us," said I, see- 
 ing old Morgan, the well-known purveyor of the college, approaching. 
 
 " Ay," returned Campbell, " that old fellow is acquainted with every 
 one, from the minister to the bell-ringer, within a circle of twenty 
 miles. We will sound him upon this subject," continued he, spurring 
 his horse toward the old man. 
 
 " Good morning, gentlemen," said Morgan, taking the cap from his 
 bald and frosted head, and saluting our approach. " A beautiful oily 
 wind from the south ; only a leetle too much of it, gentlemen." 
 
 " There's a young lady, dressed in green, sitting on the mound 
 
THE BETROTHED. 99 
 
 yonder,'' said Campbell, pointing to the spot where he kad seen her ; 
 " perhaps she will join us in our ride. Do you know who she is ?" 
 
 " Know who she is, sir !" said Morgan, " that I do ; there can be 
 only one of her sort in this county." 
 " What do you mean ?" I inquired. 
 
 " I haven't much time to talk about her," replied he, pulling out his 
 watch, " but I'll tell you her name. It is Miss Alice Grey ; and a 
 nicer lady never lived anywhere, although some folks think her ways 
 rather odd, and, perhaps, they are, seeing that they are different to 
 most ladies. She lives about five miles from here, in a ver 
 queer aiding, and is quite her own mistress, being without 
 
 and mother ever since her childhood, and no one ever seeing 
 after her, except an old woman, provided by a gentleman called her 
 guardian, I believe. Miss Alice doesn't visit many of her neighbors — 
 folks say because she can't sing, play, and dance like other young 
 ladies of quality. But, Lord, gentlemen," continued Morgan, turning 
 his eyes to Heaven, " if you'd only heard her sing, as I have once or 
 twice at sunrise, you'd say it was really angelical. However, it's 
 quite true that she doesn't go to parties, or give any, but keeps herself 
 to herself, and seems to think of nothing but doing all the good she 
 can to everybody, everywhere. There's not a poor person anywhere 
 round here that knows what it is to want. Her bounty never comes 
 to a check, but is always the same on a right scent. And then her 
 riding ! Cut if she is going your way, you'll have a sample o' that, 
 gentlemen. She goes like a pigeon ! Is she on a white horse ?" in- 
 quired he. 
 
 " Yes," replied Campbell. 
 
 " Ah ! that's her mare Moonbeam — that is," rejoined Morgan, " and 
 a most splendid animal she is, too, only a little skittish for the 1 
 
 At this moment, to our surprise, Squire Merton came su<3 
 sight, and without hardly deigning to bow to us, went and salute;' 
 Grey. She thereupon mounted on her snowy horse, at the same time 
 causing the squire to laugh immoderately at something she said to 
 him. 
 
 " She's a wonderful favorite of the squire's," said Morgan in an 
 under tone, baring Ids head and bowing as the two rode toward us. 
 •• Well, Morgan," said the young lady, in one of the most musical 
 
AMERICAN BOOK. OF BEADTV. 
 
 voices 1 had ever heard, and looking archly at the old man, " shall 
 wc have a pleasant ride to-day ? Is the ground too dry or too wet ? 
 or is the wind from the frigid north ? or which of the many ills, 
 :ich blank and bloodless days are prone, may be ascribed to 
 ihis 
 
 ' Xot one, I hope, ma'am," replied Morgan, smiling, "and the mare 
 I hope she will behave herself — though, "pon my word, I am some- 
 times afraid of Moonbeam when I see you ride." 
 
 " Psha !" exclaimed the lady, " she's as gentle as a lamb — she 
 knows the gait of her mistress ;" and switching the animal into a 
 racer's pace, she almost flew from our presence. • 
 
 " There's a Diana !" exclaimed the squire, delighted, and spurring 
 his horse after her. " Hold hard, my flower !" continued he, " give 
 us time to overtake you." 
 
 In a few moments we had joined the squire in the race. High on 
 
 aunches Moonbeam reared, as she fretted and pulled upon the 
 
 checking-rein ; but when it was slackened, away she bounded with 
 
 her fair mistress, with the speed of a bird, on the wing of sudden and 
 
 ecstatic freedom. 
 
 Miss Grey, glancing back, and occasionally catching a glimpse of 
 our party, made her laugh echo far and wide, and, waving her hand, 
 beckoned to the squire in derision ; but on she still went. 
 
 " That's what I call reckless riding," said the squire, spurring his 
 horse to urge the animal to a still greater speed. 
 
 A light laugh came from the lady in response, and, switching Moon- 
 beam, she made a still greater distance between us and herself, as if 
 determined that none should cope with her beautiful white steed. 
 
 ;< Hold hard !" hallooed the squire, as Miss Alice left, loose her 
 horse's head on the verge of a dangerous precipice which he was 
 aware we were approaching. " To the right, to the right ; don't go 
 near that side," said he, waving his hand, to beckon her away. 
 
 " By St. Paul !" continued he, with terror expressed in his voice 
 and features, " the mare can't turn there — she's lost, gentlemen !" 
 
 It was true enough. Straight as a bolt from a crossbow, her horse 
 took the fearful leap, rising in the air like a bird springing for its 
 flight, for a brief moment, and then over they went, without even ring- 
 
 i coned hoofs. 
 
THE BETHROTHED. JQ1 
 
 ;< My God !" exclaimed Campbell, pale with fear for her safety, 
 " both horse and rider must be dashed to pieces '" 
 
 The squire was too frightened to utter a single word. In fact he 
 seemed to be perfectly paralyzed ; for at that moment, without even 
 looking over the precipice, he asked Campbell to ride for a doctor. 
 
 For my own part I involuntarily sprang from my horse, and almost 
 instantly gained a winding bine which commenced a steep desi 
 on the right. It was so thickly studded with bushes and brush 
 I could not sec a yard ahead, and but for the fact that I knew I was 
 descending, I could not have imagined whether I was going right or 
 not. For more than an hour I wandered in the intricacies of 'this 
 crooked path, trying alternately to regain the summit of the hill or to 
 find some definite road toward the bottom. At last, as I turned one 
 of its abrupt corners, my heart leaped to my throat at seeing, close to 
 my feet, Moonbeam stretched dead in the road. The sidesaddle, with 
 its broken pummel, was twisted under her, the crupper snapped, and 
 her bridle dragged from over her ears. 
 
 It was too obvious that the worst had occurred, and that in leaping 
 down the dizzy height she must have entailed destruction upon her 
 fair mistress as well as herself. 
 
 Expecting to see the confirmation of what I feared, I looked trem- 
 blingly about the road, and saw, within a few feet of the horse's head, 
 a few drops of blood, and, upon a bush close by, some small pieces 
 of green cloth, which hung on the thorns. These were sufficient 
 proofs of what had happened, and, almost palsied with horror, I di- 
 rected my course in the only direction the unfortunate lady could 
 have been borne, should she have been discovered, which was the 
 one I had been pursuing — down the hill. 
 
 I had not gone far, when I came into a fair road, and presently I 
 saw Campbell's horse tied to the gate of a farm-house. Groans and 
 sobs saluted my ear before I reached the threshhold, and, as I was 
 about flinging open the door, Campbell, ghastly white, hurried out, 
 and, seeing me, exclaimed, « My God, she's killed !" and rushed 
 past me. 
 
1 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAVTV 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MI«S GREY'S IIISTORV — THE STUDENT'S FIRST VISIT. 
 
