^\ ^ /^ -»- s%^ ^. t-it?* '■f^tAix^'- "»'-V^'i»; -iirjiiii- rfci»A»>»*'-*''-v»i'V'»<ls,l>- ^v^ W Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://www.archive.org/details/americanbookofbeOOIady /u/' : W<0. /^/^> THE COQUETTE. HISS L— CT 3. "I WILL not marry yet," washer reply — her face half averted from the kneeling figure beside her, whom still she suflered to retain her hand — Avhosc arm still encircled her waist, unforbidden. " I will not marry yet," and love Avas in the tone of the very accents that withheld the boon of love, or deferred the bestowal of it. James Griswold was a young man of moderate fortune ; accom- plished, unsophisticated, and of quick sensibilities. A student, and fond of retirement, he had selected for his summer residence a small hamlet on the Long Island scacoast, about twenty miles from New York, where, between his books and the smooth seashore, along which he loAcd to raml)le, his time passed anything but heavily. Here he had resided al)0ut a month, when the little community re- ceived an addition, in a young lady and her mother, Avho joined it for the purpose of a temporary residence ; and young Griswold stepped back in surprise, when, issuing one morning from the cabin in which he lodged, he beheld two females, in the attire, and with the air, of fashion — the one leaning upon the arm of the other — approaching the humble portal whence he had just emerged. He bowed, how- ever, and passed on. He had scarcely more than glanced at the strangers, but, transient as Avas his survey of them, he saw that one of them Avas an in- valid — the younger. " Hoav touching is the languor Avhich indispo- sition casts OA^er beauty!" exclaimed GrisAvold to himself; "health would improve the loveliness of that face, but the interest Avhich now invests it Avould vanish. No visitation," he continued, " but late hours and croAvded rooms have sent her hither — for I prophesy she comes to make some stay." He Avas right. GrisAvold returned from his ramble earlier than Avas his custom. His thoughts that daj:. 6 42 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. were in tlie hamlet, and not upon the shore. He approached his lodging with something Uke the emotions of expectation and suspense. He looked at his landlady, on entering, as if he expected her to communicate something ; and was disappointed when she merely re- turned the ordinary response to his salutation. He entered his apart- ment dispirited, and threw himself into a chair near the window, the sash of which he threw up, as if he wanted air. For the first time he felt the oppression of loneliness. " They have not come to stop," said he to himself, and absolutely with a sigh — and no wonder ! In an assembly, a lovely, graceful, and delicate woman, beheld for the first tmie, would have exacted from him only the ordinary tribute which beauty shares Avith beauty ; but, in a remote little fishing ham- let, inhabited by beings as rude as their neighbors, the sea and the rocks, such a vision could hardly come, and vanish, without leaving a strong impression upon the beholder. Young Griswold sat abstract- ed, chagrinned — mortified. The opening of a window in a cabin opposite, roused him. The sash was thrown up by a white arm, shining through a sleeve of muslin, thin as gauze. Presently a dimpled elbow reposed upon the sill, and a cheek of pensive sweetness sank upon a hand, so small, so white, that it seemed to have been modelled for no other office than to pillow such a burden. A thrill ran through his frame, quick- ening him into wakeful life. How the hand talks ! What passion, thought, and sentiment, are in it ! What tongues are the fingers ! Oh ! the things that the hand which this young man sat watching, discoursed to him, as it changed its posture — now with the palm, now with the back, kissing its owner's cheek — now extending one finger upon the marbly, ample temple — now enwreathing itself with one jetty curl and another — now passed over the arched bright forehead — now lowered, and lan- guidly drooping from the window-frame, upon which the arm to which it belonged lay motionless — then raised again, with slow and waving motion, till it closed with the cheek that half met it — then gradually crossed over the bosom that seemed to heave with a sigh, as it passed, and pressed to the heart — then clasped with its beauteous fellow, and carried to the back of the head, the full, elastic arms swelling and whitening as they contracted ! THE COQUETTE. 43 Grisvvold gazed on entranced. Hitherto, the cheek alone of the fair invalid had been presented to him, but now her head turned ; her eyes met his and dropped — she rose and withdrew. Only glimpses of her did Griswold catch again that evening — but they were frequent. A hand — an elbow — the point of her shoul- der — once or twice her figure, flitting backward and forward, as she paced up and down the apartment. Dusk fell ; still he remained at his post. Was it a guitar that he heard ? It was but awakened as the first tones of an Eolian harp, which you hold your breath to hear. Her hand was on the strings ; one chord at length she struck full ; another succeeded — and another. Then all was silence for a lime. Griswold still remained at the window — nor in Aain. The music woke again, as fairy soft as before, and a voice — soft as the music, but oh! far sweeter — awoke along with it. She was singing, but he could hear nothing except the strain ; and yet he heard enough to tell him that it was the theme of tenderness, though sung by fits, that rather seemed to help than mar the passionate mood. The stars shone out ; the moon, in her first quarter half completed, showed her bright crescent clear though setting; the folds of a white drapery shone dimly through the still open casement. Did the wearer ap- proach, to look out and gaze upon the fair night? No. The sash was pulled down ; the string and the voice were hushed ; the inter- esting minstrel had retired. Griswold retired too ; but though his head was upon the pillow, not a moment of that night were his vision and his ear withdrawn from the open window. It w^as broad day before forgetfulness cast her spell over the ex- cited spirits of young Griswold, nor was it broken till high noon. He arose, emerged from his chamber, and took an anxious survey of the habitation opposite. The room appeared empty. He partook hastily of a slight repast, and, sallying out, made his way to the sea- shore. He had not proceeded far, when, turning a point, he beheld the elder female in advance of him, standing still and looking anxious- ly upward toward a projecting summit, some hundred yards from the shore. He foUow^ed what appeared to be the direction of her eyes, and saw the younger, half way up, reclining upon her side. Some- thing appeared to be amiss. He quickened his pace, and, joining the former, learned from her, that her daughter, attempting to climb to 44 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. the top of the steep hill, had incautiously turned, and, unaccustomed to look from a height, was prevented by terror from proceeding or descending ; that, from the sajne cause, she had slipped down several feet ; and that she, herself, durst not attempt to go to her assistance. Griswold had heard enough ; he bounded up the steep. As he ap- proached the fair one, modesty half overcame terror, and she made a slight effort to repair the disorder into which her dress had been thrown by the accident. The young man assisted her to complete what she had effected but imperfectly ; he encouraged her, raised her, and, propping her fair form with his own, led her, step by step, down to the beach again. Nor, when she was in perfect safety, did he withdraw his assistance — nor did she decline it ; though, as appre- hension subsided, confusion arose — coloring her pale cheek to crim- son, at the recollection of the plight in which she had been found. Her ankle was slightly sprained, she said, having turned under her when she slipped. What was this, if not a warrant for the proffer of an arm ? At all events, Griswold construed it as such, and escort- ed the fair stranger, leaning upon him, back to her lodgings. From that moment a close intimacy commenced. They were constantly together — sometimes accompanied by the mother — more frequently, and at last wholly alone. Communing in solitude, between the sexes, and in the midst of romantic scenery, where there is no impediment, .no distaste on either side, is almost sure to awaken, and to foster love. Young Griswold loved. The looks, the actions, all but the tongue of Amelia assured him that his passion was returned. Her health had improved rapidly ; the autumn was advancing, and the evenings and nights were gro^ving chill. The mother and daughter now talked of returning to New York ; a day was fixed for their departure — and, on the eve of that day, young Griswold threw himself at the feet of the lovely girl, and implored her to bless him with her hand. Yet, though she did not deny that he had interested her — though her eyes and her cheek attested it — though the hand which was locked in his, locked his as well — though she suffered him to draw her toward him, by the tenure of her graceful waist — still was her reply, " I will not marry yet." Griswold did not require to ask if his visits would be permitted in town — he was invited to renew them there. A journey to Charles- THE COQUETTE. 45 ton, however, on a matter of pressing necessity, respecting the affairs of a friend, prevented his return for a month. At the expira- tion of that time he found himself in New York, and, with a throb- bing heart, repaired to the habitation of Ameha's father, near Union Square, on the very evening of his arrival. The house was lighted up — there Avas a ball. He was scarcely dressed for a party ; yet he could not overcome his impatience to behold again the heroine of the Long Island shore. He rang, at the same moment when a knot of other visiters came to the door, and, enterhig along with them, was ushered into a ball-room, the footman hurriedly announcing the names of the several parties. The dance was proceeding. It was the whirling waltz — The dance of contact, else Forbid ! abandoning to the free hand The sacred waist ; "Sirhile, face to face, that breath Doth kiss with breath, and eye embraceth eye — Tour tranaed coil relaxing, straightening — round And round, in wavy measure, you entwine Circle with circle — till the swimming brain And panting heart, in swoony lapse, give o'er J It was the waltz, and the couple consisted of a man of the town, and — Amelia. The party who had entered with Griswold immediately took seats, but he stood, transfixed to the sp>ot where his eyes first caught the form of the young lady, in the coil of another. She saw not him. With laughing eyes, and cheeks flushed with exertion, she continued the measure of license — her spirits mounting as the music quick- ened — until she seemed to float round her partner, who freely a\ailed himself of the favorable movement of the step, to draw her toward him in momentary pressure. They at length sat down, and were soon engaged in earnest conversation. Griswold writhed. He re- tired to a room where he thought he should escape observation, and threw himself into a chair. " Who think you, now, is the happy man ?" said one of a group of gentlemen who at that moment came into the apartment where he sat. " Why, who, if not Singleton !" replied another ; " he has waltzed himself into her heart. Tliis is the twentieth time I have seen her dance with him." 46 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY, *' Oh ! another will waltz him out of her heart," interposed a third ; " she is an incorrigible coquette, from first to last." Here the party separated. Oris wold scarcely knowing what he did, after sitting abstracted for a few minutes, rose and descended the staircase. He started with the intention of quitting the house, but the supper- room had been just thrown open, and the press carried him in. Nor was he allowed to stop, until he had reached the head of the table. Every seat but two, close to where he stood, was occupied. " By your leave, sir," said a voice behind him. He stepped back, and the waltzer led Amelia to one of them, and placed himself beside her. Young Griswold would have retreated, but could not without incom- moding the company, who thickly hemmed him in. Amelia drew her gloves from the white arms they little enhanced by covering — the waltzer assisting her, and transferring them to the custody of his bosom. His eyes explored the table in quest of the most delicate of the viands, which, one after another he recommended to her, until she made a selection. He filled a wineglass with sparkling Bur- gundy and presented it to her, then crowned a goblet, till the liquid almost overhung the brim — breathed her name over it in a sigh — and quaffed it off to the bottom at a draught. He leaned his cheek to hers, till the neighbors almost touched. He whispered her — and she replied in whispers. He passed his arm over the back of her chair, partly supplanting it in the office of supporting her shoulders. He pressed so close to her, that it would have been the same had both been sitting in one seat. She was either unconscious of the familiar vicinity, or she permitted it. The whispering continued ; the word " marriage" was uttered — repeated — repeated again. Griswold heard her distinctly reply, " I will not marry yet," as she rose — and, turn- ing, met him face to face, " Griswold !" she involuntarily exclaimed. But he spoke not, save with his eyes, which he kept fixed steadfastly upon her. " When did you arrive ?" she inquired hurriedly, and in extreme confusion. " This evening," replied the young man, without removing his eyes. " When did you join our party 1" THE COQUETTE. 47 *' While you were waltzing," returned Griswold, with a smile. " And how long haAe you been standing here ?" " Since supper commenced ; I made way for your partner to hand you to that seat, and place himself beside you." " You have not supped ! sit down, and I will help you to some- thing." " No !" said Griswold, shaking his head, and smiling again. •' My mother has not seen you yet ; come and speak to her." " No ; I have not a moment to spare. I leave town again imme- diately." " When ?" " To-night ! Farewell," said he, turning to go. " You, surely, are not going yet," earnestly interposed Amelia. " I tyiust not stay," emphatically rejoined Griswold. " For one ob- ject alone I came to town. That is finally disposed of. The neces- sity for my departure is imperative. Remember me to your mother. Good-night !" he added, moving toward the door. " Have you been well ?" she inquired, almost tremulously. He continued his progress as fast as the throng permitted him, affecting not to hear her. She followed, laid her hand upon his arm, and stopped him. " You surely are not well now" she remarked, in a tone of solici- tude . " No," he replied, passing on till he reached the door. " Griswold !" she exclaimed, heedless of those who surrounded her, " stay a little longer! — an hour — half an horn: — the quarter ol an hour." Griswold stopped, and, turning, looked upon her with an expres- sion so tender, yet so stern, that she half shrank as she met his gaze. " Not a moment," he replied ; " I should be only a clog upon your pastime. I do not waltz !" Then snatched her hand — raised it to his lips — kissed it — and, dropping it, hurried down the staircase and departed. Amelia at once perceived the awkwardness of her situation — re- covered her self-possession — and, with wcU-dissembled mirth, affect- ed to laugh. " A poor lunatic !" she exclaimed, " whom I pity, notwithstanding 48 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAXTTY. his extravagant aberrations of mind. He is innocent in his madness. But come, let us forget him." The dance was resumed. She was the queen of the mirthful hour, that shone, surpassing all. She laughed, she rallied, she chal- lenged, she outdid herself — her spirits towering the more, the more the revel waned. Party after party dropped off; still she kept it up, till she Avas left utterly alone — and then she rushed up to her cham- ber and cast herself upon a couch, dissolved in tears. She loved young Griswold. Vanity had been touched before — but never sentiment, till she visited the little hamlet on Long Island. At first she could not, or would not, persuade herself that Griswold would not return ; but a month set that point perfectly at rest. She drooped. Society — amusement — nothing could rouse her into her former self. Her partner in the Avaltz in vain solicited her to stand up with him again. She declined the honor ; his visits were discouraged. Her mother anxiously Avatched the depression of spirits that had taken possession of her, and seemed daily to increase. The winter passed without improA^ement — the spring. Summer set in; bloom and fruit returned, but cheer was a stranger to her heart. Change of scene was recommended. She Avas asked to make choice of the place whither she would go ; she replied, with a sigh, " to the Long Island shore." She and her mother arrived at the same little hamlet Avhich they had visited the summer before, early on a Sunday morning, and reoc- cupied the identical lodgings. The landlady, a kind-hearted creature, expressed her surprise and sorroAv at the altered appearance of her delicate young lodger. " Ah !" said she, " the young gentleman Avould be sorry to see this — though he has had his turn of sickness too; but he is now quite recovered." " Mr. Griswold V breathlessly inquired Amelia. " Yes," replied the landlady, *' that same handsome, kind, young gentleman." "Merciful Heaven! is he here?" she A'eheniontly demanded. " He is, my lady," returned the landlady. " Mother !" she exclaimed, as she turned upon the latter a look, in which pleasure was painted for the first time since the momentous THE COQUETTE. 49 night of the ball. " Where does he lodge '" asked Amelia, turning to the landlady. " In the same place. He came back about a month after he left," added the landlady. " Poor young gentleman !" she continued, " we all thought he had come to die among us — so pale, so melancholy. He would keep company with no one — would speak to no one and at last he took fairly to his bed." Amelia laid her head upon her hand, covering her eyes ; her tears had begun to flow. " But the daughter of our neighbor, who had a rich brother that sent his niece to school at New Haven, and had determined to adopt her, having completed her time, came upon a visit to her father, shortly after the return of the young gentleman, and her mother made her read to him constantly, to divert him — and he grew fond of lis- tening to her — and well he might, for a sweet young creature she is — and at last his health took a turn, and he was able to quit his bed, and to walk, as he used with you, my dear lady — rambling whole hours along the seashore with her." The eyes of Amelia were now lifted to the landlady's face. Her tears were gone, all but the traces of them ; they seemed as they were glazed. The landlady had paused at the sound of several voices, and a kind of bustle without, and now ran to the Avindow. " Come hither, ladies !" she exclaimed, " they are just coming out." Amelia, by a convulsive efibrt, rose, and hastily approached the window with her mother. " Here they come !" resumed the landlady, " and this is the end of my story. The young gentleman at last fell in love with liis sweet young nurse, and offered to marry her. She had already fallen in love with him ; she accepted him, and this very morning they are going to church. There they are ! look ! did you ever see so sweet a sight ? What a couple ! God bless them ! They were made for one another !" The landlady started and looked round. Amelia had fallen in a swoon upon the floor. With difliculty they recovered her. In an hoiur her mother was on her way with her toward New York. In a month she was dressed in a shroud. 