DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY PERKINS LIBRARY Duke University Kare iJooks THE ATLANTIC CLUB-BOOK: BEING SKETCHES IN PROSE AND VERSE VAKIOUS AUTHORS, i Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, I And so to bid good night ? Your date is not so past. But you may stay yet here awhile. To blush and gently smile, Nor fade at last. — Herrick. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW-YORK: HARPEK AND BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF STREET. 1834. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834, By Haeper and Beothers, In the Clerk's Office, of the Southern District of New- York. 1 PRINTED BY GEORGE P. SCOTT & CO. A?8 I TO V. JAMES K. PAULDING, ESQ. DEAR HIR, 1 KNOW not to whom a work like this, cousistin^r maiiily of selections from native authors, can with more propriety be dedicated, than to one who has ever been their firmest de- fender and warmest advocate. These titles, I need hardly add, are peculiarly your own. Your early efforts contributed much to raise American Literature from obscurity ; and, when its enemies could no longer adHuee fhe plea of its insignifi- cance, and, from studied contempt, had recourse to ^p^n malignity, you were found in the front rank of its defenders, hurling back, vigorously, upon the assailants, the darts of ri- dicule and satire. And, furthermore, that which you che- rished and protected in its infancy, you have adorned and amplified in its maturer years, for you have never put off the garb of nationality, nor imbibed those foreign prejudices which would fain make us resign our truest badge of inde- pendence. Your generous support of a cause hitherto involving mure honour than emolument, has given you a claim upon the re- gards of all who cherish national sympathies, to which I am proud to add my personal esteem, founded upon a sense of your moral worth, and an intimacy fraught with delightful recollections. These entitle me to subscribe myself Dear sir, Your grateful admirer, And obedient servant, Thk Compiler. PREFACE. These volumes are composed of a number of pieces from the pens of many popular native authors. They are compi- led from the columns of the New-york Mirror, a periodical, whose hold upon public favour will excite no wonder, when we consider the names and literary reputation of those who have laid the solid basis of its popularity. Still the present work is but an experiment, and as such is offered to the public. Should it be successful, it may be followed by another com- pilation, drawn from a similar source. So numerous and r»o excellent were the contributions from which the compiler had to choose, that he experienced the greatest difficulty in mak- ing a selection which should combine literary merit with the variety necessary to sustain a due interest throughout. If he has failed in this point, he willingly assumes the blame ; if the casket contain not the imagined treasure, let the cen- sure be bestowed upon him, who, having the charge of im- mense wealth, has doled it out parsimoniously ; and let not the diamond be undervalued for want of taste in the posses- sor. But, guided by the names he is proud to show to a dis- cerning public, the compiler can fear no failure, since he could hardly choose amiss. Among these will be recognised many of those who have long been prominent among American authors. Others, whose names are now for the first time made public, have contributed in no small degree to the amuse- ment and instruction of American readers, under various anonymous addresses. All are native writers, with the ex- ception of Miss Fanny Kemble and Tyrone Power, Esq., whose highly finished and popular productions the compiler is happy to place side by side with those of his countrymen. Vi PREFACE. At closing these prefatory remarks, an apology seems due to those whose names are prefixed to pieces which they in the first instance published anonymously, and have since suf- fered to remain unclaimed. To such the compiler would say that the reputation of an author who delights and edifies the public, and beguiles the tedious hours of anxiety or bodily pain, is of too expansive and incompressible a nature to be confined within the bounds which undue modesty and self- depreciation would prescribe ; — its tendency is to rise upward and spread itself abroad : it is constantly on the wing, and seeking, in the words of the poet, for a way Qua se quoque possit Tollere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora . 'f he cLio io cast when a writer intrusts his literary venture to the chances of the voyage, and as well might the fisher- man in the Arabian Nights have hoped to inclose the gigan- tic genie in the little copper vessel after the liberated spirit had kicked it into the sea, as he to reduce to its original nar- row dimensions the full grown stature of his reputation. The compiler thinks proper to state that the accompanying selection was made with the permission of the editors of the New-York Mirror, to whom he is happy to tender his grate- ful acknowledgments. CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. Jonathan's visit to the Celestial Empire — By J. K. Paulding 13 The Rime of the ancient Coaster — By Fitz-Greene Hal- leck 34 Steam— By William Cox 39 Song of Marion's Men — By William C. Bryant - - 49 — - The Main-Truck ; or a Leap for Life— By William Leggett 51 Autumn — By Miss Fanny Kemble 66 ^ Snorers — By Theodore S. Fay 68 Oh Judah ! — By Prosper M. Wetmore - - - - 75 The Uneducated Wife — By Mrs. Learned ... 76 Ballad— By Mrs. Emma C. Embury - - - - 115 "^ The little hard-faced old Gentleman— By Theodore S. Fay 117 A Health— By Miss Elizabeth C. Clinch - - - - 130 Uncle Zim, and Deacon Pettibone — By William L. Stone 132 A Poet's Daughter — By Fitz-Greene Halleck - - - 149 Sketches from the Springs — By George P. Morris - - 152 A Lament — By Miss Fanny Kemble - - - - 176 An Outline Sketch— By Theodore S. Fay - - - 179 Forgetfulness— By Miss Elizabeth S. Bogart - - - 188 H viii CONTENTS. PAGE Benefactors — By John Howard Payne ... - 191 The Miniature — By George P. Morris - - - - 197 ' Knickerbocker-Hall, or the Origin of the Baker's Dozen — By J. K. Paulding 198 The Robber— By William C. Bryant - - - - 217 The Mysterious Countess — By C. Stuart - - - 220 Two Yards of Jaconet, or a Husband — By Jcimes Gordon Bennett 232 Editor's Study— By Theodore S. Fay - - - - 245 The Dismissed— By George P. Morris . - - - 248 The Loves of an Attorney — By Enos T. Throop Martin - 250 Lines to Fitz-Greene Halleck, Esq. — By the late John Rodman Drake, M. D. 260 A Sea- Piece — By William Gilmore Symmes - - - 264 ' West Point— By George D. Strong .... 280 A Legend of Brick-House Creek— By William P. Hawes 282 The Little Voyagers — By the Rev. Dr. Pise - - - 308 A Night at the French Opera— By N. P. Willis - - 309 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE BY J K. PAULDING. Somewhere about the year 1783, Jonathan, a- young fellow who lived away down east, took it into his head to make a voyage to Canton. Ac- cordingly he fitted out his sloop, a tarnation clever vessel of about eighty tons, and taking a crazy old compass for his guide, his two cousins, one a lad about sixteen, and a great Newfoundland dog for his crew, and a couple of rusty revolutionary swords for an armament, he boldly set forth on a voyage to the celestial empire. Jonathan was a mighty cute lad, and had read a little or so about the great devotion of the Chinese to the herb called ginseng, which every body knows is a remedy for all things. He happened one day to hear an Indian doctor give it as his opinion that a certain plant, which grew in the neighbourhood of Jonathan's natale solum, was very much like the famous Chinese panacea, as he had seen it descri- bed. He took a hint from this, and rather guessed VOL. I. 2 14 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO he would cany a good parcel along with him on speculation. Accordingly he gathered a few hun- dred weight, dried, and stowed it away in one of his lockers, under the cabin floor. Providence, which seems to take special care of >such droll fellows as Jonathan, who calculate pretty consideiably on their native energies, blessed him with fair winds and good weather ; his old compass behaved to admiration ; his ancient chart, w^iich had been torn into fifty thousand pieces and pasted on a bit of tarpaulin, proved a most infallible guide ; and some how or other, he could not exactly tell how, he plumped his sloop right into Table Bay, just as if the old fellow had been there a hundred times before. The dutch harbor-master was sitting under his hat on his piazza, when he beheld, through the smoke of his pipe, his strange apparition of a ves- sel, scudding like a bird into the bay. He took it for the famous Flying Dutchman, and such was his trepidation, that he stuck his pipe into his but- ton-hole without knocking out the ashes, whereby he burnt a hole in his waistcoat. When Jonathan roimded to, and came to anchor, the harbor-master ventured to go on board to get information con- cerning this strange little barque. He could talk English, Dutch fashion, for indeed he had been promoted to the office on account of his skill in languages. " Whence came you, Mynheer ?" quoth he. '' Right off the reel from old Salem, I guess,'' replied Jonathan. THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 15 *' Old Salem — whereabouts is dat den ? I tout know any sich place about here." " I guess not. What's your name, squire V " Hans Ollenbockenoffenhaflengraphensteiner ish niy name." " Whew ! why it's as long as a pumpkin vine — now aint it ?" " But whereabouts ish dish blaslie 3^ou speague of?" reiterated the harbor-master. " O, it's some way off — about six or eight thou- sand miles down west there." '• Six tousand duyvels !" muttered Hans with the long name. " Do you tink I vill pclieve such a cog and pullsh tory as dat, Mynheer ?" '• If you don't J^elieve me, ask my two cousins there — and if you don't believe them, ask my dog. I tell you I come riglit straight from old Salem, in the United States of Amerrykey." •'• United Sthaites of vat ? I never heard of any United Sthaites but de Sthaites of Hollant." " Ah — I suppose not — they've jist been christened I 'spose now, likely you've never heard of the new w^orld neither, have you mister — w^iat's yoiu* name?'' ■' Hans Olleiibockenoffenhaffengraphensteiner — I told you zo pefore." " Maybe you'll have to tell me again before I know^ it by heart, I calculate. But did you never hear of the new Avorld, squire?" " Not I — ant if I hat, I voukVnt hafe pelieved it- Tare ish no new vorlt zinze de tiscovery of de Oape of Good Hoop dat I know. Put, gome along? you must co vid me to de gubernador. " 1(5 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO Jonathan puzzled the governor about as much as he had done the harbor-master. But his papers were all fair and above board, and tlie governor had not only heard of the new world, but of the United States of Amerrykey , as Jonathan called them. Ac- cordingly he was permitted to enjoy all the privileges of the port. Nothing could exceed the \Vonder and curiosity excited by the vessel among the people at the Cape. That he should have made a voyage of so many thousand miles, with such a crew and such an outfit, was, in their opinion, little less than miraculous j and the worthy governor could only account for it by the aid of witchcraft, which, he had somewhere been told, abounded in the new world. Jonathan was the greatest man, and his dog the greatest dog at the Cape. He dined with the governor and burgomasters ; cracked his jokes with their wives and daughters, danced with the Hottentots, and might have married a rich Dutch damsel of five hundred weight, and five thousand ducats a year, provided he would have given up old Salem forever. After partaking of the hospitalities of the Ca])e a few days, Jonathan began to be in a hurry to prosecute his voyage. He knew the value of time as well as money. On the sixth day he accord- ingly set sail amid the acclamations of the inhabi- tants, taking with him a hippopotamus, an ourang outang, and six ring-tailed monkeys, all of which he had bought on speculation. One of his cousins had, however, been so smitten with the country THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. IJ about the Cape, or with the charms of a httle Dutch maiden, that he determined to stay behind, marry, and improve the inhabitants — on specula- nation. A Dutch sailor offered to supply his place, but Jonathan dechned, saying he guessed his other cousin and the Newfoundland dog, who was a pretty particular cute kritter, could sail his sloop quite round the world and back again. Not much of interest occuned during the voyage until he arrived at Macao, where he excited the same astonishment, underwent the same scrutiny, returned the same satisfactory answers, and came off as triumphantly as he did at the Cape of Good Hope. While here, he saw every thing, inquired about every thing, and went every where. Among other adventures, he one day accompanied his cou- sin in a fishing-boat, to see if they fished as the people did on the banks of Newfoundland. Un- fortunately a violent storm came on ; some of the boats were lost, and their crews drowned. The survivors went and offered up some of tlieir pad- dles at the great temple of Neang-ma-ko. Those that were able added some matches and gilt paper. Jonathan's other cousin here determined to stay behind at Macao. It occuned to him he might make a speculation by curing the fish after the manner of mackerel. Jonathan did not much like this, but he said " never mind, I partly guess I can do without him." Jonathan had now no one but his Newfoundland dog to assist in the navigation of his sloop. But he thought to himself, his vovage was almost at an end, 2* 18 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO and, at all events, if he hired any of the Macao peo- ple, they would he offering up matches and gilt paper to Neang-ma-ko, instead of minding their business. So he set sail for Canton, the Chinese prognostica- ting he would go to the bottom, because he did not make an offering to Neang-ma-ko, and the Portu- guese that he would go to the devil, because he did not pay his devoirs to the virgin. At Lin-Tin he was taken for a smuggler of opium l)y some, and for a magician by others, when they saw his vessel, heard where he hailed from, and became convinced that his whole crew consisted of a Newfoundland dog. The commander of the fleet of ships of war stationed at Lin-Tin, to prevent the smuggUng of opium into the celestial empire, seized the sloop, and devoted its brave commander to the indignation of the mighty emperor, who is brother to the sun and moon. Hereupon Jonathan bethought himself of a piece of the herb he had brought with him and had in his pocket. '• It is a mighty good chance," thought he, " to try if it's the identical thing.*' Accordingly he took a convenient opportunity of presenting to the valiant commander a bit about as big as his finger. The admiral, whose name was Tizzy-Wizzy-Twang-Lang, stared at him at first with astonishment, then at the pre- sent with almost dismay, and thrusting it into his pocket, immediately caused it to be proclaimed that the '- foreign Imrbarian" was innocent of the crime, or the intention of smuggling opium, and might go any where he pleased. Tizzy-Wizzy-Twang- Lang then sat down and wrote a despatch to the THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. J9 governor of Canton, stating that he had routed the " foreign barbarians," destroyed their fleet, and thrown all their opium overboard. After which he shut himself up in his cabin and took a morsel of the treasure Jonathan had presented him, about as large as the head of a pin. It is astonishing how much better he felt afterwards. In the mean while Jonathan had set sail, and was ploughing his way towards Canton, with a fair wind and a good prospect of making a great specu- lation, for lie had ascertained to a certainty that the article he had brought with him was the real gin- seng, which was worth five times its w^eight in gold. He went ashore at the village of Ho-tun, where he saw the people catching wild ducks and geese which they fatten by feeding in the dark. '• That's a good hint," said Jonathan, shutting one eye, " and ni tell the folks at old Salem," While he was walking about, seeing into every thing, he was un- expectedly saluted by a shower of stones from a parcel of children, with their hair sticking up behind like two horns. Jonathan thousfht this tarnation ungenteel ; but he prudently suppressed his anger, considering he was in a strange country, and was come to try his fortune. •' May I be buttered," quoth Jonathan, as he ap- proached Canton, and saw^ the countless boats moor- ed in streets on the river, or flitting about in every direction — " may I be buttered, if here isn't a city all afloat. This beats all nater !" And sure enough, here was a scene that might have made one of our Indians w^onder. The whole 20 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO world' seemed on the water. Junks, with two eyes staring at the bows — canal-boats, flower-boats, plea- sure-boats, and boats of all sizes and descriptions, filled with all sorts of people, lay moored in regular streets, or were moving about to and fro in every direction, painted in all the colors of the rainbow, and ornamented with gold leaf and grinning mon- sters having no prototypes in nature, or any where else but in the grotesque imagination of the artists of the celestial empire. The busy activity of some of these boats was sinsrularlv contrasted with the luxurious ease of others, in which might be seen a couple of Chinese dandies reclining on mats and resting their heads on bamboo pillows, with pipes in their mouths, either listlessly contemplating the scene before them, or gazing with lack-lustre eye on the picture of some favorite beauty with penciled eyebrows, nails like a tio"er. and feet almost invisible. Others were per- forming the ceremony of chin-chin-jos, which con- sists in throwing bits of bm-ning paper into the water, while the din of innumerable gongs contri- buted a species of music to the scene that made honest Jonathan stop his ears in reverential dismay. When our adventurer moored his sloop at Wham- poa, in the midst of a fleet of vast ships, of almost all the nations of Europe, they did not know what to make of her. All he could say failed in con- vincing them that he had come from such a long distance, in such a vessel, navigated by such a crew. Besides, what could have brought him to Canton? He had neither money to purchase, nor cargo to ex- THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 2I change for Chinese commodities, except it miglit be his river horse, his oiirang-outang, and hi? monkeys. Jonathan kept his own secret. He had heard that the Chinese were as sharp as the " leetle end of nothing whittled down," and determined to be as sharp as the best of them. Accordingly nothing could be got out of him, except, that he liad come on his own l)ottom, and meant to turn a penny some how or other. He said nothing about his gin- seng, which he had, as I before stated, stowed away in a secret locker. The story of the strange man and the strange vessel that had been navigated from the new world by a man and a dog, made a great noise, and thousands flocked to see them. The gentleman who officiated as American consul, without, how- ever, having a regular appointment, behaved in the most kind and friendly manner to Jonathan, and introduced him to a hong, or as our hero called him, a himg-mevchRnt, who undertook to do liis business for him, that is, if he had any to do, which seemed rather doubtful. '•' I chin-chin you," said Fat-qua, the hongman. "You don't now, do you?" quoth Jonathan. " Well then, I chin-chin you, and so we are even, I guess." Fat-qua was very anxious to know all about Jonathan's business ; but the Chinese were such plaguy slippery fellows, he was afraid to trust them with his secret. He therefore, very gravely, and with infinite simplicity, commended to him liis cargo 22 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO of live stock, begged he would dispose of them to the best advantage, and invest the proceeds in a cargo of notions. Fat-qua did not know whether to laugh or be angry — however, he concluded b}' laughing, and promising to do his best. The trifle which Jonathan brought with him had been all expended in maintaining himself and his dog, and Fat-qua did not feel inclined to advance an)^ on the security of his live stock. This being the case, Jonathan one day brought a pound or two of his ginseng, and asked him carelessly what it might be Ukely worth in these parts ? -' Hi yah !" exclaimed the hong-merchant in as- tonishment. " No, have got some more of he — hi yah?" " Some small matter — not much," said Jonathan, who was of opinion if he displayed the whole par- cel at once, it might lower the price and injure his speculation. Fat-qua disposed of the two pounds of ginseng for a thumping sum, which Jonathan pocketed in less than no time, and chuckled in his sleeve, as he thought of the means to get rid of the whole at the same rate. A day or two after, he delivered the hong-merchant a few pounds more, which he said he had accidentally found in a place where he had stowed away and forgot it. '• Hi yah ! Missee Joe Netting, I chin-chin you." And he began to have a great respect for Missee Joe Notting. In this way, by slow degrees, did friend Jonathan brin^ forth his hoard of hidden treasures, till it was THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 23 all disposed of, and he found himself in possession of almost half a million of dollars ; for, it is to be recollected, this happened long before the value of ginseng was brought down to almost nothing by the large quantities carried to China, in consequence of the successful speculation of Jonathan. Every time he produced a new lot, he declared it was all he had left, and consequently, to the last moment the price was kept up. Fat-qua began to beheve that Joe Notting had discovered some hidden place where it grew, in the neighborhood of Can- ton, or that he dealt with the prince of darkness. He accordingly caused him to be watched, but our hero was too wide awake for the hong-merchant. " Hi yah ! Missee Joe Notting — some yet more — when you shall tink shall you no more have — hey ? Every day here come you — say the last is he — hi yah ! I tink no last come forever." " I han't another stick to save my gizzard," said Jonathan, and this time he spoke like a man of honor. He had at last sold out his hoard, with the exception of a small parcel for presents, and to use on an emergency. Jonathan was now thinking he would gather himself together, and point his bowsprit strut to- wards home. But first he determined to see about him, for he expected to be asked a heap of questions when he got amongst his old neighbors ; and not to be able to tell them all about the celestial empire, would be to show he had httle or no gumption. He accordingly visited the fajnous flower garden of Fa-Tee, where he saw a vast collection of the most beautiful flowers, and roses o'' all colors. Re- 24 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO turning, he passed through the suburb of Ho- Nam, where he was called Fan-kwei, which means '• foreign devil," and pelted handsomely with stones, according to the hospitable custom of the inhabitants. Jonathan was now so rich, that he felt himself a different man from what he was when the boys pelted him at the village of Ho-tun. He had moreover seen the bamboo so hberally employed on the backs of the Chinese by their own officers and magistrates, that he thought he might make use himself of this uni- versal panacea for all offences in the celestial empire. Accordingly, he sallied forth among these inhospita- ble rogues, and plied his stick so vigorously that the rabble fled before him, crying out *'Fan-kwei !" and making motions significant of cutting off the head, as much as to say that would be his end at last. The reader must know that beheading is considered the most disgraceful of all punishments in the ce- lestial empire, where they do every thing differently from the rest of the world. A formal complaint was laid before the Gan-chat- sze, a minister of justice at Canton, against the Fan- kwei, who had feloniously bambooed the mob of Ho- Nam. Fat-qua, one of our hero's securities, was taken into custody till his forthcoming, and an ex- press sent off to Pekin to announce the intelligence to the brother of the sun and moon, that a Fan- kwei had beaten at least two hundred of his valiant and invincible subjects, who could not bring them- selves to soil their fingers by touching even the clothes of a foreign barbarian. Jonathan was soon arrested, and being carried before the illustrious Gan-chat-sze, was astonished THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 25 at seeing the infinite mischief he had done. Tliere was one poor man who had his eye put out ; ano- ther his head fractured ; a third his arm broken ; and what was worse than all this, three children were so disabled that they could not stand, all by Jonathan's bamboo, which was about as thick as your finger. This was a serious business for a Fan-kwei. But his friend Fat-qua whispered in his ear — " Hi yah — Missee Joe Notting — 3^ou some more have got of that grand — Hi yah ! You stand under me — hey ?" Jonathan tipped him a knowing wink, and Fat- qua then crept close to the ear of the incorruptible Gan-chat-sze, and whispered him in like manner : but what he said being only intended for the ear of justice, must not be disclosed. The effect, however was miraculous, the Gan-chat-sze forthwith started up in a mighty passion, and, seizing his bamboo, attacked the complainants in the suit with such wonderful vigor, that he actually performed a mira- cle, and restored every one of them to the use of their limbs. After this, he discharged the ofTendev with a caution, which Fat-qua translated into ex- cellent English, and the next day Jonathan sent him by the hands of the same discreet friend a pound of ginseng. " Hi yah ! Missee Joe — more some yet, hey ! Be- lieve him make him as him go along — Hi yah ! Chin-chin you, Missee Joe Notting." Fat-qua was determined to signalize this triumph VOL. I. 3 25 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO 1 of Chinese justice ovei prejudice against foreignere, by a great feast of bears-claws, birds-nests, and all the delicacies of the east. He, therefore, invited a number of the Fan-kweis about the factory, to meet Jonathan at his country-seat, near the gardens of Fa-Te, and they had a jolly time of it. Our hero was comphmented with a pair of chop-sticks of the most elegant construction and materials, which he managed with such skill, that, by the time the din- ner was over, he was well nigh starved to death. The hong-merchant, Fat-cjua, was a jolly little fellow, "about knee-high to a toad," as Jonathan used to say, and fond of a good glass of wine. He plied his guests pretty neatly, until they began to feel a little top-heavy, and sailed away one by one under rather high steam, leaving Jonathan and his friend alone together, the latter fast asleep. Jona- than was by this time in high feather, and thouglit this would be a good time to take a peep at the es- tablishment of his friend, that he might know some- thing of these matters when he got home. He arose without disturbing the little fat gentle- man, and proceeded to penetrate into the interior of the house, until he came to the female apartments, in one of which he saw a young lady smoking, to whom he paid his compliments with a low bow. Her pipe was formed of slender pieces of bamboo, highly polished, with a bowl of silver and a mouth- piece of amljer. Her hair was beautifully long, and tastefully dressed with flowers and gold and silver bodkins, and the whole atmosphere of the room was THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 27 perfumed with jasmine and other odoriferous plants and shrubs. By her side lay a guitar, on which she seemed to have been playing. The entrance of Jonathan threw her into great confusion, and she uttered several violent screams, whicli however brought no one to her assistance. The illustrious Fat-qua was still sleeping in his seat, and the servants making merry as usual with the re- mains of the feast. .Jonathan attempted an apology for his intrusion, but the more he apologized the louder the young lady screamed. Jonathan won- dered what could be the matter with her. " Well, I never saw any thing like this growing among corn — what's come over the gal ? May I be chiselled if I don't think she's afeard I'll eat her. But why the dickens, if she's frightened, don't she scamper off, that being the most nat'ral way of getting out of danger." Jonathan did not know the feet of the poor young damsel were not more than two inches and a half long, and that sire could no more run than lly. They were what the Chinese poets call a couple of " golden lilies." Encouraged by this notion, that her pretending to be frightened was all sheer affectation, he approach- ed her still nearer, took up the guitar, and begged her to play him a tune, such as '^ Yankee Doodle,'' or any thing of that sort that was pretty easily man- aged, for he did not much admire any of your fine fashionable gimcracks. Jonathan was a plaguy neat kind of a chap — as handsome a lad as might be seen ; tall and straight, with blue eyes, white 28 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO forehead, and red cheeks, a httle rusted to be sure with the voyage. The pretty creature with the little feet, w^hose name was Shangtshee, ventured at last to look at this impudent intruder, and, sooth to say, he did not appear so terrible at the second glance as at the first. {She smiled, and put out her small foot for Jonathan to admire. She then took her guitar and played him a tune — it was not "Yankee Doodle" to be sure, but it rather pleased Jonathan, for he declared it beat all, he'd be switched if it didn't. Shangtshee seemed to understand the compliment, for she smiled and put out her other golden hly, I suppose to show Jonathan she had a pair of them. Jonathan ad- mired the pipe ; she handed it to him, he put it to his lips, and giving it back again, she put it to her lips, which our hero finally concluded came as near to kissing as twopence to a groat. "Howthekritter blushes," thought Jonathan. He did not know she was painted half an inch thick after the fashion of the Chinese ladies. As they sat thus exchanging little pleasant civilities, which, innocent as they were, endangered both their lives, they were alarmed, at least the lady — for Jonathan had never particularly studied Chinese customs — by the sound of a guitar, at some short distance, in the garden. It approached nearer, and. in a few minutes, seemed directly under the window of the apartment. Shangtshee appeared greatly agitated, and begged Jonathan by signs to depart the way he came. But Jonathan had no notion of being scared THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. gg by a tune, and declined to budge an inch. It was a nice tune, and he didnt much mind if he heard another just hke it. Presently the music ceased, and all at once tlie young Shangtshee screamed a scream almost as loud as the former ones. " What can have got into the curious varmint now, I wonder ?" quoth Jona- than. He httle suspected she had caught a glimpse of the face of her lover through the blinds. This young man was called Yu-min-hoo, which signifies fea- thered. I^ecause he was a great poet, and took such high flights that his meaning was sometimes quite out of sight. He always carried an ink-l3ottle sus- pended to his button, a bamboo pen stuck behind liis ear, and a book under his arm, in which he wrote down his thoughts that none might escape him. He made verses upon Shangtshee, in which he com- pared her to a dish of bear's claws, since her nails were at least six inches long, and she was a delicacy w^hich the epicure might admire every day in the year. It was this sentiment wliich he had set to music and sung on this eventful evening under the window of his mistress. Yu-min-hoo was petrified when he saw his Shangtshee sitting so cosily by the side of a Fan- kwei, which, as I said before, means foreign devil. His indignation was terrible and his jealousy prodi- gious. He had thoughts of sitting down by the light of the moon and writing a furious ode, con- signing the Fan-kwei to all the Chinese devils, which are the ugliest in the world. Even their 3* 30 jonathajS'S visit to gods are monsters, what then must the others be ? On second thoughts, however, Yu-min-hoo restrain- ed his muse, and in a moment or two they heard the clatter of his wooden shoes gradually receding. Shangtshee again entreated with her eyes, her hands, nay, her very feet, that Jonathan would make himself scarce. The tears lan down her cheeks, and like torrents of rain wore deep channels in them that almost spoiled their beauty. Jonathan tried all he could to comfort her, when what was his surprise and indignation at her base ingratitude, he was saluted with a scratch of those long nails that constitute the most unequivocal claim of a Chinese lady to rank. It was a scratch so em- phatic and well-directed, that every nail, and most especially the little finger nail, left its mark on his cheek, and it was preceded and followed by a scream of the highest pretensions. Our hero was astounded at this salutation. He had heard of love taps, but never of such as these. But he soon understood the whole squinting of the business as slick as a w^histle, when he saw little Fat-qua standing before him breathing fire and looking fury from his dark sharp-cornered eyes. " Hi yah ! — Missee Joe Notting — spose tink you daughter my one flower-woman — hey?"' Jonathan endeavoured to convince Fat-qua that there was not the least harm in sitting by the side of a young woman in a civil way — that it was done in his country everyday in the year, particularly on Sundays — -and that the women there were quite as THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 31 good as the Chinese, though they did not wear wooden shoes, and nails six inches long. Fat-qua was Avroth at this indecorous comparison uf tlie Fan-kwei ladies with those of the celestial empire : he ordered his servants to seize Jonathan as a violator of Chinese etiquette, and a calumniator of wooden shoes and long nails. He determined in the bitterness of his heart to have him immediately before the worshipful Gan-chat-sze, who would not fail to squeeze some of his dollars out of him. But further reflection induced him to abandon this course. He recollected, when the fumes of the wine were somewhat dissipated, that both himself and his daughter would be disgraced and dishon- ored if it were publicly known that she had been in company with a Fan-kwei, a stain of the deepest dye according to the statutes of the celestial empire, in any but common women. The only way, there- fore, was to make the best of a bad business. Ac- cordingly he bribed his servants to secrecy — mar- ried his daugliter to the poet — and swore never to invite another Missee Joe Notting to dine with him so long as there Avas a woman in his house. He had never, he said, met Avith a fellow^ of this chop before. Various were the other adventures of our hero, which are forever incorporated in the annals of the celestial empire, where he figures as the "Great Fan- kwei, Joe Notting." My Umits will not suffice to par- ticularize them all, else would I record how he was fined a thousand dollars by his old friend, Gan-chat- sze, for bambooing a valiant sentinel who refused 32 JONATHAN'S VISIT TO to let liim enter the gates of Canton without a bribe ; how his river-horse, being tired of confinement, took an opportunity to jump overboard, whereby he upset a boat and came nigh drowning the passengers. This cost him three thousand dollars more. His next adventure was picking up the body of a drowned man in the river one evening, in passing between his sloop and the shore, whose murder he was found guilty of before Gan-chat-sze, who kindly let him off for ten thousand dollars ; advising him at the same time through the hong-merchant, Fat- qua, to take the earliest oppovtmiity of making him- self invisible within the precincts of the celestial empire. '• I partly guess I'll take his advice, and pull up stakes,'" said Jonathan. " I never saw such a tar- nal place. It beats every thing, I swow. Why, squire Fat-qua, Til tell you what — if you'll only come to our parts, you may go jist where you please — do jist as you please — and talk to the gals as much as you please. I'll be choked if it isn't true, by the living hokey." " Hi yah ! Missee Joe Notting," replied Fat qua, " she must be some very fine place, dat Merrykey." " There you are right, squire. But, good by ; I finally conclude it's best to cut stick. They're plaguy slippery fellows here ; if they aint, may I be licked by a chap under size." Jonathan received the remainder of bin money, which he was then earnestly advised to invest in THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE. 33 bills, and at the same time to sell his vessel, and embark for home in a safer conveyance. " D'ye think I'm a fellow of no more gumption than that ?" said he. '• I'll be darned if there's a tighter safer thing than my old sloop ever sailed across the salt sea ; and as for your paper money, I've had enough of that in my own country in my time." He dechned shipping a crew, for he said he must trust, in that case, to strangers ; and he thought to himself that he could easily induce his two cousins to go home with him now he was so rich. It hap- })ened as he had anticipated ; both gladly rejoined him again, each having failed in his speculation. The Dutchmen at the Cape forbade the one using a machine he had invented for saving labor, lest it might lower the price of their negroes ; and the Portuguese and Chinese refused to eat the fish of the other, because he neither crossed himself before the picture of the virgin, nor burnt gilt paper to the image of Neang-ma-ko. A prosperous voyage ended in Jonathan's happy return to Salem, where he became a great man, even to the extent of being yclept honorable. He lived long and happily, and his chief boast to the end of his hfe was, that he had been the first of his countrymen to visit the celestial empire, and the only man that navigated \yith a Newfoundland dog for an officer. THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT COASTER. BY FITZ-GREEXE HALLECK. Wriiten while sailiug in an open boat on the Hudson river, between Sioney Point nnd the Highlands, on seeing Uie wreck of an old sloop- "And tliis our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every th'mg."