 Upon entering the -house I discovered Miss Grey stretched upon a 
 
 bed in an inner room, surrounded by a group of weeping children and 
 
 Kin. The latter was almost frantic with grief, continuing to 
 
 her hands, beat her bosom, and between her sobs and groans 
 
 exclaim, " Lord, have mercy on us ! the poor young lady is killed. 
 
 Sorrow to all ! sorrow to all !" 
 
 sight was truly heart-breaking. With hair dishevelled and 
 
 streaming down her pale features, scratched and torn in rude gashes, 
 
 lay Miss Grey, without a symptom of life remaining. Her dress was 
 
 1 into rags and tatters, and the terrific violence of the fall was 
 
 portrayed in every part of her disfigured person. 
 
 " Do you think she is quite dead ?" inquired the poor woman, as 
 I pressed my fingers on her pulse. 
 
 I could discover no fluttering in this index of life, but gave imme- 
 diate directions for the loosening of her dress, and other trifling or- 
 ders preparatory to the doctor's visit, which was momentarily ex- 
 pected. 
 
 As I continued to watch anxiously for a sign of returning life, the 
 neighboring farmers' wives stole silently into the room, and whispered 
 their grief and forebodings one to the other, while tears of sincere 
 sorrow coursed down their cheeks in streams. 
 
 " She's gone, Mrs. Davis," said one, choking with grief, " she's 
 gone. Our friend's in heaven !" 
 
 " God be merciful to her," added another. " The flower's nipped 
 in the morning of her life. Lord, have mercy on her !" 
 
 Some knelt by the bedside and prayed fervently for her restoration ; 
 others,, whose grief was beyond their control, wept like their half- 
 frightened, half-sorrowing children, and all evinced an intensity of 
 grief for their beautiful, generous, and ill-fated friend. 
 
 In about twenty minutes, which appeared to me the slowest that 
 were ever ticked in the balance of time, the doctor entered the room. 
 Taking a glance at the inanimate lady, he shook his head despond- 
 ingly, and said. " I fear all earthly aid is futile." 
 
THE BETROTHED. 103 
 
 " Say not so, sir, say not so !"' ejaculated a voice in the deepest 
 consternation. It was Squire Merton, pushing his way through the 
 throng congregated in the room. 
 
 " I fear such to be the case, sir," added the doctor, taking a case 
 of instruments from his pocket. " But this room must be cleared," 
 added he. "I can have no one present but those who are necessary 
 for my assistance." 
 
 All left except myself, Campbell, and the squire, who. although in- 
 capable, from his agitation, to render any assistance, could not be 
 persuaded to quit the apartment. 
 
 her gently in your arms, in a reclining posture," said the 
 doctor to me. 
 
 Quickly running his fingers over her limbs and body, he twisted a 
 ligament round her exquisitely-moulded arm, and forcing a lancet into 
 the vein, a crimson drop or two came reluctantly from the wound ; 
 but that was all. The doctor gave a look of entire hopelessness, and 
 motioned me to place her in her former posture, when, as I moved to 
 do so, a clear current trickled from the opened vein, and, as her head 
 1 on the pillow, a sigh broke from her lips. 
 
 " Cheering symptoms, cheering symptoms !" exclaimed the doctor. 
 " We shall save her !" continued he. 
 
 The squire clutched the doctor's hand and said, " A thousand 
 thanks for that hop 
 
 " There's not a limb fractured," continued the doctor, " and I begin 
 to think no bone ; but we shall see that presently," added he. " Thank 
 God ! there are sparks of life remaining !" 
 
 " Amen, amen !" returned the squire fervently. 
 
 " There's a great crowd outside," observed Campbell, " scarcely 
 able to remain there, such is their desire to learn how the dear lady 
 is ; shall I inform them of our hopes ?" 
 
 " By all means," replied the squire. 
 
 Scarcely had Campbell gone from the room when a murmur, like 
 the hum of bees, was heard, and a suppressed but audible shout of joy. 
 
 " I should feel," said the squire, " that the sun had set for ever, 
 if anything took from us Miss Grey. 
 
 " Ah ' indeed. Mr. Merton," added the doctor, " she's the sunshine 
 to many hearts, and may God restore her to them !" 
 
104 AMERICAN* BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " He will, sir." returned the squire confidently, and rising from the 
 edge of the bed to take a closer view of the sufferer's pallid features, 
 " He will, sir — I'm sure he will." 
 
 Mood had flowed freely for some seconds, and the fluttering 
 pulse, like a flame kindling from smothered embers, flickered, beat, 
 and stopped, and then throbbed again, as if impatient of its newly- 
 gained action. At length the ashy lips separated from being firmly 
 fixed, and the silken lashes of the eyes gradually became untwined, 
 until the eyes once more were visible. A faint smile spread itself 
 over her countenance as Miss Grey endeavored to raise, herself, but 
 the doctor instantly checked her, and said, " Now, gentlemen, I can 
 dispense with your presence for that of the good woman of this 
 house, if you will send her to me." 
 
 The squire pressed the hand of the patient, and then followed us 
 from the room. After about the lapse of an hour, the doctor joined 
 us, and said he had left his patient in a most refreshing sleep, and 
 that there was nothing more serious than a slight concussion of the 
 brain and some severe contusions. 
 
 " Then you deem her out of danger," said the squire. 
 
 " Out of all immediate danger," was the reply, " and there is noth- 
 ing to make me anticipate any ; although from such an accident we 
 can not form a hasty conclusion." 
 
 "When do you think she can be removed home?" asked the squire. 
 
 " I hope in the course of to-morrow," replied the doctor ; " but I 
 shall remain here during the night, and tend her in the double capacity 
 of nurse and surgeon." 
 
 " Ay, do, my good fellow," rejoined the squire, " and should any- 
 thing occur, be sure and let me know. By sunrise," continued the 
 squire, " I shall be here myself." 
 
 Taking leave of the doctor, who appeared one of the miost inter- 
 ested of the party, we mounted our horses and turned their heads tow- 
 ard home. 
 
 " How did you find the poor young lady," asked the squire of 
 Campbell. 
 
 " It happened that a woodman was passing below when the leap 
 took place," said Campbell. " I was hailed by him and directed to the 
 spot where she lay. I discovered Miss Grey lying in a bush on the 
 
THE BETROTHED. 105 
 
 opposite bank, which, doubtless broke the violence of the fall, and 
 
 leam in the middle of the lane, as I have since learned, with 
 
 his neck broken. Without the loss of a moment I hastened to the 
 
 spot, and, raising Miss Grey in my arms, bore her instantly to the 
 
 st house." 
 
 In the course of our- journey home I put several questions to the 
 squire concerning Miss Grey, and learned from him her history. 
 
 " She is one of the most extraordinary girls living," observed the 
 squire; "but b itricities have been, as they generally are in 
 
 most people, created by the peculiarity of the circumstances in which 
 she has been placed. It may now be eighteen years since her 
 father and only parent came from the city of New York, and pur- 
 chased a large farm of eight hundred acres within a short distance of 
 mine. For a series of years, the house, an old ruinous place, had 
 been untenanted, and I was much pleased at the prospect of a near 
 neighbor. But all advances to become friendly were rejected, not 
 only to me, but to every one who made them. Ill health and an irri- 
 table temper, occasioned by an impaired constitution, made Mr. Grey 
 avoid all society, and with the exception of his daughter Alice, whom 
 he suffered to grow up as wild as the flowers of the forest, no one, 
 and nothing, not even a dog, was the sharer of his melancholy, hypo- 
 chondriacal existence. Except on the very warmest days in summer, 
 he never stirred from his roof, but occupied the whole of his time in 
 smoking, and in watching the play of his beautiful self-willed child, 
 but without joining in it. But, notwithstanding this sullen disposition, 
 he was liberal and kind to his farming-men, and was never known to 
 turn a deaf ear to the calls of charity. 
 