7 THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER A LEGEND OF THE CITY OF HUDSON. BY J. K. PAULDING. The city of Hudson furnishes one of those examples of rapid growth so common and so peculiar to our country. It goes back no further than 1784, and is said now to contain nearly six thousand inhabitants. But towns, like children, are very apt to grow more in the first few years, than all their lives after. But Hudson has a bank, which is a sort of wet-nurse to these little towns, giving them too often a preco- cious growth, which is followed by a permanent debility. The town is beautifully situated, and the environs of the most picturesque and romantic description. There are several pretty country-seats in the neighborhood. Here ends, according to the law of nature, the ship- navigation of the river ; but by a law of the legislature, a company has been incorporated, with a capital of one million of dollars — how easy it is to coin money in this way ! — to make a canal to New Baltimore : for what purpose, only legislative wisdom can explain. There was likewise an incorporated company, to build a mud-machine for deepen- ing the river. But the river is no deeper than it was, and the canal to New Baltimore is not made, probably because the million of dollars is not forthcoming. One may pay too dear for a canal as well as a whistle. That canals are far better than rivers, is not to be doubted ; but as we get our rivers for nothing, and pay pretty dearly for our ca- nals, I would beg leave to represent in behalf of the poor rivers, that they are entitled to some little consideration, if it is only on the score of coming as free gifts. Hudson is said to be very much infested with politicians, a race of men, who, though they have never been classed among those who live by their own wits, and the little wit of their neighbors, certainly belong to the genus. THE TANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 51 Hence to Albany the Hudson gradually decreases in magnitude, changing its character of a mighty river for that of a pleasant pastoral stream. The high banks gradually subside into rich flats, portentous of Dutchmen, who light on them as certainly as do the snipes and plovers. " Wisely despising," observes Alderman Janson,* " the bar- ren mountains, which are only made to look at, they passed up on the river from Fort Amsterdam, till they arrived hereabout, and here they pitched their tents. Their descendants still retain possession of the seats of their ancestors, though sorely beset by the march of the human mind, and the progress of public improvement on one hand, and on the other by interlopers from (he modern Scythia, the cradle of the human race in the new world — Connecticut. These last, by their pestilent scholarship, and mischievous contrivances of patent ploughs, patent thrashing-machines, patent corn-shellers, and patent churns, for the encouragement of domestic industry, have gone near to overset all the statutes of St. Nicholas. The honest burghers of Coeymans, Cox- sackie, and New Paltz, still hold out manfully ; but alas ! the women — the women are prone to backslidings and hankering after novelties. A Dutch damsel can't, for her heart, resist a Connecticut schoolmaster, with his rosy cheeks and store of scholarship, and even honest yffrow herself chuckles a little amatory Dutch at his approach ; simpering mightily thereat, and stroking down her apron. A goose betrayed — no, I am wrong — a goose once saved the capitol of Rome ; and it is to be feared a woman will finally betray the citadels of Coeymans, Coxsackie, and New Paltz, to the schoolmasters of Connecticut, who circumvent them with outlandish scholarship. These speculations," quoth the worthy alderman, " remind me of the mishap of my unfortu- nate great-uncle, Douw Van Wezel, who sunk under the star of one of these wandering Homers." Douw, and little Alida Vander Speigle, had been playmates since their infancy — I was going to say schoolmates, but at that time there was no such thing as a school, so far as I can learn, in the neighbor- hood, to teach the young varlets to chalk naughty words on walls and fences, which is all that learning is good for, for aught I see. Douw • Alderman Nicholas Nicodemus Janson was the flower of the magistraej' of Coxsackie, and died full of years and honor, on St. Nicholas' day, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven. 52 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. was no scholar, so there was no clanger of his getting into the state prison for forgery ; but it requires but little learning to fall in love. Alida had, however, stayed a whole winter in York, where she learned to talk crooked English, and cock her pretty little pug nose at our good old customs. They were the only offspring of their respective parents, whose farms lay side by side, squinting plainly at matrimony between the young people. Douw and Alida went to church together every Sunday ; wandered into the churchyard, where Alida read the epitaphs for him ; and it was the talli of everybody that it would cer- tainly be a match. Douw was a handsome fellow for a Dutchman, though he lacked that effeminate ruddiness which seduces poor igno- rant women. He had a stout frame, a bluish complexion, straight black hair, eyes of the color of indigo, and as honest a pair of old- fashioned mahogany bannister legs, as you would wish to see under a man. It was worth while to make good legs then, when every man wore breeches, and some of the women too, if report is to be credited. Alida was the prettiest little Dutch damsel that ever had her stocking filled with cake on new year's eve, by the blessed St. Nicholas. I will not describe her, lest my readers should all fall in love with her, or at all events weep themselves into Saratoga fountains, when they come to hear of the disastrous fate of poor Douw, whose destiny it was — but let us have no anticipations ; sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. It was new year's eve, and Douw was invited to see out the old year at Judge Vander Speigle's, in the honest old Dutch way, under the especial patronage of St. Nicholas. There were glorious doings among the young folks, and the old ones too, for that matter, till one or two, or perhaps three in the morning, when the visiters got into their sleighs andskirred away home, leaving Douw and the fair Alida alone — or as good as alone, for the judge and the yfTrow were as sound as a church, in the two chimney-corners. If wine and French liquors, and such trumpery, make a man gallant and adventurous, what will not hot- spiced Santa Cruz achieve ? Douw was certainly a little flustered ; perhaps it might be predicated of him that he was, as it were, a little tipsey. Certain it is, he waxed brave as a Dutch lion. I'll not swear but that he put his arm round her waist, and kissed the little Dutch girl J but I will swear positively, that before the parties knew whether THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 53 they were standing on their heads or feet, they had exchanged vows, and become irrevocably engaged. Whereupon Douw waked the old judge, and asked his consent on the spot. " Yaw, yaw," yawned the judge, and fell fast asleep again in a twinkling. Notliing but the last trumpet would rouse the yffrow till morning. In the morning, the good yffrow was let into the affair, and began to bestir herself accordingly. I can not count the sheets, and table- cloths, and towels, the good woman mustered out, nor describe the preparations made for the expected wedding. There was a cake baked, as big as Kaatskill mountain, and mince-pies enough to cover it. There were cakes of a hundred nameless names, and sweetmeats enough to kill a whole village. All was preparation, anticipation, and prognostication. A Dutch tailor had constructed Douw a suit of snuff- color, that made him look like a great roll of leaf-tobacco ; and a York milliner had exercised her skill in the composition of a wedding-dress for Alida, that made the hair of the girls of Coeymans and Coxsackie stand on end. All was ready, and the day appointed. But, alas ! I wonder no one has yet had the sagacity to observe, and proclaim to the world, that all things in this life are uncertain, and that the antici- pations of youth are often disappointed. .Tust three weeks before the wedding, there appeared in the village of Coxsackie a young fellow, dressed in a three-cornered cocked hat, a queue at least a yard long hanging from under it, tied up in an eel- skin, a spruce blue coat, not much the worse for wear, a red waistcoat, corduroy breeches, handsome cotton stockings, with a pair of good legs in them, and pumps with silver buckles. His arrival was like the shock of an earthquake, ne being the first stranger that had ap- peared within the memory of man. He was of a goodly height, well shaped, and had a pair of rosy cheeks, which no Dutch damsel ever could resist ; for to say the truth, our Dutch lads are apt to be a little dusky in the epidermis. He gave out that he was come to set up a school, and teach the little chubby Dutch boys and girls English. The men set their faces against this monstrous innovation! — but the women! the women! they always will run after novelty, and they ran after the schoolmas- ter, his red cheeks, and his red waistcoat. Yffrow Vander Speigle contested the empire of the world within doors, with his honor the 54 AMERICAX BOOK OF BEAUTY. judge, and bore a divided reign. She was smitten with a desire to become a blue-stocking herself, or at least that her daughter should. The yffrow was the bell-wether of fashion in the village ; of course, many other yffrows followed her example, and in a little time the lucky schoolmaster was surrounded by half the grown-up damsels of Cox- sackie. Alida soon became distinguished as his favorite scholar ; she was the prettiest, the richest girl in the school — and she could talk Eng- lish, which the others were only just learning. He taught her to read, poetry — he taught her to talk with her eyes — to write love-letters — and at last to love. Douw was a lost man the moment the schoolmas- ter came into the village. He first got the blind side of the daughter, and then of the yffrow — but he found it rather a hard matter to get the blind side of the judge, who had heard from his brother in Albany what pranks these Connecticut boys were playing there. He discour- aged the schoolmaster, and he encouraged Douw to press his suit, which Alida had put off, and put off, from time to time. She was sick — and not ready — and indifferent — and sometimes as cross as a little d . Douw smoked his pipe harder than ever at her ; but she resisted like a heroine. In those times of cheap simplicity, it was the custom of the country for the schoolmaster to board alternately with the parents of his schol- ars, a week or a fortnight at a time ; and it is recorded of these learned Thebans, that they always stayed longer where there was a pretty daughter, and plenty of pies and sweetmeats. The time at last came round, when it was the schoolmaster's „turn to sojourn with Judge Vander Speigle the allotted fortnight, sorely to the gloomy forebodings of Douw, who began to have a strong suspicion of the cause of Alida's coldness. The schoolmaster knew which side his bread was but- tered, and laid close siege to the yffrow, by praising her good things, exalting her consequence, and depressing that of her neighbors. Nor did he neglect the daughter, whom he plied with poetry, melting looks, and significant squeezes, and all that ; although all that was quite un- necessary, for she was ready to run away with him at any time. But this did not suit our Homer ; he might be divorced from the acres, if he married without the consent of the judge. He, however, continued to administer fuel to the flame, and never missed abusing poor Douw THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 55 to his face, without the latter being the wiser for it, he not understand- ing a word of English. By degrees he opened the matter to the yffrow, who liked it ex- ceedingly, for she was, as we said before, inclined to the mysteries of blue-stockingism, and was half in love with his red waistcoat and red checks. Finally, she told him, in a significant way, that as there were two to one in his favor, and the old judge would, she knew, never consent to the marriage while he could help it, the best thing he could do was to go and get married as soon as possible, and she would bear them out. That very night Douw became a disconsolate widower, although, poor fellow ! he did not know of it till the next morning. The judge stormed and swore, and the yfirow talked ; till at length he allowed them to come and live in the house, but with the proviso that they were never to speak to him, nor he to them. A little grandson, in process of time, healed all these internal divisions. They christ- ened him Adrian Vander Speigle, after his grandfather ; and when it came to pass that the old patriarch died, the estate passed from the Vander Speigles to the Longfellows, after the manner of men. Poor Douw grew melancholy, and pondered sometimes whether he should not bring his action for breach of promise, fly the country for ever, turn Methodist, or marry under the nose of the faithless Alida, " on purpose to spite her." lie finally decided on the latter, married a little Dutch brunette from Kinderhook, and prospered mightily in posterity, as did also his neighbor, Philo Longfellow. But it was ob- served, that the little Van Wezels and the little Longfellows never met without fighting ; and that as they grew up, this hostility gathered additional bitterness. In process of time, the village became divided into two factions, which gradually spread wherever the Yankees and the Dutch mixed together ; and finally, like the feuds of the Guel- phus and Ghibelines, divided the land for almost a hundred miles around. ON THE PORTRAIT OF MRS. VERSCHOYLE, Blessed was the artist's hands that hade Those features on thy- surface shine. And with advent'rous sldll portrayed That form, and made thee what thou art, divine : And heav'n-born was the art that made thee hear Those eyes, and that fair face that have no equals here. What though the Coan artist drew. And Venus gave to mortal eye, A thousajid such as thee in view, And thy hright teints with his may safely vie : Immodest heauties from his pencil shine. But thou art chasteness all, and purer charms are thine. What though the huge Colossus rears Ahove fair Rhodes his towering height. And on his giant forehead hears The image of yon glorious orh of light ; A thousand euns in thee as hrightly gleam, Thiae eyes are even suns, and shed as hright a heam. f Arn.-r<,Mii H.M.L- ..r Hn THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. A STORT or AN OMNIBUS DRIVER. I DETEST an lip-town residence. True, it is pleasant when you get there, but as my income will not warrant a coach establishment, I am now reluctantly compelled to take a daily passage at dusk by the 30th-street line of omnibuses. In pleasant weather this mode of travelling is rather agreeable ; but in a rainy or drizzly night, the Fates protect mc from hunting up a seat in an omnibus. Last Tues- day I tried the experiment for the fortieth time, and afler standing for nearly an hour under the awning in front of Peale's Museum in Broad- way, I espied a vehicle, whose driver had a most singularly good- natured look, and who, I verily believed, would pity hiy desolate con- dition, notwithstanding I noticed that his vehicle contained the full complement of twelve inside. Emboldened by his appearance, I beckoned to him, and my anticipations were agreeably confirmed by his promptly reining in his steeds. After a short parley I was reluc- tantly permitted to mount the box, with my umbrella spread. I was not mistaken in the physiognomy of the omnibus-driver. He had a liberal share of the milk of human kindness, and withal was exceed- ingly talkative. We had scarcely proceeded three blocks, when he had given me his opinion concerning all sorts of subjects, persons, and things in general. " I suppose," said he, " you thought it singular that I didn't wish you to get up on the driver's seat, when you hailed me ?" " Yes," said I inquiringly. " Perhaps, then, you would like to hear the reason." " Yes," I again answered, " for I am sorry to have annoyed so obliging a person." " No trouble, I assure you, sir ; but the fact is, we drivers must have rules, or on nights like this we might be crowded out of our seats." 8 58 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " Surely the seat is very commodious," replied I, " three persons may sit here with ease, and I can see no objection to taking one out- side passenger at any time." " All gentlemen ain't alike, you know," responded the obliging driver, " and could you but see the stout man who used to ride up here, you wouldn't blame us for refusing to take up anybody on the outside." " Indeed," replied I, " who is he ?" " That's more than I know ; but he told me how he came to his size, and it's a queer story — why, sir, he could not get through that door there by more than ten inches !" I expressed my astonishment at these dimensions of the discarded outside passenger, and the driver continued : " The first time that this fat man got on my vehicle, I noticed he was a very agreeable talker, but I lost two days in repairing the for- ward springs, and that cost me fourteen shillin', you know." " I dare say, driver," said the fat man to me, at our first meeting, " that you haven't seen many men of greater bulk than myself." "No, indeed," said I, "I never came across one who couldn't get inside before, and it isn't over comfortable riding here so crowded, and with a heavy load." " So I supposed," rejoined he. "I hoped such would be your reply. For I'd have you know that I'm proud of the distinction which my fat confers." "Like most distinctions, though," observed I, "you must feel the weight of it irksome now and then." " I do," replied he, " particularly in hot, muggy weather. It's also inconvenient," he continued, " in many ways. Sometimes, when I beckon a cab from the stand, the driver shakes his head and says he's engaged. If I hail an omnibus, the driver is sure not to notice me. In narrow, crowded thoroughfares I'm looked upon as a positive obstruction and public nuisance. In Nassau street, one day, I hap- pened to stop to look at some political caricatures, when the shop- keeper hailed me, just as he would the driver of a heavy wagon, with ' Come, go ahead, sir ; we can't have the street blocked up to please your fancy.' I never could travel by a mail-coach in all my life ; the proprietors, one and all. made some objection to my luggage, THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 59 even if I carried but a small brown paper parcel. ' It won't do,' the)^ used to say, ' it won't do ; we can't delay the mail with so much luggage.' In railroad cars I fare somewhat better, though the Great Western road charged me for two seats the last time I travelled that way. When I go to a theatre, or any other place of public amuse- ment, first I'm asked to sit ' this way,' then ' a little more that,' until I'm screwed into all manner of shapes, and there I am, perhaps, at last, sitting with my back to the stage, squinting out of the corners of my eyes in the most uncomfortable manner possibly to be imagined. But, notwithstanding these drawbacks, I glory in my superior specific gravity over the rest of my fellow-creatures. There's a joy which all stout men feel in glancing at their shadows in the sun, which thin ones have not the capacity of entertaining. We are .compelled to assume an air of dignity in our gait, and the very assumption instils the feeling. Oh, yes ! driver," said he, " you may rest assured if a man of discreet years wishes to be on superlatively good terras with himself — which is the most desirable affection that he can foster — he must cultivate an unbounded stomach." " I agree with you, sir," replied I, " that a solid, portly man is more good-looking, and consequently more to my taste, than your cadaver- ous, bloodless, transparent, A'inegar-fed, milk-an'-water, doughy, ill- bred, foreignish-looking varmint." " To be sure he is," rejoined the stout gentleman. " To be sure he is. And, as to which of the two is the most comfortable to himself, I can answer from experience." " Were you ever lean, then ?" inquired I. " As Romeo's poison-vender," replied he ; " indeed, he was a well- fed citizen, compared to what I was three years since." " How did you come to pick up so ?" asked I. " It's a singular story," returned the fat man, smiling, " but not a very long one." Observing that " I should like to hear it, if there was time," he said : " With all my heart. Not long since I was, as I am now, in good healthy condition, both in body and mind. When I put my heel upon a daisy, there was full three hundred weight upon the flower, which I consider to be good honest weight for a man in the prime of his 60 AMERICAN' BOOK OF BEAUTY. days. Few individuals, if any, put more rich food under their waist- coats, drank more good brandy and iced Croton, thought less, slept more, and laughed louder and longer, than I did. But change is the essence of the mutable laws which govern all things pertaining to humanity. If we do not of ourselv'es ' work the oracle,' that which we term chance — miscalled destiny — is certain to effect it. " For some time I had been lodging at a ' genteel boarding-house' — as it was described in the advertisements when vacancies occurred — in Beekman street. Like most such places in such localities, it was occupied by merchants' clerks, law students, occasionally an old maid or a widow, with very small means, a respectable single gentleman or two, and an adventurer, with large mustaches and limited ward- robe. This latter individual was the lion of the establishment, until it was discovered that his estates in England returned so very small a rent-roll, and that neither the landlady nor the washerwoman could extract the amount of their respective claims, notwithstanding the superlative excellence of their elocutionary powers in the art of dun- ning. " I had been an inmate of this menagerie for little more than a year, when an eccentric-looking, mysterious person came to fill up ' a vacancy' recently caused by the English landholder being taken to the Tombs on suspicion of picking somebody's pocket at the lower post-office. He was a tall, slim individual, bearing the appearance of having been starved upon principle from the hour of his birth. Pale, meager, and sunk, were his jaws, which elongated to a point, and his neck was scraggy, and little less than an impoverished heron's. His eyes were set close together, and were as black and glowing and twinkling as a snake's when contemplating the seizure of some unsuspecting frog, croaking his love to his mate in the summer's sun. Bald and polished as oiled mahogany was his flat and compressed head, while a few straight, long bristles were carefully combed from the back, and brought over the ears. A straight line chalked upon a slate would faithfully describe his figure. From his contracted, nar- row shoulders to his protruding heels, there was no deviation from the perpendicular. All was even. Round his throat a small leather stock was buckled, so that the ends did not meet behind, and his costume was always black from head to foot. THE STOUT GEXTLEMAN. 