—S/takspeare. Her side is in the water, Her keel is on the sand, And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock, That bounds the sea and land. Her deck is without a mast, And sand and shells are there, And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks, In the sun and the sultry air. No more on the river's bosom, When sky and wave are calm, And the clouds are in summer quietness, And the cool night-breath is balm. Will she glide in the swan-like stillness Of the moon in the blue above, A messenger from other lands, A beacon to hope and love. No more, in the midnight tempest, Will she mock the mounting sea, Strong in her oaken timbers, And her white sail's bravery. THE RIME, ETC. 35 She hath borne, in days departed, Warm hearts upon her deck ; Those hearts, like her are mouldering now, The victims, and the wreck. Of time, whose touch erases Each vestige of all we love ; The wand'rers, home returning, Who gazed that deck above, And they who stood to welcome Their lov'd ones on that shore, Are gone and the place that knew them Shall know them never more. It was a night of terror. In the autumn equinox. When that gallant vessel found a grave Upon the Peekskill rocks. Captain, mate, cook, and seamen, (They were in all but three,) Were sav'd by swimming fast and well, And their gallows destiny. But two, a youth and maiden. Were left to brave the .storm, With unpronouncable Dutch names, And hearts with true love warm. And they, for love has watchers In air, on earth, and sea, Were sav'd by cUnging to the wreck And their marriage-destiny. 36 THE RIME OF THE From sunset to night's noon She had lean'd upon his arm, Nor heard the far-off thunder toll The tocsin of alarm. Not so the youth — he listened To the cloud-wing flapping by ; And low he whispered, in Low Dutch, " It tells our doom is nigh. " Death is the lot of mortals, "But we are young and strong, " And hoped, not boldly, for a life " Of happy years and long. " Yet, 'tis a thought consoling, "That, till our latest breath, " We loved in life, and shall not be " Divided in our death. " Alas, for those that wait us " On their couch of dreams at home, " The morn will hear the funeral cry " Around their daughter's tomb. " They hoped," ('twas a strange moment In Dutch to quote Shakspeare,) " ' Thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, " 'And not have strewed thy bier.' " But, sweetly-voiced and smiling, The trusting maiden said, "Breathed not our lips the vow to-day "To-morrow we will wed? "And I, who have known thy truth " Through years of joy and sorrow, " Can I believe the fickle winds? "No! we shall wed to-morrow!'' ANCIENT COASTER. 37 The tempest heard and paused, The wild sea gentler moved, They felt the power of woman's faith, In the word of him she loved. All night to rope and spar They clung with strength untired, Till the dark clouds fled before the sun. And the fierce storm expired. At noon the song of bridal bells O'er hill and valley ran, At eve he called the maiden his "Before the holy man.*' They dwelt beside the waters That bathe yon fallen pine, And round them grew their sons and daughters. Like wild grapes on the vine. And years and years flew o'er them, Like birds with beauty on their wings, And theirs were happy sleigh-ride winters, And long and lovely springs. Such joys as thrilled the lips that kist The wave, rock-cooled, from Horeb's fountains, And sorrows, fleeting as the mist Of morning, spread upon the mountains. Till, in a good old age, Their life-breath passed away, Their name is on the church-yard page, Their story in my lay. VOL. I. 38 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT COASTER, And let them sleep together, The maid, the boat, the boy, AMiy sing of matrimony now, In this brief hour of joy 1 Our time may come, and let it — 'Tis enough for us now to know That our bark will reach West Point ere long^ If the breeze keep on to blow. We have Hudibras and Milton, Wine, flutes, and a bugle-horn, And a dozen segars are lingering yet Of the thousand of yestermom. They have gone, like life's first pleasures, And faded in smoke away, And the few that are left are like bosom friends? In the evening of our day — We are far from the mount of battle,* Where the wreck first met mine eye. And now where twin-fortsf in the olden time rose, Through the Race, like a swift steed, our little bark goes, And our bugle's notes echo through Anthony's nose,t So wrecks and rhymes — good by. * Stoney Point. t Forts Clinton and Montgomery. t Not the saint of that name, nor Cleopatra's lover, but a mountain in the Hudson Highlands, remarkable in its neighborhood for the beauty of its scenery and its rattlesnakes. STEAM. I had a dream, which was not all a dream."— 5yron. "Modern philosophy, anon, Will, at the rate she's rushing on, Yoke lightning to her railroad car, And, posting like a shooting star, i^wift as a solar radiation Ride the grand circuit of creation." — Ano7u I HAVE a bilious friend, who is a great admirer and imitator of Lord Byron ; that is, he aflects mis- anthropy, masticates tobacco, has his shirts made without collars, calls himself a miserable man, and writes poetry with a glass of gin-and-water before him. His gin, though far from first-rate, is better than his poetiy ; the latter, indeed, being worse than that of many authors of the present day, and scarcely fit for an album ; however, he does not think so, and makes a great quantity. At his lodgings, a few evenings ago, among other morbid produc- tions, he read me one entitled " Steam," written in very blank verse, and evidently modelled after the noble poet's " Darkness," in which he takes a bird's eye view of the world two or three centuries hence, describes things in general, and comes to a conclu- sion with, " Steam was the universe !" Whether it was the fumes arising from this piece of solemn 40 STEAM. bombast, or whether I had unconsciously imbibed more hoUands tlian my temperate habits allow of, I cannot say, but I certainly retired to bed like Othello, '• perplexed in the extreme." There wa? no '• dreamless sleep" for me that niglit, and dueen Mab drove full gallop through every nook and cran- ny of my brain. Strange and fantastical visions floated before me, till at length came one with all the force and clearness of reality. I thought I stood upon a gentle sw-ell of ground, and looked down upon the scene beneath me. It was a pleasant sight, and yet a stranger might have passed it by unheeded ; but to me it Avas as the green spot in the desert, for there I recognised the liaunt of my boyhood. There was the w'ild common on which I had so often scampered '• frae mornin' sun till dine/' skirted by tlie old Avood, through which the burn stole tinkhng to the neighboring river. There was the little ivy-covered church with its modest spire and immovable weathercock, and clustering around lay the village that I knew con- tained so many kind and loving hearts. All looked just as it did on the summer morning when I left it, and went a wandering over this weary w^orld. To me the very trees possessed an individuality ; the branches of the old oak (there w^as but one) seemed to nod familiarly towards me, the music of the rippling water fell pleasantly on my ear, and tlie passing breeze murmured of '-home, sweet home." The balmy air w^as laden w^ith the hum of unseen insects, and filled with the fragrance of a STEAM. ^2 thoLip^'iCl common herbs and flowers ; and to my eyes the place looked prettier and pleasanter than any they have since rested on. As I gazed, the "womanish moisture" made dim my sight, and I felt that yearning of the heart which every man who has a soul feels — let him go where he wdll, or reason how he will — on once more beholding the spot where the only pure, unsullied part of his ex- istence passed away. — Suddenly the scene changed. The quiet, smiling village vanished, and a busy, crowded city occupied its place. The wood was gone, the brook dried up, and the common cut to pieces and covered with a kind of iron gangways. I looked upon the surrounding country, if country it could be called, where vegeta.ble nature had ceased to exist. The neat, trim gardens, the verdant lawns and swelling uplands, the sweet-scented meadows and waving corn-fields, were all swept away, and fruit, and flowers, and herbage, appeared to be things uncared for and unknown. Houses and factories, and turnpikes and railroads, were scattered all around ; and along the latter, as if propelled by some unseen infernal power, monstrous machines flew with inconceivable swiftness. People were crowding and jostling each other on all sides. I mingled with them, but they were not like those I had formerly known — they walked, talked, and transacted business of all kinds w^ith astonishing celerity. Every thing was done in a hurry: they ate, drank, and slept in a hurry; they danced, sung, and made love in a hurry ; they married, died, and 4* 42 STEAM. w ere buried in a hurry, and resurrection-mer^ had them out of their graves before they well knew they were in them. "Whatever was done, was done upon the high-pressure principle. No person stopped to speak to anotlier in the street; but as they moved rapidly on their way, the men talked faster than women do now, and the women talked twice as fast as ever. ]\Iany were bald : and on ask- ing the reason, T was given to understand that they liad been great travellers, and that the rapidity of modern conveyances literally scalped those who journeyed much in them, sweeping whiskers, eye- brows, eye-lashes, in fact, eveiy thing in any way movable, from their faces. Animal life appeared to be extinct ; carts and carriages came ratthng down the highways, horseless and driverless, and Asheelbarrows trundled along without any visible agency. Nature was out of fashion, and the world seemed to get along tolerabl}^ well without her. At the foot of the street my attention was attracted by a house which they were building, of prodigious dimensions, being not less than seventeen stories high. On the top of it several men were at work, when, dreadful to relate, the foot of one of them slipped, and he was precipitated to the earth with a fearful crash. Judge of my horror and indigna_ tion on observing the crowd pass unheeding by, scarcely deigning to cast a look on their fellow- creature, who doubtless lay weltering in his blood ; and the rest of the workmen went on with their several avocations without a moment's pause in STEAM. 43 conp^iuence of the accident. On approaching the spotj I heard several in passing murmur the most incomprehensible observations. " Only a steam- man," said one. " Won't cost much," said another. " His boiler overcharged, I suppose,"' cried a third ; " the way in which all these accidents happen !" And true enough, there lay a man of tin and sheet- iron, weltering in hot water. The superintendent of the concern, who was not a steam-man, but made of the present materials, gave it as his opinion that the springs were damaged, and the steam-vessels a little ruj)tured, but not much harm done; and straightway sent the corpse to the black- smith's (who was a flesh-and-blood man) to be re- paired. Here was then at once a new version of the old Greek fable, and modern Prometheuses were actually as " plentiful as blackberries." In fact, I found upon inquiry, that society was now divided into two great classes, living and " locomotive" men, the latter being much the better and honestcr people of the two : and a fashionable political econon^iist of the name of Malthus, a lineal descendant of an an- cient, and it appears, rather inconsistent system- monger, liad just pubhshed an elaborate pamphlet, showing the manifold advantages of propagating those no-provender-consuming individuals in pre- ference to any other. So that it appeared, that any industrious mechanic might in three months have a full-grown family about him, with the full and com- fortable assurance that, as the man says in Chro- nonhotonthologos, " they were all his own and none of his neighbors." 44 STEAM. These things astonished, but they also perplcved and wearied me. My spirit grew sick, and I longed for the old world again, and its quiet and peaceable modes of enjoyment. I had no fellowship with the two new races of beings around me, and nature and her charms were no more. All things seemed forced, unnatural, unreal — indeed, little better than bare- faced impositions. I sought the banks of my naiive river; it alone remained unchanged. The noble stream flowed gently and tranquilly as of yore, but even here impertinent man had been at work, and pernicious railroads were formed to its very verge. I incautiously crossed one of them, trusting to my preconceived notions of time and space, the abhor- red engine being about three-quarters of a mile from me ; but scarcely had I stepped over, when it flew whizzing past the spot I had just quitted, and catch- ing me in its eddy, spun me around like a top un- der the lash. It was laden with passengers, and went with headlong fury straight toward the river. Its fate seemed inevitable — another instant and it would be immersed in the waves ; w^hen lo ! it sud- denly sunk into the bosom of the earth, and in three seconds was ascending a perpendicular hill on the opposite bank of the river. I was petrified, and gazed around with an air of helpless bewilderment, when a gentleman, who was doubtless astonished at my astonishment, shouted in passing, " What's the fellow staring at?"' and another asked " if I had never seen a tunnel before?" Like Lear, "my wits began to turn." I wished for some place where I might hide myself from all STEAM. 45 around, and turned instinctively to the spot where the village ale-house used to stand. But where, ala^ ! was the neat thatched cottage that was wont so often to " impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart 1" Gone ! and in its place stood a huge fabric, labelled '• Grand Union Railroad Hotel." But here also it was steam, steam, nothing but steam ! The rooms were heated by steam, the beds were made and air- ed by steam, and instead of a pretty, red-lipped, rosy- cheeked chambermaid, there was an accursed ma- chine-man smoothing down the pillows and bolstei's with mathematical precision ; the victuals were cook- ed by steam, yea, even the meat roasted by steam. Instead of the clean-swept hearth *' With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel sweet," there was a patent steam-stove, and the place way altogether hotter than any decent man would ever expect to have any thing to do with. Books and papers lay scattered on a table. I took up one of the former ; it was filled with strange new phrases, all more or less relating to steam, of which I knew nothing, but as far as I could make out the English of the several items, they ran somewhat thus: " Another shocking catastrophe. — As the war- ranted-safe locomotive smoke-consuming, fuel-pro- viding steam-carriage Lightning, was this morning proceeding at its usual three-quarter speed of one 46 STEAM. hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour, at the junction of the Hannington and Slipsby raihoads, it unfortunately came in contact with the steam- carriage Snail, going about one hundred and five miles per hour. Of course, both vehicles with their passengers w^ere instantaneously reduced to an im- palpable pow^der. The friends of the deceased have the consolation of knowing that no blame can pos- sibly attach to the intelligent proprietors of the Lightning, it having been clearly ascertained that those of the Snail started their carriage full two seconds before the time agreed on, in order to ob- viate in some degree, the delay to which passengers wei'e unavoidably subjected by the clumsy construc- tion and tedious pace of their vehicle." ^- Melancholy accident. — As a beautiful and ac- complished young lady of the name of Jimps, a pas- senger in the Swift-as-thought-locomotive, was en- deavoring to catch a flying ghmpse of the new Steam University, her breathing apparatus unfortunately slipped from her mouth, and she was a corpse in three-quarters of a second. A young gentleman w^ho had been tenderly attached to her for several days, in the agony of his feelings withdrew his air- tube and called for help ; he of course shared a simi- lar fate. Too much praise cannot be given to the rest of the passengers, who, w^ith inimitable presence of mind, prudently held their breathing-bladders, to their mouths during the w^hole of this trying scene," (fee. &c. STEAM. 47 A Liverpool paper stated that " The stock for the grand Liverpool and Dublin tunnel under the Irish channel, is nearly filled up." And a Glasgow one advocated the necessity of a floating wooden railroad between Scotland and the Isle of Man, in order to do away with the tiresome steamboat navigation. I took up a volume of poems, but the similes and metaphors were all steam ; all their ideas of strength, and power, and swiftness, referred to steam only, and a sluggish man was compared to a greyhound. I looked into a modern dictionary for some light on these subjects, but got none, except finding hundreds of curious definitions, such as these : " Horse, s. an animal of which but little is now known. Old writers affirm that there were at one time several thousands in this country." " Tree, s. vegetable production ; once plentiful in these parts, and still to be found in remote dis- tricts." " Tranquillity, s. obsolete ; an unnatural state of existence, to which the ancients were very par- tial. The word is to be met with in several old au- thors," " « Yes, sir." " Well, if he ever come here again, Peter, tell him I am not in." " Yes, sir.^ I re-entered my little study, and closed the door after me with a slam, which could only have been perceptible to those who knew my ordinary still and mild manner. There might have been also a shght accent in my way of turning the key, and (candor is a merit !) I could not repress a brief exclamation of displeasure at the little old gentleman with his magazine, w4io had broken in so provokingly upon my " essay ^on virtue." ' Virtue or no Virtue,' thought, I, ' I wish him to the d .' My room is on the ground-floor, and a window adjoining the street lets in upon me the light and air through a heavy crimson curtain, near which I sit and scribble. I was just enlarging upon the ne- cessity of resignation, while the frown yet lingered on my brow, and was writing myself into a more calm and complacent mood, when- — another knock at the door. As I opened it, I heard Peter's voice asserting, sturdily, that I had " gone out." Never 1W> 124 THE LITTLE HARD-FACED dreaming of my old enemy, I betrayed too much of my person to withdraw, and I was recognized, and pounced upon by the httle old gentleman, who had come back to inform me, that he intended, as soon as the increase of his subscription w^ould permit, to enlarge and improve the " North American Thes- pian Magazine," and to employ all the writers in town. '• I intend also," — said he, and he was in the act of again laying aside that everlasting hat and cane, when a cry of fire in the neighborhood, and the smell of the burning rafters attracted him into the street, where, as I feared, he escaped unhurt. In many respects fires are calamities ; but I never saw a more forcible exemplification of Shakspeare's remark, " there is some spirit of good in things evil," than in the relief afforded me on the present occa- sion. I wrote, after that, with my door locked. This I knew was, from the confined air, prejudicial to my health ; but what wms dyspepsy or consumption to that little hard-faced old gentleman — to those breeches — to that broad-brimmed hat^ — to those buckles — to that gold-headed cane ! "Remember, Peter," said I, the second morning after the foregoing, " I have gone out." "Where have you gone?" inquired Peter, with grave simplicity. " They always ask me where you have gone, sir. The little man with the hat, w'as here last night, and wanted to go after you." " Forbid it heaven ! I have gone to Albany, Peter, oh business." I can hear in my room pretty much what passes OLD GENTLEMAN. 125 in the adjoining one, where visiters first enter from the street. I had scarcel}^ got comfortably seated, in a rare mood for poetry, giving the last touches to a poem, which, whatever might be the merits of Byron and Moore, I did not think altogether indif- ferent, when I heard the little old gentleman's voice inquiring for me. " I must see him ; I have important business," it said. " He has gone out," replied Peter, in an under tone, in which I could detect the consciousness that he was uttering a bouncer. " But I must see him," said the voice. ^* The scoundrel !" muttered I. '•He is not in town, sir," said Peter. " I will not detain him a single minute. It is of the greatest importance. He would be very sorry, very^ should he miss me." I held my breath— there was a pause — I gave myself up for lost — when Peter rephed firmly, '•He is in Albany, sir. Went off at five o'clock this morning." " Be back soon V " Don't know." " Where does he stay?" •' Don't know." " I'll call to-morrow." I heard his retreating footsteps, and inwardly re- solved to give Peter a half-dollar, although he de- served to be horsewhipped for his readiness at de- ception. I laughed aloud triumphantly, and sla]> 11* 126 THE LITTLE HARD-FACED ped my hand down upon my knee with the feelings of a fugitive debtor, who. hotly pursued by a sheriff's officer, escapes over the line into another county and snaps his fingers at Monsieur Bailiff. I was aroused from my merry mood of reverie by a touch on my shoulder. I turned suddenly. It w^as the hard- faced little old gentleman, peeping in from the street. His broad-brimmed hat and two-thirds of his face were just lifted above the window-sill. He was evidently standing on tiptoe ; and the win- dow being open, he had put aside the curtain, and was soliciting my attention with the end of his cane. "Ah 1" said he, "is it you? Well, I thoiight it was you. Though I wasn't sure. I won't inter- rupt you. Here are the proofs of number thirteen ; you'll find something glorious in that — ^just the thing for you — don't forget me next w^eek — good by. I'll see you again in a day or two." I shall not cast a gloom over my readers by dwell- ing upon my feelings. Surely, surely, there are sympathetic bosoms among them. To them I ap- peal. I said nothing. Few could have detected any thing violent or extraordinary in my manner, as I took the proofs from the end of the little old gentleman's cane, and laid them calmly on the table. I did not write any more about " virtue" that morning. It was out of the question. Indeed my mind scarcely recovered from the shock for several days. When my nerves are in any way irritated, I find OLD GENTLEMAN. 127 a walk in the woods a soothing and agreeable seda- tive. Accordingly, the next afternoon, I wound up the affairs of the day earlier than usual, and set out for a ramble through the groves and along the shore of Hoboken. I was soon on one of the abrupt ac- clivities, where, through the deep rich foliage of the intertwining branches, I overlooked the Hudson, the w4de bay, and the superb, steepled city, stretching in a level line of magnificence upon the shining waters, softened with an overhanging canopy of thin haze. I gazed at the picture, and contemplat- ed the rivalry of nature with art, striving which could most delight. As m)^ eye moved from ship to ship, from island to island, and from shore to shore — now reposing on the distant blue, then re- velling in the nearer luxuriance of the forest green, I heard a step in the grass, and a httle ragged fel- low came up, and asked me if I was the editor of the . I was about replying to him affirma- tively, when his words arrested my attention. " A little gentleman with a hat and cane," he said, " had been inquiring for the editor, &c., at the adjoining hotel, and had given him sixpence to run up into the woods and find him." I rushed precipitately, as I thought, into the thickest recesses of the wood. The path, however, being very circuitous, I sud- denly came into it, and nearly ran against a person w^iom it needed no second glance to recognize, al- though his back was luckily toward me. The hat; the breeches, the cane, were enough. If not, part of a red-covered pamphlet, sticking out of the coat- 128 THE LITTLE HARD-FACED pocket; was. "It must be number thirteen !" I ex- claimed ; and as the Httle old gentleman was saun- tering north, I shaped my course with all possible celerity in a southerly direction. In order to protect myself for the future, I took precautionary measures ; and in addition to having myself denied, I kept the window down, and made my egress and ingress through a door round the corner, as Peter told me he had several times seen the little old gentleman, with a package in his hand, standing opposite the one through which we usually entered, and looking at the office wistfully. By means of these arrangements, I succeeded in preserving my solitude inviolate, when, to my indig- nation, I received several letters, from different parts of the country, written by my friends, and pressing upon me, at the solicitation of the little old gentle- man, the propriety of giving the " Thespian Maga- zine" a good notice. I tore the letters, each one as I read them, into three pieces, and dropped them under the table. Business calling me, soon after, to Philadelphia, I stepped on board the steamboat, exhilarated with the idea that I was to have at least two or three wrecks respite. I reached the place of my destination about five o'clock in the afternoon. It was lovely weather. The water spread out hke unrippled glass, and the sky was painted with a thousand varying shadows of crim- son and gold. The boat touched the shore, and while I was watching the change of a lovely cloud, I heard the splash of a heavy body plunged into OLD GENTLEMAN. 129 the water. A sudden sensation ran along the crowd, which rushed from all quaiters towards the spot; the ladies shrieked, and turned away their heads ; and I perceived that a man had fallen from the deck, and was struggUng in the tide, with only one hand held convulsively above the surface. Be- ing a practised swimmer, I hesitated not a moment, but flung off my hat and coat, and sprang to his rescue. With some difficulty I succeeded in bear- ing him to a boat and dragging him from the stream. I had no sooner done so, than to my hor- ror and astonishment, I found I had saved the little hard-faced old gentleman. His snuff-colored breeches were dripping before me — his broad-brim- med hat floated on the current — but his cane (thank heaven!) had sunk for ever. He suffered no other ill consequences from the catastrophe, than some injury to his garments and the loss of his cane. His gratitude for my exertions knew no bounds. He assured me of his conviction that the shght ac- quaintance previously existing between us, would now be ripened into intimacy, and informed me of his intention to lodge at the same hotel with me. He had come to Philadelphia to see about a plate for his sixteenth number, which was to surpass all its predecessors, and of which he would let me have an early copy, that I might notice it as it deserved. A HEALTH. BY MISS ELIZABETH C. CLINCH. Fill high the cup ! — the young and gay Are met with bounding hearts to-night ; And sunny smiles around us play, And eyes are sparkling bright : Let wit and song the hours beguile, But yet, amid this festal cheer, Oh, let us pause to think awhile Of him who is not here ! Fill high the cup ! — yet ere its brim One young and smiling lip has pressed* Oh, pledge each sparkling drop to him Now far o'er ocean's breast ! The cordial wish each lip repeats, By every heart is echoed here ; For none within this circle beats, To which he is not dear. A sudden pause in festive glee — "What thought hath hushed the thought of mirth, Hath checked each heart's hilarity. And given to sadness birth ■? O ! read it in the shades that steal Across each animated brow ; The wish none utters, yet all feel, " Would he were with us now !" A HEALTH. Yet chase away each vain regret, And let each heart once more be gay ; Trust me, the meeting hour shaJl yet Each anxious thought repay. Is not his spirit with us now 1 Yes ! wheresoe'er his footsteps roam. The wanderer's yearning heart can know No resting-place — but home ! Then smile again, and let the song Pour forth its music sweet and clear — What magic to those notes belong, Which thus chain every ear ! Soft eyes are filled with tears — what spell So suddenly hath called them there ? That strain — ah, yes ! we know it well ; It is his favorite air. With every note how forcibly Return the thoughts of other days ! The shaded brow, the drooping eye. Are present to our gaze. With all around his looks are blent ; His form, is it not gliding there "? And was it not his voice which sent That echo on the air 1 One wish, with cordial feeling fraught, Breathe we for him ere yet we part. That for each high and generous thought That animates his heart. That Power which gives us happiness, A blessing on his head would pour ! Oh ! could affection wish him less ? Yet, could we ask for more 1 131 132 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. BY WILLIAM L. STONE. " Open your ears : for which of you will stop The vent of hearing, when loud Rumor spe&ksV— Shake. Uncle Zim, as we used to call him, was as full of fun and mischief as any urchin in the village. Near by his domicil, sojourned Malichi Fowler, who married the accomphshed Miss Abigail Pettibone, of Hazlewood, the adjoining town, whose brother, Ehakim Pettibone, in process of time, became a deacon of the church in that parish. The distance was only about twenty miles, and deacon Pettibone used to keep every thanksgiving with his brother Fowler — uncle Zim not unfrequently making one of the family party. But though uncle Zim was himself a Christian professor, according to the Plat- form, and in the main walked according to the vows he had made, yet he was not altogether free from carnal ways. He was never at a loss for a fact, and was fond of telling ludicrous stories, which, in his hands, were seldom diminished by repetition. He could not for the soul of him suppress a joke when it came upon his tongue, cut where it would. UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 133 On one of these occasions, he had the good, or the ill fortune, to keep the pious deacon Pettibone roar- ing with laughter, until his very ribs cracked again. Much, however, it grieved the good man afterwards, that he had yielded to the temptation of miith, which he was half persuaded had been excited as a snare by the evil one, and it preyed upon his spirits the whole of the following day, on his return to Hazle- wood. This impression, however, soon wore away, and he lost all unpleasant recollections in the warm and affectionate smiles with which he was welcomed to the little family circle of his happy and peaceful abode. Soon after this convivial occurrence, which had, for the moment, disturbed the quiet of the conscien- tious deacon Pettibone's inner man, uncle Zim made a journey to Hazlewood to purchase a yoke of oxen of Mr. Ishmael Crane, nephew of Icha]x)d Crane, the celebrated schoolmaster, for which he was to pay in " West India goods," after the return of the last cargo of mules and white-fish, shipped by him to Jamaica. Uncle Zim's wits were as bright as a dollar ; he talked as slick as a whistle ; and he was a cute chap at a bargain, as Mr. Ishmael Crane soon found out. Mr. Crane took three-quarters of an hour to con- sider, before he would conclude the bargain, and as it was just twelve o'clock by the conch-shell, uncle Zim thought he would go and take pot-luck with deacon Pettibone, who lived near the schoolhouse hard by. By the way, uncle Zim once drove a Vol. I. 12 134 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE- barter ^villl the deacon for some mules, for which the deacon always thought he could have got more if he had known what they were bringing at the time ; tliough as uncle Zim only toolc him at his word in the price of the cattle, he had nothing to complain of. But that is not to the purpose. While at dinner, Mr. Ishmael Crane came and called the deacon out, to inquire something about the character of my uncle Zim ; whereupon the fol- lowing dialogue took place : '• What sort of a man," asked Mr. Crane, " is this 'scpiirc Bradley ?" Deacon Pettibone had not forgotten the sale of his mules, nor uncle Zim's fat stories, and his merry ioke.', over deacon Fowler's pumpkin-pies and cider brandy ; nor his own supposed delinquency in his late unseemly merriment. '• What sort of a man ?" said the deacon, repeat- ing his words ; — " why he is a member of good Dr. Wakeman's church, in Applebury, I reckon.*' '' Well ; do you know him ?" " Know him ! I guess I do ! He lives next door to brother Fowler's ; and I tell you lie is a member of Dr. Wakeman's church. But 1 guess — " " Guess ! guess what ? Don't you think he is good enough for my brindle four-year-olds ?"' " Why — yes — I 'spose so — but I guess, to be can- did—" '• Zounds, deacon ! what do you mean by your guesses, and your buts ?" UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 135 " Why, if I must say, I guess that God-ward he means to do the thing that's right, but man-wardl reckon he is a little twistical or so:'' Mr. Ishmael Crane went away, and deacon Pet- tibone returned and finished his dinner with uncle Zim. When deacon Pettibone stepped out, liow- ever, he had unconsciously left the door ajar, and the consequence was, that uncle Zim had very in- nocently heard most of the conversation. But he knew that the deacon had no malice in his heart, and he knew also tlie cause of his scruples in quali- fying his recommendation. He therefore took no notice at tlie time of what had been said : but deter- mined, in his own mind, to seek some innocent and characteristic mode of revenge. Meantime he com- pleted his bargain in the afternoon, and drove the bullocks home. Two or three years rolled away, and as his sister Abigail presented his brother-in-law with so many young Fowlers, that she had little time for going abroad herself, deacon Pettibone's visits to Applebu- ry were continued as usual; on which occasions he always passed an evening or so in uncle Zim's com- pany, cither at his own, or his brothei's house. Un- cle Zinc's bosom was filled with the milk of human kindness. Though like an over-ripe melon, rough on the outside, as the poet says, there was much sweetness under it; and his winning ways were such, that the good deacon had long since dismiss- ed the affair of the mules, and the temporary trials to wliicli he had been subjected by his irresistible 136 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. drollery. They therefore continued the best friends in the world ; still uncle Zim never lost sight of his project in some way of avenging himself for having been represented as being " man- ward rather twisti- cal or so."' One morning, bright and early, as deacon Fowler came out picking his teeth from breakfast, while the dew-drops were yet spangling the meadows, he saw uncle Zim just preparing to mount the old dapple mare, with his butternut-colored coat strap- ped on behind the saddle. •' Good morning, 'squire," said deacon Fowler, " you seem to be stirring arly this morning." " Yes," said uncle Zim : " in the hot season, the morning is the best part of the day — Gad, my son, mind that you keep the cattle out of the clover patch to day" "A very beautiful day to-day, as I was saying. 'squue "And send Jehiel to mill this afternoon. — Yes, deacon, a fine, beautiful day. The air is as sweet as a new hay-stack this morning." " You are going to take a ride to day, I guess, 'squire. Pray which way are you journeying, if I may be so bold ?" "Oh, I'm only going to Haudam to speak for grave-stones for good old aunt Wealthy Crook- shanks."' "You'll go through Hazlewood, I guess? So, I wash you'd give brother Pettibone a call and see how they're all dewing there. Tell them that UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. ^37 Nabby's got another nice boy. with eyes as bright as a weasel's." " Yes, I think it's like-enougli that I shall stop and give Dapple a bait there on my return." '• D'ye think it's going to rain to clay, 'squire 7 1 see you've got your great-coat with you, and if I thought 'twould rain, I'd tell the boys to get the rest of the hay in." "Don't know, don't know, deacon: they say a fool knows enough to take a great-coat when it storms ; and every body knows that folks must make hay while the sun shines." And off rode un- cle Zim, and into the orchard went deacon Fowler. Uncle Zim came back in the evening, and over- took deacon Fowler, returning from the meadow, just as he had descended to tlie foot of Clapboard hill. "Ah ! is that you, 'squire ?" said deacon Fowler : " you are home arly to night, I calculate." "Yes," replied uncle Zim: "old Dapple will carry me along at the rate of seven miles an hour, day in and day out, without putting on the long oats neither." " A faithful beast, I vow. You saw brother Petti- bone, I hope ?" "Yes — I saw him" — replied uncle Zim, with a grave, mysterious air, such as deacon Fowler had never seen before, upon his neighbor's lively coun- tenance. " Saw him ! — he was well, I hope?" " Why — yes — he was — prettv well, I believe." 