 " Without a companion, teacher, or instructer of any kind, Alice 
 continued to while away her hours by coursing the butterfly or the 
 humming-bird, and so shy was she of meeting anybody, that no sooner 
 did she catch a glimpse of the approach of a stranger than away she 
 would bound with the (leetness of a fawn. Often did I attempt to 
 waylay the timid, pretty child, but her ears and eyes were as quick as 
 those of a fox, and I never could succeed in stealing within a short 
 distance of her footfall. 
 
 " Thus slipped away some four years, and at last the hermit, as 
 Mr. Grey was called, no longer excited curiosity, speculation, and 
 
 14 
 
1 i AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 wonderment. He pursued the same monotonous life, and at last the 
 old house was as little thought of, and as little visited or inquired about, 
 as previous to its being occupied. 
 
 " At length one morning brought the intelligence that Mr. Grey had 
 suddenly expired in a fit of apoplexy. Being the nearest neighbor, 
 and knowing the lonely situation of his orphan, Mrs. Merton and my- 
 self hastened to his house, and there found the child maddened with 
 grief at the bereavement of her father. We used all our powers of 
 consolation, and, at last, that, sympathy which she wanted she found 
 in my good lady, and, after some coaxing and persuading, we got her 
 to accompany us home. This was the commencement of our intimacy, 
 which has la^fed uninterruptedly to this day. And now I should 
 like to know," added the squire proudly, " if anybody can show me a 
 better Christian or more lovely girl on this earth ? I know," contin- 
 ued he, " that she has many peculiarities ; among others, there's the 
 fire of old Nick in her veins. I've not stjen her roused more than 
 once or twice in my life ; but when she is — heaven and earth! — she 
 can look a man of common courage white. I've seen a lawyer, who 
 is the only executor and guardian under the will, tremble as though 
 he had the ague, when she has bent her fiery glance on him." 
 
 " Does Miss Grey still live retired and alone, then ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Yes," replied the squire, " she has imbibed her father's taste in 
 not visiting or being visited by her neighbors, for, besides myself and 
 Mrs. Merton, no one ever enters her house except her domestics, and 
 she will meet no one at mine. And now, gentlemen," added the 
 squire, as we arrived at a branch of the road which led to his home, 
 " you have the history, as far as I know it, of Miss Alice Grey, whom, 
 I fervently trust, we shall soon see again in her wonted health and 
 beauty." 
 
 With this he bade us farewell, and took leave of us. 
 
 " This lady fair is a very strange sort of character," observed I to 
 Campbell, after Mr. Merton had quitted us. 
 
 " As the squire says," replied Campbell, " circumstances have ren- 
 dered her different from the generality of her sex. But it would have 
 been more strange if they had not done so, considering the peculiar 
 way in which she has been treated." 
 
 " Total neglect of her education, and abstinence from all social as- 
 
, THE BETROTHED. 107 
 
 BOciation, be the passive causes of her singularities," re- 
 
 turned I. 
 
 " Yes," added Campbell, "-bat then how beautiful she is ! Like a 
 wild, uncultivated flower, fresh and blooming in all its natural love- 
 liness, unnoticed, uncared for, unseen, and yet superior to all that art 
 can train ! Never Avas there such captivation in a woman before." 
 
 I looked at my friend's face. His checks were Unshod ; his eyos 
 sparkled as he spoke ; and I saV that the unfortunate lady had made 
 an indelible impression. 
 
 On the following morning Campbell and myself proceeded on horse- 
 back, at an early hour, to the farm-house where we had left Miss 
 Grey, and bad the satisfaction of learning that she had bad a night of 
 tranquil rest, and was so far recovered as to have been removed to 
 her home about an hour previous to our arrival. "We therefore de- 
 termined to proceed thither, and make some personal inquiries con- 
 cerning her. 
 
 After keeping a cross-country road for a few miles, we entered a 
 tall, rusty-looking gate, as directed, and wended our way up a wide 
 path, flanked by thick and widely-spreading maple-trees. < ^:i emerging 
 from this avenue, we came in sight of a substantial but ancient-looking 
 edifice, which had defied the winter's blast and summer's sun for 
 many a year. The whole scene around looked so old and so solitary, 
 that we gazed in silence for some time, previous to clanking the iron- 
 headed lion, as a summons for our entry. 
 
 A smart-dressed Indian girl answered it readily, and confirmed the 
 statement of the morning, that Miss Grey was progressing favorably. 
 We were about taking our departure on the receipt of this intelli- 
 gence, when Mr. Morton hurried from the house, and requested us to 
 dismount. Nothing loath to do so, we gave our horses to a servant, 
 and followed the squire into a spacious and handsomely furnished 
 room. 
 
 " I am commissioned by Miss Grey," said he, addressing both of 
 us, after we were seated, "to express her deep obligations for the 
 great kindness and attentioti she met with at your hands yesterday , 
 and am desired to add, to you, Mr. Campbell," said he, laughing, 
 " that she will hold the future at your disposal, being satisfied that 
 she is indebted to von for her life." 
 
108 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. , 
 
 " The assistance I was enabled to render her," replied Campbell, 
 " was purely accidental, and, therefore, no obligation is due to me." 
 
 " She thinks otherwise," returned the squire. " However, I care 
 not which way it is. In a short time we shall again hear her merry 
 laugh and not a scratch on her pretty face, thank God !" 
 
 " I would submit to have a scar an inch deep carved in my own, 
 rather than she should have the shadow of one," returned Campbell. 
 
 <: A gallant declaration," said the squire, " and one which I shall 
 not fail to convey to the lady." 
 
 " The doctor gives hopes of a speedy convalescence ?" observed I, 
 inquiringly. 
 
 '• Xot only hopes," replied the squire, " but certainty. I have his 
 professional word that she shall be out again in less than a month." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED DEPARTURE — DECLARATIONS OF LOVE — A WALK IN THE GROVE — 
 BLISSFUL MOMENTS. 
 
 It is now necessary that I should speak of myself, and refer to 
 some past occurrences, which, although trifling in themselves, are in- 
 dispensable joints of my narrative. 
 
 Soon after Miss Grey's recovery, which took place within a month 
 of her receiving the injury, Campbell and myself became constant 
 visiters at her house, and, to speak the truth, we appeared to be far 
 from unwelcome ones. Occasionally we used to meet the squire and 
 his wj,fe there, but no one else, and thus a strong intimacy arose be 
 tween us. 
 
 Immediately that Campbell had an opportunity, he undisguisedly 
 evinced the passion which he had entertained from the first moment 
 of seeing the beautiful girl whose life he had been chiefly instru- 
 mental in saving. And although she sometimes received his atten- 
 tions with great favor, there was a fickleness of manner about her 
 which continually left him between doubt and hope. 
 
 From a cause hardly to be explained, and yet not difficult to be con- 
 ceived, this subject of all-engrossing interest to himself was never 
 
THE BETROTHED 109 
 
 mentioned to me, either directly or indirectly, although the friendship 
 existing between us became daily stronger than ever. But. suspect- 
 ing, which was the case, that he had in myself a rival in feeling, 
 although not so expressed by word, and I hoped not by look 01 
 ture, Alice was tacitly a subject never alluded to by either of us. 
 