61 " For some days after his arrival, I knew nothing more of the new comer than that he was addressed as Dr. Gagem. At the table he was very silent, and, as it was my custom to retire to my private room after dinner to discuss my bottle, I had but little of his conversa- tion or society. " Some three weeks had elapsed since his becoming my fellow- boarder, when I noticed that everybody in the house, more especially the ladies, began to appear excessively unwell. None of them could eat, and all looked white, thin, and low-spirited. I inquired of one or two what occasioned this change, and received for a reply, that ' they were under the advice of Dr. G.' " ' The sooner you're from under it the better, then,' rejoined I, ' if I can judge from appearances.' " ' You'll think differently soon,' said my fair informants. ' Ah, sir !' sighed they, ' do consult the doctor.' " ' Thank ye,' returned I, ' but while I continue as I am, I'll take no advice to improve my health.' " One evening I was sitting comfortably alone before a cheerful fire in my own snuggery. A bottle of fine old port wine was my only companion, and there it stood on the table, close to my elbow, with its crimson blood sparkling in the blaze — temptation personified. I had just drawn the cork, and was gurgling the first glass from the gray cobwebbed neck of the black bottle, when a gentle tap was heard at the door of my apartment. " ' Come in,' said I, surprised at the interruption. " The door opened, and in stalked Dr. Gagem. " * Pardon this intrusion,' observed he, bowing and smiling, ' but I have something to communicate which will not bear longer procrasti- nation.' " ' Pray be seated,' replied I, offering him a chair. ' I shall be glad to hear anjnhing you may have to say.' " ' You're very stout, sir,' said the doctor, occupying a chair on the opposite side of the table. " ' I am, thank God,' replied I. ' Will you take a glass of wine, doctor ?' " He waved his hand. ' Not for worlds, sir,' rejoined he. * It is 62 AMERICAN BOOK OK BEAUTY. to warn you from such poison that I have intruded upon your privacy. Delay is death /' " These three last words were delivered in the most solemn and deliberate manner. " ' Delay is death !' repeated I, more amazed than alarmed. " ' And no mistake,' added he. " ' What do, what can you mean, sir V asked I. " ' The aegis of friendship,' returned the doctor, ' is the only pro- tector from destruction or injury. I've come here this evening to place my shield between you and sudden, premature decease.' " ' Good God, sir !' I exclaimed, ' am I going to be assassinated V " ' You are,' coolly replied he. " ' Heaven protect me ! By whom, and for what V " The doctor smiled. ' By your own hand,' he replied. *' ' Faugh ! pooh, pooh !' returned I. ' Not while good fat roast beef and ' " ' I know what you would say,' interrupted the doctor. ' But listen. It is the good cheer, as it ignorantly is termed, which kills seven tenths of the population of this city. Where one dies of starvation — and I believe a few do yield their immaterial spirits to mingle with the thinner air, by the necessitous code of total abstinence — ninety-and- nine go off from eating and drinking to excess. It has been my pleasing and self-imposed duty for some years past, to study the pre- ventives for cutting short the thread of life, and I feel a conscious pride in being able to say that my arduous labors have been crowned with success. These pills,' continued he, taking a box from his waist- coat pocket, ' are composed of a powerfully cathartic, but innoxious vegetable. Take them, sir, from the hand of a disinterested friend. I take no fees. My only reward is the pleasure of plucking the falling man from the yawning abyss. I know, from my professional observation, that the lease of your life is nearly run out. Take a dozen of those pills night and morning — let your diet consist of brown gagem bread, and vegetables, exclusively — and when the pills are gone, come to me for more. If you are not a very different man at the end of one little month to what you are now, say, sir, that I'm no judge of physic or diet.' THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 63 " ' But, doctor,' replied I, expostulating, ' I never felt better in my life. Why should I take physic, or change my mode of living?' " ' By the same rule that the mariner furls his sails before the storm bursts,' replied he. ' Medicine, sir, should be taken more frequently as a preventive than by way of cure.' " * That may be very true,' rejoined I. ' But, as far as I am con- cerned, I see no reason for fear. I'm just as I've been for the last fourteen years.' " ' Do not flatter yourself that, because the danger has not appear- ed, it icill not,' added the doctor. ' I beg now to apprize you that the germes of apoplexy arc about to spring. Be warned in time. Leave ofl' animal food, beer, wine, and spirits, and stick to my pills and brown bread. Delay is death !' " Now he chanced," continued the stout gentleman, " to strike the only mlnerable point in my constitution. I had often thought, with some degree of trembling, that I might be a likely subject for apo- plexy, and after some more conversation, and a great deal of reflec- tion, I determined to follow his advice. " Heaven knows that Dr. Gagem had not underrated the powers of his physic and diet. In three weeks I had no more stomach than a deal-board. Weak at the knees, pale as a peeled turnip, and so de- bilitated that I could not sit upright in my chair, I began to think it high time to change the system, and told the doctor so. " ' No, no, no,' returned he. ' The desirable efliects are just per- ceptible. Stick to the plan I laid down for you, and in a few days you'll never be liable to a fit of apoplexy as long as you live.' " ' Then I must keep to my bed,' said I, ' for I can scarcely crawl either out of it or into it now.' " ' Do so,' added the doctor. ' The more repose the better.' " Four long, weary days I remained in bed, so attenuated that I could hardly turn myself from side to side. Every figure and flower upon the cm-tains I counted over and over again in my lonely hours, and speculated, as they drew themselves lazily along, upon the joys that awaited me upon recei^dng permission to live again. " I had been dreaming of rich, thick turtle soup, haunches of veni- son, fatted capons, and things of such kind, Avhen I was suddenly awoke by a familiar voice, crying, ' Sleep no more. Wake and eat.' 64 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " I opened my eyes to the sound, and there by my bedside stood an apparition, holding a large tray, loaded with a rump-steak, smoth- ered with onions, a couple of French rolls, newly baked, and a bottle of ruby-bright port wine. " ' Am I asleep — do I dream V said I. " ' No,' replied the voice, which I now recognised as belonging to my kind-hearted, loquacious landlady. ' No, Mr. Brown,' added she, ' you've been asleep long enough, so have I, and nearly every one of my boarders beside.' " ' What do you mean V asked I, sticking a fork into the savory dish, and commencing a demolition of the dainties. " ' First of all, finish every morsel that Fve brought you,' replied she, ' and then Pll astonish you with a bit of news.' " ' What will the doctor say, ma'am V I inquired. " ' Doctor P exclaimed the landlady. ' A pretty kind of doctor, in- deed ! His object,' continued she, ' was to kill everybody in the house.' " ' Kill everybody in the house !' repeated I, stopping in the act of draining a glass of port. " ' Ah, sir !' sighed she, ' I little thought what a viper I'd got under my roof.' " ' Explain yourself, ma'am,' returned I. " * You'll eat no more when I have,' added she. "'I can't as it is,' said I. 'My powers of gastronomy are sadly impaired.' " ' 'Tis well they are not beyond tinkering,' replied the landlady. ' It was intended to render 'em so. For the sham doctor was nothing more nor less than ' ♦' ' What V said I. " ' A sleeping partner in an undertaker's !" " ' Good God !' exclaimed I. ' Drumming for business V " The landlady nodded. " It was true enough, driver," observed the stout gentleman ; " such was the object of the self-dubbed Doctor Gagem." SONNET TO MISS K.'S LAP-DOG. Blessed is thy lot, supremely blessed, Who sees must envy thee ; Thus hy that gentle hand caressed. And fondled in the rosy hreast Of that fair queen of chastity. Diverted hy thy artless play. Companion of her home. With thee she sports the live-long day, And xQaJkes thee partner of her -way When fancy leads her steps to roam. Her daily meal she hids thee share, And, with unfeigned delight. Selecting, -with attentive care. The choicest morsels for thy fare. Provokes thy little appetite. Sweet fav'rite. while tis thine to share What all with envy see : For this her Idndness, this her care, Let gratitude reward the fair With pleasing, fond fidelity. 9 ISA; A TALE OF EHORASSAIT. This scene is laid during the attacks made "by the Arats on the Persian em- pire. At the celehrated "battle of Kudaeah, nearly all the Persian army, 100,000 strong, fell The Arahs lost 3,000 men. The hattle of Nahavnnd decided the fate of Persia, when out of an army of 150,000 men, 30,000 fell, pierced hy the lances of the Arahs, and 80,000, in retreating, wete drowned. The sound of revelry was loud in Shahryar's brilliant palace. Azor, the flower of Persian chivalry, had returned ; and all the beau- tiful and the brave were assembled there to greet the youthful war- rior. All hearts beat high — music breathed around its witching power, and combined with the mazy dance to steep the senses in delight. There, every beauteous race beneath the sun were met — there shone the full and fawn-like eyes of Persia's daughters, the half-closed glances of the Kathayan, the bloom of Georgian cheeks, the golden ringlets of the Western isles. On a throne of pure white marble, carpeted with shawls and cloth of gold, Shahryar sat, arrayed in royal attire. His only child, the lovely Isa, to whose heart the pageant had been like death, had quitted the joyous festival to seek her lonely bower, to brood there in melancholy stillness o'er her grief. The moon was forcing its tender light through gilded lattices, wreathed with woodbine, honeysuckle, and the timid jasmine-bud; and Isa's heart was impressed with the solemn and quiet beauty of the scene, heightened by its striking contrast with that she had quitted ; and the sounds of merriment, issuing at intervals from the haram, obtruded upon her ear as if in mockery of her serious feelings. Gradually yielding to the calm and tranquillizing influence of the evening, she took her lute and tremblingly struck the chords. The strain at first was wild and irregular, but soon ran, as if unconsciously, into a mel- ody, the favorite of her beloved Azor ; that melody was accompa- nied with a voice which mated well with the tones of that soft in- ISA. 67 strument. The last notes were still lingering, as if unwilling to leave their lovely creator, when a light and well-known footstep made her conscious of her lover's approach. He stood before her, and, in hur- ried accents, said, " Isa, my betrothed, this night we part — before to- morrow's sun has kissed the brow of Turok we meet the Arab on the plains of Kudseah. Victory will crown our arms, for righteous Allah will support the just; ihen, with the speed of the eagle, will I return and claim my beauteous bride. Bethink thee of thy vow — may every saint watch over thee !" Isa replied, in trembling accents, " Farewell ;" and detaching from her rosary a golden amulet, fretted with Arabic characters, she threw it round his neck ; " Be this a charm of safety in the hour of danger — may this avert every threatened evil." She paused, for at that instant there burst upon them from beyond the grove that crowned their sol- itude, the tramp of horses, the shrill call, the clash of the cymbal, the ringing of arms. It was Azor's signal for departure ; he started at the sounds ; his hands pressed upon his beating brow told how re- membrance throbbed therein ; then, throwing himself upon his knees, and as suddenly starting up, he cried, " Oh ! Isa, in vain I strive to offer up a prayer — my knee may bend, my lips may move, but without thee I can not pray." Isa's head bent upon his trembling arm, startled by the breathing of lips that echoed back her anguish ; she suddenly raised herself ; her mild eyes looked up to Heaven — eyes whose light seemed rather given to be adored than to adore ; and, with a countenance calm but sorrowful, a sadness that could not weep, breathed an inarticulate prayer. The impatient pawing of the ground, the champing of a bit, told Azor his faithful steed awaited him. In happier hours Isa had ridden him, when, as if conscious of his precious burden, he was all gentleness ; now his wild nostrils snorting, his mane erected, he struggled fiercely under his warlike equipments. Isa rushed to him, and, clinging to his neck — " Rakush, dear Rakush, carry your master to victory." Azor's foot was now in the stirrup — his burning lips impressed a kiss upon her extended hand ; her eyes took their ago- nizing farewell — she fell senseless into the arms of her faitliful Ma- ridah. Isa had from her childhood been affianced to Azor ; the deadly wars 68 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. with the Arabs had taken him from lier ; but absence had increased her love. Hers was a pure, deep, ardent, and imperishable feeling. Azor was the sole joy, the pride, the ambition of her fond heart ; and never did saintly martjrr dedicate himself with more intense devotion to his faith than did Azor consecrate his heart to her. Love had been to his impassioned soul not merely a part of his existence, but the whole, the very life-breath of his heart ; and a purer shrine at which to offer up the fragrant incense of a first affection never existed. Isa's was not alone that loveliness by which the wilder passions are captivated ; it possessed the mind which sparkled through her whole frame, and lighted every charm. Her playful blushes seemed but the luminous escapes of thought ; her clear forehead was shaded by a rich profusion of glossy hair ; her eyes were full, and when stirred by anger or surprise, were fire itself, but at a word of tenderness be- came subdued and soft. Her mouth was harmony and love ; and hers was a form that could have spared from its rich world of beauty, charms enough to have made all others fair. In her were combined all that the spirit seeks for in heaven, and all that the senses pine for on earth. Maridah, for whom she felt a sister's affection, had early been bereft of one who had been her sole terrestrial hope, and, in her Avidowed state, the only feeling that seem- ed happiness to her, or rather the sole relief from aching misery, was to see Isa happy. Her smile brought to this faithful friend warmth and radiance like moonlight on a troubled sea. Many had sought Maridah's hand, but in vain ; the hymeneal chaplet that first graced her virgin brow was withered, and she knew no second vow could ever bid it bloom again. Daily did she pray and weep at the sepul- chre of the dead, strevdng the grave with fragrant blossoms, from the divine armita to the humble rosemary and basil-tuft, and looking forward with meek confidence to the time when their spirits, bursting from their charnel-vault, would be reunited, and wing their way to eternity. Time lingered on — Isa, the once hght-hearted maid, with sinking heart and tearful eyes, now bitterly, day by day, mourned her lover's absence. Her faltering speech, her estranged look, her very beauty changed, showed too well how deep his memory was graven on her heart. The cypress-leaf was withering — unsoothed by rest or sleep, ISA. 69 death seemed approaching. Sometimes she would start from her feverish slumber, and in the fond but deceitful thought that he had re- turned, instinctively clasp to her panting bosom its disordered dra- pery. Sometimes, too — for vague rumors of a battle had reached her — she beheld him, in her troubled dreams, on the field of blood, his cimeter flashing, his gallant steed springing to his touch, outnum- bered, not outbraved, opposing despair to daring, his sabre shivering to the hilt. The groans of the dying, the shout of Allah Akbar, the cry of ravening vultures, sounded on her ears ; she saw her lover blackening within her arms, parched and writhing in agony — his ashy lips approached hers. Maddening, and in torture, she awoke. Her dream had been too true — a wounded straggler from the field brought her the fatal news, that her soul's first and last idol had been mis- sing after the murderous strife. Azor had been foremost in the battle ; with vigor more than human he animated all. His crimson hand had given bloody welcome to the foe ; foiling the enemy's ranks, now reuniting his own ; wounded, at last, he bent senseless over his saddlebow — a film swept across his eyes — with feeble and convulsive efibrt he raised the amulet to his parching lips, then, gasping, fell senseless to the ground. Across his dizzy brain came the vision of her, his heart's pure planet, shining above the waste of memory — stupor crept over his frame. The voices of the exulting foe soon woke him from his transient forget- fulness — he tried to spring all bleeding from the earth — his creese was raised to stab his war-horse, who now, masterless, was strug- gling to burst his bloody girth. A band of Arabs seized the chief, and he, his country's pride, was doomed to experience an exile's sot- row. Azor's sufferings were acute in mental as in bodily anguish ; he lingered on a wretched existence ; one dear thought still haunted him, but the expiring throb of hope was nearly over. On the eighth morning, Maridah entered Isa's apartment, and, with a countenance brightened with unusual joy, awoke her suflfering friend. " Rise, sister ! rise ; I've news will make this day most blessed to thee and me — see these lines from Azor, brought by a ransomed prisoner." A faint scream escaped Isa's pallid lips ; her heart throbbed high. Seizing the scroll, she pressed it to her lips ; then, falling upon her 70 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. knees, from her heart's inmost core breathed a fervent prayer ; then, with a glow of rapture, she threw herself into Maridah's arms, wildly exclaiming, " Allah be praised ! he lives ! a captive — yet he lives." Shahryar, whose territory was threatened by the powerful Abdal- lah, sought the alliance of the Calif Istkahar, unhappily one of the many slaves of Isa's charms. He had offered ransom for the captive, Azor ; the terms struck heavy upon a father's ears — they were the hand of his affianced child. In vain did his better nature, his pater- nal feeling, struggle with his people's welfare ; suffice it to say he consented to sacrifice his child. Isa heard his determination with calm resignation — even without a murmur. She saw but one way to extricate herself, and resolved to adopt it. Istkahar was hourly expected at Merou ; the nuptials were to be celebrated in the most sumptuous manner. The morning arrived ; the rising sun seemed to visit with unusual splendor the polished domes, and fretted minarets, and stately towers. Like an eastern queen, decorated to receive her lord returning from triumphant war- fare, so was the royal city arrayed in all her gala decorations ; and the young morning breeze sported joyously with ten thousand thou- sand banners, making them to flaunt and flicker with their gaudy folds, and to seem like living inhabitants of the deep azure of that Persian sky. The bridal cavalcade was one unbroken line of splendor to the beholder's eye — to Isa it was a melancholy funeral pageant. Through the apartments, rich with arabesque painting and gilding, flowers and censers breathing sweets, Isa roamed almost bewildered. To her it was a maze of light and loneliness — the pomp of the scene was in opposition to her feelings. Paler than the marble pillar against which she leaned, Isa awaited the sacrifice ; her anxious friend Maridah was by her side, and pri- vately conveyed to her a small casket, which Isa concealed within her vest. The spacious hall was now crowded ; the contract was read; Isa's trembling fingers seized the pen, and signed the fatal deed. The tidings spread ; messengers were despatched to the Arab camp. The ceremony was proceeding. Isa was now called upon to pledge her vow at the altar ; she approached it with firm step, then taking the mysterious casket, was about to press it to her lips, when a thrilling cry of Azor reached her ear. Every eye turned toward ISA. 71 the corridor — there Azor stood, his desperate hand raised toward heaven, and, almost inflamed to madness, he shouted, "Isa! thy vow! by the remembrance of our once pure love ! — thy vow! heaven! vengeance !" " Oh, curse me not, dear Azor !" Isa wildly replied ; " it was grief, it was madness caused it all. Doubt not, my love ; when every hope was over, when frightful voices told me thou wert lingering in captiv- ity, I thought but of thy freedom — I would have purchased thy ran- som with my life — my brain gave way; and think how maddened I must have been, when, to save thee, I courted death ! Be not de- ceived — death is the bridegroom that awaits me !" Azor rushed forward, dashing the casket from her hand, sprang into her arms, and clasped her with speechless ecstasy. Istkahar, who had witnessed this scene with intense interest, ap- proached Isa, and, uniting her hand with Azor's, tore the contract. At this generous action the shouts of Allah echoed through the halls, the warrior's swords were pointed to heaven, while the harem's love- liness, waving their embroidered scarfs, made the air resound Avith the bridal song : — " Mubarak tad ! Mubarak bad ! Auspicious may your fortunes be ; And ever may your hearts, still glad. Respond to nuptial revelry. Mubarak bad ! Mubarak bad !" The ceremony proceeded ; and never did earth behold a sight more beautiful, when, as the rays of heaven (descending on the altar) shed their holy beams upon each brow, they knelt before that shrine, at the foot of which she would have immolated herself — their hands clasped in one, thus fondly pledged to live and die together. A MOTHEH'S LOVE. BY J, E. P. ON 6EEIN0 THE PORTBAITS OF MRS. COSTER AND HER DATJGHXER. A Mother's love ! Ah, •what can "be Of earth's affections half so holy. From, sin and selfishness so free. So little tinged "with human folly? Look on that face, eo calm, eo mild ! What love "beams forth in every feature 1 Ah, thou shouldst treasure, lovely child. The lessons of thy gentle teacher ! From, her thou mayest learn to sh\m The paths that lead to sin and sorrow; And through the course thou hast to run. Her hright example may'st thou "borrow. May peace upon ye "both attend, Fair gentle child and lovely mother ; When in this world your course shall end. May ye "be hlessed in another 1 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. •^ - A- E, BT a:j assistant undertaker. Some people are by nature calculated for a particular calling, and 1 think I may safely assert that I was for the funeral trade. I well re- member, when quite a lad, I used to trudge it long distances to see a fine burial. The tolling of a bell was music to me, and the shovel- ling of the gravel into the grave, good diversion. I delighted to be handling the old toothless sculls thrown up by the sexton's spade, and my playground was always in the churchyard alone. In due time I was apprenticed to an undertaker in Broadway, and so ardently did I engage in my master's business, that I soon gained not only his entire confidence, but I may say that I was the favorite of the establishment. In fact I was soon promoted to act second to him at funerals, and to take the sole direction myself, in all cases during his absence. One day my master came to me and said, " We've got a country job, Joey, and I must get you to drive the hearse — the widow is un- common particular." "Is she, sir ?" said I, almost bursting with delight at the prospect of going out of town on a professional tour. " Yes," replied my master ; " her husband was a very fat gentle- man, and she's mucli afraid to have him jolted.