12* 138 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. ''Nothing unusual was the matter, I hope, 'squire. " No — I — I can't say that there was any thing imiisiial,^^ rephed uncle Zim. with a pecuhar em- phasis upon the last word. '• And how were his family ?" "All very well ; save the youngest child, Habak- kuk; which has the measles.'' '•' And brother Pettibone himself, is he ailing in any way ?" " I can't say that he was much aihng. Perhaps, moreover, I was mista — no I can't be mistaken either." ''Why, 'squire, you frighten me. For goodness' sake what was the matter ! You're sure you saw him?" "Yes: — I — I met him," replied uncle Zim. with the same assumed air of mj^stery. " And how was he ? do speak out, and let me know the worst on't, 'squire." " Why, then — if I must say" — replied uncle Zim — " I should think when I met him, he was about — yes — ^just about half shaved^ •'Impossible! you must be joking, 'squire." " It's true, joke or no joke," said uncle Zim. By this time the parties had reached the green. The last two sentences of uncle Zim's, had fallen upon the worthy deacon Fowler, like a pail of ice- w^ater ; and he went to his house with a heavy heart. He did not sleep a wink all that night, and the hu- UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 139 milialing fact pressed so heavily upon his mind — though it was his first intention to have kept it a profound secret, until he could have inquired into the particulars of his brother's being overcome with liquor, — that he was even constrained to communi- cate the dismal tidings to his faithful Abigail. It was indeed planting a pang in her breast, without extracting the barb which rankled in his own bleed- ing bosom. But truly hath the poet said of woman, "When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thouj" — and Abigail, after the first gush of feeling had sub- sided, half forgot her own sorrow in her affection- ate endeavors to soothe that of her husband. A thousand little comforting hopes, excuses, and pal- hating circumstances came into her mind. Her brother might not have been so badly off as the 'squire supposed. He might have been unwell ; or perhaps he had been overcome by drinking ever so little on an empty stomach. The deacon folded his faithful spouse closer to his heart, and both de- termined that nothing should be said about the cir- cumstance, even in their family, for the present. And between haying time and harvest, it was agreed that deacon Fowler should go up to Hazle- wood, and commune with his brother Pettibone, privately, upon the subject. But Mrs. Abigail Fowler, notwithstanding her many fine quahties, was not entirely free from the frailties of the other daughters of Eve; and w^hile 140 VNCLB ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. alone on the ensuing day, her husband being en- gaged with his v.'Orkmen in the fields, the secret be- came so burdensome that she wanted somebody to help her keep it. Perhaps, also, in her affliction, she thought she needed the sympathies of one, at least of her most confidential female friends, who might, in turn, soothe her sorrows, and pour a few drops of balsam into her wounded heart. In an evil hour therefore, she revealed the tale of woe to Mrs. Aim- well, who kindly spent the whole afternoon in com- forting the afflicted woman, by telling over how many others were suffering under still greater cala- mities. Temperance societies had not then been invented. Mrs. Aimwell left the deacon's after tea, promising not to whisper a breath about it. ''You know, my dear Mrs. Fowler," said she, " that I wouldn't do no such thing for the world." But she, too, want- ed some one to help Aer keep the secret, and so she hinted it to Mrs. Sly. This was enough. It was on Thursday: and it was no longer than the af- ternoon of the next day, at a meeting of the frag- ment society, that the members were startled by the exclamation of Mrs. Doolittle, preceded by a deep- drawn sigh, to the following effect : — " Dear me ! who'd have thought it ! Well, I don't know who will fall next, for my part." Now, justice to Mrs. Doohttle requires me to say in this place, that she was no mischief-maker ; and, that next to a witch, she held a slanderer in utter UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 141 abomination. She was a very tidy body, and the worthy helpmate of my venerated great uncle, Cap- tain Jasper Doolittle, of Cohabit. There was no more notable housewife in all the parish. She used to begin her washing on Sabbath-day nights, as soon as three stars could be seen, in order to have her ample stores of linen, white as the driven snow, streaming in triumph upon the clothes-lines, like the lily-flag of the fallen Bourbons, at an earlier hour than her neighbors on Mondays. And her c|uince-and-apple-5a«ce, and boiled cider, were ex- actly the best to be found between Branford and Pettypaug. But, rest her good soul ! her benevo- lent heart occasionally felt too deeply for others' woes, to enable her always to hide the faults she saw or heard of. Not but that she meant to do it. But as in the instance before us, there were some- times secrets actually too great to be concealed with- in the narrow casement of her noble soul, and then it was imposible to prevent their breaking forth in exclamations full of meaning, as we have seen. '• Dear me ! who'd have thought it," ifec. "Why, what do you mean?" exclaimed a dozen voices at once. '• I hope," continued Miss Tabitha Tattler, a lady of no particular age, " that the shock- ing story about Miss Prim is not true. But Pve heard as much ever since Ned Bramble came home from the south. She's kept company with him ever since last thanksgiving." " No," said Mrs. Doolittle, with a melancholy shake of the head. " That's hke-enough too. But 142 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. liavnl you heard of the fall of good deacon Petti- bone /'■ " Of Hazlewood ? He liaint hurt himself much, I hope ?" " I don't mean a fall from a barn or a hay-stack, child,"' said Mrs. Doolittle. " Bat havn't you heard on't?'' '• No !" replied sixteen voices in a breath. '^ Do let us hear all about it." " Why," said Mrs. Doolittle, " you must know its a great secret yet ; and one doesn't want to expose a body's faiUngs, you know. But I'll tell you, though it must not go from me, for I wouldn't in- jure the hair of any mortal being's head. You know I cannot endure scandal ! And all I can now say is, that Mrs. Crampton told me, that she heard Mr. Wilcox's wife say, that Mrs. Munger's aunt mentioned to her, that Mrs. Graves was pre- sent when the widow Blatchley said, that Ick. Scran's wife thought Captain Evett's sister believed that old Mrs. Willard reckoned, that Ephraim Sta- nard's better half had told Mrs, Hand, that she heard Mrs. Sly say, that deacon Fowler's wife had told Mrs. Aimwell, as a great secret, that the deacon had told her, that 'squire Biadlcy had seen deacon Pettibone dead drunk after an ordination dinner."* '•' Do tell !" was the brief and emphatic exclama- tion of the benevolent coterie. * As Joe Miller was a native of Applebury, there can be no harm in thus using and amending one of his earliest jokes. UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. X43 This, as we have before remarked, was on Fri- day, and the subtle electrical liuid could scarcely hav'e travelled faster than did the story of the dea- con's failing. From mouth to mouth — *' The flying rumor gathered as it rolled, And scarce the tale was sooner heard than told ; And all who told it added something new — And all who heard it made enlargement too — In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew" — so that before Saturday night, the fatal account had reached Hazle\vood, enlarged and improved, until the story of the three black crows was nothing to it. Nor did it hesitate to travel Saturday night, although the blue-laws were then yet in force. The conse- quence was, that before the cows were all milked on Sunday morning, every body, out of the deacon's unsuspecting family, was acquainted with the me- lancholy catastrophe supposed to have overtaken that truly excellent man. Of course the painful news was the general theme of conversation among the groups which collected around the portals of the sanctuary, while the bell was tolhng for the minister — the late excellent and reverend Mr. Gamaliel Holdfast. The deacon pre- sently approached ; but never before was he so coldly greeted by his friends. And as for enemies, it is believed that he never had one. Every coun- tenance seemed looking darkly upon, or averted from him. People even seemed to shrink from the proffered grasp of his friendly hand. But the good 144 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. deacon, in the unsuspecting simplicity of his inno- cence, did not observe the change, and as the mi- nister came along, all gathered into the venerable meeting-house. Every body cast a searching eye — '•' a furtive glance," our friend Cooper would say — upon the deacon ; while he was engaged, as others should have been, in searching his own heart. The services proceeded as usual ; but at the close, the minister gave out a notice for a special meeting of the elders and deacons of the church, to be held on Wednesday, upon business of great importance. And after exhorting his little flock so to conduct themselves as to show, that though in the world, they were not of the world, and suitably admonish- ing the officers, as assistant shepherds, to make themselves patterns in good works — not forgetting to remind them of the passage, "Let him that standeth take heed lest he fall" — (upon which stolen glances were again cast at the good deacon Pettibone) — the benediction was pronounced. The deacon, however, did not observe, and never once thought; that he was the sole object of this special exhortation, or of the dark and suspicious gaze of the congregation. His heart was right, and his eyes had been closed in the attitude of deep and heartfelt adoration. Thus he who was most inte- rested in the dark givings out, was least conscious of their existence. The story, as we have already seen, had grown in its travels, like that of the boy who saw the thousand cats in the cellar ; and for the three sub- UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 145 sequent days the deacon's house was shunned as though it had been the seat of the plague. Mean- time, as uncle Zim's name was some how connect- ed with the tale, one of the elders was despatched to Applebury, to inquire into the real facts of the statement wliich had brought such heavy and un- expected scandal upon the little Zion of Hazlewood. On his arrival, he immediately had an interview w^ith vuicle Zim, and commenced an inquiry into the facts of the case which had brought him to Ap- plebury. " 'Squire Bradley," said Mr. Elnathan Cook— for such was the cognomen of this important messen- ger — " it is rumored up our way. that you have said that you met deacon Pettibone last week, drunk." '• Then I guess rumor lies," replied uncle Zim^ " for I haint said no such thing." " But pray, 'squire, what did you say, if I may be so bold ?" " Why," replied uncle Zim, ^-I only said that I met him about AaZ/" shaved." The result was, that although jMr. Elnathan Cook was one of the 'cutest chaps in those parts at a cross-examination, he having formerly been an unlicensed practitioner of the law in a justice's court, he obtained just so much information from uncle Zim, and no more. Uncle Zim was requested to go up to Hazlewood and attend the council as a witness; but tbis he declined peremptorily, as he was busily engaged in making up a cargo of mules for the West Indies. He assured the zealous Elna- VOL. I. 13 146 XJNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. than, however, that deacon Pettibone's negro man, CamiUus, or Cam, as he was called for the sake of brevity, knew as much as he did, and could tell them all about it. As Cam was known to be a very honest fellow, this assurance gave the messen- ger much satisfaction; so he clambered into his " one horse shay," and got him back to Hazlewood. The wheels of time rapidly brought Wednesday along, w4ien the church council assembled, and the yet unsuspecting deacon Pettibone, expecting to hear the names of some reclaimed sinners pro- pounded for membership, came among them. The Rev. Mr. Holdfast was appointed moderator. An unusual air of solemnity pervaded the council, and in imploring the direction and blessing of heaven upon their proceedings, the moderator was peculiar- ly earnest, and much affected. Indeed the half- suppressed sighs from various bosoms, plainly indi- cated that they had business in hand which w^ent home to their hearts. At length the momentous subject of their meet- ing was opened, and the charge of intemperance formally preferred against no less a master in Israel than deacon Eliakim Pettibone, then and there pre- sent. Had a bolt from heaven fallen at his feet, he could not have been more astonished or confounded. For a while his hand pressed upon his temples — he remained dumb with amazement — then raising his eyes to heaven, he solemnly protested his inno- cence, but in vain ; and in vain did he tax his me- mory to recall any circumstance in his life that UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTIBONE. 147 could have given rise to such an unlooked for scan- dal. In vain, hkewise, did he demand the name of the informer upon whose testimony the accusa- tion was preferred ; for uncle Zim had stipulated that his name was not to be used, save in the very last resort. Finally, the witness Camillus was sent for. Camillus soon arrived, and came grinning into the conference room, exhibiting the whole treasury of his ivory ; but he immediately saw that his kind master was in deep affliction, and his own heart soon yearned with compassion. There the good deacon sat, his head bowed down, and supported by his hands. He raised it not, but hid his tears in his bandanna, and smothered the sighs heaving up and struggling to escape his throbbing bosom. " Cam," said the moderator, with solemn gravity, " we have sent for you because we want you to tell the truth." " Yes, massa minister, me alba3^s tell de troot to sliame 'e debble." " Well, Cam, we believe you will. Now tell us, Cam, did you ever see your master intoxicated?" "Me ebber see massa tosticated ! Golly, only tink ob dat !" '' But, Cam, you must tell us the truth ; now didn't you ever see your master when he was in- toxicated — when he had drunk too much?" " Golly, no, massa minister." [Here a consultation took place among a few of the members of the council, in an under tone ] 148 UNCLE ZIM AND DEACON PETTI BONE. " Don't you remember that 'squire Bradle}^, who lives ill the second house beyond the stocks and whipping-post; north of the meeting-house in Ap- plebury, came up to see your master last Wednes- day?^ '•' Yes, massa, me know dat berry well." " Well, that's veiy good now, Cam ; and when 'squire Bradley met your master, was he not about half shaved /" " O 3"e3, massa ; when 'squire Bradley ride by 'e window, massa Pettibone was juss shaving heself, I guess; but den he so grad to see de 'squire, he run out door to shakee hand, wid 'e lather all on one side he face!'' Here the mighty mystery was solved. All knew the droll mischievous character of uncle Zim, and the truth flashed upon their minds in an instant. A bitter smile played across the features of the good deacon, as he meekly raised his dark hazle eyes, glistening with tears, and in his heart returned thanks for his dehverance. The council was broken up— a thousand sincere apologies were ten- dered to the good man- — ^and the parties all set their faces towards their respective homes — the worthy deacon being more strongly than ever con- vinced, that "Man- WARD, Uncle Zim was ra- ther TWISTICAL OR SO." A POET'S DAUGHTER. BY FITZ-GREEXE HALLECK. Written for Miss , at the request of her Father. '•' A LADY asks the minstrel's rhyme." A lady asks 1 — There was a time, When, musical as play-bells chime To wearied boy. That sound would summon dreams sublime Of pride and joy. But now the spell hath lost its sway, Life's first-born fancies first decay, Gone are the plumes and pennons gay Of young romance ; There linger but her ruins gray, And broken lance. " This is no world," so Hotspur said, For "tilting lips" and "mammets" made, No longer in love's myrtle shade My thoughts recline — I'm busy in the cotton trade, And sugar line. " 'Tis youth, 'tis beauty asks — the green " And growing leaves of seventeen "Are round her ; and, half hid, half seen, "A violet flower : " Nursed by the virtues she hath been " From childhood's hour." 13* 1 50 A POET'S DAUGHTER. Blind passion's picture — yet for this We woo the life-long bridal kiss, And blend our every hope of bliss With hers we love ; Hers — who admired a serpent's hiss In Eden's grove ! Beauty — the fading rainbow's pride, Youth — 'twas the charm of her who died At dawn, and, by her coffin's side, A grandsire stands ; Age-strengthened, like the oak, storm-tried, Of mountain lands. Youth's coffin — hush the tale it tells ! Be silent, memory's funeral bells I Lone in my heart, her home, it dwells, Untold till death. And where the grave-mound gi-eenly swells O'er buried faith. " But she who asks hath rank and power, " And treasured gold, and banner'd tower, "A kingdom for her marriage dower, " Broad seas and lands ; " Armies her train, a throne her bower — '* A queen commands !" A queen 1 Earth's regal suns have set. Where perished Marie Antoinette 1 Where's Bordeaux's mother 1 where the jet- Black Haytien dame 1 And Lusitania's coronet 1 And Angoulemel Empires to-day are upside down, The castle kneels before the town, The monarch fears a printer's frown, A brick-bat's range. Give me, in preference to a crown, Five shillings change. A POET'S DAUGHTER. 151 <' Another asks — though first among '* The good, the beautiful, the young, " The birthright of a spell more strong •' Than these hath brought her ; " She is your kinswoman in song, " A poet's daughter !" A poet's daughter ? Could I claim The consanguinity of fame. Veins of my intellectual frame, Your blood would glow Proudly, to sing that gentlest name Of aught below ! A poet's daughter ! Dearer word Lip hath not spoke, nor listener heard ; Fit theme for song of bee and bird From morn till even, And wind-harp, by the breathing stirred Of star-lit heaven. My spirit's wings are weak — the fire Poetic comes but to expire, Her name needs not my humble lyre To bid it live ; She hath already from her sire All bard can give. SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. LETTER I. Saratoga Springs, July 22, 1833. Dear *** — The jaunt from Albany to Saratoga, over the rail-road, can now be accomplished in less than three hours, and the consequence is that, even at this early season, nearly all the hotels and board- houses in the village are thronged with visitors. There cannot be less than three thousand strangers here at the present time, and every car is constant- ly adding to the number. Congress-hall is, as for- merly, the resort of the light-hearted, the gay, the idle, and the fashionable ; but those who come to partake of the hfe-giving waters, generally repair to more con- genial and quiet abodes. To those disposed to be busy, there is no lack of employment. What with eating and drinking, walking and riding, gunning and fishing, dancing and flirting — balls, concerts, and parties — dressing for this, that, and the other, and similar suitable, and equally profitable occupa- tions, time is disposed of without the least trouble. Every thing is calculated to beguile one of pensive thoughts, and occasionally there is an entertain- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. X53 ment of no ordinary description. The other even- ing, for instance, we had a musical soiree, in which that accomphshed song-bird, Miss Hughes, assisted by Sinclair, Horn, and other professional persons, took part. The large room of the United States ho- tel was occupied by an audience resembling those which attended the Payne and Dunlap festivals; all the performers were in fine spirits, and sung and played delightfully. The " Young Cavalier," the " Mermaid's Cave," and " Auld Robin Gray," in particular, were given by Miss Hughes in her own impressive manner, and are now remembered as " faded strains that float upon the mind like half- forgotten dreams." This young lady never looked more lovely, nor warbled her melodies with more effect. Gossip, scandal, and killing character, are consi- dered innocent pastime at Saratoga. I am writing this at a window that overlooks the piazza of Con- gress-hall. The weather is pleasant — the ''shades of evening thicken slowly," and the tide of fashion is flowing beneath me like the waves of the sea. I have been told the history and condition of nume- rous individuals, and, for want of better materials, and in compliance with the universal custom of all modern letter-writers, I will point out a few of the most conspicuous for your especial diversion. First, we have a whole platoon of gentlemen with canes, most of whom have been the subjects of much enviable conversation lately. Johnson says 154 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. that " a person who carries a cane has generally an upper story to let !"' The doctor was undoubtedly a very great man, and a close observer of hiunan nature. His opinions, with me, have all the sanc- tion of law authority. You perceive that stout gentleman in black? He is an epicure, and does little else than eat, the live-long day. He made a voyage to London last year expressly for the purpose of enjoying a dish of soles with shrimp sauce ! and has come to the springs now to put his digestive apparatus in good order, before the ensuing season of plum-puddings, buckwheat-cakes and mince-pies, three prime arti- cles, of which he professes to be exceedingly fond, and of which he is said, about the holidays, to devour a most inordinate quantity. He plays the best knife and fork in the village, and is the admiration of all the gourmands at the south. Move on, old Fal- staff! Room for a travelled dandy — a fellow who went abroad a puppy, and returned as he went — with nothing added to his former stock of information, except the cut of his garments, a short-napped hat, and that pair of enormous whiskers— in all of which he " reigns and revels !" Yonder floats a little man, with a little stick, a httle pair of gloves, and a Httle voice. He is enga- ged to that enormously fat young widow beside him, whose fortune is estimated at sixty thousand dollars. The little man is not worth a groat, and is the very antipodes of his dulcinea ; but you know, *• In joining contrasts lieth love's delight." SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 155 Here comes a foreigner of distinction — a duke ! Mark his princely air and noble carriage. Observe the diamond hoop upon his little finger, and the circling hair upon his upper Up ! Is he not a mag- nificent specimen of the "paragon of animals'?" For the last six hours he has been the " observed of all observers," the presiding genius of the place, and his flirtation with a certain meek, blue-eyed quakeress, at the Union, who, for his dear sake, is in imminent danger of being read out of meeting, has created the first positive sensation of the season. The duke is reported to be immensely rich — the lady is knoivn to be so. " The form of Hercules aflfects the sylphs." But who is that mild, intellectual-looking being, languishing in the shade? She is leaning upon the arm of General Van R. and talking to Chan- cellor K. That lady, I mean, attired in the plain white dress, with her hair modestly parted on her forehead — she of the smiling hp and speaking eye — " That looks not like the inhabitants 0' the earth, And yet is on't." Oh, I see — Miss . I shoidd have known her among ten thousand, for she is an ornament to her s6x and country. What a contrast she presents to the proud, haughty belle in her wake, half buried beneath the weight of gold and jewels ! " Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes." 156 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. Heavens, how she tosses lier pretty head, and gives the nod of recognition to those around lier ! "The wealth of worlds is heaped on her in vain." Lady, for all your smiles and winning ways, I do not envy the poor youth who ^vears your chains ; they arc woven of any thing but flowers. She has the riches of Croesus, the beauty of Hebe — but the temper of Xantippe. Yet mind, dear , I tell you this in confidence, so don't let it go any fur- ther. But what have we next? generals and judges, and public characters by the score ! A whole bevy of widows, old maids, and solitary spinsters, without any particular claim to distinction. A sudden pause in the crowd. Several carriages with their out-riders have rolled up to the door, emblazoned with the crests of the nobility of this democratic land ! I cannot admire the horses sufficiently ; but as for those who have just alighted The bell rings for supper — so, ladies and gentle- men — no time for compliments. Is it not strange that the very things to which this village is indebted for all its consequence, are most neglected ? The hotels are spacious — the ac- commodations convenient, and the attendance un- exceptionable ; but the springs themselves are in a shocking condition. Instead of splendid colonnades, attractive apartments, spacious pump-rooms, mar- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. I57 ble counters, sparkling fountains, and neat, well- dressed women to wait upon the company, as in other countries, you are compelled to stand ankle- deep in the mud, or upon a miserable platform, con- structed over a filthy brook, and receive the water from a bare-footed, meanly-clad juvenile, who dips it up in an unclean vessel, and flings it at you willi a sleight of hand peculiarly his own. In place of taking the water as an inviting, health-restoring beverage, you seize the glass with a wry face and an involuntary shudder, and swallow its con- tents with the same repugnance jou entertain for nauseous medicine. On rainy days, invalids can- not go to the springs, unless they are satisfied to have the outer as well as imier man, most tho- roughly drenched, as there is no friendly covering to shield them from the weather. Really this is too bad, for the most fashionable watering-place in America. LETTER II. Congress-hall, Saratoga, July, 1833. Dear , The tides of fashion, like those of the sea, are constantly in motion : no sooner does one wave recede than another takes its place ; and so, at the springs, as one carriage passes away with its light-hearted occupants, another arrives at the gate ; and there stands mine host of the Congress, Vol. I. 14 158 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. with his ever-pleasant smile and courteous bow, ready to "Welcome the coming — speed the parting guest." The hasty farewell is scarcely spoken, before the '•new arrival" engrosses all the attention; and your mineral-water companion of yesterday va- nishes from your memory, to make room for some new acquaintance of to-day, who, in his turn, is also doomed to mingle with the misty recollections of the past, and, in a brief period, to be forgotten forever. Friendships formed here are fleeting and evanescent. Excitement is the grand object of pur- suit ; and how can people be so unreasonable as to expect those to /ee/, who never have leisure to think 7 Nearly every house in the village is overflowing, and visitors are still coming. I shall not attempt to give you a particular description of all the indi- viduals I have encountered here ; and for ten thou- sand reasons, three of which, however, will suffice at the present time. In the fiist place, I have no idea of manufacturing a book of travels during this hot weather. In the second, (mark what an eye I have for business,) most of the people here are subscri- bers to the Mirror, and I never take any liberties with them, you know. And " lastly, and to con- clude," those who are not subscribers, (if any such there be !) cannot be supposed worthy of either the time or the trouble. Yet, dear , if you will take a chair with me in this spacious drawing-room, SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 159 (you had a glimpse at the piazza in my last,) I will point out a few characters from among the com- pany here assembled, and tell you all I know about them. This may amuse you till the bell rings for tea. Oh, come along; we will say nothing to wound the feelings of any body, for scandal, I am aware, is your abhorrence, yet it is a very fashion- able accomplishment at most watering-places, al- though, I am happy to say, I have heard little of it here. You observe that mild, matronly-looking lady, near the window yondei? Is she not a pattern of neatness and propriety ? Her story must be an in- teresting one, and not destitute of a moral. I wish I knew it. I remember her from my boyhood, and shall never forget her looks one fine Sunday morn- ing, as she entered Trinity church, leaning on the arm of poor . I never saw any thing more beautiful than she, at that moment, appeared to my inexperienced eyes ; all my after dreams of female loveliness were associated with her. I could not imagine a being more perfect ; but I was very young then, and she was engaged to be married. I saw her again, after I had arrived at man's estate ; but oh. how altered ! She was still single. and she had some misunderstanding, and he had gone to England, and died there. I think they told me. I never heard any further particulars. Still she was much admired for her beauty, and beloved for her goodness of heart ; and, as she was im- IGO SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. mensely rich, must have had opportunities enough of forming what is generally understood, a "con- venient alliance," for men, or I am much mistaken, weie as Avorldly- wise formerly as now. I never saw her afterward, until we met the other day at these springs. There are more old maids in the world than remain so from necessity. That '' no American should wish to trace his an- cestry further back than the revolutionary war," is a good sentiment. 1 admire and will stand by it. Yet, while I disapprove, most heartily, of the con- ceited airs and flimsy pretensions which certain little people arrogate to themselves on account of their birth-right, I cannot subscribe to one particle of the cant I am in the habit of hearing expressed on these subjects. It is not '■• the same thing,*' tome, at least, whether my father was a count or a coal-heaver, a prince or a pickpocket. I would have all my rela- tions, past, present, and -to come, good and respecta- ble people, and should prefer the blood of the How- ards to that of the convicts of Botany-bay — nor do I believe I am at all singular in these particulars. It is nothing more than a natural feeling. Still I would not think ill of a man on account of any mis- fortune that may have attended his birth, nor well of a man simply because he happened to be cradled in the lap of aflHuence and power. The first may be one of nature's noblemen, and the other a poor dog, notwithstanding all his splendor ; and that this frequently happens, every day's experience af- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. ig^ fords us abundant testimony. That the claims of all to distinction should rest upon one's own indivi- dual talents, deportment, and character, is also sound doctrine, and cannot be disputed : yet this is no rea- son why we should not have an honest and becoming pride in the genius, integrity, or gallant bearing of those from whom we sprung. Now, yonder stands a gentleman, who, in my humble judgment, cannot but indulge a secret glow of satisfaction, while con- templating the roots of his family tree. He came from a good stock — the old Dutch settlers of New- Amsterdam — than which no blood that flows in the human veins is either purer, better, or braver. His forefathers were eminently conspicuous as Chris- tians, soldiers, and sages ; they occupied the high places of honor and authority — were the ornaments of their day and generation, and, notwithstanding the shade of ridicule whicii a popular writer has cast around and interwoven with their histor)% their memories will ever be cherished until virtue ceases to be an attribute of the human mind. The public spirit of this gentleman and his liberal views have long been the theme of universal praise ; and although I do not enjoy the privilege of his personal acquaintance, I know he rtiust be a gen- tleman — the mild and benignant expression of his face — his unassuming habits — his bland and cour- teous demeanor, all bespeak it ; and, to use the lan- guage of Q.ueen Elizabeth, are unto him " letters of recommendation throusfhout the world." U* 162 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. That gentleman is one of tlie few Americans who combine a hteiaiy taste witli indefatigable business liabits. Had he devoted his life to letters instead of merchandize, he would have been conspicuous among the most gifted of his countrymen. I heard him deliver an address once, that surprised me by its elegance of style, and literary discrimination. But this is a money-making land ; and Mr. . like Halleck, Wetmore, Sprague, and others, has found the counting-house more profitable than the muses' temple — his account-book more certain than all books besides — and bank-notes the very best notes in the universe. Young is famous for his flute, his dog, and the number of his servants. He never travels with- out half a dozen. One he dresses in livery, and has him always within calling distance. He plays the German flute with great unction, and with a most determined air, and keeps an enormous dog, of a very pecuhar breed, constantly at his heels. He lodges at hotel, near the top of the house- that apartment having been assigned him on ac- count of his musical propensities — he not wishing to be interrupted in his studies, and the landlord de- siring to have the neighborhood disturbed as little as possible by his eternal noise. He is the horror of the surrounding country ; and complaints have fre- quently been lodged against him for annoying quiet, well-disposed citizens throughout the day, and keep- ing them awake during most of the night. Wher- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. I63 ever he goes he pays double board, as all fluting gentlemen undoubtedly ought to do, and therefore enjoys a kind of privilege to blow away as loud and as often as he thinks proper. His man in livery answers his bell, which is everlastingly going. At the first stroke of the liammer away runs John, and away runs the dog close behind him. It is curious to see these two worthies hurrying up stairs, and the exhibition never fails to create a laugh throughout the building, which, however amusing to the spectators, is a source of the deepest mortifi- cation and chagrin to poor John, who is the butt of all his associates in the kitchen on this account. John has long looked upon himself as an injured and most unfortunate man, and once summoned sufficient resolution to remonstrate with his master upon his grievances — telling him, with tears in his eyes, and in a heart-rending manner, that if the dog was not discharged, he should be compelled, how- ever reluctantly, and notwithstanding the high wages, to look out for another situation, as it was quite impossible to say, when the bell rung, which was wanted, the dog or himself. It is entirely out of the question to describe the indignation of Mon- sieur Flute, on hearing this complaint. At first he turned all the colors of the rainbow — then arose from his seat, eyed his rebellious subject from head to foot, and tried to give vent to his passion in a stream of words ; but, finding the eflfort vain, he promptly kicked him out of the room, and com- manded him from his presence forever! John, 164 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. however, is a prudent fellow, and knows the value of a good place and high wages, or, to use his own phrase, "which side his bread is buttered" — so he concluded to retain his place, in defiance of the laugh and the kicking, and still remains in his former service, and is still followed by that everlasting dog. Now, young is a nui- sance, and so are his servants, and so are SiW private servants at public hotels. During meals, they are always in the w^ay. You are liable to mistake them for the regular waiters of the house, and issue your orders accordingly. These they refuse to obey, of course. This is provoking. Then they seize upon all the choice dishes on the table, to convey them to their masters, who sit gormandizing while your plate is empty, and the dinner is getting cold. This is monstrous. Then the man with a servant some- times gives himself airs towards the man without a servant. This is intolerable. I have heard of two duels on account of private servants, and therefore I repeat, they are a nuisance in a moral point of view, and ousrht to be abated. There is a knot of politicians — the " great here- after" and his distinguished colleagues, whom I must not mention, for fear of entering the dreaded arena of politics — near them are descendants of Carroll, Clinton, Tompkins, and other renowned men, " Whose names are with their country's woven ;" and the room is filling with beauties, belles and SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 165 beaux of all descriptions. The gentleman in a drab coat, is quite a famous fellow here — a member of the temperance societies — temperate in every thing but water, of which he drinks twenty tumblers every morning before breakfast at the congress spring, and has done so for the last six summers. He is a firm believer in its efficacy — delivers long orations on the subject to any person who will listen to him — pulls every new comer by the button, as soon as he enters the premises, and is known and avoided by the name of the " Water King." That little girl in black, who snaps her fingers at the slender buck in whiskers, has refused six offers of marriage within the last twelve days. She is cer- tainly a bewitching creature, and often puts me in mind of Clara Fisher in the Country Girl. Ah, ha ! my little Frenchman ! That fellow is a character. I will tell you a story about him. I stopped at West Point, not long since, and found the hotel crowded with visitors. It was late in the evening when I arrived, and being almost worn out with the fatigue of my journey, for I had been the inmate of stages, railroad-cars, and canal-boats, without closing my eyes for the last two days, I re- paired, with all convenient haste, to the solitary couch that had been assigned me in the basement- story, in the hope of passing a few comfortable hours in the " arms of Morpheus ;" but one glance at the " blue chamber below,'' convinced me of the utter folly of any such expectation. I found it nearly 166 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. crammed with my fellow-lodgers, who, if I might judge from the melancholy display of hats, boots, socks, and other articles of wearing apparel, scat- tered over the floor, in most " admired disorder," had evidently retired with unbecoming eagerness to se- cure their places to themselves, and thereby guard them against the possibility of intrusion from others, doubtless believing, that in this, as well as similar cases, possession is nine points in the law. As the apartment w^as very confined, and all the inhabit- ants wide awake, I thought I might as well spend an hour or two in the open air before going to bed, and was about to retire for that purpose, when a voice called, '•' If you do not w^ish to lose your berth, you had better turn in." Observing that nearly all the cots, sofas, settees, chairs, etc., were occupied, and hearing that several of my fellow-passengers were sleeping on the house top and in the halls, I deemed it prudent to follow^ the advice just given to me, so at once commenced disrobing, and was soon stowed away in a snug corner, and it was not long before I found myself gradually and imperceptibly sinking under the power of the gentle god. I began to congratulate myself — to commiserate the unhap- py condition of my less fortunate companions, and to bid good night to all my cares, when that short, thin, merry httle Frenchman came dancing into the room, and, after cutting a pigeon-wing or two, humming a passage from a favorite opera, and skip- ping once or twice around the vacant beds, sat him- self upon the most commodious, with the exclama- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 157 tion, " Ah ha ! I find him — this is him — number ten, magnifique ! Now I shall get some little sleeps at last."' Again humming a part of a tune, he pro- ceeded to prepare himself for bed. After divesting himself of his apparel, and carefully depositing his trinkets and watch under his pillow, he fastened a red bandanna handkerchief around his head, and slid beneath the counterpane, as gay and lively as a cricket. " It is superb," he once more exclaimed aloud ; " I have not had some rest for six dozen days, certaine7nent — and now I shall have some little sleeps. But, waiter," bawled he, suddenly recol- lecting himself. John came at the call. " What is it o'clock, eh ?" " Nearly ten, sir.'