 It may appear strange that anything like a good understanding, or 
 even common civility, could exist between two men thus situated ; 
 but so it. was ; and in the belief that my friend was the favored one, 
 and in every way the most eligible, I yielded to his superior claims, 
 without the faintest struggle for precedence. More than once, in- 
 deed, I was staggered with an expression from the lady's sparkling 
 eyes, as they met my own, bul not dreaming for a moment that I found 
 an answering spirit within them, the sensation was but like the fleet- 
 ing sound of some thrilling chord unexpectedly touched. 
 
 To say that I did not envy Campbell would be to declare m 
 more immaculate than every other man could be, placed in such cir- 
 cumstances ; but to declare that I threw in his way every facility in 
 my power, to ensure him speedy success, and that he was the con- 
 stant theme of my sincerest commendation, is to say no more than is 
 strictly in accordance with the truth. The eulogy sounds but ill from 
 me, but 1 hesitate not to assert, that, deeming my own feelings totally 
 disregarded by the object of their solicitude, I was sufficiently gen- 
 erous to assist, my friend in succeeding to win the prize he so ardent- 
 ly longed to call his own. Little progress, however, seemed to be 
 made, for no sooner were his attentions favorably received, than the 
 next day, perhaps the next hour, produced as opposite a change. 
 
 The squire, who took as much interest in the proceedings as if 
 he had been her parent, was a decided advocate to our cause, \\n 
 such I may call it, and rated Alice soundly for her " waywardness and 
 fickleness," as he called her conduct. 
 
 So things went on for some two months, when one morning I was 
 d. at sunrise, by Campbell rushing into my bedroom in a state 
 of great trepidation, holding an unfolded letter in his hand. 
 
 " Banbury," said he, " I've this moment received an unwelcome 
 letter from home," and a tear dropped as he spoke, "the most so," 
 continued he, "that T ever received in the course of my life. My 
 mother is at the point of death, and desires instantly to see me Will 
 
110 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAT TV. 
 
 you — as I shall have made my arrangements for departing within a 
 quarter of an hour — proceed early to Miss Grey, and, as I promised 
 to be there before noon, tell her the cause of my unavoidable absence ? 
 My return must, of course, depend upon circumstances ; but you may 
 also add that I shall take the earliest opportunity of fulfilling the ap- 
 pointment, and that a letter will herald the keeping of it." 
 
 Expressing my regret at the cause of his hasty departure, and ex- 
 changing friendly grasps of the hands, with a promise to obey his 
 instructions, we parted. 
 
 From the time I undertook to convey Campbell's message to Miss 
 Grey, I felt an irresistible inclination to bend my steps toward her 
 house almost daily. The attraction was like the needle to the mag- 
 net, a force beyond opposition. Imperceptibly our hearts became en- 
 twined and our sympathies folded within each other, without even the 
 knowledge of either. Of the most ardent temperament, equally ig- 
 norant and careless of the conventional rules of society, Alice por- 
 trayed, at length, in every look and gesture, the pleasure she expe- 
 rienced in my undivided society. Early in the morning I met her in 
 the fields, brushing the dew from daisy-cups ; and it was often not till 
 the nightingale had piped on the thorn that we separated. 
 
 Thus weeks flew past without my hearing a word from Campbell, 
 and in the enjoyment of my daily intercourse with Alice I had almost 
 forgotten him, or, if remembered, it was only as one I had now entirely 
 supplanted. Neither did I reproach myself with the cause or the 
 effect. Indeed, I was too devoted to care, perhaps, by what means I 
 had won the affections of Miss Grey ; but at the same time I was con- 
 scious of not using any treacherous ones, or other than I was fully en- 
 titled to employ. 
 
 Thus matters stood, when a morning's post brought intelligence of 
 Campbell's intended return on the following day. Then, and not 
 till then, I determined to propose in form for the hand of Miss Grey ; 
 for, although my advances had been met with too decided favor -to 
 admit of any doubt as to the result, I had not yet spoken of that which 
 was nearest and dearest to my heart. With the intention of putting 
 this resolution in force, I mounted my horse and proceeded to her 
 residence. 
 
 It was a sultry evening, late in August. The distant rumble of 
 
THE BETHROTHED. Ill 
 
 thunder was now and then heard, and the black, heavy masses of 
 clouds rolling heavily from the west, tinged with the purple light of 
 the sinking sun, betokened a coming storm Hurrying forward, I 
 just managed to gain the portal of the house as the tempest burst in 
 all its gathered violence. Alice, expecting me, was at the entrance, 
 and, as she took my proffered arm, to conduct her within, a crash of 
 heaven's artillery roared above our heads, and reverberated from bill 
 to hill, miles distant. Flash after flash of the forked lightning suc- 
 ceeded, and then a deluge of water spouted on the earth, bubbling 
 and hissing as it fell. Roll after roll of the warring elements suc- 
 ceeded, and the heavy clouds floated slowly on, spouting forth their 
 overcharged contents. 
 
 " 'Tis a dreadful storm," observed Alice. 
 
 " Yes," replied I, " but from its violence it can not last." 
 
 " It appears that extremes can never last in anything," rejoined 
 Alice. 
 
 " Such seems to be one of Nature's immutable decrees," returned I. 
 
 " I hope not — sincerely hope not," said Alice, excitement kindling 
 fire in her eyes. " I would not think so for ages of certain happiness 
 hereafter." 
 
 " And why not ?" I inquired 
 
 " Because," she added, " the thought woidd insure me the rack 
 now ; a refinement of torture that causes pain even to contemplate." 
 
 " And yet," said I, " we should never fear to think of what must 
 be." 
 
 " There I differ with you," replied Alice. " It seems to me but 
 poor philosophy to think of, and thereby anticipate, many disagreeable 
 and inevitable certainties. For instance, decrepid age, infirmities, or 
 premature death — consequences attendant upon life; but 'twould be 
 far from agreeable to dwell upon these closing scenes of our drama, 
 and foretaste their bitterness previous to the allotted period." 
 
 " We are taught otherwise,'' rejoined I, " and are bid, by thinking 
 of them, to prepare against their visitation." 
 
 " And our stern teachers, with their proselytes, may enjoy the study, 
 but it shall be none of mine," returned Alice. " 'Tis sufficient occupa- 
 tion for me to render the present as pleasurable as possible ; the past 
 is gone, and the future is a mystery none can solve " 
 
112 AMERICAN POOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " But we should be like mariners at sea," continued I, " ignorant 
 of latitude or longitude, and without helm or compass, were it not 
 that experience of the past guides us to the future. And, in like man- 
 ner, when sailing before the wind buoyantly and joyously, we should 
 strike upon some hidden rock or quicksand, and, when least expecting 
 it, become a hopeless wreck." 
 
 " I'll not deny but that you have the best of the argument," she re- 
 turned. " But still I might be able to puzzle you. However," con- 
 tinued she, " as I might perchance suffer in your estimation by con- 
 fessing my peculiar ideas concerning this sublunary existence, we'll 
 permit the subject to drop now, and for ever." 
 
 The storm by this time had abated. The last rays of the setting 
 sun shot from the verge of a frowning cloud, and streamed gladly on 
 the saturated ground. The air, stilled from the songs of birds while 
 the tempest raged, was now filled by them. The cricket chirped 
 merrily from his grassy bed, and the locusts sung in concert. 
 Creeping things crawled from their flooded homes, and their enemies 
 took 'advantage of their migration. The crows wheeled and stooped 
 from the sheltering trees, and' traversed the ground with acute eye 
 and nimble step, in pursuit of the wandering tribes. Loaded bees 
 issued from the foxglove's secret depths, and humming their joy at its 
 secure protection, buzzed to their thrifty store. 
 