- The funeral will go from Bleecker street the day after to-morrow, to ****** in Connecticut; but you will have to start to-morrow morning early, and not let the horse go off a walk. The funeral party will overtake you." " Very well, sir," replied I. " Be careful and don't jolt him, Joey," added he ; " if you do, it might prove unpleasant, for he is a very tender subject" 10 74 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. " I understand, sir, and you may rely that I will not," said I, proudly. It was just nine o'clock on a cold February morning that I started from Bleecker street with my solitary but silent passenger. I was occupied during the whole tedious day with my thoughts, and with marking the progress of my journey by different tavern-clocks, where I stopped to warm my fingers and administer comfort to the inward man. I had performed nearly two thirds of my journey when night overtook me, and the cold became more intense. Sometimes the moon peeped for a moment between dark and heavy clouds flying before a whistling wind, making the night look pitchy black and comfortless ; but lighting a cigar, and between the puffs humming a tune, I felt as cheerful as a cricket in a hay-field. While thus proceeding with careful pace, I came in sight of a remarkably neat looking white tavern. The appearance of comfort and convenience, either for man or beast, tempted me to stop and take a rest. After seeing my horse and vehicle comfortably provided for in the shed, I took my way to the bar-room to order supper and get something to drink. " What, Joey !" hallooed a voice as I entered the room ; " is that you, my fine feller ?" " Yes," replied I, " it is ; how are you, Harry Drinkal ?" " Pretty middlin, I thank you," rejoined he, " but a little out of luck." It was one of our discharged apprentices, who had been in the business a long time ; but nothing could keep him sober even at his jobs, and so at last he was turned off by the boss, and had, as I was told some time before, turned resurrectionist. Harry was a short and thick-set wiry-looking fellow, with a broad face, and a pair of small eyes sunk right under his shaggy brows. His mouth was the largest I ever saw, and, taking him all in all, he was about the ugliest chap to be seen in a month's march. By his side sat a fox-haired Irish- man, tall, bony, and with the sinews of an ox shown in his bared and brawny arms ; between his legs a white bulldog squatted ; and, taking the three as a party, I never met with a rougher lot. " This friend of mine," said Harry, " Mr. O'Brien, is a man al- ways ready to fight and drink from sunrise to sunset." " Troth, you may safely say so, whinever you plase," observed Mr. O'Brien. THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 75 " I prefer drinking to fighting," I replied, " and, if you'll drink my health, I'll stand treat." After two or three goes of brandy each, they became very talka- tive, and commenced letting me into their secrets. " I suppose you know what we're about to-night ?" whispered Harry. " I can guess the trick you're up to," said I. " Sacking a subject," replied he ; " and the best stroke of trade that we've had since we took to the spade and pickaxe." " And how's that ?"' I inquired. " A smart young doctor, who is a walking saw-bone and amputation shop by himself, wants a subject for private use," replied Harry, " and, just for once in his life, w ishes to see the performance of getting one out. So he has agreed to give a matter of ten dollars if we let him go along." " It's a queer notion," observed I. " Curiosity, sir, curiosity as pure as the real Irish whiskey," said Mr. O'Brien. " There's more money made out of curiosity than any other feeling in the world. To see a learned pig, or a man hung — it's curiosity that brings the people." " He's a real out-and-out feel-osopher," remarked Harry. " The firm of Drinkal and O'Brien's no soft-soap concern," continued he, laughing, and giving his partner a heavy bang between his shoulders, " Are you sure of success to-night ?" inquired I. " Certain," replied Harry. " We had information of a young fe- male's being buried to-day not three miles from here, and the yard's nicely lonesome." " I thought you said our customer was to join us here at ten o'clock," remarked Mr. O'Brien, as the clock in the bar-room struck that hour. " Well, so I did," replied Harry. " I have no doubt the gentleman will be here presently." " I'll go and get the horse put in, then," rejoined his partner ; and with that he left the room. Soon after his going away the door was thrown open, and in came a tall 3'oung man wrapped in a great wide cloak. He seemed some- where about twenty years old, and was of a very pale countenance, with sharp, thin features. 76 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. " It's pretty near our time, sir," observed Harry, rising as the stranger entered the room. " Yes," replied he ; " but I'm hardly disposed to accompany you, the night's so wretched and cold." " Never have a faint heart, sir," said Harry, encouragingly. " Take a glass of hot brandy-and-water ; that's a lotion against cold." " Are you now ready to start?" asked the gentleman. " We shall be in a few minutes," replied Harry. " O'Brien's gone to bring the wagon round." Mr. O'Brien, however, remained absent much longer than was ex- pected, and when he returned he seemed to be quite warm. The per- spiration stood on his face, and he was panting for breath. " What the devil have you been about ?" asked Harry. " I forgot to bring the spades," replied he, " and I've had to run nearly two miles to borrow a couple of them." " Forgot to bring the spades !" exclaimed Harry. " Why I — " " No you didn't," interrupted Mr. O'Brien, " But I say — " " You didn't," again interrupted the Irishman, and I fancied he gave Harry a kind of wink. " Oh, yes, perhaps you're right, perhaps you're right," returned Harry, and then he went into an extravagant fit of laughing. " Only to think," said he, " that I should forget the spades ! What an over- sight !" and then he haw-haw'd again. I couldn't see anything in particular to laugh at myself, and I won- dered what tickled him so. But I was young and green then. " How soon do you start, Joey ?" asked Harry of me. " In about half an hour," I replied ; " can't you wait for me ; or ain't you going my way ?" " I expect you'll pass us," replied Harry. " But we must be off, s we have a full night's work ; no doubt we shall see you again, j,resently." With this the three left the house, and, climbing into a light wag- on at the door, the horse bounded forward at a rapid pace. I was soon afterward on the same road with my hearse. The cold increased with the night. A thin sleet fell, with some rain, and was blown into my face till I had no feeling left in it. Howling and THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 77 whistling through the leafless trees and hedges, the wind swept along, and nothing was heard above its roar but the bark of a dog now and then, and the harsh scream of a screech-owl, as she flapped her broad wing in the wintry blast. I proceeded at a slow pace, and when I had got about three miles from the inn, I saw in the rays of the moon, which showed her face for a moment, the spire of a country church peeping above the top of a dark willow tree, and close to the road-side. Under the tree I saw a light move, and then it appeared to be put out. " Thai's Harry's dark lantern," said I to myself, and so it proved to be. Upon stopping opposite the church, I heard the click of the spade at work, and, getting ofl' my box, was directed toward the spot by the sound. When within a short distance of them, the dog, who was squatting on a sunken grave, gave a deep, threatening growl. •' Is that you, Joey ?" inquired Mr. O'Brien, " All right !" I replied. " Down, Jowler, then, down, feller," replied his master. " If it had been anybody we didn't want to see," continued O'Brien, laughing, " he'd have drawn their windpipe out by this time." By the side of a partly-opened grave, in which Harry was working, stood tlie young medical student, and, as I came near him, I knew he was either trembling with fear, or shivering with cold, for his teeth chattered together, so as to be heard some distance off". " Make haste," he said, impatiently ; " I wish to God I had not come !" " Don't get in the fidgets, sir," replied O'Brien ; " Harry will soon get to her. Take a drop o' rum ; it'll comfort the cockles of your buzzum, sir," continued he, oflering the flask. " No, no, no, I can't drink," rejoined he. " Make haste ; pray let us leave here directly." " As soon as possible, if you're in such a hurry," added O'Brien. " But in a snug, cozy place like this, I don't see any call for haste." " I do, I do," returned the gentleman, quickly. " I know there's cause for haste." " Pooh, pooh ! you're a little bit scared, sir, that's all," added the Irishman. " Ha, ha, ha ! how asy some folks are frightened ! Ha, ha, ha ! I can't help laughing ;" and his loud peal echoed through the place, until every gravestone seemed to throw back the sound. 78 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " I say, you Paddy," called a voice from below. " Well, and what have you to say ?" inquired O'Brien, leaning over the edge of the grave. " We're in the wrong box," replied Harry. " This is a real stale one, and no mistake." The Irishman, hearing this, stamped his feet with rage, and cursed like a fiend. " Hush !" exclaimed the young gentleman, springing to his side ; " do hold your tongue." " Ain't it enough to make a dumb infant swear ?" returned O'Brien. " Are ye sure it's too ripe, Harry ?" inquired he. " I'm not certain," replied his partner, " but the box looks so." After a short pause O'Brien lowered some grappling irons attached to a rope into the grave, and told Harry to fix them in the shroud ; " for," said he, " you'll be a week in making up your mind about her." " I'm very doubtful, certainly," replied Harry ; " but there you are, all right ; pull away." Hand over fist the Irishman tugged the corpse to the verge of the grave, and, taking it in his arms, threw it across his bent knee upon the ground. " She won't do," said he, putting his hand into a side pocket, and taking out a hammer. " But she's got some good grinders for the dentist ;" and, holding the lantern close to the body's face, he struck the mouth sharply, crushing in the jaw. A shriek, wild and piercing, burst close to my ear as the hammer fell. " My God ! My God !" exclaimed a voice, and, jumping a yard at a single bound, the young gentleman fastened a grip like a tiger upon the throat of the Irishman. In a moment he was hurled to the ground, like a bull-dog shaking a rat from him. " Why, what's the matter with you ?" said O'Brien. " The matter !" screamed the medical student. " The matter !" and then he rolled upon the earth, as though in liquid fire. " Ha, ha, ha !" but the laugh was more horrid than his shrieks. " By Saint Patrick !" said O'Brien, " he's gone clean mad." " Would to Heaven that I was !" hallooed the gentleman. " Would to Heaven that I was ! for then " THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 79 He could say no more, but fell into a fit by the side of the corpse, apparently with as little of life left in him. Thinking his noise might disturb the neighborhood, I didn t wait an instant longer, but, running as fast as I could out of the yard, mount- ed my hearse, and started again with my load. I learned a few days afterward that they had mistaken the grave, and that the body dug up was that of the young gentleman's oicn mother ! The next morning, after my arrival at the place where the funeral was to go from, and just as we were ready to start for the grave, in our best plumes and feathers, a letter was put in my hands, marked " m haslc." Upon breaking it open, you may think of my astonish ment when I read the but here is the letter : " Dear Joseph : I'm almost busting with larfin to think how you will be laft at when our go of last night comes to be known. But as you have always been a first-rate fellow, and treated me like a gen- tleman, I won't let it get you into trouble if so be you're not a fool, and I reckon you ain't. Now, Joey, take a friend's advice. Be par- tickler in telling the fellows to draw your load with an old nurse's care from the hearse, for if they shake him, mark my words, Joey, he'll rattle like marbles in a saucepan. And if so be any of the mourners hear the row, they may take it into their obstinate heads to call for a screwdriver. In this case, my fine feller, you'd get very wrongfully suspected of foul play, as all you'd see on the box being opened, would be a few dozen large stones from the stable, put there in place of your fat passenger by my shrewd partner, Mr. O'Brien. Joey, you may think I'm lying, but I'm not when I say, if I'd known of his plan aforehand it shouldn't have happened. However, what's done can't be undone, and all you've got to do is, mind and not have the box shaken, that's all. " Harry Drinkal." It may be easily supposed that I had a sort of a quecrish sensation at this piece of news. All manner of fancies came over me. The old widow, thought I, will insist on having just one last look before he's covered up. Then I feared we should have an upset, a slip, or a rope snap. All possible events for finding me out in the quandary were chewed very fine in my brain, and as I got upon the hearse to join in the procession, no poor fellow ever mounted a much more un- easy seat in this world or the other, I know. As in a good many 80 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. Other affairs, appearances being against me, no one would credit the truth in case the exchange was discovered ; and all my hopes and prospects of course depended on the secret remaining snug and secure. On our way to the churchyard, things went smooth enough. I was more gentle than a lamb with my horse, especially round the near corners, for, thought I, if one or two of them stones get loose, they'll find me out to a certainty. " Be careful, Sammy," said I to one of the men, as he unfastened the hearse door ; " be careful, Sammy. The lady partickerly ordered that he wasn't to be jolted." " Pooh !" growled Sammy, in a loudish whisper, " I dare say you smacked him out here at the rate of twelve miles an hour, and spent the rest of the time at the taverns along the road." " At no expense of yours, if I did," replied I, indignantly. " Well, then, I'll be careful," said he sarcastically, and at the same time giving the coffm such a pull that sent all the blood tingling to my toes. Desperation makes a man beside himself. Without thinking of the consequences, but only of the likelihood of Sammy's violence let- ting the cat out of the bag, I leaped off my seat, and, throwing the reins across my horse, rushed to what I may call the rescue. " Drop that as you would a hot potato," cried I, clutching hold of the coffin. " Damn your impudence !" hallooed Sammy, planting a left-handed whack just in the middle of my pin-cushion. " Put that in your pipe," said he. Down I tumbled backward, and lay sprawling in the road. Our master, who was standing with the old widow and the other members of the fat old gentleman's family, at some little distance off, saw there was something going on, and came running toward us like a lamp- lighter. " What's all this about, eh ?" asked he ; " what's all this about 1" Now Sammy was as artful a fellow as ever was picked, and see- ing I couldn't speak a word, said he, " Sir, Pm sorry to say Joey's drunk." " Drunk !" exclaimed he, fixing a look upon me that I shall never THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 81 forget ; " drunk at a job like this ! Oh, Joey ! Avhat an ungrateful boy you are !" " I'm not, sir," replied I as well as I could, but each word seemed to prove to the contrary. " I'm not drunk, sir. Sammy's hit me be- cause I wanted to see your orders obeyed, and he wouldn't do them." " Shut up your noise," returned my master ; " I'll see into this busi- ness by-and-by." After the performance was over, there was a regular sort of trial, and my story being believed, Sammy was cleared out. My master, tliinking a good thing might be made out of the morning's rumpus, went with his best business-face to the family, and made out that I was one of the tenderest-hearted boys in the world, who couldn't tamely sit by and see the affectionate feelings of a devoted lady out- raged. With a little more lingo, he so scraped upon the catgut of the old widow, that she sent me a five-dollar gold piece, and a message to bid me remember " that one kind turn often brings another." As near as I can recollect, it was just two months after this funeral of the box of stones, that we had a job to take a body out of the Lu- natic Asylum. The day was very wet and doleful-looking. A thick fog hung in one dense cloud from house-tops to the damp and greasy stones. A drizzling rain fell, and the air seemed to drill itself tlirough your wheezing lungs. Cold and wet, we arrived at the island in a boat. " What's this 'sylum built for ?" asked one of our green chaps. " I expect it's for people who've lost their wits," I replied. " Are we going, then, to bury one of them ?" -asked he. " Yes," said I ; " we're just about putting the finishing stroke to that which the horrors began." As I was screwing down the lid of the coffin, I entered into con- versation with one of the keepers, who told me the history of the deceased. " He was a fine young man," said the keeper, " a youn^ doctor practising anatomy, and, wanting a subject, he went with some resurrectionists to raise one somewhere up in Westchester. Not knowing where they were going to, you may guess his surprise when he found himself in the churchyard of his own native village. The horrors now began to creep upon him, and he tried to persuade them 11 82 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. to leave the place, but ' No, no !' was the answer, * not until we fill our bag.' " It is a most singular and remarkable circumstance," continued the keeper, " that these fellows should have made a mistake, and the first body they dug up was no other than the young gentleman's ma- ternal parent, who had been buried some seven weeks." " Good God !" I exclaimed, remembering the circumstance of the night, with which the reader is acquainted ; " and what followed ?" " From that moment the young fellow became daft," rejoined the keeper, " and in two weeks after the event he was brought here by his friends. He has never spoken diuring the last six weeks. In- deed, his is a melancholy end !" THE UNHAPPY UNION. The fate of Fanny F. made a strong impression upon my mind. I have known few women of more amiable dispositions, more accom- plished, or more capable of rendering a man of sense and sentiment happy, and of being rendered happy by him. Her great weakness lay in her having too little reliance in her own judgment, and being too pliant to the importunity of others. She was persuaded by her relations to marry Mr. Bond, a young man, who, by the death of an elder brother, had acquired an immense fortune. Her relations assured her that " he was the best young man in the world ;" and when she confessed to them, that in spite of his good qualities, it was impossible for her to meet with a man for whom she could feel more indiflference : she was told that it was an objection of no impor- tance, because she might come to like him more, but Avould never like him less, which was an advantage many married women did not enjoy. THE UNHAPPY UNION. 