* " What time de boat arrive ?" " About two." " When he do come, you shall Vv^ake me some little minute before ?" " Yes, sir." " And you shall get some of de champaign and oysters all ready for my suppare?" " Very well, sir. You may depend upon me, sir," said John, as he shut the door, and made his exit. " Ah, tr^^s hien^ and now for de little sleeps." Ut- tering which, he threw himself upon the pillow, and, in a few seconds, was in a delightful doze. The foregoing manoeuvres and conversation had attracted the attention of all, and aroused me com- pletely. "D n that Frenchman," growled a bluff 168 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. old fellow next him, as he tinned on the other side, and went to sleep. Most of the other gentlemen, however, raised their heads for a moment, to see what was going on, and then deposited them as before, in silent resig- nation. But one individual, with more nerves than fortitude, bounced out of bed, dressed himself in a passion, swore there was no such thing as sleeping there, and went out of the room in a huff. This exploit had an electric effect upon the melancholy spectators, and a general laugh, which awoke all the basement story, was the result. For some min- utes afterward the merriment ^vas truly appalhng. Jokes, mingled with execrations, were heard in every direction, and the uproar soon became uni- versal. Silence, however, was at length restored ; but all symptoms of repose had vanished with the delusion that gave them birth. The poor French- man, however, whose slumbers had been sadly bro- ken by the nervous man, had turned himself up- side down, and had actually gone to sleep once more ! He began to breathe hard, and, finally, to snore — and such a snore ! — it was enough to have awakened the dead ! There was no sucli thing as standing that. The equanimity of his immediate neighbour — a drowsy fellow, who, on first lying down, said he was resolved to "sleep in spite of thunder" — was the first to give way. He sprang bolt upright, hastily clapt both hands over his ears, and called out, at the top of his compass, for the Frenchman to discontinue " that diabolical and SKETCHES 'FROM THE SPRINGS. 169 dreadful noise." Up jumped the red nightcap, rub- bing its eyes in mute astonishment. After liearing the heavy charge against it, with " a countenance more in sorrow than in anger," and making every apology in its power for the unintentional outrage it had committed, down it sunk once more upon the pillow, and glided away into the land of Nod. But new annoyances awaited my poor Frenchman ; for scarcely had this event happened, when the dooi was flung open, and in came a gentleman from Ca- hawba, with a fierce-looking broad-brimmed hat upon his pericranium, that attracted general atten- tion, and struck awe and consternation to the hearts of all beholders. He straddled himself into the middle of the floor, thrust both hands into his breeches pocket, pressed his lips firmly together, and cast his eyes deliberately around the apartment, with the expression of one who intended to insist upon his rights. "Which is number ten?" he de- manded, in a tone which startled all the tenants of the basement story. " Ah, I perceive !" continued he, approaching the Frenchman, and laying vio- lent hands upon him. " There's some mistake here. A man in my bed, hey ? Well, let us see what he's made of. Look here, stranger, you're in the wrong box ! You've tumbled into my bed — so you must shift your quarters." Who shall depict the Frenchman's countenance, as he slowly raised his head, half opened his drooping organs of vision and took an oblique sc[uirit at the gentleman from Cahawba ! "You are in the wrong bed," repeated VOL. I. 15 170 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. he of the hat — " number ten is my property ; yon- der is yours, so have the pohteness just to hop out." The Frenchman was resigned to his fate, and gath- ering himself together, transported his mortal re- mains to the vacant bed, without the slightest re- sistance, and in eloquent silence. It was very evi- dent to him, as well as the rest of us, that there was no withstanding the persuasions of his new ac- quaintance, who had a fist like a mallet, and who swore that he always carried loaded pistols in his pocket, to be ready for any emergency. The in- habitants of the basement would have screamed outright this time, but for prudential considerations, for the gentleman from Cahawba realized the de- scription of the " determined dog," mentioned in the comedy, who "lived next door to a churchyard, killed a man a day, and buried his own dead.'* Was this, then, a man to be trifled with? Certainly not. Better to cram the sheets down your throat, and run the risk of suffocation from suppressed laughter, than to encounter the displeasure of a person who wears such a hat. They are always to be avoided. But to return to the Frenchman. He Avas no sooner in his new resting-place, than John came to inform him that his champaign and oysters were ready. Like one in a dream he arose, sat upon the side of the bed, and slowly dressed himself, without a single murmur at his great disappointment. He had hardly finished, when the steamboat bell sound- ed among the highlands, and he received the grati- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 171 fyin^ intelligence, that in consequence of the time he had lost in dressing, he had none left to eat his supper — and that, if he did not hurry, he would be too late for the boat ! At this, he arose — yawned — stretched his person out at full length, and, with the ejaculation — "I shall get some little sleeps nevare" — bid us good-night, and slowly took his leave. LETTER III. Saratoga, August, 1833. Early rising, active exercise, country air, and the congress spring have done, are doing, and will con- tinue to do wonders for invalids. They are all excellent in their way ; but to produce a beneficial effect upon weak nerves and debiUtated constitutions, they must be enjoyed in moderation. Nothing is more true than that all excess is hurtful ; and no- thing, one would suppose, is more self-evident : yet many people in delicate health go to Saratoga un- der the impression, it would seem, that the more water they drink, the faster they will get well. — Some of the visitors are in the habit of swallowing fifteen, twenty, thirty, and even forty glasses every morning before breakfast ! The result of such im- prudence can, of course, be easily foreseen. Instead of getting the better of their several complaints, they daily grow worse, and are not unfrequently compel- led to abandon the use of the waters altogether, for 172 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. want of proper caution in the first instance. The resident physician at the springs, as every body knowsj is an able practitioner, a man of science, and a finished gentleman. We were seated one morning, during the present season, in his study? when an individual knocked at the door, and im- mediately gained admittance. He was a large, fat, unwieldly piece of humanity from the south, with a face like the full moon just rising, and had the appearance of one " who could kill an ox with his fist, and pick his teeth with its horns." But, alas ! appearances are deceitful ; my man mountain was sadly out of repair, and could do no such thing. A chronic affection of his stomach embittered all his days, and his doctor had sent him to the springs for relief. Every other remedy had been tried, but to little or no purpose. The waters then were his only reliance, his last resort. If they failed him, his case was hopeless — his disease incurable. Accordingly, on his arrival, he had taken to hard drink, like a brave fellow : but finding, to his unutterable astonish- ment and confusion, after a whole week's melan- choly experience, that the mineral fluids had done him an infinite deal of mischief, and not the least discernible good, he had now repaired to the apart- ment of the resident physician, entirely out of hu- mor with the waters, himself, and all the world l)esides, and in utter despair. No wonder, then, that he was angry, or that he should frown indig- nantly on coming into the presence of the learned professor of the heahng art. Placing his caue SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 173 against the wall, in a firm and decided manner, and tossing his hat upon the table with a peculiar emphasis, he threw himself into a chair with a thundering whack ; then taking a blue and white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the perspi- ration from his face, crossed his legs, folded his arms, compressed his lips, and eyed the doctor from head to foot, with mingled feelings of scorn and indignation. "So," said he. at length, "you're a doctor, are you ?" "x\t your service, sir. May I ask who you are?"' "Oh, certainly, I am a man that has come six hundred miles, like a blockhead, in com- pliance with the advice of a quack-doctor, to drink your infernal waters — and they've made me worse — that's who I am. Now, what do you say to that, hey?" " Why," replied the doctor, with his usual good-nature, and without allowing himself to be disturbed, in the least, by the abrupt deportment of his new acquaintance, " why, my friend, that I am very sorry for it. But what's the matter with you?'' '■ Oh, sir, I'm in pain all over." " Indeed: what are your symptoms?" "I've every symptom you ever heard of." "That's bad." "Bad!" said the man with a stomach, " it's infernal — it's diabolical — it will be the death of me !" "In pain all over, you say ?" " Yes, all over, I tell you !" " Any pain in your foot ?" " Well, I don't exactly know as to that," said the gentleman from the south, evidently draw- ing in his horns. " If you had any there, would you not be hkely to know it ?" pursued the doctor, mild- ly. " Well, I suppose I should." " Then, vou have 15* 174 SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. no pain in your foot ?"' " Wh}^, no." " Then, what do you mean by pain all over ?" The patient would have explained ; but the doctor went on with his professional cross-examination. " And how many tumblers of water do you drink a-day ?"' " Why, I began moderately. When I first came I only took eight ; but I have increased the quantity every day, and, this morning I got down thirty-two." " Thir- ty-two ?■' repeated the doctor, coolly, but with evi- dent surprise. "Only thirty-two? Then permit me, my friend, to remark you have not taken " The man from the south interrupted him — he would hear no more — he thought the doctor was going to tell him he had not taken half enough — and the idea made him shudder. "Now stop, doc- tor, stop, I beseech you. That's all very true, what you're going to say. I know it. If I must die, I must; but I can't drink more than thirty-two tum- blers, any way under heavens — nor will I attempt it, happen what may." It is unnecessary to give the remainder of the dialogue. The reader has suf- ficient to show him with what views some people visit the springs, and how httle they know of the properties and effects of the waters. This, however, is only one of a thousand similar instances. The invalid in question, for such he really was, notwith- standing his enormous bulk and jolly round physi- ognomy,^was soon convinced of the absolute absur- dity of the course he had been pursuing ; and, after listening to a little salutary advice, which, we make no doubt, will be of service to him during the re- SKETCHES FROM THE SPRINGS. 175 niaiiider of his natural life, took his leave, with the resolution to become a more temperate man in fu- ture. We saw him again, about a fortnight after the conversation here recorded, and were gratified to learn, that, by following a few simple directions, his " pain all over' had entirely disappeared, and that he was a new creature, or, to use his own ex- pression, '• as good as new." He looked the picture of perfect health, and said he felt as well as he look- ed. " Then you have changed your opinion of the waters?" -Entirely. They have acted upon me like a charm. But no man should touch them, un- til he has first received the advice and directions of some competent physician." " True, and this sim- ple fact it would do no harm for all to bear in mind who visit the springs." A LAMENT. BV MISS FANNY KEMBLE. Gentlemen— 1 shall be most happy if the following lines meet your ap- probation, and answer your purpose. I iiave ctiosen tliein because they were pronipted by one of the most beau- tiful water-courses which, in my opinion, can be found even in this world of lovely and glorious rivers, and I suppose it may be more agreeable to Americans to read the very sincere, if not the very adequate homage wiiich a stranger pays to their romantic scenery, than descriptions which have no interest to recommend them. If you could have seen me at the moment of inditing these lines, 1 think you would have been amused. 1 had purposed riding out to the Wissihic- con, an Indian name for a beautiful streanj near Philadelphia, signifying, I am told, the '' pleasant water." I had just explored enough of its beau- ties on the preceding day to be most anxious to return ; but circumstances occurred to prevent my doing so. and the following lament bears wit- ness to the little philosophy with wiiich I endured the disappointment. The obstacles to my ride, however, were removed— I revisited several times my favorite haunt, and have only to hope that some portion of tny tlelight and happiness while there, and of my vivid impression of its love- liness may have found its way into my verses. I know not what is the usual number of minutes allotted to an im- promptu, but this was written in less than half an liour; and now that it is going to put forth its defects to the world, 1 think this may appear, per- haps, to you some reason for them. Once more, I hope my lines may answer your purpose, and wish they were better worth you acceptance. Pray believe me, gentlemen, yours, very sincerely, Frances Anne Kemble. To the Editors of the Mirror. The water-fall is calling me, With its merry gleesome flow ; And the green boughs are beck'ning me To where the wild-fl.owers grow : I may not go, I may not go. To where the sunny waters flow, To where the wild-wood flowers blow ; A LAMENT. I77 I must stay here In prison drear, — Oh ! heavy life, wear on, wear on — Would God that thou wert done ! The busy mill-wheel, round and round Goes turning, with its reckless sound ; And o'er the dam the waters flow Into the foaming stream below, And deep, and dark, away they glide To meet the broad, bright river's tide ; And all the way They murmuring say "Oh, child ! why art thou far awayl Come back into the sun, and stray Upon our mossy side." I may not go, I may not go. To where the gold, green waters run, All glittering in the morning's sun, And leap from oft' the dam below Into a whirl of boiling snow. Laughing and shouting as they go ; I must stay here In prison drear ; Oh ! heavy life, wear on, wear on, — Would God that thou wert done ! The soft spring-wind goes passing by Into the forests wide and cool, The clouds go trooping through the sky To look down on some glassy pool ; The sunshine makes the world rejoice^ And all of them, with gentle voice. Call me away With them to stay The blessed, live long, summer's day. 178 A LAMENT. I may not go, I may not go, Where the sweet-breathing spring-winds blow Nor where the silver clouds go by Across the holy, deep, blue sky ; Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright. Comes down, like a still shower of light ; I must stay here In prison drear : Oh ! heavy life, wear on, wear on, Would God that thou wert gone ! Oh, that I were a thing with wings ! A bird that in a May-hedge sings ! A lonely heather-bell that swings Upon some wild hill-side ! Or e'en a silly, senseless stone, With soft, thick, starry moss o'ergrown, Round which the waters glide ! AN OUTLINE SKETCH. BY THEODORE S. FAY. The young Lord D. yawned. Why did the young lord yawn? He had recently come into ten thousand a year. His home was a palace His sisters were angels. His cousin was — in love with him. He, himself, w^as an Apollo. His horses might have drawn the chariot of Phoebus, but in their journey around the globe, would never have crossed above grounds more Eden-hke than his. Around him w^ere streams, lawns, groves, and fountains. He could hunt, fish, ride, read, flirt, sleep, swim, drink, muse, write, or lounge. All the appliances of affluence were at his conuiiand. The young Lord D. w^as the admira- tion and envy of all the country. The young Lord D.'s step sent a palpitating flutter through many a lovely bosom. His smile awakened many a dream of bliss and w^ealth. The Lady S., — that queenly woman, with her majestic bearing, and her train of dying adorers, grew lovelier and livelier beneath the spell of his smile ; and even Ellen B., — the mo- dest, beautiful creature, with her large, timid, ten- der blue eyes, and her pouting red lips — that rose- bud — sighed audibly, only the day before, when he 180 AN OUTLINE SKETCH. left the room — and yet — and yet — the youn^ Lord D. yawned. It was a-rich still hour. The afternoon sunlight overspread all nature. Earth, sky, lake, and air were full of its dying glory, as it streamed into the apartment where they were sitting, through the fo- hage of a magnificent oak, and the caressing ten- drils of a profuse vine, that half buried the veran- dah beneath its heavy masses of foliage. '' I am tired to death," said the sleepy lord. His cousin Rosalie sighed. '• The package of papers from London is full of news, and " murmured her sweet voice timidly* '• I hate new^s." '• The poetry in the New Monthly is — '' " You set my teeth on edge. I have had a sur- feit of poetry." '• Ellen B. is to spend the day with us, to-morrow." Rosalie lifted her hazel eyes full upon his face. '• Ellen B. V drawled the youth, " she is a child, a pretty child. I shall ride over to Lord A's." Rosalie's face betrayed that a mountain was off her heart. " Lord A. starts for Italy in a few weeks," said Rosalie. " Happy dog !" " He will be delighted with Rome and Naples." "Rome and Naples," echoed D., in a musing voice. " Italy is a dehghtful heavenly spot," continued his cousin, anxious to lead him into conversation. AN OUTLINE SKETCH. Igl " So I'm lold," said Lord D., abstractedly. " It is the garden of the world," rejoined Rosalie. Lord D. opened his e3^es. He evidently was jiisi struck with an idea. Young lords with ten thou- sand a year are not often troubled with ideas. He sprang from his seat. He paced the apartment twice. His countenance glowed. His eyes spar- kled. "Rose—." " Cousin — ." What a beautiful break. Rose trembled to the heart. Could it be possible that he was . He took her hand. He kissed it, eagerly, ear- nestly, and enthusiastically. She blushed and turned away her face in grace- ful confusion. '^Rosel" " Dear, dear cousin !"' — "I have made up my mind." " Charles !— " " To-morrow !" '• Heavens !" " I will start for Italy." Ocean ! Superb — endless — sublime, rolUng, tum- bling, dashing, heaving, foaming — cceluni undlquc et undique pontiis. Lord D. gazed around. The white cliffs of Dover were fading in the distance. Farewell, England. It is a sweet melancholy, thi^ bidding adieu to a mass— a speck in the horizon — YoL. L 16 182 AN OUTLINE SKETCH. a mere cloud, yet which contains in its airy and dim outHne all that you ever knew of existence. "Noble England!" ejaculated Lord D., "and dear mother — Ellen B. — pretty fawn — Rose too — sweet pretty dear Rose — what could mean those glittering drops that hung upon her lashes when I said adieu ? Can it be that ? — pshaw — I am a cox- comb. What ! Rose ? the little sunshiny Rose — the cheerful philososopher — the logical — the studi- ous — the — the— the — !" Alas ! alas ! What are logic, study, cheerfulness, philosophy, sunshine, to a warm hearted girl of twenty — in love? Lord D. went below. Italy is a paradise. Surely Adam looked on such skies, such rivers, such woods, such mountains, such fields. How lavish, how bright, how rich is every thing around. Lord D. guided his horse up a mountain near Rome. The sun had just set : the warm heavens stretched above him perfectly unclouded ; what a time to muse ! what a place ! The young nobleman fell into a reverie, which, the next moment, was broken by a shout of terror — the clashing of arms — a pistol shot, and a groan. He flew to the spot. A youth of twenty lay at the root of a tall tree, weltering in his blood. The as- sassin, terrified at the sight of a stranger, fled. " I die," murmured the youth, with ashy lips. " Can I aid you?" asked Lord D., thriUing with horror and compassion. r AN OUTLINE SKETCH. ]83 " Take this box. It contains jewels, and a secret^ which I would not have revealed for the world. Carry it to England, to the Duke of R — . Open it not, no matter what happens. Swear never to re- veal to any human being that you possess it — swear.'* Lord D. hesitated. '• My life-blood ebbs away apace. Speak, oh speak, and bless a dying man — swear." " I swear." " Enough. I thank you — hide it in your bosom. God bless you — my England never see — home — again — never, nev — ." The full round moon, beautifully bright, went solemnly up the azure track of sky. Lord D. dashed a tear from his eye, as he gazed on the pallid features of the youth, who stretched himself out in the last shuddering agony and con- vulsion of death. He placed his hand upon the stranger's bosom. The heart had ceased to beat. No longer the crimson gore flowed from the wound. The light foam stood on his pale lips. " And he has a mother," said the chilled nobleman — " and a once happy home. For their sake, as well as his, his wishes shall be obeyed." The tread of horses' feet came to his ear, and shouts and confused voices. Lord D, thought the fugitive ruffian was return- ing with more of the gang. ^' Shall I fly like a coward ?" was his first thought ; 184 AN OUTLINE SKETCH. Ijut again, he said. " why should I waste my Ufe upon a set of banditti?" He sprang to his saddle, in his huny, leaving be- hind hini a kerchief — dashed the rowels into the Hanks of the snorting steed, and was presently lost in the winding paths of the forest. The midnight moon was shining silently into the ajiartment, as Lord D.'s eyes closed in sleep, after having lain for some time lost in thought upon his couch. His senses gradually melted into dreams. " Ah, Rosalie. Dear Rosalie.'^ The maiden suddenly grasped his throat with the ferocity of a fiend, when — hah ! no Rosalie — but the iron gripe of a muscular arm dragged him from the bed, and shook his idle dreams to" air. " Bind the villain !" said a hoarse voice. " Away, away to the duke's !" Bewildered, indignant, alarmed, the astonished lord found himself bound, and borne to a carriage — the beautiful and soft fragments of Italian scene- ly flew by the coach windows. If you would freeze the heart of an English- man, and yet suffocate him wnth anger, thrust him into a dungeon. Lord D. never was so unce- remoniously assisted to a change of location. A black-browed, dark-complexioned, mustachio-lipped soldier hurled him down a flight of broken steps, and threw after him a bundle of clothes. AN OUTLINE SKETCH. 185 " By St. George, ntiy friend, if I had you on the side of a green Enghsh hill, I would make your brains and bones acquainted with an oaken cud- gel. The uncivilized knave." He lay for hours on a little straw. By-and-by some one came in with a lamp. " Pray, friend, where am I ?" The stranger loosened his cord, and motioned him to put on his clothes. He did so — unable to repress the occasional explosion of an honest, heart- felt execration. When his toilet was completed, his guide took him by the arm, and led him through a long corridor, till, lo ! a blaze of sun- shiny dayhght dazzled his eyes. "You are accused of murder," said the duke, in French. " Merciful Providence !" ejaculated D. " Your victim was found weltering in his blood, at your feet. You left this kerchief on his body. It bears your name. By your hand he fell. You have been traced to your lodgings. You must die.'' A witness rushed forward to bear testimony in favor of the prisoner. Lord D. could not be the perpetrator of such a crime. He was a nobleman of honor and wealth. '' Where are his letters V He had brought none. 16* 186 AX OUTLINE SKETCH. " What is the result of the search which I or- dered to be made at his lodgings V ^' This box, my lord duke, an — "" The box was opened. It contained a set of su- perb jewels, the miniature of the murdered youth, and of a fair creature, probably his mistress. Lord D. started. '•' By heavens, it is Rosalie ! I am thunderstruck." " Enough," said the duke, '' guilt is written in every feature. Wretch, murderer ! To the block with him. To-morrow at daybreak let his doom be executed. Nay, sir, lower that high bearing, those fiery and flashing eyes, that haughty and commanding frown. Not thus should you meet your Creator.'' Night, deep night. How silent ! How sublime ! The fated lord lay watching the sky, through the iron grating of his cell. " Ah, flash on, myriads of overhanging Avorlds — ye suns, whose blaze is quenched by immeasurable distance. To-morrow just so with your calm, bright, everlasting faces, ye wnll look down upon my grave. Jupiter, brilliant orb ! How lustrous ! How wonderful ! Ha ! the north star — ever constant ! Axis on which revolves this stupendous, heavenly globe. How often at home I have watched thy beams, with Rosalie on my arm. Rosahe, dear Rosalie—" " I come to save you," said a soft, sweet voice. " What ! Boy — who art thou ? Why dost — " AN OUTLINE SKETCH. X37 The young stranger took off his cap. " No — yes ! That forehead — those eyes — en- chanting girl — angel — " " Hush !'' said Rosalie, laying her finger upon her hp. Ocean — again — the deep, magnificent ocean — and life and freedom. " Blow, grateful breeze — on, on, over the wash- ing billows, light-winged bark. Ha ! land ahead ! England ! Rosalie, my girl, see — " Again on her lashes tears stood glittering. How different from those that — Onward, like the wind, revolve the rattling wheels. The setting sun reveals the tall groves, the great oak, the lawns, the meadows, the foun- tains. "My mother!" "My son!" " Friends !" A package from the duke. " The murderer of is discovered, and has paid the forfeit of his crimes. Will Lord D. again visit Italy ?" " Ay, with my wife — with Rosalie." " And with letters and a good character^' said Rosalie, archly. FORGETFULNESS. BY MISS ELIZABETH S. BOGART. "We parted — friendship's dream had cast Deep interest o'er the brief farewell, And left upon the shadowy past Full many a thought on which to dwell. Such thoughts as come in early youth. And live in fellowship with hope ; Robed in the brilliant hues of truth, Unfitted with the world to cope. We parted — he went o'er the sea. And deeper solitude was mine ; Yet there remained in memory, For feeling, still a sacred shrine. And thought and hope were offered up Till their ethereal essence fled, And disappointment, from the cup, Its dark libations poured, instead. We parted — 'twas an idle dream That thus we e'er should meet again ; For who that knew man's heart, would deem That it could long unchanged remain. He sought a foreign clime, and learned Another language, which expressed To strangers the rich thoughts that burned With unquenched power within his breast. FORGETFULXESS. XgQ And soon he better loved to speak In those new accents than his own ; His native tongue seemed cold and weak, To breathe the wakened passions' tone. He wandered far, and lingered long, And drank so deep of Lethe's stream, That each new feeling grew more strong. And all the past was like a dream. We met — a few glad words were spoken, A few kind glances were exchanged ; But friendship's first romance was broken, His had been from me estranged. I felt it all — we met no more — My heart was true, but it was proud ; Life's early confidence was o'er. And hope had set beneath a cloud. "We met no more: — for neither sought To reunite the severed chain Of social intercourse ; for nought Could join its parted links again. Too much of the wide world had been Between us for too long a time ; And he had looked on many a scene, The beautiful and the sublime. And he had themes on which to dwell. And memories that were not mine, Which formed a separating spell. And drew a mystic boundary hne. His thoughts were wanderers — and the things Which brought back friendship's joys to me, To him were but the spirit's wings Which bore him o'er the distant sea. For he had seen the evening star Glancing its rays o'er ocean's waves, And marked the moonbeams from afar, Lighting the Grecian heroes' graves. 190 FORGETFULNESS. And he had gazed on trees and flowers Beneath Italia's sunny skies, And listened, in fair ladies' bowers. To genius' words and beauty's sighs. His steps had echoed through the halls Of grandeur, long left desolate ; And he had climbed the crumbling walls, Or op'd perforce the hingeless gate ; And mused o'er many an ancient pile, In ruin still magnificent. Whose histories could the hours beguile With dreams, before to fancy lent. Such recollections come to him, With moon, and stars, and summer flowers : To me they bring the shadows dim Of earlier and of happier hours. I would those shadows darker fell — For life, with its best powers to bless, Has but few memories loved as well, Or welcome as forge tf nines s. BENEFACTORS. BY JOHX HOWARD PAYNE. The home of Lopez was only a cottage ; but it was situated beneath the beautiful sky of Andaki- sia, in the httle bishopric of Jaen, at the flowery foot of Sierra Morena. His daughter, Inesilla, his only child — his gentle, his lovely, his darling Ine- silla — dwelt with hirn there. He regretted riches only on one account. His loss of them must inter- rupt the education of his daughter. " Inesilla," said he to her, " I have often rendered services ; but no one comes to render services to me. There is no such thing in the world as gene- rosity." " The numbers of the ungrateful would seem to prove the contrary," replied Inesilla. '• Ingratitude would be less common, if we knew how to appro- priate our benefactions; but the rich and powerful, hemmed in as they are by mercenaries, parasites, and adventurers, are intercepted by this mob of slaves, from conveying to virtuous indigence the noble kindness which may relieve without degra- ding. We should know the characters of those whom ice oblige^ before ice do them services. We 192 BENEFACTORS. listen to our lieaits, and are deceived. You have yourself done this, and more than once." " I own it. I own it. 1 was in the wrong." The conversation was interrupted by a clap of thunder. A rapid storm darkened the horizon. Lopez thought no more of the ungrateful. All re- solutions of future caution vanished. He flew to tiing open the large gate of his cottage yard, that the wayfarer might be sheltered beneath his cart- shed from the tempest, whose roar was now redou- bled by the mountain echoes. A brilliant carriage, drawn by six mules, at once drove in. Don Fernando descended from it ; had his servants and his mules placed under the shed, and presented himself at the door of the cottage of Lopez. Inesilla opened it, and Don Fernando paused Avith w^onder, to meet beneath the lowly thatch a form so sylph-like and a face so refined. The courtly bearing of Lopez seemed to create no less surprise ; his astonishment, the earnestness of his questions, the interest he seemed to take in every thing relating to the old man, stimulated Lopez to tell the story of his misfortunes, ending with the moral which his daughter had deduced from them^ Fernando heard him with intense attention. '• By the sword of the cid !" cried he, " that daughter of thine is a philosopher ! ' We should know the character of those whom we oblige, be- fore we do them services ;' and I bless the storm,'' added he, tears starting to his eyes, " which has ac- quainted me with thee and thine ; but we should BENEFACTORS. 193 also bear in miiul anoiher truth of which thy daugh- ter's philosophy seems not to be aware. We should also know the characters of those by whom we are obliged, before we let them do us services." The words of Don Fernando sank deep into the heart of Lopez. He felt he had at last found one with whom he wished he could exchange situa- tions, merely that he could render so worthy a man a service, Don Fernando seemed to be animated with a si- milar yearning towards poor Lopez. "' But, Lopez,'' added he, " it is not from words that characters are to be learned, ^^e must look to actions. From these I would teach you mine. Lopez, I am rich, and I am not heartless. You have bestowed on me the only kindness in your power. Do not be offended. I must not be num- bered among the ungrateful. Your fortune must be restored. Deign, till we can bring that about, to let me be 3^our banker." '• There is nothing I have to wish foi:, on my own account," said Lopez; "but my dear girl there, though still in the bloom of early youth, has for a long while been interrupted in her education. Poor darling, she has no associates of her ow^n age and sex about her — no one to supply the place of a mo- ther. The warmest affection of a father never can make up for wants like these." "I have an aunt," replied Fernando, " who inha- bits Cazorla with her two daughters, both much about the age of your Inesilla. In this family are Vol. L 17 194 BENEFACTORS. blended inexhaustible amiableness, enlightened re- ligion, dee]) and varied acquirements. Deprived of the gifts of fortune, they have nothing to live on but a moderate pension, of which their virtues, the duties of humanity, and the claims of relationship, concur in rendering it imperative on me to force their acceptance. Cazorla is situated not far hence ; just on the skirts of the Vega — a site of surpassing beauty. Go, yourself, in my name. Find my noble relation. Confide to her your Inesilla." Lopez, scarcely hearing him out, caught his hands, and bathed them with tears of gratitude. It was not long before Inesilla was conducted, by her father, to the aunt of Fernando, from whom, and from her daughters, she received a most aflfection- ate welcome ; while Lopez, disabused of his preju- dices against the world, regained his cottage, satis- fied w^ith himself and others, and silently and seri- ously resolving never more to think slightingly of human nature, and go often and see his daughter. One day he was pondering on his recollections of Fernando, on his delicate liberality, and on his pro- found proverb, when, casting his eyes unconscious- ly around, they rested upon a lowly tree, where a poor little orphan-dove, left alone ere the down had enough thickened to shield it from the evening chill, forsaken, as it was, by all nature, filled its for- lorn nest with feeble wailings. At that moment, from the mighty summit of the Sierra Morena, a bird of prey — (it was a vulture!) — outspreading his immense wings — pointed his flight downwards to- BENEFACTORS. I95 ward the lamenting dove, and for ^onie time hung hovering above the tree which held her cradle. Lo- pez was instantly on the alert for means to rescue the helpless httle victim, when he thought he could perceive that at the sight of the vulture, the infant dove ceased her moan, fluttered joyously, and stretched towards him her open beak. In truth, he really beheld, ere long, the terrible bird, gently descending, charged with a precious booty, toward his hahy proteg-ee^ and lavishing on her the choicest nutriment, with a devotedness unknown to vulgar vultures. " Most wonderful !^' cried the good Lopez. " How unjust I was ! How blind ! I refused to believe in beneficence. I find it even among vultures !" Lopez could not grow weary of this touching sight. Day after day he returned to watch it. It opened to him sources of exquisite and inexhausti- ble meditation. He was enraptured to see innocence strengthened under the wing of power — the weak succored by the strong ; and the transition from the nest of the dove to his gentle Inesilla, in happiness at Cazorla, protected by one of the rich and power- ful, was so natural, that he returned home, blessing Don Fernando and the vulture. Already had the light down on the little dove deepened into silvery feathers ; already, from branch to branch, had she essayed her timid flight upon her native tree ; already could her beak, hardened and sharpened, grasp its nourishment Avith ease. One day the vulture appeared with the accus- tomed provender. He eyed his adopted intently. 196 BENEFACTORS. The dove that day looked peculiarly innocent and beautiful. Her form was round and full. Her air delightfully engaging. The vulture paused. He seemed for a moment to exult that he had reared a creature so fixir. On a sudden he pounced into the nest. In an instant the dove was devoured. Lopez witnessed this : he stood amazed and puz- zled, like Gargantua, on the death of his wife Ba- de bee. " Great Powers !" exclaimed Lopez, " what do I behold !'' The good man was surprised that a vulture should have eaten a dove, when only the reverse would have been the wonder. The former association in his mind between hi? daughter and the dove rushed back upon him. He was almost mad. " My Inesilla, w// dove," shrieked he to himself, " is also under the protection of a vulture — a great lord — a man of prey — hence ! hence !"' He ran. He llew. He repeated to himself a hundred times upon the wa}^ — " We should kiioio the character of those hy whom we are obliged^ before loe let them do us ser- vices P' And with this upon his lip he arrived, breath- less, at Cazorla. He darted to the retreat where he had left his daughter — Merciful Providence !- • Reader ! I see 3^ou are almost as much pleased as Inesilla was, tliat Lopez saved his daughter. THE MINIATURE. Y GEORGE P. MORRIS. William was holding in his hand The hkeness of his wife — Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand, With beauty, grace, and hfe. He almost thought it spoke : He gazed upon the treasure still, Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, To view the artist's skill. " This picture is yourself, dear Jane, 'Tis drawn to nature true ; I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, It is so much like you." "And did it kiss you back, my dearl' "Why — no — my love," said he. " Then, William, it is very clear, 'Tis not at all like mc .'" 