 On the border of the lawn, to the right of the house, was a grove 
 of thick maples. So dense were they, that hours of continued rain 
 would scarcely penetrate to the serpentine walk which wound for a 
 considerable distance between them. Thither, as had been -our wont 
 for some time, we proceeded to take our evening walk. 
 
 At the end of this path was a rude, uncultivated bower, formed of 
 wild hops clinging to the boughs and stems of the overhanging trees. 
 The vines had been, cleared in the centre of one thick clump, and a 
 seat, roughly hewn from the solid trunk of an oak, was placed with- 
 in it. 
 
 1 this we rested, and after a silence of some duration, I told 
 the tale she had read before in the silent language of the heart. Long 
 and passionately did I plead my cause ; never were words to me so 
 apt before. At length I paused, without much fear, to learn my doom. 
 Eagerly I gazed into her eyes, and as they were lit by a moon's ray, 
 
THE BETROTHED. 113 
 
 stealing between the leaves, I saw the tear of joy and of love floating 
 in them. In a moment I snatched her to my breast, and the recipro- 
 cated affection and consent were murmured in kisses upon my lips. 
 
 All nature was hushed. The wind toyed with the leaf so softly 
 that it scarcely flapped in his gentle breath, and everything seemed 
 calm and at peace. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE RETURN — MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS — DESPAIR — SUICIDE. 
 
 The next day Campbell returned ; and although I felt that the com- 
 munication I determined to make without loss of time, would give him 
 poignant anguish, I was totally unprepared for the expression of in- 
 tense and indescribable horror and surprise which was displayed in 
 his features when I informed him of my becoming his successful 
 rival. He looked at me as if in doubt of my sanity, or the correct- 
 ness of his own senses. Silently he continued to gaze, while all the 
 color forsook his cheek, and his lips became pale and ashy. 
 
 " Yes," he at length muttered, " yes, it seems and sounds impossi- 
 ble, but 'tis true. You could not — no, your tongue would refuse to 
 utter an untruth. I've heard of such things before," continued he 
 bitterly ; " but, my God, my God ! they're monstrous and incredible." 
 
 " Calm yourself," replied I. " Although I can feel for your disap- 
 pointment, I don't think there is sufficient cause for the astonishment 
 and anger you express. Miss Grey was not affianced to you, and, if 
 it is any consolation, I may say, never would have been." 
 
 " Not affianced !" exclaimed Campbell. " Not affianced !" and his 
 amazement increased tenfold. 
 
 " No," rejoined I, " and I repeat, never would have been." 
 
 " Give me your hand," returned he, holding out his own. " I 
 
 wronged you in thought. Forgive me. You did not knoiv, then 
 
 15 
 
Ill AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY . 
 
 but it matters not at this moment," and breaking off thus suddenly, he 
 hurriedly paced the room, clasping his hands, and looking the 
 picture of despair. 
 
 After a short time he became more composed, but still was greatly 
 excited, and continued to exclaim against the cruelty and heartless- 
 of women in general. At length he said — 
 
 " I've a request to make, and although it may appear unreasonable, 
 and one decidedly I have no right to make, still I hope you will grant 
 it to me." 
 
 " It is granted," replied I, " before being made." 
 
 " Then go not to her to-day," returned he, " but wait until I've seen 
 her once again. I need scarcely say it will be the last visit that 1 
 shall pay." 
 
 " As you please," added I. " But saying I should be there in the 
 course of the day, I beg that you will explain the cause of my ab- 
 sence." 
 
 " I will," said he. " Accept my thanks for your abstinence from so 
 much pleasure," continued he, smiling sarcastically, and leaving the 
 room. 
 
 I almost repented of having complied with Campbell's request, and, 
 after he quitted me, began to think that I had acted unwisely in per- 
 mitting him to seek an interview with Alice alone at such a moment. 
 However, as I had done so, I of course did not attempt to recall it. 
 His look, as he departed, struck me as being full of turbulent passion, 
 and his previous portrayal of it all tended to increase my uneasiness 
 at his going. 
 
 And here I will pause m my narrative to confess that which I be- 
 lieve the majority of men entertain in like circumstances, although 
 few, perhaps, would acknowledge it. Since the scene of last evening 
 in the fir-grove, Alice had become to me an altered being. The 
 flower was bruised and sullied, and no longer offered its former at- 
 tractions. I thought of her as of one that I must, make my wife ; not 
 as of one that I wished to make so, if honor did not sternly so decree. 
 Love had vanished, and duty now usurped his post. To save her 
 reputation and my own, I never thought of doing other than perform- 
 ing my plighted word ; but, had there been a choice, I would have 
 retracted it with more ecstasy than I had pledged it. 
 
THE BETROTHED. 115 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, this revulsion of feeling, I became more 
 disturbed in mind as the hours flew past without Campbell's return- 
 ing. At length I could not restrain the inclination of seeking him, 
 conjuring up in my imagination a multitude of horrors, crowding upon 
 each other like colored forms in the kaleidoscope. But, just as I was 
 issuing from my room, I heard bis step approaching. Never shall T 
 forget the impression his appearance made upon me. He reeled tow- 
 ard me like one intoxicated, with a face so distorted, that it was 
 scarcely possible to trace a single feature. His lower jaw dropped 
 from the other, as in a corpse, and his eyes had that dull, leaden look 
 which showed the fire of life was nearly extinguished. Not, a tinge 
 of blood was in his cheeks, and he seemed a dead though breathing 
 man. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven !" I exclaimed, " what is the matter ? are you 
 ill ?" 
 
 " Very — I am very ill," he replied. 
 
 In a moment I assisted him to a couch, and was about hurrying 
 away for assistance, when he motioned me to stay. 
 
 " Do not leave me," he whispered, " do not leave me ; I have some- 
 thing to say to you, and but a short time left to say it in " 
 
 " Let me at least send for medical aid," I rejoined. 
 
 He smiled faintly, and said, " I'm not in want of it. Listen ; I 
 have seen her, and have learned that which I believed before — that 
 you did not wrong me intentionally. But what will you think, when 
 I tell you that, she was betrothed to me by her own consent, freely 
 given, as she now is to you ?" 
 
 " What !" exclaimed I, astonishment thrilling through my frame. 
 " hi frothed to you V 
 
 " Ay, solemnly betrothed to me!" returned he, in a tone not 
 doubted, " so help me Heaven !" 
 
 In broken sentences, and occasionally gasping for breath, Campbell 
 then recounted to me the particulars of his last meeting with Alice 
 and that during his absence he had sent several letters to her : but, 
 witli the exception of the first, he had received no answers ; and, al- 
 though this neglect occasioned some surprise, he supposed indispo- 
 sition, or some such cause, had prevented the replies to his commu- 
 nications. 
 
116 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 " But," continued he, " I now know loo well the reason, and may 
 God forgive her broken vow, as I do '" 
 
 •' If I had been acquainted with this," returned I, " believe me, 
 
 Campbell, neither for her nor for any woman breathing would I have 
 
 he instrument of injury to a friend, or the cause of a solemn 
 
 plighted word being disregarded, as though 'twas less material than 
 
 the air which gave it birth. I tremble to think of it." 
 
 " From my soid I believe you," replied he. " But think no more 
 of it. That which is one man's loss is another's gain. Take her — 
 and may Heaven bless ye both ! Banbury," continued he, raising 
 himself on his elbow, and looking earnestly into my face, " it is a 
 dying man's blessing, and one which emanates from a heart bearing 
 no hatred nor malice toward any living creature." 
 