83 Mr. Bond was a great observer of decorum and uniformity, and particularly fond of whatever was new. As lie had taken a wife, which was quite a new thing to him, he resolved to have other parts of his establishment as new as her, to please himself. He therefore took a new house, ordered new furniture, new car- riages, neAv liveries, caused his old pictures, particularly a holy family, by Raphael, to be new varnished, and he exchanged an an- tique statue which his father had brought from Rome, for one a great deal newer. He rejected the proposal of having some old family jewels to be new set for his wife, and ordered others for her, all spick and span new ; in short, everything ho presented her with, was new, except his ideas : of these he had but a scanty proportion ; and what few he had, were worn threadbare by use. The frequent repetitions of observations not worth making, was rather tiresome to the most patient of his acquaintance, but to his wife became oppressive. As young Mr. Bond lived as well, according to the phrase, as most men, he had abundance of visiters. His house was peculiarly conve- nient to some of his wife's relations who were fond of entertainments, and to whom it was more agreeable to enjoy them in their friends' houses, than in their own. Poor Fanny was thought by some to have been made a sacrifice to this taste of her nearest relations ; for what- ever happiness they might have in her house, she had none. She was miserable, however, in a different style to other unfortunate people ; not from want, but from superabundance : she had a profusion of everything, and seemed to have a relish for nothing. There were few things of which she had a greater share, and for which she had a smaller relish, than her husband's company. When first I knew Fanny F., she lived with her mother in a frugal manner, and she was one of the most cheerful girls I was ever ac- quainted with. When I visited her after her marriage, I found her in a house like a palace, surrounded with gaudy superfluity ; but she herself with a face of languor and dejection. At sight of me, her features were en- livened : I recognised the countenance of my old companion ; but, her husband coming in, it resumed its former dejection. Nothing, to be 84 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. sure, could be more teazingly ceremonious than the behavior, or more oppressively insipid than the conversation, of this worthy man. His wife blushed as often as he spoke. She made one attempt to get rid of him, by putting him in mind of an engagement. " There would be more impropriety," said he, " in leaving you and this lady, my dear, than in breaking the engagement." I entreated he might use no cere- mony. He said, " he understood politeness better." When I saw the case desperate, I rose to withdraw. He led me through several rooms to exhibit his new-colored pictures, and the splendor of the furniture. " You see, madam," said he, addressing me, " that your friend is in possession of everything that can render a woman happy." The tears started into my poor friend's eyes, and I hiurried away, that she might not see I had perceived it. If I had not been so determined before, this example would have made me resolve never to be the wife of a man I did not both love and esteem in a supreme degree, whatever his wealth and his good nature might be. Unquestionably, instances may be produced of women Avho have been rendered unhappy by husbands whom they both loved and es- teemed at the time of their marriage ; but even those women, though on the whole, unfortunate, had enjoyment for a certain period at least, whereas poor Mrs. Bond has never had a day free from tedium since that of her marriage. Her hours, which formerly danced away as lightly as those of Guido's Aurora, now move at a snail's pace along a heavy, cheerless road. Good sense, generosity, and spirit, Avith humanity, arc indispensable requisites in a husband. DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUTY. It is difficult to form any piuictual notions of beauty. Qualities of personal attraction, the most opposite imaginable, are each looked upon as beautiful in different countries, or by different people in the same country. " That which is deformity at Paris, may be beauty at Pekin !" "Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape. Who dost in every country change thy shape ; Here "black, there browri, here tawny, and there white !" The frantic lover sees " Helen's beauty in an Egyptian brow." The black teeth, the painted eyelids, the plucked eyebrows, of the Chinese fair, have admirers ; and should their feet be large enough to walk upon, their owners are regarded as monsters of ugliness. The Lilliputian dame is the beau ideal of perfection in the eyes of a northern gallant ; while in Patagonia they have a Polyphemus-standard of beauty. Some of the North American nations tie four boards round the heads of their children, and thus squeeze them, while the bones are yet tender, into a square form. Some prefer the form of a sugar- loaf ; others have a quarrel with the natural shortness of the ears, and therefore from infancy those are drawn down upon the shoulders ! With the modern Greeks, and other nations on the shores of the Mediterranean, corpulc7icy is the perfection of form in a woman ; and those very attributes which disgust the western European, form the attractions of an oriental fair. It was from the common and admired shape of his countrywomen, that Rubens in his pictures delights so much in a ■voilgar and odious plumpness : when this master was desi- rous to represent the " beautiful," he had no idea of beauty under two hundred weight. His very Graces are all fat. The hair is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has always been a disputed point which color most becomes it. We account red hair an abomination ; but hi the time of Elizabeth it found admirers, and 86 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, though she had exquisite hair of her own, wore red fronts. Cleopatra was red-haired ; and the Vene- tian ladies at this day counterfeit yellow hair. But where are we to detect its especial source of power ? Often forsooth in a dimple, sometimes beneath the shade of an eyelid, or perhaps among the recesses of a little fantastic curl ! The fit of admi- ration seizes us without warning, and either disposition, or our weak- ness, favors the surprise. One look, one glance, may fix and deter- mine us. Few are there that can withstand " the sly smooth witchcraft of a fair young face." — " It calls the cynic from his tub to woo." Led by no sense as they are by the eyes, you may see the most sober men content to lock up their wishes in the meshes of a little auburn hair. Many could demonstrate to perfection the eligibility of freedom to servitude, and yet are practically too weak to resist the sensual allure- ments of some pretty casuist : a touch, soft as the brush from the pinions of the dove, winds them to her purpose. "Fair tresses raan'a imperial race ensnare. And "beauty draws us with, a single hair !" We seek not here to revolt the enthusiasm of any man, or to warp any natural bias that may be felt toward the daughters of men ; yet how far an unmitigated dotage upon beauty is reasonable, no one in his sober senses can hesitate to decide. 'Tis a composition we can all admire ; it exists doubtless for peculiar ends ; but let it maintain its legitimate influence, and be bounded there. The privilege of being first heard, it is always likely to have ; but must it always continue to take place of everything, ordinary and extraordinary 1 "Eor what adnairest thou, what transports thee so? An outside ? Fair, no douht, and worthy well Thy cherishing, thy honoring, and thy love — Not thy suhjection !" Yet this influence, vast as it is, is but for a while ; it is " a short- lived tyranny." It is an electrifier, the power of which only endures while an adventitious property abides with it. The holyday-time of beauty has its date, and 'tis the penalty of nature that [ iris must fade and wither, as their grandmothers have done before the.n. DIFFERENT IDEAS OF BEAUTY WOMAN's INFLUENCE, ETC. 87 The venerable abbey, and aged oak, are the more beautiful in their decay ; and many are the charms around us, both of art and nature, that may still linger and please. The breaking wave is most graceful at the moment of its dissolution ; the sun, when setting, is still beauti- ful and glorious, and though the longest day must have its evening, yet is the evening as beautiful as the morning ; the light deserts us, but it is to visit us again ; the rose retains after-charms for sense, and though it fall into decay, it renews its glories at the approach of anoth- er spring. But for woman there is no second May ! " Stat sua suique dies." To each belongs her little day ; and time, that gives new whiteness to the swan, gives it not unto woman ! WOMAN'S INFLUENCE. Like the olive-tree — said to fertilize the surrounding soil — there are some few ministering angels in female guise among us all and about our paths, who sweetly serve to cheer and adorn life. Our amusements are insipid unless they contribute to them ; our efforts of noblest ambition feeble, unless they applaud — its rewards valueless, unless they share them ! There are, too, some rude spirits in the world, whose bolder nature female influence admirably serves to refine and temper ; and perhaps it is not an extreme eulogium of the poet — that without that influence many a man had been " a brute indeed !" The concurrence of both sexes is as necessary to the perfection of our being, as to the existence of it : man may make a fine melody, but woman is also required to make up harmony ! SELFIS HNE SS. If, in the wide catalogue of human faults, there be one more than another which we would cover with our hand as the most unsightly blot upon human nature, it is the vice of selfishness. There are faults that may be wept over, but this is not one of them ; and crimes, spring- ing directly from the passions, seem almost venial compared with that habitual, undisguised self-worship which is the offspring of a mean soul. 'Tis a blemish that stands out grossly to the eye — more " Than lying, vainness, "baTDlDling, druiLkenness, Or ANT taint of vice, -whose strong corruption Inherits our frail 131005. I" LINES ON SEEINa A PORTRAIT COUNTESS DE OALABRELLA. Ladt, ere now ray liarp haia sung The trave, tlio "beautiful, and young ; But form and face like thine demand A mastei'a mind — a raaster's hand. And Msrhose the hand may fitly twine A wreath for heauty such as thine ? And who may sing what "knights" to thee Have breathed the vow and hent the knee ? Or, trembhng on thy glance wait To read the sentence of their fate ? The soul refined, the mental grace, That shine transparent in thy face ; The amhush, 'mid those sunny tresses. Where Love his potent spell confesses. The eye, the cheek, the lip, declare The stamp that seraph natures hear. Such forms, perchance, may gild the dream. And sparkle in the poet's them.e ; But few are they, and far apart. Can fix, like thee, the knightly heart, And teach the vassals in their train To glory in a "captive's chain," «^. //. '"//A / when he found, to his great delight, that the water during his absence, and in the brightest atmosphere and sunshine, had again collected I He then fetched his mug, drank some of this fresh water, and pro- nounced it superlatively excellent. Once more he scooped it out, and posted himself, watch in hand, in order precisely to determine in Avhat time the basin would again fill itself. As soon as this fact was known, some one rushed out of the Brocken House with loud and fearful cries toward the Wolken-Hiiuschen. The philosopher at the Witches' Wash-Basin seeing this, and imagining that something very remarkable had happened, left the observation of the basin for a few moments ; when the same maid, who was watching her opportunity, filled it a second time. On his return, he was delighted to find that in exactly ten minutes and forty seconds the water had re-collected itself. He now ordered a table and chair, paper, pen, and ink, to be brought, in order to note down the minutest particulars of this great natural wonder ; and while writing his article, he protested in the most solemn manner that his book of travels should at least on this point be most distinct in its description of so wonderful a phenomenon ! Therefore he asserted that tliis was the greatest curiosity which he had seen in his travels in Germany, and that it alone was a sufficient inducement to an ascent of the Brocken. He lamented only that this remarkable stone should receive so little attention ; it ought, he suggested, to ha\'e a little house built over it, and the water only appropriated to curative purposes. I will only add that this profound philosopher was left in possession of his faith ; the consequences of which have been, that most of his 94 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. countrymen have always eagerly inquired for the Witches' Wash- Basin, and admired it as a wonderful rarity. One disadvantage re- sulted from this in dry weather ; as it was then necessary to keep the maid constantly employed in watching the place. THE YOUNG LADY AND THE WIFE. BT THE EDITOR. A LADY should appear to think well of books, rather than to speak well of them ; she may show the engaging light that good taste and sensibility always diffuse over conversation ; she may give instances of great and affecting passages, because they show the fineness of her imagination, or the goodness of her heart ; but all criticism, beyond this, sits awkwardly upon her. She should know more than she dis- plays, because it gives her unaffected powers in discourse ; for the same reason that a man's efforts are easy and firm, when his action requires not his full strength. She should, by habit, form her mind to the noble and pathetic ; and she should have an acquaintance with the fine arts, because they enrich and beautify the imagination ; but she should carefully keep them out of view in the shape of learning, and let them run through the easy vein of unpremeditated thought ; for this reason, she should seldom use, and not always appear to understand, the terms of art ; the gentlemen will occasionally explain them to her. I knew a lady of address, who, when any term of art was mentioned, always turned to the gentleman she had a mind to compliment, and, with uncommon grace, asked him the meaning ; by this means, she gave men the air of superiority they like so well, while she held them in chains. No humor can be more delicate than this, which plays upon the tyrant, who requires an acknowledgment of superiority of sense, as well as power, from the weaker sex ! THE YOUNG LADY AXD THE WIFE. 95 A lady sporting her leariung, and introducing her verses upon all occasions, reminds one of a woman, who has a fine hand and arm, a pretty foot, or a beautiful set of teeth, and who is not satisfied with letting them appear as nature and custom authorize, but is perpetually intruding her separate perfections into notice. If a woman neglects the duties of her family and the care of her children — if she is less amiable as a wife, mother, or mistress, because she has talents or acquirements, it would be far better if she were without them ; and when she displays that she has more knowledge than her husband, she shows, at least, that no woman can have less sense than her- self. There is no great need of enforcing upon an unmarried lady the ne- cessity of being agreeable ; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. Nature has multiplied at- tractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needs no aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can expect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when a lover. Men are always duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should, therefore, ascertain what was the charm that rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and en- deavor to keep it up when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an mimarried female always observes. She should maintain the same niceness and reserve in her person and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness and delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember that the province of a woman is to be wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses rather than wins him. TO M Pu S . M A E E E, L Y. BY N. P. WILLIS. The music of the wakened lyre. Dies not upon the quivering strings, Nor hums alone the minstrel's fire Upon the hp that tremhling sings ; Nor shines the moon in heaven unseen. Nor shuts the flower its fragrant cells. Nor sleeps the fountain's wealth, I ween, !For ever in its sparry wells — The spells of the enchanter lie Not on his own lone heart — his own rapt ear and eye. I look upon thy face as fair As ever made a Hp of heaven Falter amid its music-prayer ! The first-ht star of summer even Springs not so softly on the eye, Nor grows, with watching, half so hright, Nor mid its sisters of the sky. So seems of heaven the dearest light — Men murmur where that face is seen. My youth's angehc dream was of that look and mien. Yet though we deem the stars are hlest. And envy, in our grief, the flower That hears hut sweetness in its hreast, And fear th' enchanter for his power. And love the minstrel for the spell He winds out of his lyre so well — The stars are almoners of Hght, The lyrist of melodious air, The fountain of its waters hright, And everything most sweet and fair Of that hy which it charms the ear. The eye of him that passes near — A lamp is ht in woman's eye That souls, else lost on earth, rememher angels hy. THE BETROTHED BT A. B. CLKVELAKD, A. M. CHAPTER I. THE RIDE. It is now nearly fifteen years since tlic events I'm about to re- late took place. I shall not trouble you with the details of my family history, or the chain of events which placed me, at the age of nine- teen, a student in Hamilton college, in the State of New York ; suf- ficient to say that such was my position at the time I am now about referring to. About a year after my advent at college, I formed a strong friend- ship with a young brother student of the name of Campbell, a frank, kind, and generous fellow. In truth, a more perfect young man I never knew. With one of the strongest frames, he had even an al- most feminine delicacy of appearance, so nicely proportioned was each limb and muscle. With the spirit of a lion, his heart was tender as a woman's, and his features bore the stamp of an honorable mind and rectitude of principle. Both of us were passionately fond of country rambles, and it was frequently our custom to ride abroad on horseback, seeking and find- ing adventures, which a sober denizen of a town might envy. It was a morning in March. The rough, burly wind swept hum- mingly through branch and through bough, " piping before the flowers hke a bacchanal." Heavy dew hung upon the greensward, glittering in the glad sunshine, and the songs of birds, trilled in wild delight, rang merrily through meadow, copse, and wild. Spring, smiling, pretty spring, was dancing in her early, unfolding loveliness. Flowers peeped from their frosted trance, and welcomed their mistress as she 13 98 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. pressed each bud and blossom. The bee stole from his almost store- less hive, and recommenced his busy, thrifty task. Things that love the summer hailed the herald of their joy, and revelled in nature's freshly-decked beauty. We had ridden several miles from College Hill, when we suddenly came near to an Indian mound, so common in that part of the country, and were somewhat surprised at seeing a lady sitting alone upon it, attired in a green riding-habit, and holding the rein of a beautiful white horse, cropping the grass at her feet. There was something strange in the expression of her features as we met her gaze, al- though more beautiful man's eyes never rested on. Her hair, black as the raven's wing, was looped in two thick braids on each side of her face, radiant with loveliness. Her dark thick brows arched above a pair of hazel eyes, that flashed again as they seemed to penetrate the object of their regard ; and her complexion rivalled the half- blown rose that she was carelessly pulling to pieces leaf by leaf, and letting them fall scattering in the wind. Her figure Avas tall and slight, but the tight habit showed a bust exquisitely moulded, and there was something inexpressibly strange in her intense and almost fiery glance, which fixed our attention upon her. " Who can she be ?" exclaimed Campbell. " Heaven knows !" replied I, " but there'll be no difficulty in learn- ing. I'm only astonished that we've not heard of her before." " Heard of her before !" repeated Campbell, involuntarily. " She can not reside near, or we must have heard of her," continued he, por- traying by his manner an extraordinary interest concerning the fair stranger. " Here comes somebody who doubtless can inform us," said I, see- ing old Morgan, the well-known purveyor of the college, approaching. " Ay," returned Campbell, " that old fellow is acquainted with every one, from the minister to the bell-ringer, within a circle of twenty miles. We will sound him upon this subject," continued he, spurring his horse toward the old man. " Good morning, gentlemen," said Morgan, taking the cap from his bald and frosted head, and saluting our approach. " A beautiful oily wind from the south ; only a leetle too much of it, gentlemen." " There's a young lady, dressed in green, sitting on the mound THE BETROTHED. 