17^ KNICKERBOCKER HALL, OR THE ORIGIX OF THE BAREr's DOZEN. [Translated from an ancient Dutch MS ] BV JAMES K. PAULDING. Little Brom Boomptie, or Boss Boomptie, as he was commonly called by his apprentices and neigh- bors, was the first man that ever baked new-year cakes in the good city of New-Amsterdam. It is generally supposed that he was the inventor of those excellent and respectable articles. However this may be, he lived and prospered in the little Dutch house in William-street, called, time out of mind, Knickerbocker Hall, just at the outskirts of the good town of New-Amsterdam. Boomptie was a fat comfortable creature, with a capital pair of old-foshioned legs ; a full, round, good-natured face ; a corporation like unto one of his plump loaves ; and as much honesty as a Turk- ish baker, who lives in the fear of having his ears nailed to his own door for retailing bad bread. He wore a low-crowned, broad-brimmed beaver ; a gray bearskin^ cloth coat, waistcoat, and breeches, and gray woollen stockings, summer and winter, all the KNICKERBOCKER HALL. ] 99 year round. The only language he spoke, under- stood, or had the least res}3ect for, was Dutch — and the only books he ever read or owned, were a Dutch Bible, with silver clasps and hinges, and a Dutch history of the Duke of Alva's bloody wars in the low countries. Boss Boomptie was a pious man, of simple habits and simple character ; a be liever in "demonology and witchcraft," and as much afraid of sjwoks as the mother that bred him. It ran in the family to be bewitched, and for three generations the Boompties had been very much pestered with supernatural visitations. But for all this they continued to prosper in the world, inso- much tliat Boss Boomptie daily added a piece of wampum or two to his strong box. He was blessed with a good wife, who saved the very parings of her nails, and three plump boys, after whom he model- led his gingerbread babies, and w^ho were every Sunday zealously instructed never to pass a pin without picking it up and bringing it home to their mother. It was new-year's eve, in the year 1655, and the good city of New-Amsterdam, then under the special patronage of the blessed St. Nicholas, was as jovial and wanton as hot spiced rum, and long abstinence from fun and frohc, could make it. It is worth while to live soberly and mind our business all the rest of the year, if it be only to enjoy the holidays at the end with a true zest. St. Nicholas — thrice blessed soul ! was riding up one chimney and down ano- ther, like a locomotive engine, in his little one-horse fV 200 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. wagon, distributing cakes to the good boys, and whips to the bad ones ; and the laugh of the good city, which had been pent up all the year, now burst forth with an explosion that echoed even unto Breuckelen and Communipaw. Boss Boomptie, who never forgot the main chance, and knew from experience that new- year's eve was a shrewd time for selling cakes, joined profit and pleasure on this occasion. He was one minute in his shop, dealing out cakes to his customers, and the next laughing, and tippling, and jigging, and frisking it with his wife and children in the little back room, the door of which had a pane of glass that commanded a free view of the shop. Nobody, that is, no genuine disciple of jolly St. Nicholas, ever went to bed on new-year's eve. The Dutch are eminently a sober discreet folk ; but somehow or other, no people frolick so like the very dickens when they are once let loose, as your very sober and discreet bodies. By twelve o'clock the spicy beverage, sacred to holidays at that time, began to mount up into Boss Boomptie's head, and he was vociferating a Dutch ditty in praise of St. Nicholas with marvellous dis- cordance, when just as the old clock in one corner of the room struck the hour that ushers in the new- year, a loud knock was heard on the counter, which roused the dormant spirit of trade within his bosom. He went into the shop, where he found a httle ugly old thing of a woman, with a sharp chin, resting on a crooked black stick, which had been buint in the KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 201 fire and then polished ; two high sharp cheek-bones ; two sharp black eyes ; skinny lips, and a most dia- boUcal pair of leather spectacles on a nose ten times sharper than her chin. "I want a dozen new-year cookies." screamed she, in a voice sharper than her nose. " Yel, den, you needn't speak so loud," replied Boss Boomptie, whose ear being just then attuned to the melody of his own song, was somewhat out- raged by tbis shrill salutation. " I want a dozen new-year cookies," screamed she again, ten times louder and shriller than ever. "Duyvel — I ant teafden,'' grumbled the worthy man, as he proceeded to count out the cakes, whicli the other very deliberately counted after him. '' I want a dozen," screamed the little woman ; " liere is only twelve." " Vel den, and wbat the duyvel is twelf put a do- zen V said Boomptie. "I tell you I want one more," screamed she in a voice that roused Mrs. Boomptie in the back room, who came and peeped tlu-ough the pane of glass, as she often did when she heard the boss talking to the ladies. Boss Boomptie waxed wroth, for he had a reason- able quantity of hot spiced rum in his noddle, which predisposed a man to valor. " Vel den," said he, " you may co to de duyvel and get anoder, for you won't get it here." Boomptie was not a stingy man ; on the con- trary, he was very generous to the pretty young 202 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. damsels who came to buy cakes, and often gave two or three extra for a smack, which made Mrs. Boomptie peevish sometimes, and caused her to watch at the little pane of glass when she ought to have been minding her business like an honest woman. But this old hag was as ugly as sin, and the little baker never in his whole life could find it in his heart to be generous to an ugly woman, old or young. " In my country they always give thirteen to the dozen," screamed the ugly old woman in the leather spectacles. "i\.nd where de duyvel is your gountry ?" asked Boomptie. " It is nobody's business,'^ screeched the old wo- man. '' But will you give me another cake, once for all r '• Not if it would save me and all my chineration from peing pewitched and pedemonologized time out of mind," cried he in a great passion. AVhat put it into his head to talk in this way I don't know : but he might better have held his tongue. The old woman gave him three stivers for his cakes, and went awa}-, grumbling something about " living to repent it," which Boss Boomptie didn't understand or care a fig about. He was chock full of Dutch courage, and defied all the ugly old wo- men in Christendom. He put his three stivers in the till and shut up his shop, determined to enjoy the rest of the night without further molestation. KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 203 While he was sitting smoking his pipe, and now and then sipping his beveragej all at once he heard a terrible jingling of money in his shop, whereupon he thought some local caitiff was busy with his lit- tle till. Accordingly, priming himself with another reinforcement of Dutch courage, he took a pine knot, for he was too economical to burn candles at that late hour, and proceeded to investigate. His money was all safe, and the till appeared not to have been disturbed. " Duyvel," quoth the little baker man, " I pelieve mine vroiiw and I have bote cot a zinging in our heads." He had hardly turned his back when the same jingling began again, so much to the surprise of Boss Boomptie, that had it not been for his invinci- ble Dutch courage, he would, as it were, have been a little frightened. But he was not in the least ; and again went and unlocked the till, when what was his astonishment to see the three diabolical stivers, received from the old woman, dancing and kicking up a dust among the coppers and wampum, with w^onderful agihty ! "HagginsVanSwoschagin!" exclaimed he, sorely perplexed, " de old duyvel has cot into dat old sin- ner's stivers, I tink." He had a great mind to throw them away, but he thought it a pity to waste so much money ; so he kept them locked up all night, enjoining them to good behavior, with a design to spend them next day in another jolhfication. But the next day they were gone, and yo was the broom- 204 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. stick with which it was the custom to sweep out the shop every morning. Some of the neighbors coming home late the night before, on being in- formed of the " abduction" of the broomstick, de- posed and said, that they had seen an old woman, riding through the air upon just such another, right over the top of tlie little bake-house ; whereat Boss Boomptie, putting these odds and ends together, did tremble in his heart, and he wished to himself that he had given the ugly old woman thirteen to the dozen. Nothing particular came to pass the next day, except that now and then the little Boompties com- plained of having pins stuck in their backs, and that their cookies were snatched away by some one unknown. On examination it was found that no marks of the pins were to be seen ; and as to the cookies, the old black woman of the kitchen de- clared she saw an invisible hand, just as one of the children lost his commodity, " Den I am pewitched, sure enough !" cried Boomptie, in despair; for he had too much of " de- monology and witchcraft" in the family not to know when he saw them, just as well as he did his own face in the Collect. On the second day of the year, the 'prentice boys all returned to their business, and Boomptie once more solaced himself with the baking of the staff of life. The reader must know that it is the custom of bakers to knead a great batch at a time, in a mighty bread-tray, into which they throw two or KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 205 three little apprentice-boys to paddle about, like ducks ill a mill-pond, whereby it was speedily amal- gamated, and set to rising in due time. When the little caitiffs began their gambols in this matter, they one and all stuck fast in the dough, as thougli it had been so much pitch, and to the utter dismay of honest Boomptie, behold, the whole batch rose up in a mighty mass, and the boys sticking fast on the top of it ! " Der dapperheed updragon !" exclaimed little Boomptie, as he witnessed this catastrophe ; '- de duyvel ish got into de yeast dis time, I tink." The bread continued to rise till it lifted the roof off the bake-house, with the little 'prentice-boys on the top, and the bread-tray following after. Boss Boomptie and his wife watched this wonderful rising of the bread in dismay, and in proof of the poor woman being bewitched, it was afterwards recollected that she uttered not a single word on this extraordinary occasion. The bread rose and rose, until it finally disappeared, boys and all, be- hind the Jersey hills. If such things had been known at that time, it would have been taken for a balloon ; as it was, the people of Bergen and Communipaw thought it was a waterspout. Little Boss Boomptie was quite disconsolate at the loss of his bread and his 'prentice-boys, whom he expected never to see again. However, he was a stirring body, and set himself to work to prepare another batch, seeing his customers must be sup- plied in spite of '• witchcraft or demonology." To Vol. I. 18 206 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. guard against such another rebeUious rising, he de- termined to go tlnough the process down in the cellar, and turn his bread-tray upside down. The bread, instead of rising, began to sink into the earth so fast, that Boss Boomptie had just time to jump off before it entirely disappeared in tlie ground, which opened and shut just like a snuff-box. '•' Myt de stamme van dam !" exclaimed he, out of breath, " my pread rises downwards dis time, I tink. My customers must go without to-day." By and by his customers came for hot rolls and muffins ; but some of them had gone up, and some down, as little Boss Boomptie related after the man- ner just described. What is very remarkable, no- body believed him ; and doubtless if there had been any rival baker in New-Amsterdam, the boss would have lost all his customers. Among those that called on this occasion, w^as the ugly old w^oman with the sharp eyes, nose, chin, voice, and leather spectacles. ^'I w^anta dozen new-year cookies!" screamed she as before. " De geude Schiyver Torgouldigit beest !" mut- tered he, as he counted out the twelve cakes. "I want one moie !" screamed she. " Den you may co to de duy vel and kit it, I say, for not anoder shall you have here, I tell you." So the old woman took her twelve cakes, and went out, grumbling as before. All the time she staid, Boomptie's old dog. Avho followed him wdier- ever he w^ent; growled and whined, as it were, to KNICKERBOCKER HALL. " 207 himself, and seemed mightily relieved when she went away. That very night, as the little baker was going to see one of his old neighbors at the Maiden* s Valley <, then a little way out of town, walking, as he always did, with his hands behind him, every now and then he felt something as cold as death against them, which he could never ac* count for, seeing tliere was not a soul with him but his old dog. Moreover, ]\Irs. Boomptie, having bought half a pound of tea at a grocery-store, and put it into her pocket, did feel a twitching and jerk- ing of the paper of tea in her pocket every step she went. The faster she ran, the quicker and stronger was the twitching and jerking, so that when the good woman got home she was nigh fainting away. On her recovery she took courage, and pulled the tea out of her pocket, and laid it on the table, when, behold, it began to move by fits and starts, jumped oft' the table, hopped out of doors, all alone by itself, and jigged away to the place from whence it came. The grocer brought it back again, but JMadame Boomptie looked upon the whole as a judgment for her extravagance, in laying out so much money for tea, and refused to receive it again. The grocer assured her that the strange capers of the bundle were owing to his having forgot to cut the twine with which he had tied it ; but the good woman looked upon this, as an ingenious subterfuge, and would take nothing but her money. When the iuisband and wife came to compare notes, they both agreed they were certainly bewitched. Had there 208 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. been any doubt of the matter, subsequent events would soon have put it to rest. That very night Mrs. Boomptie was taken after a strange way. Sometimes she would laugh about nothing, and then she would cry about nothing ; then she would set to work and talk about nothing for a whole hour without stopping, in a language that nobody could understand ; and then all at once her tongue would cleave to the roof of her mouth so ihat it was impossible to force it away. When this lit was over, she would get up and dance double-trouble, till she tired herself out, when she fell asleep, and waked up quite rational. It was particularly noticed, that when she talked loudest and fastest, her lips remained perfectly closed, and without motion, or her mouth wide open, so that the words seemed to come, from down her throat. Her principal talk was railing against Dominie Laidlie, the good pastor of Garden-street church, whence every body concluded she was possessed by a devil. Sometimes she got hold of a pen, and though she had never learned to write, would scratch and scrawl certain mysterious and diaboli- cal figures, that nobody could understand, and every body said must mean something. As for little Boss Boomptie he was worse off than his wife. He was haunted by an invisible hand, which played iiim all sorts of scurvy tricks. Stand- ing one morning at his counter, talking to one of the neighbors, he received a great box on the ear, whereat being exceeding wroth, he returned it with KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 209 such interest on the cheek of his neighbor, that he laid him flat on the floor. His friend hereupon took the law of him, and proved to the satisfaction of the court that he had both hands in his breeches pock- ets at the time Boss Boomptie said he gave him the box on the ear. The magistrate, not being able to come at the truth of the matter, fined them each twenty-five guilders for the use of the dominie. A dried codfish was one day thrown at his head, and the next minute liis walking-stick fell to beat- ing him, though nobody seemed to have hold of it. A chair danced about the room, and at last lighted on the dinner-table, and began to eat with such a good appetite, that had not the children snatched some of the dinner away, there would have been none left. The old cow one night jumped over the moon, and a pewter dish ran fairly ofi'with a horn spoon, \vhich seized a cat by the tail, and away they all went together, as merry as crickets. Some- times, when Boss Boomptie had money, or cakes, or perhaps a loaf of bread in his hand, instead of putting them in their proper places, he would throw them into the fire, in spite of his teeth, and then the invisible hand would beat him with a bag of flour, till he was as white as a miller. As for keep- ing his accounts, that was out of the question ; whenever he sat himself down to write, his ink-horn was snatched away by the invisible hand, and by and by it would come tumbling down the chimney. Sometimes an old dish-cloth would be pinned to the skirt of his coat, and then a great diabolical 18* 4 210 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. laugh lieard under the floor. At night he had a pretty time of it. His night-cap was torn off his headj his hair pulled out by handfuls, his face scratchedj and his ears pinched as if with red hot pincers. If he went out in the yard at night, he was pelted with brickbats, sticks, stones, and all sorts of filthy missives ; and if he staid at home, the ashes were blown upon his supper ; and old shoes, in- stead of plates, were seen on the table. One of the frying-pans rang every night of itself for a whole hour, and a three-pronged fork stuck itself volunta- rily into Boss Boomptie's back, without hurting him in the least. But what astonished the neighbors more than all, the little man. all at once, took to speak in a barbarous and unknown jargon, which was afterwards found out to be English. These matters frightened some of the neighbors, and scandalized others, until at length poor Boomp- tie's shop was almost deserted. People were jealous of eating his bread, for fear of being bewitched. Na)^, more than one little urchin complained griev- ously of horrible, out-of-the-way pains in the sto- mach, after eating two or three dozen of his new- year cookies. Things went on in this way until Christmas-eve came round again, w^hen Boss Boomptie was sitting behind his counter, which was wont to be thronged with customers on this occasion, but was now quite deserted. While thinking on his present miserable state and future prospects, all of a sudden the little ugly old woman, with a sharp nose, sharp chin, KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 211 sharp eyes, sharp voice, and leather spectacles, again stood before him, leaning on her crooked black cane. " De Philistyner Onweetende !" exclaimed Boss Boomptie, " what too you want now ?"' " I want a dozen new-year cookies !" screamed the old creature. The little man counted out twelve as before. " I want one more !" screamed she, louder than ever. " Opgeblazen tynelschildknap !" exclaimed the boss, in a rage ; " den want will pe your master." She offered him three stivers, which he indig- nantly rejected, saying, '' I want none of your duyvel's stuy vers — begone, Verschvikt Huysvrouw !" The old woman went her way, mumbling and grumbling as usual. "By Saint Johannes de Dooper,"' quoth Boss Boomptie, " put she's a peauty !" That night, and all the week after, the brickbats dew about Knickerbocker Hall like hail, insomuch that Boss Boomptie marvelled where they all came from, until one morning, after a terrible shower of bricks, he found, to his great grief and dismay, that his oven had disappeared ; next went the top of his chimney ; and when that was gone, these diabolical sinners began at the extreme point of the gable-end, and so went on picking at the two edges down- wards, until they looked just like the teeth of a 212 K-XICKERBOCKER HALL. saw, as may be still seen by people curious enough to look at the building. '•'Gesprengkelde! Gespikkelde! onGepleckteeve!" cried Boss Boomptie, " put it's too pad to have my prains peat out wid my own brickpats." About the same time a sober respectable cat, that for years had done nothing but sit purring m the chimney-corner, all at once got the duyvel in her, and after scratching the poor man half to death, jumped out of the chimney and disappeared. A Whitehall boatman afterwards saw her in Butter- milk-channel, with nothing but the tail left, swim- ming against the tide as easy as kiss your hand. Poor Mrs. Boomptie had no peace of her life, what with pinchings, stickings of needles, and talking without opening her mouth. But the climax of the malice of the demon which beset her was in at last tying up her tongue, so that she could not speak at all. but did nothing but sit crying and wringing her hands in the chimney-corner. These carryings on brought round new-year's eve again, when Boss Boomptie thought he would have a frolic, " in spite of the duyvel," as he said, which saying was, somehow or other, afterwards applied to the creek at Kingsbridge. So he commanded his wife to prepare him a swingeing mug of hot spiced rum, to keep up his courage against the assaults of brickbats. But what was the dismay of the little man when he found that every time he put the be- verage to his lips he received a great box on the ear, the mug was snatched away by the invisible KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 213 hand, and every single drop drunk out of it before it came to Boss Booniptie's turn. Tiien, as if it was an excellent joke, he heard a most diabolical laugh down in the cellar. ''Saint Nicholas and Saint Johannes de Doo- per!" exclaimed the little man in despair. Tliis was attacking him in the very intrenchments of his heart. It was worse than the brickbats. " Saint Nicholas ! Saint Nicholas ! what will be- come of me — what sal Ich doon, mynheer ?" Scarcely had he uttered this pathetic appeal, when there was a sound of horses' hoofs in the chimney, and presently a little wagon, drawn bj" a little, fat, gray 'Sopus pony, came trundling into the room, loaded with all sorts of knick-knacks. It was driven by a jolly, fat, little rogue of a fellow, with a round sparkling e3'e, and a mouth which would certainly have been laughing had it not been for a glorious Meerschaum pipe, which would have chanced to fall out in that case. The little rascal had on a three-corner cocked hat, decked with gold lace ; a blue Dutch sort of a short pea-jacket, red waistcoat, breeks of the same color, yellow stockings, and honest thick-soled shoes, ornamented with a pair of skates. Altogether he w^as a queer figure — but there was something so irresistibly jolly and good-natured in his face, that Boss Boomptie knew him for the good Saint Nicholas as soon as he saw him. " Orange Boven !'' cried the good saint, pulling off his cocked hat, and making a low bow to Mrs. 214 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. Boomptie, who sat tongue-tied in the chimney- corner. " Wonderdadige Geboote !" said Boss Boomptie, speaking for his wife, which made the good woman very angry, that he should take the words out of her mouth. " You called on St. Nicholas. Here am I," quoth the jolly little saint. " In one word — for I am a saint of few words, and have my hands full of busi- ness to-night — in one word, tell me what you want.*' '' I am pewitched," quoth Boss Boomptie. " The duyvel is in me, my house, my wife, my new-year cookies, and my children. What shall I do?" '•' When you count a dozen, you must count thir- teen," answered the wagon-driver, at the same time cracking his whip, and clattering up the chimney, more hke a little duyvel than a little saint. "Der dapperheed updragon !" muttered Boss Boomptie. " When you count a dozen, you must count dirteen ! Twerndertigduysend destrooper- gender ! I never heard of such counting. By Saint Johannes de Dooper, but Saint Nicholas is a great blockhead !" Just as he uttered this blasphemy against the ex- cellent Saint Nicholas, he saw through the pane of glass, in the door leading from the spare room to the shop, the little ugly old woman, with the sharp eyes, sharp nose, sharp chin, sharp voice, and lea- ther spectacles, alighting from a broomstick at the street-door. KNICKERBOCKER HALL. 215 " Dere is the duyvel's kint come again," quoth he, in one of his cross humors, whicli was aggra- vated by his getting just then a great box on the ear from the invisible hand. However, lie went grumbling into the shop, for it was part of his reli- gion never to neglect a customer, let the occasion be what it might. " I want a dozen new-year cookies," screamed the old beauty, as usual, and as usual Boss Boomp- tie counted out twelve. " I want another one," screamed she still louder. " Ah hah !" thought Boss Boomptie, doubtless inspired by the jolly little caitifT, Saint Nicholas. "Ah hah! In opperhoofd en Bevelhefler — when you count twelf, you must count dirteen. — Hah! hah ! ho ! ho ! ho !" And he counted out the thir- teenth cookie like a brave fellow. The old woman made him a low courtes)', and laughed till slie might have shown her teeth, if she had any. " Friend Boomptie," said she, in a voice exhibit- ing the perfection of a nicely modulated scream — "friend Boomptie, I love such generous httle fellows as 5^ou, in my heart. 1 salute you," and she ad- vanced to kiss him. Boss Boomptie did not at all like the proposition ; but, doubtless, inspired by St. Nicholas, he submitted with indescribable grace. At that moment, an explosion was heard inside the little glass pane, and the voice of Mrs. Boomptie crying out, " You false-hearted villain ! have I found out your tricks at last ?" 216 KNICKERBOCKER HALL. " De Philistyner Onweetende!" cried Boss Boomp- lie. " She's come to her speech at last !" " The spell is broken !" screamed the old woman with the sharp eyes, nose, chin, and voice. — " The spell is broken, and henceforward a dozen is thir- teen, and thirteen is a dozen ! There shall be thir- teen new-year cookies to the dozen, as a type of the thirteen mighty states that are to arise out of the ruins of the government of Faderland !" Thereupon she took a new-year cake bearing the effigy of the blessed St. Nicholas, and caused Boss Boomptie to swear upon it, that for ever afterwards twelve should be thirteen, and thirteen should be twelve. After which she mounted her broomstick and disappeared, just as the little old Dutch clock struck twelve. From that time forward, the spell that hung over Knickerbocker Hall, w^as broken ; and ever since it has been illustrious for baking the most glorious new-year cookies in our country. Every thing became as before : the little 'prentice boys returned, mounted an the batch of bread, and their adventures may, perad venture, be told some other time. Finally, from that day forward no baker of New- Amsterdam was ever bewitched, at least by an ugly old woman, and a baker's dozen has always been counted as thirteen. THE ROBBER. WILLIAM C. BRYANT. Beside a lonely mountain path, Within a mossy wood That crowned the wild wind-beaten cliffs, A lurking robber stood. His foreign garb, his gloomy eye, His cheek of swarthy stain Bespoke him one who might have been A pirate on the main, Or bandit on the far-off hills Of Cuba or of Spain. His ready pistol in his hand, A shadowing bough be raised. Glared forth, as crouching tiger glares, And muttered as he gazed — *' Sure he must sleep upon his steed — I deemed the laggard near ; I'll give him, for the gold he wears, A sounder slumber here ; His chaj;ger, when I press his flank, Shall leap like mountain deer." • Long, long he watched, and listened long, There came no traveller by. The ruffian growled a harsher curse. And gloomier grew his eye. Vol. I. 19 m 218 THE ROBBER. While, o'er the sultry/ heaven, began A leaden haze to spread. And, past his noon, the summer sun A dimmer beam to shed, And on that mountain summit fell A silence deep and dread. Then ceased the bristling pine to sigh. Still hung the birchen spray ; The air that wrapped those massy clifls AVas motionless as they ; Mute was the cricket in his cleft — But mountain torrents round Sent hollow murmurs from their glens. Like voices under ground. A change came o'er the robber's cheek, He shuddered at the sound. 'Twere vain to ask what fearful thought Convulsed his brow with pain ; " The dead talk not,*' he said at length. And turned to watch again. Skyward he looked — a lurid cloud Hung low and blackening there ; And through its skirts the sunshine came, A strange, malignant glare. His ample chest drew in, with toil, The hot and stifling air. His ear has caught a distant sound — But not the tramp of steed — A roar as of a torrent stream, Swoln into sudden speed. The gathered vapors in the west, Before a rushing blast, Like living monsters of the air, Black, serpent-like, and vast, Writhe, roll, and sweeping o'er the sun, A frightful shadow cast. THE ROBBER. 219 Hark to that nearer, mightier crash ! As if a giant crowd, Trampling the oaks with iron feet. Had issued from the cloud ; While fragments of dissevered rock Go thundering from on high. And eastward, from their eyrie-cliffs, The shrieking eagles fly ; And lo I the expected traveller comes, Spurring his charger by. To that wild warning of the air. The assassin lends no heed : He lifts the pistol to his eye. He notes the horseman's speed : Firm is his hand and sure his aim — But ere the flash is given, Its eddies filled with woods uptorn, And spray from torrents driven. The whirlwind sweeps the crashing wood — The giant firs are riven. Riven, and wrenched up from splintering cliffs. They rise like down in air ; At once the forest's rocky floor Lies to the tempest bare. Rider and steed and robber whirled O'er precipices vast, 'Mong trunks and boughs and shattered crags, Mangled and crushed, are cast. The catamount and eagle made, At morn, a grim repast. THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. STUART '' I was bred a lady, and must have my state, through the prejudice of education." — Inconstant, Im. On the 4tii of October, 1829 — I love to be parti- cular in dates — a coach and six drew up before the shop of the well-known jeweller, M , Rue St. Honore. The equipage was covered with a profu- sion of gilding and heraldic devices, and the liveries of the footmen indicated high rank in the possessor. The steps being adjusted, a lady, splendidly dressed, descended, and entered the shop, where all the at- tendants, and even M himself, were profuse in their attentions — anticipating every look and sign, and displaying before her the most costly diamonds and pier Her ies. The lady, with the most lofty nonchalance, se- lected jewels to the amount of about five thousand pounds, which were immediately placed in a casket ])y the obsequious attendants, when, handing her purse to the jeweller, he found it contained a sum, THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. 221 somewhat exceeding tliree thousand pounds, and short of the requisite amount. The lady, with many graceful apologies, and a momentary flush of vexa- tion, begged pardon for the mistake — desired M to lay the parcel by until she should call again with the money, and giving her name as the Comtesse de L , departed with all the ceremony and splendor that marked her first appearance. The coach passed up the Rue St. Honore, in the direction of the Barriere Neuilly, turned by the Place de Louis Quinze, and finally stopped at the house of a celebrated physician in the Rue de Ri- voli. The lady alighted here, and was shown into the presence of the well known Docteur N , who, arising from his seat at a table covered with anatomical preparations, saluted her with his usual courtesy, and begged to know why he was honored with this unexpected visit. The lady, assuming an air of settled melancholy, replied, " I can hardly command my feelings, to tell you the cause of my unhappiness. My dear hus- band, the Comte de L , during the early years of our marriage, was all that a fond wife could de- sire ; my slightest word, hint, or sign was sufficient inducement for him to obtain any object of my wishes ; but latterly the scene is changed," (here her voice became nearly inarticulate through grief) " he has become moody, sullen, and reserved ; at times breaking forth into violent fits of rage with- out any apparent cause, thus making my life a perpetual scene of misery— in short, dear doctor, I 19* '^22 THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. more than suspect he is touched with insanity, and it is on his account that I now visit you, to obtain your advice, which I consider of more weight than that of any other member of the profession," (here the doctor, much flattered, made a low disclaiming bow,) '' especially as the dreadful secret has been concealed from all his family, not even his brothers and sisters having the slightest intimation of it. " The following circumstance, doctor, has espe- cially influenced my present visit. My dear hus- band, the comte, wishing to support the honor of his house, sent me last spring to the noted jeweller M , Rue St. Honore, with a carte blanche, to select ornaments to wear at the approaching festi- val. I at first hesitated, but finally, urged by his earnest protestations, went to-day, and chose a few to a trifling amount, more to please him than my- self, as he delights, the dear comte,*^ (here the lady sobbed,) "in seeing me splendidly dressed and sup- porting my rank. But, from the many similar in- stances I have observed, I have not the least doubt, that, on being reminded of the fact, he will pretend utter incredulity, and on being assured of its truth, burst into those terrible paroxysms, which but too clearly indicate the cause of his disorder. There- fore, dear doctor, favour me with your best — kindest advice — and — and — excuse the feelings of a wife ;"' (here the lady applied her handkerchief to her face and was silent.) The doctor, crossing his leg, and supporting his chin upon his gold-headed cane, began to cogitate, THE MYSTEKIOUS COUNTESS. 223 with his eyes half closed, and his body mclining forward at an angle of forty-live degrees. '• Hum — madame, confine him — yes, madame, we must — a clear case, madame — the humors, which, had they been pituital or salivary, would have been ex- pectorated, having become sanguineous and melan- choHc, have retrograded upon the cerebellum — hem — m — and, collecting within the parietal develop- ments, have partially obtunded the organ of me- mory, and occoecated the mental perceptions — yes, madame — water-gruel and flagellation"' — (here the lady's tears redoubled,) " beg pardon, madame, tell the worst — always best — what says Galen? ' Non decipiendum sed monendum ;' but excuse me, ma- dame, while I make the necessary preparations." So saying, he arose, rung a bell, and directed his valet to see his chariot at the door, and to order Jean, le porteur, and Francois, le cocher, to attend him immediately; "and, hark'ee," said he in an under tone, " tell them to bring all my apparatus des lunatiques, depechez, and let them follow in my chariot. I will avail myself of the carriage of the comtesse," (the lady made a bow of gratified ac- knowledgment,) " and be careful to remain in the ante-room till I call aloud." The servant retired, and in a few minutes an- nounced every thing ready. The doctor entered the carriage of the comtesse ; his own chariot fol- lowed at a short distance behind. During the ride, he used every argument to assuage the grief of the lady,w hich would burst forth at times with increased 224 THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. vehemence, until the honest medicin himself, har- dened as he was to the details of his profession, be- came affected by sympathy. It seemed as if every tranquil moment only added to the violence of the succeeding paroxysm. Passing down the Rue St. Honore, they reach- ed the jeweller M , before mentioned, when the lady pulled the string of the coach and alight- ed. Upon entering the shop, she desired M • to take the packet of jewels, and accompany her in her coach, assuring him of his pay as soon as she reached the hotel of the comte, adding, with a fascinating smile, that he could have no appre- hensions, since the jewels were still in his keeping. The jeweller, with a low obeisance of flattered va- nity, took the parcel into his hands, insisted upon handing Madame la comtesse into the coach, sprang in himself, and the coachman snapping his whip, the equipage rolled magnificently down the Rue St. Honore. After a drive of a mile and a half, and crossing the Boulevards, they stopped at a splendid hotel in the Place du Trone, celebrated in history as the site of the Bastile. The jeweller, with his packet, alighted first, then the doctor, and lastly the com- tesse. The doctor making a sign to his myrmidons, they remained in the hall, while the lady ushered the jeweller and doctor into an ante-room until the comte should be apprised of the arrival of his vi- siters. After a short interval, she returned, and di- rected them to follow her. Ascending a splendid THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. 225 flight of stairs, she pointed them to the apartment of the comte, at the same time receiving from the jeweller the package of diamonds, hinting to him to present his bill to the comte, who was ready to sa- tisfy him. Upon entering the room, an elegant chmnhre carree^ they found a fashionably dressed gentleman, engaged in writing at an escritoir. He arose at their approach, and seemed to regard them with a look of astonishment. " Symptoms to a hair," ejaculated the doctor, in an under tone. '• To what am I indebted," said the comte, " for tha honor of this visit T '\I believe I am addressing the Comte de L ,'' said the doctor. " The same," replied he, with a slight bow. " My name is N ," rejoined the doctor, after a pause. '• T have not the pleasure of knowing you," said the comte. To be so coolly and sensibly received by a mad- man, was a circumstance beyond the doctor's com- prehension ; the comte shrunk not from his fixed gaze, which, from custom immemorial, lias been known to enthral the insane, nor did any " gau- cheries" betray the " compression of his cerebellum." However, the doctor determined to persevere until some symptom should manifest itself, to justify call- ing in his posse comitatus. 226 THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. '• Were you never — that is to say — have you ne- ver been — hem — Monsieur le Comte — aflhcted with a violent vertigo, or headache, proceeding from — a — hem — pressure of the cerebral particles — in- deed, sir, you look pale — let me feel your pulse— ^ there it is — unsteady — tremendous acceleration ! ah !" " Sir !" replied the comte, who had yielded his hand in passive astonishment, " your language is entirely incomprehensible — explain yourself, sir, or I shall order my servants to show you the door." " Now don't be getting warm," replied the doctor, coolly, delighted at what he thought unequiv^ocal sj-mptoms ; " don't fly into a passion ; we all know your situation ; a little touched," (pointing to his head,) "just as your wife, the comtesse, said — very sensible at times," (aside to the jeweller.) *' My wife ?" almost gasped the comte, " this is beyond all endurance ! I have no wife — and, sir, let me tell you — " " Poor man — poor man — ^just as she said — for- gets his nearest friends and relations. I suppose, then, M. le Comte, you do not remember the jewels 5^ou ordered for the comtesse against the coming fite^ of M. M ? nor your repeated solicitations against her will ? nor — " " Mon Dieu ! que deviendrai-je V almost yelled the comte, leaping up and throwing down his cimir in his fury, as the jeweller advanced obsequi- THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. 