 " Dying !" repeated I. " Surely it is but the temporary effects of 
 excitement and distress of mind." 
 
 " Ah, my friend !" added he, sorrowfully, and an expression of pain 
 convulsed his features, " both mind and body are poisoned." 
 
 " What !" I exclaimed, "poisoned .'" and I clutched a bell-rope. 
 
 " Hush, hush, Banbury," he returned, " be not alarmed on my ac 
 count. Bring no one here, for Heaven's sake '" 
 
 " Say," added I, " are you " 
 
 " A suicide .'" replied he, " certain and irremediable." 
 
 I heard no more. As quick as thought, with terror to urge me, I 
 flew for assistance. In a few brief moments a crowd of friends and 
 attendants rushed into the apartment, and, as I returned, I saw in the 
 middle of the throng the doctor on his knees, pressing a hand upon 
 Campbell's heart. By his side were various instruments, and his fin- 
 held a vial marked " deadly poison." 
 
 " Tis useless," said he, rising, " the quantity would have killed a 
 lozen men." 
 
 " And is he dead ?" inquired I, pressing forward. 
 
 " Quite, sir," was the reply ; and I felt my heart withered by it. 
 
 There he lay, a few hours before in the exuberance of youth, 
 strength, and manhood, now a scorched and unsightly mass. His 
 limbs were drawn up and cramped in the agonies of death, and his 
 face told how hard the struggle had been in the forcible separation 
 between soul and body. 
 
THE BETROTHED. \] 
 
 With surprise, horror, and the deepest sorrow, I was followed from 
 the apartment by our mutual friends, and all I remembered afterward 
 on this dreadful night was rinding myself waking as if from a deep 
 sleep, and the blood trickling from an opened vein in my arm. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE STUDENT VISITS THE BETROTHED— THE PARTING SCENE— CONCLUSION. 
 
 Confused, as if some terrible dream had been racking my brain 
 through the long and tedious night, I woke early the Mowing morn- 
 ing, weak and feverish. I^can scarcely describe my feelings faith- 
 fully, as the incidents of the preceding day flashed with all their cruel 
 truth on my memory. I began to suspect that Alice might be but 
 the slave of passion, and a thousand revolting images reared them- 
 selves in my mind. With distrust, sorrow, anger, and a mingling of 
 sensations impossible for words to represent, but leaving a most dis- 
 ordered frame of mind, I proceeded to her residence. 
 
 Alice, in anticipation of my visit, was sauntering in the avenue 
 some distance from the house, and, seeing my approach, hastened 
 toward me. Never did she look more beautiful. Her long black 
 tresses were sweeping down her shoulders as carelessly and uncon- 
 fined as the tendrils of some wild vine. Her slight but beautifully 
 moulded figure was robed in a simple white morning dress, and round 
 her waist was tied a string of large jet beads, which hung to the 
 ground. On the inside of a close cottage bonnet a fresh-picked rose 
 was placed, but it would be difficult to say which looked the fresh- 
 est, the flower or the cheek on which it rested. 
 
 With a light step she bounded to my side, and, as she came, a 
 ringing laugh of joy and of love burst from her lips as my welcome 
 But when she arrived close to me, and saw my pale and haggard 
 the color forsook her cheek, like transient breath from a mirror. 
 Mutely she gazed at me as I dismounted from my horse, and, stag- 
 gering to a neighboring bench, almost fell as I reached it. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, clinging to me, and with deep emotion, « are 
 you ill ? has anything happened ? Speak, in the name of Heaven !' 
 
118 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 ■' Oh, Alice !" I exclaimed, unable to conceal my mental anguish 
 
 an instant longer, " why did you conceal from mc the — the " I 
 
 could say no more. My gorge rose, and threatened to choke me with 
 grief. 
 
 " I know what you would say," she relumed; "but upbraid. me not. 
 Hi was here yesterday, and performed that part to perfection." 
 
 " But surely you must have thought and known," continued I, " how 
 wrong, how unjustifiable it was for you to admit of my advances ; and 
 then not to acquaint me with the secret, but let it reveal itself in all 
 its bare reality. Indeed, Alice, there is too much cause to upbraid 
 you for me to pass it over in silence." 
 
 " If the truth be no justification," replied she, " I'll have no other 
 advocate. Give me your patience for a few brief moments. From 
 the hour I first saw you, the germes of as true and warm affection 
 were planted in my bosom as ever sprung from the heart of woman. 
 Your apparent want of sympathy and coldness of conduct were con- 
 stant sources of torment to me, and my pride was daily and hourly 
 wounded by the general indifference of your demeanor. I confess 
 admitting occasionally of Mr. Campbell's addresses, solely in the hope 
 of creating a feeling in you which I trusted might be raised from the 
 spirit of rivalship. In this I was disappointed. Nothing would fan 
 the spark I so longed to see reared into a flame, and at length, tired 
 with the ceaseless attentions of the one, and indignant at the want of 
 them from the other, I, in a moment of mortification, reluctantly per- 
 mitted my tongue to consent to that which my heart denied. Soon 
 after this I discovered my error; and God is my witness how T nt 
 once rejoiced and sorrowed at the discovery! — rejoiced for the hope 
 of the consummation of my heart's only desire, and sorrowed for the 
 hasty barrier I had raised against the possession of it. Still this 
 was but a feather in the scale weighed against the attainment of my 
 wish, and I determined to defy all censure, all reproach, to become 
 your own. In the conviction that your stern sense of duty, and ob- 
 servance of the conventional, automaton rules of society would at 
 once decide your resolution in the event of learning my engagement, 
 with your friend, I was resolved, if possible, not to let you know it 
 until " 
 
 She paused and hesitated to proceed. 
 
THE BETROTHED. 119 
 
 " Until no choice was left me, you would say," returned I. 
 
 " Until you were equally disposed to set aside such a cold, calcu- 
 lating code," added she, regarding me with a lowering brow and fiery 
 glance. 
 
 " Then learn," replied I, " that I am as much disposed now to obey 
 the edict to which you refer as I should have been in the first in- 
 stance, had I known what I now do. You have deceived me, you 
 have deceived yourself, and one who is now oblivious of your wrong 
 and cruelty. Yes, Alice," continued I, " he who loved you as well 
 as I, and who was far more worthy of a pure requital, is now a 
 corpse, a suicide !" 
 
 " Heaven have mercy upon me !" she ejaculated. " Heaven have 
 mercy upon me !" and, falling on her knees, she clasped her hands 
 and poured forth a prayer in an agony of supplication for forgiveness. 
 
 I watched her with little less emotion ; and as I heard the choking 
 sobs heaving from her bosom, and saw thc*tcars streaming down her 
 cheeks, I forgot the wrong, and saw only the penitent. 
 
 " Evil recoils upon itself," she murmured, as I proceeded to raise 
 her ; but as my hand was extended, and ere it touched her, she sprung 
 to her feet, and retreating from me, said, " It shall never touch me 
 more. No !" and throwing her hands wildly out, she uttered a vow, 
 so solemn and irrevocable, that I was silenced by its aAvful affirmation, 
 never to become my wife. 
 
 " Your words were,'' she said, bitterly, while her eyes glared with 
 passion like an infuriated tigress, " ' That I am as much disposed now 
 to obey the edict to which you refer, as I should have been in the first 
 instance had I known ichat I now do F Then, in the name of Heaven, 
 obey it !" she exclaimed. " I'll be no obstacle to its fulfilment." 
 
 I endeavored to soothe the ungovernable passion which possessed 
 her, but my words fell like drops of water into a sea of fire. 
 
 " Away," she said. " Begone ; and let us never see each other 
 more." 
 