99 yonder," said Campbell, pointing to the spot where he had seen her ; " perhaps she will join us in our ride. Do you know who she is V " Know who she is, sir !" said Morgan, " that I do ; there can be only one of her sort in this county." " What do you mean ?" I inquired. " I haven't much time to talk about her," replied he, pulling out his watch, " but I'll tell you her name. It is Miss Alice Grey ; and a nicer lady never lived anywhere, although some folks think her ways rather odd, and, perhaps, they are, seeing that they are different to most ladies. She lives about five miles from here, in a very old, queer-shaped building, and is quite her own mistress, being without father and mother ever since her childhood, and no one ever seeing after her, except an old woman, provided by a gentleman called her guardian, I believe. Miss Alice doesn't visit many of her neighbors — folks say because she can't sing, play, and dance like other young ladies of quality. But, Lord, gentlemen," continued Morgan, turning his eyes to Heaven, " if you'd only heard her sing, as I have once or twice at sunrise, you'd say it was really angelical. However, it's quite true that she doesn't go to parties, or give any, but keeps herself to herself, and seems to think of nothing but doing all the good she can to everybody, everywhere. There's not a poor person anywhere round here that knows what it is to want. Her bounty never comes to a check, but is always the same on a right scent. And then her riding ! But if she is going your way, you'll have a sample o' that, gentlemen. She goes like a pigeon ! Is she on a wliite horse ?" in- quired he. *' Yes," replied Campbell. " Ah ! that's her mare Moonbeam — that is," rejoined Morgan, " and a most splendid animal she is, too, only a little skittish fer the lady." At this moment, to our surprise. Squire Merton came suddenly in sight, and without hardly deigning to bow to us, went and saluted Miss Grey. She thereupon mounted on her snowy horse, at the same time causing the squire to laugh immoderately at something she said to him. " She's a wonderful favorite of the squire's," said Morgan in an under tone, baring his head and bowing as the two rode toward us. " Well, Morgan," said the yoimg lady, in one of the most musical 100 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. voices I had ever heard, and looking archly at the old man, " shall we have a pleasant ride to-day ? Is the ground too dry or too wet ? or is the wind from the frigid north ? or which of the many ills, to Avhich blank and bloodless days are prone, may be ascribed to this ?" " Not one, I hope, ma'am," replied Morgan, smiling, "and the mare I hope she will behave herself — though, 'pon my word, I am some- times afraid of Moonbeam when I see you ride." " Psha !" exclaimed the lady, " she's as gentle as a lamb — she knows the gait of her mistress ;" and switching the animal into a racer's pace, she almost flew from our presence. " There's a Diana !" exclaimed the squire, delighted, and spurring his horse after her. " Hold hard, my flower !" continued he, " give us time to overtake you." In a few moments we had joined the squire in the race. High on her haunches Moonbeam reared, as she fretted and pulled upon the checking-rein ; but when it was slackened, away she bounded with her fair mistress, with the speed of a bird, on the wing of sudden and ecstatic freedom. Miss Grey, glancing back, and occasionally catching a glimpse of our party, made her laugh echo far and wide, and, waving her hand, beckoned to the squire in derision ; but on she still went. " That's what I call reckless riding," said the squire, spurring his horse to urge the animal to a still greater speed. A light laugh came from the lady in response, and, switching Moon- beam, she made a still greater distance between us and herself, as if determined that none should cope with her beautiful white steed. " Hold hard !" hallooed the squire, as Miss Alice left loose her horse's head on the verge of a dangerous precipice which he Avas aware Ave were approaching. " To the right, to the right ; don't go near that side," said he, waving his hand, to beckon her away. " By St. Paul !" continued he, with terror expressed in his voice and features, "the mare can't turn there — she's lost, gentlemen!" It was true enough. Straight as a bolt from a crossbow, her horse took the fearful leap, rising in the air like a bird springing for its flight, for a brief moment, and then over they went, without even ring- ing a clink from Moonbeam's ironed hoofs. THE BETHROTHED. 101 " My God !" exclaimed Campbell, pale with fear for her safety, "both horse and rider must be dashed to pieces !" The squire was too frightened to utter a single word. In fact he seemed to be perfectly paralyzed ; for at that moment, without even looking over the precipice, he asked Campbell to ride for a doctor. For my own part I involuntarily sprang from my horse, and almost instantly gained a winding lane which commenced a steep descent on the right. It was so thickly studded with bushes and brush that I could not see a yard ahead, and but for the fact that I knew I was descending, I could not have imagined whether I was going right or not. For more than an hour I wandered in the intricacies of this crooked path, trying alternately to re'gain the summit of the liill or to find some definite road toward the bottom. At last, as I turned one of its abrupt corners, my heart leaped to my throat at seeing, close to my feet, Moonbeam stretched dead in the road. The sidesaddle, with its broken pummel, was twisted under her, the crupper snapped, and her bridle dragged from over her ears. It was too obvious that the worst had occurred, and that in leaping down the dizzy height she must have entailed destruction upon her fair mistress as well as herself. Expecting to see the confirmation of what I feared, I looked trem- blingly about the road, and saw, within a few feet of the horse's head, a few drops of blood, and, upon a bush close by, some small pieces of green cloth, which hung on the thorns. These were sufficient proofs of what had happened, and, almost palsied with horror, I di- rected my course in the only direction the unfortunate lady could have been borne, should she have been discovered, which was the one I had been pursuing — down the hill. I had not gone far, when I came into a fair road, and presently I saw Campbell's horse tied to the gate of a farm-house. Groans and sobs saluted my ear before I reached the threshhold, and, as I was about flinging open the door, Campbell, ghastly white, hurried out, and, seeing me, exclaimed, " My God, she's killed !" and rushed past me. 102 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. CHAPTER II. inss grey's history — the student's first visit. Upon entering tte house I discovered Miss Grey stretched upon a bed in an inner room, surrounded by a group of weeping children and a woman. The latter was almost frantic with grief, continuing to wring her hands, beat her bosom, and between her sobs and groans exclaim, " Lord, have mercy on us ! the poor young lady is killed. Sorrow to all ! sorrow to all !" The sight was truly heart-breaking. With hair dishevelled and streaming down her pale features, scratched and torn in rude gashes, lay Miss Grey, without a symptom of life remaining. Her dress was severed into rags and tatters, and the terrific violence of the fall was portrayed in every part of her disfigured person. " Do you think she is quite dead ?" inquired the poor woman, as I pressed my fingers on her pulse. I could discover no fluttering in this index of life, but gave imme- diate directions for the loosening of her dress, and other trifling or- ders preparatory to the doctor's visit, wliich was momentarily ex- pected. As I continued to watch anxiously for a sign of returning life, the neighboring farmers' wives stole silently into the room, and whispered their grief and forebodings one to the other, while tears of sincere sorrow coursed down their cheeks in streams. " She's gone, Mrs. Davis," said one, choking with grief, " she's gone. Our friend's in heaven !" " God be merciful to her," added another. " The flower's nipped in the morning of her life. Lord, have mercy on her !" Some knelt by the bedside and prayed fervently for her restoration ; others, whose grief was beyond their control, wept like their half- frightened, half-sorrowing children, and all evinced an intensity of grief for their beautiful, generous, and ill-fated friend. In about twenty minutes, which appeared to me the slowest that were ever ticked in the balance of time, the doctor entered the room. Taking a glance at the inanimate lady, he shook his head despond- ingly, and said, " I fear all earthly aid is futile." THE BETROTHED. 103 " Say not so, sir, say not so !" ejaculated a voice in the deepest consternation. It was Squire Merton, pushing his way throutrh the throng congregated in the room. " I fear such to be the case, sir," added the doctor, taking a case of instruments from his pocket. " But this room must be cleared," added he. " I can have no one present but those who are necessary for my assistance." All left except myself, Campbell, and the squire, who, although in- capable, from his agitation, to render any assistance, could not be persuaded to quit the apartment. " Raise her gently in your arms, in a reclining posture," said the doctor to me. Quickly running his fingers over her limbs and body, he twisted a ligament round her exquisitely-moulded arm, and forcing a lancet into the vein, a crimson drop or two came reluctantly from the wound ; but that was all. The doctor gave a look of entire hopelessness, and motioned me to place her in her former posture, when, as I moved to do so, a clear current trickled from the opened vein, and, as her head rested on the pillow, a sigh broke from her lips. " Cheering symptoms, cheering symptoms !" exclaimed the doctor. *' We shall save her!" continued he. The squire clutched the doctor's hand and said, "A thousand thanks for that hope." " There's not a limb fractured," continued the doctor, " and I begin to think no bone ; but we shall see that presently," added he. " Thank God ! there are sparks of life remaining !" " Amen, amen !" returned the squire fervently. " There's a great crowd outside," observed Campbell, " scarcely able to remain there, such is their desire to learn how the dear lady is ; shall I inform them of our hopes ?" " By all means," replied the squire. Scarcely had Campbell gone from the room when a murmur, like the hum of bees, was heard, and a suppressed but audible shout of joy. " I should feel," said the squire, " that the sun had set for ever, if anything took from us Miss Grey. " Ah ! indeed, Mr. Merton," added the doctor, " she's the sunshine to many hearts, and may God restore her to them !" 104 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " He will, sir," returned the squire confidently, and rising from the edge of the bed to take a closer view of the sufferer's pallid features, " He will, sir — I'm sure he will." The blood had flowed freely for some seconds, and the fluttering pulse, like a flame kindling from smothered embers, flickered, beat, and stopped, and then throbbed again, as if impatient of its newly- gained action. At length the ashy lips separated from being firmly fixed, and the silken lashes of the eyes gradually became untwined, until the eyes once more were visible. A faint smile spread itself over her countenance as Miss Grey endeavored to raise herself, but the doctor instantly checked her, and said, " Now, gentlemen, I can dispense with your presence for that of the good woman of this house, if you will send her to me." The squire pressed the hand of the patient, and then followed us from the room. After about the lapse of an hour, the doctor joined us, and said he had left his patient in a most refreshing sleep, and that there was nothing more serious than a slight concussion of the brain and some severe contusions. " Then you deem her out of danger,", said the squire. " Out of all immediate danger," was the reply, " and there is noth- ing to make me anticipate any ; although from such an accident we can not form a hasty conclusion." "When do you think she can be removed home?" asked the squire. " I hope in the course of to-morrow," replied the doctor ; " but I shall remain here during the night, and tend her in the double capacity of nurse and surgeon." " Ay, do, my good fellow," rejoined the squire, " and should any- thing occur, be sure and let me know. By sunrise," continued the squire, " I shall be here myself." Taking leave of the doctor, who appeared one of the most inter- ested of the party, we mounted our horses and turned their heads tow- ard home. " How did you find the poor young lady," asked the squire of Campbell. " It happened that a woodman was passing below when the leap took place," said Campbell. " I was hailed by him and directed to the spot where she lay. I discovered Miss Grey lying in a bush on the THE BETROTHED. 105 opposite bank, which doubtless broke the violence of the fall, and Moonbeam in the middle of the lane, as I have since learned, with his neck broken. Without the loss of a moment I hastened to the spot, and, raising Miss Grey in my arms, bore her instantly to the nearest house." In the course of our journey home I put several questions to the squire concerning Miss Grey, and learned from him her history. " She is one of the most extraordinary girls living," observed the squire ; " but her eccentricities have been, as they generally are in most people, created by the peculiarity of the circumstances in which she has been placed. It may now be eighteen years since her father and only parent came from the city of New York, and pur- chased a large farm of eight hundred acres within a short distance of mine. For a series of years, the house, an old ruinous place, had l)een untenanted, and I was much pleased at the prospect of a near neighbor. But all advances to become friendly were rejected, not only to me, but to every one who made them. Ill health and an irri- table temper, occasioned by an impaired constitution, made Mr. Grey avoid all society, and with the exception of his daughter Alice, whom he suffered to grow up as Avild as the flowers of the forest, no one, and nothing, not even a dog, was the sharer of his melancholy, hypo- chondriacal existence. Except on the A-ery warmest days in summer, he never stirred from his roof, but occupied the whole of his time in smoking, and in watching the play of his beautiful self-willed child, but without joining in it. But, notwithstanding this sullen disposition, he was liberal and kind to his farming-men, and was never known to turn a deaf ear to the calls of charity. " Without a companion, teacher, or instructer of any kind, Alice continued to while away her hours by coursing the butterfly or the humming-bird, and so shy was she of meeting anybody, that no sooner did she catch a glimpse of the approach of a stranger than away she would bound with the fleetness of a fawn. Often did I attempt to waylay the timid, pretty child, but her ears and eyes were as quick as those of a fox, and I never could succeed in stealing within a short distance of her footfall. " Thus slipped away some four years, and at last the hermit, as Mr. Grey was called, no longer excited curiosity, speculation, and 14 106 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. wonderment. He pursued the same monotonous life, and at last the old house was as little thought of, and as little visited or inquired about, as previous to its being occupied. " At length one morning brought the intelligence that Mr. Grey had suddenly expired in a fit of apoplexy. Being the nearest neighbor, and knowing the lonely situation of his orphan, Mrs. Merton and my- self hastened to his house, and there found the child maddened with ga-ief at the bereavement of her father. We used all our powers of consolation, and, at last, that sympathy which she wanted she found in my good lady, and, after some coaxing and persuading, we got her to accompany us home. This was the commencement of our intimacy, which has lasted uninterruptedly to this day. And now I should like to know," added the squire proudly, " if anybody can show me a better Christian or more lovely girl on this earth ? I know," contin- ued he, " that she has many peculiarities ; among others, there's the fire of old Nick in her veins. I've not seen her roused more than once or twice in my life ; but when she is — heaven and earth! — she can look a man of common courage white. I've seen a lawyer, who is the only executor and guardian under the will, tremble as though he had the ague, when she has bent her fiery glance on him." " Does Miss Grey still live retired and alone, then ?" inquired I. " Yes," replied the squire, " she has imbibed her father's taste in not visiting or being visited by her neighbors, for, besides myself and Mrs. Merton, no one ever enters her house except her domestics, and she will meet no one at mine. And now, gentlemen," added the squire, as we arrived at a branch of the road which led to his home, " you have the history, as far as I know it, of Miss Alice Grey, whom, I fervently trust, we shall soon see again in her wonted health and beauty." With this he bade us farewell, and took leave of us. " This lady fair is a very strange sort of character," observed I to Campbell, after Mr. Merton had quitted us. " As the squire says," replied Campbell, " circumstances have ren- dered her different from the generality of her sex. But it would have been more strange if they had not done so, considering the peculiar Avay in which she has been treated." " Total neglect of her education, and abstinence from all social as- THE BETROTHED. 107 sociation, appear to be the passive causes of her singularities," re- turned I. " Yes," added Campbell, " but then how beautiful she is ! Like a wild, uncultivated flower, fresh and blooming in all its natural love- liness, unnoticed, uncared for, unseen, and yet superior to all that art can train! Never was there such captivation in a woman before." I looked at my friend's face. His cheeks were flushed ; his eyes sparkled as he spoke ; and I saw that the unfortunate lady had made an indelible impression. On the following morning Campbell and myself proceeded on horse- back, at an early hour, to the farm-house Avhere we had left Miss Grey, and had the satisfaction of learning that she had had a night of tranquil rest, and was so far recovered as to have been removed to her home about an hour previous to our arrival. We therefore de- termined to proceed thither, and make some personal inquiries con- cerning her. After keeping a cross-country road for a few miles, we entered a tall, rusty-looking gate, as directed, and wended our way up a wide path, flanked by thick and widely-spreading maple-trees. On emerging from this avenue, we came in sight of a substantial but ancient-looking edifice, which had defied the winter's blast and summer's sun for many a year. The whole scene around looked so old and so solitary, that we gazed in silence for some time, previous to clanking the iron- headed lion, as a summons for our entry. A smart-dressed Indian girl answered it readily, and confirmed the statement of the morning, that Miss Grey was progressing favoral^ly. We were about taking our departure on the receipt of this intelli- gence, when Mr. Merton hurried from the house, and requested us to dismount. Nothing loath to do so, we gave our horses to a servant, and followed the squire into a spacious and handsomely furnished room. " I am commissioned by Miss Grey," said he, addressing both of us, after we were seated, " to express her deop obligations for the great kindness and attention she met with at your hands yesterday ; and am desired to add, to you, Mr. Campbell," said he, laughing, " that she will hold the future at your disposal, being satisfied that she is indebted to you for her life." 108 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " The assistance I was enabled to render her," replied Campbell, " was purely accidental, and, therefore, no obligation is due to me." " She thinks otherwise," returned the squire. " However, I care not which way it is. In a short time we shall again hear her merry laugh and not a scratch on her pretty face, thank God !" " I would submit to have a scar an inch deep carved in my own, rather than she should have the shadow of one," returned Campbell. " A gallant declaration," said the squire, " and one which I shall not fail to convey to the lady." " The doctor gives hopes of a speedy convalescence ?" observed I, inquiringly. " Not only hopes," replied the squire, " but certainty. I have his professional word that she shall be out again in less than a month." CHAPTER III. AN UNEXPECTED DEPAHTUHE — DECLARATIONS OF LOVE — A WALK IN THE GROVE — EUSSFUL MOMENTS. It is now necessary that I should speak of myself, and refer to some past occurrences, which, although trifling in themselves, are in- dispensable joints of my narrative. Soon after Miss Grey's recovery, which took place within a month of her receiving the injury, Campbell and myself became constant visiters at her house, and, to speak the truth, we appeared to be far from unwelcome ones. Occasionally we used to meet the squire and his wife there, but no one else, and thus a strong intimacy arose be- tween us. Immediately that Campbell had an opportunity, he undisguisedly evinced the passion which he had entertained from the first moment of seeing the beautiful girl whose life he had been chiefly instru- mental in saving. And although she sometimes received his atten- tions with great favor, there was a fickleness of manner about her which continually left him between doubt and hope. From a cause hardly to be explained, ^and yet not difficult to be con- ceived, this subject of all-engrossing interest to himself was never THE BETROTHED. 