227 ouslvj with his bill, a foot long, in his left hand, making a sweeping courtesy with his right. " Now, now," said the doctor, first in a depreca- ting, then in a violent tone, as tlie incensed comte approached him, "you had better be quiet — all ready to seize you in the ante-chamber;" then, as he rushed to the bell and rung it furiously — " no use — servants know your situation — won't come." And the comte, fairly exhausted by passion, sunk into a chair. " By what authority do you invade my house? and who are you?" he exclaimed. '• You'll know soon enough — got 'em outside — strait jacket and all — here !" cried the doctor, stamping his foot. The men stationed without burst in with cords, canvas, and all the apparatus for confining luna- tics, and made a rush upon the astonished comte, who, at the moment of their entrance, drew a con- cealed pistol and fired it at the doctor. The ball grazed the left side of his head, carried off a curl of his periwig, and so jarred his " cerebral develop- ments," that he fell, completely stunned. The rest rushed upon the defenceless comte, and overpowered him. They then slipped a strait jacket upon him, and bound his legs wth ropes, preparatory to carrying him to the doctor's inaison de sante. The doctor himself recovered immediately from the stunning effects of the shot, and superintended 228 THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. the operations with all professional precision, '• bear- ing," he said, " no ill to ihe j^aiivre comte for what he did, 7nente 7wn compote, and laboring under a mental plethora of sensibility." But the cries of the comte were long and loud ; he roared, foamed, and grinned at the benevolent doctor, and was in a fair way to occupy a cell of any maison de sanU with due lunatic propriety, when the neighbors and passers by, alarmed at his outrageous cries, poured into the chamber from all quarters, and among them his intimate friends, the Due de C and the Vicomte de S . On seeing them, the comte suddenly burst into tears,«and entreated them to free him from his con- finement, assuring them of his sanity of mind in such convincing terms, that the vicomte could hardly be restrained from drawing his sword, and making an example of the doctor on the spot. '•'• Ecoutez moi, done! Ecoutez moi T was all the terrified man of physic could utter. His story was told — the jeweller's coincided — but where was the lady ? — and the casket ? About two years afterwards, I made an official visit to the conciergerie, to attest the dying confes- sion of a female who had been arrested by the po- lice as an agent of the Carhsts, and had taken poi- son at the moment of apprehension. She was evi- dently sinking fast, and yet her eyes seemed to grow more lustrous, and her speech more articulate THE MYSTERIOUS COUNTESS. 229 and palheticj as ihe lividness of death overspread her beautiful countenance. There was a wild and fearful energy in her manner, as if she dreaded that life would fail ere she could unburden her con- science of its secret load. She began — " My name is Madeline Alaine, otherwise Jeanne Patignon, otherwise the Cotntesse de L !'' Jacques Minard, Notaire. Vol. I. 20 "LOOK ON THIS PICTURE." BY CHARLES SPRAGUE. Oh, it is life ! departed days Fling back their brightness while I gaze . 'Tis Emma's self — this brow so fair, Half curtained in this glossy hair. These eyes, the very home of love, These dark twin arches traced above, These red-ripe lips that almost speak. The fainter blush of this pure cheek, The rose and lily's beauteous strife — It is! ah, no — 'tis all hit life. 'Tis all hut life — art could not save Thy graces, Emma, from the grave : Thy cheek is pale, thy smile is past, Thy love-lit eyes have looked their last ; Mouldering beneath the coffin's lid, All we adored of thee is hid ; Thy heart, where goodness loved to dwell, Is throbless in the narrow cell ; Thy gentle voice shall charm no more. Its last, last joyful note is o'er. Oft, oft, indeed, it hath been sung. The requiem of the fair and young ; The theme is old, alas ! how old, Of grief that will not be controlled, Of sighs that speak a father's wo. Of pangs that none but mothers know, LOOK ON THIS PICTURE. 231 Of friendship with its bursting heart, Doomed from the idol-one to part — Still its sad debt must feeling pay, Till feeling, too, shall pass away. say, why age and grief and pain Shall long to go, but long in vain, Why vice is left to mock at time. And, gray in years, grow gray in crime ; While youth, that every eye makes glad. And beauty, all in radiance clad. And goodness, cheering every heart. Come, but come only to depart ; Sunbeams, to cheer life's wintry day, Sunbeams, to flash, then fade away. 'Tis darkness all ! black banners wave Round the cold borders of the grave ; There, when in agony we bend O'er the fresh sod that hides a friend, One only comfort then we know — We, too, shall quit this world of wo ; We, too, shall find a quiet place, With the dear lost ones of our race ; Our crumbling bones with theirs shall blend, And life's sad story find an end. And is this all 1 this mournful doom ? Beams no glad light beyond the tomb ! Mark where yon clouds in darkness ride ; They do not quench the orb they hide ; Still there it wheels — the tempest o'er. In a bright sky to burn once more : So, far above the clouds of time, Faith can behold a world sublime ; There, when the storms of life are past, The Light beyond shall break at last. TWO YARDS OF JACONET, OR A HUSBAND. BY JAMES GORDON' BENNETT. " I WISH,'- said Maiy Ann, " I had two yards of jaconet. I want it very much to complete this dress for the next birthday at Richmond. I want, besides, a pretty large length of pea-green ribbon. I want a feather, a white feather, to my last bonnet. I want — " " Well, my dear," said Louisa, her companion, " well, my dear, it seems you have wants enough. Pra}^ how many more things do you want be- sides?" " More !" returned Mary Ann, "why a hundred more, to be sure," said she laughing ; " but I'll name them all in one — I want a husband — a real, down- right husband." " Indeed !" said Louisa, " this is the first time I ever heard you talk of such an article. Can't you select out one among your many admirers?" " A fig for my admirers ! I'm tired — I'm sick — I'm disgusted with my admirers. One comes and makes silly compliments; says, 'Miss B , how pretty you look to-day ;' another sickens me with TWO YARDS OF JACONET. 233 his silly looks ; another is so desperately in love with me, that he can't talk ; another, so desperately in love with himself, that he talks forever. Oh ! I wish I were married ; I wish I had a hushand ; or at least, two yards of jaconet, to finish this dress for the Richmond campaign." Mary Ann B was a gay, young, rattling creature, who had lost her fotlier and part of her heart at fourteen. She was now seventeen ; pos- sessed a fine figure, rather em-hon-point ; not tall, hut very gracefully rounded off. Her profuse auhurn ringlets clustered negligently roimd a pair of cheeks, in which the pure red and white mingled so deli- cately, that where the one began, or the other ended, no one could tell. Her eyes w-ere dark blue, but possessing a lustre when liglUed up with feel- ing or enthusiasm, which defied any one to distin- guish them from burning black. Her motions were light, airy, and graceful. Her foot and ankle w^ere most elegantly formed : and her two small white hands, with soft, tapering fingers, were as aristocra- tic as could be imagined by a Byron or an Ali Pa- cha. Since the death of her father, which was a period of about two years or more, she had had many admirers, several decided offers, and not a few who hoped, but durst not venture upon the fatal question. She lauglied at their ofl^ers, ridiculed her admirers, and protested she would never marry till she had brought at least a hundred to her feet. For several counties around, up and down James 20* 234 TWO YARDS OF JACONET, river, she was quite a toast among the young planters. In those cla3's the white sulphur, blue sulphur, and hot sulphur springs were not much frequented ; but people of fashion in lower Virginia, the wealthy planters, were just beginning to escape to the Blue Mountains duriug the autumnal months. In one of those excursions, the party, of which Mary Ann made a lively member, w^as overtaken one afternoon in a sudden rain-storm, at the entrance of one of the gorges of the mountains. The party was travelling in an open carriage, with a sort of top resembling that of a gig, to spread out w^hen a shower broke over them with sudden violence. On the present occasion the leather top afforded to the ladies a very inadequate shelter from the torrents which fell down from the dark heavy clouds above. The first house they approached w^as therefore kindly welcomed. They dismounted, went in, and found several 3'oung gentlemen surrounding the hickory fire, wdiicli was crackling merrily on a large wide hearth. A young man, of rather modest, easy, but unob- trusive manners, rose at the approach of Mary Ann, and offered her his chair. She accepted it, with a slight inclination of the head, and a quiet glance at his general appearance. Nothing remarkable took place at this interview ; but a few days after, when they had all reached the foot of one of the moun- tains, which was appropriated as the place of gaiety and fashion, the young gentleman was formally OR A HUSBAND. 235 introduced to Mary Ann, as Mr. C , from Wil- liamsburgli, in lower Virginia. In a very short period he became the devoted admirer of Mary Ann — was extremely and delicately attentive — and, of course, gave rise to many surmises among the match-makers and match-breakers of the springs- At the close of the season he put forth his preten- sions in form. He offered himself formally to Mary Ann. As usual, she spent a whole night in think- ing, crying, deliberating, grieving, wondering, and next morning sent him a flat refusal. So this affair, which is a specimen of about thnty or forty she had managed in this way, was consi- dered closed beyond all hopes of revival. The par- ties never again met, till the moment we have now reached threw them accidentally into each other's company. Since the period just referred to, Mary Ann had considerably altered in her feelings and her views. She had pursued the game of catching admirers — of leading them on to declare themselves — and of then rejecting, with tears and regrets in abundance, till she, and the v»'hole world of young men, became mutually disgusted with each other. Yet she had many excellent qualities — was a fast and enduring friend — knew, as well as any one, the folly of her course of life ; but her ambition, her love of con- quest, her pride of talent, her desire of winning away the admirers of her female rivals, entirely clouded and obscured her more amiable qualities of mind and heart. 236 TWO YARDS OF JACONET, "How long have j'ou been in Williamsburgh, Mary Ann ?" asked her chere arnie, " Only three days, and I have only picked up three beaux. What a dull place this is. It is called the 'classic shades' — the 'academic groves of the Old Dominion,' and all that sort of thing. One of the professors entertained me a good two hours the other evening with the loves of Dido and /Eneas. I wish I had a couple of yards of jaconet." "Or a husband—" " Or a husband either, I don't care which ; come, my love, let's a shopping in this classic town." The two ladies immediately rose, it was about noon-day, put on their bonnets, took their parasols, and sallied forth. " For a husband or jaconet, you say." " Two yards of jaconet, or a husband." The town of Williamsburgh, like every other little towni in Virginia, or even New- York, does not con- tain many stores. A shopping expedition is there- fore soon completed. The two ladies sauntered into this shop, then into that, sometimes making the poor fellow of a shop-keeper turn out his whole stock in trade, and rewarding his pains by the pur- chase of a sixpenny-worth of tape. They had pro- ceeded for an hour in this lounging^ lazy style, when Louisa said, " Oh. Mary Ann, here is an old beau of yours in that store, with the red gingham flapping at the door like a pirate's flag ; come, let us go and plague him for ' auld lang syne,' as Mrs. McDonald, the Scotch lady of Norfolk, says.'* OR A HUSBAND. 237 " Certainly," said Mary Ann, " but which of my old admirers is it ?" "Have you got your list in your pocket?" " Not at all, 1 left it at my grandmother's at Rich- mond ; what a pity !" The two wild creatures, bounding like a couple of fawns over the forest glade, for they were reck- less of the public opinion among the old dowagers and staid maidens of WiUiamsburgh, entered the store and asked for a sight of gloves, muslins, and ribbons. Mary Ann did not seem to pay much at- tention to the fine articles shown her. She ever and anon cast her eyes by stealth round and round the store, endeavoring to discover if she recognized any of the faces, as that of an old acquaintance. She could see nothing to repay the eflbrt. Not a face had she ever seen before. She summoned up to her recollection all her former admirers — they passed through her mind like tbe ghosts in Macbeth ; for, notwithstanding her rejection of so many lovers, she ever retained a certain portion of regard for every poor fellow who had fallen a victim to her whim, beauty, Avitchery, and caprice. " This is an Arabian desert," said Mary Ann, sighing to Louisa, as she split a pair of kid gloves, in endeavoring to get them on. " Oh ! no," said a gay young shopman ; "indeed, Miss, they are the best French kid." " Pray," said Louisa, in a low tone, " don't you see any thing in the back room of the store ?"* 238 TWO YARDS OF JACONET, 111 a remote coiner of the store, there stood at the desk a plainly dressed gentleman, leaning over the corner of a wooden raiUng, with his eyes firmly fixed upon the two ladies, now so actively engaged in tossing over the counter all sorts of merchandise and light French goods. •' As I live," said Mary Ann, " there is my old Blue Ridge beau. Oh, how wet I was," whispered she, " drenched with a summer shower, when first I w^as thrown into his society. I believe the poor fellow loved me sincerely. Come, let us spend upon him at least ten dollars in jaconet ; he spent one hundred upon me in balls, dancing, colds, cough- drops, and drives, and got nothing for his pains but a neat hiUet-doiix. declining his poor heart and soft hand. Poor fellow !" With this sally the ladies bought several articles, scarcely caring whether they suited them or not. When they left the store, Mary Ann fell into a reve- rie, w^as quite silent, w hich for her was unusual and singular. Louisa's spirits, on the contrary, gathered life and energy as those of her companion sunk away. She talked, she laughed, she ridiculed her beaux, she raUied Mary Ann, and looking into her for-once-melancholy face said, " So, my love, you are caught at last." " Caught !" said Mary Ann, " indeed you arc much mistaken. I do not think — that is to say, I fancy I should not like to^ marry my Blue Ridge beau. Oh ! Louisa," said she, after a pause, with a tear in her eye, " what a foolish creature I have OR A HUSBAND. 239 been. Mr. Colling wood, for that is his name, I am sure, quite sure, does not think of me ; but I cannot remember the attentions he once paid me without a feehng of regret." " Why? now what's the matter with you? After refusing so many, are you going to throw yourself away upon a shopkeeper ? A descendant of one of the most ancient families in Virginia to marry a shopkeeper !" " Alas ! alas ! Louisa, what is descent ? What is fashion ? What is all the life I have led ? Do you see that little white bouse, with green Venetian bhnds, across the street ? I was one evening in that house. I saw enough to satisfy me that I have been pursuing pleasure, not happiness. Oh ! if I only could feel as that young wife does !" "You laugh — I am sure I do not think of Mr. CoUingwood — but there was a time when his soft, quiet, affectionate manner did touch me most sensi- tively." " Have you got the gloves you bought ?" asked Louisa. Mary Ann looked. She had forgotten them on the counter, or lost them. " We must return then," said Louisa. " Never," said Mary Ann. " I never dare look at him. I am sure he despises me. Oh ! if he only knew what I feel — what pangs pass through this heart, 1 am sure he would not — " " Come, come," said Louisa^ " we must return and get the gloves." 240 TWO YARDS OF JACONET, " Never." " Oh ! the jaconet or a husband, most assuredly; you remember your resoUition wlien we set out?" Mary Ann smiled, while her eye glistened with a tear. They returned home, however, and sent Cato, the colored servant, for the articles they had forgotten. After this adventure, it was observed that a visi- ble change came over the manners and spirits of Mary Ann. Her gay, brilliant sallies of wit and ridicule were moderated amazingly. She became quite pensive ; singularly thoughtful for a girl of her unusual flow of spirits. When Louisa rallied her on fhe shopping excursion, she replied, "Indeed, Louisa, I do not think I could marry Mr. Collingwood ; besides, he has forgotten every feeling he may have entertained towards me.'* In a few days after this event, a party was given one evening at a neighboring house. The family in which Mary Ann resided were all invited. The moment of re-union approached ; and Mary Aon, dressed with great elegance, but far less splendor than usual, found herself at the head of a cotillion, surrounded with several young gentlemen, students of William and Mary, professors, planters, and mer- chants. They were pressing forward in every di- rection, talking, and catching a word or a look from so celebrated a belle. Mary Ann, however, did not appear to enjoy the group that surrounded her. She was shooting her dark blue eyes easily and negligently towards the entrance, as every new OR A HUSBAND. 241 face came forward to see all ihe party. The music struck up, and rallying her attention, she immedi- ately stept off on a dos-a-dos^ with that elegance and grace for which she was so particularly remark- able. At the close, as she stood up beside her part- ner, throwing a beautiful auburn ringlet back upon her white round neck, her eye caught, w ith sudden emotion, a quiet, genteel-looking person, at the other end of the room. It was Mr. Colling wood. She immediately dropt her eyes to the floor, and looked very narrowly at her left foot, as she moved it on the toe backwards and forwards, as it were for want of iliought or to divert her thoughts. In a few seconds she looked up in the same direction. Mr. Col ling- wood still stood in the same position, watching every motion she made, and ever}' look she cast around her. She blushed — felt embarrassed — and went altogether wrong in the cotillion. '• What in the world are you thinking of?" asked Louisa. •• I scarcely know myself,"' said Mary Ann. In a few seconds the cotillion was brought to a close, and Mary Ann's partner escorted her to a seat. Mr. Collingwood approached through the crowd, and stood before her., " How is Miss ?" asked Mr. Colhngwood, with suppressed emotion. Mary Ann muttered out a few words in reply. She dropped her glove. Mr. Collingwood picked it up. Vol. I. 21 242 TWO YARDS OF JACONET, " This is not the first time you have lost a glove," said he, with a smile. She received it, and cast a look upon him of in- conceivable sweetness. " Do you dance again. Miss ?" " I believe not — 1 am going home." " Going home !" said he, " why the amusements are scarcely begun." '•' They are ended with me," said she, '•' for the night. I wish my servant would fetch my cloak and bonnet." " Oh, you cant he going home already." '' Indeed, I am," said she. '• Well," said he, with a smile, " I know your positive temper of old. Allow me to get your cloak for you r ■' Certainly.'" Mr. Collingwood left the room. Louisa and seve- ral other female friends gathered round her, per- suading her on all sides not to leave the party ere it was begun. She would not remain. Mr. Col- lingwood appeared at the door. In the hall, for it was the fashion then and there to do so, Mr. Col- hngwood took her bonnet and put it on. "Allow me," said he, "to tie the strings?" She nodded assent; and while he was tying the ribbon under her chin, he could not help touching her soft cheek. He was in ecstasy — she was quiet and re- signed. He took the cloak — he unfolded it — he stood in front of her — their eyes met — both blushed — he pulled the cloak around her shoulders — he folded it OR A HUSBAND 243 around and around her bosom — he trembled Uke a leaf — she trembled also — he pressed her warmly to his heart, whispering in her ear — " Oh, Mary Ann, if I may hope ? yet indulge a hope T' For a moment they wereleft alone. Her head sunk upon his breast — she could not speak — but her heart was like to burst. " Will I — dare I — expect to be yet happy ?" Their warm cheeks met — their lips realized it in one long, long, long respiration. They tore away from each other without another word — every thing was per- fectly understood between them. At this moment Mrs. Jamieson, the good lady of the mansion, approached, and insisted that Mary Ann should not go so early. " It is really shameful, my dear," said she, "to think of leaving us at this hour. AVhen I go to Richmond, do I leave you thus abruptly ? Why, Mr. CoUingwood, can't you prevail upon her to stay a while longer ?" He shook his head. '-All my rhetoric has been exhausted," said lie, '• and it has proved unavailing." Mary Ann looked at him very archly. " Well, now," continued the lady, '-'I insist upon your staying ; and she forthwith proceeded to take off her bonnet, untie her cloak, and sent the servant with them into the side apartment. Mary Ann was unresisting. She was again led into the room. CoUingwood danced with her all the evening. He escorted her home in the beautiful moonlight, and every now and then he pressed the cloak around her, with which she appeared not by any means to find fault. 244 TWO YARDS OF JACONET. Ill abuui a month, Mary Ann became Mrs. Col- liiigwood ; and immediately, as the parson had finished the great business of the evening, Louisa, who was one of her maids, whispered in her ear, '• Two yards of jaconet, or a husband." She smiled, and passed lier arm round Louisa's waist. " Both, my love — botli, my love. Jaconet and a husband, a husband and jaconet." EDITOR'S STUDY. BY THEODOR We were sitting in our little secluded study the other morning, ruminating on the most appropriate form of addressing you. our trusty reader, upon the vicissitudes of the past week, and had jus^t dipped our pen in the ink, shaken off the superfluous drop, and darted the ebon point toward the paper \\ith the impulse of an idea, when a knock, sudden, startling, and almost impertinent, caused us to lift our eyes. Rap — rap — rap. Come in ! and the intruder soon stood before us. We do hate to be interrupted while we are writing. It sweeps over our placid temper like a breeze across a mirror-lake, covering it with innumerable ill-natured little rij)- ples. It is too bad to crush the birth of a young thought — to startle away the timid bird-like visit of a new fancy — to break the images of a faintly rising dream. No one but a writer can conceive the irreparable nature of such an interruption. You cannot calculate how much you have lost, dear reader, by these ill-timed intruders. Ideas on such occasions are like the sweet fairies dancing on a 21* 246 EDITOR'S STUDY. green, who dissolve into thin air entirely, the vei} moment chanticleer opens his brazen throat in •• .salutation to the morn.'' With a frown like a thunder-cloud, therefore, and an inward ejaculation not necessary to repeat, we gazed at the evil spirit, who has to answer this week for all our stupidity. He was a forlorn and dismal looking creature, and, by the blessing of charity, we had no sooner looked on him than the clouds melted from our brow, the rip- ples of our temper smoothed away again into the usual unruffled tranquillity, and the ejaculation which had bounded up from our heart before we were aware, softened into a downright, sincere, and rather sentimental " poor fellow." He walked wnth a s^teady pace to a chair, and seated himself with a gentlemaidy grace and dignity which w ere broadly contradicted by the nature of his apparel. His hat was slouchy, and had evidently been brushed to death. It was one of those things which the dainty would never lift but on compulsion, and then exclu- sively with the extreme tips of the thumb and fin- ger. It was an antique. It might have been dug out of the ruins of Herculaneum. The elbows of his coat w^ere a history, an ancient history, reveal- ing much of his private life and circumstances, and with utter poverty written on every seam. Upon the subject of his nether integuments, we do — we shall — we must remain silent. To have addressed such a specimen of humanity in any other tone than that of kindness, would have been the part of a Polyphemus, and incompatible with the known EDITOR'S STUDY. 247 benevolence of an editor. We therefore spoke with our most courteous and insinuating air. He handed us a paper in silence, with a slight and momentary glow over his rigid, ghastly features, and a bashful casting down of the eyes. We opened it. It was poetry — smooth, fair, love-breathing poetry. Our very soul bowed in respect and commiseration for this piteous being, who from the struggling anguish and humiliation of such a station, could feel, and love, and write verses. And this fellow now has arisen at early morn, and gone out to smell the flowers, and see the sun rise ; and he has lingered at night beneath the moon, and brooded over hi^ destiny. What crowds of practical curses must have broken in upon his meditations ; what debts, duns, and bailiffs ; what enraged landladies, supercilious clerks, and saucy bar-keepers ; what disappointed schemes, vain yearnings, gloomy despairs — poor. poo7^ fellow. The verses shall be printed, we ex- claimed, even before we had read them. The man of rags and rhymes reached out his arm and grasped our hand. He knew by intuition we had been think- ing of his bailiHs and landladies. His Up slightly quivered, and a glassiness came to his fine hazel eyes, that might have been moisture or not, for ere we had time to conclude our observations, he drew himself up, and with a smile that showed a perfect set of teeth, and in a low pleasant voice, said, " It is my onhj enjoyment," shook us cordially by the hand, and w^as gone in a moment. Come, kind reader, let us see what he has been about. 248 THE DISMISSED. THE DISMISSED. By GEORGE P. MORRIS. "I suppose she was right in rejecting my suit. Bill why did 8hc kick me down stairs V Halleck's Discarded The wing of my spirit is broken, My day-star of hope has declined ; For a month not a word have I spoken. That's either polite or refined. My mind's like the sky in bad weather, When mist-clouds around us are curled ; And, viewing myself altogether, I'm the veriest wretch in the world I wander about like a vagrant. I spend half my time in the street ; My conduct's improper and flagrant. For I quarrel with all that I meet. Mv dress too is wholly neglected, My hat I pull over my brow, And I look like a fellow suspected Of wishing to kick up a row. At home I'm an object of horror To boarder, and waiter, and maid ; But my landlady views me with sorrow. When she thinks of the bill that's unpaid Abroad my acquaintances flout me, The ladies cry, " Bless us, look there I" And the little boys cluster about me, And sensible citizens stare. One says, " He's a victim to Cupid," Another, " His conduct's too bad," A third, " He is awfully stupid," A fourth, " He is perfectly mad " THE DISMISSED. 249 And then I am watched like a bandit, My friends with me all are at strife — By heaven, no longer I'll stand it, But quick put an end to my life I I've thought of the means — yet I shudder At dagger, or ratsbane, or rope ; At drawing with lancet my blood, or At razor without any soap. Suppose I should fall in a duel, And thus leave the stage with eclat ; But to die with a bullet is cruel, Besides 'twould be breaking the law. Yet one way remains — to the river I'll fly from the goadings of care — But drown ? — oh the thought makes me shiver A terrible death, I declare. Ah no ! I'll once more see my Kitty, And parry her cruel disdain, Beseech her to take me in pity, And never dismiss me again. THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY, BY ENOS T. THROOP MARTIN. " Amorem virumque cano" I LIKE a quotation ; especially if it be from the classics, or poetical, and at the commencement of an article. It gives to one's production an easy, dash- ing appearance, and tells much of one's acquire- ments, of one's reading and memory. A qiiotation. in short, is decidedly a good thing. It has been a matter of much regret to me, that while poets have sung the " Pleasures of Hope," the " Pleasures of Memory, and the " Pleasures of the Imagination," no patriot member of my profession has yet been found to trumpet forth the Pleamires of an Attorney. The loves, also, of all living things, from " The loves of the angels" to " The loves of the yhell fishes," have been celebrated in sweet sound- ing rhyme, while the effects of the gi^and 'passion on an attorney have not yet found an historian, even in honest and unpretending prose. Mine, tlien, shall be the task to portray them, and mine own, the loves that form the subject of thi^^ great effort. THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY 261 I was a remarkably enterprising boy, and made out to work myself, at the age of twelve, into a huge passion for a very demure little infant, who had numbered about as many years. But, as my heart was first caught by a chinchilla hat^ and my affec- tions were withdrawn from their object on account of a conceived slight from her, in playing " scorn,' I will pass from this, " my first love," with the sin- gle remark, that at this early period I formed an attachment for moonlight nights, and learned seve- ral lines of Moore's, " When at eve thou rovest, By the star thou lovest," &c. Several llames of a similar character, in the course of the three or four following years, blazed up in my susceptible bosom, burned brilliantly for a short period — flickered — and went out. The next great epoch in the history of my affections, was my six- teenth year. I have before me (only in imagination, dear reader !) a face that utterly baffles my skill in por- traiture. I might say that it was sweet — that it was beautiful — angelic — intellectual ; I might use a thousand such generally descriptive terms, but J should convey no idea of the young girl my me- mory has conjured up, and who sits smihng before me, as if in mockery of my vain efforts. What shall I do? Shall I commence an inventory of her charms, classify and combine them, add beauty to beauty, grace to grace, perfection to perfection, until I have worked up the portrait into loveliness equal 252 THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. lo the original 7 Or shall I try comparisons and similes, and describe her in a rhetorical figure ? I hke the latter idea best. It is soonest accomplished and will display the brilliancy of my fancy. Flow ers, it is said, are the language of love — T will make them tlie vehicle of my description of a lovely wo man. There is something in their light, delicate and transient beauty, so like her of whom I write and withal, so like her love for me, that they are admirably to my present purpose. Once more, then, let me address myself to thee, dear reader, and ask thee if thou hast ever seen a loater-lily — a young, tall, slender, graceful water-lily ? If thou hast, thou hast seen something as young, perhaps half as tall, and probably even more slender ; but certainly not half as graceful as Helen G., when in her fifteenth year. After all, I do not think water-lihes are per- fectly adapted to the description of female beauty. They answer well enough as long as we confine our observations to the figure, face, complexion, &c.. and are even useful when waiting about eyes, as, for instance : " Her floating eyes — oh I they resemble Blue water-lilies, when the breeze Is making the stream around them tremble." But when we come to the expression of the counte- nance, water-lilies, and all other flowers, are dead letter. There are a thousand beauties which they have no language to convey. Since writing the above quotation, it has occurred to me that a poetical would be better even than a THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY 253 flowery description of my Helen. There is some- thing in the very softness of poetry, its refinement, its elevation, its enthusiasm, so congenial with the female character — so allied to feminine loveliness, that it is singular the idea should not have entered my pericranium before. But, alas ! I am an attor- ney^ and there is a manifest incongruity between poetry and law. But if I cannot urite^ I can quote it ; and with a proper admixture of poetical quota- tions and prose writing, I think I shall be able to convey to the reader some idea of one who exer- cised a controlling influence over my early, very early life. When I first knew Helen G., she was not fifteen, half-woman, half-child — uniting the light-hearted gaiety and playfulness of the one with the intelli- gence and accomplishments of the other. " Oh, she was beautiful ! her flowing hair Hung in profusion round her neck of snow, And oft, in maiden glee and sportiveness. Her gentle hand would catch her clustering curls, And bind them in a braid around her brow. Oh, she was beautiful ! her graceful form Moved upon earth so lightly and free — She seemed a seraph wanderer of the sky, Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth." Oh, she was beautiful ! and my eyes told her so ; and a stifling, choking sensation I experienced on taking her hand to bid her farewell, some months after my first acquaintance, told me — what a sud- den gush of tears a moment afterwards told her, that I — sweet youth — was in love with her ! Wa^ Vol. I. 22 254 THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. it sympathy that for a moment dimmed her laugh- ing eye ? Was it with feehng that her voice trem- bled and her lip quivered, as she expressed the hope that she should see me again ? Was it with anger that her cheek crimsoned, as I, for the first time, stole a kiss from her lips ? I know not, for I has- tened from her presence, bewildered, amazed, sob- bing, happy, foolish ! She went to school, and 1 was desolate. I continued my accustomed pursuits, but they no longer possessed interest for me. I resort, ed to my old amusements, but the lightness of spirit that once gave zest to them, was with me no longer. My eyes would wander over the pages of my books ; but they might as weW have rested on" vacancy, for my heart was with its owner, and my fancy was busy in scenes enhvened by her presence. For four months I thus remained, partly happy and partly miserable, but always idle. This dreaming life ^vas interrupted by the actual presence of her who was the spirit of it. I did not let " concealment prey on my damask cheek," but told my love, and was liappy — happy for one short month, which being the utmost limit of a boarding-school vacation. I was once more separated from the object of my idolatry. Years passed before 1 saw her again, and I had become an actor on the busy stage of life ; a whirl- wind of human passions and cares had swept over the heart once occupied with her image; but through all changes and through all temptations I liad garnered up in it the recollection of my early THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. ^55 affection, and with an unwavering devotion had guarded it from the grosser and more selfish feehngs that began to find entrance there. " We met — 'twas in a crowd," at a large party. She was a gay, dashing, fashion- able woman, surrounded by admirers and flatterer?, to whom she was dispensing, with wonderful ease and grace, the words and nods and smiles, without which they assured her they could not exist. I think I observed a shght fluttering in her manner as I approached. I think the hue of her cheek was a little less brilliant, and that her voice \vas a little tremulous, as she answered my congratulations on her arrival at . But it must have been fancy, for the last word of her reply had hardly died upon her hps, before she w^as engaged in a spirited con- versation with a gentleman standing near her. One moment convinced me that the school-girl's love w^as forgotten. The demon of fashion had taken possession of the heart I had for years fool- ishly thought mine, and the love of admiration had distorted a sweet, unaffected girl, into a coquette. From the time I made this discovery, I -gave up all hope of further experience of the " grand passion."'' and determined, inasmuch as a wife appeared in- dispensable to my reputable standing in society, to make what is called " a prudent marriage" — that is, to marry, what I had not, a plenty of this world's gear. '• Hereafter,'' I exclaimed, " the shaft of Cupid must be gilded to pierce me. It is impossible for me to conceive a passion for merit and beauty 256 THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. alone. 1 would as soon think of coveting an empty coffer, as falling in love with a girl without the necessary attache of fortune. Yes — my " Tender sigh and trickling tear, Long for a thousand pounds a year," not the requisites for love in a cottage ; for the money itself — not for assistance in hastening the departure of my own few straggling farthings, l^nfortunately for my matrimonial prospects, the warmth of my new determination carried me into extremes, and instead of selecting for my future partner in life a moderately ugly woman, with a moderately large fortune, I opened my batteries upon a positive fright, with an estate larger than the domains of a score of German princes. Alas ! she was the child of misfortune, and my heart was, from the first, drawn towards her by the holy and blessed sympathy we feel for those on whom the hand of affliction presses. She had been bereaved of a father, who I presume w^as affectionate, and deserving of her love, and was the only child of her mother, and she (to wit, her mother) w^as a widow — a rich widow — very rich by her dower out of the estate, of which her daughter was the heiress. Poor girl ! was she not to be pitied ? It w as an afternoon in June. I was most roman- ticly taking a sociable cup of tea with my proposed s;pouse, under an old oak, at her country-seat on the river . I was drafting a declaration of my feelings, and had, with great care, framed one, to which I thought she could not ^ossihXy demur : i THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. 