 " Let me entreat," said I. 
 
 " Not if angels knelt and backed the petition with their tears," in- 
 terrupted she ; " not if torments everlasting were threatened, thicker 
 than the gentle drops of rain from heaven !" 
 ' *-■» d p'^p* <re thus really part ?" I asked. 
 
120 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY 
 
 " Ay, and for ever," she replied deliberately ; " for ever." 
 
 " Can you make no allowance for my hasty observation ?" said I 
 " Think of mv deep, deep sorrow for my friend's lamentable fate." 
 
 " Is it possible that I should forget it for one single moment of my 
 future life ?" rejoined she, pressing her hands upon her forehead. 
 " Is it not for ever branded here, stamped with torture," added she, 
 between her clenched teeth, " dissolving all superficial thought, and 
 leaving nothing but the bared truth — a hideous skeleton. Yes," con- 
 tinued she, " I see in myself a guilty wretch, and in you " she 
 
 paused, and coming near me, shook her head reproachfully, less in 
 anger than in sorrow." 
 
 The words found an echo in my heart. I could make no reply. 
 Instead of the accuser, I felt the accused 
 
 " Farewell !" she added, " farewell ! and as we were, so let us 
 henceforth be — strangers." 
 
 I sprung forward to catch her in my embrace, impelled by uncon- 
 trollable impulse. 
 
 " No, no, no ! remember," said she, pointing to the clear, cloudless 
 sky, " I have that registered there, which truth shall seal. Once 
 more, farewell !" and turning, she left me, with one long, sad look. 
 
 ♦ ########### 
 
 Years and years flew past without my hearing anything of Alice 
 Grey, for soon after this sad occurrence I left college, and sought a 
 forgetfulness of it in other and distant lands, where I resided amid 
 extravagant and dissolute scenes for many years. I returned to my 
 native shores at the request of a favorite uncle, who promised me 
 fortune and fame, would I but embark with him in mercantile pursuits. 
 
 I now remembered the painful events which^)ccurred on my quit- 
 ting college, only as a dream, and I had not the least desire to visit 
 the scene of them. It happened, however, that my business called 
 me to Buffalo. It was just after the new State Asylum at Utica had 
 been put in operation, and when passing through that beautiful town, 
 I was persuaded by a friend to visit this institution for lunatics. I 
 had scarcely entered the building, when, good heavens ! could it be 
 possible ? my eye caught the form and features of the once lovely 
 Miss Grey ! There, indeed, she stood, twining her long and wasted 
 fingers within those of a sickly-looking child, whose constant un- 
 
DANGLERS. 121 
 
 meaning smile and vacant stare told the brain's disease. She was so 
 changed that I even hesitated to believe it was once the young, the 
 gay, the beautiful Alice. But it was too true. There she was, the 
 demented mother of an idiot child, old, wrinkled, and withered — 
 the wreck of passion and the ruin of beauty. 
 
 I turned away horror-stricken, and from that hour to this I have 
 sought to know nothing more of her fate. 
 
 DANGLERS. 
 
 " By the by, do you know who that genteel-looking young man is, 
 that I see constantly hanging about the Wilsons 1 Go where I 
 will, I am sure to see him along with one or other of the young 
 ladies. Last Wednesday night, having occasion to call on Mrs. Wil- 
 son about the character of a servant, whom did I see stuck up in a 
 corner of the sofa but this same young gentleman, discussing with 
 Miss Jessy, if I understood it rightly, the merits of a patent thread 
 paper. I next night saw him with them in a box at the theatre, and 
 I am positive that he is ten times oftener in their seat at church than 
 in his own, wherever that may be." 
 
 Such is the sort of question that some well-meaning, but curious 
 female controller-general of society puts, on observing a dangler in 
 high practice. The danglers are a class of young men belonging to 
 some idle profession, who are never happy unless they are on terms 
 of intimate acquaintance in families having one or two daughters come 
 to a marriageable time of life. Having effected an introduction, it 
 is impossible to tell how — most likely at a soiree, where he made 
 quite a sensation by dancing the Polka in a first-rate style, or through 
 means of another dangler or friend of the family, or, what is more 
 likely still, through an acquaintanceship with the brother of the young 
 ladies, picked up at a fencing-school — the dangler falls into a habit 
 
 16 
 
122 AMERICAN COOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 of dropping in at all seasons, and, in a short time, from being a good- 
 looking young man, and of tolerable address, becomes a privi 
 
 i in the household. If there be any dinner, te*a, or supper- 
 parly, Mr. Brown is sure to be put down first on the list, or is there of 
 his own accord ; and, from his frequent appearances on such occa- 
 sions, a certain kind of understanding as to his motives prevails among 
 all descriptions of regular visiters. The dangler thus makes himself 
 a species of necessary evil in the family. He brings all the floating 
 small-talk of the town to the young ladies ; speaks to them about 
 concerts, play-actors, and charity-sermons ; helps the tea, and has a 
 habit of saying " allow me," and making a movement as if to rise, 
 when anything is to be lifted ; converses on the prevailing color in 
 the new winter dresses, and leads the laugh when anything droll is 
 mentioned. When Miss Jessy and Miss Sally go out for a walk, or 
 on any necessary piece of duty, the dangler has a knack of hitting 
 the exact time they are to leave the house, and, with an inclination, 
 offers his arm, but always has a tendency to be on the side next Miss 
 Jessy. At church, the dangler acts the obliging young man, being 
 equally ready to carry a parasol, or look out the place in the Bible or 
 Psalm-book. The dangler, in short, is ubiquitous in his services, and 
 so, as a matter of course, all the world put him down as a favored 
 suiter of one or the other of the young ladies. 
 
 " Take my word for it," says Mrs. Gavine, to her friend Mrs. 
 Brotherston<3, " it is a set thing that young Brown is in pursuit of 
 Jessy Wilson, and there's no doubt he'll get her too. I'm sure they've 
 been long enough in making it up at any rate ; for, to my certain 
 knowledge, he used to call when they lived in George street, and 
 that is more than three years since." 
 
 " Indeed," replies the party addressed, " I'm not so sure about it 
 as all that. I have always had my own opinion that he is one of 
 those flirting fellows that never know their own mind for three min- 
 utes at a time, and, whatever they do, take always good care never to 
 come to the point. However, I dare say he gets enough of encour- 
 agement, and they may take their own way of it, for me. Had the 
 father not been a poor silly man, he would have settled the matter 
 long ere this." 
 