109 mentioned to me, either directly or indirectly, although the friendship existing between us became daily stronger than ever. But, suspect- ing, which was the case, that he had in myself a rival in feeling, although not so expressed by word, and I hoped not by look or ges- ture, Alice was tacitly a subject never alluded to by either of us. It may appear strange that anything like a good understanding, or even common civility, could exist between two men thus situated ; but so it was ; and in the belief that my friend was the favored one, and in every way the most eligible, I yielded to his superior claims, without the faintest struggle for precedence. More than once, in- deed, I was staggered with an expression from the lady's sparkling eyes, as they met my own, but not dreaming for a moment that I found an answering spirit within them, the sensation was but like the fleet- ing sound of some thrilling chord unexpectedly touched. To say that I did not envy Campbell would be to declare myself more innnaculatc than every other man could be, placed in such cir- cumstances ; but to declare that I threw in his way every facility in my power, to ensure him speedy success, and that he was the con- stant theme of my sincerest commendation, is to say no more than is strictly in accordance with the truth. The eulogy sounds but ill from me, but I hesitate not to assert, that, deeming my own feelings totally disregarded by the object of their solicitude, I was sufficiently gen- erous to assist my friend in succeeding to win the prize he so ardent- ly longed to call his own. Little progress, however, seemed to be made, for no sooner were his attentions favorably received, than the next day, perhaps the next hour, produced as opposite a change. The squire, who took as much interest in the proceedings as if he had been her parent, was a decided advocate to our cause, for such I may call it, and rated Alice soundly for her " waywardness and fickleness," as he called her conduct. So things went on for some two months, when one morning I was startled, at sunrise, by Campbell rushing into my bedroom in a state of gi-eat trepidation, holding an unfolded letter in his hand. " Banbury," said he, " I've this moment received an unwelcome letter from home," and a tear dropped as he spoke, " the most so," continued he, " that I ever received in the course of my life. My mother i3 at the point of death, and desires instantly to see me. Will 110 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. you — as I shall have made my arrangements for departing within a quarter of an hour — proceed early to Miss Grey, and, as I promised to be there before noon, tell her the cause of my unavoidable absence ? My return must, of course, depend upon circumstances ; but you may also add that I shall take the earliest opportunity of fulfilling the ap- pointment, and that a letter will herald the keeping of it." Expressing my regret at the cause of his hasty departure, and ex- changing friendly grasps of the hands, with a promise to obev his instructions, we parted. From the time I undertook to convey Campbell's message to Miss Grey, I felt an irresistible inclination to bend my steps toward her house almost daily. The attraction was like the needle to the mag- net, a force beyond opposition. Imperceptibly our hearts became en- twined and our sympathies folded within each other, without even the knowledge of either. Of the most ardent temperament, equally ig- norant and careless of the conventional rules of society, Alice por- trayed, at length, in every look and gesture, the pleasure she expe- rienced in my undivided society. Early in the morning I met her in the fields, brushing the dew from daisy-cups ; and it was often not till the nightingale had piped on the thorn that we separated. Thus weeks flew past without my hearing a word from Campbell, and in the enjoyment of my daily intercourse with Alice I had almost forgotten him, or, if remembered, it was only as one I had now entirely supplanted. Neither did I reproach myself with the cause or the effect. Indeed, I was too devoted to care, perhaps, by what means I had won the affections of Miss Grey ; but at the same time I was con- scious of not using any treacherous ones, or other than I was fully en- titled to employ. Thus matters stood, when a morning's post brought intelligence of Campbell's intended return on the following day. Then, and not till then, I determined to propose in form for the hand of Miss Grey ; for, although my advances had been met with too decided favor to admit of any doubt as to the result, I had not yet spoken of that which was nearest and dearest to my heart. With the intention of putting this resolution in force, I mounted my horse and proceeded to her residence. It was a sultry evening, late in August. The distant rumble of THE BETHROTHED. Ill thunder was now and then heard, and the black, hea^y masses ol' clouds rolling heavily from the west, tinged with the purple light of the sinking sun, betokened a coming storm. Hurrying forward, I just managed to gain the portal of the house as the tempest burst in all its gathered violence. Alice, expecting me, Avas at the entrance, and, as she took my proffered arm, to conduct her within, a crash of heaven's artillery roared above our heads, and reverberated from hill to hill, miles distant. Flash after flash of the forked lightning suc- ceeded, and then a deluge of water spouted on the earth, bubbling and hissing as it fell. Roll after roll of the warring elements suc- ceeded, and the heavy clouds floated slowly on, spouting forth their overcharged contents. " 'Tis a dreadful storm," observed Alice. " Yes," rcpUed I, " but from its violence it can not last." " It appears that extremes can never last in anything,'' rejoined Alice. " Such seems to be one of Nature's immutable decrees," returned I. " I hope not — sincerely hope not," said Alice, excitement kindling fire in her eyes. " I would not think so for ages ol certain happiness hereafter." " And why not ?" I inquired " Because," she added, " the thought would insure me the rack now ; a refinement of torture that causes pain even to contemplate." " And yet," said I, " we should never fear to think of what must be." " There I differ with you," replied Alice. " It seems to me but poor philosophy to think of, and thereby anticipate, many disagreeable and inevitable certainties. For instance, decrepid age, infirmities, or premature death — consequences a^ttendant upon life ; but 'twould be far from agreeable to dwell upon these closing scenes of our drama, and foretaste their bitterness previous to the allotted period." " We are taught otherwise," rejoined I, " and are bid, by thinking of them, to prepare against their visitation." " And our stern teachers, with their proselytes, may enjoy the study, but it shall be none of mine," returned Alice. " 'Tis sufficient occupa- tion for me to render the present as pleasurable as possible ; the past is gone, and the future is a mystery none can solve." 112 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " But we should be like mariners at sea," continued I, " ignorant of latitude or longitude, and without helm or compass, were it not that experience of the past guides us to the future. And, in like man- ner, when sailing before the wind buoyantly and joyously, we should strike upon some hidden rock or quicksand, and, when least expecting it, become a hopeless Avreck." " I'll not deny but that you have the best of the argument," she re- turned. "But still I might be able to puzzle you. However," con- tinued she, " as I might perchance suffer in your estimation by con- fessing my peculiar ideas concerning this sublunary existence, we'll permit the subject to drop now, and for ever." The storm by this time had abated. The last rays of the setting sun shot from the verge of a froAvning cloud, and streamed gladly on the saturated ground. The air, stilled from the songs of birds while the tempest raged, Avas now filled by them. The cricket chirped merrily from his grassy bed, and the locusts sung in concert. Creeping things crawled from their flooded homes, and their enemies took advantage of their migration. The crows wheeled and stooped from the sheltering trees, and traversed the ground with acute eye and nimble step, in pursuit of the wandering tribes. Loaded bees issued from the foxglove's secret depths, and humming their joy at its secure protection, buzzed to their thrifty store. On the border of the lawn, to the right of the house, was a grove of thick maples. So dense were they, that hours of continued rain would scarcely penetrate to the serpentine walk which wound for a considerable distance between them. Thither, as had been our wont for some time, we proceeded to take our evening walk. At the end of this path was a rude, uncultivated bower, formed of wild hops clinging to the boughs an^d stems of the overhanging trees. The vines had been cleared in the centre of one thick clump, and a seat, roughly hewn from the solid trunk of an oak, was placed with- in it. Upon this we rested, and after a silence of some duration, I told the tale she had read before in the silent language of the heart. Long and passionately did I plead my cause ; never were words to me so apt before. At length I paused, without much fear, to learn my doom. Eagerly I gazed into her eyes, and as they were lit by a moon's ray, THE BETROTHED. 113 stealing between the leaves, I saw the tear of joy and of love floating in them. In a moment I snatched her to my breast, and the recipro- cated affection and consent were murmured in kisses upon my lips. All nature was hushed. The wind toyed with the leaf so softly that it scarcely flapped in his gentle breath, and everything seemed calm and at peace. The hour, the place, the circumstances — everything conspired to render the temptation which beset us too strong for human weakness to withstand. CHAPTER IV. THE RETURN — MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS — DESPAIR — SUICIDE. The next day Campbell returned ; and although I felt that the com- munication I determined to make without loss of time, would give him poignant anguish, I was totally impreparcd for the expression of in- tense and indescribable horror and surprise which was displayed in his features when I informed him of my becoming his successful rival. He looked at me as if in doubt of my sanity, or the correct- ness of his own senses. Silently he continued to gaze, while all the color forsook his cheek, and his lips became pale and ashy. " Yes," he at length muttered, " yes, it seems and sounds impossi- ble, but 'tis true. You could not— no, your tongue would refuse to utter an untruth. I've heard of such things before," continued he, bitterly ; " but, my God, my God ! they're monstrous and incredible." " Calm yourself," replied I. " Although I can feel for your disap- pointment, I don't think there is sufiicient cause for the astonishment and anger you express. Miss Grey was not affianced to you, and, if it is any consolation, I may say, never would have been." « Not affianced !" exclaimed Campbell. " Not affianced !" and his amazement increased tenfold. " No," rejoined I, " and I repeat, never would have been." " Give me your hand," returned he, holding out his own. " I wronged you in thought. Forgive me. You did not know, then 15 114 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. but it matters not at this moment," and breaking off thus suddenly, he hurriedly paced the room, clasping his hands, and looking the very picture of despair. After a short time he became more composed, but still was greatly excited, and continued to exclaim against the cruelty and heartless- ness of women in general. At length he said — " I've a request to make, and although it may appear unreasonable, and one decidedly I have no right to make, still I hope you will grant it to me." " It is granted," replied I, " before being made." " Then go not to her to-day," returned he, " but wait until I've seen her once again. I need scarcely say it will be the last visit that I shall pay." " As you please," added I. " But saying I should be there in the course of the day, I beg that you will explain the cause of my ab- sence." " I will," said he. " Accept my thanks for your abstinence from so much pleasure," continued he, smiling sarcastically, and leaving the room. I almost repented of having complied with Campbell's request, and, after he quitted me, began to think that I had acted unwisely in per- mitting him to seek an interview with Alice alone at such a moment. However, as I had done so, I of course did not attempt to recall it. His look, as he departed, struck me as being full of turbulent passion, and his previous portrayal of it all tended to increase my uneasiness at his going. And here I will pause in my narrative to confess that which I be- lieve the majority of men entertain in like circumstances, although few, perhaps, would acknowledge it. Since the scene of last evening in the fir-grove, Alice had become to me an altered being. The flower was bruised and sullied, and no longer offered its former at- tractions. I thought of her as of one that I must make my Avife ; not as of one that I wished to make so, if honor did not sternly so decree. Love had vanished, and duty now usurped his post. To save her reputation and my own, I never thought of doing other than perform- ing my plighted word ; but, had there been a choice, I would have retracted it with more ecstasy than I had pledged it. THE BETROTHED. 115 Notwithstanding, however, this revulsion of feeling, I became more disturbed in mind as the hours flew past without Campbell's return- ing. At length I could not restrain the inclination of seeking him, conjuring up in my imagination a mvdtitude of horrors, crowding upon each other like colored forms in the kaleidoscope. But, just as I was issuing from my room, I heard his step approaching. Never shall I forget the impression his appearance made upon me. He reeled tow- ard me like one intoxicated, with a face so distorted, that it was scarcely possible to trace a single feature. His lower jaw dropped from the other, as in a corpse, and his eyes had that dull, leaden look which showed the fire of life was nearly extinguished. Not a tinge of blood was in his cheeks, and he seemed a dead though breathing man. " Gracious Heaven !" I exclaimed, " what is the matter ? are you ill ?" " Very — I am very ill," he replied. In a moment I assisted him to a couch, and was about hurrying away for assistance, when he motioned me to stay. " Do not leave me," he whispered, " do not leave me ; I have some- tiling to say to you, and but a short time left to say it in " " Let me at least send for medical aid," I rejoined. He smiled faintly, and said, " I'm not in want of it. Listen ; I have seen her, and have learned that which I believed before — that you did not wrong me intentionally. But what will you think, when I tell you that she w-as betrothed to me by her own consent, freely given, as she now is to you ?" " What !" exclaiuied I, astonishment thrilling through my frame, " betrothed to you i"' " Ay, solemnly betrothed to me !" returned he, in a tone not to be doubted, " so help me Heaven !" In broken sentences, and occasionally gasping for breath, Campbell then recounted to me the particulars of his last meeting with Alice, and that during his absence he had sent several letters to her ; but, with the exception of the first, he had received no answers ; and, al- though tliis neglect occasioned some surprise, he supposed indispo- sition, or some such cause, had prevented the replies to his commu- nications. 116 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTV. " But," continued he, " I now know too well the reason, and may God forgive her broken vow, as I do !" " If I had been acquainted with this," returned I, " believe me, Campbell, neither for her nor for any woman breathing would I have been the instrument of injury to a friend, or the cause of a solemn plighted word being disregarded, as though 'twas less material than the air which gave it birth. I tremble to think of it." " From my soul I believe you," replied he. " But think no more of it. That which is one man's loss is another's gain. Take her — and may Heaven bless ye both ! Banbury," continued he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking earnestly into my face, " it is a dying man's blessing, and one which emanates from a heart bearing no hatred nor malice toward any living creature." " Dying !" repeated I. " Surely it is but the temporary effects of excitement and distress of mind." " Ah, my friend !" added he, sorrowfully, and an expression of pain convulsed his features, " both mind and body are poisoned." " What !" I exclaimed, ^'■poisoned .'" and I clutched a bell-rope. " Hush, hush, Banbury," he returned, "be not alarmed on my ac- count. Bring no one here, for Heaven's sake !" " Say," added I, " are you " " A suicide .'" replied he, " certain and irremediable." I heard no more. As quick as thought, Avith terror to urge me, I flew for assistance. In a few brief moments a crowd of friends and attendants rushed into the apartment, and, as I returned, I saw in the middle of the throng the doctor on his knees, pressing a hand upon Campbell's heart. By his side were various instruments, and his fin- gers held a vial marked " deadly poison." " 'Tis useless," said he, rising, " the quantity would have killed a dozen men." " And is he dead ?" inquired I, pressing forward. " Quite, sir," was the reply ; and I felt my heart withered by it. There he lay, a few hours before in the exuberance of youth, strength, and manhood, now a scorched and unsightly mass. His limbs were drawn up and cramped in the agonies of death, and his face told how hard the struggle had been in the forcible separation between soul and body. THE BETROTHED. 117 With surprise, horror, and the deepest sorrow, I was followed from the apartment by our mutual friends, and all I remembered afterward on this dreadful night was finding myself waking as if from a deep sleep, and the blood trickling from an opened vein in my arm. CHAPTER V. THE STUDENT VISITS THE BETROTHED — THE PARTING SCENE — CONCLUSION. Confused, as if some terrible dream had been racking my brain through the long and tedious night, I woke early the following morn- ing, weak and feverish. I can scarcely describe my feelings faith- fully, as the incidents of the preceding day flashed with all their cruel truth on my memory. I began to suspect that Alice might be but the slave of passion, and a thousand revolting images reared them- selves in my mind. With distrust, sorrow, anger, and a mingling of sensations impossible for words to represent, but leaving a most dis- ordered frame of mind, I proceeded to her residence. Alice, in anticipation of my visit, was sauntering in the avenue some distance from the house, and, seeing my approach, hastened toward me. Never did she look more beautiful. Her long black tresses were sweeping down her shoulders as carelessly and uncon- fined as the tendrils of some wild vine. Her slight but beautifully moulded figure was robed in a simple white morning dress, and round her waist was tied a string of large jet beads, which hung to the ground. On the inside of a close cottage bonnet a fresh-picked rose was placed, but it would be difficult to say which looked the fresh- est, the flower or the cheek on which it rested. With a light step she bounded to my side, and, as she came, a ringing laugh of joy and of love burst from her lips as my welcome. But when she arrived close to me, and saw my pale and haggard face, the color forsook her cheek, like transient breath from a mirror. Mutely she gazed at me as I dismounted from my horse, and, stag- gering to a neighboring bench, almost fell as I reached it. " Tell me," she said, clinging to me, and with deep emotion, " are you ill ? has anything happened ? Speak, in the name of Heaven !" 