257 when, on raising my eyes from the green turf, to open my suit, my attention was arrested by the sur- passing beauty of the view before me. I am not an enthusiastic admirer of scenery of any descrip- tion, and, with the exception of that dear httle a?ii- niatc production, the fairest of all, the works of na- ture are unheeded by me, or passed with an ac- knowledgment merely, not di feeling that they are beautiful and glorious. But when I looked upon the noble river before me, winding its way through a rich and blooming country, decked with islands, and bordered with green : and above all, when the setting sun, collecting, as it were, all his glory in a dying effort, threw his golden light over the scene, giving his own hue to the sails, which here and there were spread to receive the faint breath of expiring day, and increasing the splendor of the distant view, I felt for once, that the works of nature were beautiful ; and that this world, notwithstand- ing the assertions of interesting young admirers of Byron, who, with hanging heads, bare throats, and black neck-kcrchiefs, bewail their blighted hopes, and rail against their lot in having been created mortals, was one in which I might content myself to live— to Uve, and hve happy— happy even with- out the assistance of my co-teadrinker. I gave up the idea of a prudent marriage, and my affections were once more afloat. But love had become a disease with me. Like the stimulant of the opium eater, or the potations of the confirmed - drunkard, it became essential to my existence. My 22* 258 THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. next flame had but one fault, which, unfortunately, 1 did not discover until my affections were almost irrecoverably fixed upon her. She was the most brilliantly beautiful girl I ever beheld. In form, feature, and complexion, she was unequalled ; and the dazzling brightness of her eyes, the fine classic structure of her head, and the air of easy grace which pervaded all her movements, made her at- tractive in the hio^hest dei^ree. I was a lover at sight. M}' imagination, ardent as usual, made her in mind all I could wish. I was delighted on a first acquaintance, with the piquancy of her remarks and her powers of conversation. I adored her. I opened to her the inmost recesses of my heart : I gave vent to the romance, the enthusiasm, the poetry of my nature. In a voice musical as the waterfall that murmured near my feet, soft and sweet as the summer night-wind that gently lifted my hair. I spoke to her of love, of the passion of love, of love in the abstract, its hopes, its fears, its joys, its sorrows, and, at last, I spoke to her of my love ! As with a trembling hand I took hers, and with a voice inar- ticulate with emotion, I proceeded with my tale — she suddenly turned around to me, and said. " Now, you needn't think to cheat me. I know what you want. You w^ant to flirt with me, and I w^on't !'' She was a stick, a stone, a w^armed and walking piece of marble, without a particle of feeling or sen- timent ; beautiful as the finest productions of the statuary, glowing, to appearance, as the emanations THE LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY. 259 of the painter, but, in fact, as dead and insensible as either. Interesting as these recollections are to me, I fear to dwell longer on them, and will therefore hasten to a close. Repeated disappointment did not dis- courage me. Rejections were often a relief; for like the " two third act'' to a bankrupt, they cleared off old scores, and enabled me to commence anew . Long and perse veringly did T struggle against my fate. But I was obliged to yield at length, and sub- mit to my present life of single blessedness. Other causes than those to which I have here alluded, have contributed to my present destiny, but they have also tended to make me satisfied with it. My life, since all hope of change has departed, and the fire and impetuosity of youth have given place to the moderation and love of quietude, which come with the increase of years, is not unpleasing to me. It is agitated but by gentle hopes and fears, by chas- tened joys and meek sorrows. The ruder storms rage not over it — sun and cloud still, in their turn, light and darken its horizon, and the coming breeze is not ungrateful ; for while it changes its hue, its gives variety and freshness to its form. The pleasures of the domestic circle and the endearments of reciprocated love, it is true, are denied me, but my heart has found other objects to which it has attached itself ; and the tenderness that, prodigal- like, I would have lavished upon one, now finds an outpouring in benevolence to my fellow-creatures. TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, ESQ. BT THE LATE JOSEPH R. DRAKE, M. D. " You damn me wilh faint prais^e " Yes, faint was my applause and cold my praise. Though soul was glowing in each polished line ; But nobler subjects claim the poet's lays — A brighter glory waits a muse like thine. Let amorous fools in love-sick measure pine, Let Strangford whimper on in fancied pain ; And leave to Moore the hacknied rose and vine ; Be thine the task a higher crown to gain — The envied wreath that decks the patriot's holy strain ' Yet not in proud triumphal song alone, Or martial ode, or sad sepulchral dirge ; There needs no lay to make our glories known 1 There needs no song the warrior's soul to urge To tread the bounds of danger's stormy verge ; Columbia still shall win the battle's prize I But be it thine to bid her mind emerge ; To strike her harp until its soul arise From the neglected shade where low in dust it lies I Are there no scenes to touch the poet's soul I No deeds of arms to wake the lordly strain 1 Shall Hudson's billows unregarded roll 1 Has Warren fought, Montgomery died, in vain ■? Shame ! that while every mountain, stream, and plain. TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, ESQ. 261 Hath theme for truth's proud voice or fancy's wand, No native bard the patriot harp hath ta'en, But left to minstrel of a foreign strand To sing the beauteous scenes of nature's loveliest land ' Oh I for a seat on Appalacha's brow, That I might scan the glorious prospect round I Wild waving woods and rolling floods below, Smooth level glades and fields with grain embrowned ; High heaving hills with tufted forests crowned. Rearing their proud tops to the heaven's blue dome ! And emerald isles like banners green unwound. Seen floating o'er the lake, while round them roam Blue billowy helms and dancing plumes of foam. 'Tis true, no fairies haunt our "verdant meads," No grinning imps deform our blazing hearth ; j^ Beneath the kelpies' fangs no traveller bleeds, '^^ No gory vampyres taint our holy earth, No spectres stalk to frighten harmless mirth, Nor tortured demon howls amid the gale ; Fair reason checks these monsters in their birth ; Yet have we lay of love and horrid tale gv^ Would dim the manliest eye and make the bravest pale. 'l9| Where is the sterile eye that hath not shed Compassion's dew-drops o'er the sweet McCrea! Through midnight wilds by savage bandit led ; ''Her heart is sad — her love is far away ;" Elate that lover waits the promised day, When he shall clasp his blooming bride again ! Shine on, sweet visions ! dreams of rapture, play I Soon the cold corse of her he loved in vain Shall blight his withering heart and fire his frenzied brain I Romantic Wyoming ! could none be found, Of all that roam thy Eden-bowers among, To wake a native harp's untutored sound. And give thy tale of wo the voice of song? 262 TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, ESQ. Oh ! if description's cold and nerveless tongue From stranger harp such hallowed strains could call. How doubly sweet the descant wild had rung. From one who lingering o'er "thy ruined wall," Had plucked thy mourning flowers and wept thy timeless fall The Huron chief escaped from foemen nigh. His frail bark lanches on Niagara's tides ; " Pride in his port ! defiance in his eye I" Singing his song of death the warrior glides : In vain they yell along the river's sides ; In vain the arrow from its sheaf is torn ; Calm to his doom the wiUing victim rides, And till adown the roaring torrent borne, [sconi I Mocks them with gestures proud, and laughs their rage to Arouse ! my friend — let vivid fancy soar ; Look with creative eye on nature's face — Bid " goblins damned" in wild Niagara roar. And view in every field a fairy race I Spur thy good pacolet to speed apace, And spread a train of nymphs on every shore ! Or, if thy muse would woo a ruder grace, The Indian's evil manitoes explore, And rear the wondrous tale of legendary lore. Away I to Susquehanna's utmost springs Where throned in mountain mist Arouski reign?«. Shrouding in lurid clouds his plumeless wings. And sternly sorrowing o'er his tribe's remains I His was the arm, like comet ere it wanes, That tore the streamy lightning from the skies, And smote the mammoth of the southern plains ! Wild with dismay the Creek affrighted flies, While in triumphant pride Kenhava's eagles rise Or westward far where dark Miami wends, Seek that fair spot as yet to fame unknown, TO FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, ESQ 263 Where when the vesper dew of heaven descends. Soft music breathes in many a melting tone ; At times so sadly sweet it seems the moan Of some poor Ariel penanced in the rock — Anon a louder burst — a scream ! a groan ! And now amid the tempest's reeling shock, Gibber, and shriek, and wail, and fiendish laugh, and mock. Or climb the palisado's lofty brows, Where dark Omanas waged the war of hell. Till roused to wrath the mighty spirit rose And pent the demons in their prison cell : Full on their heads the uprooted mountain fell. Enclosing all within its horrid womb I Straight from the teeming earth the waters swell. And pillared rocks arise in cheerless gloom, Around the drear abode, their last, eternal tomb. Be these your lofty themes ! but ne'er resign The soul of song to laud your lady's eyes ; Go kneel a worshipper at nature's shrine ! For you her rivers flow, her hills arise ; For you her fields are gi-een and fair her skies ; And will you scorn them all to pour your tame And heartless lays of forced or fancied sighs? Still will you wrong the muse, nor blush for shame, To cast away renown and hide your head from fame ? Come! shake your trammels off! let fools rehearse Their loves and raptures in unmeaning chime ; Oam close their crude conceits in mawkish verse. And torture hacknied thoughts in timeless rhyme : But thou shalt soar in glorious verse sublime ! With heavenly voice of music, strength, and fire, Waft wide the wonders of thy native clime ; With patriot pride each patriot heart inspire, Till Europe's bards are mute before Columbia's lyre. / A SEA PIECE. BY WILLIAM GILMORE SYMMEt " This is a mystery of the deep sea, Please you to hear it ? You will not marvel much, For he that made it hath a mighty power, Calling up wondrous forms and images. Art cannot compass."— O^d Play. It was on a pleasant day in the month of Sep- tember, that I received a notification from the cap- tain of a small vessel, in which my passage for a distant port had been engaged, apprising me of his intention to sail immediately. I had been already delayed for some days, the wind being in our teeth : and, though still loth, as all young trav^ellers usually are, to leave home for the first time, the suspense and impatience from waiting had been such, that the hurrying call had the effect of something hke a pleasurable reprieve upon my mind, and I instantly obeyed it. A few moments sufficed to complete my preparations, and in tvvo hours all hands were on board, and the little swallow-like packet, under ont_ spread wings, and a clear and beautiful sky, was rapidly leaving the land. We had but two passen- A SEA PIECE. 265 gers beside myself, both equally young, and equally new to the perils and mysteried of the sea ; and for a moderately long voyage, the prospects of enjoy- ment were rather more limited than was desirable. We were soon conscious of our mutual dependence, and accordingly we entered into a determination, each of us, to do our little for the common comfort and gratification. What with striding the narrow deck, half the time in the way of one another — watching the land of our birth-place and homes fast receding from our eyes, and calculating, with many doubts, the various chances of our voyage, we contrived, as may be supposed, to get through the first day very amicably, and with tolerable satisfac- tion. We were now fairly at sea. The plane of ocean became rapidly undulated and more buoyant. Broad swells of water bore our bark like a shell, sportively upon their bosoms, then sinking with equal suddenness from beneath, left it to plunge and struggle in the deep hollow's, until borne up by other and succeeding billows. Space and density, in glori- ous contrast and comparison, were all at once before us, in the blue world of vacuity hanging and stretch- ing above, and the immense, seldom quiet, and mur- muring mass spread out below it. The land no longer met our eyes, though strained and stretched to the utmost. The clouds came down, and hung about us, narrowing the horizon to a span, and minghng gloomily with the surges that kept howling perpe- tually around us, growing at each moment more and more threatening and restless. Not a speck Vol. I. 23 % 266 A SEA PIECE. besides our own little vessel was to be seen amidst that wide infinity, that, admirably consorted, was at once beneath, above, around, and about us. Two days went by in this manner, with scarcely any alteration in the monotonous character of the pros- pect. Still the weather was fine — the clouds that gathered between, formed a shelter from the inten- sity of a tropical sun, and, in that warm time and region, were a positive luxury. But, towards the evening of the third day, there was a hazy red crown about the sun as he sunk behind the swell in our front — a curling and increasing motion of the black waters, rushed impetuously forward into the wild cavern into which he descended — the wind freshened, and took to itself a melancholy and threatening tone, as it sung at intervals among the spars and cordage; and, while it con- tinued of itself, momentarily, to change its bur- den, appeared, with a fine mystery, to warn us of a yet greater change in the aspect and temper of the dread elements, all clustering around us. The old seamen looked grave and weather-wise, and shook their heads sagaciously, when questioned about the prospect. The captain strode the deck impatiently and anxiously, giving his orders in a tone that left little doubt on my mind, of a perfect familiarity, on the part of the ancient voyageur, with the undeceptive and boding countenance of sea and sky. Night came on, travelling hurriedly, and cloaked up in impenetrable gloom. The winds continued to freshen and increase ; and but a single # A SEA PIECE, -^m 267 Star, hanging out like hope, shot a glance of promise and encouragement through the pitchy and threat- ening atmosphere. The prospect was quite too uncheering to permit of much love, or many looks on the part of fresh-water seamen. By common consent, we went helow, and ransacking our trunks, were enabled to conjure up a pack of cards, with which, to the no small inconvenience of our captain, we sought to shut out from thought any association with the dim and dismal prospect w^e had just been contemplating. He did not, it is true, request us to lay aside our amusement, but he annoyed us exces- sively by his mutterings on the subject. He bade us beware, for that we were certainly bringing on a storm. He had seen it tried, very often, he assured us, to produce such an effect, and he had never known it fail. His terrors brought us the very amuse- ment for which he was unwilling we should look to such devilish enginery as a pack of cards. We had not needed this, to convince us that the seaman was rather more given to superstition than w^ell comported with the spirit of the age. He was a Connecticut man, thoroughly imbued with blue laws, Cotton Mather, (fcc, and all the tales of de- monology and witchcraft, ever conceived or hatched in that most productive of all countries in the way of notions. He lectured us freely and frequently upon his favorite topic, on which much familiarity had even made him eloquent. We encouraged him in his failing, and derived our sport from its indul' gence. Believing fervently himself every syllable he 268 A SEA PIECE. Uttered, he could not understand our presumption in doubting, as we sometimes did, many of the vera- cious and marvellous legends of New-England and the " Sound,"' which he volunteered for our edifica- tion ; and when at length, convinced of the utter impossibility of overthrowing Avhat, no doubt, he considered the heresy of our scepticism, he appeared to resign himself to the worst of fates. He evidently regarded each of us as a Jonah, not less worthy of the water and whale than his prototype of old ; and, I make not the shghtest question, would have tum- bled us all overboard, without a solitary scruple, should the helm refuse to obey, or the masts go by the board. His stories, however, I am free to con- fess for myself, and I may say for my companions also, however our philosophy might be disposed to laugh at the matter, had a greater influence upon all of us than we were willing to admit to one ano ther. Upon me, in particular, the impression pro- duced was peculiar in its character. Not that, for a single moment, I could persuade myself, or be per- suaded by others, that the mere playing of any game whatever could bring down upon us the wrath of Heaven, or " hatch a fiendish form upon the deep," but naturally disposed to live and breathe only in an "element of fiction and fantastic change," I drank in every thing savoring of the marvellous with an earnest and yielding spirit. He seemed to have been born and to have hved all his life in a " witch element." He had stories, filled and worked by this principle, of every section of the world in A SEA PIECE 269 which he had sojourned or travelled. He had seen the old boy himself, in the shape of a black pigeon, in a squall off the capes of Delaware ; and once, on the night of the twenty-seventh June, had himself counted (he phantom-ships of the British fleet, under Sir Peter Parker, as they were towed over the bar of Charleston, in South Carolina, to the attack of Fort Moultrie. What seemed to vex liim the most of these things was, that the Carolinians, whom he pronounced a most obstinate and unteachable race, refused to believe a word of the matter. But his favorite legend, and that which he believed as honestly as the best authenticated chapter in scrip- ture, was that of the Flying Dutchman, who was driv en out of the German Ocean ; and in process of time, and for some such offence, was doomed to a like travail with the wandering Jew. This identi- cal visionary he had seen more than once, and on one occasion had nearly suffered by speaking him. It was only by dint of good fortune and bad wea- ther that he escaped unseen by that dreadful voy- ageur, to be noticed by whom is peril of storm and wreck and utter destruction. It was of this danger- ous sail he had now to warn us. We were told that this sea. and almost the very portion which w^e now travelled, was that in which the Dutchman, at this season, usually sojourned for the exercise, with more perfect freedom, of his manifold vagaries — a power being given him, according to our worthy captain, for the due and proper punishment of those who. when his spirit was abroad upon the waters, dared 23* 270 A SEA PIECE. to palter and trifle in idle games, sport, and buf- foonery. Tlie voyageur evidently apprehended much, and as the gale freshened, his countenance grew more gloomy, and his words more importu- nate in reference to those levities and sports which we had fallen into. To pacify him we forbore, and were compelled to refer to other resources for the recreation which we required at such a time. There were three of us, and we told our several stories. The youngest of our trio was young indeed. He was tall, slender, graceful ; eminently beautiful, a highly intelligent mind, and a finely wrought and susceptible spirit. He was deeply in love, truly devoted to the young maiden, and the short time contemplated to elapse before they should again meet, was one of great and bitter privation. Be- coming intimate from the circumstances of our situ- ation, and probably from certain innate sympathies, we learned all these particulars from his own hps. He described the charms of his mistress, gave us the entire history of his connection, his hopes and fears and prospects ; and, in turn, we were equally com- municative. His name was Herbert. The storm increased, and with so much violence, that we were fain to go upon the deck, impatient of our restraint below, though by no means secure, even with ropes and bulwarks and a tenacious grasp above. I shall never forget the awful splen- dor, the fearful, the gorgeous magnificence of that prospect. In the previous ten minutes the gale had increased to a degree of violence that would not A SEA PIECE. 271 permit us to hang out a rag of sail, and the vessel, under her bare poles, was driving upon and through the black and boiling waters. Nothing was now to be seen but the great deeps, and vast and pon- derous bulk and body which groaned with its own huge and ungovernable labors. Horrible abysses opened before us, monstrous and ravenous billows rushed after us in awful gambols. Mountains ga- thering upon mountains, clustering and clashing together, threw up from the dreadful collision tall spiry columns of white foam, that keeping its posi- tion for a few seconds would rush down towards us, like some god of the sea, bestriding the billows, and directing tlieir furies for our destruction. Under such impulses we drove on, with a recklessness fully according with the dread spirit that presided over the scene ; now darting through the waters, occasionally rushing beneath them, then emerging and throwing off the spray, that shone upon the black and terrific picture, in a contrast as grotesque as the tinsel ornaments upon the robe of a tyrant, in the thick of the battle, or at the execution of thousands. On a sudden our course was arrested by a mountain of water, under which our vessel labored. She broke through the impediment, how- ever, with a fearful energy. Another sea came on, which we shipped, and the bark reeled without power beneath the stroke. I was thrown from my feet, and seized with difficulty by the side, the wa- ter rushing in volumes over me. Again she sprung up and righted, bnt with a shock that again lost 272 ^ SEA PIECE. me the possession of my hold. At that moment a shriek of agony rushed through my senses ; and immediately beside me a passenger, one of my com- panions, torn from his hold, was swept over the side, into the unreturning ocean. He passed but a foot from me, in his progress to the deep. How ter- rible was his cry of death — it will never pass out of my memory. He grasped desperately at my arm as he approached me. He would have dragged me with him to death, but I shrunk back ; and his look — the gleam of his eye — its vacantly horrible ex- pression will never leave me. The vessel rushed on, unheeding ; and I saw him borne by the waves buoyantly for many yards in her wake before he sunk. He called upon Heaven, and the winds howled in his ears, and the waters mocked his sup- plications. Down he went, with one husky cry that the seas stifled ; and the agony was over. That cry brought a chilling presentiment to my heart. Des- pair was in it to all. Though I seemed to live under alike influence, there was a degree of strange reck- lessness even in our scrupulous captain, for which I could not, and indeed did not seek to account. I felt assured we could not long survive. Our vessel groaned and labored fearfully ; her seams opened, and the water came bubbling and hissing in, as if impatient of their prey. Still she went on, the vio- lence of the storm contributing to the buoyancy of the billows, and aiding her in keeping afloat. But, amidst all this rage and tumult, the strife of war- ring and vexed elements, there was yet one mo- A SEA PIECE. 273 ment in which we were under a universal calm ; one awful moment afforded, seemingly by the de- mon who had roused the tempest, that we might be enabled adequately to comprehend our situation. The feeling in this extreraest moment was the same with all on board, with no exception ; and one una- nimous prayer went up to heaven. It was but a moment. The winds and the waves went forth with redoubled violence and power. There seemed an impelling tempest from every point of the compass. Suddenly a broad and vivid flash of hghtning illuminated the black and boiling surges ; lingering upon them suffi- ciently long to give us a full glance of the scene. Immediately in our course, came a large and majes- tic vessel. She had no sails, but pursued a path directly in the teeth of the tempest. She came down upon us with the swiftness of an eagle. Her decks w^ere bare, as if swept by a thousand seas — we were right in her path — there was no veering, no change of course — no hope. The voice of the captain rose above the tempest— it had a hor- ror which the storm itself lacked. It spoke of the utter despair, which was the feeling of all of us alike. " The Flying Dutchman," was all he could say, ere the supposed phantom was over us. I felt the shock — a single crash — and crew, cargo, vessel, all — were down, crushed and writhing beneath its superior weight, struggling with, and finally sink- ing beneath the exulting w aters. But where was .she, the mysterious bark that had destroyed us? — 274 ^ SEA PIECE. gone, gone ! no trace of her progress, except our broken fragments — our sinking hopes. There had been no time for preparation or for prayer. The fatal stranger had gone clean over, or, indeed, through us ; and, though sinking my- self, it appeared to me that I could see her keel, with a singular facility of optical penetration, cut- ting the green mountains behind me, with the ve- locity of an arrow. Around me, scattered and sink- ing with myself, I beheld the fragments of our ves- sel, together with the struggling atoms of our crew and company. Among these, floating near me, on a spar, I recognized the fair and melancholy features of young Herbert, the passenger, whose love affair I have already glanced at. I felt myself sinking, and seized upon him convulsively. The spar upon which he rested veered round, and, grasping it firmly, I raised my body to the surface. He felt conscious of its inadequacy to the task of supporting both of us, and strove to divert its direction from me. But in vain. Neither of us could prove capable of much, if any generosity, on such an occasion, and at such a time. Our grasp became more firm ; and, while death and desolation and a nameless horror enveloped every thing in which we were the sole surviving occu- pants, we were enemies, deadly and avowed ene- mies — we, who had exchanged vows of the warm- est friendship — to whom our several hopes and prospects had been unfolded with a confidence the most pure and unqualified — we sought each other's destruction, as the only hope in which our own A SEA PIECE. 275 lives could repose. He appealed to me with tears — spoke of the young girl who awaited him — the joys that were promised — the possibility of both survi- ving, if I would swim off to a neighboring spar which he strove to point out to me. But 1 saw no spar ; I felt that he strove to deceive me, and I be- came indignant with his hypocrisy. What was his love to me ? I laughed with a fierce fury in his face. I too had loves and hopes, and I swore that I would not risk further a life so precious in so many ways. The waters seemed to comprehend our situation — a swell threw us together, and our grasp was mu- tual. My hand was upon his throat with the gripe and energy of despair ; his arms, in turn, woujid about my body. I strangled him. I held on, till all his graspings, all his struggles, and every pulsa- tion had entirely ceased. My strength, as if in close correspondence and sympathy with the spirit that prompted me, seemed that of a demon. In vain did he struggle. Could he hope to contend with die fiend of self, that nerved and corded every vein and muscle of my body ? Fool that he was, but such was not his thought. He uttered but a single name — but a brief word — through all our contest. That name was the young girl's, who had his pledges and his soul — that word was one of prayer for her and her happiness ; and I smiled scornfully even in our grapple of death, at the pusillanimity of his boyish heart. I had aspirations, too, and I mocked him with the utterance of ambitious hopes. I told him of my anticipated triumphs ; I predicted 276 A SEA PIECE. my own fame and future glory, and asked the value of his worthless life, in comparison with mine. He had but one answer to all this, and that consisted in the repetition of the beloved one's name. This but deepened my frenzy and invigorated my hate. Had he uttered but one ambitious desire — had he been stimulated by one single dream of glory or of greatness, I had spared his life. But there was something of insolence in the humility of his aim that provoked my deepest malignity. I grappled him more firmly than ever, and withdrew not my grasp, until, by a flash of hghtning, I beheld him blacker than the wild waters dashing around us. I felt the warm blood gush forth upon my hands and arms from his mouth and nostrils, and he hung heavily upon me. Would the deed had not been done. Would I might have restored him ; but the good spirit came too late for his hope and for my peace. I shrunk from my victim. I withdrew my grasp — not so he. The paroxysm of death had confirmed the spasmodic hold, which, in the strug- gle, he had taken of my body. My victory was something worse than defeat. It was not merely death — it was the grave and its foul associations — its spectres and its worms, and they haunt me for ever. We were supported by the buoyancy of the ocean alone, while under the violence of its dread excite- ments ; and I felt assured that the relaxation to repose of the elements, would carry us both down together. Vainly did I struggle to detach myself ^ ^ A SEA PIECE. 277 from his grasp. Freed from one hand, the other would suddenly clasp itself about my neck, with a tenacity only increased by every removal. His face was thrust close into my own — the eyes lit up by supernatural fires glaring in my own ; while the teeth, chattering in the furious winds, kept up a per- petual cry of death — death — death — until I was mad — wild as the waters about me, and shrieking almost as loudly in concert with the storm. For- tunately, however, I had but little time for the con- templation of these terrors. The agony of long suspense was spared me. The storm was over. The spar on which I floated, no longer sustaine( by the continuous swell, settled, at length, heavily down in its pause, and without an effort, I sunk be- beath the waters, the corpse of my companion changing its position, and riding rigidly upon my shoulders. Ten thousand ships had not sustained me under such a pressure. The waters went over nie with a roar of triumph, and I felt, with Clarence, liow " horrid 'twas to drown." Even at that moment of dread and death, the memory of that vivid picture of the dramatist came to my senses, as I realized all its intensely fearful features in my own fate. What was that fate? The question was indeed difficult of solution, for I did not perish. I was not deprived of sense or feehng, though shut in from the blessed air, and pressed upon and surrounded ])/ the rolling and yet turbulent waters. For leagues, apparently, could I behold the new domain into which I was now perforce a resident, the cold corpse Vol. I. 24 278 A SEA PIECE. still hanging loosely but firmly about my shoulders. I settled at length upon a rock of a broad surface, which in turn rested upon a fine gravelly bed of white sand. Shrinking and shelteiing themselves in innumerable crevices of the rocks around me, from the violence of the storm that had raged above, I was enabled in a little time to behold the number- less varieties of the finny tribe that dwelt in the mighty seas. Many were the ferocious monsters by which I was surrounded ; and from which 1 was only safe through the influence of their own terrors. There were huge serpents, lions, and tigers of the ocean. There roved the angry and ever hungry shark — his white teeth, showing like the finest saws, promising little pause in the banquet on his prey. There leapt the lively porpoise — there swam the sword-fish, and galloped the sea-horse. They were not long in their advances ; I saw the sea-wolf pre- pare to spring — the shark darted like an arrow on my path, and, with a horror too deep for expression, I struck forth into the billows, and strove once more for the upper air. A blow, from what quarter I know not, struck the corpse from my shoulders, and was spent upon my head. My body was seized by a power in whose grasp all vigor was gone, and every muscle relaxed. On a sudden the entire character of the scene was altered. My enemies assumed a new guise and appearance, and in place of fish and beast and reptile, I perceived myself closely surrounded by a crowd of old and young ladies, busily employed with a dozen smelling bottles, which they vigor- A SEA PIECE. 279 ously and most industriously employed in applica- tion to my nostrils. Where was I l Instead of a billowy dwelling in the sea, I was in possession of the large double family pew in the well-known meeting-house. I had never been to sea — had not killed my companion — was not drowned, and hope never to be ; but the whole affair was a vast effort of diablerie — a horrible phantasm of the incuhi. got up by the foul fiend himself, and none other, for my especial exposure and mortification. The old ladies told me I had been trying to swim in the pew; the young ladies spoke of an endeavor to embrace the prettiest among them ; the gauntlike, however, most charitably put it down to a spiritual influence; as, entre nous, doubtless it was. So much for taking late dinners with a friend, drink- ing my two bottles of Madeira, and going to a niglit meeting when I should have gone to bed. WEST POINT. iggesied by tlie attendance on public worship of the cadeu, June, 15 BY GEORGE D. STRONG. Bugles upon the wind ! Hushed voices in the air — And the solemn roll of the stirring drum Proclaim the hour of prayer ; While, with measured tread and downcast eye, The martial train sweep silent by ! Away with the nodding plume, And the glittering bayonet now ; For unmeet it were with bannered pomp To record the sacred vow : To earth-born strife let display be given — But the heart's meek homage alone to Heaven ! The organ's mellow notes Come swelling on the breeze, And, echoing forth from arch to dome, Float richest symphonies ! While youthful forms, a sunny throng, With their voices deep the strains prolong I Deserted now the aisles — Devotion's rites are past ; And again the bugle's cheering peals Are ringing on the blast ! Come forth, ye brave, for your country now, With your flashing eye and your lofty brow ! WEST POINT. 281 A voice from the glorious dead ! Awake to the call of fame ! By yon gorgeous banner's spangled folds, And by Kosciusko's name ! And on Putnam's fort, by the light that falU On its ivied moat and its ruined walls I The wave-worn cavern sends Hoarse echoes from the deep ; And the patriot-call is heard afar From every giant steep ! And the young hearts glow with the sacred fires That burned in the breasts of their gallant sires. The glittering pageant's past — But martial forms are seen, With bounding step and eagle glance, Careering o'er the green ; And lovely woman by their side. With her blushing cheek and her eye of pride Sunset upon the wave I Its burnished splendors pour ; And the bird-like bark with its pinions sweeps Like an arrow from the shore ! There are golden locks in the sunbeam, fanned On the mirrored stream by the breezes bland. They have passed like shadows by That fade in the morning beam ; And the sylph-like form and the laughing eye Are remembered like a dream ! But memory's sun shall set at night, Ere my soul forget those forms of hght ! 24^ ] THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. BY WILLIAM r. HAWES. AVuoEVER has paid a visit to the interesting country around and about Jerusalem, has found a spot rich in legendary lore and romantic story. 1 mean not the ancient city of the holy land, but tliat modern Jerusalem, nigh unto Babylon, in the southern part of Queens county, Long-Island, which is conunonly distinguished and known a> Jerusalem South. Here, while that right good pen- man, Cornelius Van Tienhoven, yet signed himself secretary of New-Netherlands, ran the division-line between the domain of the Briton and the Hollander. Here was the field of many a border skirmish, and plundering foray : and the musket and scalping knife gave frequent occupation to Dutchman, Indian, and Yankee. Here are still to be seen the remains of old Fort-Neck, where Tackapuasha, the Marsa- peague sachem, was constrained to yield a sullen submission to the conquering arms of the new set- tlers from Lynn, Massachusetts, under the com- mand of Deacon Tribulation Smith.* This was + S. Woods' Memoir of Long-Island. THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 283 the place that was wept over by the ministers of New-England, even as the mother weepeth over her ailing infant, because the land was licentious, and covered with a flood of manifold profaneness.* It was the place afterwards designated by Governor Fletcher, in his speech to the New- York Assembly, as a place needing a schoolmaster and minister, because he " didn't find any provision had yet been made for propagating religion."t This, alas ! is not all. It is grievous to add, that the neighboring bays and inlets of the sea furnished sad temptations to maritime speculations, which they who were so fortunate as to have money enough of their own, affected to esteem of rather equivocal morality, and which the pressure of the times and the necessities of the people made in many instances very persuasive, ay, almost irre- sistible. Not that the Jerusalemites were absolutely all pirates. That is a hard name, and one that carries with it the idea of blood and robbery. But people must Uve ; and if a man has his crops all cut off or stolen, or if his house and barn are burnt down by the savages, he must, as a matter of course, look out for some other means of livelihood : and certain it is, that about these times, many worthy gentle- men invested much property in divers small craft, yclept brigantines and cutters, wherewith they * Minutes of Dedham General Assembly, 1642. t Smith's History of New- York. 284 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. scoured the sea, paying visits unto other vessels, and carrying on a general trade, after a very wliolesale and extensive fashion. Goodly revenues are said to have been derived from the business, and the names of many great men and lords were enrolled on the books of the concerns, as sleeping partners. The excellent historian of New-York tells us, that Captain Kidd had for his associates Lord Chancel- lor Somers, the duke of Shrewsbury, the earls of Romney and Oxford, and other equally illustrious individuals.* This fact speaks much for the honor of the trade ; and we should be careful how we in- dulge in harsh nomenclature of gentlemen engaged in it, seeing that it met the sanction and protection of the rulers of the land. No place was better calculatedfor a depotand sally- port, than the bays of Matowacs, as Long-Island was then properly called. It was so easy to run out and in ; and provisions and equipments and men were so handy to be got, and there were such good safe harbors, where you might lie and keep watch over the beach ; so that if a French barque from Mar- tinique, or a Dutchman from Surinam, or, in short, any vessel with which it might be desirable to have a little trade, hove in sight, you could up sail, and be on the spot in ten minutes. There are many relics, and many curious stories of these expedi- tions. The historian before mentioned, speaking * Smith, p. 152. THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 285 of the said water merchants with rather too much abruptness, says, " It is certain that the pirates were supphed with provisions by the people of Long-Isl- and, who for many years afterwards were so infatu- ated with a notion that they buried great quanti- ties of money along the coast, that there is scarce a point of land on the island, without the marks of their ' auri sacra fames^ Some credulous people have ruined themselves by these researches, and propagated a thousand idle fables, current to thi.^ day among our country farmers."