 There are strong grounds for belief that Mrs. Brotherstone is not 
 
DANGLERS. 123 
 
 far from the truth in her opinion of our hero, Mr. Brown. Under the 
 indistinct idea that he is in love with a young lady, when he is no 
 such thing, the dangling genteel young man haunts her wherever she 
 goes, gets recognised by her father or mother as a suitable enough 
 match for their daughter, flirts about her for a year or two, without, 
 be it remarked, ever having spoken a word to her of personal esteem 
 or attachment, yet insinuated himself so far into her good graces by 
 his actions and looks — his everlasting dangling — that he knows he 
 could get her at any time for the asking ; then, behold, when he sees 
 he can secure another with a better fortune, or, in his eyes, some 
 other great recommendation, he leaves the long assiduously-courted 
 young lady to pine over her solitary fate. How often is this the case 
 in the middle ranks of life ! How many hundreds and thousands of 
 amiable young women have had cause to rue that they ever gave any 
 permanent encouragement to a dangler. Such a character acts like a 
 blight on the fate of a young lady ; for he not only consumes her val- 
 uable time, and distracts her feelings, but prevents real and modest 
 admirers from making advances ; wherefore, in the end, she has, per- 
 haps, to marry a person of inferior respectability, or remain on the 
 list of old maids. Such a result forms the worst feature in the case 
 of the dangler. Heedless of the havoc he is committing in the fate 
 of the young lady — not reflecting that what has been simple killing 
 of time or amusement to him has been protracted torture to a sensitive 
 female, who, probably, all the while pardons him, from the impression 
 that he is only waiting till he can conveniently make a declaration, 
 he either starts off after a new object, or grows cool in his attentions, 
 after the bloom of her youth is fled. Yet, we have known danglers 
 deservedly caught in their own cunning devices. The eldest daughter 
 of the family, to whom he has long been in his own opinion attached, 
 is carried off, as it were, out of his very grasp, when he thought him- 
 self most secure ; and he probably enters into a campaign of dangling 
 with the younger ; but she is also married before he has time to make 
 up his resolution, and he is left in a queerish, desolate condition. In 
 such cases, we have known the dangler of half-a-dozen years pretend 
 to feel hurt, and actually " wonder" how Miss Wilson, or Miss Any- 
 body-else " was in a hurry to get off, for it was well known to her, that 
 nobody felt so much attached to her as himself.''' Such is the drivel 
 
124 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 of a disconcerted dangler. He breaks his acquaintance with the 
 family " which has used him so very ill," and looks about him for means 
 of revenge in marrying some " extraordinary great match." He pro- 
 cures an acquaintance with the accomplished and elegant Miss 
 Blackitt, who lives with her aunt in the upper part of Broadway, and 
 who, it is currently reported, has fifty thousand dollars at her own dis- 
 posal, besides expectations from her uncle, an eminent Broad street 
 merchant. The aunt, who is a knowing hand in the science of dang- 
 ling, encourages his addresses, but takes care not to be long in fixing 
 him, by asking him with an air, (some day about twenty minutes past 
 four o'clock, when he had called in a pair of washed gloves to escort 
 the young lady to the exhibition,) " what his intentions are regarding 
 her niece." Of course, Mr. Brown protests — rather in a flutter, how- 
 ever, that his " intentions" are beyond all measure " honorable." The 
 marriage in such a case soon ensues, and the dangler is beautifully 
 noosed with a girl, who, according to the report of the controllers- 
 general of the neighborhood, " can not put on her own clothes," " who 
 has all kinds of bad habits," not a penny of fortune, no expectation 
 from her uncle, the merchant, who is on the point of marrying him- 
 self — and, consequently, to sum up the story, makes the dangler mis- 
 erable for all the rest of his life. 
 
 THE RAT TOWER. 
 
 The memory of Hatto, archbishop of Mainz, is still execrated on 
 the banks of the Rhine, eight or nine centuries after his death ; and, 
 to this day, when a cloud or fog is seen resting on the Mausthurm, 
 the peasants point to it, in fear and detestation, as containing the 
 spirit of the savage priest. Hatto was a man without a heart. He 
 delighted in cruelty, and was pleased with all sorts of horrors, except 
 the fictitious. He would have made an excellent ogre, only that he 
 wanted the peculiarity of appetite. 
 
THE RAT TOWER. 125 
 
 A famine visited the land which was under the spiritual and pas- 
 toral care of this good shepherd. The people died in thousands ; in- 
 fants perished of hunger at the breast, and mothers of hunger and 
 self-detestation that their fountains of nature refused to supply their 
 offspring with the means of life. The archbishop feasted and fat- 
 tened. He prayed to God, however, to remove his curse- from the 
 land ; he anathematized the foul fiend with bell, book, and candle ; nay, 
 he fasted an entire day on stewed carp and smoked salmon, drinking 
 naught save johannisberger, rudesheimer, and hochheimer. But he 
 gave nothing to the starving poor — not a fragment, not a crumb. 
 
 Then the people waxed wroth. They looked with their hungry 
 ryes into one another's faces, and said, " Let us go unto the man of 
 Goil ; let us go up in a body, and show him our skin and bones, 
 and cry altogether with a loud voice, ' help ! — help !' " and they went 
 up ; and their voices, although thin and weak and broken, were able, 
 because of the number, to reach the archbishop's ears, as he sat 
 drinking the pale wine and the red at his dessert. 
 
 " ^ T hat is this V cried the archbishop ; " what rascally concert 
 have we now ?" 
 
 " It is the people," answered his men ; "they are hungry, and they 
 cry for food." 
 
 " Let them work, varlets," said the archbishop, growing red with 
 indignation. 
 
 " They have no work, and are too feeble to work." 
 
 "Too feeble to work ! Go you now! — what is that? Mercy on 
 us, these are feeble lungs, indeed ! Send them packing, I say ! Off 
 with them — troop, trundle." 
 
 But the people would not move, for they were fierce in their hun- 
 ger, and valiant in their despair ; and they continued to cry with one 
 voice, " Oh, man of God ! help ! help !" 
 
 Then the soul of the archbishop was stirred with wrath and fiery 
 indignation, and he commanded his archers to lay hold of the rebels, 
 and shut them up in an empty barn near the palace. And, when this 
 was done, he sat quaffing the pale wine and the red, thinking of the 
 insolence of the base populace, till the veins of his head swelled 
 with fury. 
 
126 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. 
 
 • 
 
 " Go," said he to his men, starting suddenly up from the table, 
 " go and set fire to the barn." 
 
 And his men did so. 
 
 And the archbishop stood at the window, waiting impatiently ; but 
 whrn he saw the flames burst through the roof of the barn, and 
 heard the screams of the wretches within, he clapped his hands and 
 cried out joyfully : " It burns ! it burns ! Hark, how the rats squeak .'" 
 
 That night the archbishop's men were awakened by their master, 
 and ran to his chamber. " My lord," said they, " what is the mat- 
 ter ?" 
 
 " It is the rats," answered he ; " they will not let me alone." And 
 they saw that the counterpane of precious fur was indeed all gnawed 
 to pieces. Then the men waited and set traps and dogs, and slew 
 the rats in great numbers ; but the faster 'hey slew, the faster they 
 grew. And the archbishop had no rest, neither night nor day. At 
 his meals, the odious vermin jumped in his porringer, or upset his 
 drinking-cup ; and if he slept, (which fear allowed him but rarely to 
 do,) he was sure to be awakened by a rat tearing at his throat. 
 
 The archbishop, at last, determined not only to leave a palace in- 
 fested by such importunate guests, but to choose a lodging in which 
 there could be no possibility of a repetition of the nuisance. He ac- 
 cordingly caused a tower to be built amid the rushing waters of the 
 Bingerloeh, and when it was ready, set out with a jovful heart to 
 shut himself up in his new abode. 
 
 He embarked at Bingen, and on arriving at the tower, sprang eager- 
 ly to land. That day he feasted in safety. He retired early, and 
 commanding that no one should disturb or come near him on pain ot 
 death, he prepared to enjoy, at least, the luxury of an untroubled 
 sleep. He had already undressed ; but, in the fulness of his exulta- 
 tion, would scan with his own eyes the space of waters between him 
 and the land, which was the only tenantable inheritance of his foes. 
 
 As he looked out of his window, he saw a motion on the dark 
 and troubled waters beneath, which was unlike the motion of the 
 waves. The whole surface seemed instinct with life ; and on the 
 opposite shore a plashing sound, as of hundreds and thousands of 
 stones or other small bodies, dropped from the rocks into the river, 
 rose above the din of the waters. Struck with a sudden terror, yet 
 
* 
 

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