118 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " Oh, Alice !" I exclaimed, unable to conceal my mental anguish an instant longer, " why did you conceal from me the — the " I could say no more. My gorge rose, and threatened to choke me with grief. " I know what you would say," she returned ; " but upbraid me not. He was here yesterday, and performed that part to perfection." " But surely you must have thought and known," continued I, " how wrong, how unjustifiable it was for you to admit of my advances ; and then not to acquaint me with the secret, but let it reveal itself in all its bare reality. Indeed, Alice, there is too much cause to upbraid you for me to pass it over in silence." " If the truth be no justification," replied she, " I'll have no other advocate. Give me your patience for a few brief moments. From the hour I first saw you, the germes of as true and warm affection were planted in my bosom as ever sprung from the heart of woman. Your apparent want of sympathy and coldness of conduct were con- stant sources of torment to me, and my pride was daily and hourly wounded by the general indifference of your demeanor. I confess admitting occasionally of Mr. Campbell's addresses, solely in the hope of creating a feeling in you which I trusted might be raised from the spirit of rivalship. In this I was disappointed. Nothing would fan the spark I so longed to see reared into a flame, and at length, tired with the ceaseless attentions of the one, and indignant at the want of them from the other, I, in a moment of mortification, reluctantly per- mitted my tongue to consent to that which my heart denied. Soon after this I discovered my error ; and God is my witness how I at once rejoiced and sorrowed at the discovery! — rejoiced for the hope of the consummation of my heart's only desire, and sorrowed for the hasty barrier I had raised against the possession of it. Still this was but a feather in the scale weighed against the attainment of my wish, and I determined to defy all censure, all reproach, to become your own. In the conviction that your stern sense of duty, and ob- servance of the conventional, automaton rules of society would at once decide your resolution in the event of learning my engagement with your friend, I was resolved, if possible, not to let you know it until " She paused and hesitated to proceed. THE BETROTHED. 119 " Until no choice was left me, you would say," returned I. " Until you were equally disposed to set aside such a cold, calcu- lating code," added she, regarding me with a lowering brow and fiery glance. " Then learn," replied I, " that I am as much disposed now to obey the edict to which you refer as I should have been in the first in- stance, had I known what I now do. You have deceived me, you have deceived yourself, and one who is now oblivious of your wrong and cruelty. Yes, Alice," continued I, " he who loved you as well as I, and who was far more worthy of a pure requital, is now a corpse, a suicide !" " Heaven have mercy upon me !" she ejaculated. " Heaven have mercy upon me !" and, falling on her knees, she clasped her hands and poured forth a prayer in an agony of supplication for forgiveness. I watched her with little less emotion ; and as I heard the choking sobs heaving from her bosom, and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, I forgot the wrong, and saw only the penitent. " Evil recoils upon itself," she murmured, as I proceeded to raise her ; but as my hand was extended, and ere it touched her, she sprung to her feet, and retreating from me, said, " It shall never touch me more. No !" and throwing her hands wildly out, she uttered a vow, so solemn and irrevocable, that I was silenced by its awful affirmation, never to become my wife. " Your words were," she said, bitterly, while her eyes glared with passion like an infuriated tigress, " ' That I am as much disposed novo to obey the edict to which you refer, as I should have been in the first instance had I known what I now do /' Then, in the name of Heaven, obey it !" she exclaimed. " I'll be no obstacle to its fiUfilment." I endeavored to soothe the ungovernable passion which possessed her, but my words fell like drops of water into a sea of fire. "Away," she said. " Begone ; and let us never see each other more." " Let me entreat," said I. " Not if angels knelt and backed the petition with their tears," in- terrupted she ; " not if torments everlasting were threatened, thicker than the gentle drops of rain from heaven !" " And must we thus really part ?" I asked. 120 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. " Ay, and for ever," she replied deliberately ; " for ever." " Can you make no allowance for my hasty observation?" said I. " Think of my deep, deep sorrow for my friend's lamentable fate," " Is it possible that I should forget it for one single moment of my future life ?" rejoined she, pressing her hands upon her forehead. " Is it not for ever branded here, stamped with torture," added she, between her clenched teeth, " dissolving all superficial thought, and leaving nothing but the bared truth — a hideous skeleton. Yes," con- tinued she, " I see in myself a guilty wretch, and in you " she paused, and coming near me, shook her head reproachfully, less in anger than in sorrow, " in you a satiated lover. ^' The words found an echo in my heart. I could make no reply. Instead of the accuser, I felt the accused. " Farewell !" she added, " farewell ! and as we were, so let us henceforth be — strangers." I sprung forward to catch her in my embrace, impelled by uncon- trollable impulse. " No, no, no ! remember," said she, pointing to the clear, cloudless sky, " I have that registered there, which truth shall seal. Once more, farewell !" and turning, she left me, with one long, sad look. Years and years flew past without my hearing anything of Alice Grey, for soon after this sad occurrence I left college, and sought a forgetfulness of it in other and distant lands, where I resided amid extravagant and dissolute scenes for many years. I returned to my native shores at the request of a favorite uncle, who promised me fortune and fame, would I but embark with him in mercantile pursuits. I now remembered the painful events which occurred on my quit- ting college, only as a dream, and I had not the least desire to visit the scene of them. It happened, however, that my business called me to Buffalo. It was just after the new State Asylum at Utica had been put in operation, and when passing through that beautiful town, I was persuaded by a friend to visit this institution for lunatics. I had scarcely entered the building, when, good heavens ! could it be possible 1 my eye caught the form and features of the once lovely Miss Grey ! There, indeed, she stood, twining her long and wasted fingers within those of a sickly-looking child, whose constant un- DANGLERS. 121 meaning smile and vacant stare told the brain's disease. She was so changed that I even hesitated to believe it was once the young, the gay, the beautiful Alice. But it was too true. There she was, the demented mother of an idiot child, old, wrinkled, and withered— the wreck of passion and the ruin of beauty. I turned away horror-stricken, and from that hour to this I have sought to know nothing more of her fate. DANGLERS. " By the by, do you know who that genteel-looking young man is, that I see constantly hanging about the Wilsons ? Go where I will, I am sure to see him along with one or other of the young ladies. Last Wednesday night, having occasion to call on Mrs. Wil- son about the character of a servant, whom did I see stuck up in a corner of the sofa but this same young gentleman, discussing with Miss Jessy, if I understood it rightly, the merits of a patent thread paper. I next night saw him with them in a box at the theatre, and I am positive that he is ten times oftener in their seat at church than in his own, wherever that may be." Such is the sort of question that some well-meaning, but curious female controller-general of society puts, on observing a dangler in high practice. The danglers are a class of young men belonging to some idle profession, who are never happy unless they are on terms of intimate acquaintance in families having one or two daughters come to a marriageable time of life. Having effected an introduction, it is impossible to tell how — most likely at a soiree, where he made quite a sensation by dancing the Polka in a first-rate style, or through means of another dangler or friend of the family, or, what is more likely still, tlu'ough an acquaintanceship with the brother of the young ladies, picked up at a fencing-school — the dangler falls into a habit 16 122 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEAUTY. of dropping in at all seasons, and, in a short time, from being a good- looking young man, and of tolerable address, becomes a privileged person in the household. If there be any dinner, tea, or supper- party, Mr. Brown is sure to be put down first on the list, or is there of his own accord ; and, from his frequent appearances on such occa- sions, a certain kind of understanding as to his motives prevails among all descriptions of regular visiters. The dangler thus makes himself a species of necessary evil in the family. He brings all the floating small-talk of the town to the young ladies ; speaks to them about concerts, play-actors, and charity-sermons ; helps the tea, and has a habit of saying " allow me," and making a movement as if to rise, when anything is to be lifted ; converses on the prevailing color in the new winter dresses, and leads the laugh when anything droll is mentioned. When Miss Jessy and Miss Sally go out for a walk, or on any necessary piece of duty, the dangler has a knack of hitting the exact time they are to leave the house, and, with an inclination, offers his arm, but always has a tendency to be on the side next Miss Jessy. At church, the dangler acts the obliging young man, being equally ready to carry a parasol, or look out the place in the Bible or Psalm-book. The dangler, in short, is ubiquitous in his services, and so, as a matter of course, all the world put him down as a favored suiter of one or the other of the young ladies. " Take my word for it," says Mrs. Gavine, to her friend Mrs. Brotherstone, " it is a set thing that young Brown is in pursuit of Jessy Wilson, and there's no doubt he'll get her too. I'm sure they've been long enough in making it up at any rate ; for, to my certain knowledge, he used to call when they lived in George street, and that is more than three years since." " Indeed," replies the party addressed, " I'm not so sure about it as all that. I have always had my own opinion that he is one of those flirting fellows that never know their own mind for three min- utes at a time, and, whatever they do, take always good care never to come to the point. However, I dare say he gets enough of encour- agement, and they may take their own way of it, for me. Had the father not been a poor silly man, he would have settled the matter long ere this." There are strong grounds for belief that Mrs. Brotherstone is not DANGLERS. 123 far from the truth in her opinion of our hero, Mr. Brown. Under the indistinct idea that he is in love with a young lady, when he is no such thing, the dangling genteel young man haunts her wherever she goes, gets recognised by her father or mother as a suitable enough match for their daughter, flirts about her for a year or two, without, be it remarked, ever having spoken a word to her of personal esteem or attachment, yet insinuated himself so far into her good graces by his actions and looks — his everlasting dangling — that he knows he could get her at any time for the asking ; then, behold, when he sees he can secure another with a better fortune, or, in his eyes, some other great recommendation, he leaves the long assiduously-courted young lady to pine over her solitary fate. How often is tliis the case in the middle ranks of life ! How many hundreds and thousands of amiable young women have had cause to rue that they ever gave any permanent encouragement to a dangler. Such a character acts like a blight on the fate of a young lady ; for he not only consumes her val- uable time, and distracts her feelings, but prevents real and modest admirers from making advances ; wherefore, in the end, she has, per- haps, to marry a person of inferior respectability, or remain on the list of old maids. Such a result forms the worst feature in the case of the dangler. Heedless of the havoc he is committing in the fate of the young lady — not reflecting that what has been simple killing of time or amusement to him has been protracted torture to a sensitive female, who, probably, all the while pardons him, from the impression that he is only waiting till he can conveniently make a declaration, he either starts off after a new object, or grows cool in his attentions, after the bloom of her youth is fled. Yet, we have known danglers deservedly caught in their own cunning devices. The eldest daughter of the family, to whom he has long been in his own opinion attached, is carried ofl", as it were, out of his very grasp, when he thought him- self most secure ; and he probably enters into a campaign of dangling with the younger ; but she is also married before he has time to make up his resolution, and he is left in a quecrish, desolate condition. In such cases, we have known the dangler of half-a-dozen years pretend to feel hurt, and actually " wonder" how Miss Wilson, or .Aliss Any- body-else " was in a hurry to get off", for it was well known to her, that nobody felt so much attached to her as himself:'' Such is the drivel 124 AMERICAN BOOK OF BEArXV. of a disconcerted dangler. He breaks his acquaintance with the family " which has used him so verj' ill," and looks about him for means of revenge in marrying some " extraordinary great match." He pro- cures an acquaintance with the accomplished and elegant Miss Blackitt, who lives with her aunt in the upper part of Broadway, and who, it is currently reported, has fifty thousand dollars at her own dis- posal, besides expectations from her uncle, an eminent Broad street merchant. The aunt, who is a knowing hand in the science of dang- ling, encourages his addresses, but takes care not to be long in fixing him, by asking him with an air, (some day about twenty minutes past four o'clock, when he had called in a pair of washed gloves to escort the young lady to the exhibition,) " what his intentions are regarding her niece." Of course, Mr. Brown protests — rather in a flutter, how- ever, that his " intentions" are beyond all measure " honorable." The marriage in such a case soon ensues, and the dangler is beautifully noosed with a girl, who, according to the report of the controllers- general of the neighborhood, " can not put on her own clothes," " who has all kinds of bad habits," not a penny of fortune, no expectation from her uncle, the merchant, who is on the point of marrying him- self — and, consequently, to sum up the story, makes the dangler mis- erable for all the rest of his life. THE RAT TOWER. The memory of Hatto, archbishop of Mainz, is still execrated on the banks of the Rhine, eight or nine centuries after his death ; and, to this day, when a cloud or fog is seen resting on the Mausthurm, the peasants point to it, in fear and detestation, as containing the spirit of the savage priest. Hatto was a man without a heart. He delighted in cruelty, and was pleased with all sorts of horrors, except the fictitious. He would have made an excellent ogre, only that he wanted the peculiarity of appetite. THE RAT TOWER. 125 A famine visited the land which was under the spiritual and pas- toral care of this good shepherd. The people died in thousands ; in- fants perished of hunger at the breast, and mothers of hunger and self-detestation that their fountains of nature refused to supply their offspring with the means of life. The archbishop feasted and fat- tened. He prayed to God, however, to remove his curse from the land ; he anathematized the foul fiend with bell, book, and candle ; nay, he fasted an entire day on stewed carp and smoked salmon, drinking naught save johannisberger, rudesheimer, and hochheimer. But he gave nothing to the starving poor — not a fragment, not a crumb. Then the people waxed wroth. They looked with their hungry eyes into one another's faces, and said, " Let us go unto the man o( God ; let us go up in a body, and show him our skin and bones, and cry altogether with a loud voice, ' help ! — help !' " and they went up ; and their voices, although thin and weak and broken, were able, because of the number, to reach the archbishop's ears, as he sat drinking the pale wine and the red at his dessert. " What is this ?" cried the archbishop ; " what rascally concert have we now ?"' " It is the people," answered his men ; " they are hungTy, and they cry for food." " Let them work, varlets," said the archbishop, growing red with indignation. " They have no work, and are too feeble to work." " Too feeble to work ! Go j'ou now ! — what is that ? Mercy on us, these are feeble lungs, indeed ! Send them packing, I say ! Off with them — troop, trundle." But the people would not move, for they were fierce in their hun- ger, and valiant in their despair ; and they continued to cry with one voice, " Oh, man of God ! help ! help !" Then the soul of the archbishop was stirred with wrath and fiery indignation, and he commanded his archers to lay hold of the rebels, and shut them up in an empty barn near the palace. And, when this was done, he sat quaffing the pale wine and the red, thinking of the insolence of the base populace, till the veins of his head swelled with fury. 126 AMERICAX BOOK OF BEAUTY. " Go," said he to his men, starting suddenly up from the table, " go and set fire to the barn." And his men did so. And the archbishop stood at the window, waiting impatiently ; but when he saw the flames burst through the roof of the barn, and heard the screams of the wretches within, he clapped his hands and cried out joyfully : " It burns ! it burns ! Hark, how the rats squeak .'" That night the archbishop's men were awakened by their master, and ran to his chamber. " My lord," said they, " what is the mat- ter ?" " It is the rats," answered he ; " they will not let me alone." And they saw that the counterpane of precious fur was indeed all gnawed to pieces. Then the men waited and set traps and dogs, and slew the rats in great numbers ; but the faster they slew, the faster they grew. And the archbishop had no rest, neither night nor day. At his meals, the odious vermin jumped in his porringer, or upset his drinking-cup ; and if he slept, (which fear allowed him but rarely to do,) he was sure to be awakened by a rat tearing at his throat. The archbishop, at last, determined not only to leave a palace in- fested by such importunate guests, but to choose a lodging in which there could be no possibility of a repetition of the nuisance. He ac- cordingly caused a tower to be built amid the rushing waters of the Bingerloeh, and when it was ready, set out with a joyful heart to shut himself up in his new abode. He embarked at Bingen, and on arriving at the tower, sprang eager- ly to land. That day he feasted in safety. He retired early, and commanding that no one should disturb or come near him on pain of death, he prepared to enjoy, at least, the luxury of an untroubled sleep. He had already undressed ; but, in the fulness of his exulta- tion, would scan Avith his own eyes the space of waters between him and the land, which was the only tenantable inheritance of his foes. As he looked out of his window, he saw a motion on the dark and troubled waters beneath, which was unlike the motion of the waves. The whole surface seemed instinct with life ; and on the opposite shore a plashing sound, as of hundreds and thousands of stones or other small bodies, dropped from the rocks into the river, rose above the din of the waters. Struck with a sudden terror, yet THE RAT TOWER. 127 not knowing what to fear, the archbishop leaned out of the window, and looked down to the bottom of the wall. There he saw myriads of small black things rising out of the waves and ascending the stones, and as a fatal conviction flashed upon his mind, he hastened to shut the casement. He Avas but a moment too late. The case- ment closed upon the neck of a monstrous rat ; and as the brute gasped and goggled in his face, the archbishop, overpowered with horror, let go his hold. That night the archbishop's men heard a cry from their master's room ; but they remembered his commands and did not stir. " My lord," said they, " is asleep, and dreams that he is still among the rats at Mainz." Nevertheless they were troubled ; for their lord was a hard master, and was accustomed to punish, whether they did ill or well, if harm came of it. So, in the morning, they all ran anxiously to his chamber, but the archbishop was gone. Some small fragments of his nightgown were on the floor, and some specks of blood among the rushes ; but, skin and bone, lith and limb, had the rats eaten him up. TIME'S THEFTS, Time met Beauty one day in Iter garden, Where roses were ■blooming fair, Tirae and Beauty were never good friends, So she wondered what hrought him there ! Poor Beauty esclaimed, with a sorrowful air, "I request. Father Time, my sweet roses you'U. spare:" For Time was going to m.ow them all down. While Beauty exclamed, with her prettiest frown, "Fie, Father Time! Oh, what a crime !" "Well," said Time, "at least let me gather A few of your roses here ; •'Tis part of my pride to he always supphed With such roses, the whole of the year." Poor Beauty consented, though half in despair. And Time, as he went, asked a lock of her hair ; And, as he stole the soft ringlet so hright. He vowed 'twas for love — hut she knew 'twas for spite. Fie, Father Time ! Oh, what a crime ! Time went on and left Beauty in tears ; He's a tell-tale the world well knows. So he hoasted to all, of the fair lady's fall. And showed the lost ringlet and rose. So shocked was poor Beauty, to think that her fame Was ruined, though she was in no wise to hlame, That she droop'd like some flower that's torn from its clizne, And her friends all mysteriously said — "It was time !" Oh, fie. Father Time ! Oh, what a crime ! Date Due 1 . 1 Llbrari Burau Cat.no. 1137 810.8 A512A ericML_Book__gfJeauiju, 167319 lU«.*.*.T. t% //, SM %J)