* One of the most distinguished of the brotherhood, whose names have come down to posterity, was old Thomas Johnson, otherwise, and more familiarly and commonly called, old Colonel Tom. He was a man of unquestioned courage and talent ; and though every body knew that his clipper-built little schooner carried a six-pounder and a miUtary chest, for some other purpose than mere self-defence, yet there was not the man who was more respected, and walked abroad more boldly than that same Colonel Tom. He had the best farm too, and lived in the best and the only brick-house in all Queens county. This venerable edifice is still standing, though much dilapidated, and is an object of awe to all the people in the neighborhood. The travel- ler cannot fail to be struck with its reverend and crumbling ruins, as his eye first falls upon it from ♦ Smith, p. 15-; 286 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. the neighboring turnpike ; and if he has heard the story, he will experience a chilly sensation, and draw a hard breath, while he looks at the circular, sashless window in the gable-end. That window has been left open ever since the old colonel's death. His sons and grandsons used to try all manner of means in their power to close it up, so as to keep out the rain and snow in winter, and to preserve, moreover the credit of the mansion. They put in sashes, and they boarded it up, and they bricked it up, ])ut all would not do ; so soon as night came, their work would be destroyed. A thunder-shower was sure to come up, and the window would be struck with lightning, and the wood or brick burned up, or broken to pieces ; and strange sights w^ould be seen, and awful voices heard, and bats, and owls, and chimney-swallows, be screaming and flapping about. So they gave it up, concluding that as this window looked into the colonel's bed- room, his ghost wanted it left open for him to revi- sit the old tenement, without being obliged to insi- nuate himself through a crack or a key-hole. The location of the said domicil is quite roman- tic. A beautiful little stream comes out of a grassy grove in its rear, and after meandering pleasantly by its side, and more than half encircling it, shoots away, and crossing the road under the cover of a close thicket, a little distance off, gradually swells into a goodly creek, and rolls on its waters to the bay. The extraordinary material and unconunon grandeur of the colonel's tenement, very properly THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 287 gave to this stream the distinguishing appellation of Brick-house creek. It is a quiet innocent look- ing piece of water as ever dimpled ; yet does no market-man drive his eel-wagon across that creek, of a Saturday night, without accelerating the speed of his team, by a brisk application of the whip ; or without singing or whistling, perad venture, a good loud stave. This is no impeachment of the cou- rage of eel-merchants ; for any man is justifiable in keeping as far off from a burying-ground as possi- ble : and in fearful truth, when the passing hoof makes the first heavy splash into this stream, of a dark night, it is ten chances to one that the sleepy driver will see a dull, sulphureous flame start up, a few hundred yards to his left, from the spot where lie deposited the mortal remains of old Colonel Tom. That spot is the place of all places for the grave of a man who loved the water during his lifetime. It is a little hillock, lying immediately on the edge of the creek, which alwa3^s keeps its sides cool and green, and. in the spring tides, overflows its very summit. Sportsmen know the place as a peculiar haunt for the largest trout. Often have I felt the truth and force of old Izaak Walton's doctrines about piety and running brooks, when kneeling on that knoll, silent and almost breathless, I have thrown a quivering May lly, " fine and far oflf," below the last circle that broke the watery mirror before me. And then, when I had become weary of the excitement, or " the school was broke up," it w^as luxury to stretch myself out on the good green 28S THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. grass, and lean my rod against one of the tomb- stones, and decipher the almost obliterated epitaphs. No man dare, no man can be irreverend here. Independently of the associations and the stories about the place, the very locality, the air, the ground, the water, make one sentimentally and seriously disposed in spite of himself — excepting, always, in mosquito time. In ancient days, if Jim Smith and Daniel Wanza (who always killed more fish than any two men in the county) spoke of try- ing Brick-house creek, they always did it with a thoughtful, solemn visage, as 'though they were talking of going to jail, or a funeral. And well they might : for they were soaking their villanous ground-bait there one afternoon, when a Yorker, who had been lashing the water with all manner of etymologicial excerpts from his fishing-book for tedious hours, at last struck a glorious three-poun- der. " By heaven," he exclaimed in the transports of his delight, " I've got a good one." But the words were no sooner out of his mouth, than the fish was off'his hook. The ground heaved underneath them ; a low, rumbling noise was heard ; a few drops of rain fell, and Daniel said he smelt sulphur very plainly. But Saturday night used to be the time to go down to the creek to see sights. Then was the time when the old pirate was sure to have a frolic. There are many most credible people who remem- ber repeatedly seeing his little schooner dashing across the bay, with her full complement of meii THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 289 and arms, sailing right into the eye of the wind ; while every now and then the crew's upUfted right hands showed each a brimming goblet, and the air smelt of Jamaica spirits, and then rung with a hoarse hurrah. Just at dawn the schooner would make up Brick-house creek, and run into the grave yard and vanish. When Jaac Spragg first went down to Hungry harbor to live — this was a good many years ago — he used to laugh at all these stories. His aunt Cha- rity often took him to task, and told him he'd be sorry for his want of faith one day or other ; but Jaac stuck to his infidelity, and once he went so far as to say, that " he'd be hanged if he wouldn't hke to come across this same Colonel Tom." Ben Storer was standing by, and heard that speech, and offered Jaac to wager him a quart of rum he wouldn't dare to go eeling next Saturday night alone, down in the bay below Brick-house creek. Jaac laughed, and took the bet at once. Satur- day night came, and his skiff, jack, and firewood were all ready. Now, as the word '- jack " is not to be found in any but ichthyological dictionaries, it shall be the glory, as it is the duty of the faithful narrator of this authen- tic legend, here to explain its signification, and to in- troduce it into good society. " Jack " is an English abbreviation of the Latin " jaculum," which signi- fies any thing that may be shot or thrown. This is the definition given by the learned Varro, whose words (as the scholar will remember) are ^'jacidum Vol. I. 25 290 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. dicitur, quod tU jadatur^fit" The Roman fisher- men, ill the time of Augustus, apphed the word precisely as do our modern piscators. Thus Ho- race, in his ode to Grosphus, goes out of his way to pay himself a comphment for his own skill with the eel-spear : " * * * * brevi fortes jacularnnr aevo Multa.'' It consists of a series of sharp iron prongs or forks, barbed and headed, united in a straight cross- piece, and secured, nailed, or otherwise fastened upon a light wooden rod or pole, fifteen or twenty feet long. It may be hkened, above all things else, to a three-pronged pitchfork, save that a pitchfork hath no barb, and that the eel-spear is calculated to catch eels, and the pitchfork to toss hay and sinners: which are not so slippery. The distinction is very happily expressed by Quintihan, in the word " ab- ruj)ta'^ — ^'' ahrupta qucBdam jacidantur^'* This said jack, then, being thrust with vehement force against the fishy victim, apprehends him in his muddy course, and brings him, wounded and squirming, out of his element. Night is the best time for this amusement, as you can then have the benefit of the light of a good fire to stream upon the water, and attract and dazzle your prey. The brightest fire is made by old pine knots, which you ignite on the bottom of your boat, upon a fire-place of large flat stones. The light thus kindled is called a "jacko'-lantern," from the woYd-^^jaculantur" above quoted, expressive of the act of throwing the THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. ggi spear ; and the word thus originally formed, is now common to every schoolboy in the country as the name of any wild fiery shoot or exhalation. Midnight arrived, and found Jaac on the bow of his skiff, faithfully shoving about the flats below Brick-house creek, as unconcerned as though he had never heard of pirate Johnson, or, what is more, as if he had no rum at stake upon his night's ad- venture. Jaac was always a bold, reckless fellow, and for fear of accidents, and the night being cool, he had fortified his inner man upon this occasion with a spiritual coat of mail, which made him cou- rageous enough to face the d 1 himself. The time was come to try his pluck. A stran- ger made his appearance through the murky shade, and paddling his old shattered boat alongside of Jaac's skiff, presented in the glare of the jack-light an object of fear and admiration. He was tall, mus- cular, sun-browned, large-featured, and lank-jawed. His eyes of piercing black were set far back under tremendous arches of overhanging eye-brows. His long, straight, black hair fell in every direction from under a naval chapeau-de-bras, which was evi- dently much the worse for wear. He was booted to the thighs, and his body was wrapped in a pea- jacket, tied about his waist with a piece of old rope. Around his neck was hung a speaking-trumpet, and a pistol-handle peeped from either outside breast- pocket. "Hilloa, mister, is that you ?" he sung out, in a 292 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. familiar, good-natured tone, to Jaac, as he struck his oar into the mud, and held on. Now, any ordinary man would have been fright- ened out of his wits by this salutation. But Jaac, although he felt rather queer, (for it run in his head immediately that this might be the old colonel,) an- swered the new-comer's question without the least trepidation. " Hilloa, jT^ourself, stranger, I don't know you.'' Conversation at once commenced ; conducted with- out reserve, and with some shrewdness on the part of Jaac ; but all he was able to get from the man with the cap, was, that he lived up the creek, and had come down to catch a mess of eels. Jaac knew that there was no living man hke him that had his habitation about those parts ; — as for ghosts, he be- gan to have his doubts. But he was nothing daunted. He talked to old Pea-jacket like a cate- chism-book; and quite a famiUarity began to be established. After a while, the stranger yawned? and said he believed it was time for him to go to work ; so he asked Jaac for a light to set his jack- o'-lantern a-going. Jaac handed him a fire-brand, which the new comer stooping, touched to some fire-works in the centre of his boat ; and immedi- ately up there started two long greenish shoots of flame, edged with black streaks. It was enough to make the stoutest heart quail ; for the light was oppressive to the eyes, and there was an almost choking smoke, and the fire-place was nothing else THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 293 than a human skull, and the two streams of flame darted from the eyeless sockets ! The old colonel, (for it was evident now that it was he,) having got all ready, took up his jack: which had only one prong — (but that was very sharp, and with a long barb,) — and began his sport. Jaac had not yet trembled a jot ; but now it made his hair to stand on end, to see the old man catch eels. When his arrow-like weapon struck the wa- ter, there was a hissing sound, as though the iron was hot ; and every eel that was drawn out, wind- ing and writhing on the fatal point, screamed and cried as he came into the air, hke a little child . The old man shook them off, however, and said nothing. He seemed to be very expert, and pre- sently there was such a squalling and roaring in his boat, that one would have thought all the children in Erebus had paid a visit to the bay. The noise at last seemed to disturb the colonel himself; for he turned around all of a sudden, and swore at the slimy musicians a loud big oath ; when they immediately left off crying, and began whis- thng. Jaac used to say that he'd "take his affida- vit of the fact, that they whistled a leetle ahead of old Caspar Van Sinderen's niggars ; and they're the best whistlers on Long-Island, by all odds." It set him a laughing, though ; and he was quaking and trembling and laughing all at the same time, for half an hour, so that he lost all hopes of holding himself together much longer; when a gun was 25* 294 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. lieai'd down among the breakers, in the direction of Gilgoa inlet. " A ship on shore — by ! " exclaimed the old colonel ; and he threw down his jack, stamped out his light, kicked his eels overboard, and pad- dled up towards Jaac. There was a fierce and de- termined rigidness of the muscles of his face ; his teeth were set ; his fists were clenched ; and his ej^es shot out a terrible gleam, that made Jaac wither away before him. He pulled alongside. " Jaac," said he ; and he then stopped short ; fix- ing his keen, savage eyes upon the almost blinded vision of the poor fisherman, and looking with in- tense gaze into his face, for more than a minute, as though he would read his very soul. At length relaxing his features, as if satisfied with the investigation, he proceeded : " Jaac, I like you : you are a brave man ; and I will make your fortune." He then went on and told him that he was certain there was a ship in the breakers, and he proposed that they should row down and get aboard, and kill the crew and passengers, and secure the cargo. The proposition was so bluntly made, and so startling, Jaac could make no reply. The old man, seeing that he had been too fast, sat down and began to reason about it. Alas ! alas ! for human nature, that the god-like exercise of the mind should make him a villain, who, ignorant, had been innocent ! The wise man said truly, that " in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow." THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 295 It was the serpent's subtle reasoning, and poor Eve's simple thinking, that accomplished the first trans gression. Every thorough-bred felon is a skilful, although he be an unsound logician. He can, at the least, find a reason or an excuse for his conduct, which himself, who is the only judge in the case, will readily determine to be good and sufficient. Were there not always some " flattering unction " to be laid to the souls of incipient transgressors, vice would have few, perhaps no willing pro- selytes. What said the old colonel to .Taac that could re- concile piracy and murder to his conscience? Why, he took for his text the speech made to Alexander by the Mediterranean pirate brought in chains before him ; and commented most Dale-owenistically upon natural rights, and abstract good, and evil, and faith, and evidence, and property, and poverty, and oppression ; until Jaac's brains were all in a whirl. " If all men are born free and equal," argued the tempter, •' what right have those rich merchants to possess broadcloths, and silks, and specie, while you have none? And if they will not willingly give you your share, haven't you a right to take it your- self? And if they resist you with force, haven't you a right to kill them in self-defence ? And what if the law forbid you — what is the law ? Is not that law against the constitution of human nature, which takes a poor man's share in the goods of this world, and gives it to the rich ? And are not greater crimes perpetrated every day, according to law, than of- r 296 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. fences are committed against law ? And after all? what does this ' virtue' consist in, but in the not being found out ? Answer me that :" — concluded the old casuist, with emphasis ; and he stuck his fists into his sides, and threw back his head with an air of triumph. Jaac scratched his consideration-cap, and though he did not wholly lelish the morals of his rapid in- structor, yet he could urge not a doubt nor a quer}^ upon the behalf of his forlorn virtue. Was it cow- ardice, or was it principle that made him hesitate ? '• Come, take a horn," pursued the cunning old seducer, " and cheer your spirits up. You'll be none the worse for a little steam this chilly night." Shall we stop here, and read a homily on tem- perance ? No, no, let every moral follow its own story. Jaac took the proffered jug, and being really very thirsty after his long excitement, he drank a good long drink, before he tasted what kind of hquor it was. At last he stopped, and shrieked out, as if in pain, he beseeched the colonel for some water, for the old rascal had given him something raw, that burned him just as though it were molten lead. The colonel told him he never kept such stuff, but advised him to cool his throat with a little of his own rum. Jaac did so, and he always said that it was like so much cold water, in comparison with the spiritual beverage to which his companion had treated him. It was not long before the co-operation of pcrsua- THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 297 sion and liquid fire had gained for Colonel Tom a willing coadjutor in his projected expedition. Jaac's eyes began to swell and burn, and he felt a vigor in his arm, and a fierceness in his heart, which he never knew before. He started up in his boat, and crying, "I'll go— I'll go— lead on," he led the way himself. On they pulled towards the inlet, in grim and death-hke silence, while another and yet another gun flashed upon the sky in the south-east, and illuminated the way to the scene of distress. A half an hour's row brought them into full view of a noble galleon, heaving and pitching, and beat- ing her racked and groaning sides upon a high sand-bank, about a quarter of a mile from the beach. The wind was blowing a gale, and the angry waves washed over her decks, and the cordage creaked, and her white sails all standing fluttered and veered, as if the crew were so frozen that they could not pull a rope. Just as they turned the point of the inlet, her jib was blown clean off, and fell into the water. Then up rose a wild cry of terror from the wrecked wretches on board. It was enough to melt a heart of stone. Just then the moon gleamed out from behind a black cloud, and discovered our two cut-throat friends. It was a gleam of hope and joy to the perishing crew ; " Thank God ! there's help," went up from many a happy heart. " Bring us a rope from shore," sung out the cap- tain of the ship ; " we're going to pieces." 298 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. The colonel, with all the coolness in the world, took up his speaking-trumpet, and in a voice above the inultitudinous uproar of the elements, answered, " Ay, ay, sir, we are coming. Hold on." •' Now, Jaac," said he, bending over towards his pupil, " take this cutlass, and when we get along- side, fasten your skiff to the ship, follow me, and go to work. Kill them all — every soul of them." Although Jaac was now possessed of the soul of a demon, yet he half repented of his undertaking. But it was of no use at this late hour. His destiny controlled him — he had gone too far to retreat. " Where's the rope ?" said the captain, leaning over the ship's side, as they came up. " Here it is," answered the colonel, discharging a pistol into his right eye, and leaping with a super- natural bound upon the deck. Jaac followed at a slow pace, and found the colonel cutting and slash- ing away, with great spirit and activity. The pas- sengers were all down in the cabin, at prayers ; but the crew were running about the deck, pursued by the old man, and screaming for mercy and quarter. Some ran up the shrouds, others sought the stern or the bowsprit, the long-boat or the hen-coop, and three or four poor fellows made their escape up to the cross-trees. But it was of no use. The old man pursued, and cut them down every where, and in every fashion ; and at one time the men fell from the mast-head as thick as hail. Jaac stood still, not exactly in horror, but in amazement. The excite- ment of the tragedy was glorious, but almost too THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 299 acute for comfort. He was like a living dead man. He could neither act nor speak. He felt within him all the fire of a murderer ; but he didn't know how to begin. Perhaps, it was because he had never yet drawn blood. He struggled hard, but could not move his hands. While laboring in this distress, the colonel came running up to him, mad enough to tear him to pieces, and asked him *' what he was standing there for, idle ?" Jaac started, and looked around for a man to kill, but there was not a living soul left on deck. So, being wilhng to do all he could, he picked up a sailor, whom the colonel had cut down with a sabre-gash across his head, and who was not quite dead, and carried him to the ship's side and threw him overboard. " Ha ! ha ! ha !" shouted the old gentleman, taking off his chapeau, and wiping on it tbe blood that was dripping from his hands. " Well done for a young beginner. But come, my boy, there's more work to do. Let's take a drink, and go and attend to the women, in the cabin. We'll finish our frolic there, and then see if there's any specie aboard. Drink, drink, my boy, and hurry, for the ship will go apart soon.'' The mad potation was renewed, and Jaac raved for blood. One blow with his foot threw the cabin- door off its hinges, and one bound brought him into the room where the miserable passengers, men, wo- men, and children, were huddled together. They were all upon their knees ; and one old gray headed 300 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. man was praying aloud, with great fervency. They gave a terrible shriek, as Jaac and the colonel rush- ed in, and crowded like cattle in a slaughter-yard, into a corner of the cabin, offering no resistance against their murderers. The colonel very quietly took a seat upon a sea- chest, and stretching out his arms, gaped long and lazily, and complaining of fatigue, told Jaac that he must kill these folks. " Certainly, sir," said Jaac, and he dashed at the crowd, cutlass in hand. But some how or other, he couldn't either strike straight, or else he couldn't get up close enough, or else, fierce as he felt, he didn't, after all, want to draw blood ; for he kept thrust- ing and slashing for a long time, and he didn't touch hide or hair. " Go ahead, Jaac," cried the colonel, sharply. " It's getting late, and we've no time to spare." Jaac sprang at the bidding of that awful voice, and dropping his cutlass, threw himself upon the gray-headed man above mentioned, and puUing him out into the centre of the cabin by the hair of his head, he took fair ground, and squared off at him with his fists : then drawing back his sinewy arm, until his knuckles were close to his chin, he hit him a smasher of a blow, in the left cheek, and knocked him down. '• I'll stand by that hck," said the old man, chuckling. "He won't rise again." The gray- headed passenger was dead. On rushed the initiated murderer. The spell was THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 30I broken that had tied his hands. He had shed blood, and was now as insatiate as his demoniac instructor. He swung aloft his cutlas over the head of the next wretch who came in his way, and who happened to be a pale young man, dressed ii. black, with spectacles, and wlio looked like a doc- tor, or a lawyer. But just as the death-brinsrino- weapon was descending in its swift course, upon its devoted victim, a new figure made his appearance in the scene, and brought salvation where before there was not even hope. This was none other than a large Newfoundland dog, who had before contented himself with howhng, but who, now that danger threatened his master so imminently, seemed to acquire a new impulse. He sprang at the breast of Jaac, and fixed his long, sharp teeth deep into his flesh. The pain was severe, but Jaac dropped his cutlas, and clasping his hands around his a? sail ant's neck, throttled him oflT. and strangled him with the ease that would have crushed a caterpil- lar. The beautiful animal fell hfeless from his grasp. The next person Jaac laid hold of was a youno- woman of about seventeen years of age. She was a beautiful creature, and her long hair was all dis- hevelled, and her blue eyes streamed with a flood of pearly drops, and she fell on the floor, and clung to Jaac's knees, and looked up into his face with such a piteous expression, that a very d 1 would have spared her life. Vol. I. 26 302 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. '• Don't kill that girl, Jaac,'' echoed the colonel. " I want her. Stab that old woman." "Want her, sir?" replied Jaac, with a hesitating look at the old reprobate. " Want her, sir?" iterated the pirate, in a voice of thunder. '• Ay, don't you see she is pretty ? Ha ! ha ! ha !" and he laughed that infernal laugh again. '•' Oh ! spare me, spare me," cried the fair victim — save me from that worse than demon ; or have pity, and strike your knife into my heart. Is there no mercy for a helpless girl ? Have you a sister, or a wife ? think — oh ! think of her !" Jaac relaxed his grasp : a cold chill ran over him, the perspiration stood upon his brow, and he was near fainting on the spot. He had been married only about a year before, and to a girl so like , it must, it must have been her sister. He dropped his hands by his sides, and looked down with a vacant gaze at the lovely petitioner. The appeal was too much for him — he forgot his master, and saw and knew nothing but the face before him, which, strange to say, became every moment more and more painfully familiar. As she urged her appeal more earnestly, and passionately, pleading with a voice well accustomed to his ear, a mist seemed to fall from his eyes — his virtue returned to him — he could not weep, but he groaned aloud : could it be? that countenance! those eyes! that voice ! " Oh ! save me, save me, my husband !" THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 308 shrieked the poor conscious girl, and Jaac in agony clasped to his breast his own darhng faithful wife. The old colonel did not seem to relish much this discovery, or the change of conduct on tlie part of Jaac. He cursed him for a tender-hearted chicken, and commanded him, with a savage voice, to '• hand the girl over to him." '• It's my wife, sir," said Jaac, suppliantly. '• What of that ? you fool !" replied the colonel, advancing towards the chnging couple. Jaac had no idea of surrendering his young con- sort to the gloating old rascal so readily ; so he picked up his cutlas, and made at him. He could strike, now, fair and hard, and he gave good blows too ; but they went through his antagonist just as though he were a cloud. The colonel stood still, laughing at him, in his fiendish fashion ; and he let Jaac cut him through and through, up and dow^n, and crosswise; still there he stood, sound, and whole, and laughing. Well, at last he stopped short, and swore he wouldn't wait any longer ; and drawing a pistol from his pocket, he struck Jaac with the stock a blow on the temples, that sent him reeling against the opposite lockers : at the same time he seized the fainting girl, and bearing her, utterly senseless, upon his left arm, he hurried up the companion- way, and disappeared. Jaac was on his feet aarain in a twinklinsr. and in hot and close pursuit. The spectre pirate was just shoving off from the ship as he threw himself ;{04 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. over her side, so that he was only a few strokes of ail oar behind. Then was rowed the goodliest boat- race, and for the richest prize, too, that the country has ever seen. The " Raynortown Standard," in i,nving an account of the contest, remarked that the odds were decidedly in favor of the colonel at the start, for he was not only ahead, but he carried the least weight, being considerably ethereal himself, and not w^eighing over a quarter of a pound at the utmost, and having aboard, in addition, only Jaac's wife and his fire-skull, that together would not rise a ton ; while Jaac, on the contrary, was over a hun- dred and fifty himself, and had at least twenty pounds of stone, besides his eels, and a heavy heart to pull with. This inequality, however, was some- w4iat compensated by the difference of the boats. The colonel's was broad and loggy, and looked for all the world like Charon's old ferry-er, and leaked so badly that Mrs. Spragg's frock got quite wet. But Jaac's was a trim, long, narrow, tight, beautiful skiff. She walked over the top of the waves, fling- ing ])ack their combing edges like the foam from the neck of a gallant racer, or like the long-flowing hair of a country maiden, parted on her forehead, and blown back by the wanton, dallying wind. She seemed to live and feel the honor of the con- test, and to anticipate the glory of a victory. The husband first gained upon the ravisher. Two to one were freely bet by the sympathizing mermaids that the pirate would be overtaken. The mermen, wlio took the odds, had to interfere to prevent foul THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 305 play, and to keep the ladies from pushing Jaac along". Presently the pirate shot ahead, and cre- ated an awful distance between him and the des- pairing Jaac. When, joy ! joy ! in his eager speed, he left the safe channel and ran hard upon a sand- bar. This good fortune brought up the distance of the skiff, and Jaac could almost touch the pirate- craft with his oar, when out jumped the old colonel. and, with superhuman force, dragged her out of his reach across the bar, and lanched her into the op- posite channel. This manoeuvre threw the fisher- man completely off the course ; and he was obliged to back water, and go around the point of the bar. Now came the time for the last desperate struggle. West island, and Wanza's flat, and the Squaw isl- ands, were all passed, and straight before the pant- ing oarsman lay the spectre-pirate's home. There was the creek, glittering in the moon-beams, look- ing so virtuous and so happy, and there was the little hillock soon to swallow up — nay, nay, one struggle more — Jaac looked to the east, but not a streak of light was yet to be seen. He strained with a des- perate exertion. In vain, in vain ; — the pirate glided from him at tenfold speed, and a rescue was impossible. Like a vapor the spectre-skiff swept around the bend of the creek, and disappeared be- hind the high bank. Jaac saw no more ; a long, piteous scream fell upon his ear, and he became in- sensible of further suffering. How long our adventurous friend lay in that condition, it is impossible to tell. But the next after- 26* 306 THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. noon, some of his neighbors, who knew the bet, and felt anxious on account of his not returning, went out to look for him. They found him in the bottom of his boat, fast asleep, high and dry, on a mud flat near Gin island. It seems that after he came to himself, he fell asleep from mere exhaustion, and drifted with the tide to the spot where he was discovered. When they waked him up, he was quite stupid, and had a very confused, misty sort of imagination, as to where he was and what he had been about. To such an extent does bodily exertion and mental distress weaken and reduce poor mortals ! When he was told that his wife was very much distressed about him, and was at home crying and wringing her hands, about the probable consequences of his fool-hardiness, the poor man was almost disposed to believe he had been drunk or dreaming. Like a prudent man, however, he said nothing, but steered for his house as soon as possible, and went to bed. The neighbors saw, from Jaac's mysterious manner, that something had been the matter, and the report soon got around that Jaac had had an interview with old Colonel Tom. The next day Jaac was more cool and collected, and he remembered all the occurrences of that fear- ful night with great accuracy and minuteness. He related the whole matter, without any reserve or hesitation, declaring that he thought it his duty to confess, and that he couldn't die happy unless he unburdened his mind, and that if he must swing for it, he couldn't help it. The good people listened THE LEGEND OF BRICK-HOUSE CREEK. 307 to his recital with fear and horror and pity. Three justices met and took his examination, but the thin^ never went any further. Some say that the staters attorney entered a nolle prosequi on account of Jaac's wife swearing she was at home all that night, which made an alibi, and that's enough to kill any indictment. Others, again, wink their eye, and look knowing, and say that Jaac was under a high pres- sure of steam that night. But this was a scanda- lous insinuation, made, no doubt, by some of the friends of Ben Storer, who lost the bet. On the whole, it is a very mysterious affair. There's a good deal to be said on both sides, as there is in fact about every thing else. As for myself, sometimes I believe it, and then again I don't beheve it, but I think I have always believed the greater part of it. But that's the end of the legend. THE LITTLE VOYAGERS. BY THE REV. DR. PISE. The lake was smooth, and not a breath Stirred through the sleeping grove ; The oak-tree hung as mute as death Upon the hills above : " Come, sister," said the young Arnest^ While sporting on the bank : " Come o'er this water's silvery breast — Let's sail upon this plank." " Yes, brother," and the plank she drew Along the slippery sand. Around his neck her arm she threw — And they drifted from the land. Poor children ! though these waters lie Sleeping in sunshine bright, That ray, which dazzles now the eye, Shall melt away in night. Yet forth they drifted, till the lake, Roused by the evening breeze, Around the plank began to break. And swell in little seas : <' Alas, my brother !" cried Florelle, And raised a piteous scream ; Till both, grown sick and dizzy, fell Into the treacherous stream. So they, who sail on pleasure's streams, Move beauteously away ; For every scene around them seems Elysian and gay. But, when attracted from the shore By zephyr's scented breath, The threatening waves begin to roar. And waft them on to death. A NIGHT AT THE FRENCH OPERA. BY NATUANIRL P. WILLIS. I WENT last night to the French opera, to sec the first dancer of the world. The prodigious enthu- siasm about her all over Europe had, of course, raised my expectations to the highest pitch. " Have you seen TagUoniT is the first question addressed to a stranger in Paris ; and you hear her name constantly over all the hum of the cafis, and in the crowded resorts of fashion. The house was overflowed. The king and his numerous family were present ; and my companion pointed out to me many of the nobility, whose names and titles have been made familiar to our ears by the innu- merable private memoirs and autobiographies of the day. After a httle introductory piece, the king arrived, and, as soon as the cheering was over, the curtain drew up for " Le Dimi et le Bayadere.'^''' This is the piece in which Taglioni is most famous. She takes the part of a dancing girl, of whom the Bramah and an Indian jjrince are both enamoured ; the former in the disguise of a man of low rank at the court of the latter, in search of some one whose The god and the dancing girl. 310 A NIGHT AT THE FRENCH OPERA. love for him shall be disinterested. The disguised god succeeds in winning her affection, and after testing her devotion by submitting for a while to the resentment of his rival, and by a pretended ca- price in favor of a singing girl, who accompanies her, he marries her, then saves her from the flames as she is about to be burned for marrying beneath her caste. Tagiioni's part is all pantomime. She does not speak during the play, but her motion is more than articulate. He first appearance was in a troop of Indian dancing girls, who perform before the prince in the public square. At a signal from the vizier a side pavilion opened, and thirty or forty bayaderes glided out together, and commenced an intricate dance. They were received with a tre- mendous round of applause from the audience ; but, with the exception of a little more elegance in the four who led the dance, they were dressed nearly ahke ; and, as I saw no particularly conspicuous figure, I presumed that Taglioni had not yet ap- peared. The splendor of the spectacle bewildered me for the first moment or two, but I presently found ray eyes riveted to a childish creature floating about among the rest, and, taking her for some beautiful young eUve making her first essays in the chorus, I interpreted her extraordinary fascination as a triumph of nature over my unsophisticated taste ; and wondered to myself whether, after all. I should be half so much captivated vvith the show of skill I expected presently to witness. This was Taglioni ! She came forward directly, in a /ja.^ A NIGHT AT THE FRENCH OPERA. 31] seul, and I then observed that her dress was distin- guished from that of her companions by its extreme modesty both of fashion and ornament, and the un- constrained ease with which it adapted itself to her shape and motion. She looks not more than fifteen. Her figure is small, but rounded to the very last degree of perfection ; not a muscle swelled beyond the exquisite outline ; not an angle, not a fault. Her back and neck, those points so rarely beautiful in women, are faultlessly formed ; her feet and hands are in full proportion to her size, and the for- mer play as freely and with as natural a yielding- ness in her fairy slippers, as if they were accus- tomed only to the dainty uses of a drawing-room. Her face is most strangely interesting ; not quite beautiful, but of that half-appeahng, half-retiring sweetness that you sometimes see blended with the secluded reserve and unconscious refinement of a young girl just "out" in a circle of high fashion. In her greatest exertions her features retain the same timid half smile, and she returns to the al- ternate by-play of her part without the shghtest change of color, or the slightest perceptible differ, ence in her breathing, or the ease of her look and posture. No language can describe her mo- tion. She swims in your eyes like a curl of smoke, or a flake of down. Her difiiculty seems to be to keep to the floor. You have that feeling while you gaze upon her, that if she were to rise and float away like Ariel, you would scarce be surprised. And yet all is done with such a childish uncon- 312 A NIGHT AT THE FRENCH OPERA. sciousiiess of adiiiiratioo, such a total absence of exerljon or fatigue, that the dehght with which she fi?^ you is unmingled, and, assured as you are by the perfect purity of every look and attitude, that her hitherto spotless reputation is dc^served beyond a breath of suspicion, you leave her with as much respect as admiration ; and find with surprise that a dancing-girl, who is exposed night a|JLer night to the profaning gaze of the world, has crept into one of the most sacred niches of your memory. END OF VOLUME I,